The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

speculating when we have so little information. The boy will wake soon and we can question him then.”
    The three men gazed at each other, and then at the youth on the floor. “He’s coming around.” Taran crouched next to the prisoner.
    To Gareth’s eyes, the steward had aged considerably in recent months. Owain Gwynedd rode out with his men from time to time, still vibrant in his forties despite the thickening around his waist. For all that Taran was of an age with his friend and lord, he looked fifteen years older. His once nearly black hair had gone mostly gray, and his shoulders were no longer those of a fighting man, but rounded. Of late, he’d spent too much time at his papers and ledgers.
    The prisoner coughed once and then opened his eyes. He stared up at the three men, blinked, and pushed himself to his elbows. “Where am I?”
    Hywel met Gareth’s cynical look with one of his own. “In the stables at Aber Castle,” Hywel said. “What is your name?”
    “I-I-I can’t say.” The boy’s eyes widened in panic at this lack of knowledge. Or seemingly so. Gareth, for his part, remained skeptical.
    “Why did you try to kill King Owain Gwynedd?” Hywel said.
    “What?” The failed assassin struggled to sit up but couldn’t manage it on his own. After watching him try to shift himself without success, Gareth helped him, half dragging, half-carrying him to rest with his back to the rough planks of the wall.
    Hywel’s hands were on his hips again. “You’re telling us you don’t know who you are?”
    The boy gazed around the small room. “N-n-no. I can’t remember! What happened to me?”
    Gareth was disgusted. “You took a hard fall.”
    “I did?” The youth put a hand to the back of his head and came away with blood.
    Hywel crouched in front of the boy. At the sight of Hywel’s intense face, the boy dug his heels into the dirt floor, scrabbling and pressing his back to the wall. “Wh-what’s going on?” He looked away, presenting his cheek to Hywel. Pathetic.
    “That’s what we’re trying to get out of you,” Hywel said. “You entered the hall just now with a knife and tried to stab the king with it. You don’t remember?”
    “N-n-no, my lord! Please tell me this is a jest! It can’t be true!”
    “I don’t believe this.” Gareth kicked at a clump of dirty straw at his feet.
    Hywel gazed at the boy for another few heartbeats and then straightened. The boy’s eyes remained wide and he breathed rapidly, as if in a panic. Of course, if Gareth had been caught with a knife in the act of trying to murder the King of Gwynedd, he’d be panicking too.
    Hywel backed off and turned to Gareth, lowering his voice as he spoke. “It could be true. We’ve seen it before in men who have taken a fall.”
    “It could, but it’s mighty convenient—for him and for the one who paid him to kill the king, if he was indeed paid.” Gareth surveyed the boy, who put his hand to the back of his head again, feeling under his hair. “Men have landed harder and fallen farther with fewer ill effects.”
    “And some have died,” Hywel said.
    “Who are you?” the boy’s voice trembled and he pointed towards Gareth with a wavering finger.
    Gareth glowered at him. “Someone you should be very afraid of.”
    “Let’s try this another way.” Hywel’s eyes glinted.
    Gareth understood what Hywel wanted without needing him to articulate it. He smirked at his prince and then stepped up to the youth, grasped him by his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. He pushed him against the planks of the wall and shook him once.
    “Who is your lord? Who paid you to kill Owain Gwynedd?”
    “I d-d-don’t know what you’re talking about!”
    Gareth thrust him against the wall again. The back of the boy’s head snapped into the wood. His eyes rolled. Given that he was already bleeding in that spot, it had to have hurt. The boy was so convincing, Gareth began to wonder if he wasn’t faking ignorance. He had fallen hard.
    Hywel crowded close, getting right in Gareth’s face. “Let him go! Can’t you see he’s hurt!”
    Gareth glared at Hywel, and then released the boy, who dropped to the floor like a child’s doll, legs and arms splayed.
    “Listen to reason, my lord!” Gareth said. “Have you gone as soft in your head as in your heart? Your father could have died!”
    “But he didn’t, and this boy, here, obviously isn’t the mastermind behind the plot.” Hywel crouched beside the boy again.