Divine Sacrifice, The

by Hays, Anthony

  As I passed through the gates, I looked up and saw little Mariam, my daughter, running like the wind toward me. I snatched her up with my one arm and held her tight and she wrapped her arms around my neck, and the tears came again.

  A festival was held over the next few days, filled with feasting and drinking and our traditional dances, all to celebrate Arthur’s victory over the rebels. Merchants crowded the lanes of the castle with their brooches and pots and food. I took part but showed little interest. My mind was yet unsettled. Even the return of my dear friend Kay from the eastern lands failed to brighten my days.

  One evening, after the feasting, I climbed the great wooden wall that surmounted our innermost ditch and bank. A parapet circled the castle for our guards to mount their patrols. My legs carried me to a point in the north wall, near unto our own watchtower, from where I could see the signal fire burning on the great Tor at Ynys-witrin. In the distance, I could hear a screech owl crying into the night. The stars seemed so close I could touch them.

  “You are unhappy?”

  The voice startled me. It was Bedevere. We had grown closer during our adventure at the abbey, and though he was still a solemn and taciturn man, even with me, he was now more open, more approachable.

  “I am bothered by recent events.”

  “How so?”

  “I think of Patrick and Elafius, even Gwilym. I think of how little moments in time can control the rest of our lives. Sometimes, the wrong decision, no matter how small, can rob you of a happy life.”

  “Granted. Have you made such a small decision?”

  My eyes locked with his. “I am afraid that I have been making such a decision, that I have let the shades of the dead steal a chance at a good life.”

  Bedevere smiled, an unusual expression for him. “I have seldom met a man who is so certain about events outside himself yet so confused when events affect him personally. But the Christ and God his father protect you, Malgwyn. Let the shades of the dead go to their rest. They would not begrudge you that good life you desire.”

  “I pray you are right, Bedevere.” I started to turn away, then hesitated.

  “Something else troubles you?”

  “Remember when I was ‘Smiling Malgwyn,’ when I killed Saxons with pleasure and abandon?”

  “Of course.”

  “When I was escaping from the rebels and as I made my way back to Ynys-witrin, I found myself returning to that way. I killed with near joy, certainly without regret. I thought I had left those days behind. But Bedevere, I found myself smiling again! And I did not like it, but I could not stop, not until I was cut down once again. That memory has brought demons to my dreams and shadows to my days.”

  His face of stone softened, the hard lines melting like butter on hot bread. “Malgwyn, you are an odd man. You have killed, yes. But who has not in these times? You have acted with honor. You killed to revenge the deaths of those you care about, to protect your Rigotamos, and to save your own neck. Show me the wrong in that. Show me the evil in it.

  “Now”—and the face of granite returned, almost—“cease worrying about things past. You can do nothing about them. They are like a meal already eaten. It either settles well in your belly or revolts, makes you sick. But once eaten, you have no control over that outcome. Go! The here and now you can mend; the future you can change!”

  I knew that he was right. With a determined look on my face, I clutched his shoulder, squeezed it, and went off to the nearest ladder and descended to the ground.

  Ignoring the occasional shouts of revelers, I marched through the town lanes, past the house I shared with Merlin, around the market square, and on to a house on one of the back lanes. Rounding one corner, I almost ran into Tristan, the unfortunate noble confined to the castle for his role in Eleonore’s death. He saw me coming and scampered out of the way.

  I did not bother to knock. Flinging the door back, I scanned the room, lit by a pair of oil lamps. Mariam and Owain had just carried in a load of wood and were stacking it by the hearth.

  Ygerne emerged from a back room, partitioned off by a finely scraped hide hanging from the ceiling. She was tired from a day of caring for and feeding her children. A smudge of ash marked her forehead. But her long red hair glowed just as brightly as I remembered it, and her figure pushed at her gown in all the places that stirred me.

  I walked to her, deliberately and determinedly. She saw me and began to smile, but her eyes quickly grew a question. I had become a constant visitor over the last months, but she had never seen me act like this.

  “Malgwyn? What—”

  And with a quick shake of my head, I wrapped my arm around her, pulled her body against me, and kissed her with all the ardor and passion in my heart.

  After what seemed like the most pleasant moments of my life, Ygerne gently pushed me back, propped both hands on her hips and said, “What took you so long?”

  Down below me, I felt something grab my legs. I looked and it was Mariam, who wrapped her arms around both of us and hugged with all of her might. She looked up and smiled at us, and then buried her face in my breeches.

  Later, after the children had gone to sleep, and Ygerne and I had tasted that fruit I had thought forbidden but found sweet as a ripened apple, the two of us wandered back through the lanes of the town. She walked not on my good side, but on the side with my half-arm, which she wrapped her own hand around. It did not make me uncomfortable though, as I thought it might; rather, it felt natural and welcome.

  Our wanderings led us back to the parapet, facing north. We leaned on the wall, and I pointed out the fire on the Tor at Ynys-witrin. A warm breeze blew out of the south and against our backs. Ygerne moved closer to me.

  “Your journey was difficult.” She knew me too well.

  “I do not know that I have ever had a more dangerous or twisted path,” I said honestly. “And I bear another mark of my stupidity.”

  Ygerne touched the wound on the side of my head, healing but still pink and tender. “And you bring home yet another badge of honor. And not unlike that which killed your brother.”

  I had forced myself not to think of that; I did not want to think of that. “Why such a blow killed one of us and not the other is a question beyond my ken. If I tried to sort it out I am afraid I would lose my mind.”

  “Then put it far from your thoughts.” She stopped and turned back toward the point of light that was Ynys-witrin. In the distance, across the land somewhere, a screech owl cried in the night. “What did you see out there that made you change your mind?”

  “He saw how easily life can slip away.”

  Arthur.

  We turned and saw the Rigotamos and Guinevere walking along the parapet to join us. “My lord.” I nodded at him. “Cousin.”

  “This is a welcome sight, Malgwyn,” Guinevere said. “I thought you would never come to your senses.”

  I smiled at her. “It was a long and truly bloody road. Too many good men died. Too many scoundrels yet live. And for what, power, wealth?”

  “Look out there, Malgwyn,” Arthur said. In the moonlight, the hills and flatlands stood in stark relief to the star-crowded sky. Occasionally, here and there, the dim lights of farms twinkled on the landscape. “That is what they died for. Aye, even our little thief Llynfann. Even Patrick and Elafius.”

  “Too many died,” I repeated, softly.

  “Tomorrow, Malgwyn, those folk, living on their farms, will arise and milk the cows, feed the hogs. They will cook their meals and tend their crops. And they will do all of that without fear of plundering Saxons or treacherous rebels. Who is to say what price is too high for that? You? Me? No. Only God in his heaven can make that judgment.”

  A thought struck me at the mention of God, something I had completely forgotten. I turned to Guinevere. “Cousin, what happened to the emissary, this Francesco from Rome? Did he arrive? By the time I returned to Ynys-witrin from Bannaventa, I had nothing on my mind but the rebellion.”

  Arthur l
ooked away, trying to suppress a smile. Ygerne looked at us, confused. “Well, Malgwyn,” Guinevere began, “I paired him with a Pictish woman named Sinead. She had little enthusiasm for a life of service to the Christ, but she found great enthusiasm for the emissary. Aye, so great that I am not sure they have even yet ventured from his chamber.”

  And we all laughed then, and it felt good. We stood for a while, the four of us, staring across the land and breathing the clean air of Britannia.

  GLOSSARY AND GAZETTEER

  Aquae Sulis—This was the Roman name for what is now Bath, England.

  braccae—Breeches worn by both Saxons and the Brythonic tribes. The only extant examples come from peat bogs in Europe. There was a certain disdain by Romans toward the Gallic tribes for wearing pants.

  Breton—A native or inhabitant of Brittany, or the Celtic language of the Breton people.

  castellum—Castle, but not in the High Middle Ages sense, with thick stone walls, towers, and damsels in distress. Usually a defensive position with stacked rock and timber defensive rings.

  Castellum Artorius—For the purposes of this novel, Cadbury Castle at South Cadbury, Somerset, is the location for Arthur’s castle. Excavations during the 1960s identified it as having been significantly rebuilt and reinforced during the late fifth century by a warlord of Arthurian stature, although no explicit evidence linking the site to Arthur himself was discovered.

  Castellum Marcus—Castellum Marcus in southeast Cornwall is believed to have been the site of King Mark’s headquarters. Nearby was found the famous Tristan stone, a gravestone believed to commemorate the historical Tristan, making it the one contemporary piece of evidence for the historicity of a character in the Arthurian canon.

  cervesa—The Latin name for the beer made by the local tribes during the Roman occupation. According to tablets unearthed at Vindolanda near Hadrian’s Wall, Roman soldiers were not shy about drinking cervesa.

  consilium—A council. Gildas refers to a consilium ruling pre-Saxon Britannia that ended in Vortigern hiring Saxon mercenaries to help put down the raids of the Picts and Scots. It is safe to assume that any warlord that exerted influence over large areas in central and western England would have done so at the behest and the agreement of such a council of lesser kings.

  Dumnonia (Dumnonii)—A tribe residing in the area of Cornwall and throughout the west lands. Mark is thought to have been a king of the Dumnonii during the general period of Arthur’s life. Christopher Snyder suggests in The Britons that people in the post-Roman period referred to themselves by tribal designations.

  Durotrigia (Durotrigii)—A tribe residing in the area surrounding Glastonbury down through the South Cadbury area to the southern coast.

  Gildas—A monk who wrote one of the few histories of post-Roman Britain. He unquestionably had strong connections to southwest England, and some late sources connect him to Arthur. According to one story, Gildas was the brother of Huaill, who was allegedly killed by Arthur.

  iudex pedaneus—A Roman official assigned to investigate crimes and offenses. It is known that such titles were still used in post-Roman Britannia.

  latrunculii—A term applied to groups of bandits that ran rampant during the fifth century, not to be confused with a Roman board game of the same era.

  Londinium—As would be expected, this is the Roman name for what is now London.

  meneds—The meneds is the ancient name for the Mendip hills of northwest England.

  mortaria—A type of bowl with knots or beads in the bottom to make it easier to grind vegetables to a pulp.

  peplos—A type of gown worn by women, having a Roman cut.

  presbyter—A Latin term applied to priests or other church officers. Remember that this was a time before parish priests.

  sacerdote—A term used to describe priests, interchangeable with presbyter above. There may certainly have been differences between these two terms at the time, but such distinctions, without documentary evidence, are impossible for modern readers to understand.

  tigernos—The Celtic word for “lord,” sometimes used to designate local lords, but believed by some scholars to have been combined with the word “vor” to produce the name “Vortigern,” or “overlord.”

  vallum—A ditch, possibly holding a wooden palisade, used as both a defense and a boundary marker for monastical sites during the fifth century and onward.

  Via Arturius—“Arthur’s Way.” A roadway or lane actually ran from Cadbury Castle to Glastonbury. It has become known as Arthur’s Way. Two major Roman roads near Cadbury Castle were the Via Fosse and the Via Harrow.

  Via Caedes—“The Killing Way.” Obviously, this is a creation for the novel, but skeletons have been found along the main roadway entering Cadbury Castle. They were victims of an ancient massacre, probably at the hands of Romans and probably in reaction to the rebellions of Caractacus or Boudicca.

  vigile—The Roman equivalent, in a sense, of both a policeman and a fireman. In Rome, they watched for fires as much as any crime.

  Votadini (Votadinii)—A tribe residing in what is now northern England and into the lands of the Scots border as far as the Firth of Forth. One story of a chieftain named Cunneda (Kenneth) suggests that some of the Votadini migrated to northern Wales, but, according to Snyder, that possibility has been discounted.

  Ynys-witrin—According to some sources, this was the early name for what is now Glastonbury. It is believed that a Christian community may have resided there during the Arthurian age.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  As I like to point out, this is a novel. While I have done my best to adhere to elements of the actual time period as we know it, this is not intended to be history. No one knows exactly what life was like in the age of Arthur, but I have tried to give a flavor of what it may have been like as best we understand the evidence.

  The story of Lauhiir killing three of Arthur’s men tracks to one of the earliest Arthurian tales, the life of Saint Cadoc. As it is told traditionally, David, Teilo, and Dochu do play a part, but only as mediators along with the abbot. Such a story is interesting, but I’ve chosen to make it a nefarious plot to overthrow Arthur. Indeed, the story also gives a hint of how unpopular Arthur was in certain areas. The Welsh material, particularly, tends to paint Arthur in a far less sympathetic way than he is normally seen. Is this some hint of an Arthur less grand than he is depicted in the romances? Since nearly all written material was prepared by the clergy, it more likely is indicative of the attitude within the clergy toward Arthur.

  Counterfeiting in the fifth century? Certainly. On the scale that I indicate? Probably not. Tin was mined extensively in western Britain even before the days of the Romans. But the departure of the Romans meant a reduction in the tin production. The exact date that tin mining resumed is elusive. But a ruling body, in the wake of the Roman withdrawal, would certainly have seen the profit in mining tin.

  One method of counterfeiting coins included using tin and bronze with a silver wash. Others involved pewter, a mixture of tin and lead, with a silver wash. They were typically marked by a degradation of the original design and/or errors. In actuality, many early coin designs were copies of Greek and Roman coins anyway.

  Patrick. The great saint himself told us in his Confessio that he had committed a horrible sin in his youth, a sin confided to only one person, and that that person had revealed his confidence to the church. It did indeed cause him problems, as many in the church were jealous of his fame. Some scholars point to Burnham-on-the-Sea in Somerset as the site of Bannaventa while others look farther north. A number of traditions at Glastonbury have it that Patrick is buried there; some even credit him as the founder of the abbey. And Patrick actually did request that no stone mark his grave, hence some of the confusion over his final resting place. Another likely grave site is Downpatrick in Ireland. But no one knows for certain where the old bishop’s bones lie.

  Pelagianism was a constant problem for the church, evidence their dispatch of Germanus n
ot once but twice. Agricola was a British Pelagian attacked by Germanus. We know little of Agricola’s life before or after this event. I’ve simply stirred all of these up and woven them into my story.

  Glastonbury as Ynys-witrin. That’s the earliest recorded name for the area. During the time of the novel, it really was something of an island. The Somerset Levels were flooded for much of the year. The Romans truly did have a wharf at the base of Wirral Hill, and it’s believed that the Brue River was navigable by ships as far as Glastonbury.

  The founding of the abbey is shrouded in mystery. There are no absolutely reliable records that date the abbey before the seventh century. But there is a mountain of tradition, folklore, and legend that carries it back to the time of the novel. Glastonbury Tor was almost certainly occupied at this date, as evidenced by archaeological digs. While the data suggests occupation by, perhaps, a Dark Age lord, it could also have been a hermitage site.

  The cave where Malgwyn is imprisoned is Wookey Hole Cavern, a remarkable set of passages that run deep under the Mendip Hills not far from the lovely cathedral city of Wells. There have been, indeed, any number of skeletons recovered from Wookey Hole, including those of Roman soldiers. According to the tour guide, scenes from Kevin Costner’s Robin Hood were filmed there and even J. K. Rowling has visited, seeking inspiration. For anyone who visits, the cave’s potential as a setting for a story is obvious.

  For the inevitable mistakes, I take full responsibility. A task of these proportions creates ample opportunity for error, but I have done my best to avoid as many as possible.