Guinevere was driven from the sisters’ community in disgrace. But Arthur’s rising importance brought the consilium to his defense, and he was spared any sanction. Merlin spread the word that she was actually a powerful enchantress and had bewitched Arthur. The story kept people from bothering her, for they feared her magic, and Arthur arranged for the simple house. As the years passed and his prestige grew, he brought her from the shadows into the light of his court as his acknowledged consort. But a king’s wife had to be as perfect (in Arthur’s eyes) as the king himself, and Arthur knew that her shame in being exiled from the women’s community would always be with her. Though things were better, Merlin’s rumors of the enchantress followed her still. I had been pressing Arthur to leave the past behind and marry her, but he refused yet, and it remained a sore point between us.
In a more somber tone, Merlin added, “Be careful, Malgwyn. I worry that there is more to Lauhiir’s appointment than there would seem.”
With Saxons knocking at our eastern door and encroaching on our southern lands, Ambrosius had bowed to the pressure from the consilium and named young Lord Lauhiir, the choice of Mark and his faction, as protector of the Tor and Ynys-witrin. Many such lords peopled our land, ruling by brutality and greed. But Lauhiir’s father, Eliman, had been a lieutenant to Mark in years gone by. In truth, I liked Lauhiir not, and argued with Arthur about his appointment. To my eye, he was slimy and spoiled, a man who wore fancy clothes to mark his station whereas Arthur wore his station like clothes. But Lauhiir’s father had many friends on the consilium, and Arthur could not reverse Ambrosius’s decision. “Besides,” he told me one day, “by having him close to hand at the Tor, I can better keep an eye on him.”
I straightened my tunic beneath the belt as best I could with but one hand. “You think there is some evil in it?” I asked Merlin.
“Evil is a vague thing. Do I think it bodes no good for Arthur? Yes. I think with Mordred away on our western border, Lauhiir poses the greatest threat to Arthur’s seat. Mordred’s head should be gracing a post in the east.” Young Mordred was one of Arthur’s least favorite cousins. He was sly where Arthur was cunning. Though I had been unable to prove his guilt in the plot against Ambrosius, he had been exiled to our western coast where he could do less harm.
“You are a wise man, Merlin. You know that that could never happen. David, Lauhiir, and Mark would spark an instant rebellion. I did the best I could, but that wasn’t good enough to tie the noose about Mordred’s head.”
At the thought of David, a lord from the northwest, I stopped and frowned. He had challenged Arthur at the election, but lost, a loss he took not well. Aye, he had sought my punishment for striking the boy lord Celyn in some sort of petulant reprisal for his rejection by the consilium. Mark was second only to Arthur in strength as a lord. He ruled his lands from Castellum Marcus in the far southwest. Tristan, his son, was serving a kind of enforced servitude at Arthur’s castle for his hand in Eleonore’s death. He had come to Arthur’s castle for the election of the new Rigotamos, representing his father. And, we quickly learned, to counsel a treaty with the Saxons, a treaty he indicated that Mark was intent on pursuing with or without the consilium’s approval.
But once there, like many young men, he had fallen afoul of Eleonore’s charms and become possessed by the spirit of her beauty. But she rejected his bid and in the violence that ensued lost her life. Although Tristan did not kill her, his actions left her vulnerable to those who did take her life. I had let him believe, however, that he bore the greater guilt.
“But Ynys-witrin is great power to place in the hands of a newly made lord,” I continued. “I think that Lauhiir is not equal to it.” I did not tell him that I suspected Lauhiir as complicit in the plot against Ambrosius, and that had been at the heart of the matter of Eleonore’s death.
“I knew a great lord once,” Merlin began, crossing the room and settling slowly onto a stool. “It was long before Arthur was born. One day during the hot season, in the marshes near the water, he was bitten by a small fly. Within days, that small fly had laid the great lord low.”
“I take your meaning.” And I did, though I still believed that he gave Lauhiir more credit than he deserved. I finished dressing, wishing that it were Kay going with us. In so many ways, he was more aggravating than any of Arthur’s nobles, but, despite his temper, I had come to trust him completely. Unfortunately, Kay was off on an official inspection tour of our eastern border forts. Unofficially, he was checking to see what mischief Mordred, Arthur’s cousin, had inflicted upon the people when posted to the east. Although Arthur had set Gawain and Gereint to keep an eye on Mordred in the west, he desired that Kay should bring him a report from the east. It was while posted there some moons before that Mordred had let the Saxons into our lands, or so I believed.
Bedevere had been by Arthur’s side as long as Kay or longer. A handsome, strong fellow, he was quiet, unlike Kay. While I had warred as long with one as the other, I could not say that I knew Bedevere well. His father and grandfather had been nobles under Vortigern, and Bedevere had come to Arthur’s service while the Rigotamos was still young.
With a face that seemed cut from stone, he carried the look of a man with a hard heart. But the one secret I knew of Bedevere put the lie to that. Once on a scout for Arthur, Bedevere and I took our soldiers into a small village, not too distant from Londinium. The Saxons had been there before us, and we searched among the burning huts and the slain for any that breathed yet. Circling a small shed, I came suddenly upon Bedevere, sitting on the ground, his sword lying by his side. In his arms he cradled a small girl, her hair as blond as my Mariam’s, but her life’s blood soaking the ground.
The noble with a face of granite was crying. I returned from whence I came, and he never knew I had seen him. As long as Arthur could count on such men’s loyalty, he might have a chance in this maze of a world, a chance to do some good among all the greed, jealousy, and evil.
These were the things which held my mind as I finished dressing. Owain rummaged around in our storage pit, looking for bread and cheese. Merlin had already forgotten my journey and was busy working on some odd-looking project at his workbench.
“Father?”
She always did that to me! Like some little water fairy, my daughter Mariam could pop in and out of the house without making a noise. Blond, like her mother, she had a face as fair and pretty as the morning sun, with eyes as mischievous as Gwyn ap Nudd, the fairy king.
“Yes, Mariam.”
She edged closer to me and sat on the bench. Touching was still awkward for us.
“Mother says you are to come and eat your morning meal with us before you leave.” As always, when delivering a message, she was the soul of severity. “Father, why are you and the Rigotamos going to Ynys-witrin?”
I straightened my tunic before answering. “So that he and Coroticus may argue about the church.”
“But why do they argue? Do they not both believe in the Christ?” She was so like my dear Gwyneth, her true mother. Questions, always questions.
Pausing and taking a deep breath, I searched for an answer. How do you explain such a question to a child? She knew nothing of Pelagius and his heresy, of how seriously priests argued over unanswerable questions. Of how a priest could consider the shape of a building a blasphemy and a king could think it an homage and both could truly believe they were right. So, I made a joke.
“They argue over whether to sacrifice a little girl or a little boy to bless the building. I have voted for a little girl, and I know just the one.”
Mariam giggled, which was good to see. “No, you don’t, Father. You would not have saved me from those awful Saxons if you thought I would make a good sacrifice. And those who follow the Christ do not believe in human sacrifice.”
“True,” I agreed. “Now, run to your mother’s and tell her I will be there in a minute.”
She left with the smile still on her face.
“You should spend more
time with her, Malgwyn. It would do you good and Ygerne would, I think, welcome it.”
A heat rose up in my neck. “Do not worry about what Ygerne would welcome! She is my brother’s widow, and he is but a few months in the grave! Besides, as part of Arthur’s household, she will want for nothing.”
Merlin cocked his head at me. “I meant that Ygerne would welcome that you spend more time with Mariam.”
I grunted and prepared to stomp out of the house as I could think of nothing clever to say. But then the door burst open and a man, wearing a rough brown robe, his face red from exertion, half tumbled and half ran into the house.
“Malgwyn!”
“Ider?” He was one of the brothers at Ynys-witrin, younger than most others.
He was panting heavily, and even the shaved strip from ear to ear, his tonsure, was red. He paused long enough to catch his breath, but when the words came out, they chilled me. “You must come quickly! Brother Elafius is dead, and the abbot wants you immediately!”
CHAPTER TWO
Did he die by violence, Ider?”
The young brother was sitting on one of our stools and gulping water from a jug that Owain had hurried to him. He shook his head. “It did not appear so to me, Malgwyn. But the abbot sees something strange in it.”
“Elafius was an old man, Ider. His death was bound to come soon.” I still did not understand why Coroticus had sent Ider to speed our journey. I remembered Elafius well. He was a kindly old fellow, skilled in the healing arts, but an irritating and argumentative monachus. He was truly ancient, and I would not have been surprised to have heard of his death anytime in the six years past.
Arthur stomped in before I could respond, and Ider rose to bow to him, but the Rigotamos waved him back to his seat. “We are preparing to leave now. Coroticus knows we are coming today. Why this haste?”
“My lord, I know only that the abbot did not expect you until the evening meal. He sent me to hasten your departure, or at least that of Malgwyn. Please, Rigotamos, the abbot is in a terrible state! Give Malgwyn his leave to depart now.”
This morning, before Ider burst in upon us, as Merlin and Owain abused me for a lazy sluggard, I was intended to ride with Arthur to Ynys-witrin. My old friend Coroticus, the abbot, was still battling with Arthur about his cruciform church in the castle. Arthur called it worshipful, reminding the abbot that the cross was a recognized symbol; Coroticus called it blasphemous, but offered no real rationale for his opposition. We all knew his motive; he wanted Arthur to reduce the abbey’s taxes. Arthur would not. Without the abbot’s blessing, Arthur had called a halt to the church’s construction. And now it was but a muddy foundation in the middle of the castle, caught between two stubborn men.
Our meeting would be the third and the only one held at Ynys-witrin. Indeed it was Arthur’s right to demand that all such parleys be held at Castellum Arturius, but this trip was special.
The Tor, a tall, steep hill among the small chain which made up Ynys-witrin, was a critical point in our alert system. So important did the consilium deem it that they insisted an armed presence was necessary, claiming there was too much of a gap between Castellum Arturius and the channel. So, Lauhiir had the charge of building permanent defenses there.
A watch fire was also kept at the Mount of Frogs, to the northwest, and it was much more defensible than the Tor, but the place itself was said to be enchanted, the home of three giants. Establishing a stockade there had become a problem. Though I believed not in such things, many of our soldiers did believe in giants and enchantresses and magic. Old superstitions die hard. Finally, Arthur ordered a minor lord, Teilo, to dispatch troops there. I believe some extra lands changed hands in the process. This despite the fact that David and another minor lord, Dochu, had troops closer.
The trip to Ynys-witrin then was for Arthur to inspect Lauhiir’s fortifications on the Tor as well as to argue religion and the unfinished church with Coroticus. While I minded not my job of observing Lauhiir, I found arguments about religion unsettling. My own beliefs drifted upon a stormy sea, while both Arthur and Coroticus had firm, strong beliefs in the Christ. That the specifics of those beliefs were often as different as words would allow was of little consequence to them, but kept me confused. More particularly, however, I minded how Arthur used me as a buffer between himself and Coroticus, allowing me to earn the abbot’s wrath by couching their differences as the result of discussions with me. “Why just last eve,” Arthur would say, “Malgwyn reminded me that the problem with that was . . .” Hence my reluctance to abandon my furs and face the coming journey. Until Brother Ider’s abrupt appearance.
Arthur twirled his beard with one finger while wrinkling his brow. “No,” he said finally. “We will both depart now.” He looked to Owain. “Fetch Bedevere, boy. Tell him that I have ordered our immediate departure.”
Merlin, who had been silent until then, left his workbench and faced Arthur. “Something lies hidden in this that I do not like,” he said, shaking his gray-bearded head. “Ider, when was Elafius’s death discovered?”
“Why, just after the midnight, master.”
“Who discovered him?”
“I do not know. I know only that Coroticus sent for me and dispatched me here.”
I nodded. “It must have been so for Ider to arrive so early this morn.”
“Both of you,” Merlin said, “be cautious. I see nothing good in this. Send for me if you have need of my services.”
Arthur patted him on the back. “We will, old friend. Come, Malgwyn. Let us find out what stirs the abbot from his peace.”
“Merlin must have cast a spell for rain,” Arthur grumbled as we rode our tired, wet horses along the muddy track. The Rigotamos was a tall man, solidly built, with chestnut-brown hair and a long, flowing beard. His fingers were curiously at odds with his body, being short and stumpy. One had been taken by a Saxon spear, but the others, protruding from the wool wrapped around them, were rough and red. A true believer in the Christ, he was also a magician at balancing the demands of the consilium and his devotion to justice, a devotion that most called a weakness.
“Be easy, Ider,” I told the young monachus whose eyes had spread wide at the mention of Merlin and spells. “The Rigotamos jests.” Though the peasants and townsfolk still believed that the old man was a sorcerer, he held no magic in his heart, just a bag of tricks that gave the illusion of magic. His pouch held herbal cures, and nuts, sometimes candies for the young. And, in truth, he had put them to good use in the past. Mostly, now, he was just an old man with a wandering mind, sharp and penetrating at times, fogged and clouded at others. But, we treasured him all the same.
Still, I sensed in Ider an uneasiness in such company. “By your leave, my lord,” he began in a stutter. “I would speed my own return to prepare the abbot for your arrival.”
Arthur glanced at me, his eyes hiding well those thoughts behind them. “As you will, Brother Ider. Tell the abbot that we will take our noon meal with him.”
With that, Ider prodded his horse into a slippery trot as if he could not leave us behind fast enough. “Better,” Arthur observed. “Now we can speak without caution.”
“This journey could have waited until the summer,” I pointed out, looking down and seeing how my horse’s hooves sank six inches into the thick brown mud. The Romans had planned one of their solid, cobbled roads here, and they had been responsible for clearing the lane on which we rode. But threats from elsewhere in the empire had stolen both interest in another road and the funds to construct it. So, we were left with a path nearly impassable in wet weather.
“No,” Arthur answered, shaking his shaggy head. “In truth Elafius’s death would have called us forward, or at least called you forward, regardless of when we had planned this visit. And the sooner Lauhiir understands that I will keep my eye turned in his direction, the better he will behave.”
“He is a petulant child,” Bedevere said, his voice gravelly and deep. “Better you should spank him t
han coddle him.”
“If necessary, old friend, I will do what must be done.”
And Arthur was clever when it came to politics. His family traced its roots back to Roman senators, or so he claimed on those few occasions when he actually spoke of them. The Rigotamos was curious with regard to that. He said little of his family, in a time when family meant rank, wealth. I knew, though, that while his ancestry might have gotten him his first post, his rise in power was due to his own actions, his own victories, at which his cleverness rose to the fore again.
He fought with brains, with common sense. Where Lord Mark would send a hundred men headlong into an assault against the Saxons, Arthur would use fifty men skillfully and achieve the same result.
“And what of Coroticus and the church?” I asked. “Will this be the final tale on that?”
“Of course not,” the Rigotamos answered with a smile in his eye. “Coroticus will never give up his one point of leverage. He demands lower taxes in exchange for his blessing on my church. That, I will never agree to.”
In truth, Arthur was no friend of the clergy. As a young noble, he collected taxes for the consilium, and he earned the wrath of priests and monachi by not taking their bribes, forcing them to pay their taxes, something that endeared him to the consilium but did little for his standing with the church.
We met few travelers on the muddy road, almost impassable in places, rising and falling with the gentle slopes along the levels. Most moved to let us pass. Some bowed to Arthur; a few reached to touch him. I never understood that. It was most remarkable. I had seen many lords in my life, but Arthur was the only one that the common folk wanted to touch. Well, aside from those that wished to hang their lord for his cruelty. Arthur’s dealings could seem as cruel as any, but he used that weapon selectively and never without cause.
Divine Sacrifice, The Page 2