The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

his lord hadn’t just said so in the first place. He crouched over the youth and began going through his clothing. The boy’s coat had three inner pockets which revealed nothing beyond lint. He had no scrip, either, nor anything to identify him beyond his face. Gareth sat back on his heels. “He’s a ghost.”
    “Or rather, one who planned to become one,” Hywel said.
    “Do you think he went into the hall expecting never to come out?” Gareth said.
    “That makes more sense than the idea that he thought he could get away with murdering my father.”
    “As we were leaving the dais,” Gareth said, “Taran told the king that the boy was one of the many extra servants hired for the wedding. When we return to the hall, I’ll talk to him.”
    Hywel looked up from studying the boy’s supine form. “Taran will blame himself.”
    “That is a fact, my lord, and one that you cannot talk me out of.” Taran pushed open the door and hurried into the cell. His face was red and he was out of breath.
    “You’ve had a busy week,” Gareth said. “Nobody blames you.”
    “I should have been more careful,” Taran said.
    “Is there something we can do for you now?” Gareth said.
    “Your lord father sent me to speak to you, to tell what I know, little as that may be.”
    “Do you remember the circumstances of his hiring?” Hywel said.
    If possible, Taran’s face got even redder. “Yes, my lord, in the sense that I took him on when he presented himself. I remember him particularly because all he had was what he stood up in—no bedroll, no pack, nothing. He was one of a dozen men who came to offer their services in the hall and stables. The harvest is over, you see, and many men like him have no real homes …” Taran’s voice trailed off as the force of Hywel’s attention became apparent.
    “But did you know him yourself?” Hywel said. “Before this week?”
    Taran shook his head. He wiped the moisture from his forehead with a handkerchief, sweating even though the stables were many degrees cooler than the hall. “He was one of several who arrived at the same time as Cristina’s family. He is from Powys, I believe.”
    “Does my father know he arrived with Lord Goronwy?” Hywel’s gaze was piercing. “Or at least appeared to?”
    “No. I would have answered all his questions but he didn’t care to listen. I tried … but it would have meant interrupting him. He is much occupied with his guests. He sent me to you instead.”
    Gareth ran a hand through his hair. “That someone tried to kill the king is bad enough without bringing the complication of Cristina’s family into it.” Cadwallon, Owain’s older brother, had led a campaign through eastern Gwynedd and Powys in 1132. His mandate had been to bring these lands, that had once belonged to Gwynedd, back into his father’s hands.
    In carrying out these orders, he slew several of his own maternal uncles (his mother’s brothers, who were also Cristina’s uncles) before dying himself. This left Cristina’s ancestral lands bereft of lordship and King Owain’s father annexed them back into Gwynedd. Cristina’s father had escaped the familicide by marrying into a Norman family in Flintshire and wisely renouncing his holdings in Gwynedd.
    King Owain hoped that this marriage, rather than opening old wounds, might heal them.
    “To which of Cristina’s relatives did the man owe allegiance?” Hywel said.
    “I don’t know.” Taran scrubbed at his hair with both hands as he thought, and then dropped them. “I have failed you all.”
    “You couldn’t have known what the boy would do,” Gareth said. “Unless, perhaps, you paid him to do it?”
    “Gareth—” Hywel said, but then he stopped himself. He knew as well as Gareth that these questions had to be asked.
    Taran gaped at Gareth. “You can’t think that I had anything to do with this? That I would conspire to murder my king?”
    “It’s all right, Taran.” Hywel put a hand on Gareth’s arm as if holding him back from an imminent assault on the steward. The two of them had slipped effortlessly into their well-practiced roles of friendly questioner (Hywel) and unreasonable interrogator (Gareth). “He’s only doing his job.”
    “It is my job to ask,” Gareth said. “And I note that you didn’t answer, Taran. Did you hire the boy to kill King Owain?”
    “No!”
    Hywel patted Taran’s shoulder but spoke to Gareth, though for Taran’s benefit. “There’s no point in