The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

perhaps that’s why when he was allowed out, he ran wild—and inevitably injured himself or his friends.” She paused. “And you?” She wished she could read Gareth as well as the letters on the vial, as he shot her yet another look she couldn’t interpret.
    “I’ve spent far too much time in the company of wounded men. I know less about healing than I would like, but certainly enough to help you doctor these men until we can get them to someone more knowledgeable.”
    “Then come,” Gwen said. “We’ve work to do.”
    But this time, Gareth didn’t reply. He stood frozen to the spot, a few steps from the cart, and then walked quickly to a body that had fallen underneath two others. He shoved at them and Gwen trotted up to help.
    “What is it?” she said.
    “I pray—” Gareth stopped speaking and swallowed hard instead. He’d revealed the face of a man who was still alive, but hadn’t long to live.
    “Bran!” Gareth knelt to cradle the man’s head. “Talk to me!”
    Bran opened his eyes and brought a hand up to Gareth’s cheek, before dropping it. “Glad you’re alive.”
    “What? Why? Why are you with these Irishmen?”
    “Not Irish. Danes. We had to come back. Didn’t know you’d be here. I tried to warn you.” Bran moaned and would have closed his eyes again but Gareth shook him to keep him awake.
    “ Why did you have to come back?”
    “Had to get Anarawd’s seal. Prove the king was dead.”
    “Prove to whom, Bran! Who bought you—”
    Silence.
    Gwen reached over and closed Bran’s eyes while Gareth settled Bran onto the road. He put a hand to his forehead, with his elbow resting on his knee. He held that position, his throat working, though he didn’t make a sound. Gwen put a hand on his shoulder and Gareth reached back with his other hand to grasp it.
    “Who was he?” she said.
    “He was my milk brother. Though why—” Gareth swiveled to survey the men around his fallen brother.
    “Why would he ride among Danes?” she said.
    “I don’t know,” Gareth said. “The last news I had from him was that he rode in Anarawd’s teulu . I looked for him among the fallen earlier, thinking he might have died defending Anarawd, and was relieved to find him absent. But now…”
    Gwen didn’t know what to say other than, “I’m sorry.”
    Gareth got to his feet, his shoulders stiff and frozen. He stared at his brother’s body as if he would stand there forever. Then he gave a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Come. We’ve work to do.”
    “Why would Bran have been with a Danish company if he rode with—”
    “I don’t know, Gwen.” The words came out sharp and she knew instantly that it would be better not to ask what he didn’t want to answer. Not with the grief so near. And betrayal.
    In silence, they labored among the dead and wounded. With the help of Madog’s surviving soldiers, they stripped the foreigners to their loincloths. Their own soldiers could use the armor and weapons and it gave Gwen and Gareth an opportunity to look for any indication of who had paid the mercenaries, if that was indeed what they were. Perhaps the King of Dublin himself wanted Anarawd dead, though Gwen couldn’t imagine why.
    They found nothing useful, no seal or ring that a lord might give to an underling to provide him safe passage through Wales. A pair of boots appeared beside Gwen’s knee.
    “It’s time to put the lyre on the roof.” Meilyr dropped her satchel of clothing beside the body of the man she’d searched most recently. “Here. It’s time to go.”
    “I hate giving up,” Gwen said. “Owain Gwynedd will not be pleased.”
    “Then he can come himself and search,” Meilyr said, uncharacteristically dismissing his lord’s concern. “It’s time we were going if we are to arrive at Caerhun before darkness falls.”
    Gwen got to her feet and hefted the two satchels—one of clothing and the other of the much-depleted medicines. Madog needed their repaired cart to carry the dead and a soldier had calmed their horse enough to haul it. For the rest, they piled the weapons, bodies, and goods in the already heavily laden carts, and traveled the last miles to the Conwy River. Meilyr and Gwalchmai carried the box of precious instruments between them.
    Madog spent the journey grilling Gareth and Gwen about King Anarawd’s death and everything they’d culled from the Danish soldiers. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much. Most of the loot would be divided