The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

surrounded them, but since Hywel himself had dismounted so as to continue on foot with Gareth and the Danes, Gareth hoped it didn’t make them feel that they were prisoners, any more than he’d felt like a prisoner in Dublin. Hywel had even allowed them to keep their weapons.
    “Was your venture in Ceredigion successful?” Gareth asked his prince.
    Hywel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Successful enough. We will speak later.”
    Gareth nodded, understanding that Hywel didn’t want to talk in front of Godfrid. “Yes, my lord.”
    When they reached Aber, Godfrid looked with interest at the gates, their accompanying towers, and the work being done on the wall. “Stone, eh?” he said to Gareth in an aside.
    “You may note that it doesn’t burn like wood,” Gareth said.
    Godfrid barked a laugh. “You have the right of it.”
    Then they were through the gate, across the courtyard, and into the great hall. Godfrid and Hywel, with Gareth a pace behind, marched between the tables to where King Owain sat. He was arrayed as a king in preparation for greeting Godfrid.
    The two princes came to a halt in front of King Owain’s seat and both bowed lower than usual. “Father.” Hywel moved to stand just to the right of the king’s throne, “May I present to you Godfrid ap Ragnall, prince of Dublin.”
    King Owain bowed slightly in greeting. “Welcome to Aber, Godfrid. I am always happy to greet a royal cousin at Aber.”
    “Thank you, my lord,” Godfrid said. “I come to you with some urgency, with news that cannot wait.”
    King Owain leaned forward. “I would hear it.” His glance took in the entire company of Danes—and Gareth—who also bowed his head in greeting.
    “No doubt you have heard that your brother fled to Dublin, to my father’s seat, when he left Anglesey,” Godfrid said.
    “That was my understanding,” King Owain said.
    “He comes to Wales at the head of seven ships—eight if you count mine, which you shouldn’t. King Ottar himself commands one of the boats.”
    “And what is his intent?” King Owain’s voice had not changed, but Gareth felt the temperature of the air drop. If Godfrid noticed it, he didn’t alter his stance.
    “Far be it from me to convey any man’s true thoughts,” Godfrid said, adding a bardic flourish to his words, “but it is my understanding that Prince Cadwaladr hopes you will gaze on the fleet, see that he is a powerful lord in his own right, and reinstate his lands.”
    “And he thinks that threatening me with two hundred Danes will make me bend?” King Owain pushed to his feet, his voice rising along with him.
    Godfrid canted his head in acknowledgement of the righteousness of King Owain’s anger. “Two hundred and fifty men, though fewer now that he doesn’t have mine at his back.”
    “And why are you here?” King Owain said. “What do you hope to gain?”
    “Cadwaladr promised King Ottar two thousand marks,” Godfrid said. “Gold is a pleasure, but my father and I seek a greater treasure—something that Cadwaladr cannot give us.”
    King Owain studied the big Dane through several heartbeats before easing back into his chair. “Something from me,” he said, not as a question.
    “We share blood,” Godfrid said. “Your father sought sanctuary with mine, once upon a time, and support when he needed it to regain the throne of Gwynedd. My father and I—and my brothers—ask the same of you when our time comes.”
    “Against Ottar.”
    Again, Godfrid tipped his head. “As you say, my lord.”
    Owain tapped his finger on the arm of his chair as he thought. Then he nodded. “Where did Cadwaladr hope to land?”
    Godfrid gestured to Gareth, who stepped forward to speak. “Abermenai, my lord. He must feel safe on Anglesey.”
    Hywel directed his gaze at Gareth. “You believe what Godfrid says?”
    “I do,” Gareth said. “He protected Gwen in Dublin, if that brings favor in your eyes. The only reason she didn’t return to Wales in Godfrid’s boat is that Cadwaladr wouldn’t let her. He kept her beside him for the return journey.”
    “She was well when you saw her last?” Hywel said.
    “Yes, as far I know. A storm broke apart our fleet in the night.”
    Hywel grimaced. “She gets very seasick.”
    “She does,” Gareth said. “It was good luck for us, however, since it meant that by dawn, we sailed alone.” Gareth found his shoulders tensing at what she’d endured