“My lord?” The boy obviously did not know his place.
Finally, after a few more silent seconds, Arthur waved a hand at them. “Leave the other men here to serve me. You three go quietly to the women’s community and inquire as to Rhiannon, the abbess. When you find her, take her into custody, politely. Bring her to me here. If I hear that you have harmed her in any way, you will find no sanctuary from me. Am I understood?”
All three swiftly nodded.
“Then go.”
They saluted after the Roman fashion and left.
“What is it, Arthur?” Something was troubling him, and since only he, myself, Bedevere, and Coroticus were there, I could hazard being so familiar.
He turned and stared at the abbot with those dark, piercing eyes of his. “You lied to Patrick, old friend. I have heard you argue, hide, misdirect, but I have never heard you lie before, and you do not do it well. Whatever is happening here does not bode well for you, or for Ynys-witrin. Do not let the abbey’s safety depend upon your lies. Lauhiir is not as I am. If he senses weakness, he will exploit it and most fiercely.” Arthur surprised me. He gave voice to the very thoughts I entertained.
For the first time in all the years I had known Coroticus, he found no words to answer Arthur. He hid his chiseled features by dropping his head down into his brown robes.
Arthur jerked his head at Bedevere, signaling him to go outside and take charge of the escort.
Coroticus hurried after the burly soldier, murmuring something about seeing to Elafius’s burial. Gildas, standing quietly in a corner, started to say something, thought better of it and followed the abbot out.
“Tread carefully here, Malgwyn. This story seems to have its share of twists and turns. If this woman, Rhiannon, is responsible, our problems may just be beginning.”
“With the church?”
“And others.” Then, after that cryptic pronouncement, Arthur swept from the great hall, leaving me alone.
With nothing to do until the woman was taken into custody, I made for the kitchen to see if any scraps could be found.
One thing that could be said of Coroticus is that he did not cheat his guests on food. Nor did he pay much attention to custom. By tradition, monachi were not allowed to eat the flesh of any animal that walked on four feet. But, since the abbot entertained distinguished guests, I found servants preparing pork and lamb for the evening meal. They cooked the meat on an iron spit, hung above a large stone, a hollow carved from its center where wood was kept burning. The meat popped and sizzled and filled the kitchen with tantalizing smells that made my hunger all the more real.
On a sturdy wooden table, I found some cheese and bread and eagerly ate. The servants paid me no mind. First, in my crimson tunic, they knew I was part of the Rigotamos’s party. Second, some of the older servants remembered me from my long stay some years before.
As I cast about for some wine to wash down the food, one of the older servants, a man named Deiniol, approached me.
“Malgwyn. It is good to see you again. You do not visit often enough.”
“I have little reason to wander this way now that I serve Arthur, and I have no need of religion.” Before serving as Arthur’s counselor, I had scratched out a living copying manuscripts for the abbot. It was while recovering from the wounds that cost my arm that I learned from the monachi how to write.
“You heard about old Elafius?”
“Aye, that’s one reason I am here.”
“It had to be that woman, Rhiannon.” Obviously, word of my discovery that Elafius was poisoned had spread quickly. Deiniol did not hide his distaste for the lady. I was becoming very intrigued. She had only been at Ynys-witrin for two or three moons. A short time to become so disliked.
“Why say you so?”
“They argued most fiercely, Malgwyn. Every day it seemed, Elafius and Rhiannon found themselves in another argument.”
“What, exactly, did they argue about?”
“The divine sacrifice. Women in the church. Rhiannon has very strong opinions, as did Elafius. They argued last night in the great hall. Patrick had not yet arrived, but Elafius boasted that he had sent for him and expected him at any moment.”
That was something, I thought, Rhiannon would not welcome. Patrick was a traditionalist. As for myself, I did not believe it mattered who served the divine sacrifice, as they called the ritual that symbolized the Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross. Aye, there was alchemy involved in that ritual. Once, I heard Coroticus and others argue over whether it was really wine and bread or changed miraculously into the body of the Christ. I am a simple man, and could not grasp their meaning, but it sounded as outlandish as some of the beliefs of the Druids.
“Could she have killed him, old friend?”
Deiniol thought for a moment. He pursed his lips and a bit of cheese clinging to one lip fell to the ground. “Only if it was poison, Malgwyn. She is not the kind to take a man by the throat. Aye, she is strong, but that calls for a cruelty that I do not think she possesses. And Elafius was stouter than he would appear. That she would wish him dead, yes. That she could choke the life from him, I doubt.”
I thanked Deiniol for his thoughts, and stole away with some bread and cheese, wandering from the kitchen out toward the old church. A pair of the monachi were digging Elafius’s grave near the church, and I found myself drawn to the site.
Taking refuge beneath a tree to the south, I ate my food and watched quietly as they turned the sod. Few men were buried on the battlefield, and that is where I had seen most of the dead in my life. Their carcasses rotted, glutting the ravens, until nothing was left but bones. But at least Elafius would have the dignity of a burial, a Christian burial.
Such burial practices had changed, aye, even in my lifetime. In times past, we worried not about what direction we buried the dead, but now those who followed the Christ insisted that the bodies be buried facing the rising sun. What difference that made, I do not pretend to know. But Coroticus was adamant about it.
So, Elafius was dead of a broken neck. Of that I was certain. But why the yew extract? Was his neck broken accidentally? These “whys” were the only questions left to be answered. But they were large questions. Major questions. Certainly he did not drink the extract by himself. Marks on his body indicated that someone had held him and forced him. Who? To that question, I could not find an answer. I did not yet know the woman Rhiannon. So, I could not say as yet whether she could have done this deed. And the silver denarius, where none should have been? That was a question too.
Whoever killed Elafius also had searched his belongings. That did not seem like the actions of a woman angered to murder by religious beliefs. That fact spoke of someone who knew what they were looking for, and it was something specific. I tried to recall those manuscripts flung about—treatises on herbs, questions of theology, metallurgy. Just an assortment you might expect to find in the cell of a monachus who worked in the scriptorium.
The food filled my belly nicely, and I turned from the problem with Elafius to other concerns. Patrick’s inquiry was likely to last some time. He was a strong man, strong in his beliefs. If he found this Pelagianism thing roosting hereabouts, he would cut it out as one would cut out an arrow. He would not care who else was cut in the process.
Though I had spent many months at Ynys-witrin, healing from my wounds, I learned little of the Christ and this religion. It was a strange faith, anchored in belief in a man said to be the son of God. Coroticus preached that to believe in the Christ was to be granted life eternal. Somehow, I was not sure that was truly a reward. Life had been difficult at the best of times. An eternity of that seemed more curse than blessing.
I shook my head to clear it. Such things were beyond my ken. My chore was to focus on Elafius, to discover what mischief had been done to him. And to ferret out what it all portended for the abbey and Arthur’s domain. Those things, and not the fate of poor Pelagius, were my problem.
Brushing bread crumbs from my be
ard, I rose as the monachi finished digging Elafius’s grave. My belly was not full, but it was eased. At that moment, I wished that it were my head, not my stomach, that found comfort.
“Malgwyn!”
I looked up to see Ider racing across the burying place.
“Malgwyn, the soldiers have returned with Rhiannon. She has been taken to Coroticus’s hall. Three of her women fought with us and tried to stop us. We took them as well.”
“We?”
“Well,” the young monachus said with a red face, “I tried to help as best I could.”
“I’m sure you did.” From the sounds of it, Arthur’s orders had not been strictly followed. If Ider were correct, they were not quiet at all. All of Ynys-witrin must know of it now.
I rubbed my forehead with my one hand wearily. Nothing seemed to be going right. And we had yet to visit the renowned Lord Lauhiir, a task that thrilled me not. First things first, I thought. Better to confront the lady without Patrick than to hear her story for the first time with his interference.
On any other day, I might have spent my morning playing with my daughter, Mariam, and taking my noon meal with my dead brother’s wife, Ygerne. She and I had become good friends in the months since his death. I had begun to wish that I had found her before my brother, but such was not to be. I was old and one-armed, not fit for a woman as good as Ygerne. Of that much I was certain.
But instead of the simple pleasures of home, I found myself following after Arthur and straightening out messes.
I heard the horses’ hooves before I looked up and saw them.
Soldiers, in purple tunics, two riding abreast. Their hair was long and flowing, sweeping behind them as they bore straight down on me.
Stopping dead in my tracks, I watched as they paid no attention to my crimson tunic, sign of my service to the Rigotamos. Only my quick feet took me from their path as they gave no ground. I stumbled and fell to my knees, scraping one on a stone and covering my knee in mud.
“Out of the way!” one of them shouted, already past me. They pulled their horses up short in front of the old church.
Heat radiated up my neck and my eyes grew wide in anger. As they dismounted, I took a stone the size of my hand and hefted it. The pair was laughing and talking, their backs to me. With a skill born of practice and necessity, I flung the rock with my left hand and was lucky enough to strike one of them in the head, dropping him in his tracks.
The other whirled around, reaching for his sword, and came for me.
But by that time, I had my sword in hand and gave it a quick tilt upward, inviting him to come forward. I saw then that this was barely a boy, a mewling upstart of a boy to be certain, but a boy nonetheless. Fright showed in his eyes, and he glanced quickly left and right. And saw no allies.
“Do you not recognize the tunic of the Rigotamos’s household?” K illing him would do no good, and the child must learn sometime.
He went pale as a corpse, pale as poor Elafius. “I’m sorry, master. I did not know.”
“No, you young whelp, you did not think. Your Lord Lauhiir should train his soldiers better.” At that, I turned and gave him my back as I walked into the abbot’s hall.
The soldiers had indeed taken Rhiannon into custody.
I walked into the hall amid the screams and shouts of a tall but slim and buxom wench, her arms held by two soldiers who were barely managing to keep their grip.
“Release her,” I ordered. “She is no prisoner.”
And the dark-haired woman, now free, turned to see her benefactor. Oh, she was a handsome one. Though Ygerne had been filling my thoughts, I cannot deny that the fire in her eyes sparked a rumbling in my loins. By Arthur’s God, she was a beautiful woman!
“Who are you?” Her predicament had apparently not sunk in as yet.
“I am Malgwyn, counselor to the Rigotamos, and iudex pedaneous in the affair of Elafius’s murder. The Rigotamos ordered that you be brought here to be questioned by me. If you choose to blame someone, then blame me.”
“I will. Should I choose.”
The Rigotamos entered with Coroticus. Arthur stayed silent, knowing that it was my duty to perform. Coroticus looked ill.
“As you most certainly know by now, Elafius is dead. It is known also that you argued with him. I wish to know why you were arguing.”
She tossed her long tresses back and laughed. “That you must ask that question exhibits your stupidity, not your sagacity.”
Ahh, this was one for the parchment. Our lady Rhiannon, head of the women’s community, was truly a formidable woman. But I would not take her challenge. “Answer the question, woman, or you will be under arrest, bound and gagged.”
“And you think this would be the first time? You are a simple man.”
Arthur was about to say something, but I stalled his assault with one of my own. I laughed. Laughed at her. “Woman, if you think you are the first to call me stupid then your own idiocy surpasses mine.”
And that shut her up. And it gave me a chance to take her measure more fully. She was a tall woman, nearly as tall as myself. Her long hair was a light brown, the kind you often saw on Gauls. Her lips were full and her eyes a deep hazel. Though her gown was loose-fitting, I caught a hint of a fine figure beneath it. She was indeed a beauty, and I wondered if that accounted for Coroticus’s protection of her. Under other circumstances, I would have volunteered to be her protector.
I could tell from the slight smile at the corners of her mouth that she enjoyed my retort. “You are called Rhiannon. Whence came you?”
“Braga.”
I nodded. Braga was a large settlement in Gaul, the onetime home of Nimue, a serving girl whom Arthur won in battle and who now worked in the kitchen of his castle. She was a pleasant child and had proven helpful in the past, and I made a note to ask her of this Rhiannon if the chance arose. I doubted, though, that I would be seeing the castle again until this affair was settled. “Why came you here?”
“The sisters had need of someone to guide them. I answered their call.”
The answer lacked a key ingredient, I silently noted. If Gaul was her home, why would she leave? I sensed something missing in her voice, or something hidden.
“You argued with the monachus Elafius last night. Why?”
“If you are asking if I killed the old fool, the answer is no.”
Behind me, I heard Arthur chuckle.
“Woman, you would try the patience of any man! But I will have answers to my questions, or I shall still be here asking you questions through the next full moon.”
The outburst seemed to take some of the steam from her bravado. “Ask your questions. I will answer.”
“Of what did your argument concern?” I asked for the third time.
“The divine sacrifice.”
“What was at issue?”
“Whether a woman could properly serve a function in that ritual. Elafius said no. Where I come from, it is custom. I saw no reason to change my beliefs because an old monachus objected.”
“Coroticus did not object?” From the corner of my eye, I noted the abbot begin to speak, but Arthur’s hand on his arm silenced him.
Rhiannon caught the move as well and she smiled slyly. “Coroticus chose not to interfere with the conduct of the women’s community. He has much to keep him busy here among the monachi. The practice is not unheard of here in Brittania, and he is wise enough to know that he cannot control all things.”
This didn’t sound like the abbot that I knew so well. He prided himself on keeping his thumb pressed down on all under his purview. Such was the abbot whom I knew. I glanced in his direction again and he avoided my eyes. Arthur, I saw, had noticed his avoidance as well. He frowned at me, his forehead crinkling, as if to say, Let it lie until later. The Rigotamos had no desire to embarrass Coroticus in front of others.
I turned back to Rhiannon. “Please account for your movements last eve, after the evening meal.”
She smirked. “Such is an easy
tale to tell. I retired to our community beyond the vallum. You may ask any of the women. I checked on them all before I took my rest.”
I chuckled inwardly. Such women would lie to protect their mistress. I did not judge them harshly or prematurely. When challenged by an outsider, those in such a community were more apt to rally around their leader than not. The monachi at Ynys-witrin would certainly lie for Coroticus rather than face his wrath. Hence I was not disposed to relieve Rhiannon of the cloak of guilt laid upon her. Nor could I place too great a faith in Gildas’s accusation. It was based on youthful emotion and ambition, not logic.
“Thank you for your time, my lady,” I said finally.
“You have no more questions?” she asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
“We know where to find you. When I have delved further into this matter, I am sure there will be further questions. Be not disappointed, abbess. Our interest in you has not wavered.”
She turned to go, hesitated, and turned back to me. “Were I you, Master Malgwyn, I would speak to Lord Liguessac as well.”
“Why Lauhiir?” I looked to Arthur, who had his eyebrows raised as if to say, “Why indeed?”
“He has consulted with Elafius several times since his arrival at the Tor.”
“Were you aware of this, Coroticus?” I spun and faced the abbot, but his features showed total surprise.
“No. I had no idea.” His voice gave a hint of the lie.
I turned back to Rhiannon. “Do you know the substance of these conferences?”
She shrugged. “How would I? As you have pointed out, I was not close to the man, and I’m certainly not close to Lauhiir.” At that she turned away and left the hall.
“My lord, two of your men?” I asked Arthur. He motioned for them.
“Follow her,” I instructed. “I want to know where she goes and who she talks to. Be quiet about it. Try not to make a spectacle of yourselves.”
These were older men, men I knew. They nodded quickly and slipped out of the hall.
“Was that necessary, Malgwyn?” Coroticus complained.
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