by Tony Hays
“Malgwyn may be guilty of many sins, Coroticus,” Arthur said. “But arrogance is not among that number. I have wagered my crown on him and he did not disappoint me. You called for him. He did not seek this affair.”
While I had hated Arthur for many moons, I no longer bore him ill will. Aye, we were settling into something like our old rapport, when he was Dux Bellorum and I one of his captains. As Rigotamos, he was proving as capable a governor as he was a general. And while I no longer commanded a troop of horse, I had moved even higher in his esteem, taking my place alongside Kay and Bedevere as one of his closest confidants and counselors. We had come so far.
“Why did you call me? You sent Ider galloping down the lane to hurry me along, and yet, now that I am here, you seem reluctant to place your faith in me.”
“Let us move this discussion into my private chambers. What I would tell you is not for all ears.”
Without another word, Arthur, Bedevere, Coroticus, and I slipped through the door into the small suite of rooms at one end of the great building. Once there, I watched as Coroticus’s shoulders slumped. Gone was the erect bearing. In its place appeared a tired man with little confidence.
“To answer your question, I sent for Malgwyn because I did not know that he would be coming with the Rigotamos, and I needed his peculiar talents. Elafius was dead, and I did not need to desecrate his body to see that it was by the hand of another.”
“With respect, Coroticus, just knowing that he died by another’s hand does not make clear the questions of how and why such was accomplished.”
He took a step back and nodded, almost as if chastised.
“Why are you so intent on absolving Rhiannon of any guilt? Are you bedding her?” In my experience men displayed an inability to think a woman was guilty of anything for only two reasons. Either they were bedding her or they wanted to.
“You are a hard man, Malgwyn. You spare no one in your quest. Be careful that you do not make more enemies than friends.”
“A good man, Coroticus,” Arthur replied, “makes a dozen enemies for every friend that he can claim. Such is the price of being honorable.”
Coroticus slumped into a chair. A thin trickle of sweat ran down his graying temple. “No, Malgwyn. I am not bedding her. I will admit to wanting to, but my belief in her innocence is staked to another cause. She is a good woman and her faith in the Christ is strong. In the short time she has been here, she has taken firm control of the women’s community and it has grown. That counts for much, and if some of her beliefs are contrary to my own, that is no reason to think her guilty of murder.”
“That is tolerant of you, my lord abbot,” I conceded. “I suspect that Patrick will not share your tolerance.”
“Patrick is yet another crisis to deal with. His time would be better spent saving souls in the land of the Scotti, not here trying to root out Pelagianism.”
“Is there Pelagianism here?”
Coroticus shrugged, but I detected something false in his movements. He was hiding something yet.
“Well, is there?”
“My monachi are free to believe as they wish about certain things. That is how I keep this community of believers functioning.”
I sighed. An answer without an answer. Such is why I hated nobles and abbots. They have been a bane to my existence for more years than I can count. Always talking but never really saying anything. Even Arthur was guilty of this at times, when things were especially tense.
“So,” I deduced, “you do have followers of Pelagius here.”
“In a manner of speaking.” Coroticus continued to speak in vague terms.
I gave up.
“Well, that’s an issue for you and Patrick, not me.” I turned to Arthur. “Perhaps, my lord, it is time to visit Lord Liguessac.”
Arthur nodded. “Bedevere! Gather our troop of horse. We go to the Tor.”
“Malgwyn?” Coroticus called to me.
“Yes?”
“Tread carefully with Lauhiir. He does not take well to questions.”
Then, it was my turn to shrug. “I care not for what he takes well to. Both our commissions come from the Rigotamos. In that, we are equals. If he cannot understand this, I will teach him.”
“You were more pleasant as a drunk,” Coroticus remarked.
“And you were more honest before you became an abbot,” I countered.
At that, we swept from the hall and began to make our way past the women’s community to the summit of the Tor.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Tor at Ynys-witrin was as tall as it was mystical. Viewed from certain angles, it was visible as far away as Arthur’s castle. Viewed from a different angle, it was invisible. No one had yet figured out why this was true, but we knew it was.
Great legend and great mystery shrouded the peak. Some said an ancient and holy treasure was buried somewhere on its heights. Others talked of hideous monsters lying in wait within the hill. Tales so ancient that even Merlin did not know their source told of a mundus, as the Romans would have it, on the Tor. Such a place functioned as a doorway into the underworld. I did not doubt that there was a cave beneath the Tor, but such cold dark places often excited people’s imaginations. Why, some even said that the Tor was the home of Gwyn ap Nudd, the fairy king.
More important, the Tor served a critical function in Arthur’s alert and message system. Watchfires linked Dinas Emrys, the castle of Ambrosius, with the Mount of Frogs, then the Tor at Ynys-witrin, and thence to Arthur’s castle.
Now, it was to be the fortress of Liguessac, son of Eliman. He was more commonly called by his nickname, Lauhiir or “Longhand.” Arthur was forced by the consilium to give Lauhiir dominion over the Tor, despite the fact that I considered him part of the conspiracy against Ambrosius Aurelianus and Arthur’s claim to the throne, that plot which took my brother Cuneglas and young Eleonore from our midst. At the critical moment, however, I had no evidence with which to convict him. And one did not accuse nobility of treachery without evidence, not if one valued his head.
So, instead of being exiled or condemned, Lauhiir was given command of a critical link in our defenses. Arthur was of mixed feelings. He preferred having Lauhiir close to him, but worried at the possibility of further betrayal. One message from Dinas Emrys or the Mount of Frogs not passed on could cause the collapse of our defenses. To that end, at my urging, Arthur had posted four horsemen at the Mount of Frogs to stand ready to speed any emergency messages to Arthur’s castle.
On the lower part of the slope that lay at the end of the long, narrow shoulder of the Tor, Lauhiir had begun construction of his gate house and defensive ditch with a wooden palisade. A well, an old Roman well, lay just outside his new wall, and I nodded in understanding. There was no water on the summit, and carrying such up that steep slope was difficult at the best of times. But Lauhiir was building his own hall on that summit, a sign of pride more than practicality. I had to compliment him though. He had constructed a long rope hoist that, when manned at a number of way stations, could see any burden hauled to the top. I noted too that the hoist was handled by servi, servi with an unmistakable Scotti look to them. This puzzled me a little. Servi were gained in battle mostly, but we had had no set battles with the Scotti in many years. The only other way to obtain servi was to buy them, but this manyservi bespoke a wealth that I did not think Lauhiir possessed. I sighed and shrugged. Perhaps his family had given them to him.
Now, we climbed the winding path that led to the summit, where signs of ongoing construction were plentiful. From all appearances, Lauhiir had laid into the project with a vengeance, and building was furious on the south and east sides. A timber hall was rising at the same time that rough-cut stone and logs were forming a rampart around the entrance. On three sides, the approach to the Tor was defended by steep slopes. Wisely, Lauhiir was allowing the Tor’s natural slope to act as a barrier and only building gateways where they were needed. The slope was so steep that a handful of spearmen could hold off th
ree times their number.
As we arrived at the temporary gate, I noticed a crew of metalworkers, hammering away at a makeshift hearth and another smelting tin from tin ore. A group of village folk carried big baskets and lined up near the hearth before one of Lauhiir’s men. He would tip each basket over, eye the contents, and then count out a coin or two from a pouch next to him.
Tin was one of our great commodities, one the Romans had treasured and exploited. Our campaigns against the Saxons had kept us from reentering the tin trade. But Lauhiir’s commission from the consilium dictated that he immediately begin further mining and smelting. Naturally, he would receive a share of the profits, as would Arthur and the other lords.
I remembered then the documents on metallurgy in Elafius’s cell. And Rhiannon’s revelation that Lauhiir had been conferring with the monachus. Could Elafius have been engaged in some manner by Lauhiir to help with the tin mining? Could something have gone wrong in their relationship? Something so wrong that it called for Elafius’s death?
Shaking my head, I tried to drive the thoughts out. I was too ready to believe ill of Lauhiir, too prejudiced by my recent dealings with him. That trail lay too near the path I would wish it to be. Such affairs were seldom resolved with the easy solution, a point I often made to my friend Kay.
As we passed through the gate, I saw Lauhiir talking with some workers and studying some designs. Despite his long fingers and hands, he was neither tall nor short. A large paunch pushed at his tunic, and a faint sheen of sweat covered his face, giving him that oily appearance I would forever associate with him.
“Is that the best you can do?” Bedevere shouted. I snapped from my musings. Lauhiir’s guards had apparently given Arthur a sloppy, half-mocking salute, and Bedevere was upbraiding them for it.
To my amazement, the pair of guards did not bother to respond. Indeed, they gave our little party their backs in the supreme sign of insolence. Then, suddenly, a tubby windstorm blew into their midst, scattering them with the flat of his sword, laying both of them low.
Lauhiir jammed his sword back into its sheath and bowed majestically before Arthur. “Forgive them, my lord. They are young and ignorant. I welcome the Rigotamos to my new home.”
So, Lauhiir, who had once been one of Arthur’s most fierce critics, was going to play the subservient noble. This might prove to be an interesting trip after all.
Arthur dismounted, followed by Bedevere and myself. “I accept your hospitality, Lord Liguessac.”
And so began the obligatory bowing and scraping by Lauhiir. Bedevere and I followed in Arthur’s wake as he walked with the young lord inspecting the construction projects under way. At the very peak of the Tor was the great watch fire, used to send signals on to Castellum Arturius. With the sun riding low in the sky, you could see the glow of the fire at Arthur’s watchtower far to the south. In times of trouble, it would burn a deep red from some mixture of Merlin’s. He had also manufactured a concoction that would turn the flame a bluish-purple. All of these mixtures were distributed to Arthur’s watching posts, and each of them had a specific purpose or message they conveyed.
On high ground at the east of the summit, a timber hall was taking shape. Down one slope were the gnarled branches of an old apple orchard. I suspected that Lauhiir had been burning some of the wood from there, as I could smell its fragrant scent, hovering over the Tor.
The hearth had been built and three of the walls had been erected. To the south, already in use, were the metalworkers’ hearths. Lauhiir was very ambitious. Some five hearths were manned by teams hard at work. Men manned the bellows, keeping the fire hot as other men, having pounded the tin ore into a powder, thence into balls by adding water, clay, and straw, were feeding the balls into the fire. Once fired, the brittle remains would be broken open to reveal the smelted tin.
But in truth, we were less interested in the work being done than in Lauhiir’s demeanor. As Arthur had said on our trip from the castle, “Any fool can fortify the Tor. Even young Owain couldn’t botch that job.” So, it was Lauhiir’s sentiments that we needed to measure. And I had the added task of judging his involvement in the death of Elafius.
For some reason, I did not feel strongly that he was involved. I did not know why, but the death of an ancient yet simple monachus seemed disconnected from the aims of a young, ambitious lord. Having said that, I had misjudged such things before. No one could be excused from guilt in this affair. At least not yet.
At one point, as we made our circuit of the summit, I found an opportunity to begin probing. “How is the mining operation coming, my lord?”
“I have sent the word out that we would be paying for tin ore. Every family hereabouts has a pan for searching the streams,” he reminded us. “As you can see, we’ve begun the process of smelting. It is not complicated, but it is time-consuming. Alas, I will miss the counsel and advice of the monachus Elafius. He made himself an expert on tin mining to help me with my work.”
I raised my eyebrows. Either the news of the old monk’s death had traveled quickly— it was but a thousand yards from the abbey to the Tor after all— or Lauhiir knew much. “In truth?”
“Aye.” The pudgy lord nodded glumly.
“You are well informed, my lord.”
Lauhiir shrugged. “Some of my soldiers told me. They had spent the night in the village and passed by the abbey on the way here. Elafius was very eager. Our process was organized by his instruction.”
“A truly sad loss, then,” Arthur interjected. “I did not know that monachi were versed in such subjects.”
“He studied the documents at my behest,” Lauhiir replied hurriedly. Too hurriedly, I thought.
“What led you to him?”
“Why ask you?”
I shrugged. “No real reason, my lord. It just seems an odd coupling for such an enterprise. I knew Elafius fairly well from my days at Ynys-witrin, but I knew nothing of his interest in metallurgy.”
Lauhiir considered this for a moment, stroking his beard with those long, long fingers. “Now that you ask the question, I suppose it was that new monachus, Gwilym, that first directed me to Elafius.”
This was a new name to me. “A young monachus?”
Lauhiir laughed heartily. “No, a new arrival, but as old as the forest.” Then he leaned in conspiratorially. “ ‘Tis Gwilym that has brought this visit by Patrick. ‘Tis he who has been whispering Pelagianism among the brothers.”
Arthur, Bedevere, and I exchanged looks. Why had Coroticus not told us of this? We had questioned him directly about Pelagian influences, and yet he had not mentioned any adherents, even avoided the issue.
Bedevere gave me a questioning look. I knew what he was thinking. Perhaps Coroticus had withheld this information, but what did Pelagianism have to do with the death of Elafius? ‘Twas a good question, and one that I did not have an answer to. But that a man such as Coroticus, he who had called me to this task, would hide anything, spoke volumes.
“Surely you knew this?” Lauhiir asked.
“Coroticus has fully briefed us on the situation at the abbey,” Arthur replied. “If you do not mind a further question, why did this Gwilym direct you to Elafius in this matter?”
Now it was Lauhiir’s turn to shrug. “I think I mentioned at the evening meal one night that I needed help with the tin mining. Gwilym suggested Elafius as a tireless researcher and learned man. The next day I visited with him and learned that the old monachus had been correct. He eagerly offered to help. I accepted his assistance.”
“Did Coroticus know of your arrangement?”
At this, Lauhiir became red faced, too much so, I thought. It was a simple question, and I thought it appropriate since Coroticus had charge of the abbey and all therein. “I do not know,” he sputtered. “I did not feel the need to seek his permission.”
“Of course not,” Arthur said with a smile, defusing the growing argument in Lauhiir’s eye. I held further questions, knowing that Arthur wanted no squabble over aut
hority. Where a noble and an abbot were concerned, Arthur preferred to leave their relative positions ambiguous.
“Oh, Lord Liguessac?”
“Yes, Rigotamos.”
“Have you heard from Lord David lately?”
Lauhiir’s eyes grew wide, too wide, I thought. “No, my lord. Why would you ask?”
Arthur shrugged. “He sent word to me that he had reports of Scotti raiding north of here, and that he intended to send scouting parties to investigate. I just wondered if they had reached this far south.”
“No, Rigotamos. I would invite you to dine with me, Rigotamos,” he said, changing the subject, “but until my hall is completed, I have been dining at the abbot’s table. He has been very gracious.”
“Then we shall be dining with you after all. Coroticus plans a feast in honor of Patrick. It is my duty to attend.” Arthur said nothing without carefully considering his words, especially in the presence of such as Lauhiir. By Arthur’s words I knew that he had no desire to dine with Patrick. And he cared not that Lauhiir knew.
We began to return to our horses when Arthur hesitated and turned back to our host. “Oh, I meant to ask you when the consilium might expect an accounting of the mining you have accomplished to date? I saw a merchant ship at the old Roman port, from the far eastern provinces, I judged.”
Lauhiir’s face turned red again, but not from anger this time. Rather, his discomfiture came from embarrassment. “I, uh, well, yes, we have sold our initial shipment to a merchant from Judea. I’m sure that I can have an accounting prepared before you depart for Castellum Arturius.”
“That will be satisfactory. You may have it delivered to Malgwyn.” Among my many tasks for Arthur was to keep track of all documents submitted for his, or the consilium’s, consideration.
At that, Lauhiir saluted, spun about and went back to his lair. Arthur, Bedevere, and myself trudged out the western gate where our horses were tied.
“Will we be returning to the castle tomorrow?” Bedevere asked.