The Unexpected Ally by Sarah Woodbury

hours were managed by a water clock in the
monastery courtyard and a candle clock in the church itself, though
the exact moment of the prayers was less important than the keeping
of them.
    “Did you see anyone or remember anyone in
the area yesterday evening?” Gareth said.
    “I’m sorry. I noticed nothing. It was
raining and cold, and I confess I was looking forward to my dinner
after Vespers.”
    Gareth put up his good hand. “I understand.
Had you ever seen Erik before—not necessarily here but
anywhere?”
    Mathonwy shook his head regretfully.
    “Where are the cows now?” Gareth said.
    “In one of the pastures.” Mathonwy indicated
east with a bob of his chin, and his eyes twinkled as he said, “I’m
afraid you won’t get much out of them.”
    Gareth coughed a laugh and went to the door
of the barn to poke out his head. A stone wall protected the
pasture to the east of the barn. A style and gate that allowed
access through it lay just across the cart way from where Gareth
stood. Gareth had seen enough of St. Asaph in the times he’d come
through here to know that the monastery’s pasture lands were
extensive, and this nearby field was one of dozens within hailing
distance of the barn. The sheep and cattle would be moved from
field to field to give the grass in each pasture time to grow.
    Then Gareth returned to Conall’s side. “Do
you have any more questions for Mathonwy?”
    Conall pursed his lips. “I assume you don’t
manage the barn by yourself? How many helpers do you have?”
    “I have two most days at the new barn and
one who helps with the cows. But he was in the infirmary yesterday
with a fever,” Mathonwy said. “I didn’t see him all day and had to
do the work myself.”
    “His name?” Gareth said.
    “Roger.”
    “He’s Norman?” Gareth said, surprised to
learn of a Norman monk in a Welsh monastery.
    “A Norman father who didn’t acknowledge him
and a mother who died shortly after his birth, though she lived
long enough to saddle him with a Norman name,” Mathonwy said.
    Gareth frowned. “I hear Prior Anselm has
been ill on and off too. Did you go to the infirmary to wake
him?”
    “No, he was in his cell this morning, though
now that I think on it, he was in the infirmary at the start of
Matins because I went to check on Roger before the prayers to see
how he was faring and Anselm was in a nearby bed.” He rubbed his
chin. “I suppose I went to his cell out of habit after finding the
body.”
    “We’ll speak to Roger and Anselm later if
they’re well enough,” Gareth said. “Thank you for your
assistance.”
    Mathonwy bowed and departed, presumably to
his other duties. That left Conall and Gareth at the scene of the
crime, along with their young guards, who’d spent the conversation
patrolling the exterior of the barn, rain or no rain. Dai and Llelo
took their responsibilities very seriously. Still, while Gareth
wanted his foster sons trained to be knights, he hoped that Cynan
wouldn’t pound Dai’s natural effervescence out of him. The boy had
always been a spark of sunshine, no matter how rainy the day, and
Gareth would hate to see him lose it.
    Gareth went to the door of the barn,
reluctant to enter the rain. “A great deal can happen between
Vespers and Lauds.”
    “I never saw the body,” Conall reminded
Gareth. “Does the timeline Mathonwy report coincide with the
condition Erik was in when you examined him?”
    “I didn’t get enough time with him to call
it an examination,” Gareth said dryly. “We were waylaid so quickly,
but the body was cold and somewhat stiff, which normally would tell
me that he’d been dead since yesterday evening, possibly since just
after Vespers, but the fact that he’d been submerged in water
throws the timeline completely off.”
    Conall had moved to stand beside Gareth, but
now he stepped into the rain and turned to face him in order to
look up at the door to the hayloft. Reminding himself that if a man
avoided work