The Lost Brother (19 page)

“Why?”

“The wound is identical to that of a man
murdered in Shrewsbury not two weeks ago. You were right in
thinking that my experience with murder is minimal. In fact, the
murder of which I speak was the first I’d seen. The victim’s throat
was cut with the same slashing blow that killed Adeline.”

“Cole killed Adeline,” Gareth said, “or so
we believe.”

John bit his lip. “Before this moment,
nobody had thought to place responsibility for the death of the man
in Shrewsbury on Cole’s head. He was a thief, not a murderer.”

“And now you may have to,” Gareth said. “It
will relieve your sheriff to learn that he doesn’t still have a
murderer running loose in Shrewsbury. Who died?”

“A Welshman traveling as emissary from King
Owain Gwynedd to King Stephen of England. He was on his way home
when he passed through Shrewsbury and met with my sheriff.”

Gareth felt his jaw drop. “What? You didn’t
think to mention this earlier?”

John had the grace to look sheepish.

“By the saints, man! You were at King
Owain’s court not four hours ago!”

“I-I-I thought you already knew,” John said,
shrinking back against a gravestone. “Nobody mentioned King Owain’s
emissary, so I didn’t either.”

“By God’s teeth, why did you not say
something anyway? At least you could have apologized for not
keeping him safe!”

“I didn’t know how to tell Prince Rhun—”

“Did you think the princes would hold this
death against you?” Gareth said, still incredulous, though his
initial anger was waning at the stark fear in John’s face. Gareth
believed without a doubt that John was telling the truth.

John gave a jerky nod.

“It never occurred to you that they might
want to question you as to the circumstances of his death? That I
might have some insight, given my experience with death and your
lack of it?”

“I didn’t want to confuse the issue,” John
said. “I was seeking Cole; I wasn’t on a quest to inform King Owain
of the death. The sheriff had already done that.”

Gareth thought of the letters Gwen had
carried from Aber. One had been from King Stephen, but she’d
brought others as well. Taran may not have opened a sealed missive
from the Sheriff of Shrewsbury. Even with King Owain ill, Rhun
might not have read any of the letters yet either.

When Gareth didn’t answer immediately, John
added, “You know the man of whom I speak?”

“Of course I know him!” Gareth ran a hand
through his hair and found himself pacing among the graves. “He has
played the role of emissary for King Owain many times over the
years in which I’ve been associated with the court of Gwynedd.
Llywelyn was the man’s name, was it not, if we are speaking of the
same person?”

John nodded. “Yes. We knew him by that name
too.”

“King Owain knew he was missing, you see,
because Llywelyn’s servant returned to Aber without him.”

Gareth didn’t question why Llywelyn had
passed through Shrewsbury on his way home: it was one of the few
cities in the whole of western England that still held for King
Stephen. Gloucester, the seat of Earl Robert, Empress Maud’s
brother and right hand, was located twenty miles to the south. From
there, the earl’s power stretched far into the Welsh borderlands
and adjacent counties.

Two years ago Gareth had saved the life of
Maud’s son, Henry, and relations between King Owain and the Empress
remained cordial. Robert himself, however, had been ill on and off
this past year. King Owain intended to maintain good relations with
both sides against the day one of them finally achieved victory
over the other.

“What were the circumstances of his death?”
Gareth said.

John gave a helpless shrug. “He’d dined with
the sheriff in the evening, but because he was staying at the
monastery instead of the castle, he bid goodbye to the sheriff as
the hour neared midnight and departed. The weather was fine that
day, one of the few sunny days we had this autumn, and he told the
guards he wanted to walk unescorted. His servant wasn’t with
him.

“One of the city boys found him dead beside
the Severn River the next morning. Unlike here, the killer had made
no attempt to bury the body—and we found no clues or evidence as to
who had killed him or why.”

“Why should have been obvious,” Gareth said.
“He was an emissary from King Owain to Stephen.”

John grunted an acknowledgement of what that
meant: Llywelyn had been on his way home from his meeting with King
Stephen. Whoever killed him didn’t want word of an agreement he’d
reached on King Owain’s behalf to reach Gwynedd.

Gareth could well believe, given Llywelyn’s
intelligence and long experience, that he’d realized he might be a
target, and that was why he’d sent his servant to bring the letter
home in his stead. Gareth could even believe that Llywelyn had
stayed in Shrewsbury, dining with the sheriff and walking home
without an attendant, to mislead his attacker, or even to draw him
out. Unfortunately, he hadn’t survived the encounter.

It might be, however, that the killer didn’t
know the letter had arrived safely at Aber—and then been delivered
into Hywel’s own hand by Gwen.

“When did Cole come into this?” Gareth
said.

“He didn’t. Cole was caught on the road to
London, standing over a man he’d struck down for his gold,” John
said.

“But the man didn’t have a slit throat?”
Gareth said.

“No,” John said. “In fact, he lived, though
he retained no memory of the chain of events that had led up to the
robbery. Cole claimed to have come upon the merchant lying in the
road and tried to help him. He was arrested on the spot, but the
arresting officer was young and inexperienced, and Cole caught him
unawares and escaped before he could be brought to the castle.”

Gareth finally understood what was going on,
and why John had such mixed emotions about all of this. “You.”

John bent his head. “Me.”

“You were lucky Cole didn’t slice your
throat,” Gareth said. “There was nothing to stop him.”

“I wasn’t worth it,” John said. “It may even
be that he was telling the truth. He could have happened upon the
merchant lying in the road moments before I reached the same spot.
Bad luck for him.”

“The fact that Cole ran suggests guilt,
however.” Gareth tapped a finger to his lips as he thought. “A
month ago, Cole is captured robbing a merchant but escapes. Two
weeks ago, he murders Llywelyn. He moved up the ladder of crime
rather quickly.”

“Unless he’d murdered before somewhere
else,” John said, “and only came to Shrewsbury when it wasn’t safe
for him in that other place.”

Cole’s initial arrest and Llywelyn’s death
had come after Gareth had lost his belongings in the river.
Suddenly, Gareth felt like he was a hair’s-breadth away from a real
discovery, as if he needed only one more piece of the puzzle and
all would be made clear. But while he was so close to understanding
he could taste it, he didn’t have that piece yet.

By the time of Cole’s arrest and Llywelyn’s
death, the villain behind this plot had already collected Gareth’s
gear from the river. Had he known of Cole’s existence and in a
single lightning strike of inspiration seen a chance to implement
his evil plan?

“Any idea what Cole might have been doing
since then? Did you learn of any more murdered men on your way
north?”

“No,” John said.

“Or how Adeline and Cole were connected,
beyond their resemblance to Gwen and me?”

John’s mouth turned down. “No. It does seem
that it is in their appearance that your answers must lie. It seems
unlikely that Cole himself would have had reason to murder
Llywelyn, for example, or to impersonate you, unless he was working
for someone else. You truly have never seen him before?”

“No.”

John plucked at his lower lip, much calmer
now that he knew Gareth wasn’t going to strangle him. “I imagine
that wouldn’t be something you’d forget.”

Gareth sighed. “Now that we know Cole and
Adeline were from Shrewsbury, and it is in Shrewsbury that Llywelyn
died, it may be that I must travel there to discover the
truth.”

“I’m sorry for your difficulties,” John
said. “I can’t express to you how much we’d hoped she’d merely run
off with another man.”

“She did run off with another man,” Gareth
said, as gently as he could. “Cole.”

“Do you think so?” John said.

Gareth felt himself taken aback that John
might question such an obvious point. “Who else?”

“Perhaps the one she ran off with was the
man who killed Cole,” John said. “Didn’t you suggest that he bore a
sword and had the skill to use it? I find it much more likely that
Adeline would leave Shrewsbury with him rather than with a brigand
such as Cole, even if he was charming, a fact to which I cannot
attest one way or another. She’d had her eye on a man-at-arms. How
easy would it have been to transfer her affections to another man
who bore a sword?”

Like a nobleman
. Gareth thought the
words but didn’t say them. John needn’t be privy to all that Gareth
knew. The undersheriff had grasped the essence of the investigation
quickly, but once again, Gareth was irritated with himself for how
little actual investigative work he’d accomplished so far. It was
in the footwork that murderers were caught—speaking to witnesses,
canvassing neighbors—not in speculation and supposition, even if
that speculation was based on observation.

He couldn’t catch the murderer by guessing
his name. He needed proof enough to convict the man before the
king. The coins in his purse and the length of rope in his pack
weren’t enough to do it. He needed witnesses who could identify
him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know of anyone
who’d been to Shrewsbury in the last month, or even the last six
months. He supposed that some of the visitors to the festival at
Aberystwyth at the end of the summer could have come from there,
but he hadn’t met any personally.

“Where do we go from here?” John said.

Gareth studied the young man. “I am more
grateful than I can say that you undertook this journey, but you
need to be on your way.” He stuck out his arm to the young
undersheriff.

“What are you talking about?” John shook
Gareth’s arm on instinct, but his expression was one of dismay.

“Cole and Adeline are dead. Your work is
done.” Gareth released John’s arm, bowed to Father Alun, who lifted
a hand in acknowledgement, and urged John towards his horse.

John dug in his heels. “Are you not
concerned about bringing their killer to justice?”

“I am very concerned about that,” Gareth
said, “but you have a duty to your sheriff that should not
wait.”

“We don’t know who killed Cole!”

“Such was not your charge,” Gareth said.
“You were to track down Cole and return him to custody in
Shrewsbury. Your sheriff gave no consideration to an outcome in
which you found him dead by another’s hand. Surely you must see
that your only choice is to return to England ahead of this war,
which you should have no part in. Besides, the murder occurred in
Welsh lands. As my princes so vehemently pointed out, your lord has
no writ here.”

John opened his mouth to protest again but
then broke off at the faint sound of drums in the distance.

Gareth could tell from the rhythm and tenor
that the music was being played by men from Gwynedd, which meant
King Owain’s army was coming today as promised. Last Gareth had
heard, the plan had been to cross the River Alyn to the east of
Cilcain and set up camp on the highest point just west of the
village of Gwern-y-waun. With the army approaching Cilcain, they
had only a mile and a half to go.

“The princes are coming,” Gareth said,
unnecessarily, since the drumming was growing louder. The army had
taken the same road from their camp as Gwen and Gareth had with
Father Alun, which meant they’d come into Cilcain from the west,
instead of by way of Lord Morgan’s fort.

“Will you come with me to Shrewsbury, then?”
John said. “It appears that it is in my city that many of your
answers may lie.”

Gareth looked east, his heart sinking at the
thought of entering England. He’d heard good things about
Shrewsbury’s sheriff, but he was English and so not to be trusted.
Gareth was sharply reminded of his cordial relations with the
castellan at Chester, only to have it come out later that he was a
spy and a villain. If he rode with John, it would be John who spoke
for him in enemy territory, not the other way around.

And even if Gareth went today, the trail was
very cold. He’d followed cold trails before, but they were more
difficult than warm ones.

The sound of drumming grew louder, making
Gareth’s decision for him. “Please tell your lord that before long
I may come to Shrewsbury.”

He held the bridle of John’s horse,
essentially giving John no choice but to mount. Gareth wanted him
on his way before he was overtaken by King Owain’s men. The young
man didn’t seem to realize the true danger he could be in, caught
traveling alone between the two opposing armies.

“I wish you were coming now. I feel like I’m
abandoning Adeline.”

“I will learn more if I can and send you
word of whatever I find,” Gareth said. “For now, my duties lie here
just as yours lie elsewhere.”

“Yes, my lord.” John finally gave way. He
bent forward and stuck out his hand to Gareth once again. “Good
luck.”

Gareth grasped John’s forearm. If his only
means of finding out more about the deaths of Adeline and Cole lay
in Shrewsbury, Gareth would follow the trail there eventually, but
until then, the drums had reminded him that his duty was here.

With one last parting look, John turned his
horse’s head and rode away.

Gwen

G
wen was folding
the king’s freshly laundered sheets when Rhun returned. “May I
borrow Gareth’s helmet? I’d like to bring it to the smith to have a
copy made. Mine fell in the river, back when Gareth’s and my
belongings were lost. We never recovered it.”