The Renegade Merchant (33 page)

Huw really had no idea how important the
answer to that question was to Gareth or he might not have answered
so readily. “Pawl. My mother loved him, but he died right after
Adeline was born. My mother had no father to protect her, and with
Pawl’s and her family gone, she couldn’t keep her.”

Gareth straightened in his chair, a chill
crawling up and down his spine. “Pawl had no family?”

Huw lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “He
had a sister who married a bard. My mother never learned their
names, and since Pawl said the husband was a good-for-nothing, my
mother never saw the point in trying to find him.”

Gareth looked down at his feet. Meilyr was
going to hate this news, and it would bring him anguish. He had
been both shamed and guilt-ridden at the thought that he’d had
another daughter, and that the mother had kept the news of
Adeline’s birth from him. If he had known that Pawl had fathered a
child, he would have moved heaven and earth to find her and raise
her as his own. None of this was Meilyr’s fault, but he would feel
as if it was.

Gareth stood up and left the room. He had no
more to say to Huw. The casual way he’d murdered Roger made Gareth
sick to his stomach. He felt the same way about Martin, who’d
ruined life after life without thought to anyone but himself and
the weight of his own purse.

The investigation was over. It was time to
go home.

Hywel

“
T
here you are, you truant!” King
Owain bounded out the front door of Aber’s main hall, cloaked and
booted as if for a ride. “You’re just in time.” He caught Hywel up
in an enormous hug, lifting him off his feet.

Truly unable to believe the transformation
in his father, Hywel took a moment to return the embrace. “In time
for what, Father?”

The king set Hywel back on his feet. “We are
off in a moment to the marshalling of men at Denbigh. An attack on
my sons, even if unsuccessful, cannot go answered.”

That had Hywel gaping at his father even
more. Rhun’s death had gone unanswered for four months, but an
attack on Hywel and Cadell couldn’t wait even a week to be
countered with an army? Part of Hywel was gratified at his father’s
obvious concern, but part was distrustful too, and he suspected
that something more than love was behind his father’s rush to
war.

King Owain frowned as he took in the
demeanor of his obviously weary son. “We expected you two days ago.
What is the disposition of Madog’s men?”

“He isn’t coming, or if he is, the men of
Powys don’t know about it.” Hywel gestured towards Conall, who’d
ridden with them from Shrewsbury, intending to introduce him, but
King Owain’s eyes strayed beyond him to where Meilyr and Gwalchmai
had dismounted behind the others.

“Meilyr!” King Owain strode towards the
bard. “Don’t tell me you’ve been all the way to Shrewsbury too? My
hall has been empty of music. We’ve had to prepare for war without
the inspiration of the brave deeds of our ancestors.”

Meilyr stared at the king, as
uncomprehending as Hywel had been, and then uncharacteristically
stuttered, “I apologize, sire. I went to—” That was as far as he
got before he gave up, realizing that the only sensible reply was
simply to bow before the king.

“Never mind.” King Owain waved a hand in the
air. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, my lord,” Meilyr said.

“Good, good. You will come with us to
Denbigh, of course.”

“Of course.” Though Meilyr shot a worried
glance at Hywel as he spoke.

Hywel didn’t know that he had ever helped
Meilyr with a single thing in his life, but he obliged his old
teacher by drawing his father’s attention away from the bard.
“Meilyr might have found what he was looking for in Shrewsbury,
Father, but I didn’t.”

The king’s brow furrowed as he gazed at his
son.

The open courtyard wasn’t the place to have
this discussion, but Hywel stepped closer and told the truth
anyway. “I sent Gareth to Shrewsbury in hopes of discovering the
whereabouts of Cadwaladr. He had definitely been there, and even
now is in league with Madog in more ways than one—”

“Tell me on the way!” King Owain spun away
from Hywel, striding towards his horse, whose head was being held
by Gruffydd.

Their eyes met, and they both shrugged.
Gruffydd had done exactly what he’d said he’d do, and Hywel had no
cause to complain about the outcome. Gareth and Gwen were looking
at the king with the similar stunned expressions, islands of
inactivity in the midst of the marshalling men. Conall looked
merely amused, which seemed to be his natural state.

For Hywel’s part, he was having trouble
absorbing the fact that not only was the king better, but he was
leaving Aber, and he expected Hywel and his companions to come with
him. Hywel could hardly have hoped for a better scene to return to
than this, with the possible exception of the complete absence of
Cristina, his stepmother.

She stood on the top step of the hall, and
he didn’t have to see her glare to feel it boring into him.
Cristina didn’t like him. She was supremely jealous of the standing
of her own sons, who were well down the line of heirs to the throne
of Gwynedd. Still, Hywel gave her a nod, though if he’d been a good
stepson he would have bowed.

Gwen brushed her shoulder against his arm.
“If looks could kill, my lord.”

Hywel just managed to stop himself from
glancing at his stepmother again. “I can’t see how she had anything
to do with Rhun’s death or with the attack on Cadell and me at
Dinas Bran, but I have no doubt that she would not have grieved my
loss.”

“Nor Cynan’s, Madoc’s, Cadell’s, Iorwerth’s,
or the loss of any other son who stands in the way of Dafydd’s
patrimony,” Gwen said. “We must be very careful from now on.”

Nodding agreement, because he’d known it
already, even if he’d never articulated the fear, Hywel boosted
Gwen back onto her horse and mounted his own. Only then did he turn
to look back at the door to the hall.

Cristina had already disappeared inside,
without so much as a raised hand to the company, much less a kiss
goodbye for his father. In the past, she’d been very careful to
treat the king with constant affection, in between their screaming
bouts, of course. At those times, Cristina’s ill humor would have
roused his father’s temper, but that didn’t seem to be happening
today either. Hywel had never wanted his father to marry Cristina
in the first place, so he could only cheer the king’s determination
to leave.

Gareth frowned and said in an undertone.
“Could your father truly be putting her aside?”

Hywel watched the king. “I would never have
dared think it, but that’s what it looks like to me too.”

For a heartbeat, Hywel’s father eyed the
spot Cristina had vacated. Then he turned his gaze on Hywel himself
and motioned that he should come to him. Hywel obeyed, and his
heart lifted at his father’s genuine smile at his approach.

“Come, son,” King Owain said when Hywel
reached him, “It’s long past time to go.”

The End

In the end of that year died Rhun, son of
Owain, being the most praiseworthy young man of the British nation,
whom his noble parents had honourably reared. For he was fair of
form and aspect, kind in conversation, and affable to all; seen
foremost in gifts; courteous among his family; high bearing among
strangers, and fierce towards his enemies; entertaining to his
friends; tall of stature, and fair of complexion, with curly yellow
hair, long countenance; with eyes somewhat blue, full and playful;
he had a long and thick neck, broad breast, long waist, large
thighs, long legs, which were slender above his feet; his feet were
long, and his toes were straight. When the report of his lamentable
death came to his father Owain, he was afflicted and dejected so
much, that, nothing could cheer him, neither the splendour of a
kingdom, nor amusement, nor the sprightly converse of good men, nor
the exhibition of valuable things; but God, Who foreseeth all
things in His accustomed manner, commiserated the British nation,
lest it should perish like a ship without a pilot, and preserved
Owain as a prince over it. For before insufferable sorrow had
affected the mind of the prince, he was restored to sudden joy,
through the providence of God.

There was a certain castle called Gwyddgrug
(Mold), which had been frequently attacked, without its falling;
and when the liege men of Owain and his family came to fight
against it, neither the nature of the place nor its strength could
resist them, till the castle was burned and destroyed, after
killing some of the garrison, and taking others, and putting them
in prison. And when Owain, our prince, heard of that, he became
relieved from all pain, and from every sorrowing thought, and
recovered his accustomed energy.

--
Brut y Tywysogion

(The Chronicle of the Princes of Wales)

In addition to the above
quote from the
Brut y Tywysogion,
this book is full of bits of historical
information I didn’t know anything about before a few years ago
when I started writing the
Gareth &
Gwen Medieval Mysteries.
I didn’t even know
that the Danes ruled Dublin for hundreds of years, and I especially
did not know that they ran an extensive slave trade out of the
Dublin slave markets.

Slavery predated the Danes, of course.
Slaves were taken in raids through history, and the Romans were
huge practitioners of slavery. Before the Danes took Dublin, the
Irish raided their neighbors and the Welsh coast for slaves as a
means of subduing their enemy. Often these slaves would be ransomed
for gold or land. The Danes transformed slavery into an actual
trade after they established Dublin. Essentially, the framework of
slavery and slave-taking changed from having mostly to do with
power relations between lords to being about money.

In
The Renegade Merchant,
I mention that
King Owain’s father, Gruffydd, in the late 11
^th
 century, partially
paid for the retaking of Wales with slaves, and he was hardly the
only one. But by the 12
^th
century, slavery was on the wane. Slave-taking
became far less common, and since the Normans had made slavery
illegal—in large part thanks to the influence of the Church—the
Dublin slave market went into decline and then closed
altogether.

Another subject about which I knew nothing
before delving heavily into the twelfth century was the history of
prostitution. It is, of course, said to be the oldest profession,
and has taken many forms over the millennia. Again, the Romans were
proud proponents of it, and the existence of brothels was legal in
England (albeit frowned upon by the Church), even to the point that
the Bishop of Winchester in 1162 was granted the right to license
prostitutes and brothels in London.

Finally, there is
Shrewsbury, a border town in the March of Wales. Much of what I
knew about Shrewsbury before starting to do my own research came
from Ellis Peters and her wonderful and beautifully written
Brother Cadfael
books.
The
Gareth & Gwen Medieval
Mysteries
have now moved beyond the time in
which her books are set, but many elements remain the same,
including the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul and its Abbot
Radulfus, and the town of Shrewsbury itself.

I would like to take
particular note of the wall which surrounds the town in the
Brother Cadfael
books and
in
The Renegade Merchant
. My research indicates that the town wasn’t given a
right to murage
(which
means to charge a tax to build a town wall) until 1218 when King
Henry ordered the town to make itself defensible. That isn’t to say
that it didn’t have a town wall earlier—just that there is no
mention of it. I chose to harmonize the specifics of the town of
Shrewsbury in my book with what Ellis Peter’s described in
hers.

Also—a note on the use of
the word
villain
.
Nobody was more surprised than I to discover that the word used in
the context of
The Renegade
Merchant
, has its origin in
villainy
from
Anglo-French
vilanie
and Old French
vilenie,
meaning to be of low character, unworthy act,
disgrace, or degradation. This definition dates to a hundred years
before its use as
villein
, meaning a feudal class of
half-free peasants (c. 1200 v. c. 1300). I’d always thought the
origin was the other way around.

______________

Thank you for
reading
The Renegade Merchant!
It is readers like you who make my job the best in
the world. For more information about medieval Wales, my other
books, or to sign up to be notified whenever I have a new release,
please see my web page:
www.sarahwoodbury.com

Follow me on Facebook
at:
https://www.facebook.com/sarahwoodburybooks

Keep reading for a sample
of
Exiles in Time
from the
After Cilmeri
series, also by Sarah Woodbury.

November 2016

Cardiff, Wales