Chapter Ten
Llywelyn
“My lord!”
The young soldier, Bevyn, trotted across the hall to the high table where I sat in a moment of idleness, watching Marged play chess with Goronwy. Marged claimed only a passing knowledge of the game but I thought I’d let Goronwy have a go at her before I tried, just in case. I could stand to lose, but I’d like to see it happen to someone else first.
The boy came to a halt in front of us. He bowed to me, but then turned to Goronwy.
“Yes, Bevyn,” Goronwy said, still focused on his game. “I’m busy.”
“Busy losing, looks like,” he said, “if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I do mind, young man,” Goronwy said, looking up, “but I forgive you if you give me an excuse to bow out of the game. What is it?”
“It’s the village, sir,” Bevyn said. “Sir Hywel requests your presence there. They’ve returned.”
“The villagers have returned?” I asked. “All of them?”
“They’re back in their homes, not happy to be lacking possessions, but taking up their lives again,” Bevyn said.
“Did they say what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Bevyn said. “Sir Hywel sent me to you straight away.”
“We’ll come.” I turned to Marged. “Sorry to postpone the drubbing, Marged, but we’re off. Kiss Anna for me when she wakes.”
Marged’s face went suddenly blank, and then cleared. “Yes, Llywelyn,” she said.
I nodded and stepped of the dais, though Marged’s look had taken me aback. What was wrong? I put it away. Either she’d tell me or she wouldn’t and I didn’t have time to draw it out of her.
It was only three miles to the village; I took ten men with me, plus Goronwy. We didn’t cross through the Gap, but all of us gave the road ahead an extra look before turning onto the track that headed east to the village just before we reached the ambush site.
“A bad business, my lord,” Goronwy said.
“Indeed,” I said, thinking of Geraint’s funeral the day before. It had been cold enough outside that we could wait to bury him until Tudur arrived. He’d ridden in on the first clear day after the snowstorm, bringing another twenty men with him. I’d sent him with Hywel today, thinking that it would do him good to get his mind off his father’s death. Now I wasn’t so sure.
We rode onto the village green, now cleared of debris. The grass had blackened where the fire had burned, while the snow around the edges of the village had melted off into a frozen mud that cracked as we walked across it. I checked the sky. Geraint would have told me a thaw was in the offing. Damn, I miss him.
Hywel was off his horse, talking to a peasant in a ragged brown cloak. Tudur had been watching for us. I caught his eye and he came over as I dismounted.
“What’s the story?” I said.
“They were paid, my lord,” Tudur said.
“Paid?” Goronwy said from behind me.
“The headman says a nobleman came to them, one Rhys ap Gruffydd,” Tudur said. “Rhys had a dozen men with him. He sat on his horse, threw the headman a sack full of coins and told him they had two hours to get out of the village.
Goronwy scoffed at that. “Rhys ap Gruffydd? Who’s that? One of Gwenwynwyn’s bastards?”
“I find it hard to believe a man would give up his home so easily,” I said.
“For coin?” Tudur said. “Many a man will do far more for less.”
“What did he look like?” I said. “Surely the headman can describe him.”
“Of medium height, medium brown hair, rich clothes.”
“Now that’s a helpful description,” Goronwy said.
“I suspect they were paid not to say more, too,” Tudur said, “but we have no means of proving it and I can’t get anything more out of the headman.”
“String him up by his ankles if you have to.” I turned to Goronwy. “Where’s Humphrey, perhaps he can help us?”
“I’ll get him.” Goronwy headed to where Humphrey stood next to Hywel, listening to their conversation while surveying the burned green and the devastated huts surrounding it, all of which were undergoing restoration. Goronwy returned with both men a moment later.
“What do you think of the headman’s tale?” I said to Humphrey.
“I cannot say,” Humphrey said. “I told you all I know. The village was deserted; we burned it.”
“On Owain’s suggestion,” Tudur said.
“Yes.” Once again, Humphrey’s chin firmed at Owain’s name. “There is nothing more that I can tell you.”
I turned to Tudur. “How devious do we think Owain is? Enough to get rid of the villagers so Humphrey could burn their village to the ground?”
“Maybe he just wanted them out of the area so they couldn’t report his activities to you or anyone else,” Hywel said. “Then when Owain heard you were coming, he took his opportunity to set the trap.”
“Owain isn’t that smart,” Humphrey said. “He is too impulsive for such forethought.”
“I said ‘devious,’ not ‘smart,’” I said.
“Devious can take you a long way down the road to smart, particularly if you’re lucky as well,” Tudur said.
“If it matters,” Humphrey added, “the headman’s description, such as it is, fits Owain.”
I sighed. “It matters and it doesn’t. I wish that he were here right now, but as it is, he’s beyond my reach. I will task Owain’s father with his behavior just as soon as I am able.”
“Over here!”
The five of us spun to face the eastern woods. Goronwy put a hand on my arm to check me as the other three ran forward. “Wait, my lord. Not until we know what is happening.”
He’d become more protective of me as we’d grown older. I understood Goronwy’s concern but chafed at it. I didn’t feel that much older, but ever since I’d gained King Henry’s blessing as the Prince of Wales, Goronwy’s caution had increased.
“My lord,” Bevyn said, Glewdra’s reins in his hand.
I pulled myself into the saddle, more comfortable now that I was in a position of strength and could see the whole area.
Humphrey returned at a run. “There is something you should see, my lord,” he said.
I trotted Glewdra through the trees that formed a barrier at the eastern edge of the village and into a small clearing, fifteen feet on a side, fifty yards in. In the middle of the clearing, a horse cropped the grass—what he could find of it—next to the body of a man. Hywel crouched beside the body and looked up as I approached.
“He’s dead, my lord,” he said, “for some days from the looks. He’s near frozen solid.”
“At least he doesn’t smell,” Bevyn said.
I glanced at him, wondering if I should slap him down or encourage him. I had need of men with courage and brains and even though Bevyn was only seventeen, he was already well supplied with both. He’d made me laugh more than once and I was growing accustomed to his dry sense of humor.
Hywel rolled the man over and the cause of death became obvious: a sharp slice to the throat. “Killed from behind, by my guess,” said Hywel.
“Mine too,” I said. It was hard to argue with that kind of evidence.
Humphrey spoke. “He was one of our men. I didn’t see him after the ambush, but he was with us before it.”
“Was he the messenger Owain sent to you?”
“No,” Humphrey said.
I returned my gaze to the dead man, digesting the evidence. Meanwhile, Tudur went through the horse’s saddle bags. He froze, glanced at me, and then looked down again to an object in his hand. Taking this as a cue that I should pay attention, I urged Glewdra nearer. “What is it?”
Tudur shifted his shoulders to block the view of the other men, who’d begun to disperse to look for any more clues as to what had happened here. He opened his hand to show me its contents.
My heart grew cold at the sight of the signet ring he held. “That was my father’s,” I said.
“I remember it, my lord,” Tudur said.
I held out my hand. Tudur dropped it into my palm and I clenched my fist around it. I looked up to see Goronwy watching me. I canted my head and he nodded, understanding that I would share the find with him later. I didn’t want to think what the discovery of my father’s signet meant, but for my own safety—and that of my country—I had no choice but to find out.
“Keep an eye out for anything else that’s out of place, Tudur,” I said. “I need to know who I’m dealing with.”
“Yes, my lord.”
My men wrapped the body in a blanket and threw it over the horse’s back and we returned to the manor, more silent than when we’d left.
Marged greeted me as I entered the hall, her upturned face searching mine. “You have news?”
I hesitated, remembering the blank look that she’d given me earlier, as if she’d been disturbed that she had to remain behind. “You may listen provided you keep to a corner and hold yourself quiet until we’re finished.”
“Thank you.” She trailed after me up the stairs and into my study. She settled herself on a cushion under the window, and if the others were surprised to see her there when they entered, they didn’t show it.
With Hywel, Tudur, and Goronwy arrayed before me in front of my desk, I cleared a space and dropped the ring onto the center of the desk. Goronwy put out a hand and fingered it.
“It’s your father’s, Llywelyn,” Goronwy said.
“I know,” I said.
“I found it among the dead man’s bags,” Tudur said. “But with no letter, no other indication of who gave it to him or why.”
“Who inherited it when your father died, my lord?” Hywel asked.
“My older brother, Owain,” I said. “I don’t recall it being among his possessions when I put him in Dolbadarn Castle, but . . .”
“We should find out if he had it,” Goronwy said, meeting my eyes, “and if not him, if he gave it to one of his sons, his wife . . .” his voice trailed off.
“Or his brother,” Hywel said.
“See to it,” I said, a growl forming in my throat, threatening to close it off entirely.
“I’ll go,” Tudur said abruptly. “It’s not far to Dolbadarn. He might not tell me who has it, but then again, he might if I offered to give it back to him.”
I clenched my fists at my sides and then relaxed them. “I would prefer to keep it.”
“With your permission, my lord,” Tudur said, bowing, “I will offer the ring only as a last resort.”
“I’m sorry, Llywelyn.” Marged’s voice piped up from the corner. “Could someone please explain what’s happening?”
I turned to her, finding myself angry—not so much at her, though she would be an easy target given her impertinence—but at the situation. Goronwy forestalled me, however, by waving one hand airily and dropping into a chair.
“It’s like this, Meg. Pretend the ring is a child’s ball, bouncing from one person to the next across Wales instead of the floor. Where does it come to rest? Why do we find it here, outside the village that Humphrey destroyed—at the urging of men who do not ally with us? What was the message he carried, for why carry a signet if not to prove to another who his master was?”
“So,” Marged said. “You’re saying that one of Llywelyn’s family members has betrayed him.”
“Yes,” Goronwy said. “Probably.”
“That’s a surprise,” she said.
I stared at her. She was making a jest. Goronwy glanced at me, and then grinned at Marged. “Go on.”
Marged shifted in her seat. “It seems to me you have multiple issues to address, some more important than others.” She stumbled a bit over her words but then became more assured as she realized she had our full attention. “You know that Humphrey leagued with Owain of Powys to ambush you at the Gap. You know that one of your family members isn’t loyal. What you don’t know is one, who told them you were leaving Criccieth; two, who paid off the villagers; three, where the messenger was going with the signet ring; and four, who killed him? It’s that final point that concerns me now, because that man is still out there, and he’s dangerous.” She’d ticked these points off on her fingers as she spoke, but now stopped as silence fell on the room. I studied her. The others, of course, were waiting for me to say something; waiting for me, perhaps, to put her in her place.
“I agree, Marged,” I said. “The presence of the ring distracted me from the main point.”
“And then there’s issue number five,” Goronwy said. “Given that the mind behind this isn’t Bohun’s—or Owain’s, is someone else waiting for us on the other side of the forest of Coed y Brenin?”
Hywel rocked back on his heels. “We’ve been facing the wrong way. Backwards instead of forwards. The danger isn’t behind us, it’s ahead.”
“But it always is, isn’t it,” Marged said. “You live with that threat every day—every time you leave your castle, you face that. You have so many enemies it’s impossible to keep track of them all. It almost doesn’t matter who’s behind any of this. You can’t trust anyone.”
“But he has to, don’t you see?” Tudur said. “His men, his counselors, you . . . he has to trust because no Prince can govern alone.”
Marged met my eyes. “We both know who sent that ring, Llywelyn. Don’t we?”
I let out a breath, but didn’t answer her. Such was honor. Such were my obligations to my title and myself. Instead I turned to Goronwy. “Have we reached our full complement of men for the journey south?”
“We’re at fifty once again, my lord.”
Tudur and Hywel nodded. “We’ve enough. Our enemies become bolder, my lord,” Hywel said. “There appears to be little they will not attempt, and no depths too low for them to sink.”
“Then we must think faster than they, and always remain two steps ahead,” I said.
“Easier said than done, my lord,” Tudur said.
“Then don’t say it; do it.”
Their faces had a somber cast as they filed out the door.