The Renegade Merchant (21 page)

“If Gareth were here,” Hywel said, “I’m sure
he’d be able to tell us about a dozen fords between here and
Chester, but I know of only two: one in Llangollen village, and a
second about a mile to the south in the bend before the river turns
north again.”

Evan sniffed the air. “We’ll see rain before
long, but I think we’ll stay dry at least until noon. If we can get
on the high road before then, we could start to make good
time.”

“There is nothing I would like more than to
take the high road,” Hywel said, “but I don’t dare do so this close
to the border. Still, we can hurry. Those men aren’t turning
around.” Within a few heartbeats, Hywel and his companions were
mounted and cantering through the fields to the west of the village
of Trefor.

Although they were three horsemen, obviously
well mounted, nobody could tell they were fleeing Madog’s men just
by looking at them. Thus, Hywel had it in his mind to skirt every
village in their path, rather than announce his presence by riding
straight through them. Madog aside, there was still Cadwaladr to
think about. Who knew how many spies between here and Shrewsbury he
and Madog had between them.

A half-mile passed underneath their hooves,
and then the road began to curve nearer to the river, at which
point Hywel realized he wasn’t going to have to search for the
ford—the road was going to lead them straight to it.

Unfortunately, as they came down the last
straight stretch before the ford, a young man wearing full armor
and holding a sword settled himself to block their passage up the
far side. The helmet didn’t disguise his features entirely, and
Hywel recognized him as his cousin, Llywelyn, eldest son of Madog
and no more than fifteen years old. He was the very son Susanna had
asked him to spare during their hasty departure from Dinas
Bran.

“What’s this?” Cadifor reined in.

Hywel shot a quick glance at his foster
father, reminding himself that the last time Cadifor had joined
King Owain’s retinue had been ten years ago during the wars in
Ceredigion, when Llywelyn would have been five years old. Cadifor
hadn’t been to court since then. Even if King Madog had brought his
family to Aber or King Owain had visited Powys, Cadifor wouldn’t
recognize any of his sons.

“Madog’s eldest and my cousin.”

“Christ,” Cadifor blasphemed.

“I share your sentiment.” Hywel directed
Glew down the bank.

As Hywel approached the water, Llywelyn’s
horse danced sideways, and the boy gripped his sword more tightly.
“I don’t want to fight you, cousin, but I cannot let you pass.”

“Your father sent soldiers to kill me and my
men,” Hywel said.

“My father told me you’d say that. He says
that was a misunderstanding.”

From behind Hywel, Cadifor guffawed.

“I don’t want to fight you either,” Hywel
said.

“My father’s orders are clear.” Llywelyn
pushed his helmet to the back of his head, allowing Hywel to see
his face more fully. “I am to return you to Dinas Bran. As he is my
liege lord, I must obey.”

“You can try.” Hywel breathed in deeply
through his nose and out through his mouth, stalling for time as he
searched for a solution to what appeared at the moment to be an
unresolvable problem. He had sworn to his aunt that he would spare
her son if it was at all possible, but he hadn’t reckoned on
encountering him under these conditions. It could be, however, that
she had known her husband would send Llywelyn out, and her plea had
been a direct result.

“Where are your men?” Hywel said.

Llywelyn’s face fell. “Close.” Then he
straightened his shoulders in further resolve.

It was obvious to Hywel that Llywelyn was
lying. Cadifor said the same in a low voice from behind him.

“What I don’t understand is how he could
have become separated,” Evan said. “The castle is still only a few
miles from here, and Trefor closer still.”

Hywel thought he knew: Madog hadn’t sent out
his eldest son to look for Hywel at all. Llywelyn had snuck out,
thinking to capture Hywel single-handedly and prove his worth. It
was a foolish thing to have done, but admirable as well, especially
for a son trying to please a hard-driving father. Hywel knew that
urge well himself, and he might have done the same thing when he
was fifteen. “Your father doesn’t know you’ve left the castle, does
he?”

Llywelyn’s spine was so straight he was
almost standing in the saddle. “You shall not pass, Hywel.” He was
endearingly earnest.

Hywel nearly laughed, except— “Don’t add to
your father’s mistake.”

“My father doesn’t make mistakes!”

Hywel groaned under his breath, reminding
himself again how young Llywelyn still was, even if he’d been
valued a man since the age of fourteen. He was still younger than
Cadell—or even Gwalchmai, Gwen’s brother, and he didn’t yet see his
parents as mortal. A common error, but not one Hywel had the time
or energy in to rectify today.

Cadifor and Evan joined Hywel on the bank,
all three of them studying Llywelyn, who gritted his teeth,
resolute and stricken at the same time by what faced him. But he
was steadier now too, and the determination in his eyes was no
jest. Hywel was tempted to urge his horse forward and engage the
boy, just to teach him a lesson. But he genuinely didn’t want to
hurt him, aside from keeping his promise to his aunt. And besides,
Hywel’s arm hurt.

“I could knock him out without killing him,”
Cadifor suggested. “Leave him in a bush until he wakes.”

“That would be humiliating, but at least he
would be alive,” Hywel said.

“He must know that he cannot stand against
the three of us,” Evan said.

“Whatever we do, we must do it quickly,”
Cadifor said.

Hywel tipped his head to one side as he
studied his cousin. Then he pulled out his own sword and urged his
horse across the river. As the presence of the road had suggested,
it was a good ford, wide and not deep, and well paved with stones
so his horse had firm base to canter across.

Though Llywelyn stood his ground as Hywel
reached the other side and came up the bank, his eyes widened, and
he made no move to attack. If Llywelyn had been intent on killing
Hywel, he would have done so before Hywel was able to leave the
water. Perhaps he really had some hope that Hywel would come
quietly.

“I propose a trade.” Hywel pointed his sword
at his cousin, but made sure at the same time to stay out of actual
fighting distance.

“What kind of trade?”

“I have urgent business in Shrewsbury that
cannot wait. I promised your mother to spare you if I could. If you
will not let me pass, I won’t be able to keep that promise.”

“I don’t need my mother to protect me.”
Llywelyn was deeply offended, as well he might be. Hywel had
intended to offend him as a way to put him off his guard and start
him thinking more about his mother than killing Hywel.

“I told her exactly that,” Hywel said, lying
outright, “but you must realize that she loves me and does not want
me to come to harm at your father’s hands.”

“She loves me more.”

Hywel bobbed his head, making sure not to
laugh at the childish comment. “Of course she does, but do you
really want to force her to choose between you and me? She would
choose you, but it would break her heart to do so.”

Llywelyn’s sword wavered, his anger fading
in the face of the vision of his mother’s grief. When he’d come
down the mountain, he’d been on fire to capture Hywel and bring him
triumphantly before his father, thus gaining his father’s favor.
He’d had no thought for his mother at all.

“You know I’m right,” Hywel said. “You have
to let us pass.”

“I don’t!” Llywelyn’s voice was full of
righteousness.

“You let me go, and we both say nothing
about what has transpired here. Nobody need be the wiser.
Alternatively, you could tell your father that I’m alive, but I was
too far away for you to stop.”

“So far, I see no gain in this for me,”
Llywelyn said, but Hywel was only a few feet away from him now, and
he thought he saw a glimmer of hope amidst the distrust in his
cousin’s eyes.

“The gain for you, is that I let you live,
cousin.” Hywel had by now come level with Llywelyn, and while both
of them still held their swords, Llywelyn had dropped his guard.
Careful to give no warning as to what he was about to do, Hywel
switched his sword from his right to his left and continued the
motion to bat Llywelyn’s blade with a backhanded sweep of his arm.
Llywelyn was so surprised, he released his sword, which fell to the
ground.

Almost within the same heartbeat, Hywel
urged Glew forward, and he caught Llywelyn’s right wrist with his
right hand and twisted, forcing him to slide out of his saddle if
he didn’t want his wrist broken.

Llywelyn fell ignominiously to earth, and
Hywel went with him, dismounting in a smooth motion and dropping to
the ground between Llywelyn and his sword. Llywelyn scrabbled in
the dirt, trying to reach it, but by then Cadifor and Evan had
crossed the river, and Cadifor dismounted in order to pick up the
sword himself.

Llywelyn couldn’t keep his eyes off it.
“My-my sword. What are you going to do with it?”

Hywel still held Llywelyn’s wrist in a tight
grip, and he allowed himself a smirk, before wiping his expression
clean.

Cadifor mounted his horse, Llywelyn’s sword
in his hand. “What is the closest village south of here?”

“Ch-ch-chirk.”

“Is there a tavern there?” Cadifor said.

Llywelyn nodded.

“You may retrieve it from the tavern
keeper,” Hywel said. “You must give us a quarter of an hour head
start. Otherwise, we won’t stop at all, and you can explain to your
father how you misplaced your sword.”

Llywelyn’s face reddened. “You tricked
me.”

Hywel struggled not to smile at his cousin’s
sulky tone. “As I said, I will never breathe a word of this if you
don’t either. Betray this bond, and I will come back to finish what
I started. Do we have an accord?”

Llywelyn’s shoulders fell, and he stopped
resisting Hywel’s grip. “We do. Know this, however. When you
return, if you return, it will be I who will kill you.”

“You can try,” Hywel said. “I would expect
nothing less from the son of the King of Powys.” 

Gareth

“
W
hat exactly are we doing here?” John
said.

Gareth frowned, because he would have
thought it was obvious, especially to someone who was gaining
experience in murder as rapidly as John. “Looking for clues.”

“What clues?”

“We won’t know until we find them, will we?”
Gareth said, and then at John’s uncomprehending expression, added,
“Conall had a wooden coin that would admit him to this brothel, and
the girl bled out not far from here. If we kick over enough
hornets’ nests, we’re sure to get stung eventually.”

“Of course,” John said, though his
expression remained dubious, “but I have to tell you that I’ve
actually never been inside a brothel before.”

That fact had been made clear from the start
by the twitchiness that had again overtaken John’s body. Last year
in Wales Gareth hadn’t noticed this tendency, but then, John hadn’t
had to question anyone there either.

“You aren’t the only one,” Gareth said,
deciding to make him feel better about his lack of experience.

John’s head jerked up to look at him.
“Really?”

Gareth made a dismissive motion with one
hand. “We don’t generally have establishments such as this in
Gwynedd. In fact, there’s no ‘generally’ about it. We don’t have
them.” And then at John’s continued astonished look, he added, “We
have women, you understand, who might lie with a man for money or
reward, but they don’t gather together in one location like this.
There’d be no point, since nowhere in Gwynedd is there a town even
as large as Chester, much less Shrewsbury.”

They were approaching the street upon which
the establishment in question lay. John stopped at the corner near
where Gareth and Gwen had hidden last night, stubbing his toe into
the dirt between two cobbles. “I haven’t worked for the sheriff
long, you know.”

“So I understood,” Gareth said
noncommittally. If John wanted to talk, he’d let him talk.

“Last year I was an undersheriff, only a
short step above Luke or Cedric or any of the other watchmen. I
wouldn’t have been elevated to this position now if it hadn’t been
for you.”

“How so?” Gareth said. “You told me earlier
that you feared to lose your position if I didn’t help you.”

“That isn’t quite the case.” John had a
disconcerting tendency to reveal information in dribbles and to
withhold what might turn out to be the most important information
of all simply because he didn’t want to impose or tell another man
his business. It was aggravating and so very English.

“What then?” Gareth said. “Speak!”

“Do you remember me telling you about how
the sheriff had to attend to King Stephen with most of the men of
the garrison, leaving Shrewsbury with only the dregs?”

“Of course.” Gareth eyed the young man,
who’d just implied yet again that he too was at the bottom of the
barrel. It wasn’t something Gareth hadn’t thought himself, of
course, but he was growing tired of having to bolster John’s
confidence every hour. Gareth really did think that John was better
than that, and was capable of more than he was giving himself
credit for. Gareth had been quite serious earlier when he’d told
John as much.

“Before he left, the sheriff said that he’d
elevated me to Deputy Sheriff because he didn’t have any other man
among those left whom he could trust or had even the minimum
experience required to run an investigation. He expected me to do
my best, and to keep Shrewsbury together in his absence, but I was
not to go off on my own or ferret out any wrongdoing among the men
I oversee.”