The Unlikely Spy (32 page)

“I understand completely,” Hywel said.
Cadell, at least, had come up with something marginally credible.
Ralff bowed again, turned on his heel, and departed.

The first man, Sir Aedden, gave Hywel
something of a sickly smile. “If that is all, my lord?”

Aedden made to turn away, but Hywel put out
a hand. “Wait. I believe I have some information that might
interest your lord.”

“Oh?” Aedden turned back.

“We have arrested one of my uncle’s men, a
half-Dane named Erik, on suspicion of murder. Perhaps you would
like to speak to him before you go?” Hywel said.

Aedden frowned. “I know of no such man.
Certainly none by that name or description has ever served Prince
Cadwaladr.”

Evan looked as if he was about to speak, but
at a look from Hywel, he kept silent.

“Perhaps I misunderstood his allegiance,”
Hywel said.

“Indeed,” Aedden said. “My apologies for any
inconvenience my lord’s departure has caused you.” It was all very
polite, and after another bow, Aedden departed too.

Watching him go, Evan said, “If I may be so
bold as to speak, my lord, it seems that your uncle has sold Erik
out.”

“Whatever my uncle planned with King Cadell,
it was worth it to him to cut all ties with a man who’s been
valuable to him in the past,” Hywel said. “Maybe Erik will talk
now.”

“I fear what might have prompted your uncle
to behave in such a manner, my lord,” Evan said. “I see it as an
indication of his belief that his past cannot hurt him.”

“And that means we need to be very careful
about our future.”

Dismissing Erik’s guards, Hywel stood at the
top of the steps to Erik’s cell, gazing down at the spy, who’d been
lying on his back, spread-eagled on the floor. Evan remained
nearby, available at a moment’s notice should Hywel have need of
him. At Hywel’s approach, Erik sat up, leaning on this elbows.
“What do you want?”

Hywel trotted down the steps to the door. “I
have some bad news for you.”

Erik sneered. “Whatever you have to say,
I’ve heard worse.”

“Cadwaladr has abandoned you,” Hywel said.
“He claims no knowledge of who you are or that you’ve served as his
spy for three years.”

Whatever Erik had been expecting Hywel to
say, that wasn’t it. For a moment, his expression reflected his
surprise, but then he smoothed it. “You can’t hold me. You have no
evidence against me for Gryff’s murder or Iolo’s.”

“Maybe so,” Hywel said. “Perhaps you’d care
to provide some?”

Erik scoffed. “I can’t do that because I
didn’t kill either one.”

“Murder carries a monetary penalty, payable
to the victim’s family and sometimes to the victim’s lord,” Hywel
said. “Treason, however, is a different matter entirely. Treason
carries the penalty of death.”

That seemed to get through to Erik, at least
a little. He licked his lips. “I can’t help you.”

“Really?” Hywel said. “I have a mind to send
word on the next tide to Prince Godfrid in Dublin that we have
captured you. I’m sure he might have something to say about your
service to him and your departure from it.”

Erik pushed to his feet and came forward,
ducking his head at the low ceiling. He put his hands on the bars
that blocked the window in the door. “No.”

Hywel raised his eyebrows. “Then it’s time
you started talking. I’d like to hear in particular about the work
you did for my uncle.”

Erik’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t kill
Gryff.”

“I’m not asking you about Gryff,” Hywel
said. “I don’t care about Gryff anymore. I want to hear about
Cadwaladr.”

Erik continued to look puzzled. “To what
purpose? You already know he plots against you.”

Hywel had to struggle to keep his expression
mild. “The details are important.”

“Cadwaladr wants Ceredigion back. I have no
idea why.” Erik snickered. “This is a petty lordship with petty
people and nothing of importance ever happens here. I could never
understand Cadwaladr’s interest in it.”

Erik’s mockery would have been amusing if
Hywel didn’t care so very much about this lordship and the people
in it.

“My uncle hates me,” Hywel said.

Erik actually grinned. “You have that right.
If you want the truth, my lord, I was charged with discovering what
you were doing and how you were doing it: how many men did you
have? What was the disposition of your forces? I told him over and
over again that the only way he was going to take Aberystwyth back
was if he brought an army of at least five hundred men, camped
around the castle to starve you out, or burned it to the ground
like you did to him when he ruled here. But if he did any of that,
he would lose your father’s favor forever.”

“He would lose his lands in Merionydd too,
and then my father would send me or Rhun down here again and take
the castle back,” Hywel said.

“Exactly. It was a foolish dream.” Erik’s
eyes narrowed at Hywel. “If I tell you more, if I tell you what you
really want to know, what do I get?”

“That depends on what you think I want to
know.”

“You want to know what he’s planning now,”
Erik said.

“Given that he abandoned you, I don’t see
how you could know that,” Hywel said.

“He has his spies, I have mine.”

Hywel rubbed his jaw. “You’d work for me
now?”

“I would.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Hywel
said.

“You don’t,” Erik said, “but I can be
bought, as you well know, and I have no loyalty to Cadwaladr. He
paid well, but now he doesn’t.”

“Why me? Surely you’d be welcomed by King
Cadell?”

“Surely I wouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow me
within a hundred yards of his camp now.”

“Why?” Hywel said.

“If you’re wondering who did Iolo in,” Erik
said, “I would look no further than our beloved King of
Deheubarth.”

“You’re going to have to be more
specific.”

Erik’s hands were still on the bars, his
back bent to look through the window, but now he looked down at the
ground. “Iolo invited me to share a drink with him, given to him by
Cadell, as an indication of his continued respect. He gave the
poisoned wine to Iolo yesterday evening. I promised to join Iolo
after the singing ended, and in fact, that was where Madlen and I
were going when Sir Gareth arrived to question him. After that,
what with the guards you placed around Iolo, I couldn’t get to him
easily.”

“Why would Cadell poison Iolo?” Hywel said,
hoping for confirmation of what he’d already guessed.

“He was, as you say, snipping off loose
ends.” Erik rolled his eyes. “Prince Cadwaladr might not care who
knew that Cadell and he worked together to murder Anarawd, but
Cadell surely does. He has two brothers who would turn against him
if they knew.”

“And Cadwaladr wouldn’t want it known that
he was working with Cadell now,” Hywel said. “Their mutual silence
protected them both.”

“But if one stone came loose, the whole
castle would come crashing down,” Erik said. “When Iolo told Cadell
that he murdered Gryff and asked for protection, he exposed
everyone involved. He was a fool.”

Erik seemed to think that many men were
fools—including Hywel himself. But Erik was talking now, and his
words had enough ring of truth in them for Hywel to remain
interested. “You’re saying that Iolo told Cadell that he killed
Gryff?”

“And Cadell decided that Iolo was a
liability he could no longer afford,” Erik said.

“Just like Cadwaladr did with you,” Hywel
said.

Erik grimaced. “Never mistake Cadell’s
intentions for your uncle’s. Cadell is dangerous because he is
smart and careful. Cadwaladr is dangerous because he bounces from
plan to plan, leaving havoc in his wake. Just ask Iolo.”

“So what changed? What made you go to Iolo
this morning?” Hywel said. “Subduing his guards was a rash
act.”

“Your uncle fled Ceredigion in the night,
didn’t he?” Erik said. “I learned of it from one of my merchant
friends. At first I didn’t believe it, but he swore it was true. I
suddenly feared that everything I knew to be true might not be.
Iolo had a good mind. He would have come up with some answers to
get us out of this.”

“You feared Cadwaladr had sold you out,”
Hywel said.

“Turns out I was right, wasn’t I?” Erik
said.

“All right. Tell me about Gryff.”

“I thought you didn’t care about him.”

“Pretend I do,” Hywel said. “Did Iolo
include him in what you were up to?”

Erik looked affronted. “Of course not. The
man was half-idiot. Iolo used him to carry messages sometimes. That
is all.”

Madlen had said as much. Iolo’s mistake was
in misreading Gryff’s nature and intent. It was perhaps the most
overlooked feature of this investigation, but it seemed everything
else hinged on it.

“Then why is he dead?”

Erik sighed. “I wasn’t there, but Iolo told
me later that Gryff followed him to the millpond where he met me.
He threatened to expose Iolo as a go-between for Cadell and
Cadwaladr.”

“Who was Gryff going to tell?”

“You, of course,” Erik said. “Cadwaladr and
Cadell colluded to murder Cadell’s brother three years ago, and
they’ve worked together since then, most recently looking for a way
to take you down.”

Hywel assumed Erik was fully aware of the
potential danger of saying those words out loud. The man had
courage, he’d give him that. And the more Erik talked, the more
Hywel believed what he was saying. “What about Cadwaladr’s plans
for Gareth?”

“Oh, well, that would be telling.” Then Erik
pursed his lips. “All right. I’ll give you that too, as proof of my
good intentions. Cadwaladr intends to see Gareth dead at the first
opportunity.”

Though this news was hardly a surprise, an
urgency rose in Hywel’s chest that he instantly suppressed so Erik
wouldn’t realize how important his answers were. “How does he hope
to do it?”

“In battle would be best, though in the
dark, stabbed in the back, would be fine with him.” Over the course
of the conversation, Erik had turned affable, which Hywel found
distasteful given the subject matter. He understood it, however.
They had moved beyond Erik’s own crimes to theoretical ones. “But
as long as it can’t be traced back to him, he doesn’t care how it’s
done or who does it.”

“Did he offer the job to you?” Hywel
said.

“I turned him down,” Erik said.

“Why?”

“I’m not an assassin.”

“You’ve killed men.”

“I have, but not in cold blood. Not like
that.” Erik’s eyes traced the limits of his cell. “Come to think on
it, my refusal is probably why I’m here.”

Hywel thought that likely too. “Now that
you’ve told me, if something happens to Sir Gareth, we’ll know
who’s behind it.”

“You would have known already.” Erik
grinned. “And again, knowing that something is true and being able
to prove it are two different things.”

Hywel pushed away from the door and started
up the stairs. He had duties to attend to that couldn’t wait, and
he was tired of Erik’s lack of honor.

“Wait!” Erik grasped the bars, realizing
he’d gone too far. “We had a deal. You have to let me out.”

“Do I?” Hywel studied the large Dane. “If I
let you go, you must tell me everything my uncle is planning,
everything you know or suspect is in his mind.”

“I will, my lord.”

Hywel didn’t move.

Erik tsked through his teeth. “I didn’t kill
Gryff, I swear it. And I didn’t hurt Iolo.”

Slowly, Hywel nodded. Then he took the key
from its hook on the wall and slotted it into the lock.

Gareth

T
he hall wasn’t as
crowded as it had been earlier that morning when they’d brought
Erik in. The morning was passing and the guests had dispersed. It
was another beautiful day, the last of the festival, and with music
all around them, nobody wanted to spend the day indoors. Gareth
wasn’t a musician, but he was Welsh. He was as proud as anyone of
what Hywel had accomplished this week.

Gareth found Gwen near the entrance to the
great hall, talking to a gray-haired couple and their son. The son
looked as if he’d achieved manhood but was still short of twenty.
At Gareth’s approach, Gwen turned to him with a smile and gestured
to her guests. “They heard about Gryff’s death and have come to
help us find his killer.”

Gareth’s expression cleared. Any information
would be helpful, given where they were in the investigation. He
would have shaken the man’s forearm, but instead the woman
surprised him by throwing her arms around him. “Thank you! Thank
you!”

He looked over the top of her head at Gwen.
She grinned at him, and Gareth patted the woman on the back, trying
to get her to let go. Finally, her husband managed to pry her off
Gareth’s chest.

“I’m sorry, madam,” Gareth said. “What do
you have to thank me for?”

“We never got a chance before, you see,” the
woman said.

Gareth had no idea what she was talking
about. He glanced at Gwen, whose eyes were bright, no longer with
amusement but with unshed tears.

The man gestured to his son. “Show him.”

The boy held out his left arm. Gareth stared
at it. The boy had no left hand. Then he looked into his face.
“Don’t tell me you’re the boy—”

“It was my fault.” The mother dabbed at her
eyes with a cloth, weeping now. “He never should have thought he
needed to steal that pig, but his father had gone to work in the
mine, and I was sick. We had nobody to care for us.”

“But—” Gareth didn’t know what to say.

“We heard what happened to you afterwards,”
the father said. “You lost everything because you refused to cut
off my boy’s hand.”

Gareth closed his eyes, trying to control
his own emotions, and then opened them. “You shouldn’t be thanking
me. Cadwaladr took his hand anyway. I couldn’t protect him from
it.”