The Uninvited Guest (23 page)

“
It can’t be helped,”
Gareth said. “Thank you, though, for your assistance.”

“
I hope you catch the
bastard,” Daff said. “I wouldn’t have taken him in my boat if I’d
known what he’d done. We don’t get much news except from travelers,
and it’s not like he would have told us what he was up to,
eh?”

“
Definitely not,” Gareth
said, liking Daff more and more. “I gather from your attitude that
King Owain is popular here?”

“
More so than his father
was,” Daff said, “though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t report
that back to Aber.”

“
Of course I won’t,” Gareth
said. “Over the years, I’ve learned to keep much of what I learn to
myself. Unless it’s pertinent to my investigations, whatever you
say is between you and me.”

“
And me!” Padrig said, from
the front of the boat.

“
And you,” Gareth
said.

“
Old King Gruffydd spent
most of his life fighting, you know,” Daff said. “In his later
years, he passed more responsibility to his sons—Cadwallon and
Owain they were then, before Cadwallon died and Gruffydd brought
Cadwaladr back from Ireland—and it was for the better. Sometimes
when a man lives to fight, he forgets how to live.”

“
I will remember that.”
Gareth smiled. Gwen would see that he did. The thought warmed him,
even as he pulled up his hood to counter the promised
wind.

The ferry docked on the other side of the
Conwy River and Gareth led Dewi onto the shore. He turned back to
look at the ferryman and his son.

“
Good luck,” Padrig
said.

“
Thank you.” Gareth mounted
Dewi and headed east. So far, the assassin had stuck to the less
traveled road, and Gareth thought it unlikely he would have
returned to the main one after crossing the Conwy. Still, when he
reached a crossroads, he deliberated. He could ride south and pick
up the main road as it headed east from Caerhun or continue down
the beach road until he could turn south at the Clwyd River. If the
youth was going all the way to Chester, he could have turned onto
the high road beyond Rhuddlan Castle at St Asaph.

The beach was less populated along this
stretch than between Aber and Conwy. Gareth met only three people
and none could tell him of the man he was tracking. Ten miles of
nothing later, he knew he’d made a mistake in taking this path. But
he couldn’t do anything about it now.

Finally, he reached the Clywd River and
turned south. The sun hadn’t quite set, but darkness had crept upon
the landscape. The bushes and trees that lined the road were
stunted from the sea air and poor, sandy soil. The shadows made
them look like an army of wizened men, leaning upon canes. Gareth
couldn’t reach shelter soon enough. He decided to ask for
hospitality at Rhuddlan Castle, Lord Tomos’ charge. Lord Tomos
wouldn’t be there, of course, but his steward could surely find
Gareth a place to rest his head. Given that Gareth hadn’t found a
single trace of the assassin along this road, it didn’t make sense
to continue in the dark.

When he reached the turn-off that would take
him across the river to the castle, however, he met a man riding
towards him, coming from St. Asaph. As he’d spoken to no one in two
hours, Gareth’s spirits rose. “Sir! A moment of your time?”

The man reined in, his eyes shifting from
the hilt of Gareth’s sword and his polished armor to his torn cloak
and plodding horse. Coupled with his blood-matted hair, it occurred
to Gareth that he had the look of a man who had once been well off,
but was now very far down on his luck.

“
Certainly, my lord,” the
man said. “What is it?”

“
I am Sir Gareth, of Aber
Castle.” Gareth urged Dewi closer. “Do you live nearby?”

“
I am Caradoc,” the man
said, “of Rhuddlan Castle.”

“
Excellent,” Gareth said.
“Do you recognize this man?” He held out the paper which he’d
folded to show just the face of the would-be-assassin.

Caradoc peered at the paper and then glanced
into Gareth’s face. “Why do you seek him?”

Caradoc was the first to
give him that particular response. Most people either said,
yes
if they had, or
no
if they hadn’t. But
Gareth answered Caradoc civilly enough. “He tried to kill King
Owain.”

“
Tried
?”

Gareth shrugged. “King Owain was too well
protected for him to succeed.”

Caradoc had been leaning forward in the
saddle and now straightened. “This is terrible. And he
escaped?”

“
Yes,” Gareth
said.

“
How?”

“
We’re not sure of that
either.” Gareth didn’t want to give any more than that away to a
man he didn’t know.

“
Then I will tell
you.
Yes
, this must
be the man I saw. I rode from Rhuddlan this morning and had just
turned onto this road, heading south, when he overtook me, going
the same direction as I. He passed me by, heading up the road to
St. Asaph.”

“
This morning, you say?”
Gareth said. “Did you notice anything peculiar about
him?”

“
Like what?”

Gareth shrugged. “Anything that might draw
your attention.”

“
Nothing,” Caradoc said,
“but we didn’t speak.”

Now, Gareth was faced with a dilemma. He
gazed south, eyeing the road ahead of him and wondering how far the
man had gotten this day. He nodded at Caradoc. “Thank you for your
assistance.”

Caradoc gestured towards the castle behind
Gareth. It perched on its hill, overlooking the marshes to the
north and east. “Surely you’d like a bed for the night? I oversee
the castle when Lord Tomos is away.”

“
No, thank you,” Gareth
said, deciding instantly that he would push on. “I can’t rest
yet.”

Caradoc bowed his head in acceptance of
Gareth’s decision and continued up the road to his castle. Gareth
thanked the saints that he’d met Caradoc when he had or he might
have turned in at Rhuddlan. He still could have spoken to Caradoc,
but he would have missed his chance to gain any ground on the
assassin. Given that Gareth had come all the way from Aber in one
day, the boy must have made a shorter day of yesterday. As Gareth
had hoped, he’d thought himself safe and chosen to rest, rather
than put more distance between himself and his possible
pursuers.

It also meant that Gareth wouldn’t waste any
more time on the smaller tracks that branched off the main road.
Rhuddlan had been built at the first ford of the Clwyd River south
of the sea. The assassin could have crossed the river here and
headed east into the marshes. Gareth knew now that he hadn’t done
that. He could take the road to St. Asaph and then head east from
there—all the way to Chester if need be. And he might have to do
exactly that. Caradoc had seen the youth that morning. The boy was
still miles ahead of Gareth.

Gareth rode the two miles to St. Asaph in
increasing darkness, hunched against the brisk wind blowing from
the west, its one benefit that it kept him awake. His hour-long
doze in the straw back at the hay barn had not been enough for him.
He crossed the Elwy River and turned towards the monastery of St.
Kentigern which guarded the east-west road through this section of
Gwynedd. As the tower of the cathedral loomed above him, Gareth
gave himself permission to rest for a while, if only for his
horse’s sake.

Gareth pulled on a rope and a bell sounded
inside the walls of the monastery. The doorman spied Gareth through
the peephole. All Gareth could see of the doorman was an eye and
half a nose, but he stood back from the door so the man could see
all of him. “I come at the behest of King Owain Gwynedd,” Gareth
said.

“
One moment, my lord.”
Scrapes and mutterings came from the other side of the door, and
then it opened. “It’s cold out there. It may snow before
morning.”

As he’d waited for the doorman to open the
door, Gareth had started to shiver, so he could only agree. He gave
the man a stiff nod of his head. “Thank you.”

Two monks greeted him a few paces into the
courtyard between the gate and the main building. At the sight of
him, one ran off and came back a moment later with one of the
Abbey’s officers. “King’s business, did you say?” the man said.
“We’ve a fire in the warming room. Please come inside and be
welcome. I am Prior Rhys.”

“
I just need to see to my
horse,” Gareth said.

“
One of our lay brothers
will take care of him.” Rhys patted Dewi’s nose. If the horse were
Braith, Gareth probably would have seen to her himself, but his
hands had grown so stiff, even in their leather gloves, he feared
he wouldn’t be able to hold the brush.

“
You know horses?” Gareth
said.

“
I haven’t spent my life
behind these walls,” the prior said.

Gareth bowed his head in acknowledgement of
possible shared experience, though he didn’t pry. When Rhys walked
beside Gareth towards the warming room, he had the rolling gate
that matched Gareth’s own, indicating a man who’d spent much of his
life on the back of a horse. With his broad shoulders, he could
have been a Crusader. He wouldn’t be the first man who chose a
monastery as his final berth after a life of travel and war.

Once inside, a wave of warmth hit Gareth and
his shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours. One of the
brothers took his cloak and hung it on a hook by the fire. Gareth
ran a hand through his hair. He’d kept it cropped short in
Ceredigion, but with the coming of winter, he might let it grow
longer again.

“
If you’ll pardon us, we’ve
just come from vespers,” Rhys said. “The evening meal will be
served shortly. You are welcome to warm yourself here until
then.”

“
Thank you again.” Gareth
stretched his boots towards the fire, letting the warmth seep into
him. “I would be grateful for a meal, but I would also like to
speak to you, if I may.”

The prior had turned to leave, but then
hesitated. “I would not inquire into the king’s business, but I am
happy to assist you if I can.”

Gareth held out the paper with the image of
the assassin. “Have you seen this man?”

Prior Rhys needed only to glance at it. “But
of course. His name is Pedr ap Marc.”

Gareth straightened in his seat. “You sound
as if you know him well.”

“
Well enough.” The prior
canted his head to the side as he looked at Gareth. “He came here
first as a boy, with his parents.”

“
And you’ve seen him often
since then?”

“
Not often, but enough to
recognize him and welcome him when he does visit. He stayed here
last night.”

Gareth’s brow furrowed. “Last night? Are you
sure?”

The prior gave a cough. “I know who sleeps
in my guest hall.”

“
I apologize,” Gareth said.
“It’s just that Caradoc of Rhuddlan Castle told me that
he’d
encountered Pedr this
morning on the road to St. Asaph.”

A wariness entered the prior’s eyes. “Why
would he say that? Caradoc spent the night here as well. He ate his
evening meal with Pedr. They left the monastery at the same time,
though Caradoc was journeying elsewhere to check on Rhuddlan’s
estates and the boy was heading to Chester. Perhaps Caradoc didn’t
get a good look at the image and was thinking of someone else.”

“
That must be it. Darkness
was nearly upon us when I encountered Caradoc.” Gareth nodded for
Rhys’ benefit and put the paper away. “I appreciate your
time.”

The prior turned away, but then Gareth had
another thought. “Did Pedr say why he was going to Chester?”

The prior stopped in the far doorway. “Not
in so many words, but he implied that he had business in the
city.”

“
Any idea of what kind?”
Gareth said.

The prior shook his head. He made to leave
again, but then hesitated. “May I ask why you search for this
youth?”

Gareth studied the man. His demeanor
inspired Gareth’s trust, even when Gareth knew he shouldn’t trust
anyone. Still … “Pedr attempted to assassinate King Owain
Gwynedd.”

The prior took a step back. “No! That’s not
possible!”

“
Isn’t it?” Gareth said. “I
assure you, I witnessed it myself.”

“
But why?” The prior
appeared shocked, yet a hint of resignation resounded in his
voice.

“
Don’t you know why?”
Gareth said. “Surely he has spoken of his discontent at one time or
another.”

“
Yes. Yes, he did.” The
prior’s face had gone white when Gareth had broken the news of the
boy’s misdeed. As Rhys spoke now, however, his color returned and
his shoulders straightened. He set his feet in the manner of a man
who’d heard it all—seen it all—and could no longer be surprised. “I
had thought—hoped rather—that Pedr had put aside his animosity.
Last we spoke, before yesterday I mean, some weeks ago now, he
seemed more at peace than I’d seen him in many years.”

“
Perhaps he’d made his
decision to act,” Gareth said. “A certain kind of peace can be
achieved that way.”

“
True.” The prior’s
expression cleared as he looked at Gareth. “You’ve seen fighting
yourself, I assume.”

“
Yes.”

The prior nodded. “By what means was the
king’s life spared? Pedr has always been a bright child, if
reckless. He must have had a plan that could have worked.”