The Fourth Horseman by Sarah Woodbury Page A

across his chest and stuck out his chin.
    Gareth managed to hide his amusement at the
boy’s defiant stance and saw no reason to hide his identity. “I am
Gareth ap Rhys, a knight in the company of Prince Hywel of
Gwynedd.”
    The boys hesitated, and Gareth wondered if
he’d misjudged their origins. Then they both began to speak at once
in Welsh.
    “ We heard that
you—”
    “ Our father was a merchant
from—”
    Gareth held up his hands to stop the barrage
and signaled the boys to come closer. He bent at the waist, his
hands resting on his knees, to look into the younger boy’s face.
“One at a time. Tell me your name.”
    “ I’m Dai, and this is my
brother, Llelo,” the first boy said, while his brother nodded. “Our
father was a merchant; he traveled through England and Wales, even
to London, selling our wool. This was my first trip with him.” Dai
stopped, looking all of a sudden like he might cry.
    With a glance at his brother and a gentle
hand on his shoulder, Llelo took up the story. “We’d stopped here
at the friary for the night. My father and I had stayed with the
monks in the past because they bought our wool. We didn’t have wool
to sell yet, you understand? We were just collecting orders.”
    Gareth nodded. Sheep outnumbered people in
Wales by a large margin, and a good merchant maintained his ties
with his customers from year to year. Most shearing occurred in the
spring, culminating in festivals in June throughout Wales. “Where
is your father?”
    “ He died, that first night
here, in his sleep.” Llelo imparted this information without
emotion or expression.
    Gareth looked at him closely. “I’m sorry to
hear that. When was this?”
    “ St. Dafydd’s Day,” Dai
said.
    “ That was over two months
ago!” Gareth said. “And your mother?”
    “ Run off years ago.” Llelo
shrugged, masking his anxiety by renewing his tough façade. Given
his height, Gareth guessed him to be a year or two older than his
brother. Gareth had acted the same at that age when he’d spoken of
his losses.
    He studied the boys. They were dressed in
the plain undyed robes of their order, but they were too young to
have taken vows. “Are you pledged as novices?”
    “ Not yet,” Llelo said. “I
will be twelve next week, and the monks say that I will be old
enough then to choose this life and stay here forever.”
    “ Is that what you want?”
Gareth said.
    Both boys shook their heads vigorously.
“No,” Dai said. “We have an uncle who runs sheep near Dolbadarn. He
would take us in.”
    Dolbadarn Castle was in Gwynedd, not far
from Aber Castle, the seat of King Owain. Gareth rubbed his chin
and eyed the boys. Llelo shifted from foot to foot. “Are you sure,
Llelo?” Gareth said. “I sense you’re keeping something back. Do you
want to become a monk?”
    “ No, sir!” Llelo
said.
    Gareth nodded, convinced of that at least.
“Will the friary be sorry to see you go?”
    The boys glanced at each other, both with
the same sheepish expression on their faces. “I’d guess not,” Dai
said.
    Gareth clapped a hand on each boy’s
shoulder. “If you warn the master of novices that I am here, I will
meet with him later. With his permission, I will take you with me
when I leave the friary in an hour or so. You will be safe at
Prince Hywel’s encampment until we can return to Wales.”
    The light in both boys’ eyes warmed Gareth’s
heart, though he wondered what he was getting himself into, taking
on two boys in the midst of an investigation. Yet he couldn’t turn
them away.
    Then Llelo stepped closer, his expression
more serious. “I don’t like the man you’re going to see. He leaves
his quarters in the middle of the night and meets with strangers in
the gardens.”
    Gareth’s brow furrowed. “What man—?”
    “ Sir Gareth!” Amaury had
returned.
    Gareth ruffled the hair on their heads,
intending to imply comfort and discretion at the same time. “Off
with you.”
    “ Yes, my lord!” the