The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

struck mute by this speech, but then reddened. He stepped closer to his brother and this time, he kept his voice low, having gone past anger to rage. “If you were sincere in your regrets, why is there a fleet of Danes at your back? Why do you seek to force my hand by threatening my people—our people—with ruin unless I give you what you want?” King Owain looked away, glaring over the heads of his men to where the Danes waited on the other side of the thin fabric, across the sand. “Whatever it is that you want.”
    For the first time in his life, Cadwaladr appeared momentarily cowed. “I haven’t threatened you. The Danes are merely alli—”
    “You dare contradict me?” King Owain returned his attention to Cadwaladr and his voice back to thundering. “You stand before me, claiming brotherhood, and yet your actions belie your words. Give me back my lands or I loose my Danes on Anglesey? And what of that poor girl, Gwen, who you’ve brought into this? Why haven’t you returned her to her family?”
    Cadwaladr opened and closed his mouth like a fish, not giving an answer, because of course, he didn’t have one.
    “You hold her hostage, don’t you, brother ,” Owain said. “If I don’t give you what you want, or better yet, slit your throat, your Danish friends will harm her. Isn’t that it?”
    Cadwaladr stared at King Owain for a count of ten, and then threw himself to the ground at the king’s feet. “Please forgive me, brother,” he said, groveling, his nose almost to the ground. “I didn’t see until now how wrong I was.”
    “Mary, Mother of God!” King Owain blasphemed. “You sicken me.” He toed Cadwaladr’s ribs and gazed down at him, disgust written in every inch of his body. “Am I to assume by the fact that you came alone that your Danish friends don’t know you’re here?”
    “I saw an opportunity to speak to you alone and took it.” Cadwaladr lifted his head so his voice wasn’t muffled. “Is that so wrong?”
    Owain snorted under his breath. “And if I take you back, with or without promising anything, including your lands, what of the Danes?”
    Cadwaladr sat back on his heels, his face radiant. “Together we can drive them from Abermenai. It will be a simple matter, as you so wisely encircled them just as we arrived.”
    “And what about your promises to them, Cadwaladr?” Owain said. “With what did you buy them?”
    And again, what about Gwen? Gareth added, a cold fear settling into his chest at what King Ottar might do to her, even over Godfrid’s objections and defense, once they realized Cadwaladr was missing.
    When Cadwaladr didn’t answer, King Owain said, “What did you promise them, Cadwaladr? My head after you’d killed me?”
    “No!” The word burst out as if it was the truth, which perhaps it was. “I only promised them two thousand marks. That’s all.”
    “And do you have two thousand marks?”
    “Of course not,” Cadwaladr said, as if there was any ‘of course’ about it.
    More silence from King Owain, and then he held out his hand to Cadwaladr. “Give me your seal.”
    “My seal?” Cadwaladr said, aghast, eyes wide. A man’s seal was his life, his honor, even more than his sword. “But … but… .”
    King Owain sighed. “I’m not consigning you to the gallows, Cadwaladr, merely a room at Aberffraw until I’ve cleaned up your mess. I need your seal so that when I send for the cattle and goods to account for the gold you owe Ottar, your people will know that you agreed to the bargain.”
    “You’re going to make me pay them to go away?” Cadwaladr said, clearly horrified at this unexpected turn of events.
    “You will either give them two thousand marks—or its equivalent—or I will give them you,” King Owain said. “It’s your choice.”
    Cadwaladr still didn’t seem to believe him. He stuttered through another dozen heartbeats while King Owain stood still as a stone, arms folded, observing Cadwaladr as if he was a chained animal on display at a village fair. Hywel, standing to his father’s left, merely looked pained—and resigned.
    And then Gareth understood that Cadwaladr had won again.
    When Cadwaladr’s protests had died down, Owain turned to his sons, though his gaze took in Gareth as well. “Rescue the girl.” To Cadwaladr, he said, “We will give the Danes what you owe them. When that is done and they are gone from my shores, we’ll talk again.”
    He strode out the opening to the tent and into