The Unlikely Spy (22 page)

“Not as much as I’d like,” Gareth said, but
he related what had been discovered since he’d spoken to Hywel that
morning.

Rhun looked at his brother. “I don’t see
either of these women as a murderer, do you?”

“Sioned was strong enough to stab a man,”
Hywel said. “Neither woman is as tall as she, but passion could
have given them strength.”

“It’s the hour of Gryff’s death that makes a
scenario with the women more difficult,” Gareth said. “Neither
should have been out so late at night. Still, it’s easier to place
Madlen at the scene than Carys.”

“From the sound of it, Alun is a more likely
killer than Carys, just as Iolo would have been more physically
capable of murder than Madlen,” Hywel said.

“Though attributing a motive to either is
far less easy,” Gareth said. “If Iolo was unhappy with Gryff, he
could have simply dismissed him.”

“Not without harming his niece,” Rhun said.
“She and Gryff were married.”

“The same could be said for Alun and Carys,”
Gareth said. “Perhaps Alun discovered that Gryff was betraying
Carys. The man has a temper. I can see him meeting Gryff in the
dark of night and killing him.”

Gareth looked at Hywel, who raised his
eyebrows at him. “I like it. We need to establish Alun’s
whereabouts at the time of Gryff’s death.”

“Haven’t Alun and Carys returned to
Goginan?” Rhun said.

“I asked them to stay another day,” Gareth
said. “Alun’s wife’s uncle lives in Aberystwyth. They said they
would stay with him.”

“Good,” Hywel said. “Are you off to
Aberystwyth now?”

“Yes,” Gareth said. “Gryff, Iolo, and Madlen
lodged at the inn. I would speak to its keeper. I’ve sent most of
the men back to their other duties but the three of us—” Gareth
gestured to Evan and Rhodri, “—will run this question to
ground.”

Rhun stepped closer. “Any sign of … other
trouble?”

The prince was referring to Cadwaladr’s
threat against Gareth. “Nothing,” Gareth said.

“I have sensed nothing amiss either,” Evan
said.

“Nor have I,” Hywel said. “I’ve kept an eye
out for Erik in particular, but either he is wearing a disguise, he
is staying well out of my sight, or he has not put in an
appearance.”

“I could make a sketch of him too,” Gareth
said. “Pass it among the men?”

Hywel sucked on his lower lip. “No. I would
hate for Cadwaladr to get wind that we know he is up to no good or
have one of your sketches fall into his hand. We’ll keep this
between the five of us for now.”

Gareth bowed to both princes and took his
leave, fording the Ystwyth River with Rhodri and Evan and then
heading northwest along the road. They bypassed Llanbadarn Fawr,
which lay directly to the east of Aberystwyth, in favor of
following a road that led from the castle to the sea and the
village of Aberystwyth.

The village was composed mostly of fisher
folk but had grown in recent years to include small craftsmen. It
was a hub for the whole region, since Ceredigion had a smaller
population and fewer villages as a whole compared to Gwynedd. The
region around Aberystwyth was suitable for farming, so small crofts
and homesteads dotted the landscape to the east of the road. To the
southwest lay the escarpment upon which the castle had been built,
adjacent to a second plateau upon which could be found the stones
of an ancient fortress, which legend said dated back to a time
before the Romans conquered Wales.

Once in Aberystwyth, Gareth led Evan and
Rhodri to the village inn, which was also its tavern. After three
years serving Prince Hywel on and off in Ceredigion, Gareth knew
the proprietor well. The tavern was crowded—mostly with strangers
here for the festival—but also with villagers who didn’t want to
miss the excitement. The tavern was so packed with people that
patrons had spilled out into the street.

“We need to keep an eye on this crowd in
case someone gets out of hand and becomes more than Pawl can
handle,” Rhodri said.

“I haven’t yet met a man Pawl can’t subdue,
but he doesn’t often have to take on more than one.” Gareth eyed
the cluster of people with a growing sense of alarm. There were
still several hours until dusk. It was early for this kind of
rowdiness.

“Pawl could be serving a particularly potent
beer today,” Evan said. “He might do well to water it down some
more.”

“We should speak with him,” Gareth said.

“Most of these folk should depart for the
festival grounds soon,” Evan said. “The evening program starts
shortly.”

Music was sacred in Wales. It would be a
lost soul indeed who would miss the opportunity to hear Prince
Hywel sing. Unfortunately, keeping everyone else safe meant that
Gareth and many of his men might have to miss it. To have so many
of the villagers absent from their homes made the village ripe for
thievery.

“I hope you’re right,” Gareth said, “though
I’m not sure how many still will be able to stand.”

Gareth, Evan, and Rhodri shouldered their
way through the crowd. The instant he put a foot through the tavern
door, the atmosphere of raucous revelry muted. Gareth didn’t have
to actually hear the whispers that passed from man to man to know
that they were warning each other that Prince Hywel’s men were now
among them.

“I don’t know any of these people. How do
they know who we are?” Rhodri said.

“It’s the way we carry ourselves, what we
wear, and that sword at your waist,” Gareth said. “This happens to
me all the time.”

Rhodri gave a grunt of surprise. When he was
with his fellow soldiers, he could let his guard down in a place
like this. Since becoming captain of Hywel’s guard, Gareth was
never treated like one of the men anymore. And he supposed he
didn’t often want to be.

With Rhodri and Evan in tow, Gareth
approached the bar, edging between two customers, who melted away.
Gareth didn’t necessarily believe that half the inhabitants of the
tavern were criminals, but whenever he arrived at a place like
this, his effect was to cause people to examine their consciences,
and many didn’t like what they found. Or thought he wouldn’t like
what they found. Lies, infidelity, and disputes between neighbors
were part of a normal existence, whether in a castle or a village.
For the most part, those crimes were of no concern to Gareth until
they rose to a level that threatened the social order.

Theft and murder were another matter
entirely, and there would be thefts before the festival had
finished. He dearly hoped there wouldn’t be any more murders.

“I’m looking for Pawl,” Gareth said to the
barkeep.

The man jerked his head. “In the back, my
lord.”

Gareth gestured to Evan and Rhodri that they
should follow him and went to the far doorway as directed. He knew
from past visits that it led to storage areas, the stairs to the
guest rooms on the floor above them, and out the back to the
kitchen.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a
hundred times—” Pawl came out of a passage to the left, full of
ire, but he pulled up at the sight of Gareth. “Oh.” He bowed. “I
apologize, my lord. I thought you were someone else.”

“It is no matter,” Gareth said. “Is there
something I can help you with?”

“No, no,” Pawl said. “It’s nothing that
should concern you. Simply patrons tromping where they don’t
belong.”

Gareth thought the ‘you’ to whom Pawl had
been referring in ‘I’ve told you a hundred times’ was more specific
than that, but since Gareth didn’t at the moment think it had
anything to do with his investigation, he let it go. Regardless of
what the customers in the tavern believed Gareth thought, people
were entitled to their secrets. Most of the time.

“What did you want to see me about? Is the
crowd getting out of hand?” Pawl’s hands went to the cloth at his
waist, working at it to dry his hands.

“Patrons have spilled into the street,”
Rhodri said from beside Gareth. “Do you need assistance from the
castle?”

“Not so far.” Pawl looked from Rhodri to
Gareth, and then over their shoulders to Evan, who stood behind
them. “Is that all?”

“No,” Gareth said. “I need to talk to you
about Iolo, the cloth merchant. I understand he rents rooms from
you when he comes through Aberystwyth.”

“That’s right,” Pawl said. “His are out
back. I heard about Gryff. That’s too bad.”

When Pawl didn’t add the usual platitude
about how Gryff was a good man or what a loss his death was, Gareth
raised his eyebrows and said, “What have you heard about his
death?”

“That he died in the millpond, though—” for
a moment Pawl looked sideways at Gareth, “—maybe somebody put him
there if you’re coming around asking questions about it?”

Gareth tsked his disgust. As an inn keeper,
Pawl knew too much about people and their dishonorable motives to
be fooled for long. “Maybe.”

“I can’t understand why anyone would do
that,” Pawl said.

That was more like the response Gareth might
have expected. “Did you like him?”

Pawl shrugged. “He was a pleasant enough
fellow. He never gave any trouble, even when he was in his cups.”
Then he grinned. “Though, let me tell you, that man could drink
half my tavern and never show it. I’ve never seen anything like
it.”

That was what Alun had said. Iolo had
declared the exact opposite. Gareth filed that piece of information
away for future examination. “Did Gryff get along with Iolo all
right?”

“Well enough.”

“Meaning?”

Pawl shrugged. “They didn’t argue openly,
but they weren’t close. Iolo knew he’d hired someone who didn’t
like to work, but he didn’t do anything about it either.”

“What about Madlen?” Gareth said.

“What about her?”

“Did they get along?”

“Ach. They hardly spoke most days,” Pawl
said. “They had little use for one another as far I could
tell.”

Gareth went very still. “How’s that?”

Pawl blinked. “How’s what?”

Gareth looked carefully at Pawl. “They were
a couple. Married.”

Pawl’s brows drew together. “No, they
weren’t. That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“He had a wife. Carys was her name. Who told
you he was married to Madlen?”

Gareth didn’t answer. Madlen had lied about
being married to Gryff, and Gareth’s brain had been working so
slowly that he’d missed it. The brazenness of the lie left him both
awed and angry.

“Gryff slept with the cart, had no
possessions to speak of, just a rucksack. He never ate inside,”
Pawl said when Gareth didn’t answer his question. “Iolo and Madlen
treated him little better than a slave.”

“Do you have Gryff’s rucksack?” Evan said,
speaking into the silence that Gareth, still trying to orient his
thoughts, didn’t fill.

Pawl’s brow furrowed. “It’s odd you should
ask that. Gryff left it with me on the afternoon he died. I put it
in the back.” Pawl turned on his heel, and the three others
followed him.

“Was it unusual for him to leave his pack
with you?” Gareth said.

“He never had before.” Pawl took a candle
from a ledge and lit it. They’d arrived at a narrow doorway with a
curtain drawn across it. “In here—”

But as Pawl drew aside the curtain, he
stopped dead, his mouth agape.

“What’s wrong?” Gareth looked over the inn
keeper’s shoulder.

He was looking into a narrow storage room,
with shelves built along both sides. There was barely enough room
between the two walls for a man to turn around. Nothing looked
amiss to Gareth, but Pawl was clearly flustered.

“This room has been searched,” Pawl
said.

“How can you tell?” Gareth said.

“I can tell.” Pawl gestured to a blank spot
on the bottom of one shelf. “And the pack is gone.”

“Are you sure?” Rhodri said from behind
them, but Gareth made a swift downward motion with his hand to
silence him.

Gareth had no difficulty taking Pawl at his
word. The man ran an inn and tavern and rarely needed assistance in
keeping his house in order. He obviously liked things well-ordered.
“When did you last look in here?” Gareth said.

Pawl took in a breath through his nose,
pressing his lips together as he thought. “It was sometime last
night. I didn’t have a reason to enter here today before now. The
night before, I always lay out everything I think I’ll need in the
room adjacent to the common room.”

“So anyone could have taken it?” Rhodri
said.

“Anyone who wouldn’t have looked out of
place back here,” Pawl said.

“That means who, exactly?” Gareth said.
“Paying guests and your employees? How many is that in all?”

“I employ five: two in the kitchen, one
maid, and two in the bar, though the maid helps out in the common
room when she’s done with her work back here.”

“And how many guests do you have this week?”
Gareth said.

“We’re full up. Counting Iolo’s party of
three—” Pawl made a rueful face, “—two now, I have four rooms
upstairs, all full. So, twenty-two guests.”

Gareth nodded. That
was
as he
expected. “Have either Madlen or Iolo asked about Gryff’s
things?”

A wary look came into Pawl’s eyes. “Funny
you should ask me that. Iolo wondered openly about the location of
Gryff’s rucksack last night.”

“What did you tell him?” Gareth said.

“I told him I had it and was keeping it safe
for his wife,” Pawl said.

“His wife, Carys?” Gareth said.

“Yes,” Pawl said. “I was glad to finally
have met her when Gryff brought her by the other day.”

Gareth almost laughed. Yet another lie
revealed, though this one told by Carys, not Madlen.

“What day was that?” Evan said.

“Come to think on it, it was the day Gryff
died,” Pawl said.

“Do you remember the hour?” Gareth said,
trying to keep the urgency from his voice and undoubtedly failing
because Pawl swallowed hard before answering.