The Lost Brother (25 page)

Gareth concluded with the information that
Morien and Pawl were being held inside Hywel’s tent, which
explained further why they hadn’t met in there. The knee of her
husband’s breeches also had a tear, which hadn’t been there when
she’d seen him earlier, indicating there had to be even more to
this story than he’d told them. She could feel the looks being shot
at them by the soldiers sitting at nearby fire pits. A number of
them had been present when Gareth had gone to the village. They
knew something was happening. They just didn’t know what.

Gwen had no idea what Hywel and Rhun were
going to tell them. How does one say to one’s men that Prince
Cadwaladr had betrayed them all again with the very man against
whom they were supposed to be fighting?

Rhun tipped back his head and expelled an
audible breath. “
That’s
why Cadwaladr wanted Cole and
Adeline with him—as proof that Hywel and I supported
Cadwaladr?”

Hywel glanced at Gwen and Gareth. They had
feared from the very beginning the role someone had wanted Cole to
play. But this was so audacious a plan that it wasn’t any wonder
Rhun could barely believe it.

“Yes, my lord,” Gareth said. “If Ranulf
could be convinced that the two of you had switched sides and
supported Cadwaladr against your father, then not only would Ranulf
be more likely to throw in his lot with Cadwaladr, but the odds of
his plan actually working would go way up. Cadwaladr’s problem was
that he needed me to convince his own men too. They needed
reassurances that they could betray the king and get away with it.
But that was a secret too great to keep.”

“You are incorruptible,” Hywel said, “which
is why Ranulf took your presence as testimony that working with
Cadwaladr might gain him Gwynedd.” He glanced around at the others.
“That’s what our uncle wants, isn’t it? Our father’s throne.”

Cynan grunted his assent. “Ranulf tried to
work with Cadwaladr before. The plot failed because it was
uncovered—by you, Gareth, I might add. Only a powerful incentive
could have encouraged him to work with Cadwaladr again, and I can
see how the sight of Cole acting as you might have been just what
Ranulf needed.”

“And then Cadwaladr killed Cole.” Gareth
drew out a bag and spilled the coins stored inside into his hand so
everyone could see them. The gold and silver glinted in the
firelight. “Or had him killed.”

“Judas required thirty pieces of silver to
betray Christ,” Gwen said.

“There’s eleven here,” Gareth said. “Given
that they were discarded on the ground, it seems Cole believed
himself underpaid.”

“How did Cadwaladr even know about Adeline’s
and Cole’s existence?” Madoc said.

Hywel clutched his knees with his hands,
staring into the fire. “Unless my uncle confesses, we may never
know, and though I don’t like guessing, in this case I will: his
wife’s family has lands in Shropshire. He’s been to Shrewsbury many
times. He could have seen the woman six months ago … a year … two
years, and then a chance meeting with Cole, who was already
something of a brigand, put the idea of impersonating Gareth into
his head.”

“He did look very much like Gareth,” Gwen
said.

“When Gareth’s belongings fell into the
river, the plot was born,” Hywel concluded.

Rhun made a chopping motion with his hand.
“It doesn’t matter how, only that he did it. It’s an easy forty
miles to Shrewsbury from here. A few days’ journey, a few pieces of
silver as down payment, and he has his false Gareth and Gwen.”

“Don’t forget the death of Llywelyn. Cole
could have killed him on Cadwaladr’s orders,” Gwen said, and then
at the men’s surprised looks, she added, “What? He killed him for
someone, didn’t he? Cadwaladr wouldn’t want King Stephen’s message
to reach King Owain. It makes sense if it was he.”

“Or perhaps it was for Ranulf, who would
have objected equally to an alliance between King Stephen and
Gwynedd,” Hywel said.

Rhun stood abruptly. “We must take it as a
given that everything we’ve planned for the upcoming campaign has
reached Ranulf’s ears through our uncle. Ranulf knows we’re coming.
He knows when. He knows how many men we have. Everything.”

Hywel looked sharply at his brother. “Where
is that letter from King Stephen?”

Rhun gaped at Hywel through several
heartbeats and then said, “It’s addressed to Father. I didn’t open
it.”

“Maybe we should,” Hywel said.

“I’ll get it.” Rhun disappeared inside his
tent, which was to the left of King Owain’s, and returned
immediately. Once back at the fire, he sat with the missive on his
lap for a moment, and then with a swift slice of his belt knife,
broke the seal. As he unfolded it, complete silence fell on the
companions.

Rhun read, his eyes flicking quickly across
the page. “It says he is prepared to launch a joint attack on
Chester and asks father to send a representative to meet with him
to discuss the action as soon as it’s convenient.” He handed the
letter to Hywel. “We already knew from Father Alun that Ranulf is
facing an assault by the king’s forces on his eastern flank.”

“King Stephen may have given up waiting for
a response,” Gwen said. “He’s never been a patient man.”

“An alliance among his enemies is exactly
what Ranulf would have wanted to avoid if he’s working with
Cadwaladr,” Gareth said. “King Owain’s sons would have wanted that
letter to disappear too, were you really working with your uncle
and Ranulf.”

“I will send a man to Stephen immediately
with our acceptance of the alliance. Mold should have been as good
as ours, but with Cadwaladr feeding information to Ranulf, we have
to wonder what traps he may have laid for us.” Rhun gazed around at
the others. “Our uncle has gone too far this time. I see now that
there is nothing he won’t do and no desire he won’t put ahead of
his family.”

For her part, Gwen had come to that
conclusion a long time ago, though it was a relief to hear someone
else say it. She hated Cadwaladr, and hated herself for hating him
because it ate her up inside. If it wasn’t only she who felt this
way—or how Gareth, Hywel, and she felt—it made it easier to let the
emotion go.

“I admit the lengths to which he has gone
are astounding.” Godfrid stretched his legs out towards the fire
and crossed his ankles. He was the only one among them who appeared
relaxed.

Cynan was shaking his head. “I know what my
uncle has done in the past, but even knowing that the plot is real,
it seems far too elaborate and complicated to ever work.”

That was too much for Gwen. “You don’t know
him like I do. Cadwaladr would never simply murder a woman and bury
her in the woods. He would think it clever to hide the body in
someone else’s grave. He wouldn’t simply conspire with the Earl of
Chester. It’s totally in character for Cadwaladr to create copies
of Gareth and me in order to convince Ranulf that Rhun and Hywel
had betrayed their own father.”

Gareth nodded. “Elaborate plans and
overthinking are
exactly
like him.”

Rhun laughed mockingly. “Without the
discovery of the bodies, Gareth might have dismissed the words of
Morien and Pawl as drunken ramblings.”

“We have to end this, Rhun.” Hywel had
finished reading the letter from King Stephen. “Our uncle can’t be
allowed to go free this time.”

“We have to kill him, you mean,” Rhun
said.

Gwen swallowed down a gasp, less that the
words had been spoken out loud, but that it had been Rhun to say
them. Cynan and Madoc didn’t look shocked at all, however, and
Godfrid merely stroked his beard in a contemplative way.

“We can’t just do it, though,” Hywel said,
“not without at least speaking to Father.”

“We can’t talk to him about this tonight,
though,” Rhun said. He and Hywel kept their eyes focused on each
other. “He isn’t well enough to hear it. They’re still
brothers.”

“If Father is too ill to see justice done,
that it must be we who do it,” Cynan said.

We
. All of the men in the group
relaxed a little.
Yes. We’re in this together,
the younger
princes were saying.
We’re brothers too
.

Hywel turned to the others, having concluded
whatever silent communication he’d been having with Rhun. “We have
to bring Cadwaladr in. He can’t be allowed to roam free.”

“We don’t have real proof yet,” Gwen said,
remembering all those times King Owain refused to believe the worst
of his brother, even when it was true.

“We have the word of two of his men, and the
innkeeper in the village should recognize him,” Hywel said. “It’s
true that if confronted, Cadwaladr could come up with any number of
lies that would explain what he was doing in Shrewsbury recently or
why he met with Ranulf. He might not even have killed either
Adeline or Cole himself, further confusing the issue.”

Rhun took in a breath. “We have enough proof
for me. More importantly, we have leverage we can use against
Ranulf that could bring us Mold Castle without a fight.”

“We do?” Cynan said.

Rhun looked at his younger brother. “We have
the letter from Stephen. We have proof in Gareth’s own person that
Hywel and I have not betrayed our father. Ranulf thinks that we
have allied with Cadwaladr and are about to rise up to overthrow
Father before Mold falls. We have not, of course. Cadwaladr lied to
him. If we told Ranulf that we have uncovered Cadwaladr’s plot and
that the men he has given Cadwaladr are walking into a bloody
fight, he might see better of this alliance.”

“He will cut his losses,” Hywel said.
“Ranulf, like Cadwaladr, is only concerned about himself and his
power. Losing a company of men will not aid him in that
regard.”

Godfrid lifted a hand. “Perhaps I can
help—”

Just then, Tudur came out of the king’s tent
and approached the fire. He bowed to four Welsh princes and said,
“Your father requests your presence.”

The brothers looked at each other with
consternation, but then as one they rose to their feet. Hywel still
had the letter from King Stephen in his hand. Godfrid, Gwen, and
Gareth stayed seated, but Tudur gestured to them as well. “He wants
all of you to come.”

“He knows something’s going on,” Gareth said
to Gwen and Godfrid in an undertone.

“He always knows,” Hywel said grimly, having
overheard. “I’ve been trying to lie to him and failing my entire
life.” They all followed Rhun toward King Owain’s tent.

Godfrid put his hand on Hywel’s shoulder.
“Better if I don’t come with you.”

Hywel stopped in the doorway, half in and
half out of the tent. “You said you had an idea?”

Godfrid made a dismissive motion with his
head. “I will tell you later. It might no longer be appropriate,
depending on what your father says.”

Thus, only the four princes, Gareth, and
Gwen filed into King Owain’s tent. It was more of a pavilion, at
least thirty feet on a side with a grass floor. A hole in the roof
allowed the smoke from the fire burning in the brazier, a portable
iron grate, to escape the tent. King Owain’s bed had been placed
right next to the fire, along with the stool upon which he’d been
sitting when Gwen had been in here earlier.

As soon as she entered, Gwen went straight
to the king to feel his forehead. She allowed herself a small sigh
of relief at how cool he felt. Whether or not he’d been poisoned,
he was on the mend.

King Owain reached up to remove her hand
from his head, though he squeezed it once before letting go. “Help
me to sit up.”

“Father—” Rhun started forward.

King Owain actually waved his son closer
instead of refusing his help. “I am much better, but I need this
pillow behind my back.” Between Rhun and Gwen, they maneuvered King
Owain into a more upright position, propped against several
pillows. “I want to hear what has you all so concerned. Gwen tried
to tell me about the investigation yesterday, but I was incapable
of hearing it.”

There was a moment’s pause as the companions
looked at one another, nobody wanting to be the one to speak first.
Then Hywel took in a breath, taking it upon himself to begin. He
raised his hand to show his father the letter from King
Stephen—

—but then without warning, King Owain leaned
over the side of the bed and vomited up the broth he’d so
confidently drunk. A chamber pot had been placed in that spot for
just such an occasion. Gwen moved it closer, holding it in both
hands, her head bent towards the king.

Tudur hastened to take the basin from her,
his brow wrinkling in concern. “Really, Gwen, he’s been so much
better.”

“I know,” Gwen said. “This is the first time
he’s vomited since we reached the camp.”

The king sighed and flopped back against his
pillows, sweat on his forehead and his face ashen. Gwen allowed
Tudur to take her place and backed away, motioning with her hands
to shoo the others out the door. They went, but Rhun hesitated, and
then stepped to his father’s side to put a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll talk later, Father. It isn’t important for you to hear this
now. Rest.”

King Owain flapped a hand weakly in his
son’s direction but didn’t speak. He turned on his side to curl up
around his belly, a position in which he’d lain almost exclusively
for the last two days.

“I’ll get more broth,” Gwen said, resigning
herself to another night of spooning liquid into the king’s
mouth.

Once outside again, Rhun set off
determinedly after his brothers in the direction of the fire where
the Danes had established themselves on the north side of the camp,
adjacent to the kitchen area, which Gwen suspected wasn’t a
coincidence. Gwen followed, since she was going that way
anyway.

Gareth, Hywel, and the others reached
Godfrid first, and by the time Rhun and Gwen arrived, his face had
turned grave. “You had no chance to tell the king anything?”