‘He was not ordered elsewhere?’ Owen asked.
‘Oh no. Burley was that mad when he found Reine gone and me still about. “A week. Where is he off to for a bloody week?” he shouted.’
‘St David’s,’ Owen said.
‘Aye,’ Harold whispered.
Later, after attending the Mass for John de Reine, Owen strolled over to watch the masons at work on the south gatehouse. Harold and Simwnt had bragged about it, calling it the grandest design, thanks to the good Duke, who saw fit to make his castle of Cydweli as grand as any in England. Owen did not mention how much larger and grander was the Duke’s castle of Kenilworth. Grand castles were for living; grand gatehouses were for defence. And as ever in this country the question was whether Lancaster fortified Cydweli against the Welsh or the French. Or both.
‘It will be a wonder when completed,’ said Gruffydd ap Goronwy, joining him where he stood gazing up the scaffolding. ‘Prison to one side, porter’s lodge to the other. Not one, but three murder holes.’ He chuckled. ‘They fear us, these English, eh?’
Had he read Owen’s thoughts? ‘It is the French that are feared at present,’ he said to cover his confusion.
Gruffydd dropped his eyes. ‘You have heard of my disgrace.’
It had slipped Owen’s mind. ‘Forgive me. I meant nothing by it.’
‘And why should we not allow the heir to the great Llywelyn to land on these shores? Stay — I know the answer. The French would use Owain ap Thomas ap Rhodri to destroy the Marcher lords and then step over him to claim the victory. I am not such a fool as to think they wish us well.’
‘I am glad to hear that. I like to think that my countrymen are not so desperate they will act foolishly.’
Gruffydd turned to Owen, nodded as if approving what he had said. ‘Your countrymen. I am glad you still think of this as your country. Which brings me to the matter I wished to discuss. They say you entered the service of Henry of Grosmont from this very castle. Is that true?’
‘It is.’
‘Are your kin still here?’
‘They were here when I departed. My parents and siblings. They had come down from the north. Llŷn.’
‘I believe I may know your brother.’
Owen’s heart raced. ‘My brother Dafydd?’
‘No. Morgan. Morgan ap Rhodri ap Maredudd.’
His mother’s youngest child, still quite young when Owen left. ‘He would not know me.’
‘Then you did have a brother by that name. Dark, slight?’
‘It was feared he would not survive to manhood. He was a sickly child.’ An unpleasant child, difficult to love. What did it mean that he was the one Gruffydd mentioned? Surely the eldest would be most prominent in the area.
Gruffydd was nodding enthusiastically. ‘It is him. It must be him. I shall go to him. Invite him to the castle.’ Spoken as if he were lord of Cydweli.
‘You have heard nothing of Dafydd?’
Gruffydd threw up his hands. ‘I did not know to ask. I shall. Who can say what wonders I shall uncover, eh?’
Nine
Gruffydd had marched away with a purposeful stride. Perhaps he would bring not only Morgan to the castle but Dafydd, Angie, Gwen, Owen’s parents, Rhodri and Angharad.
As Owen walked back to the guesthouse, he tried to imagine how it would feel to see his family after all this time. He doubted he would recognise any of them. And what would they think of him, scarred and with an accent that testified to his years in the service of the English King? Though his parents would remember that he had saved the family by going into the Duke’s service, would his siblings remember? He feared this home-coming might prove a bitter draught.
Owen found Geoffrey slumped over a table beneath the window in their chamber, a cup of wine in one hand, his other hand stretched out across a parchment, touching a pen but not holding it, though he stared at it, his face a study in melancholy.
Owen had never seen Geoffrey in such a mood. ‘Are you unwell?’
Geoffrey sighed, lifted the pen and set it by his ink pot, pushed back his stool. ‘Would that I were, then I might have stayed here this afternoon and avoided humiliation.’ He did not look up at Owen, but spoke as if to the wall opposite.
‘You went to Edern?’
‘I did, but found I must wait until after the Mass to speak with him.’
‘And-?’
‘I found-’ Geoffrey shook his head.
‘He insulted you?’
‘No. I was the author of my own shame. Edern is unaware of it.’
‘Will you tell me what happened?’
‘I found the vicar in the chapel committing- By God! I am well aware such things go on, but never did I think to witness it.’
‘Geoffrey.’
‘I found him riding Mistress Lascelles’s maid. No, in truth she rode him, her breasts slapping against her waist. So huge and heavy they were. And she squealed and giggled as he moaned.’ Suddenly, Geoffrey turned to Owen, who had embraced the comical scene conjured by the words as a welcome relief from his thoughts of his family and now could not stop smiling in time. Geoffrey blushed. ‘Not that I find large breasts. . And such enthusiasm. . Sweet Jesu, in the chapel, Owen. After such a solemn Mass.’
‘And that is what has brought on this melancholy?’
‘Father Francis, the chaplain, found me in the doorway. What must he think?’
Owen fought to regain a solemn expression. ‘Unfortunate.’
‘Mine was an honest mistake. As I approached, a man hurried from the chapel, muttering to himself — would that I had been closer, perhaps he would have seen me and warned me away.’
‘And thus you sit so, unable to write.’
‘Worse was to come.’
‘Worse? Perhaps I ought to visit the chapel. .’
‘You would not — You make merry of me.’
‘In faith, I thought to put you at ease.’
‘You choose an odd method of easement.’
‘I pray you, tell me what caused your melancholy.’
‘The chaplain — what he told me. Gladys — that is Mistress Lascelles’s maid — lies with any and all men in the castle, but particularly John Lascelles.’ Geoffrey spoke the last four words slowly, watching for a reaction.
Owen thought it a pity that the steward’s eye wandered so early in marriage, but such men were sadly common. And yet. . ‘I thought Sir John worshipped his young wife. Else why risk union with the family of a man accused of treason?’
‘A woman adored is not always a woman bedded.’
‘Aye. And ladies’ maids have betrayed their mistresses before.’
‘At their mistress’s bidding?’
Now he had Owen’s full attention. He eased down on to the seat opposite Geoffrey. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I said. She has encouraged Gladys and her husband.’
‘Should the chaplain have spoken of any of this?’
‘It grows complicated.’
‘Indeed.’
‘He — Father Francis, the chaplain — is certain that Edern has been brought back to resume his duties as chaplain — because Francis — a most pathetic, paunchy, mewling creature — was discovered with Gladys much as I discovered Edern this day. So he wishes me to reveal to Sir John what I witnessed. That Edern is no better than he should be, or at least no better than Francis.’
‘But why would he tell you about Sir John and the maid?’
‘I protested. I would not disturb Sir John, and through him his lady, for anything. And in any case, Edern was not brought back to resume duties as chaplain.’
‘You are a gentle heart, Geoffrey. This chaplain could learn much from you about Christian charity.’
‘He did not see it so.’
‘Did you agree to speak with Sir John?’
‘I muttered a curse in Italian in such a tone he believed me to be promising my help.’
‘You made good use of your wit.’
‘It is only a halfwit who walks into trouble and then reasons himself out of it.’
Tonight Gruffydd ap Goronwy wore a simple gown befitting a man of his stature, but made of silk, which caught the light and called attention to him. Quite a peacock, Tangwystl’s father. Was that why his wife did not accompany him to the castle — because she was busy at home working on his extensive wardrobe?