‘We should search for him,’ Geoffrey said. ‘You have heard what Gruffydd says of him.’
‘We shall continue south,’ Owen said. ‘We have a murderer to deliver to justice.’
‘But tomorrow we must rest,’ said Brother Dyfrig. ‘It is Passio Domini, the beginning of Passiontide.’
‘Is it wise to give Gruffydd another day to work on the sympathies of our hosts?’ asked Owen.
‘I propose that we observe the day as pilgrims,’ Dafydd said, ‘walking rather than riding, and fasting all the day. Would that satisfy our men of God?’
‘The greatest sinner of us all must ride,’ Edern said, nodding towards Gruffydd.
‘Would you prefer to bear him on a litter?’ Geoffrey asked.
Twenty-six
On Monday, in the early afternoon, the weary company dismounted at Bonning’s Gate — even Gruffydd, who all felt had been pampered enough. They led their horses slowly past the houses of the bishop’s archdeacons and the Treasurer of St David’s. At the gate to the bishop’s palace, they were given a message from Brother Michaelo urging Geoffrey and Owen to come at once to the house of William Baldwin, the Archdeacon of Carmarthen.
Owen yearned for refreshment and a chance to cool his feet in some scented water. He was envious of the others, surprised when Father Edern and Brother Dyfrig declared that they, too, would attend the archdeacon.
‘And what of the injured man?’ asked the porter. ‘Do you need assistance with him?’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey, ‘the archdeacon will wish to see him.’
Dafydd, however, felt no need to attend the meting out of justice. ‘I shall speak with the archdeacon anon, concerning the Cydweli men and their affront to me.’ He strode regally through the gate with his men and Owen’s.
Geoffrey stood beside Owen, watching Dafydd. ‘I wish you had not praised his poetry. I should like to think he is all show and no substance.’
‘Perhaps you shall look back on him when you are his age and think him not so strange.’
‘For that I would need to be Welsh.’
Laughing, Owen turned to follow the others. Geoffrey hurried to join him. Father Edern and Brother Dyfrig walked on either side of Gruffydd, steadying him when he stumbled. Their halting procession was watched by many as they crossed Llechllafar.
The Archdeacon of Carmarthen’s was a grand house, set off from the other archdeaconries in a meadow across the river from the palace, towards Patrick’s Gate. Their unexpected numbers flustered the archdeacon’s clerk, who left them standing at the door while he hurried off to consult with his master. But he soon returned, leading them into the archdeacon’s hall and seating them in the rear.
A group of petitioners were apparently there before them. Brother Michaelo stood to one side, listening. But as Owen’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he was astonished. That Rhys ap Llywelyn, John Lascelles and Tangwystl ferch Gruffydd stood before the Archdeacon of Carmarthen did not surprise him. But they were accompanied by Eleri ferch Hywel, the maid Gladys and Richard de Burley.
It was Burley who spoke. ‘. . Gladys had come forth, fearing God’s wrath over the murderer’s, and told me she had heard loud voices, ran to Father Francis’s room. Gruffydd shouted, “You shall pay for this,” as he shook Father Francis. The chaplain shouted a curse. Gruffydd hit him, then threw him to the floor.’
‘Who tells such lies of me?’ Gruffydd cried out, rising from his seat at the rear of the hall. ‘Who tells such lies?’
At the sound of his voice, Eleri had stiffened. She now turned, walked slowly towards the voice.
‘Eleri?’ Gruffydd sank back down. ‘What have they done to you? Who brought you here?’
‘Who?’ She cocked her head. Her gait was slow and halting, like that of a sleepwalker. ‘Who brought me here?’ she asked in calm voice. ‘But my husband, you did. You tore us from our home, tore our daughter from her husband and her child. But that was nothing. Nothing compared to what I have heard today, husband.’ She stood over him. ‘You killed the son of the man who tried to help us.’
‘I did not kill him, Eleri.’ Gruffydd’s voice was suddenly gentle, caressing. ‘It was Rhys. And you would have him marry our daughter?’
‘What did I marry?’ she cried, clenching her fists. ‘Who did I marry?’
Gruffydd looked round at the others. ‘In God’s name, she should not be here.’
Father Edern moved towards Eleri. ‘Come. I will-’
‘No.’ The word came from deep in Eleri’s throat. ‘No,’ she moaned, and threw herself upon her husband, tipping him to the ground. She grabbed his hair, lifted his head, and brought it down hard on the stone floor.
‘Mother!’ Tangwystl cried, running to her.
Eleri pounded Gruffydd’s face with her fists.
Owen pulled Eleri away. Dyfrig knelt to Gruffydd, who breathed raggedly.
‘Hang him! Hang him for all to see!’ Eleri shrieked as Owen picked her up and carried her from the room.
Owen lay on a bench staring unseeing at the sky. His thoughts were with the Archdeacon of Carmarthen. If it were Owen’s to rule on Gruffydd, would he send him to Pembroke? Or hang him at the crossroads, as Eleri wished?
‘They tell me that your wife is a beauty and a Master Apothecary.’ Dafydd’s face displaced the sky.
Owen sat up.
Dafydd joined him on the bench with a sigh. ‘It is a pity she did not accompany you.’
‘I feel her absence keenly.’
‘You left the deliberations. You are displeased with the archdeacon’s judgement?’
‘He had not as yet come to any decisions. In truth I withdrew because Master Chaucer clearly needs no assistance. He understands the law and has the honeyed tongue of a poet.’
‘Geoffrey Chaucer a poet? He looks like a cleric and behaves like the King’s fool. Surely he is no poet.’
Should Owen tell him that Geoffrey thought Dafydd a proper fool? He thought not. ‘It is true Geoffrey does not play the bard. But he is cunning. And his jesting distracts folk so they do not notice how closely he studies them. We shall all be in his poems some day, mark me.’
‘You describe a lawyer, not a poet.’
‘What do I know of such things?’ Owen motioned towards the archdeacon’s door. ‘It opens.’
First came Father Edern and Brother Dyfrig, then Gladys.
‘Sweet angel,’ Dafydd said.
Rhys and Tangwystl came forth, followed by a servant carrying Hedyn. Rhys leaned heavily on Tangwystl. Sir John followed, his eyes on Tangwystl. Burley accompanied him, talking with great animation.
‘I think we can judge from this that Tangwystl has prevailed,’ said Owen.
‘It is a good law, that a woman may denounce her husband for being such a fool as to be caught by her thrice with another wench,’ said Dafydd.
‘I would not have thought you a supporter of such a law.’
‘He is a fool, who is caught once. But thrice, and with the same maid,’ Dafydd shook his head. ‘He deserves no woman.’
‘Sir John thought he did her bidding.’
‘Doubly a fool. Look at her — so proud. And beautiful. What need had he of another?’
They grew quiet as Sir John approached. His age sat heavily on his features, gouging lines of sorrow. Owen pitied him.
‘God’s blessing on you, Captain Archer, for bringing the Devil to justice,’ said Sir John.
Owen could not think what to say to him.
Burley had come up behind. ‘I would talk with you, Captain.’
‘By and by,’ Owen said. He rose, led Lascelles towards the river, away from Dafydd and Burley. ‘I do not feel I have earned your blessing, Sir John. But I am glad I have cleared both your name and that of your son.’
They stood by the bank. The sound of water was soothing.
‘The archdeacon has declared your marriage null?’ Owen asked, for it was in the air between them.
‘I did not give him the opportunity. When I saw them together, and he with the child-’ Lascelles closed his eyes, took a deep breath, faced Owen. ‘She was never mine.’