Read The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) for Free Online

hand through his hair. “Come. We’ve work to do.”
    “Why would Bran have been with a Danish company if he rode with—”
    “I don’t know, Gwen.” The words came out sharp and she knew instantly that it would be better not to ask what he didn’t want to answer. Not with the grief so near. And betrayal.
    In silence, they labored among the dead and wounded. With the help of Madog’s surviving soldiers, they stripped the foreigners to their loincloths. Their own soldiers could use the armor and weapons and it gave Gwen and Gareth an opportunity to look for any indication of who had paid the mercenaries, if that was indeed what they were. Perhaps the King of Dublin himself wanted Anarawd dead, though Gwen couldn’t imagine why.
    They found nothing useful, no seal or ring that a lord might give to an underling to provide him safe passage through Wales. A pair of boots appeared beside Gwen’s knee.
    “It’s time to put the lyre on the roof.” Meilyr dropped her satchel of clothing beside the body of the man she’d searched most recently. “Here. It’s time to go.”
    “I hate giving up,” Gwen said. “Owain Gwynedd will not be pleased.”
    “Then he can come himself and search,” Meilyr said, uncharacteristically dismissing his lord’s concern. “It’s time we were going if we are to arrive at Caerhun before darkness falls.”
    Gwen got to her feet and hefted the two satchels—one of clothing and the other of the much-depleted medicines. Madog needed their repaired cart to carry the dead and a soldier had calmed their horse enough to haul it. For the rest, they piled the weapons, bodies, and goods in the already heavily laden carts, and traveled the last miles to the Conwy River. Meilyr and Gwalchmai carried the box of precious instruments between them.
    Madog spent the journey grilling Gareth and Gwen about King Anarawd’s death and everything they’d culled from the Danish soldiers. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much. Most of the loot would be divided among Madog’s company, with a tithe set aside for Owain Gwynedd. Gareth had acquired a short knife, which now rested at his waist.
    “Take these.” He handed three coins to Gwen.
    “I—I can’t,” she said, rejecting them out of hand, even though her eyes widened at the sight of them. Coins were rare in Wales and she’d never had any of her own.
    “What do you mean, you can’t?” Gareth said.
    Gwen shook her head. “A man who is dead last held those coins. Perhaps the lord who ordered Anarawd’s death gave them to him. How can I take them for myself?”
    Gareth tsked at her through his teeth but didn’t push them on her, and instead slipped them into his own scrip. “I’ll hold them for you until you need them.”
    Gwen hadn’t banished the sick feeling in her stomach at the events of the day. “I can’t believe someone has plotted to murder a king.”
    Gareth laughed under his breath. “What you can’t believe is that you witnessed it. Murdering one’s king is a well-established tradition in Wales and you know it.”
    Of course Gareth was right. And if Gwen were smarter, she wouldn’t be the one to tell Owain Gwynedd about this particular murder. Unfortunately, leaving the task for Gareth alone was the coward’s way and that was a path Gwen refused to take.
    It was another long walk before the fort of Caerhun rose before them, half-finished—or rather, half-falling down and patched here and there with wattle and daub or foraged stone. King Owain understood the importance of the old Roman fort. It guarded a centuries-old east-west road across Gwynedd. The Romans had built the fort and improved the road, but the Welsh themselves had passed this way for as long as they’d peopled these lands.
    The English had sought to force the Conwy River many times over the years. While today King Owain’s domains were at peace and stretched all the way to the city of Chester on the border between England and Wales, that hadn’t always been