The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (27 page)

“And you know this—how?” Godfrid said.

“The horse he hurt belonged to Gwen’s father.”

“And why do you think this is something I should know?”

“Because you must understand that once Cadwaladr has what he wants, or feels close to getting it, it’s highly unlikely you will ever see your two thousand marks,” Gareth said. “What is the point of bringing you to Wales except to force King Owain to accept him back and restore his lands? And once he has done that, why should Cadwaladr pay you for your services? He won’t need you anymore because he’ll be back in the king’s good graces.”

“He will pay us because we will ravage his lands if he doesn’t,” Godfrid said, a growl forming in his throat.

“But by doing so, you risk King Owain’s wrath and the full weight of his armies against you,” Gareth said. “I’m surprised your father didn’t think of this already.”

Godfrid let the silence drag out while he stared over the water, towards Wales, though they couldn’t yet see it. Finally, he nodded his head. “We did think of it. My father spoke with me before I left about the possibility of changing course, should it become necessary.”

“Changing course—you mean going back to Dublin? What about Gwen?”

“Not to Dublin, to Aber,” Godfrid said. “Through me, my father would have a word with your king.”

Gareth stared at him. “You would go against Ottar?”

“You object to the idea?” Godfrid said.

“Of course not.” Gareth adjusted his expression. “I’m delighted. King Owain has no wish to fight the combined might of the Kings of Dublin.”

Godfrid grunted and folded his arms across his chest. Gareth had told Prince Cadwaladr’s son, Cadfan, that politics were best left to others, but in this matter, it seemed Gareth himself couldn’t avoid them.

They’d left at dawn, in hopes of reaching Anglesey before nightfall on the second day out, given that the winds were from the west (thus behind them), unlike when they’d sailed west and had to tack against them the whole way to Ireland. High winds rocked them that first night, however, with rain and storm so severe it was only the direction of the wind that told them which way to sail. Godfrid claimed the storm was a blessing from God on his course of action. Gareth couldn’t argue with that, since he didn’t want Godfrid to have second thoughts about betraying Cadwaladr, even if Gareth had to spend the entire time fearing for Gwen. But he would have done that anyway.

The storm blew the boat off course—all of the boats, in fact—such that they lost track of the fleet in the night. Each captain put a lantern in the prow, but between the high waves and the wind, by midnight, Godfrid’s ship was alone in the Irish Sea.

At one point, Godfrid found Gareth cowering in the prow of the boat, trying to shield his face from the rain. “We’ll steer to the north and sail around Anglesey. God smiles upon us. He approves of this new plan.”

Gareth didn’t know about that. “And the other boats?”

“Cadwaladr’s intent was to land at Abermenai, at the mouth of the Menai Straits, on Anglesey.”

“He might have already reached shore, given these winds,” Gareth said.

“Or he too could have been blown off course,” Godfrid said. “His boat could be just on the other side of the next wave for all we know.”

“If we don’t want him to discover us, we should douse the lantern,” Gareth said.

Godfrid cursed, having forgotten it. He shouted to a man in the prow, who extinguished the light, plunging the boat into darkness.

Dear God. Keep Gwen safe.

The waves rolled on and eventually Gareth fell into a fitful sleep. The storm gradually spent itself, and by first light, Gareth woke to find that not only were none of the other boats in sight, but they were already skirting the northern tip of Anglesey.

The rain subsided to a drizzle and, tugging his sodden cloak closer, Gareth staggered to the stern where Godfrid addressed several of his men. He was speaking in Danish but turned as Gareth approached.

“At present rate, we’ll reach Aber before another two hours have passed,” Gareth said, by way of greeting.

“What will your king think when he sees a Danish ship riding up on his beach?” Godfrid said.

Gareth laughed, his dark mood lifting as they neared the Gwynedd shore. “He won’t be happy. But he should be wise enough not to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Godfrid guffawed and clapped Gareth on the back. “I like the way you think. I leave this in your hands.”

“At the very least, I should ride in the prow,” Gareth said. “If Hywel returned from Ceredigion in good order, he will know that I went to Dublin.”

“Prince Hywel will forgive you the impulse?” Godfrid said.

“I hope so,” Gareth said. It didn’t matter so much if Hywel forgave him or not at this point, unless it meant that Gareth was out on his ear again. For Gareth’s part, he knew going to Dublin had been the right decision, though that would be small comfort when his purse was empty.

Gareth watched the shoreline with some apprehension. The watchers on Aber’s battlements saw them coming long before they reached the shore. They had time to organize a company of men. One Danish ship wasn’t as much of a threat to Aber as many more would have been. It was only as they neared the beach that Gareth spared a thought for the uncertainty involved and that he hadn’t had time to think this through thoroughly before facing a potentially angry king.

 The soldiers came on at a trot, and Gareth’s heart lifted to see Hywel’s banner streaming above the cavalry. It was Hywel himself, with two dozen men arrayed behind him. Exactly as Gareth had hoped.

While the others waited in the boat, which Godfrid deliberately did not beach, Gareth leaped out, soaking himself to his knees, and waded into shore.

“My lord.” Gareth bowed his head.

“I’m glad to see you in one piece, my friend,” Hywel said. “What have you brought us?”

With that, Gareth understood that it was going to be all right. This one sentence that acknowledged Gareth’s absence might be all Hywel ever said of Gareth’s decision to leave Wales without permission.

“Godfrid ap Ragnall.” Gareth waved a hand behind him for Godfrid to come forward. Still, Godfrid didn’t beach the boat. He stepped over the rail as Gareth had and trudged the short distance to Prince Hywel’s stirrup.

He held out his hand in greeting, as one king’s son to another. “I am pleased to meet you, Hywel ap Owain Gwynedd. I bring you greetings from my father, King Ragnall of Dublin.”

Hywel leaned down to clasp Godfrid’s forearm. “If you come in friendship, you are welcome.”

“I do,” Godfrid said. “May I invite my men ashore?”

“Certainly,” Hywel said. “You are my guests.”

“I believe your father will be interested in what I have to say.”

“I will take you to him,” Hywel said.

Godfrid gestured to his crew and with one stroke, the oarsman had them on the beach. Godfrid left two men to guard the ship and the rest paired off to march behind him. The mounted Welshman surrounded them, but since Hywel himself had dismounted so as to continue on foot with Gareth and the Danes, Gareth hoped it didn’t make them feel that they were prisoners, any more than he’d felt like a prisoner in Dublin. Hywel had even allowed them to keep their weapons.

“Was your venture in Ceredigion successful?” Gareth asked his prince.

Hywel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Successful enough. We will speak later.”

Gareth nodded, understanding that Hywel didn’t want to talk in front of Godfrid. “Yes, my lord.”

When they reached Aber, Godfrid looked with interest at the gates, their accompanying towers, and the work being done on the wall. “Stone, eh?” he said to Gareth in an aside.

“You may note that it doesn’t burn like wood,” Gareth said.

Godfrid barked a laugh. “You have the right of it.”

Then they were through the gate, across the courtyard, and into the great hall. Godfrid and Hywel, with Gareth a pace behind, marched between the tables to where King Owain sat. He was arrayed as a king in preparation for greeting Godfrid.

The two princes came to a halt in front of King Owain’s seat and both bowed lower than usual. “Father.” Hywel moved to stand just to the right of the king’s throne, “May I present to you Godfrid ap Ragnall, prince of Dublin.”

King Owain bowed slightly in greeting. “Welcome to Aber, Godfrid. I am always happy to greet a royal cousin at Aber.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Godfrid said. “I come to you with some urgency, with news that cannot wait.”

King Owain leaned forward. “I would hear it.” His glance took in the entire company of Danes—and Gareth—who also bowed his head in greeting.

“No doubt you have heard that your brother fled to Dublin, to my father’s seat, when he left Anglesey,” Godfrid said.

“That was my understanding,” King Owain said.

“He comes to Wales at the head of seven ships—eight if you count mine, which you shouldn’t. King Ottar himself commands one of the boats.”

“And what is his intent?” King Owain’s voice had not changed, but Gareth felt the temperature of the air drop. If Godfrid noticed it, he didn’t alter his stance.

“Far be it from me to convey any man’s true thoughts,” Godfrid said, adding a bardic flourish to his words, “but it is my understanding that Prince Cadwaladr hopes you will gaze on the fleet, see that he is a powerful lord in his own right, and reinstate his lands.”

“And he thinks that threatening me with two hundred Danes will make me bend?” King Owain pushed to his feet, his voice rising along with him.

Godfrid canted his head in acknowledgement of the righteousness of King Owain’s anger. “Two hundred and fifty men, though fewer now that he doesn’t have mine at his back.”

“And why are you here?” King Owain said. “What do you hope to gain?”

“Cadwaladr promised King Ottar two thousand marks,” Godfrid said. “Gold is a pleasure, but my father and I seek a greater treasure—something that Cadwaladr cannot give us.”

King Owain studied the big Dane through several heartbeats before easing back into his chair. “Something from me,” he said, not as a question.

“We share blood,” Godfrid said. “Your father sought sanctuary with mine, once upon a time, and support when he needed it to regain the throne of Gwynedd. My father and I—and my brothers—ask the same of you when our time comes.”

“Against Ottar.”

Again, Godfrid tipped his head. “As you say, my lord.”

Owain tapped his finger on the arm of his chair as he thought. Then he nodded. “Where did Cadwaladr hope to land?”

Godfrid gestured to Gareth, who stepped forward to speak. “Abermenai, my lord. He must feel safe on Anglesey.”

Hywel directed his gaze at Gareth. “You believe what Godfrid says?”

“I do,” Gareth said. “He protected Gwen in Dublin, if that brings favor in your eyes. The only reason she didn’t return to Wales in Godfrid’s boat is that Cadwaladr wouldn’t let her. He kept her beside him for the return journey.”

“She was well when you saw her last?” Hywel said.

“Yes, as far I know. A storm broke apart our fleet in the night.”

Hywel grimaced. “She gets very seasick.”

“She does,” Gareth said. “It was good luck for us, however, since it meant that by dawn, we sailed alone.” Gareth found his shoulders tensing at what she’d endured at sea—and might be enduring now. He forced his mind away, finding the thought of her among the Danes without a protector unbearable.

King Owain stepped off the dais. “I want my
teulu
assembled and ready to ride to Abermenai within the hour.” He spun on his heel to look at his steward, Taran, a man who’d also served Owain’s father. “When does the tide turn?”

“Noon today,” Taran said. “We must hurry if we want to cross the sands before then.”

King Owain swung back to the crowd of men before him. “You heard him! Move! We will provision ourselves at Aberffraw.” Then King Owain put out a hand to Godfrid. “Thank you for your warning. If we hurry—and our luck continues—we can beat them to the shore. Your crossing was quicker than I’ve ever heard a ship—even a Danish one—make the journey.”

“Prince Godfrid kept the sail up,” Gareth said, unable to keep the glint of amusement out of his eye that perhaps only Hywel and Godfrid caught. “About killed us.”

King Owain strode to the door of the hall and looked out. A light breeze blew and the sun was halfway up in the beautifully clear sky. “If they survived, they should have clear sailing for the rest of the day. Would they still make for Abermenai, even if they were blown off course and lost time?”

“I don’t know.” Godfrid came to stand beside the king. “I expect so, provided most of the ships survived the crossing.”

“Anglesey is familiar territory to Cadwaladr,” Hywel said, “more so than Ceredigion. Home, if you will.”

“He’ll come, then,” King Owain said. “We’ll have to risk it.” He directed his attention to Godfrid again. “Thank you for your warning, but what of you? Shall you remain with us, or maintain a façade for King Ottar that you support him? It isn’t too late to rejoin your fleet.”

Godfrid studied his men, all of whom stared back at him impassively. He waved his hand and they broke ranks to huddle around him, speaking rapidly in Danish. Gareth, meanwhile, left the hall at a run to saddle Braith, though not before embracing Evan who stopped him in the middle of the courtyard. He’d been among the men who’d come to the shore with Hywel, but Gareth hadn’t had the opportunity to greet him before this.

“I never thought to see you again,” Evan said. “I assumed they’d toss you into the water when you were halfway out to sea.”

“Truly?” Gareth said. “You thought I couldn’t survive a trip to Dublin?” When Evan just smiled, Gareth added, “Besides, Brodar gave me his word. As odd as it sounds, a Dane has honor. It’s just that sometimes that means something different to him than it does to us.”

Evan clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll never doubt you again.”

Reunited with a saddled and nominally provisioned Braith, Gareth rode out of the castle with forty men before an hour had passed. They had so few because Hywel had left many in Ceredigion to clean up after Cadwaladr and maintain a presence there for a time. King Owain had given the rest leave to visit their homes, thinking Cadwaladr wouldn’t return so quickly, even though Hywel had counseled against it.