“No, no,” I said, staving off a long litany of her disturbed sleep. “I want to know what you saw — or thought you saw — with regard to Idwal the Harpist.”
“Then first, you must know that I live on Owain’s land. My cottage lies due south of here near the road that leads to Monmouth.”
“Go on.”
“The dream was short but vivid. I saw Owain and his niece bidding the harpist farewell. Idwal set off on his horse. It picked up a stone along the way and he dismounted to remove it from the animal’s hoof. He walked beside it for a while, his harp in a bag that hung from the saddle. When he came to a stand of trees, he was set upon and stabbed to death. His body was buried nearby.”
“What about the harp?”
“It was taken back to Owain’s house and hidden in the stables. That’s how I know Owain was the murderer.”
“Yet you saw him and Gwenllian wave off the harpist.”
“Idwal rode slowly. It would have been easy to catch him up and overtake him. He was in no hurry. He was on foot when he was attacked. Owain took him by surprise.”
“And are you certain that it was Owain?”
“It looked vaguely like him, Archdeacon.”
Angharad went on to add more detail. My first impulse was to dismiss the whole thing as nonsense but I came to feel that her story was at least worth investigation.
“To whom have you told this tale?” I asked.
“It’s not a tale, Archdeacon — it’s the truth.”
“Did you confront Owain with it?”
“I tried,” she said, “but he sent me away with harsh words and threatened to throw me off his land if I repeated what I’d seen in my dream.” She drew herself up to her full height. “Nobody can threaten me, Archdeacon. When my way of life was chosen for me, I put on the whole armour of God and it’s protected me well. If I lose my little home, I’ll sleep in barns or byres or wherever my feet are directed. Owain ap Meurig doesn’t frighten me.”
“You also spoke to Roger de Brionne.”
“He, at least, had the courtesy to listen to me.”
“So I was told.”
“He believes me.” She fixed me with a shrewd look. “What about you, Archdeacon?”
“The only thing that will convince me is ocular proof,” I told her. “If your dream was a true reflection of what happened — and we know from the Bible that dreams can act as warnings — then there’s an easy way to establish it. I’ll institute a search of the stables at Owain ap Meurig’s house.”
“Shall I come with you, Archdeacon?”
“That might not be wise.”
“But you’ll tell me what you find, I hope.”
“It’s the least I can do, Angharad. Thank you for your help.”
“It’s I who must thank you,” she said with a wan smile. “Most of those in holy orders think I’m a madwoman who perverts the word of God. You heard me preach yet raised no objection. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that. You are a good man, Archdeacon.”
“I’ve striven hard to achieve goodness,” I admitted.
“Then let good triumph over evil. Bring a killer to justice.”
Anticipating resistance, I took the precaution of detaching two men-at-arms from our retinue and travelled with them to the house of Owain ap Meurig. The sight of Norman soldiers in helm and hauberk enraged the old Welshman and he rid himself of a few choice curses. He was even more vociferous when I explained the purpose of my second visit, his anger spilling over into uncontrollable rage.
“You’d listen to the word of that madwoman?” he demanded.
“I have a duty to test its veracity,” I said calmly.
“Her brain is addled, man! You only have to look at her to see that she’s descended into babbling idiocy. Angharad is always making stupid accusations about people. Her dreams are like a plague on the rest of us. Out of misguided kindness, I gave her the use of a hovel on my land, but she really belongs in a madhouse.”
I let him rant on until his fury was spent, then I pointed out it was in his interests to let us search the stables. If no harp were found there, he’d be exonerated. Under protest, he accepted my advice and we walked away from the house. As we did so, I caught sight of Gwenllian, peering from a window in consternation. Was she indirectly the cause of a heinous crime? Only time would tell.
It took longer than I expected. When we got to the stables, my two companions searched it thoroughly, using their swords to poke about in the straw. In an effort to show that he was innocent of the charge, Owain joined in the search, going into stall after stall in pursuit of the harp. We were on the point of abandoning the exercise when I received what I can only describe as guidance from above. I heard a noise that didn’t reach the ears of the others, the soft, coaxing, resonant sound of harp strings being plucked.
“What’s up there?” I asked, pointing to the rafters.
“That’s where I store the hay,” replied Owain, “as these two Norman ruffians have already discovered.”
“Let me take a second look.”
Moving the ladder into position, I clambered up it to the rafters. Boarding had been laid across part of the timbers so that sheaves of hay could be kept there. I wasn’t worried about the fodder. My eye went upwards to a piece of dark cloth that hung from the apex of the roof. It had been so artfully arranged that it blended with the rafters and was difficult to pick out in the gloom. Going to the very top of the ladder, I reached up and felt something solid beneath the cloth. When I drew the object out, there was a gasp of horror from Owain ap Meurig. It was a harp.
Roger de Brionne was overjoyed to hear the news. He clapped me on the back in congratulation then offered me wine. As we drank together in his solar, I supplied him with full details.
“The praise should go to Angharad,” I pointed out. “The harp was exactly where she said it would be and we found the body of Idwal the Harpist in a shallow grave among some trees. That dream of hers was providential. The Madwoman of Usk deserves our thanks.”
“Where is Owain being held?”
“In a dungeon at the castle — he protests his innocence and calls me such foul names that I blushed to hear them. His niece could not believe he was guilty, yet she provided some of the evidence that helped to secure his arrest.”
Roger’s interest sharpened. “Indeed?”
“Yes, my lord. Gwenllian confessed that, as soon as she and her uncle had waved off the harpist, Owain mounted his horse and rode off in the same direction. He was wearing his dagger.”
“Did the girl say anything about Idwal’s behaviour to her?”
“It was as you suggested,” I said. “In the presence of her uncle, Idwal was polite and restrained. When she and the harpist were alone together, however, he did take certain liberties. One night, he even tapped upon her chamber door, but she kept it firmly locked.”
“Was this reported to her uncle?”
“Of course — she keeps nothing from him.”
Roger drained his cup. “This is not the first crime that Owain has committed,” he said, licking his lips, “but it’s the one that will finally bring him down. You’ve done well, Archdeacon. Without your intercession, the case would never have been resolved and Idwal would have lain undiscovered in his grave.”
“I was glad to be of assistance, my Lord.”
“As for Angharad, she’ll be rewarded.”
“In what way?”
“That hovel she inhabits is on land that’s rightly mine. Now that Owain is no longer here to contest ownership, it will revert to me and I’ll grant her free use of the dwelling in perpetuity.”
“Your generosity does you credit, my Lord,” I said, taking another sip of wine, “but we mustn’t forget that Owain allowed her to live on his estate without any payment. He even gave her food from time to time. An evil man was capable of some goodness.”