Instead of tea, Mitzi settles on a glass of lemonade made by Mallory’s wife, Bethan. She’s a dumpy brunette with streaks of red in her waist-length hair and has breasts that sag beneath a long, chin-to-toes black dress, broken by a necklace of multi-coloured beads.
‘It’s awesome,’ Mitzi says appreciatively. ‘I could have done with this two hours ago, when I was halfway between here and London.’
Bethan looks pleased. ‘Would you like something to eat? We have rabbit stew on the stove.’
‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ Mitzi dreads to think what rabbit might taste like.
The professor’s wife takes this as her cue to leave the American with her husband in the cosy glass lean-to built on the back of the cottage.
Mitzi sits on a brown fabric settee that has an old ginger tomcat perched on the other armrest. She puts her glass on the terracotta floor tiles and gives her host her full attention. ‘So, Owain Gwyn — what can you tell me about him?’
‘He’s a liar, a deceiver, a duplicitous denier of the truth. No friend to history. No ally of openness.’
Mitzi’s taken aback. She didn’t expect such an outburst. ‘And what exactly would he be lying about?’
‘His whole life is a lie. Him and his wife and that mad old man who lives with them; none of them are what they seem.’ Mallory leans forward, his brown eyes shining. ‘What do you want with him? Why have you come over here to snoop around and ask me about him?’
She knows she has to provide more than a standard brush-off. ‘We have a homicide in the States that has links to one of his staff.’
His eyes widen. ‘To Gwyn?’
‘No, to his staff. Sir Owain is not a suspect.’
Mallory sits back and assesses her, much in the way he did students when he was a lecturer. ‘Do you know what patronymic means?’
‘I think so. It refers to the practice of descendants taking the name of the father.’
‘That’s exactly what it is. Williamson, for example, would suggest son of William. Names and heritage are important, Lieutenant. Especially Owain Gwyn’s.’
‘Why particularly his?’
‘Because that’s what he wants to cover up.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘My research and my book, the one he stopped being published, told the truth about him and King Arthur, the links to his family, the secret activities of his company and how governments turn a blind eye to what he does.’
‘You mean he’s cashing in on the Arthurian legend?’
He laughs. ‘No, no. This is much more important than mere commercial exploitation.’ He can see that she doesn’t have a clue. ‘Let me explain. There are three commonly held views as to who King Arthur might have been. Firstly, a Roman soldier, left behind to help the Britons fight the barbarians who flooded the country when the Romans left in the sixth century. Some say he was Ambrosius Aurelianus, others Lucius Artorius Castus. The centurion Castus has even been associated with a cavalry unit that worshipped a sword embedded in the earth.’
‘This would be Excalibur, the famous sword in the stone?’
He smiles, ‘That’s probably just misunderstood history, as most Arthurian legend is. Back in the Dark Ages, heavy broadswords were made by pouring molten metal into stone casts. If the cast was good, then when it cooled a child could easily pull the sword free and it was said to be fit for a king.’
‘And the legend of the lady in the lake — her giving Excalibur to Arthur?’
‘More historic misinterpretation. When kings died in those days their bodies were put on pyres and their swords offered to a water goddess to protect them in the afterlife. Ambrosius, incidentally, is said to have been buried at Stonehenge, a structure that according to some legends was created by the prophet Merlin.’
Mitzi tries to steer away from what she suspects is a bottomless pit of superstition and myth. ‘You said there were three views of who Arthur was?’
‘Yes. The second is that he was a Romano-British warlord called Riothamus. I believe Riothamus is a Latinization of the Brythonic personal name Rigotamos, meaning “king-most”, “supreme king” or “highest king”. As well as fighting valiantly against the Goths, Riothamus is thought to have crossed the channel and fought his final battle in a field in Burgundy — one that has great resonance to the Arthurian legend. That place was Avallon, with two l’s — one more than Avalon, the place legend has it that Arthur was laid to rest.’
Mitzi’s fast-reaching bored. ‘All fascinating, but what has the ambassador and his family got to do with this?’
Mallory is determined not to be rushed. ‘To answer you, we must go back to AD 500 and the story of the Welsh warrior Owain Ddantgwyn. He was a great leader and back then such fighters associated themselves with beasts. For example, you’ve heard of Richard the Lionheart?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, Owain Ddantgwyn was known as the Bear. The Welsh word for bear is Arth, while the Latin name is Ursis. It’s easy to see how he came to be called Arth-Ursis and that got shortened to Arthur.’
He gives her a second then continues, ‘Historic record has Owain Ddantgwyn — which as I’m sure you agree is not a long way away from Owain Gwyn — referred to as “the once and future king”. This is a phrase you will constantly hear associated with Arthur. Well, Owain had a son and his genealogy can be traced into the medieval period, where a more familiar and noble name emerges as direct descendants.’ He pauses for maximum effect. ‘You know the Spencers?’
‘As in Diana, Princess of Wales, daughter of Earl Spencer.’
‘Indeed. And the twisted roots of royal genealogy don’t stop there. Look into the family history and you’ll see that William was given the middle name Arthur, just as his father Prince Charles was.’ He examines the American with curiosity. ‘Are you aware that the title “Prince of Wales” is always given to the heir to the British throne?’
‘I guess you know that I’m not.’
‘Well, it is. And it dates back to post-Roman and pre-Norman times when the most powerful Welsh ruler was also taken to be the true King of the Britons. In the twelfth century, a man named Owain Gwynedd stopped using the title King of Wales and called himself Prince of Wales. As a detective, I presume you are drawing some conclusions here.’
Mitzi tries not to be angered by his condescension. ‘You’re saying that our modern-day Sir Owain Gwyn is a direct descendant of King Arthur.’
He looks exasperated with her. ‘At least that.’
Mitzi frowns, ‘What do you mean at least?’
For the first time since they met, he grows uncomfortable. ‘For God’s sake, look at the damned evidence. The bear is on his heraldic arms, as is the round table and the triple crown of Arthur.’
‘Professor, I have a cousin in Texas who is a Scottish lord. He bought the title online because he liked the idea.’
‘It’s a stupid comparison. Owain Gwyn bought no title. This man was and is—’ He stops mid-sentence and looks pained to hold back the remaining words.
‘What?’
‘I can’t say. Even in a conversation that never took place.’ He nods irritably to the slate clock on the wall. ‘It’s getting late. You must go and I must get on.’ He sighs as he raises himself from his chair and ushers her towards the back door. ‘History knows more about Owain Gwyn than the modern world does. Be careful in your dealings with him.’
She stops in her tracks. ‘What do you mean by that? You think he’s a danger to people.’
He tries to explain. ‘Imagine Jesus Christ was on earth, but he didn’t want to be discovered. Imagine history had been written to hide his existence. Would you see it as your duty to expose him? And if you did, would you think such disclosure might put your life at risk, Lieutenant?’