The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

angry.”
    “He’s known for his astute strategizing,” Gareth said, “but it’s not uncommon for him to act first and think later. Look at what happened with your father. They have an argument about something that should have been resolved within half a day—and which King Owain probably doesn’t even remember now—and they don’t speak for six years. Hywel says that King Owain could still hang me for this, were we to fail to uncover the real culprit.”
    “That’s what I fear. I spoke with several of your friends among the garrison. They don’t think you’re good for this, even if you’ve done some things in the past of which you are less than proud.” She paused. “You don’t have to tell me about those things.”
    “We’ve all done things we regret,” Gareth said. “After Cadwaladr dismissed me, I learned that even what he’d asked me to do were minor offenses compared to what was possible.” He shrugged. “A lord feels much more loyalty to his regular men-at-arms and knights, whose families may have served his family for generations, than to the mercenaries he hires. That’s why a lord always assigns a mercenary the dirtiest work.”
    “Much like Hywel,” Gwen said.
    Gareth looked up from his soup bowl. “What makes you say that?”
    “Wouldn’t you agree?” Gwen said. “Rhun is the heir; Owain Gwynedd has things that need doing that he might not mind doing himself—if he had the time—but is loath to have them sully Rhun’s hands. But Hywel…”
    “Yes,” Gareth said. “I would say that you’re right.”
    “It’s always been that way,” Gwen said. “I remember the first time. Hywel was only fourteen. One of King Owain’s knights had neglected his duties to the king; he’d refused service and tithes in a strange act of defiance. It was Hywel that King Owain sent to see to him.”
    “And what did Hywel do?”
    “Burned the man’s house and barn to the ground, along with everything in them. The knight escaped with only the clothes on his back.” Gwen glanced at Gareth, her gaze inscrutable. “None died, if you’re wondering.”
    Gareth nodded. Such was the way of kings. “It could be worse. Hywel could have been born in the time of Gruffydd ap Llywelyn. If the stories of his reign are true, Gruffydd had half the men in his family killed to prevent any chance of them usurping his throne. Someone had to do it; someone had that blood on his hands, even if he was only doing as Gruffydd told him.”
    “King Owain has his hands full enough with his brother.” Gwen poured the mead she’d brought into a cup and handed it to Gareth. He took it but didn’t answer. He should have known she couldn’t be silenced so easily. After another look, she said, “I gather, then, that we aren’t going to talk about Cadwaladr either?”
    “What’s there to say?” Gareth said. “Even after all this time, he spreads lies about me. What I can’t understand is why I’m even in his thoughts. I was a tiny speck on his cloak that he flicked off with one finger all those years ago.”
    Gareth had come to Cadwaladr after the death of his Uncle Goronwy, who’d served King Owain’s elder brother, Cadwallon. Goronwy fell in battle with Cadwallon in 1132, in a war against a king of Powys over something Gareth couldn’t remember now. Land or power, it was all one to Gareth. He’d been a soldier for two years already, though in truth still a boy and fighting on the fringes of the battle. He’d been posted among the archers since they’d been short of men with bows and his shot was better than average.
    Upon Goronwy’s death, Gareth, now orphaned for the second time, had transferred his allegiance to Cadwaladr at King Gruffydd’s request. It was unfortunate for Gareth that this youngest prince hadn’t even half the courage of the eldest.
    “Apparently you weren’t a negligible speck to him,” Gwen said. “Now that you’re among Hywel’s company, Cadwaladr has been reminded of what happened and how you stood up to him. Perhaps you are one of the few men who ever defied him openly.”
    “The only one, I think,” Gareth said. “Or rather, the only one who lived to speak of it. He’s learned since his dealings with me that it’s not enough to dismiss someone. Better to kill him.”
    Gwen shook her head. “I really don’t want to know that. We’ve sung in his castle at Aberystwyth many times.” She leaned against the wall, her hands behind her back, studying Gareth.