The Unlikely Spy (17 page)

Gareth raised his chin, realizing what he
was seeing: Alun was used to browbeating everyone he encountered,
though the way he was holding Carys suggested that he genuinely
cared for her. It had probably been a long time since Alun had
asked anyone a polite question as he had Gareth just now.

Not one to hold a grudge, Gareth related to
Alun the essential details of the finding of Gryff’s body, without
mentioning the stab wound. He was still keeping that in reserve. He
didn’t know how long he was going to be able to do that, or if it
would help them find the murderer, but it was all he had.

Towards the end of the telling, Carys’s
sister-in-law came out of the house and wrapped her arms around
Carys. The two women sobbed together, and then the sister held
Carys at arm’s length and looked into her face. “You always have a
place with us. Isn’t that right, Alun?”

“Of course,” Alun said. Not every man would
relish taking on three more mouths to feed, but to Alun’s credit,
he welcomed his sister without hesitation.

“Come inside.” The woman put her arm around
Carys and guided her around the hut towards the door.

Alun put his hands around his mouth and
bellowed up the hill for Fychan to bring the children, which after
a moment he did, having scooped up the youngest in his arms in his
haste to answer the summons.

Fychan skidded to a halt at the bottom of
the hill. “What is it?”

“Send the children inside,” Alun said.

Fychan obediently put the child down, and
Alun urged all of them towards the house. They went willingly
enough, and when they too had disappeared, Alun turned back to
Fychan. “You saw Gryff’s body?”

Fychan nodded, shifting nervously from foot
to foot.

“You’re sure it was Gryff?”

Again the nod.

“So he’s really dead, eh?” Alun stroked his
chin and continued before Gareth had to answer that question. “I
always knew he’d come to a bad end.”

“Why is that?” Gareth said.

Alun dropped his hand. “He was a layabout,
that’s why.”

Gareth’s conversations with most everyone
had given him that impression, first from Iolo’s disappointment in
his associate, then from Carys, and finally from Alun, who
proceeded to lay out Gryff’s failings more fully: he would always
arrive later than he said he would; he would fail to complete an
assignment by the end of the day or simply wander off halfway
through; or he’d forget the details of what he’d been asked to do
to the point that he became useless and it became quicker just to
do the work oneself. Only Madlen hadn’t seen him as others did, and
that difference made Gareth wonder yet again why Iolo had kept
Gryff on and if it had been only for Madlen’s sake.

“His only value, as far as I could see,”
Alun said, “was his ability to deliver messages. He would remember
what had been said after hearing it once, and repeat it word for
word at the other end, regardless of how much time had passed.”

“That is a useful skill,” Gareth said.
“Could he be trusted not to repeat what he’d said to another?”

“As far as I could tell, he forgot the
message the instant he delivered it,” Alun said. “Money meant
nothing to him. A good day’s work meant nothing.”

“That makes him a difficult man to have for
a brother-in-law,” Gareth said. “You must have worried a great deal
about your sister.”

“He could have been a bard, you know,” Alun
said. “But he threw that away too.”

“A bard? Nobody mentioned that he could
sing,” Gareth said, thinking of the festival and wondering if Gryff
had meant to participate.

“He could sing anything,” Alun said, “but no
bard would take him on as an apprentice because he was so
unreliable.”

“But you would think that he could memorize
any song,” Gareth said.

“And forget it again by the next day,” Alun
said, “once he’d sung it once.”

That kind of behavior was reminiscent of a
man Gareth had encountered during the time he’d protected a
community of nuns in Powys. One of the laborers who worked in their
fields had been dropped on his head as a small child. He could be
trusted with menial tasks, but spoke slowly, shied away from
contact with people, and often listened without comprehension. But
he had a head for numbers that defied all logic and
expectation.

“I gather Gryff also drank too much?” Gareth
said.

“Who told you that?” Again, Alun started
talking before Gareth could answer. “The man had a hollow leg. He
could drink me under the table and walk home in a straight line
afterwards. I’ve never seen a man who could hold his mead like
Gryff could.”

Iolo had implied exactly the opposite, but
all Gareth did was make a note of that in his head and continue his
questioning. “How did Gryff and Carys meet?”

“Oh,” Alun waved a hand, “he has cousins
around here. He married Carys after she conceived his child. My
father regretted the match, but at that point, he felt it was
better that they were wed. Gryff had been working in the mine, but
he hurt his back.” Alun shrugged. “I was there when the accident
happened and it was genuine, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever been a
hard worker in the first place.”

“When was this?” Gareth said.

“Some three years ago.” Alun screwed up his
face for an instant. “It did give Gryff a fiery hatred of Prince
Cadwaladr, Lord Hywel’s uncle.” Alun added this last bit of
information as if Cadwaladr might be someone Gareth didn’t
know.

“Really?” Gareth said. “Why is that?”

“He was working the men too hard, trying to
extract ore too quickly,” Alun said. “He needed money and didn’t
care what it took to get it.”

Gareth felt his face fall blank. He knew why
Cadwaladr had needed money three years ago: He’d first needed to
pay a retainer fee to the Danish mercenaries he’d hired to murder
King Anarawd and his men, and then he’d needed to pay them off.

Alun didn’t seem to notice Gareth’s change
in demeanor and continued, saying, “Gryff did odd jobs after that
and was herding my sheep when he encountered the cloth trader,
Iolo.”

“What did you think of his new employment?”
Gareth said.

“To tell you the truth, I was relieved,”
Alun said. “Gryff was a dreamer. Even herding sheep, which requires
only the intelligence of a sheep half the time, was too much for
him some days.”

Alun seemed genuinely upset at the loss of
Gryff for Carys’s sake, but more regretful than angry or grieving
on Gryff’s behalf. If grief was a reflection of love, neither Iolo
nor Alun had loved Gryff. Neither man gave any indication they knew
Gryff had been murdered either. Gareth wanted to see Alun’s face
when he was finally told. Perhaps that moment ought to come
soon.

But not yet.

“When did you last see Gryff?” Gareth
said.

“Oh—” Alun tapped his chin as he thought.
“It must have been the Sunday before last. He tried to visit Carys
and the children when he could. The trader let him off on Sunday,
and he would come if he could walk from wherever he was staying at
the time.”

“Did you know he was in Aberystwyth?” Gareth
said.

“I knew he was coming for the festival. He
suggested we all come down for it, but—” Alun gestured helplessly
around him. “I try not to leave my herds for more than half a
day.”

“Aren’t you a miner too?” Gareth said.

“Not every day,” Alun said. “I sometimes
pick up work when they need an extra hand.”

Gareth knew a little of silver mining. The
work took place underground in open shafts, and workers made their
way down steep tunnels to where the silver was found. Usually,
silver and lead were extracted together, and they had to be
separated in a furnace to release the silver. It was hard work, hot
and dangerous at times, and a life Gareth could be thankful every
day he wasn’t born to.

Still, it was lucrative since miners were
often paid in ore, which explained the size of Alun’s house and the
extent of his herds. It was hard to think what Alun might have
gained from Gryff’s death, especially if Gryff had finally been
able to support Carys without help.

“Was Gryff usually staying in a place close
enough to Goginan to walk home?” Gareth said.

“Not often,” Alun said, “Iolo ranged all
through Deheubarth and Ceredigion, into Powys, and all the way to
Shrewsbury. Gryff came when he could.”

“What about Carys? Would she have been
willing to bring the children to Aberystwyth, even if you didn’t
come with her? Surely Iolo would have allowed them to sleep
wherever Gryff was staying?” Though as Gareth asked that, he
realized that he hadn’t yet told Alun about Madlen. Gareth could
see why Gryff would have been loath to suggest such an
arrangement.

“If Carys discussed it with him, I never
heard of it,” Alun said.

“Excuse me, Cousin.” Fychan stepped forward.
He’d been so quiet Gareth had all but forgotten the boy was there.
“Didn’t I see you a couple of days ago near St. Padarn’s
monastery?”

Alun’s brow furrowed. “Did you?”

Gareth raised his eyebrows. Fychan was a
sharp-eyed boy. He’d been right about Gryff, and Gareth was
inclined to believe him in this too. “Were you in Aberystwyth two
days ago? Did you see Gryff?”

The big man’s face grew red. Then the color
seemed to take over his whole body to the point that he bore a
striking resemblance to the silver furnace he occasionally worked.
Gareth imagined him breathing fire. But then Alun took a deep
breath, striving to calm himself. He might be a big man in Goginan,
but Gareth was of a far higher rank as a knight. And they both
served Prince Hywel one way or another.

“Fychan speaks the truth. I visited
Aberystwyth for a few hours two days ago,” Alun said.

Two days ago Gryff was still alive. “Did you
see Gryff?” Gareth said.

“I did.”

Gareth raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you
mention it when I asked when you’d last seen him?” Gareth didn’t
want to antagonize the big man, but this was a piece of information
that should have come out far earlier in their conversation.
Keeping secrets was the first indication of a guilty
conscience.

“I forgot about it until Fychan said
something. Earlier, I thought you were asking about when he’d last
come here.”

“How did you get to Aberystwyth?” Gareth
said. “Did you walk?”

“I have a cart and horse,” Alun said.

“You traveled two hours there and back to
see Gryff?” Gareth said. “Why?”

Alun scoffed. “I didn’t travel to
Aberystwyth to see Gryff. I had other business in the village. I
ran into Gryff by chance. I hadn’t known he’d arrived yet or that
his master had lodgings in the town.”

“What did you two talk about?” Gareth
said.

“Nothing of importance, though—” Alun’s brow
furrowed, “—he didn’t seem right to me. As I said, Gryff was always
a dreamer, but that day he was tense, anxious even. It was
noticeable enough that I asked him if he was well, but all he said
was that Iolo was working him hard at the festival. He was in a
hurry and didn’t want to talk.”

“What kind of hard work does a cloth
merchant do?” Gareth was genuinely curious. As far as he could
tell, a cloth merchant bought cloth and then sold it. He wasn’t
sure where the apprentice came in, especially since Iolo had Madlen
to help him.

Alun waved a hand. “Gryff did all the
physical work: he put up the tent; he cared for the cart and horse;
he even dug a latrine in the evening if they miscalculated how long
a journey might take and had to make camp in a remote place.”

“That doesn’t sound like the work of a
layabout,” Gareth said.

“It does if it took him three times longer
than the average man to do the work.” Alun snorted. “I’d wager the
only reason Iolo kept him on was so he didn’t have to do the work
himself.”

Gareth grunted his acceptance of Alun’s
reasoning. That might be a wager he would win. “What of
Madlen?”

“What of her?” Alun said. “She’s Iolo’s
niece, isn’t she?”

“Did Gryff ever speak of her?” Gareth
said.

Alun pursed his lips. “Not that I remember,
or not with any significance. She looked down on him, and such an
attitude grows old after a while, even for one as easygoing as
Gryff.”

Gareth swallowed, bracing himself for the
wrath that he knew would come the moment he opened his mouth again.
“She came to the chapel at St. Padarn’s saying she was Gryff’s
wife.”

But instead of becoming angry, Alun simply
gaped at him. “What? That’s absurd.”

“I tell you it’s true,” Gareth said. “We
wouldn’t even have known that he had a wife in Carys—and had
children too—if Fychan hadn’t come forward—” And then Gareth broke
off as he carried that sentence to its logical conclusion in his
mind: if Fychan hadn’t come forward, they would have buried Gryff’s
body. If not for the murder investigation, that would have been the
end of it. Carys would never have known what had happened to her
husband.

Alun was too caught up in the news to wonder
at Gareth’s unfinished sentence. He turned to Fychan, his face
questioning.

Fychan bobbed a nod without needing Alun to
actually ask him anything. “Sir Gareth speaks the truth.”

“That is utterly mad. Why would she say such
a thing?” Alun said.

“Our assumption was that she believed
herself to be Gryff’s wife,” Gareth said.

“That isn’t possible.” Alun’s voice was full
of certainty.

“You don’t believe that Gryff would have led
Madlen on?” Gareth said. “That he might not have told her of his
wife and children?”

Alun shook his head. “No, I don’t. At the
very least, if Madlen was under the protection of her uncle—as we
know her to be—he would never have consented to the match without
meeting his family. Besides, I just told you that Gryff asked us to
come to Aberystwyth for the festival. Why would he have asked us if
he was betraying Carys with Madlen?”