The Lost Brother (33 page)

John wasn’t nearly as forgiving of Luke as
Gareth. “He isn’t wrong, and you know it. Get back to your post,
Luke.” John pointed with his chin to a few curious onlookers who’d
gathered near the eastern entrance to the alley. “We don’t want any
of them to disturb the scene.”

“Yes, sir.” But as Luke turned away, Gareth
saw the sneer cross Luke’s face again, directed this time at
John.

When John had given Luke the order, Gareth
had grimaced inwardly. As John was a good twenty years younger than
Luke, the older man had to be wondering why he hadn’t been
appointed Deputy Sheriff instead of John. Having eaten a late meal
with John last evening, Gareth could have told him why: while
younger than Gareth by half a decade, John Fletcher came from a
good family. He was the stepson of the castellan of Bridgnorth
Castle, located on the Severn River some ten miles as the crow
flies to the southeast of Shrewsbury.

John wasn’t a Norman, not with a last name
like Fletcher and a Welsh mother, but he was born to be more than a
guard, which was all Luke would ever be. In addition, John was
passionate about wanting the job—and not solely for use as a
stepping stone to better things. To Gareth’s mind, the sheriff
could have done far worse than pick John as his second.

“Luke may have a point, you know—not about
the pig but about whether or not someone is dead,” John said, once
Luke was out of earshot. “I admit it’s a terrible amount of blood,
but the person whose blood this is could be merely injured.”

“I would be overjoyed if that were true.”
Gareth rose to his feet and contemplated the pool, tired to the
point of despair at the way death had become his life no matter
where he went. “But to have bled so much might mean he’s dead by
now anyway.” He glanced at John. “I didn’t come to Shrewsbury to
deal in death.”

John ducked his head in acknowledgement of
that truth. “I know why you came here, my lord. But with the
sheriff called to war, along with most of the garrison, I’m alone
with these remaining men. I need you.”

The blatant appeal softened Gareth’s heart,
as it was meant to. “I will help in any way I can as long as I am
here, but—”

John cut him off, speaking more fervently
than ever. “Anything you can do would be helpful.” He gave Gareth
another bob of his head in an after-the-fact apology, his sincere
brown eyes shining brightly from underneath his mop of unwashed
brown hair.

Gareth narrowed his eyes at the younger man.
“John.” His voice held warning, because John’s behavior indicated
that his request was the result of more than simple need or because
John felt momentarily out of his depth.

John flushed, giving himself away as he
always seemed to—not only in Gareth’s presence but in everyone’s.
John would need to learn to control his expressions if he was going
to ultimately earn the respect of men like Luke. “The sheriff
ordered me not to pursue any investigation while he was gone beyond
what was absolutely necessary. I need to be able to show him that
everything I do in his absence was well-thought out and
purposeful.”

“What would make the sheriff say such a
thing?”

John made a rueful face. “He didn’t explain
specifically, but I know what he was thinking: he fears that in his
absence I will act impulsively and accuse a worthy of the town of
wrongdoing or do something else in my ignorance that will embarrass
the office of the sheriff. He doesn’t want to have to clean up
after me when he comes home.”

“Surely you’re being overly hard on
yourself.” Gareth gave a low laugh. “I’ve found that trying to
impress one’s superiors is the surest way to disappoint them.”

Like all men in his position, the sheriff
served at the pleasure of the king, so when the king called his
army to him, the sheriff went, along with most of the men in the
castle garrison. Gareth understood completely, for his life was
similarly ruled by the demands of his lord.

Understandably also, the sheriff had taken
his best and most able-bodied men with him, which left him with the
dilemma as to who to leave in charge of Shrewsbury’s garrison and
the watch. All of the watchmen Gareth had encountered so far were
either not yet twenty or well past forty. It could be true that the
sheriff hadn’t brought John Fletcher on the march because he was
young and inexperienced—in war as in everything else. By the same
token, he hadn’t made an older man deputy sheriff either.

“Still, I can see that if you do a good job
here, if you discover what this pool of blood is all about, the
sheriff will be favorably disposed towards you.” Gareth hoped he
was right, and he felt it was important to be encouraging,
especially when men like Luke appeared to be constantly trying to
undermine John’s authority. He looked John in the eye. “Your
sheriff wouldn’t have left Shrewsbury in your hands if he didn’t
think you could do the job.”

“You comfort me, but I fear you’re wrong. He
left me in charge because he was making the best of a bad
situation.” John’s eyes skated away, and he spoke in an undertone,
making sure his voice didn’t carry to the other men a few yards
away who were waiting for his instruction. “More than anything, I
need the incident with Cole Turner to be forgotten.”

Cole Turner had been a brigand whom Prince
Cadwaladr had recruited for the purpose of deceiving the Earl of
Chester into helping him overthrow King Owain for the throne of
Gwynedd. After the failure of the plot and the death of Prince Rhun
in the process, Cadwaladr had fled Wales for England and, as far as
Prince Hywel had been able to discover, hadn’t been seen or heard
from since. It was too much to hope for that Cadwaladr was dead, so
that meant he was out in the world somewhere. Prince Hywel was
fierce in his determination to find out where that was.

Thus, upon arriving in Shrewsbury yesterday
afternoon, Gareth had put in an appearance at the castle. He’d
assumed he would be meeting with Shrewsbury’s sheriff. Instead, it
had been John who’d greeted him with the news that the sheriff and
most of the garrison had been called away in service of King
Stephen. And, unfortunately, John had no news of Cadwaladr to give
him.

Discovering Cadwaladr’s whereabouts couldn’t
bring Rhun back, but it might do something to ease the grief that
had consumed Gwynedd in the months following the prince’s death.
King Owain’s lamentations were ongoing, such that Hywel had
effectively taken over the running of the kingdom. Here it was,
nearly three months past the Christmas feast, and the king had
hardly stirred from his bed at Aber, unwilling to face life without
his eldest son.

Gareth’s absence from Gwynedd had required
him to leave the planning for the assault on Mold Castle in others’
hands. It was a small price to pay for the opportunity to spend
several weeks in the company of his wife and daughter, and Gareth
had been thankful to leave Aber.

Thus, as Gareth stared down at the pool of
blood at his feet, it came to him that if he was to quickly
discover what this whole matter was about, the next and most
important step in the investigation had to be to send for Gwen.

____________

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