The Fourth Horseman by Sarah Woodbury

left, and you would be right to
think that I chose to make my departure on the heels of his
death.”
    Mari had been picking at the ends of Prior
Rhys’s blanket while she listened. She’d appeared less overtly
focused on the conversation than Gwen and Hywel, but her head came
up at Rhys’s last words. “Say that again? Your spymaster
drowned—?”
    “ Yes, my dear,” Rhys
said.
    “ What was his name?” Mari
said.
    Prior Rhys’s brow furrowed, but he answered
civilly enough. “The man I served, before his untimely death, was
Ralph de Lacy.”
    “ But how can that be?” Mari
swallowed hard. “Ralph de Lacy, if we are speaking of the same man,
was my father.”

Chapter
Eleven
    Gareth
     
    G areth again rode from the gate with Amaury and his men. This
time, instead of continuing down the road to the Lyme Brook, they
dismounted before the friary door.
    “ Tell me again why the
empress isn’t staying at the castle?” Gareth said. “Surely it’s
much better fortified against attack.”
    Amaury shot him a wary look. “She has her
reasons.”
    “ She isn’t concerned that
Earl Robert might be wavering in his loyalty, is she?” Gareth
said.
    “ Not that I am aware,”
Amaury said.
    “ Then why isn’t she staying
at the castle?” Gareth said, pressing him a little. He’d felt from
the start that nobody, including Amaury, was telling him the whole
truth and was determined to find out what was really going on. If
that meant asking a few direct questions and offending a few
Normans, so be it.
    “ She is a pious woman,”
Amaury said. “She likes having a church near.”
    Gareth stared at Amaury,
who colored and looked away. He was openly lying now, and they both
knew it. What Gareth couldn’t figure out was why . For the first time since he’d
arrived at Newcastle, he felt a trickle of fear. Dismounting among
the men who had escorted him and Amaury to the friary, he wondered
if he’d chosen to ride a different way—back to the Welsh camp, for
example—they would have stopped him.
    Amaury gestured Gareth inside without saying
anything more. The friary occupied higher ground to the southeast
of the castle but was a less elaborate construction. A head-high
wall separated the road from the main buildings of the friary.
    They led their horses through the gate and
into a cobbled, square courtyard. The chapel, cloister, monks’
dormitory, and meeting hall filled the northern and western side of
the square. The stables were to their east, abutting the road, and
to the northeast, the courtyard opened onto gardens, a cemetery,
and green fields with scattered outbuildings beyond.
    A boy in sandals and a worn robe ran to take
their horses, and then Amaury led Gareth through a narrow door into
a central dining hall.
    “ I must leave you for a
short while,” Amaury said. “Please wait for me here.”
    Given the awkwardness of their previous
exchange, Gareth didn’t ask for more information and halted in the
middle of the floor. Amaury left the room through a far door and
closed it behind him. Left alone, Gareth gazed after him, wondering
what might come next and feeling slightly better about whether or
not he might end the day in chains. The fear had abated, replaced
by curiosity and a sense of righteousness. These Normans thought
they could intimidate him; he was going to prove them wrong.
    He clasped his hands behind his back,
settling into position to wait. Gareth had only stood silent for a
single count of twenty, however, when the door behind him opened.
He turned to see two young boys dash into the room. The first
pulled up short at the sight of Gareth, causing the second to
stumble into him.
    The boys recovered quickly, and the first
boy said in heavily accented French, “Who are you?”
    Gareth peered at him. If he wasn’t mistaken,
the accent came from Gwynedd. “You’re Welsh, aren’t you?” he said
in that language. “What are your names?”
    “ You first.” The second boy
folded his arms