The Fallen Princess (22 page)

Despite his denials, Gwen hoped he hadn’t
come to Wales expecting King Owain to give him an army to lead
against Ottar. The king had his hands full as it was with the wars
to the east and south, among the Normans, the lords of the March,
and lesser barons in Powys. In addition, King Owain was cousin to
the same Irish kings that threatened Dublin. He would have to see a
huge advantage in angering them by taking the side of the Dublin
Danes.

“How does the Book of Kells come into it?”
Gareth said.

“Ottar’s son, Thorfin, sacked Kells and
burned it as part of a summer campaign to expand our territory and
create a buffer around Dublin,” Godfrid said. “In the course of the
fighting, he stole the Book of Kells.”

“He meant to hold it hostage?” Gwen couldn’t
think of another reason to take it. It wasn’t a person, but the
Irish of Leinster might be willing to move heaven and earth to get
it back.

“As a bribe,” Godfrid said.

“I don’t understand,” Gareth said.

“Thorfin took the book intending to use it
as a partial payment to Gilbert de Clare to convince him to help us
in our fight against the Irish,” Godfrid said.

Gareth kept his eyes fixed on Godfrid’s
face. “Clare. The Earl of Pembroke.”

“Indeed,” Godfrid said.

“Clare has been fully embroiled in the
fighting in England,” Gareth said. “He’s switched sides almost as
many times as the Earl of Chester.”

Given how many times the Earl of Chester had
switched sides, that was saying something. Gwen had never given any
thought to the Earl of Pembroke’s allegiances, but she reminded
herself that Gareth had just spent three months in the south, in
lands bordering on Clare’s. He was Hywel’s right hand man and was
more aware of political alliances than she was. When they were
alone, politics weren’t something they often discussed—especially
when the hours they’d had together were few enough as it was.

“Exactly,” Godfrid said, “which is why Ottar
has turned to him. Clare has lands in Wales, but his hold on them
is as tenuous as King Stephen’s hold on his kingdom. Clare has lost
men and resources on a war that at the moment cannot be won, and if
he did have lands in Ireland, they would make him that much more
powerful and influential. Land equals wealth equals power, as you
well know.”

“And the Normans can never have enough,”
Gwen said.

Godfrid snorted. “No man can ever have
enough, Gwen.”

Godfrid’s tale was the last thing Gwen had
expected to hear. She could understand how desperate Ottar must
feel to have his kingdom slipping away from him, but to bring in
the Normans was folly. “Ottar should know better than to invite the
Normans in. Once they achieve a foothold on Irish soil, it will be
all but impossible to get them to leave.”

“That is my fear,” Godfrid said.

“What do you believe to be Ottar’s plan?”
Gareth said.

“Leinster, the kingdom to the south of
Dublin, is ruled by the weakest of the Irish kings,” Godfrid said.
“Ottar would welcome Clare’s army into Dublin and use his men to
fight outward from there.”

“The Book of Kells is a strange sort of
pledge,” Gwen said. “Is Ottar even a Christian?”

“We are all Christian, of one kind or
another,” Godfrid said.

Gwen supposed that King Stephen was too, and
Empress Maud, and that hadn’t stopped them from tearing each other
and England apart. Gwen had seen the consequences of their struggle
for the English throne firsthand and wanted no part in it.

Godfrid continued, “But from what I
understand, it wasn’t Ottar’s idea to take the book. Clare wanted
Ottar to attack Kells, which is northwest of Dublin and outside our
current range, and burn it as proof that he has the wherewithal to
use Clare’s men effectively if he is given them. Clare wants to
come into the middle of a war, not arrive in Dublin to discover
that Ottar expects him to do all the work.”

“It sounds like a foolish idea to me,” Gwen
said. “The people of Ireland, of whatever kingdom, treasure that
book. All Ottar may have done is arouse the anger of the four
kingdoms of Ireland. When and if Clare arrives in Dublin, he might
find them fully arrayed against him.”

“That could be Clare’s plan,” Gareth said.
“He wouldn’t be the first lord to incite his opponents to do battle
against each other and then swoop in afterwards to find neither has
the strength left to fight him.”

Godfrid growled low in his chest. “You do
not comfort me.”

“I apologize, old friend,” Gareth said, “but
my words weren’t meant to.”

“Do the Irish kings know of Ottar’s plans
for Clare?” Gwen said.

Godfrid shook his head and shrugged at the
same time. “I do not know. I only know that my father wants me to
find the book and return with it to Ireland. He would stop this war
before it starts.”

“What if Clare could help Dublin regain its
former glory?” Gwen said.

“Ottar is headstrong and reckless,” Godfrid
said. “He might lead us into battle, but I don’t believe he can
lead us out again. Remember, it was he who allowed himself to be
tricked by Prince Cadwaladr into coming to Wales. The man sees only
what is in front of him. A king needs to see many steps ahead.”

“Getting back to Thorfin,” Gareth said, “if
he has already given the book to Clare, I don’t see how I can be of
help.”

“That’s just it,” Godfrid said. “It doesn’t
appear that Thorfin has succeeded in his quest. We know that he
sailed for Wales, but we have heard nothing from him since.”

“Would you know?” Gwen said. “Are you in
Ottar’s confidence?”

“I have shamed myself by standing at his
side of late. I would never have done it if my father hadn’t
ordered me to so that I might spy for him in Ottar’s court.”
Godfrid made a face as if he’d tasted something bitter. “I begged
Ottar to allow me to come here to search for the book, though I
didn’t tell him that I wanted the task because the bile in my
stomach threatens to undo me.”

“What of your brother?” Gareth said.

“He obeys my father too. Ottar believes him
to be outspoken at times against aspects of his plan but loyal to
his cause.”

“Clare isn’t going to be happy to discover
that Thorfin sailed for Wales but has not brought him the book.
Depending on his own plans, he will have to choose between
supporting Ottar anyway or giving up the plan entirely,” Gwen
said.

“The two men Clare sent as ambassadors to
Ottar’s court sailed with Thorfin and are also missing,” Godfrid
said.

“Could they have had a better offer?” Gwen
said. “If so, the book could be anywhere by now.”

“That’s unlikely, surely,” Gareth said. “I
can see Thorfin changing his mind and using the book for his own
ends, whatever they might be, but I can’t see him working with
Clare’s men to betray his father.”

“Ottar agrees,” Godfrid said, “which is why
I’m here.”

“I can’t believe that Ottar actually sent
you,” Gwen said. “You are the son of his rival! What’s to prevent
you from finding the book and presenting it to Clare yourself, to
gain his help in overthrowing Ottar?”

Godfrid threw back his head and laughed. “I
like how your wife thinks, Sir Gareth!” Then he shook his head.
“Ottar sent his own men to Pembroke to confer with Clare. Ottar
sent me here, which he hopes will keep me far away from his allies
and out of trouble.” He took a long drink from the cup in front of
him and wiped his mouth on the edge of his cloak. “He doesn’t know
the extent of my friendship with Gwynedd.”

“How you managed to escape suspicion after
the events at Abermenai is beyond me,” Gareth said, “but I am glad
that you did.”

“Ottar got rich off Cadwaladr’s cattle,”
Godfrid said. “He even gave me some credit for making it
happen.”

“You are a crafty devil,” Gareth said.

“As are you.” Godfrid clapped a hand on
Gareth’s shoulder and shook him. “I have long thought that you are
the man to come to if trouble strikes. I have seen it with my own
eyes.”

“I would like to help you, Godfrid. I would.
But I do have the matter of Tegwen’s murder to clear up first,”
Gareth said, “and I must speak to Prince Hywel before I could even
begin such a quest.”

“Of course, of course,” Godfrid said. “I am
also an ambassador from my father to the court of King Owain, come
to celebrate Calan Gaeaf with his people.”

“And perhaps gain his help in overthrowing
Ottar,” Gareth said.

Godfrid smirked. “That too.”

Hywel

H
ywel debated
whether or not to allow Ifon to offer up his own chamber to him but
in the end decided to bed down in the stables with his men. He’d
slept in worse places, and the stables had been cleaned in
preparation for the festival. A cloak thrown over sweet-smelling
fresh straw and Hywel could sleep like a baby. He missed Mari
beside him, but there were times when a change of scenery did a man
good.

In addition, bedding down with men-at-arms
and more common men could offer Hywel a glimpse of what kind of a
lord Ifon really made. Even if this trip didn’t prove fruitful in
terms of his investigation of Tegwen’s murder, his father would
want to know what passed for stewardship in Rhos.

A whisper of unease curled in Hywel’s
stomach as he dared to wonder what his father would think of his
own stewardship of Ceredigion. The two lords he’d left in charge
had been deposed from their lands by Normans and regained them only
at Hywel’s hand. His departure was a kind of test for them, but
Hywel feared that it might prove more of a test for him and of his
judgment instead. Ifon had admitted Hywel to Bryn Euryn with more
welcome than Hywel would have given his father had he come to
inspect Aberystwyth.

Still, Hywel couldn’t help but think Ifon
was hiding something, and he wished he’d been able to speak to the
guard. But Hywel could hardly have forced Ifon to wake him when the
morning should do well enough. What disturbed Hywel most was the
lack of others to ask about Tegwen. Even if the residents of the
castle were all new to Bryn Euryn, half the people of the cantref
had come to celebrate the harvest festival with their lord. One of
them had to have lived here five years ago. Surely.

But Ifon hadn’t given Hywel a single name,
and Evan hadn’t found anyone to speak to either. Ruminating on the
problem kept Hywel awake until most of the men in the stables were
sound asleep. Somehow, he must not be asking the right questions
yet.

The next morning, after a simple breakfast
of mutton and bread at the high table, Ifon at last sent his
steward to find the guard, a man named Madog. Hywel was using his
crust to soak up the last of his gravy when the steward came
rushing back, his agitation evident. He threw himself to his knees
in front of Ifon and Hywel. “My lords! I have just come from the
barracks. Old Madog is dead!”

Ifon had risen to his feet at the steward’s
approach and now stared blankly at the steward’s downturned
head.

Hywel leaned across the table to look down
at the steward. “Tell us what you know.” This was Ifon’s castle,
but Hywel was a prince of Gwynedd, and he was tired of being
stymied at every turn.

The steward lifted his head, though he
remained kneeling before them. “I don’t know anything more than
I’ve said, my lords. Madog didn’t appear at breakfast, but with
this crowd I didn’t notice. When Lord Ifon sent me to fetch him, I
found him lying in his bunk. I went to roust him, but—he’s dead.”
The steward said the last two words in a small voice.

“He must have died sometime in the night.”
Ifon’s face was completely expressionless.

Hywel was having trouble deciding what
exactly he should do or say. His inclination was to think that Ifon
had something to do with the guard’s death, but he could hardly
accuse the man of murder in his own hall. It would be dramatic
certainly but not worth risking if the death truly was natural, as
unlikely as that seemed at this moment.

Ifon bent toward Hywel. “My lord, I am
terribly afraid that Tegwen’s killer is belatedly tying up loose
ends.”

“It was my first thought,” Hywel
admitted.

“This is my fault.” Ifon straightened to his
full height, his jaw rigid. “He was your one witness, and now he’s
dead.”

“We should not assume anything until we see
him.” Hywel found it odd that he was comforting Ifon instead of
accusing him of murder.

“Of course, my lord. I will come with you.
Perhaps I will learn something.” Ifon turned back to the steward.
“Did you leave Madog where you found him?”

“Yes, my lord,” the steward said, wide-eyed.
At Ifon’s gesture, he clambered to his feet on creaking knees and
led the way from the hall.

Before leaving with Hywel, Ifon lifted a
hand to gain the attention of his people. Many had risen to their
feet to watch the exchange on the dais. Even if those in the rear
hadn’t been able to hear Ifon’s conversation with the steward, the
news of Madog’s death had flown around the hall with the speed of a
trapped sparrow.

“Please continue with the meal,” Ifon said.
“Our old companion, Madog, has died; we will bury him before the
sun sets.”

As with Tegwen, the need for Madog’s burial
was pressing. Hywel had never known anyone to actually die on the
day of Hallowmas, and to have matching funerals for Tegwen at Aber
and Madog at Bryn Euryn was disconcerting. “The more superstitious
among our people will be fearful tonight,” Hywel said to Ifon as
they crossed the courtyard to the barracks.

“Will you be here or at Aber for the feast?”
Ifon said.

“I must leave for Aber by noon,” Hywel
said.

“You would be welcome to stay,” Ifon
said.

Hywel tried to discern a sense of relief in
Ifon’s voice, but all he heard was the straightforward questions of
a lord who had people to see to.