The Faithless Fool Read online

  “Where is his captain now?” King David said. “I assume he remains in Worcester?”

  “His residence there will be permanent. He died of dysentery last month.”

  They all looked at the unearthed body for a moment, and then Douglas tsked through his teeth. “What did this poor bugger do to have died before we’d even started?”

  Chapter Six

  Day One

  Gwen

  Margaret allowed Gwen to guide her steps back through the gatehouse, into the inner bailey, and then into the kitchen, located next to the great hall.

  From the looks of surprise on the faces of the kitchen’s occupants, Margaret’s presence was an uncommon event. The hour was late, but the kitchen was still full, mostly due to preparations for tomorrow’s meals, though many people remained in the hall and needed continual feeding.

  Gwen gave the cook, who was standing behind his work table, a rueful smile. “Lady Margaret has had an unsettling experience, and I felt the hall was an inappropriate place for her to recover.”

  Without waiting for permission, she then guided Margaret to the corner bench and table, standard furnishings in every castle kitchen from Dover to Aberffraw to Edinburgh. Once Margaret and Gwen were seated, a servant brought over a carafe of wine and two cups without needing to be asked. Gwen poured wine into a cup and placed it between Margaret’s hands. She drank without appearing to notice she was doing so.

  Gwen resented just a little bit the role Gareth had assigned her. While the men conferred over the body, she was tasked with appeasing the witness who’d discovered it, who just happened to be a woman.

  At the same time, and as she’d said to Llelo, Gwen didn’t have a strong desire to examine a body that even from a cursory inspection she could tell had decayed almost beyond recognition. The smell alone was foul enough to make her nauseous—and she had barely recovered her stomach from the journey by boat to get here. Even if it had been a relatively calm few days on the sea between Aber and Carlisle, and Godfrid had acquired a potion from an apothecary in Dublin that mostly worked to keep Gwen’s nausea at bay, she had no desire to renew the feeling of queasiness so soon. She remained grateful that the Danish prince had appeared on the beach in front of Aber, with his broad smile and expansive hugs, to ensure the safest and easiest journey possible. That he’d brought Caitriona with him only added to the joy.

  It was Caitriona who had done more poorly on the journey, less because of her stomach, which was enviously made of iron, than from exhaustion. She was among those left at the monastery, and while Gwen completely understood why she had preferred to sleep rather than endure an evening in Carlisle’s great hall, the two of them had become friends enough that Cait’s presence would have lightened the burden of a dead body in a church. Not that Cait would have enjoyed the smell any more than Gwen.

  “I don’t understand.” The shock in Margaret’s voice had not lessened. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Several servants had moved closer, a matter of taking a few steps to the other side of their worktables. And even for those farther away, all eyes were now on Gwen and Margaret.

  Margaret had spoken in French, which some of the kitchen staff appeared to understand, even if for many Gaelic might be their first language. Scottish Gaelic was a tongue very similar to Irish, Conall’s native language, which Gwen spoke distressingly poorly. There were hints in both of Welsh, as if the three languages had once been one and the same but had diverged from each other long ago.

  That so many people would be able to understand and overhear—and that they would be the center of attention—had absolutely not been Gwen’s intent in coming to the kitchen. Now she was wondering if she should have taken Margaret somewhere else. Normally, that place might have been the church, clearly off limits in this instance, or a guesthouse common room. Since Gwen herself was not staying at the castle, she didn’t feel right about invading that space, and she didn’t actually know where Margaret’s rooms were or the women’s solar, if this castle had one. It might not since King David was a widower. It wasn’t as if Margaret was in any condition to help either. At least Gwen had had the sense to avoid the great hall, which must be a hotbed of rumor and speculation by now.

  Gwen also would have preferred to speak a language the kitchen staff didn’t understand. She herself spoke three with some fluency: Welsh, English, and French. Carlisle Castle, however, had always been a crossroads of many nations, and that was equally true since King David had made it one of his primary fortresses. David himself had a Saxon mother and had been married to a Norman, not to mention had spent many years living (and fighting) in and against England. Thus, he and his close companions knew many languages too. It might be that the only language Gwen and her family were safe in speaking, one nobody here would understand, was Welsh, their native tongue.

  But even that notion was immediately dispelled by the arrival of another servant, this one bringing a fresh loaf of bread and a block of cheese. “Mae’n ddrwg gen i, ond dw i’n meddwl bod well iddi hi fwyta.” I’m sorry, but I think she’d better eat.

  Astonished, Gwen looked up at the young woman. She was younger than Gwen, perhaps not even twenty, and her eyes were bright with intelligence, which shone from her smiling face. She knew she’d surprised Gwen. “My name is Bronwen, and my family is from Dùn Breatann for twenty generations.”

  Gwen understood immediately what Bronwen was telling her: though located a hundred miles to the north of Carlisle, Bronwen’s ancestors and Gwen’s were the same. Today, what had once been the British Kingdom of Alclud was hardly more than a barren rock with a few ruins perched on top. And yet, at one time it had been a British stronghold and supported one of the mightiest fortresses in the north. Dùn Breatann or Dumbarton, which was what the English called the place, meant fort of the Britons.

  “I’m Gwen.”

  “I know, my lady.” The woman put a hand to her heart. “May I assist you further in any way?”

  Before answering, Gwen glanced towards Margaret. Having already ripped off a piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth, she was now slurping her drink around it. Given how unladylike her behavior had become, Gwen was starting to think that the two cups of wine she’d consumed in Gwen’s presence were not her first of the evening. Maybe not even her fifth. Gwen couldn’t blame Margaret for being upset and saw no harm in giving her another moment to collect herself—and allow the bread to absorb some of the wine already in her stomach.

  Gwen also had some questions that Bronwen might as well be the first to answer. “Did you hear what happened?”

  Bronwen pressed her lips together for a moment, clearly a little worried about how Gwen would react to an answer in the affirmative, but then she wilted under Gwen’s calm gaze. “One of the servers overheard that a dead man had been found in the church. The hall was emptier than during the ceremony for the prince, but the people left can discuss nothing else.”

  “My son spoke in Welsh—” Gwen broke off at Bronwen’s rueful face.

  “I am not the only one in Carlisle from Dumbarton. Besides, someone also overheard King David telling his steward why he was leaving. Anyway, it was impossible to miss the sudden departure of the king and prince.”

  Gwen supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that the king couldn’t go anywhere—or leave anywhere—without attracting attention. And while many would have wanted to rush right over to the church to see for themselves, King David’s control and authority were sufficient to have prevented that from happening. “I suppose I might as well tell you the gist of things, since rumor is already widespread. Better it at least be accurate: the body of a man was found in the church. He has been dead for some time, though when I left, few conclusions had been drawn as yet as to how or when he died.”

  “By some time you mean ...”

  “Months.”

  Bronwen put a hand to her mouth. “He couldn’t have been in the church all this time!”

  Gwen had wanted to keep the
explanations to a minimum, but she should have known it would be impossible not to answer questions once she appeared willing to be forthcoming at all. “No. From the dirt on his clothing and skin, he was buried and unearthed very recently.”

  “Unearthed?” The word came out very loudly in Welsh.

  Nobody else in the kitchen reacted immediately to what Bronwen had said, beyond a concerned glance in her direction. Even if they had understood, Gwen couldn’t regret giving Bronwen the information. It was no less than the truth as well as, Gwen hoped, just salacious enough to keep the gossip-mongers happy for a time.

  “Over the next hours and days, we will likely be asking questions of everyone in the castle as to what they know about the matter.”

  “We?” Bronwen blinked. “Oh, of course. Your husband is Lord Gareth. He will be leading the investigation.”

  “That is up to King David, but yes, at the moment, my husband is in the church.”

  “Do you suspect someone here?” Her question came out slightly breathless, more shocked by that idea than by the body in the church.

  “Someone moved him from wherever he has been all this time.” Gwen made an appeasing motion with one hand. “But that isn’t really what I meant. Our hope is that someone will have seen something, at some point, even if they didn’t think it was significant enough at the time to report.”

  “Like a man carrying a dead body over his shoulder?” From her dry tone, Bronwen was recovering from her initial surprise. “Can you at least tell me who it is that is dead?”

  The girl’s comment had prompted Gwen to shoot her a smile, appreciating the young woman’s quick wit. “I don’t know, and it would be wrong of me to speculate.”

  “Would it be helpful if I made some inquiries for you among the kitchen workers?”

  Gwen canted her head. “Perhaps less that, since I know my husband will want to make his own inquiries, than for you to keep your eyes and ears open. If you learn something, anything, in conversations with those around you—because we know everybody will be talking about nothing else—please come find me. We are staying in the cathedral’s guesthouse.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Bronwen bobbed a curtsey and moved away.

  Even five years married to a knight, who was now the steward to the edling of Gwynedd, Gwen didn’t feel very much like a lady most of the time, but she saw the value of the authority being a lady gave her. Gwen had given Bronwen more information than she might have done had they not shared a Welshness, but otherwise, Gwen was less interested in being allied with those she encountered in this foreign castle than being treated with respect by them. If she and Gareth were going to get at the truth, the people here needed to believe in their competence.

  It was time to return to Margaret. Only a few fingers of wine remained in the carafe, and Gwen poured the rest into Margaret’s cup. At least this time, although Margaret picked the cup up right away, she sipped the wine instead of downing it in a few gulps. The conversation with Bronwen had gone on long enough that Gwen was worried Margaret would be too drunk to talk. Plying a witness with drink could be a good way to soften them for questioning, but it could equally lead to gloom and belligerence.

  “Please tell me what happened. Take your time.”

  Margaret’s elbows were on the table, and her hands clutched around her cup. “You know my father died last week.”

  “I’m sorry, I did not.”

  “We were very close.” She started to tear up. “And now this!”

  Gwen reached out a hand. “Take your time.”

  Margaret took a last sip of wine, set the cup down, and met Gwen’s eyes for the first time. Despite having consumed an entire carafe of wine by herself, her gaze was steady. “Every evening, once the meal is over, along with the pomp, I retire to the church to pray. On my estates, we have a private chapel for my particular use. We don’t have our own priest,” she hastened to say as Gwen opened her mouth, though that wasn’t what she had planned to ask, “but the village priest comes every week, or more often at my request.”

  “I understand. Please continue.” What Margaret did at home seemed irrelevant to the issue at hand, but now that the woman was talking, Gwen didn’t want to interrupt the flow.

  Margaret made a gesture with one hand that could have been dismissive. “That is all. I was on my knees before the altar, deep in prayer, when I noticed a disturbing smell. The church was very dark, so I assumed it was empty. Empty is how I prefer it, and I confess I took it for granted that I was alone.”

  “So you didn’t see anyone else, either on your walk to the church or once you entered it?”

  “No. Not even the priest.” Margaret smiled slightly in a manner that was almost condescending. “He knows my routines, and he understands my needs. I am usually in the church for half an hour at most, and I try to come early enough to accommodate his own desire for private prayer. Even if he were moved to come at the same time as I, he has a little place in the vestry for himself, or he could be alone in the chancel past the altar where laymen do not go.”

  Again, so as not to stop the flow of information, Gwen did little more than nod, and Margaret understood the motion to imply encouragement.

  “The smell made it so I no longer could remain on my knees. I stood and followed my nose to the lectern, and then to the priest’s chair behind it.” She put a hand to her mouth. “It was so awful. If it hadn’t been nighttime, I would have seen him right away. I confess I screamed and ran for the door, at which point it opened to reveal Lord Hamelin and another boy—your son, is he?”

  “Yes. That’s right.” Gwen canted her head. “Do you know who it is that’s dead?”

  “No!” Margaret’s eyes went very wide. “Why would you think I did?”

  “You said him.”

  “He was wearing King David’s colors. I could see that even through the dirt.” Margaret shook her head. “How could anyone do such a thing?”

  Asking questions instead of answering them was a noted practice of someone with something to hide or who wasn’t telling the whole truth. Margaret’s questions seemed innocuous, however. Really it was too soon to judge anyone or their motives.

  Gwen also thought, but didn’t say, since it would be impolitic so soon into the investigation, do you mean how could anyone murder someone, or how could someone disinter a body and leave it in the church? Both, probably.

  “So you’re saying you go to the church every evening?”

  “Yes.” Then Margaret frowned. “Though, I was later than typical, what with the knighting ceremony starting so late. I watched Prince Henry receive his honor and then left immediately thereafter.”

  Margaret really hadn’t wanted to spend any more time in the hall than she’d had to. Again, however, Gwen kept her private thoughts private.

  “Had you been in the church earlier in the day?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know how often the church is used?”

  “Often enough, I would say. The priest could give you a better answer. If what you’re wondering is how often the church is empty and available for someone to leave a body in it, I wouldn’t necessarily know.”

  “Do you know if anyone routinely comes to the church after you?”

  “Again, that would be the priest.”

  “And after he leaves, who uses the church at night?”

  Margaret frowned. “No one that I know of. Not until he says mass at dawn. Even in winter, that can be too early for me.”

  “Would you say your habits are common knowledge among the residents of the castle?”

  “I suppose so, though again, I was later than usual tonight.” Margaret’s eyes went wide. “Do you think I could have just missed the man who did this? He-he-he could have been hiding in the vestry! What if he thinks I saw him? Do you think I’m in danger?”

  Gwen was taken aback at this sudden fear in Margaret’s eyes and was sorry she didn’t have a good answer for her. “I genuinely don’t know, but perhaps, until we know
more, you shouldn’t wander about on your own.”

  All of a sudden, Margaret appeared quite sober, and her eyes were thoughtful. “I will take myself to the hall and then to bed.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

  From the other side of the room Bronwen made a motion as if to suggest she could refill the carafe, but Gwen gave her a slight shake of her head. Margaret could seek out more drink on her own, but Gwen wasn’t going to facilitate further consumption. As it was, she counted herself lucky that Margaret’s thoughts hadn’t yet gone as far as Gwen’s. Namely, if the church was empty all night, why not leave the body during the darkest hours? Why risk moving it when so many people remained out and about—unless the person who left it had a very specific reason for leaving it in the church when he did?

  Chapter Seven

  Day One

  Gareth

  Before any further work could be done, Gareth decided he needed to clear the church of onlookers, which was going to be tricky when one of them was the King of Scots and the other a potential heir to the throne of England. Both had been very friendly and welcoming to Gareth’s entire family, but they were also very certain of themselves and used to getting what they wanted at all times.

  The need was clear, however, so he turned to face the men before him, spreading his hands wide as he did so, with an overtly apologetic expression on his face. “While it seems I may have a long night before me, there is no reason for anyone else to stay if they have pressing duties to attend to.” Specifically he bent his gaze on Prince Henry. “If I am not mistaken, my lord, you have been awake for two days and a night and have not eaten properly in that time. With what’s at stake with the coming campaign, you don’t want to do yourself an injury by not caring for your health sufficiently.”

  He’d spoken as diplomatically as he could, intending his manner to be that of a father or kindly uncle, but he was telling Prince Henry what to do, and the prince could still take offense. At the same time, one of the first things he’d learned in his efforts to become a diplomat in the service of Prince Hywel was that the only thing he could truly control was himself. How other people reacted was their responsibility, not his. That said, it wasn’t a lesson he’d exactly mastered.