The Uninvited Guest (28 page)

“
Dafydd
will take you around, after you’ve eaten,” Sir Amaury said.
“We will find this lad, if he’s here to be found.”

“
Thank you, my lord.”
Gareth hadn’t been surprised, even as he’d been disappointed, when
he thought the sheriff would send him home empty-handed. This was
an excellent turn of events.

Dafydd
left the room, leaving Gareth alone with the sheriff. Both
remained standing, eyeing each other, though not in an unfriendly
way. “You are not what I expected,” Sir Amaury said.

“
My lord?”

“
When
Dafydd
told me that a Welsh knight was
waiting to speak to me, I expected to find one of the men who
fought beside me two years ago at Lincoln and then at
Winchester.”

“
I have never fought in
England,” Gareth said.

Sir Amaury coughed. “Better for you. Better
for everyone if none of us had been at Winchester. We barely
escaped with our lives.”

“
So I understood,” Gareth
said. The sheriff was going somewhere with this, but for the life
of him, Gareth didn’t know where.

“
I’ve never met one of King
Owain’s men,” Sir Amaury said, “only those who serve his brother,
Cadwaladr.”

After a brief respite, Gareth’s sinking
feeling was back.

“
You would balk, I think,”
Sir Amaury said, “at some of the things we’ve had to do in this war
between Stephen and Maud.”

“
I have done much that I
regret, too.” Gareth felt a pinching around his mouth and eyes at
the memories.

“
Ah. But you don’t cover
fear with bluster,” Sir Amaury said. “I don’t see any fear in you
at all.”

Gareth’s hand moved to rest on the hilt of
his sword. “Should I be afraid?”

“
I could lock you up just
for setting foot in Chester.” Sir Amaury waved a hand at Gareth,
taking in his whole being. “You are a Welsh knight, riding armed
into my city.”

“
I came with courtesy,”
Gareth said, “under the assumption that we are men of
honor.”

Sir Amaury nodded. “As I said—not what I
expected. Different from Cadwaladr.”

Gareth’s tension began to ease. Here was
another man whom he could respect. He’d found two in as many days,
first in the prior of St. Asaph and now in the sheriff. “Besides,
how would imprisoning me serve your Earl?” Gareth said. “I would
just be another mouth to feed, another man to guard to no purpose.
Better to boot me out the gate and let me go home.”

The sheriff barked a laugh. “An honorable
man, yet a practical one.”

“
I’ve learned something in
the last few years.” It was on the tip of Gareth’s tongue to tell
Sir Amaury that he
had
served Prince Cadwaladr for a time. But he feared it would
expose too much.

Another laugh. “When
Dafydd
takes you through
the taverns, let him do the talking. Your English is terrible.” The
sheriff gave Gareth a quick nod of his head and departed, still
laughing.
Dafydd
came through the door just as Sir Amaury pushed through it
going the other way. “Take care of him.”

“
Yes, my lord.”
Dafydd
brought paper and
charcoal to one of the tables. “You put the sheriff in a good
humor. What did you say to him?”

“
No more than necessary and
that appears to have been enough.”

Dafydd
gave Gareth a quizzical look, but didn’t ask more. Gareth
sketched a dozen copies of Pedr’s face.
Dafydd
took the papers to pass among
his men and then came back for Gareth. “We’ll start at the
gatehouse and work north. I’ve sent men to the other gates. At the
very least, we’ll catch him as he’s leaving the city.”

But as the day wore on, it
seemed to Gareth that they wouldn’t catch him at all. He and
Dafydd
made a full circuit
of the streets. The sun had long since set by the time they
returned to the castle. Gareth felt as if he’d met every single one
of Chester’s three thousand residents. Although Gareth didn’t want
to give up, he was just opening his mouth to tell
Dafydd
that he was sorry
for wasting everyone’s time when one of
Dafydd’s
underlings ran up to
him.

“
I’ve been looking for you
everywhere. We’ve found him!”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

A
t
last I’m going to get some answers!

Pedr had found himself a
seat at a table in the corner of a tavern, one street south of the
east gate. As
Dafydd
and Gareth settled themselves onto the bench opposite, the
youth lifted his cup to them. “Hello! It’s a fine evening.” He
spoke in Welsh. His first mistake.

“
Is it?” Gareth said,
answering in the same language.

Pedr put down his cup. “Excuse me. Do I know
you?”

“
You certainly should,”
Gareth said.

Pedr just gazed at him, an innocent
half-smile on his face. “Enlighten me.”

Gareth had forgotten the issue of the man’s
amnesia—feigned or otherwise. He gave a ghost of a laugh, shook his
head, and then wagged his finger at Pedr. “You’re good. You might
even convince someone who didn’t know you as well as I. I spoke to
you in your cell at Aber Castle three days ago.”

“
I have not been to Aber in
many years,” Pedr said. “You must be thinking of someone
else.”

“
Your face is not one that
I could forget,” Gareth leaned forward. “It was I who stopped you
from murdering King Owain.”

“
What?” Pedr had been
taking a swallow of mead and now sprayed it across the table.
Fortunately, Gareth leaned back in time to get out of the way.
“What are you saying?”

For his part,
Dafydd
snorted into his
drink. “Why does it not surprise me that
you
saved the king?”

Gareth ignored Pedr’s outrage and Dafydd’s
mumbled accolade. “Tell me your name.”

“
Dai ap Aron.”

“
Ah … so you do remember
it.”

Pedr’s eyes widened. For a moment, he’d
forgotten what he was supposed to not know. “I think that’s my
name.”

“
I don’t,” Gareth said.
“That is not the name that Prior Rhys at the monastery in St. Asaph
gave me for you.”

Pedr’s self-satisfied smile faded a little.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have never been to St.
Asaph. You have the wrong man.”

Dafydd
had gotten to his feet as Pedr and Gareth were speaking and
now poured another serving of mead into Pedr’s cup.

“
I don’t have the wrong
man.” Gareth took out his drawing and pushed it towards Pedr. “I
drew this two days ago at Aber. Good, isn’t it?”

Pedr pushed the paper back at Gareth. “I
have no idea who that is.”

“
One of the men of the
watch recognized you from it. That’s how we found you.” Gareth
turned the image around and held it up, pretending to compare it to
Pedr. “It is you, and you can tell me why you tried to kill King
Owain, or I can have my friend
Dafydd
, here, throw you into a cell
under Chester Castle. Your choice.”

Pedr drained his drink and
set it on the table.
Dafydd
was right there to fill it again. Pedr didn’t seem
to notice. He leaned against the wall behind him, his arms folded
across his chest. “If you had anything against me, I’d be in a cell
already.”

Gareth reached across the table, grabbed
Pedr by the shirt, and yanked him out of his seat, his nose right
in Pedr’s face. “This tavern is full of the sheriff’s men. Whether
or not you leave it alive depends on my good will.” He dropped Pedr
back onto his bench and settled himself down again. From the way
Pedr cleared his throat, Gareth had rattled his composure, but not
as much as Gareth would have liked.

“
And mine.” Dafydd’s eyes
flashed to Pedr and then back to his drink. “It would be much
easier to tell the sheriff that you died in a tavern brawl than
haul you down to the castle. Quicker, too.”

Pedr was starting to look
concerned. His eyes flicked from Gareth to
Dafydd
, who grinned back at him and
patted the sword at his waist. “Scum like you, giving Welshmen a
bad name. I’d be happy to dispatch you. Just say the
word.”

Gareth tipped his chin at Pedr. “Tell me
your name. Your real one.” Pedr eased back from the table, but kept
his hands on it, and now his eyes flitted around the tavern looking
for a way out. Gareth reached across the table and grabbed Pedr’s
wrist—tightly. “Your name.”

Pedr’s jaw bulged. “Pedr ap Marc.”

“
That’s better.” Gareth
released Pedr and eased back. “Your father was Marc ap Iefan, was
he not?”

Pedr nodded. He took another big gulp of
mead. Gareth would have been under the table by now with all that
drink, but Pedr’s eyes and hands remained steady.

“
I already know the sordid
story,” Gareth said. “I hear he died shortly after King Owain gave
him the boot.”

Pedr shook his fist at Gareth. “King Owain
murdered my father!”

“
Easy, now.”
Dafydd
said. Several of
the men-at-arms who served the sheriff rose to their
feet.

“
It’s all right.” Gareth
put his hand out. “Tell me, Pedr. You were only a boy, then,
weren’t you?”

Pedr nodded. “I was eight when the soldiers
came. They were my father’s friends, or so he’d thought.”

“
And what
happened?”

“
They burned our house! Our
barn! They stripped us of everything we had but the clothes we wore
and herded away our livestock. We were left with
nothing!”

“
You were left with your
lives,” Gareth said. “And from what I hear, King Owain was being
generous.”

“
As if our lives were worth
anything without the King’s favor,” Pedr said. “He would have done
better to kill us.”

“
I see,” Gareth said. “Then
he didn’t murder your father, after all.”

“
He drove him to his
death!” Pedr’s voice had taken on the tenor of a wounded child,
rather than a man of eighteen. Even after ten years (albeit with
too much mead inside him), his emotions remained raw. “He died a
few months later. Drink.”

“
Did he tell you what he’d
done to incur King Owain’s wrath?”

“
His tithes were late. It
was nothing.” Finally, Pedr had begun to weave in his
seat.

Dafydd
and Gareth exchanged a glance.
Dafydd
refilled the pitcher with which
he’d been supplying Pedr. Gareth leaned over the table again,
trying to create a feeling of intimacy in which confidences could
be shared. “What did you do to survive?”

Pedr shrugged. “I found food and shelter
where I could. Eventually I went east.”

“
So you have been to St.
Asaph before. What were you and Caradoc talking so intently about
two nights ago?”

Pedr had been staring at his hands but now
looked up. “Me and who?”

“
Caradoc of
Rhuddlan.”

The youth’s face drained of
color and he took a long drink from the cup that
Dafydd
had refilled yet
again and placed at his elbow. “We didn’t talk of anything
important.”

Gareth put his hand on the boy’s, and made
his voice gentle. “Your conversation was important. Prior Rhys
noticed it specifically.”

Pedr took another drink, not answering.

“
You settled in Rhuddlan
after your father died, didn’t you? Perhaps you did odd jobs for
the steward there, in exchange for room and board. That’s why
Caradoc lied to me about you.”

Silence
.

Gareth canted his head to one side. “You
lived there, what, four years?”

“
Five.” Pedr bit his lip.
He’d said too much in that one word and he knew it.

“
You spoke to Caradoc of
your misfortune, of course. I’m sure he proved a good
listener?”

“
No!”

“
And when the time came for
you to repay your debt, he pointed you in the direction of King
Owain and let you loose.”

Pedr shook his head back and forth, back and
forth. “No, no, no.”

“
Who let you out of your
cell at Aber?” Gareth said.

“
No one! I broke out myself
and left by the postern gate. I didn’t even steal a horse because
I’d left mine nearby—”

“
And nobody saw you? Nobody
helped you?”

Pedr started to scoff, but then froze. He’d
admitted that he’d been at Aber. The game was up. As Gareth waited,
a cold and yet fiery feeling settled into his belly. It felt like
triumph.

Gareth patted the boy’s hand again. “It’s
all right. You’ve come this far. You might as well tell me the
rest.”

Pedr swallowed hard. “The garrison was lax
and that wall—the panels weren’t even nailed down. Nobody saw me
leave.”

“
What about the men who
guarded your cell?”

Pedr shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they
fell asleep? The boards made no noise when I pulled them out so
perhaps they didn’t notice.”