‘Do you now regret telling them so much?’ Dafydd asked.
‘Perhaps,’ said Madog.
‘You may trust them, for pity’s sake, they have saved us,’ said Brother Dyfrig. ‘They are known because Father Edern was chaplain to the Cydweli garrison not so long ago. The other is the new father-in-law of Lancaster’s steward.’
‘Is he not the one who took Rhys’s love and gave her to the Englishman?’ Dafydd said. ‘Why does Father Edern trust him?’
‘I do not trust him,’ said Madog. ‘And if they are all from Cydweli, why are either of them helping us?’
‘We have cause to trust Edern,’ said Dafydd, ‘he is our pilgrim’s brother. But Gruffydd — he is dangerous. And now he knows what we know. Clever, Madog.’
Owen gulped in the cool night air, said a prayer of thanks for a safe journey. The tunnel had seemed endless and had echoed with phantom footsteps that stopped when he stopped, whispering voices that hushed when he held his breath. It was far worse traversed alone. He did not think he had experienced such terror since childhood. The tunnel was haunted, he had no doubt of it.
Martin Wirthir sat on the boulder that had been rolled away from the entrance. ‘The fog has lifted.’
‘Where is Iolo?’ Owen asked, pleased that his voice did not betray his recent experience.
‘Guarding his catch. God forbid I should ever find him my enemy.’
‘Iolo has hungered for action. Escorting pilgrims was not to his liking.’
‘You know him well.’
‘He reminds me of my younger self.’ Owen leaned against the rock, lifted his head to the stars. ‘I thank God I am not a miner.’
‘I was glad you did not ask me to come with you. I have watched how the shepherds round here cross themselves as they pass this place. Though I have felt no terror out here, I would not like to have the darkness close behind me.’
‘I felt them there, all round me, the carvers of the ancient stones. I have never feared them before.’
‘Yours is an ancient country, full of mysteries, like Brittany.’
‘Rhys was glad to leave the tunnel.’
‘He is safe?’
‘He is. He told me his tale of that day at Whitesands.’
‘A strange, ugly tale, is it not?’
‘John de Reine’s part in it puzzles me. I begin to think he shadowed Gruffydd.’
‘And Gruffydd took the opportunity to eliminate him — with Rhys the unwitting executioner.’ Martin nodded. ‘This Gruffydd has no conscience.’
‘And was it he who brought the corpse to St David’s? To brand Rhys a murderer?’ Owen was quiet awhile, considering this new idea. Was it possible Gruffydd ap Goronwy was so cold blooded?
Martin broke through his thoughts to ask whether they would be joined by any more of Owen’s men in the morning.
‘One of my men, and Geoffrey Chaucer.’
Martin shifted on the stone. ‘King Edward’s man, Master Chaucer. I should not have chosen him to accompany us.’
‘I did not. He insisted. I am not pleased. I had thought Geoffrey would take care of Rhys and allow Brother Michaelo to tend to my father-in-law, who is very ill.’
‘Sir Robert is a brave man, to make such a journey at his age.’
‘I do not think he will leave this place.’
‘St David’s. It is a sacred place, is it not? It seems a good place to die. Sir Robert had a vision at St Non’s Well, did you know?’
‘A vision that gave him cheer?’
‘So it seemed to me.’
‘God is with him, then.’ But what of Lucie? Owen must write a letter to her, entrust it to the first person he met going east. Not that a journey was possible for her, but Lucie would wish to know how it went with Sir Robert and be with him in prayer.
‘I have been so long away from my people,’ Martin said. ‘As you had been. Has it brought you joy, returning to your people?’
‘I do not know how to answer that. But I think — were Lucie and my children not waiting for me in York, I would stay here a while.’ Owen sensed much behind Martin’s question. ‘Why are you here, Martin? Are you the Fleming for whom Gruffydd ap Goronwy’s family has suffered so much?’
‘They have suffered because of Gruffydd, not me,’ said Martin. ‘Your people have a tale about one who sleeps — is it in a cave? — and one day will wake from his slumber to save your people.’
‘Arthur.’
‘Sometimes he is called Owain.’
‘Owain Lawgoch? Tell me about him.’
‘We call him Yvain de Galles. His men believe he is the redeemer of your people. He has the courage, I do not doubt it. And he is like Bertrand du Guesclin in inspiring loyalty in his men.’
‘Why is he in France?’
‘His family sent him there to keep him safe while he grew and learned.’
‘Do you follow him because he will redeem my people?’
‘I am not a follower. He hired me because I was recommended. Do I disappoint you?’
‘Had you sworn allegiance to this man I would have called you a liar,’ said Owen.
‘A man can change.’
‘But you have not.’
Martin laughed. ‘Nor have you.’
Some would disagree. ‘Tell me this. When Gruffydd ap Goronwy decided to keep Lawgoch’s money, was it you betrayed him to Pembroke?’
‘Not to Pembroke, to his mother. In the past I have worked for the Mortimers. I expected Gruffydd to repent, come to me begging for help. Which would come at a price. But I underestimated Gruffydd’s greed, and John Lascelles’s passion for his daughter. The money vanished into Cydweli.’
‘Do you ride after him to retrieve the money?’
‘No, my friend. That is gone. I would not risk riding into Cydweli — the constable there is too challenging.’
‘He is a good soldier.’
‘Aye.’ Martin sighed. ‘But it is not such a loss. Already more pours in from your wealthier countrymen.’
‘So why do you pursue Gruffydd?’
‘King Edward will think well of the Mortimers — and Pembroke — if they deliver up one of Yvain’s men. And so I shall keep the Mortimers in my debt by presenting their scapegoat. Though I cannot appear with him, they will know how he comes to be in their hands.’
‘But what he did — he is not truly one of Owain Lawgoch’s men.’
‘No.’
‘Would not King Edward be doubly grateful if the Mortimers delivered you to him?’
‘Perhaps, my friend, but they still have need of me. I am very good at what I do.’
‘You say Gruffydd has no conscience. I might say the same of you.’
‘Ambrose would agree. But perhaps it is merely that I have no country, no allegiance. Now your Master Chaucer. He is my opposite.’
‘He is indeed. Be ware of him, Martin. It suits him well to play the fool, but he is not.’
‘I thank you for warning me.’
Owen dreaded their meeting, Geoffrey and Martin. ‘Do you know the route Father Edern would have taken?’
‘Yes. The road through Croes-goch and Fishguard to Cardigan. Rhys was taken to a house that overlooks Cardigan Bay.’
‘How can you be so certain he would travel that road and no other?’
‘Because it is the way Yvain’s men go when headed north.’
‘Father Edern.’
Martin chuckled. ‘You do not sound surprised.’
‘He is more than he seems, of that I have been certain since I met him.’
Martin rose. ‘Shall we close off the tunnel and see whether Duncan yet lives?’
His touch was light. He might not have wakened Dafydd had he been careful of the rings. But how many men wore such hair ornaments? Dafydd opened his eyes slightly, glad of his long lashes. Gruffydd crouched beside him, easing one item at a time out of the saddle-bag Dafydd had tucked beneath his saddle, which he used as a pillow. Searching for more torch heads, Dafydd guessed. Well, he might search Dafydd’s pack and never find them — Cadwal carried what was left. Dafydd grinned and made dreaming noises that startled Gruffydd and sent him creeping away.
The man must be watched.
At dawn, Michaelo was wakened by Master Chaucer’s noisy ablutions in a bowl of scented water. Chaucer had shared the extra bed with Rhys ap Llywelyn.