The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

the table. Hywel caught his eye, held it, and then looked away again. Gareth went cold. Hywel already knew.
    By now, Tudur was sobbing into his drink. Gareth rose, patted him on the shoulder, and crossed the hall to where his lord waited.
    “Sit.” Hywel kicked at the rung of the chair next to him so it skidded out from under the table.
    Gareth took the chair and sat. He gripped his knees as he thought of what to say.
    But Hywel spoke first. “Gareth, tell me when a man’s actions require redress from his lord?”
    “When they endanger the alliances of his sovereign,” Gareth said, “or threaten the stability of the realm.”
    Hywel nodded. “I am aware of the stories these men are telling. Until Cadwaladr ordered the death of Anarawd, he had not crossed the threshold from reckless to treason.” Hywel nodded towards the men in the hall. “Cadwaladr is a royal brother. He could do what he liked with his own lands.”
    “And if your father took him to task or brought him up short, it might send Cadwaladr into the arms of an enemy, someone who would look the other way,” Gareth said. “Even the King of England.”
    “How many Welshmen would die if Cadwaladr brought an English army into Wales?” Hywel said.
    Gareth knew his face held a stony look. He could admit that Hywel’s assessment of the political situation was accurate, even if he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t accept it. Still, he answered Hywel. “Far more than a little village in Ceredigion.”
    “When a prince is trying to preserve his country, he doesn’t have the luxury of worrying about the small things.”
    The small things . Not for the first time, Gareth was glad he wasn’t a prince of Wales, continually forced to choose between two unacceptable alternatives. He took leave of his prince and was just leaving the hall when Meilyr stopped him on the steps, Gwalchmai a pace behind.
    “You saw her?” Meilyr spoke around a clenched jaw and hands so tightly fisted it was a wonder his nails didn’t draw blood.
    “I did,” Gareth said.
    “What can you tell me?”
    “Not much more than King Owain already has,” Gareth said. “She left Aberffraw by boat, Cadwaladr’s captive.”
    “If he harms her—”
    “He thinks she carries Hywel’s child,” Gareth said. Meilyr’s already red face turned purple. Before he expired on the spot, Gareth put a hand on his arm. “Cadwaladr has been misled. But for now, it keeps her safe from him or any man.”
    “How dare you patronize me—”
    “I love your daughter, Meilyr,” Gareth said. “I would have her hand if you will give it, when we get her back and if she agrees.”
    Meilyr’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish and then he snapped it shut. “Find her. Return her safely to me and we will see.” He brushed past Gareth and into the hall. Gareth wondered if Meilyr would be able to speak civilly to Hywel and hoped for his sake that he could.
    Gareth looked at Gwalchmai, who’d remained behind, and rested a hand on his shoulder. It looked to Gareth like he was close to crying. “I won’t tell you not to worry, but this is a long way from over. We’ll find her. I swear it.”

    * * * * *

    The next morning, King Owain stood in the center of his hall, his nobles surrounding him. He held a staff in both hands. “My brother, Cadwaladr, ordered the death of King Anarawd, my friend and the man who would have been my son.” His voice carried throughout the hall. “Rather than face what he has done, and the choices he has made, he has fled, we believe, to Dublin.”
    The majority of the people listening had heard some of this before. Nobody gasped in horror or dismay. “Most here already knew what kind of man Cadwaladr was,” Rhun said, sotto voce .
    Gareth turned to find the prince at his right shoulder. But Rhun was only repeating Gareth’s own thoughts: that even if someone hadn’t heard the news, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. And that thought gave Gareth pause too, for if everyone had known what Gareth himself had faced in Cadwaladr’s service, why had so few understood and forgiven Gareth for his summary dismissal?
    Rhun gave him a smile. “Do you know why I knighted you?”
    Gareth shook his head. “We’d won the battle…”
    Rhun didn’t wait for him to finish. “It was time.” He tipped his chin towards the crowd of men listening to King Owain. “It isn’t that men couldn’t forgive you for disobeying Cadwaladr, or at least, that’s not the