The Unlikely Spy (25 page)

Gwen

“H
as anyone so far
considered where Gryff might have found the money to buy Carys that
cross?” Mari said.

Gwen’s friend had miraculously risen from
her bed to attend the evening’s entertainments. Although pale, she
was holding herself well, and the two women walked together towards
the high table. Dressed in a tunic of deep green, Hywel stood to
one side. He caught sight of his wife, and his eyes lit to see Mari
coming towards him. The two nannies followed, carrying Tangwen and
Gruffydd, who was asleep.

“It is something to consider,” Gwen said.
“Gareth is working on it, I know.”

The festival had already heard singing from
dozens of bards. They included performers at all levels, from men
who wandered the length and breadth of Wales, as she had once done
with her father, to official court bards. Her father was among the
latter again, as he’d been when Gwen was a child. Her chest swelled
with pride to see Gwalchmai and her father tuning their instruments
a few feet from where Hywel stood. While this was his night, it was
also Gwynedd’s. Meilyr would play to accompany Hywel’s voice, and
Gwalchmai would join him in song near the end.

The splendor and wealth of Ceredigion and
Gwynedd was on display tonight, and the two women were dressed in
their finest garments, as was every person in the pavilion. Food
and drink were being served, though not in quantity. The purpose of
tonight was not feasting but music, following the saying that was
common among them: ‘Food is for the stomach, music for the
soul.’

“Hywel is so very pleased with how the
festival is turning out, but I hope he isn’t too nervous to sing,”
Mari said.

Gwen hurried a few steps to catch up with
her friend. “Hywel hasn’t been nervous about singing since he was
twelve years old.”

“Hmmm,” Mari said. “He has just learned to
hide it better.”

Gwen smiled, accepting her friend’s
knowledge of Hywel’s thoughts without feeling hurt. Gwen and Hywel
had never returned to the close relationship they’d had as
children—it would have been impossible to have done so unless they
themselves had married. As a young man, Hywel would have hidden his
fears from her, just as every man worked to keep his fears hidden
lest they make him vulnerable to the barbs of an enemy.

Gwen had looked into that dark pit herself.
Fear was the demon inside all men. To allow it to rise to the
surface turned men into animals. A man might fear battle, or
poverty, or humiliation as in the case of Hywel tonight, but what
woman hadn’t lain awake in the darkness, worrying for her man or
child? At times Gwen couldn’t do otherwise and remain a woman.

King Owain of Gwynedd and King Cadell of
Deheubarth sat side by side at the high table. Rhun sat at his
father’s right hand. Cadell didn’t have a son, so his left was
taken up by his two brothers, Maredudd and Rhys, who’d arrived for
the festival shortly after King Owain. Madog, the king of Powys,
had not come, which surprised no one. With the Earl of Chester free
again, his kingdom might soon come under renewed pressure from the
Normans, who had already carved out large pieces of it for
themselves. Whether a particular castle was Welsh or Norman varied
from year to year in a constant back and forth for power and
land.

Cadwaladr, King Owain’s brother, sat at the
end of the table, facing down it. Gwen had noted this new habit of
his: to keep himself apart rather than assert his rights as a
prince of Gwynedd. And in a way, sitting at the end of the table
implied that he’d carved out a dominion of his own.

“I see Gareth,” Mari said as Gwen escorted
her around the back of the high table to her seat. “Later, you must
tell me everything he discovered today.”

“Of course I will.” Gwen smiled at her
friend. “Enjoy the music.”

Mari chose a seat at the end of the table.
It was not an indication of low rank. As Hywel’s wife, she was the
hostess of the festival. Rather, it was a practical matter of being
able to depart the pavilion quickly in case her stomach rebelled
against her. It also put her closer to where Hywel stood.

As Gwen headed towards an open side of the
pavilion, she neared her father and brother. She hadn’t had a
chance to greet them properly yet, and even now she only gave them
each a peck on the cheek. “You will do wonderfully.”

Gwalchmai’s face was flushed, and he was
sweating in his fine wool tunic. He closed his eyes and took in a
long breath, holding it for a moment before easing it out.

Meilyr shot his son a worried look. “Place
your faith in your training.”

“Yes, Father.” Gwalchmai’s gaze became
focused on a point somewhere in the distance. “You needn’t worry
about me.”

Gwen gave him half a hug, bent over with one
arm around his shoulders. When he stood he was taller than she was
by several inches. Another month and he might be taller than his
father.

“You should be up here too, girl,” Meilyr
said, ever gruff, but Gwen knew that he meant it.

“Not tonight,” Gwen said. “The three of you
will do Gwynedd proud.”

Gareth was standing off to one side, keeping
Prince Hywel and the whole of the pavilion under his watchful eye.
She hadn’t seen him since they’d eaten together in the early
afternoon. As Gwen moved towards him, he took a step back, fading
into the darkness outside the tent at her approach. Her heart sped
up, not only at the sight of him but because she guessed that he
had something important to tell her.

Everybody who could cram into the pavilion
had already arrived, and the rest of the festival-goers were spread
out around it, seated on blankets in the grass. As Gwen left the
pavilion, Hywel raised a hand to gain everyone’s attention. Such
was the expectation and excitement among the onlookers that silence
immediately descended upon the crowd.

Gwen clasped Gareth’s hand and turned to
look back, sharing the anticipation and delight that was infecting
everyone. Some might have expected Hywel to take this moment to
welcome his guests, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t say anything,
just opened his mouth and released his gorgeous voice. As Gwen’s
father had proclaimed more times than Gwen could count, a voice
like Hywel’s came along once in a generation.

Gareth drew Gwen closer, his arm around her
shoulders, listening as Hywel warmed to his song. This particular
saga told of battle, triumph, and grief, and was one that she and
everyone in the pavilion knew by heart, though none could ever
regret hearing it again.

As Hywel began the third verse, Gareth
gently turned Gwen away from the music, and they threaded their way
among the onlookers until they reached the far edge of the crowd.
Hywel’s voice soared towards the stars that winked above them. Gwen
didn’t want to stop listening to the singing, but Gareth clearly
thought what he had to say was important enough that she needed to
hear it now, rather than wait until the evening’s music was
over.

“This sounds like bad news,” she said.

“We uncovered some disconcerting information
today,” Gareth said and then told her about his conversation with
the inn keeper and the disappearance of Gryff’s rucksack.

“So Madlen and Gryff weren’t married.” Gwen
shook her head. “Should we detain her, Gareth?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Gareth said. “Rhun
tells me that he has Alun locked up at the castle. I haven’t had a
chance to speak to either him or Carys yet, but they’ve been
telling lies too.”

“Iolo and Madlen have no ties here. They
could have very easily run—far more easily than Alun or Carys
could,” Gwen said.

“That was one reason I believed Alun and
Carys had nothing to do with Gryff’s death. After I returned from
Aberystwyth, I went by Iolo’s booth but like everyone else they had
closed it down in preparation for tonight’s music. I sent Rhodri
back to the inn to see if they’d cleaned out their things, but he
has just returned to tell me that they haven’t. Still, nobody has
seen them.”

“The only reason for them to leave now
instead of yesterday after the murder was because someone told them
you’d visited the inn.”

“That was my thought too,” Gareth said.
“Their informant could be any one of dozens of people who were at
the tavern when we visited it. The news could even have been
innocently given.”

“The inn keeper could have told them,” Gwen
said.

“I don’t see Pawl’s hand in this. At least,
he promised not to speak of it,” Gareth said. “He was very upset at
the disappearance of Gryff’s rucksack.”

“If Iolo and Madlen left Aberystwyth, they
could be miles away by now in any direction,” Gwen said. “Have you
spoken to Prince Hywel about any of this?”

“Not yet,” Gareth said. “Tonight was too
important to him to distract him with something I mean to deal with
myself. I did, however, tell the men to be on the lookout for
them.”

“Is Iolo’s cart still here?” Gwen said.

Gareth made a disgusted sound at the back of
his throat. “Why do I never think of these things? It wasn’t at the
tavern, of that I can be sure.”

“Let’s go to the market fair and see if it’s
gone,” Gwen said. “All that Iolo and Madlen own is either in that
booth or in that cart. Without Gryff to watch over it anymore, one
of them must be doing it.”

“Is Tangwen all right?” Gareth peered past
Gwen towards the pavilion.

“She’s with Elspeth.” Gwen could just make
out the girl sitting with Tangwen in her lap. Gratifyingly, the
baby loved music as much as the rest of her family did.

Gareth smiled when he spied his daughter.
“Neither of them will miss us. We can go.”

To Gwen’s regret, the clarity of the music
lessened as they navigated among the tents between the main
pavilion and the market fair. Still, holding Gareth’s hand in the
darkness, Gwen wasn’t completely let down. She felt like she was
sixteen again. In those days, she’d managed to walk off with Gareth
illicitly only once, and they’d been caught almost immediately by a
nosy matron who’d shooed them back to the great hall. That had been
here at Aberystwyth, though in the old castle that Hywel had burned
to the ground three years ago.

Gwen mentioned the memory to Gareth, who
laughed before pulling her behind a tent with him. Wrapping her in
his arms, he kissed her until she was breathless. “We haven’t spent
as much time alone together recently as I like.”

“We haven’t spent
any
time alone
together.” But then Gwen pushed at his chest, putting some space
between them. “We have a task, Gareth.”

He grumbled, “It would be more fun to forget
about it,” but he took her hand again and stepped out from behind
the tent. Ahead of them lay the long line of carts, dozens of them,
which belonged to the traders and merchants who’d come for the
fair. Many carts were empty but others were simply battened down.
No merchants sat among them. It appeared that all of them were
taking advantage of Hywel’s assurance that they would be well
guarded.

“Do you know which one is theirs?” Gwen
said.

Gareth shook his head. “They all look the
same to me.” He waved a hand to two of his men who were passing by
on patrol. “All is quiet?”

“Yes, my lord,” they said together.

“Have you seen any sign of Iolo, the cloth
merchant?” Gwen said.

“No, my lady.”

“Do you know which cart is his?” Gwen
said.

One of the guards pointed with his spear
towards a cart halfway along one of the rows. It stood a little
apart from the others, as if someone had pulled it forward out of
line to better access what was inside. “That one, I believe.”

Gwen would have tried to peer inside, but
the cart had wooden sides and a rear door that locked. “At least we
know he hasn’t left.”

Gareth jerked his head towards the market
fairgrounds, indicating they should keep looking. Thirty yards on,
they met a third guard, who turned out to be Goch, a trusted
soldier. He’d been patrolling between the carts and the fair
itself. Gareth asked him about Iolo and Madlen and at last received
a positive response.

“Iolo was just here.” Frowning, Goch turned
on his heel to look back towards the market grounds. “I think he
was walking in that direction the last time I saw him.” Goch
pointed towards the silent booths. “He’s come by twice already,
each time with arms heavily laden.”

“Do you mean to say that he was carrying his
goods from his booth to the cart, not the other way around?” Gwen
said.

“That’s what it looked like to me,” Goch
said. “He appeared to be in a hurry.”

“He’s taking advantage of our attention to
the music to pack up.” Gareth said with a growl. “I’m glad we
thought to check on him.”

“If he hasn’t come back this way, we can
still stop him,” Gwen said. “What about Madlen?”

“I haven’t seen the girl at all,” Goch
said.

Gwen looked at Gareth. “I wonder where she
went? If she knows that you talked to the inn keeper, she has to be
afraid of what you discovered.”

“Iolo seems to be.” Gareth pointed a finger
at Iolo’s cart. “Don’t let him leave, Goch!”

“My lord, I won’t.”

Gwen and Gareth hurried down the row of
deserted booths. The music from the festival pavilion came more
clearly here. A drumbeat resounded among the tents, the low bass
carrying through the darkness more easily than the higher tones of
Meilyr’s lyre or Hywel’s voice.

“If he’s leaving in the middle of the
festival,” Gwen said, “he’s sacrificing an opportunity for
sales.”

“Better to lose a few pennies than his
livelihood entirely,” Gareth said. “Or his life.”

“With this, I can’t see any way that he
isn’t involved in Gryff’s death.” Gwen glanced at her husband. His
eyes glinted from the light of a torch smoking nearby. Fire was an
ever present danger, so torches were posted only on the ends of the
rows. “Certainly he’s complicit in Madlen’s lies.”