The Unexpected Ally (22 page)

“No.” Hywel gave a low laugh as he turned
away. “Thank
you
.”

Gwen

T
hough the men in
Madog’s party had been leaving the monastery in anger, the fire had
effectively distracted them. In short order, everybody—monks, men
of Gwynedd and Powys, and half the village, who’d somehow heard
about it too—was heading towards the barn. Saran and Tangwen were
not among them, Gwen was glad to see. Saran might be new to being
grandmother, but she knew when a spectacle was something a
two-year-old girl needed to see and when it wasn’t.

Gwen gazed around the courtyard, looking for
Gwalchmai or her father, but neither was present either. Both knew
better than to offer to fight the fire anyway, since to do so could
threaten a bard’s livelihood. If he took in too much smoke, it
affected his voice, and if he helped with the buckets, he could get
blisters on his hands—or worse, get them burned. Gwalchmai had
loved foolish hijinks when he was a boy, but now that he was a man,
he took his responsibilities to his profession and his family
seriously.

It took extra time to saddle the horses, but
the men thought it was worth it to have transportation. And the
time it took also allowed Gareth to give Gwen and Conall a brief
summary of the disaster the peace conference had turned into. It
was too bad that the rain of yesterday was gone, since they surely
could have used a downpour. The night had been relatively clear,
and though low clouds hung on the horizon, promising more rain in
the future, for now the sky directly above them was windswept
blue.

Llelo and Dai met them on the road on the
way to the barn, riding towards them from the other direction. Gwen
had greeted the boys the day before, but she took a moment to
inspect them more closely now. While it had been only a few weeks
since she’d seen them, it looked to her like they’d each grown
another inch or two while she was in Shrewsbury. They sat in the
saddle with the bearing of men, not the boys they’d been six months
ago. It made her think about the child in her belly and wonder if
it was a boy, knowing if it was he would one day look like
them.

By the time they arrived at the barn, more
than four dozen men—monks, soldiers, and villagers—had formed a
line in order to pass buckets of water to the barn from the river,
which lay fifty yards to the west beyond the road. Gareth reined in
to the left of the road on the river side. Gwen, who’d been riding
double behind him, slid off the back of Braith, and then Gareth
dismounted and tied Braith’s reins to a small tree. The horse
wouldn’t typically wander off, but the fire could spook her, and
they didn’t want her to race away or get tangled in the brush in
her fear. At least the wind was blowing from the west, so the smoke
was directed the other way and didn’t choke them where they
stood.

The people who were fighting the fire were
doing so valiantly, but a few moments of watching showed Gwen that
whatever they were doing would serve only to stop the flames from
spreading. There was no hope of saving the barn, not with the walls
all but consumed already. There might not have been any hope within
a few moments of it starting. The monks had stored hay here and not
much else, and hay was the best tinder there was.

A person couldn’t grow to adulthood without
witnessing at least one house fire. They were extremely common
because they could be started so easily. A log could roll out of a
fireplace or grate and light the whole house. A lantern could tip
over and spill its oil, fueling a quick-burning fire. Stable or
barn fires were generally started one of three ways: a lightning
strike on the roof, a carelessly placed torch, or an overturned
lantern. Gwen had never been to the barn herself, but Gareth had
told her that the roof was the most structurally sound part of the
building, and even though it was thatch, the fire was only just
getting started in it while the rest of the barn had already been
half-consumed beneath it. It did seem that the rain of yesterday
had made some difference, in that one day with thin March sunlight
wasn’t enough time to dry it out.

“Nothing like a good fire to unite warring
factions.” Conall’s eyes were fixed on the smoke and flames pouring
from the loft.

“Do you genuinely think that’s what this
is?” Gwen said. “That it was set on purpose?”

“It wasn’t a lightning strike. We’ve had no
rain today.” Gareth’s eyes were equally assessing as he took in the
destruction. “But the abbot would never countenance this.”

“What about your king?” Conall said.

Gareth rubbed his chin. “This isn’t like
him.”

“But it’s like Hywel,” Gwen said in an
undertone. “You know it is.”

Gareth shook his head. “Not this time.”

“I’m not the only one who might think it,
though.” Conall turned to look at Gareth. “Hywel couldn’t have
known that the conference would fall to pieces so easily, but he
had to have considered the possibility and what might be the
outcome if it did.”

Gwen didn’t like the idea that Hywel might
be making moves without them again. He’d sworn not to lie to Gwen
anymore. Gareth, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by the
suspicion—or maybe he just didn’t want to think about it. He
motioned towards the men with buckets and said to Conall, “Aren’t
you going to help?”

Conall coughed dryly. “I’m right behind
you.”

Neither man moved, which had Gwen fighting
the giggles, not that either their injuries or the burning barn
were in any way funny. Llelo and Dai hadn’t hesitated and had
already joined the line. Gwen took one step forward, intending to
follow them, but in the same moment that Gareth reached for her
elbow to stop her, a monk detached himself from the front of the
line, where he’d been directing the men as to where to toss the
water, and came towards them. Once he arrived, Gareth introduced
her to him, and he turned out to be Mathonwy, the milkman.

Mathonwy gestured helplessly to the barn.
“It’s just terrible.”

“It seems that we have involved ourselves in
something beyond the usual, and this is not your fault unless you
were the one to set the fire,” Gareth said.

Mathonwy gaped at him. “No, my lord! Of
course not!”

“Do you have any idea how it started?” Gwen
said. “Did you leave a lantern behind?”

He ducked his head in a quick, though not
entirely perfunctory, obeisance. “Madam. I don’t bring fire to
barns if I can help it. That’s why I’m always anxious to finish the
milking before the sun sets.” He smiled ruefully. “I don’t mean to
be rude, my lord, but you and Sir Conall would be better off asking
these questions of yourselves. Other than my presence last night
and this morning, you two were the only men to visit the barn since
we found the body.”

Conall raised his eyebrows. “You think so? I
highly doubt it.”

Mathonwy turned towards him. “Why? What do
you mean?”

The question elicited a laugh from Conall,
though his expression was somewhat morose. “I strongly suspect the
barn has been visited on and off for two days.” He glanced at
Gareth. “I didn’t think it was important to set a watch to take an
accounting of those who visited.”

Gareth shook his head. “I didn’t
either.”

Mathonwy was bewildered. “Why would anyone
come here?”

Gwen knew the answer to that. “To gawk.
Murder was done here, and evil draws people to it.”

Gareth added, “It is possible that the
murderer was among them.”

Conall scoffed under his breath. “Certainly
the man who set the fire was.”

That made Mathonwy frown. “The fire could
have been an accident.”

Gareth, Gwen, and Conall just looked at him,
not bothering to actually express their disbelief in words.

Conall sighed. “We hate coincidences,
Brother Mathonwy. How likely is it that the day after a body is
discovered in the barn, it burns to the ground?”

Mathonwy spread his hands wide.
“Coincidences are not unheard of. They happen all the time.”

“Maybe in your line of work,” Gareth
said.

Gwen put a hand on Gareth’s arm, quelling
his uncharacteristic abruptness. His wounds must really be paining
him. “Speaking of coincidences, we have a few questions to ask you
about your visit to the treasury with Abbot Rhys the other
day.”

Mathonwy blinked at the change of subject.
Gwen had to admit that from Mathonwy’s perspective, it was an odd
question to be asking with the barn burning behind him.

“Uh … what is it that you want to ask
me?”

“What was your role in the accounting?”

“I went through the items in the treasury
side by side with Abbot Rhys while he checked the items off his
list.”

“What was Prior Anselm’s role?” Gareth
said.

Mathonwy shrugged. “He counted the coins,
and then Abbot Rhys and I counted the coins. I think one of the
reasons the abbot chose me that day was because I can count.”

“From your years of counting cows in order
to keep track of them?” Gwen said.

“Cows, sheep, chickens.” Mathonwy nodded.
“I’m not much good for reading or writing, but I like numbers, and
I remember them.”

“At the time did the number of coins in the
record match the number of coins counted?” Gareth said.

“Yes.” Mathonwy was very sure, though as he
spoke he looked warily at Gareth, who’d just implied that they no
longer did. Mathonwy didn’t ask for more information, however—just
had a look in his eye as if he was putting that thought away to
take out later to examine further.

“Thank you.” Gareth nodded at Mathonwy, who
returned to the line of monks and his bucket.

Gwen still had the idea that she should be
working alongside them, but Gareth kept her hand in his. “It’s a
lost cause, Gwen.”

“They’re working on it as a matter of
principle.” Conall yawned and immediately bent over in a fit of
coughing.

Gwen moved to him concerned. He had cracked
ribs and possible internal bleeding, so she’d been keeping an eye
on him since Shrewsbury, fearful that any one of his numerous
wounds would fester.

He put up a hand. “It’s just the smoke. I’m
all right.”

“What do you think?” She turned to look up
at Gareth.

“About Conall, Mathonwy, or the barn?”

“Any. All.”

Conall straightened. “I’m fine.”

Gareth shot him a skeptical look but then
answered Gwen’s question. “I don’t think Mathonwy is lying about
either the barn or his work in the treasury. I have met men like
him who remember numbers. If he says that the coins matched the
record book, it only corroborates what Abbot Rhys himself told us.
If Rhys is lying to us, I don’t want to know.”

Conall made a
huh
sound deep in his
chest that wasn’t quite a cough, the implication being that Gareth
should know better than to dismiss anyone as a suspect.

Gareth gave a noncommittal motion with his
head. “Neither Gwen nor I can seriously contemplate wrongdoing on
Rhys’s part. Some people you just have to trust, and if they betray
you in the end, so be it. The love and trust along the way are
worth it.”

“All right. I was just asking.” Conall
swallowed hard, and Gwen had an instant thought that Gareth’s words
weren’t only about Rhys—and Conall knew it.

“It seems to me that what we have here is a
string of second thoughts,” Gwen said. “Erik is murdered and the
body discarded, but then stolen later. In the same way, the body is
returned, but then the barn is burned after a full day has passed.
It’s as if someone had what they thought was a good idea at the
time, and then reconsidered later.”

“That is a devilish idea.” Conall actually
sounded pleased, his voice full of admiration. “Are you sure you’re
not a villain yourself, my lady?”

It was another jest, and Gwen obliged him
with a laugh, but then coughed herself as smoke wafted in their
direction, swirling around as the wind picked up for a moment.

Gareth made a guttural sound deep in his
throat. “I should have scouted the area better rather than leaving
it to the boys.”

“The boys are fine.” Gwen put a hand on her
husband’s arm. “Neither of you are really in top form, Gareth, but
even so, from what you’ve said, you didn’t have time. In a way, we
have been putting out fires from the moment we arrived in St.
Asaph. We’ve been reacting instead of acting, but I don’t know what
else we could have done through any of this. It isn’t as if we know
yet why Erik died. What with dead spies, complicit queens, and long
lost friends, none of this makes any sense.”

With a roar, the roof of the barn crashed
inward, and within two heartbeats, it was a pile of burning rubble.
It was really too bad that the rain had stopped, because they could
have used it. The only upside to the collapse was that the monks
had an easier time reaching the flames, which were getting more
under control, now that the roof had smothered much of the fire
beneath it.

“We don’t know much, but we do know
something.” Gareth tipped his head to indicate that Gwen and Conall
should come with him, and he moved them under the overhang of a
tree, another ten paces from the barn. The sound of the fire had
been making them speak louder than normal. This way, they were
farther away from anyone who might overhear and could speak more
softly themselves. “We are looking for at least five men, maybe
more, and I don’t believe five men moving bodies and burning barns
are all that easy to hide. We still haven’t shown Rhodri to
Deiniol, but if he was Erik’s companion, then at least we have one
question answered.”

“And what Queen Susanna and Derwena have to
do with all this we don’t know either,” Gwen said. “Don’t forget
that Dai saw Derwena go off with a nine-fingered man, who could
have killed Erik.”

Gareth looked down at her, a smile twitching
at the corner of his mouth. “You really like calling him that,
don’t you?”