The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

rows of Cadwaladr’s men—all of whom were men-at-arms. Tellingly, Cadwaladr hadn’t chosen any knights to accompany him to Anglesey.
    Though not peasants, these men had achieved a similar station to that which Gareth had held before Cadwaladr dismissed him. A knight, especially an older one, wouldn’t have lost his reputation along with his position for opposing Cadwaladr as Gareth had with his small act of defiance. Unlike knights, who had their own lands and authority, these men were dependent on their lord for their living. This was, of course, why Cadwaladr had chosen them to assist him in his treachery.
    The men-at-arms comprising Aberffraw’s garrison stood sentry behind Cadwaladr’s men, blocking their retreat to the castle. They were weaponless: Rhun had made them stack their weapons by the gatehouse. Now he paced, his hands behind his back, in front of the watching men-at-arms.
    “You have all served Cadwaladr for long enough to recognize the truth about my uncle,” Rhun said.
    At this preamble, Hywel dismounted and waved the rest of the men off their horses. While Rhun continued speaking, enumerating Cadwaladr’s crimes, Hywel tapped Gareth’s shoulder and signaled him closer. “I wonder how many of them wish they’d followed your example.”
    “Honor is lost a day at a time—a year at a time—not all at once. Rarely is the moment for defiance as clear as it was for me,” Gareth said. “Cadwaladr chips away at you until it’s hard to remember what it was like when you stood on your own two feet.”
    “And yet,” Hywel said, “honor, even once lost, can be regained. There is hope for these men.”
    “And for me?” Gareth said, not quite looking at his prince.
    Hywel shot Gareth a rare smile instead of a smirk. “Oh yes.”
    “That’s the fine line, isn’t it?” Gareth said. “It’s easy to say I did what I had to do but there are lines a man shouldn’t cross—shouldn’t be asked to cross—even if we’ve all done it more times than we can count.”
    “I’m not worried about you,” Hywel said. “You are not your milk-brother.”
    Gareth turned his attention back to Rhun’s lecture, Hywel’s confident ‘oh yes’ still echoing in his ears. Such was the basis of loyalty; Gareth would die to protect his lord and at times like these, he believed Hywel might do the same for him. That trust and loyalty were not the same thing was something Cadwaladr had never understood.
    A few of Cadwaladr’s men appeared unmoved by Rhun’s speech.
    “The one on the far left,” Gareth said. “Maredudd.”
    Hywel nodded. “I noticed. You know him?”
    “He’s stood with Cadwaladr for thirty years,” Gareth said. “He’s seen it all. He could be Madog, if Madog would have served Cadwaladr.”
    “Which he wouldn’t,” Hywel said.
    Rhun was as aware as they of the effect—of lack of effect—of his words on Cadwaladr’s men. He glanced at Hywel, who flicked his finger one, two, three in their mutual code. Three men . Hywel shifted, glanced at Gareth, who nodded his understanding. Then Hywel tipped his head at two of his archers.
    Without seeming to move, all of Hywel’s men eased into more ready stances. Rhun gave each of Cadwaladr’s men a long look and then stepped close to Maredudd, who’d found a position at the end of the first row of men.
    “Have you heard anything I’ve said?” Rhun said.
    “All of it, my lord.” Maredudd looked straight ahead, over Rhun’s left shoulder.
    “To whom do you owe your allegiance?”
    “To Prince Cadwaladr, my lord.”
    “Do you understand that he is foresworn? That he will be stripped of his lands? That he has abandoned you?”
    Maredudd’s lips tightened. “I pledged my allegiance to him the day I became a man. I have never broken my vows.” His eyes flicked to Gareth and then away again.
    And then, in a move Gareth had been expecting but for which he still wasn’t entirely prepared, Maredudd coiled and leapt at Rhun. He barreled into the prince, knocking him over, and then raced past him, heading towards the woods to the north of the castle. Hywel pointed and the archers released their arrows at the same instant. Two found their mark and Maredudd fell forward, dead, both arrows sticking straight up in the air from his back.
    Rhun lay sprawled where he’d fallen. None of Cadwaladr’s men, who were closer, moved to assist him so Gareth stepped forward, his hand out. Rhun grasped it, levering himself to his feet, and