The Lost Brother (24 page)

“It was at Mold. Why are you asking all
these questions when you were there yourself?” Morien said.

The man beyond Morien became more agitated
than ever. Holding Morien’s upper arm in a tight grip, he whispered
something Gareth didn’t catch into Morien’s ear.

Morien jerked away so his elbow connected
with his friend’s chin. “I know who it was.” He pointed at Gareth.
“Gareth ap Rhys!”

His friend was shaking his head in little
jerks, his eyes a bit wider than they should be. Sweat beaded on
his forehead. The room was warm, but it wasn’t that warm, and again
he tugged on Morien’s arm.

Morien took a long drink from his cup and
slammed it down on the bar in front of him. “Another!”

Finally, the friend spoke loudly enough for
Gareth to hear. “It was someone else, Morien!”

The man’s urgency finally penetrated the
drink in Morien’s head. He gaped at his friend. “Of course it was
him. You saw him too!”

His friend shook his head, and his eyes
flicked from Morien’s face to Gareth’s and back again, trying to
get Morien to
look.

“It’s too late to take back what’s been
said. You are surrounded by my men. Tell me what he’s talking
about.” Gareth paused. “Pawl.” He’d finally remembered the man’s
name. “Why did Cadwaladr meet with Ranulf?”

“How would I know?” Morien burped hugely and
wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Gareth kept his eyes on Pawl’s face, since
it was he to whom Gareth had directed the question.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” Pawl said.

“Whatever you think I’ve done, or have been
told I’ve done, it’s a lie. Again I must ask, why was I supposed to
have met with the Earl of Chester at Cadwaladr’s side?”

Pawl shot a glance around the tavern as if
he might find a way out before he had to answer.

“You have nowhere to run. Your only choice
is to tell me what you know.”

Pawl licked his lips nervously. “As
proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That Cadwaladr had support for his
plan.”

It was relief to have the truth laid out
before him. Gareth hadn’t even had to work that hard for it. The
initial racing of Gareth’s heart slowed, and his brain started to
function again. He had most of the answers now. If he’d known that
all he needed was one conversation with a drunken man-at-arms in
Cadwaladr’s retinue, he would have cornered one days ago. The truth
was, he avoided interaction with Cadwaladr’s men and for years had
walked the other way if any approached.

In part, he hadn’t wanted to be reminded of
his ignominious departure from Cadwaladr’s service, but he also
hadn’t wanted to thumb his nose in the faces of men who’d stayed.
Nothing was more abhorrent than a self-righteous man.

“And what was that plan?”

Pawl shook his head. “I wasn’t privy to
that.”

“But you know something,” Gareth said. “What
did Cadwaladr hope to get from Ranulf?”

“Men. Money.”

Now they were really getting somewhere.
“What are you two doing here in Gwern-y-waun?” Gareth said.

Blinking sleepily, Morien burped again. He
seemed to have already forgotten what he’d told Gareth.

Pawl gave him a sour look and said, “Prince
Cadwaladr’s camp lies to the north of the village. We were given
leave to enter the inn once our duties were done, same as you.
There should be more of us soon.”

That wasn’t quite the same reason Gareth had
brought his men to the village, but Pawl didn’t need to know that.
It did mean that Gareth had very little time before many more men
would descend upon them. Gareth wanted to avoid a confrontation
between King Owain’s men and Prince Cadwaladr’s on the village
green. They might all be Welsh and ostensibly allies in this war,
but they did not get along as a rule. On top of which, the last
thing Gareth wanted was for word to get back to Cadwaladr that he
was here—and that he’d been seen with Morien and Pawl.

“You two are part of the prince’s
teulu
, aren’t you?” Gareth said.

Morien laid down his head on the bar. “An
honor.”

When Gareth had known them before, they
hadn’t yet risen so high. He met Pawl’s eyes above Morien’s head.
“How many of you in the prince’s
teulu
believe my loyalties
lie with Prince Cadwaladr?”

Pawl’s brows came together. “What are you
talking about? Nobody thinks your loyalties lie with
Cadwaladr.”

Gareth felt like his head was full of
stuffing. “Then why would I ride to Mold at Cadwaladr’s side?”

“To represent Prince Hywel and Prince Rhun
to Ranulf, of course,” Pawl said.

Gareth’s mouth tasted of ash, and he only
just managed to keep the shock from showing on his face, wiping it
clean of all expression in an instant.
Cadwaladr had used Cole
to convince Ranulf that the princes had allied themselves with
Cadwaladr against their father.
And his whole
teulu
believed it.

And why wouldn’t they? Welsh brothers and
uncles had been at each other’s throats since the beginning of
time.

It was hard for that many to keep a secret,
however, though the fact that Cadwaladr was allowing his men to
leave their camp indicated how little he was worried about the
rumor getting out. And again, for good reason. None of the king’s
men would ever believe that Hywel or Rhun would side with
Cadwaladr. Even were Morien to walk right up to them and mock them
with it, they would dismiss the idea out of hand. It was only
because of the dead imposters that Gareth was taking him
seriously.

Gareth craned his neck to look above the
heads of the crowd gathered in the tavern. Sighting Madoc talking
to Godfrid, Gareth signaled to him with one hand above his
head.

While both princes made their way towards
him, Gareth turned back to Pawl, “What orders has Cadwaladr given
you specifically?”

“To obey our captain, as always.”

“To what end?”

“As Morien told you, we don’t know,” Pawl
said. “He hasn’t said.”

And as unlikely as it might seem, Gareth
believed him. Whatever Cadwaladr’s plot, it surely made no sense to
tell the details of it to anyone but his closest confidants until
right before they were asked to act. Gareth felt a little better.
Whatever treachery Cadwaladr had planned remained in abeyance, at
least for tonight.

Morien gave a huge burp. “Run back to your
king and leave us be.”

Gareth’s brows drew together, and Pawl’s
face paled as he realized the mistake Morien had just made. He’d
said,
your king
.

Pawl and Morien knew something more, even if
they didn’t know how it was meant to play out. It was time to go.
Gareth jerked his head to Madoc. “These two need to come with us.
Quietly if possible.”

“Who are they?” Godfrid said.

“Cadwaladr’s men. There are more on the
way.”

Godfrid snapped his fingers at two of his
men, who closed in on Morien and encouraged him to move towards the
door. He took a few unsteady steps, and then they grasped his upper
arms because he needed assistance to walk. Before Pawl could leave,
however, Gareth caught his arm in a tight grip and asked the
question that always burned in his gut whenever he encountered one
of Cadwaladr’s men. “Why do you still serve him?”

“I’m paid to do so.” Pawl drained the rest
of his drink and then dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve. “What
are you going to do with us?”

“It isn’t what
I’m
going to do with
you that you have to worry about.” Gareth tugged him towards the
door, following Morien, who’d already disappeared through it.

Pawl gave no trouble, allowing himself to be
dragged outside. The moon had risen and shone weakly down at them
through the scattered clouds. It had grown colder while they’d been
inside the inn too, and Gareth could see the fog of his breath in
the air.

And with that, Pawl slugged at Gareth’s face
with his free hand, jerked away, and made his bid for freedom. As
Gareth reeled from the blow, Pawl raced away, his boots pounding
heavily on the road and his shape appearing as hardly more than a
black shadow in the night.

Gareth took off after him. As he hadn’t
drunk anything and was thinner and younger than Pawl, he gained on
him quickly. After fifty yards, Gareth caught up to within a few
feet. With an indrawn breath, he launched himself at Pawl, wrapping
his arms around the man’s hips and bringing him to the ground.

Pawl fell with a squeal and a thud.
Scrabbling and jerking, he tried to get away, but Gareth held onto
him tightly. Within a few moments, six others arrived to subdue
Pawl more fully, two of them jerking him upright and away from
Gareth. Evan was among the newcomers, and Gareth grasped his
proffered hand in order to rise to his feet. He brushed the dirt
from the road off his legs and arms, while Evan swiped at the back
of his cloak.

“You’re pretty spry for an old man,” Evan
said.

Gareth smirked. “You’re older than I
am.”

“Which is why it was good that you reacted
first,” Evan said. “Better you than me.”

“That was well done.” Godfrid strolled up,
Madoc in his wake. Neither had deigned to be among the men who’d
run either.

Gareth’s men tied Pawl’s hands behind his
back, which Gareth should have done in the first place. Before they
could take Pawl away, however, Gareth stepped close, his face
inches away from Cadwaladr’s man. Because Gareth was the taller of
the two, Pawl had to look up at him. “You have served Cadwaladr for
too long. Your only hope of survival is to tell us everything you
know.”

Pawl swallowed hard, real fear in his eyes
for the first time. Gareth jerked his chin to Evan, who led him
away. Morien had already been coaxed onto a horse, too drunk to
walk.

Madoc stepped beside Gareth. “I spoke with
the headman.”

Gareth had forgotten all about his request.
“You wouldn’t be telling me of it if you didn’t have something
important to say, my lord. I can see it in your face.”

“Sion described to me the lord who passed
through Gwern-y-waun four nights ago,” Madoc said. “Big, burly,
blond going gray.”

A frisson of satisfaction coursed down
Gareth’s spine.

“He was accompanied by several men-at-arms
and a married couple,” Madoc went on. “The headman specifically
mentioned that the married man, who went by the name Dai, not
Gareth, bore a striking resemblance to you. When you dismounted on
the green, his first thought was that you were the same man. As
soon as you spoke to him, however, he knew he was mistaken.”

“What a relief,” Gareth said, mocking. “One
wonders why the Earl of Chester didn’t realize it too.”

“The Earl of Chester?” Madoc said. “What
does he have to do with this?”

“Everything,” Gareth said. “With your
permission, my lord, I will explain it all once we’re back at the
camp. It would be better to tell everyone at the same time.”

It was only as Gareth mounted Braith, having
ensured that his prisoners were secured, that he realized he’d
never brought the old gentlemen their drinks.

Gwen

“P
sst! Gwen!”

Gwen looked up to see her husband
silhouetted in the doorway of King Owain’s tent.

Gwen glanced first at the king, who was
huddled before his brazier on a stool, wrapped in a blanket and
sipping broth in a cup he was holding without assistance, which in
and of itself was a huge triumph. He remained weak and shivery, but
the fever had broken, and he claimed to be hungry. She rose to her
feet and went to the doorway.

“I need you to come with me,” Gareth
said.

“I can’t leave—”

“We’re just here.” Gareth indicated the fire
circle closest to the king’s tent, all of ten yards away. “You’ll
be able to respond immediately if he calls out to you.”

“Go on, Gwen.” Tudur ducked under Gareth’s
arm and entered the tent. “I can care for him a while.”

“Did you sleep?” she said.

“Enough.”

Gwen didn’t believe Tudur, but she let
Gareth lead her to the fire circle, where the companions waited for
her. She pulled up short to see Cynan and Madoc among the listeners
too. Before yesterday when they’d talked in the monastery warming
room, they had never been part of the circle of confidants she’d
known Hywel and Rhun to have, but it seemed they were in the thick
of it now.

She liked them fine, as far as liking a pair
of Welsh princes was something one even did, but she didn’t know
yet about trusting them. Hywel and Rhun clearly did, however, and
that apparently was going to have to be good enough for her.

King Owain’s tent was set back from any
others but Rhun’s and Hywel’s, so they were far enough from the
other soldiers in the camp that they couldn’t be overheard. She
glanced towards Hywel’s tent, shadowed underneath some nearby
trees. They could have met in there, except the walls gave the
illusion of privacy without actually providing it. Gwen agreed that
this was better.

Gareth held Gwen’s hand to steady her as she
stepped over the fallen log currently being used as a bench seat,
and then he sat down beside her. The air was colder than before the
sun had gone down—colder than in King Owain’s tent where a brazier
burned next to his bed. Happy for the warmth, she put her hands out
to the fire. Her gloves were back in the king’s tent.

It was Hywel who spoke first. “Gareth has
new information that effectively brings his investigation into the
deaths of the false Gareth and Gwen to a conclusion. While I might
want more solid evidence than we have, I can’t wait on it. We must
act. I have called you here because what Gareth has discovered is
so volatile that whatever we do from here on out must take place
with one mind, one goal.”

The prince then nodded at Gareth, who
launched into a narration of his conversation with Pawl and Morien.
As he talked, Gwen felt herself shivering, and no amount of heat
from the fire was going to warm her.
Cadwaladr.
Gwen hated
even to hear his name.