The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

because my brother needs a patron and my father would do anything to find a settled place for him. We lived among the royal court during all my growing up years. The king held his hand over us, and that was worth almost any kind of sacrifice, though it could hardly have been called that. That is something my father would like to establish for Gwalchmai before he dies.”
    “Before he—” Gareth couldn’t finish the sentence. “Your father looks well.”
    “He is well. He’s just feeling morbid.” Gwen gestured to the bodies. “Which this will do nothing to help.”
    “So Meilyr doesn’t actually want the position of chief bard for himself?” Gareth tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice but didn’t think he was entirely successful.
    Gwen shot him a brief smile. “No.”
    “That’s a tricky position to be in—for everyone—but particularly Gwalchmai, upon whom all your father’s hopes rest.”
    “You can see why it would be better to have some idea of who did this when we bring Anarawd’s body to King Owain,” Gwen said. “Anarawd was the king’s friend and the man who would have been his son-in-law.”
    Gareth looked towards Gwen’s father again. Meilyr had stopped studying them and was rummaging through a satchel in the back of their cart. “Let’s see what we can find. And it would be better if we hurried.”
    “Do you think whoever did this will come back, like Madog said?”
    Gareth read real fear in Gwen’s face. He didn’t like seeing it. “I assured your brother that they wouldn’t, but—” Gareth tensed his shoulders and then relaxed them. Nothing about this day had gone right. The longer they stood here, the more worried he became. “This might not be over. Not by a long shot.”

Chapter Three

    H ow can it be that he’s here? Gareth of all people? As she followed Gareth through the woods, Gwen cursed herself for her muddy hem and unkempt hair—and the fact that instead of greeting him and throwing herself into his arms as she wanted to, she was examining a murder scene for Hywel. That was so like her and her luck. How many nights had she lain awake, imagining herself in her best dress, her hair perfectly coifed, singing without mistake for a company of noble lords in a hall. Halfway through the evening, Gareth would appear and fall in love with her all over again.
    It had never happened, of course, and she’d long since given up hope of ever seeing him again. She’d half-convinced herself that he’d died in some far away land, fighting someone else’s battle.
    “What’s this about you spying for Hywel?” Gareth said, as they picked their way among the trees.
    “Who told you that?” Gwen said.
    “Gwalchmai,” Gareth said.
    Gwen sighed at her brother’s too-free tongue. “Hywel’s position in his father’s household has always been precarious. It was bad when we left and has gotten worse since then. Not long after I last saw…” she stopped, swallowed, and rushed on, “ … I last saw you, Hywel visited the home of his cousin in Powys and it happened that we played there that winter. He spoke to me then about keeping an eye out for trouble and I said I’d see what I could do.”
    “And have you?” Gareth said. “Seen what you could do, I mean.”
    “I can’t say what value I’ve been to him. My reports are mostly on the comings and goings of his people, both high and low,” Gwen said. “Who conspires with whom; who has sued whom over what land; whose marriage bed is colder than it should be.”
    “Your father said you’ve been among the dead before.”
    “I never thought to involve myself in anything dangerous,” Gwen said. “But we served in many households, and … things kept happening. My father was even accused of murder once and it was up to me to find the truth because nobody else would.”
    “If I’m ever accused of murder, I would be delighted if you would extend me the same courtesy,” Gareth said.
    Gwen smiled, as she was sure he meant her to, but then sobered, looking over her shoulder at the men strewn along the road. “Nearly two dozen men, all dead, all put to the sword either in battle or once they lay stunned on the ground. All except Anarawd, who was killed with a knife.”
    Gareth crouched low to the ground. “Here.” He brushed away a few fallen leaves to reveal a man’s footprints, clearly embedded in the soft earth. Further on were more footprints, and then more again.
    “How many men in the party, do