The Unexpected Ally (19 page)

King Owain finally reached his feet, and
once he did, he stood completely upright, his chin held high and
his shoulders straight. “You tried to kill my son.”

He sat down again.

His accusation was met first with shocked
silence, then with disbelief that those few words were all he’d
said, and then as Owain gazed impassively at Madog, a murmur of
consternation swept through the room. Everyone had expected Owain
to enumerate a variety of affronts to Gwynedd, from incursions
across the border to disputes over cattle, and conclude with the
attempted murder only after these others had been examined.

Petty crimes like the former could be
negotiated, and even put to one side with enough talking, but the
attempted murder of the
edling
was a crime clearly laid out
in Welsh law as punishable by the payment of an enormous
galanas
, a life debt. It hardly mattered that Madog hadn’t
succeeded, because the punishment, the
sarhad,
would be
essentially the same. That is, it would be the same if Owain had
the authority to order Madog to make such a payment, which he
didn’t. These were two kings, equal in stature. With an
unprosecutable crime such as this, Owain’s only other choice had
been to go to war.

Gareth’s earlier comment about this being a
courtroom instead of a peace conference had been dead on. It could
never have been anything else, not with the attempted murder of
Gwynedd’s
edling
at the center of the discussion.

When Cadwaladr had ordered the murder of
King Anarawd of Deheubarth—and for all intents and purposes
admitted to it—he should have made such a payment to Cadell,
Anarawd’s brother. King Owain had forced him instead to spend most
of his wealth to pay off the Danes whom he’d brought to Gwynedd,
and Owain had never demanded that Cadwaladr pay Cadell anything.
That debt still lay between Gwynedd and Deheubarth, and even if the
fault was entirely Cadwaladr’s, not Owain’s, and Cadwaladr himself
was now in exile, the debt remained. Cadell had allied himself with
Cadwaladr last summer—and it could even be that Cadell wasn’t
asking for
sarhad
because he’d colluded with Cadwaladr to
kill his brother—but that didn’t mean anyone else had forgotten
what he was owed.

Abbot Rhys studied Owain for a moment, his
lips pressed together in a thin line. This was not a good
beginning. Owain had come to the peace conference, but Rhys was
feeling now that he hadn’t come in good faith. But he straightened
his shoulders, acknowledging what couldn’t be changed, and turned
resolutely to Madog. “Since Gwynedd has said all that it has to
say, it is your turn to air your grievances.”

Beside Gareth, Hywel nodded his head,
acknowledging the proper procedures were being followed: first both
sides spoke of their grievances without rebuttal by the other side.
Thus Madog was not obligated to respond to Owain’s charge until the
time came for it, presumably during the afternoon session so that
both sides could take some time to confer among themselves and
develop a strategy for answering the charges against them.

Madog’s eyes were fixed on Owain, who did
not look away. He rose to his feet in much the same ponderous style
Owain had used and then snapped his fingers to a man standing off
to one side, holding a rolled parchment. The man was short and
white-haired, with hunched shoulders but bright blue eyes that
blinked rapidly as he focused on Madog. Then he stepped forward and
bobbed his head in a bow.

“Who are you?” Rhys said.

“Derfel, the king’s steward.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair and gestured
to one of the scribes behind him. “Make a note that Derfel read the
grievances.” Rhys returned his gaze to Madog’s steward.
“Continue.”

In a sonorous voice, though not quite
bard-like, Derfel began with a list of Madog’s titles, which seemed
to go on for a full page, and then at the point Gareth began to
have trouble focusing, he launched into the long list of complaints
that Powys had against Gwynedd, beginning with incursions dating
back to the 1130s, mostly under the auspices of Cadwallon, Owain’s
deceased older brother—who in fact died fighting against Powys in
1132. The grievances ended with Gwynedd’s conquest of Mold
Castle.

Throughout it all, Owain simply watched
Madog, and Madog watched Owain back. Rhys was gazing down at the
table in front of him, looking at nobody and appearing to be
listening intently, while the scribes scribbled furiously behind
him. Later, each of their versions of events would be carefully
examined and a single definitive document created.

After Derfel read all this out, he paused
for a moment, which caused Rhys to look up expectantly, thinking he
was finished. But then Derfel lifted his chin. “Powys has one final
grievance to put forth to the assembly, one that is so heinous, so
misguided, that it supersedes all other grievances.”

Madog’s expression had turned smug, which
made Gareth suddenly very nervous. Hywel stirred beside him and
leaned in close. “Do you know what’s coming?”

“Yes, and you do too.”

Hywel sighed and spoke even more softly,
“The sacking of the Wrexham monastery.”

Gareth had time only to nod before Derfel
proved Hywel’s words prescient: “We charge Gwynedd with taking
advantage of the anarchy in England to enrich itself at the expense
not only of Powys, but of the Church! We accuse Gwynedd of sending
men to raid and destroy St. Dunawd’s Monastery, southeast of
Wrexham, of which King Madog has been a benefactor for many
years!”

Taran, who’d been sitting on Gareth’s other
side, directly behind King Owain, leaned forward and stabbed a
finger in Madog’s direction, more agitated than Gareth had ever
seen him. “That’s absurd—”

Rhys made a chopping motion with his hand.
“This is not the time for refutation.”

Madog’s expression as he looked at Owain was
triumphant. “I have a witness.” He spun around in his chair.

Rhys put out a hand to him too. “This is not
the time for witnesses either—”

But two men had already entered the room, a
third man held between them. The man’s face was bruised in places
and his lip bloodied. He didn’t exactly struggle, but then again,
he didn’t seem entirely conscious, as his eyes were unfocused, and
his hands bound behind his back.

Rhys was on his feet now, looking daggers at
the newcomers, but Madog was standing too, and he wasn’t taking no
for an answer. He made an expansive gesture with one arm. “I
present Rhodri ap Tudur of Corwen. He will testify that he was
among the band of men who sacked the Wrexham monastery on King
Owain’s orders.”

The last words rang throughout the chapter
house, loud enough to overcome the uproar. Taran’s face was red up
to his hairline, but he seemed struck speechless. King Owain
remained in his chair, contemplating Madog and Rhodri. He’d known
about the sacking, having heard the story from both Hywel and Abbot
Rhys in turn. Thanks to Deiniol’s arrival, everybody at the
monastery knew about it.

Rhodri’s attention remained on his boots,
but Madog’s eyes were hot with passion, revenge, and glee. For once
Owain’s legendary temper was dampened, however, and he sat somewhat
canted in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and his elbow
on the arm of the chair. A single finger tapped his lower lip.

Hywel, too, had remained completely calm,
and both he and Gareth moved out of their seats at the same time:
Gareth to take Taran, who’d long since risen to his feet, by the
arm and pull him away from the table at which the two kings were
sitting, and Hywel to whisper in his father’s ear. King Owain
listened, nodded, and then rose to his feet. Straightening his
tunic with a jerk, he tipped his head to Rhys. “Gwynedd will
adjourn until after Sext.”

“Agreed.” Rhys bowed to Owain and then
turned with equal gravity to Madog.

Madog glared at the abbot. “Why adjourn? We
have discussed nothing yet!”

King Owain arms were folded across his chest
in a classic stance of disagreement and defiance. “There’s nothing
to discuss. I could have told you that from the beginning.”

Rhys put out both hands, one to each king,
in a soothing gesture. “Gwynedd has much to consider. They will
meet with you again after a meal.” He tipped his head at the two
men holding Rhodri. “Whether or not the council finds Gwynedd
guilty of what you suggest, we will keep Rhodri in a cell here
until such a time as he can be brought forward again to
testify.”

Madog continued to glare at Owain even as he
pointed at Rhodri. “That man is my prisoner!”

“He is a witness to a crime,” Abbot Rhys
said. “He will be safe enough in our charge.”

Madog grunted and waved a hand at his
guards, who let go of Rhodri. Rhodri’s chin stuck out, and he
seemed to be slightly less bleary than a moment ago, but he didn’t
fight the two monks who came to take his elbows and direct him from
the room. Madog watched them go, and then, eyes blazing, returned
his gaze to Owain. He was doing a fine job of implying that he was
truly angry for the sacking of the monastery. Perhaps he even
believed Owain guilty. But Gareth couldn’t forget the image of
Susanna speaking to Derwena, Rhodri’s mother, and the lone rider
with nine fingers. So far in this investigation there were far too
many people who knew more than they were telling.

Gwen

“H
ave you seen your
sister?” Gwen decided that speaking frankly to Saran was the best
way to go about finding the truth. Saran had been helpful years ago
in Carreg Cennan when Gwen’s father had been accused of murder. She
might find it odd that Gwen continued to involve herself in
investigations, since it was an unusual occupation for a woman, but
Saran was far from usual herself.

“No. Not since she left us last night.”
Saran put down her knife. She was standing at the healer’s work
table, chopping roots Gwen couldn’t identify from where she stood.
“Have you?”

The healer had gone to see to a newborn baby
and his mother, and Conall was lounging somewhere outside, as he
liked to do. The man was more self-contained than almost anyone
Gwen knew outside of Prince Hywel himself—and she knew him well
enough to know that much of his behavior was a mask to hide what he
was really feeling. She had to assume that Conall’s was too—except
she didn’t know him well enough to see beneath his mask.

Gwen looked down at her feet. She wanted to
tell Saran what Dai, Gareth, and Evan had seen last night. The
words were on the tip of her tongue, but they stuck there. It
wasn’t that she didn’t trust her friend, but things were far less
simple now than they’d been when she’d lived at Carreg Cennan and
been trying to save her father.

“You don’t have to tell me what is going on,
Gwen, but I might be able to help.”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Saran,
but—” Gwen raised her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s possible that
Derwena is involved in something unsavory, and if our suspicions
are correct, I don’t want you to feel that you have to choose
between me, because I took you into my confidence, and her.”

“What do you mean by unsavory?”

Gwen ground her teeth. She’d gone and said
more than she should have even though she’d just told Saran that
she wouldn’t. Saran had that effect on her, and she should have
known to be warier before coming here. “After you left with my
father, Derwena rode off with a man whom we think might be involved
in Erik’s—”

Gwen made a grab for the cup of water that
Tangwen held in her right hand. Saran had set the little girl up on
a stool at the table with a cup of water and a variety of tiny seed
dishes. Tangwen had lined them up in front of a small whisk broom,
which the healer used for sweeping up the residue of her
preparations, and a carafe around which Saran had tied a ribbon.
They, along with Tangwen’s stuffed cloth doll that she took
everywhere with her, were pretend guests whom Tangwen had invited
to a meal. She’d been talking to them in her sweet two-year-old
lisp while Saran and Gwen had been discussing the
investigation.

Saran studied Gwen with somber eyes.
“Involved how?”

Gwen sighed and carefully poured half the
water in Tangwen’s cup into a more stable container. “There are
indications that the man in question might have actually killed
him.” She put out a hand to her friend. “I can’t say more. Gareth
won’t be pleased that I said this much.”

“He sent you to me, didn’t he? Maybe that
was because he thought I could help.”

Gwen licked her lips. “Can you tell me what
your sister has been doing these last few years? Has she lived all
her life in Corwen?”

“No.” Saran let out a burst of laughter.
“No, of course not. She went there because of Rhodri, who was to
have married a local girl. I don’t know what happened there, but
even after the wedding was called off they stayed. Before that, she
lived in Llangollen. That was where her man was from.”

“But he died,” Gwen said.

Saran nodded. “When Rhodri was still a
babe.”

“Was she ever at the castle?” Gwen held her
breath.

“She worked as a maid for a time after her
husband died. Why?”

“That I can’t tell you, not without
permission.”

Saran went back to her chopping, and the set
of her shoulders told Gwen that she was irritated. “Then I can’t
help you further.”

“I’m sorry.” Gwen put a hand on Tangwen’s
back. “It’s time to go,
cariad.”

Saran pointed at Tangwen with her chin. “No
need for that! We’re just getting to know each other, aren’t
we?”

Gwen looked doubtfully at Tangwen, who was
looking at Saran rather than at Gwen.

“Would you like to stay with me a while? As
soon as you’re ready, I’ll take you right back to your mother.”
Saran kept her tone light. Gwen was almost afraid to speak, but she
raised her eyebrows at Saran, who nodded.