by Jay Ruud
Merlin rolled his eyes. “And you a knight of the Round Table. Not really seemly, is it?”
Dinadan scoffed. “Please. You’d question my purity when Tristram was in the room? Anyway, I don’t recall any part of that Pentecost Oath containing a vow of chastity. We’re knights, not monks, whatever else they say about us. But that’s not the issue here anyway, so let it go. As I was saying, I’d visit the Mermaid’s Anchor several nights a week, sometimes by myself, sometimes with Sir Tristram when he needed to get away from the smothering atmosphere of that court. But that wasn’t often, since Tristram generally eschewed strong drink and only occasionally let himself have more than one glass of wine. But there were a few occasions when Sir Sagramore came over to visit us and bring news of the courts, both Camelot and Cornwall. It was on one of those nights that I first saw Sir William of Caen.”
“In the inn?” I asked. “But I thought when we first met him you said something about his not being one to go out carousing with the rest of the guard?”
“Yes,” Dinadan closed his eyes. “A comment that I admit was in somewhat bad taste, for I was thinking about this night in particular when I said that. Sir William had come in, yes, but with no intention of drinking. I remember seeing him come in the door wearing his sword and armor and looking around with his eyes squinting, and I was thinking ‘This boy’s not here for the ale.’ Nor was he. He was there looking for his wife.
“A good number of guardsmen were there drinking, and some had women accompanying them, and a few of them were getting a bit rowdy too. One of those women was a young raven-haired beauty who was laughing louder than the rest, her hair long and flying free like a young virgin’s, sitting with a tankard of ale on the lap of one of the roughest looking of those guardsmen. I watched Sir William’s eyes narrow on her, and his face looked…well, it had an expression of deep sorrow, but not so much anger. And she—well, she turned pale and stopped laughing pretty quick. She stood up and William says to her ‘My lady Evelyn, this is not seemly. Would it please you to return home?’
“And she’s ready to start for home, but the bloody bounder she’s with grabs hold of her arm and says something like ‘Hey, wench, you can’t tease me like that and walk off. Come back here and pay what you owe!’ But William, now, he strides over to them and stands between the guard and the woman, draws his sword and holds it to the man’s neck. And he says “I’ll assume the lady’s debt, sir. And I will meet you in the parade field before the castle at terce tomorrow, where I shall undertake to pay you what you deserve. If you desire payment, meet me there at that time. If I do not see you then, I will consider the debt canceled.’ Well, the big drunken lout blustered a bit, and William and his wife walked out of the inn.”
“And did this brute of a guardsman meet him the next day?” I asked. “Was there a duel in the center of Saint-Malo?”
A half-smile twisted Dinadan’s face. “Sir William stood in full armor in that public square from terce until sext the next morning, but that scoundrel of a guardsman never appeared. Some said he was afraid of William’s prowess. Some said he had given up the woman as not worth the trouble. But within days, he had left town and good riddance. I cannot recollect his name, but that’s probably a good thing. A man like that doesn’t need a memorial.”
“Well Sir Dinadan,” my tongue dripped with sarcasm, “that was indeed an exciting story. A little thin on plot, though, I thought. Not much of an ending…”
Dinadan puckered his face up in exasperation and then spat out, “I’m not telling you the story to entertain you, you dolt of a Cornishman…”
“Hey, only Merlin can call me that…”
“I’m telling you the story to make you understand who you are dealing with when you deal with Sir William of Caen. When the burly guardsman failed to appear to fight him, Sir William returned to his home and took his wife by the hand, and, though she had been conducting an affair with that blighter for months, William knelt before her—or so the story circulated—and proposed that she remain with him and be his loving wife. And she did.”
“And there was no animosity between them? No bitterness and reproach to sully their reunion?” Merlin wanted to know.
“None that we know of, or that was ever spoken of,” Dinadan answered. I pursed my lips and mused. Dinadan’s story was so out of place, so uncharacteristic of all the other stories of jealousy and violence that had filled my head since this whole bloody business of Tristram and Isolde began. It seemed, in spite of all I had heard of regarding Gaheris and Margause, Gawain and Lamorak, Arthur and Mordred, Mark and Tristram and Isolde, that human beings were at least capable of forgiveness and nobility even when it might be least expected. And I couldn’t help wondering aloud, “What would make a man do that kind of thing, when nature might have urged him toward violence and toward revenge?”
“You remember Sir William’s shield? The motto Veritas—‘truth’—blazoned on it?”
“Of course I do,” I replied.
“Truth is the highest thing a man may keep,” came the muffled proclamation from an unexpected source—it was Brother Thaddeus in the other bed, his face still turned toward the wall. Apparently he had been listening in on the conversation. Not that he would have been able to avoid hearing, it’s true, since we were chattering almost right above his bed.
Dinadan, cheered by the old monk’s platitude, glanced in his direction saying “A timely observation, good brother,” and went on with renewed vigor: “Sir Sagramore talked to Sir William a few days later, running into him somewhere in town, and put it to him directly. ‘How could you have come into that tavern so calmly, and handled the situation with such composure? I would have burst in, sword swinging, and beheaded the bitch and her paramour then and there!’ But Sir William shook his head, at least the way Sagramore told it, and he says ‘No. I had plighted her my troth, and that is a vow not lightly undertaken. Truth is a man’s identity, it is his core and his integrity. Without it what is he? No better than a beast. But we were made for higher things. My truth means my fidelity. The woman may change. The woman’s affections may not be constant. She may become something I never anticipated, and our life something far different that I had envisioned. But truth is permanent. Fidelity doesn’t mean I will remain true until you change. Truth is truth. This is where integrity lies. This is where honor lies. It is the same as an oath to my liege lord. I am bound by honor to uphold that oath. That is truth. A man’s word must be his bond, or what are we? Barbarians at the gate?’
“And that, my dear Merlin, is why I say that we can trust what Sir William of Caen tells us. He lives and dies by that motto on his crest. For him truth is not an option. It is the only conceivable course of action.” Dinadan finally let out a tense breath, and added, “I suppose that’s what makes him so damned boring.
“But enough of Sir William. If what he says helps us find these villains, so much the better.” At that Brother Thaddeus gave out a low moan, as if on cue. “People are getting hurt. Innocent people, like these poor monks who only tried to protect me. This has got to stop—you boys need to stop whoever is behind these attacks, and soon too. I mean, today!”
“I only wish you were with us,” I began. “Or Captain Jacques. I for one am feeling pretty vulnerable with just the two of us, and our weapons locked up in the palace.”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, I think the abbot may have something to say about that when you meet with him. But tell me, are you any closer to finding the culprit?”
Merlin was never one to jump to hasty conclusions, but he did cautiously suggest, “I think we are now very close. There are two things we need to know that I think you may be able to clarify for us. First of all, what can you tell us about Sir Andred? You were with Tristram in the court of King Mark in Cornwall. We know that Andred came here from his home country of Cornwall. What was, or what is, his connection to the court?”
Dinadan hmmphed and s
aid thoughtfully, “Andred is a sullen, taciturn, unfriendly lump of brawn who lets his sword and lance do his talking. He’s got a lot of muscle there, mostly between his ears, and he could give Tristram a run for it whenever they jousted. I wouldn’t be very surprised if he turned out to be behind this whole thing, though he must have had an accomplice if he’s the culprit, because I don’t see how he would know about the poisons. He’s not exactly a healer. But even though he’s from Cornwall, he isn’t connected with the Cornish court, at least not now. I do remember him being sort of a hanger-on when Tristram and I first came to Mark’s kingdom, but that was, what, ten years ago? Anyway, he disappeared after maybe a year and wasn’t heard from again there, at least as far as I know. I was pretty surprised that he turned up here, and as Kaherdin’s cousin to boot. But I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. The Bretons and the Cornish are related, after all.”
“So, he had a connection with the Cornish king, but not a close one, and it was some years ago,” Merlin summarized.
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t be the murderer,” I asserted. “It just means it’s less likely that King Mark put him up to it.”
“That’s certainly true,” Dinadan said, adding “Of course, the more I see of him, the more I feel it’s less and less likely he has a brain in his head either. What’s the other thing you wanted to ask me about? Hurry up, boys, can’t you see what a busy man I am? My calendar is really full today.”
“The city watch,” Merlin said. ‘We touched on this when you were singing Sir William’s praise. Who controls it?”
“Why, Kaherdin of course. Who else?”
“Who else indeed, “Merlin muttered thoughtfully. “But does he give them their orders directly, or do they go through someone else, as we conjectured before?”
“Oh, I imagine he tells one of his minions what to do, and they relay it to the guards. Why?”
“Why?” Merlin echoed, surprised. “Sir William made that evident, and it’s obvious why he’s looking into it. Clearly they haven’t been doing their job the past few nights, have they? No one at all on the streets at night, except for villains and murderers. What sort of town is run this way? If this kind of thing happened in Caerleon, the king would have heads rolling along the upper bailey of Camelot.”
“I don’t know,” Dinadan scowled, taking in the full weight of Merlin’s words. “But what you’re saying agrees pretty much with the direction Sir William’s thinking was going: that it was Kaherdin who deliberately kept the watch from patrolling this section of the city for the past two nights in order to give that hired band of ruffians the opportunity to kill us? And Captain Jacques?”
“Someone did,” I put in.
“I still maintain that there is no way that Sir Kaherdin would have harmed Sir Tristram. When I say he loved Tristram I am not speaking lightly or metaphorically.”
“Perhaps he would not have harmed Sir Tristram, but he could have held back the watch for another reason,” Merlin said slowly. “Perhaps he is trying to protect the person who actually was behind the murder.”
“Well why would he do that,” I asked. “Unless…,” I suddenly had a sickening thought. “Unless it is his sister?”
“I cannot say that it would surprise me a great deal if Isolde had one of her white hands in this, but the actual killer had to have been one of Kaherdin’s guard.”
“Which brings us back to Sir Andred,” I concluded.
Merlin shrugged. He noticed that Brother Aaron had appeared again in the doorway. “I think it’s time we set off. We need to stop by the abbot’s office before leaving. But then we must confront Lord Kaherdin and his staff. There can be no more delays. You will be all right if we leave you again? They are taking good care of you here, and you are improving?”
Dinadan chuckled. “The food could be better. I joked about the abbot and his fat swan, but in fact the monks here are mostly on pretty ascetic fare. Or at least that’s what they feed their guests! But Master Oswald is a wonder with his herbs and such. I’m already feeling stronger, and it seems that my wounds are mending nicely. No, don’t worry about me. Go off and catch these bastards so we can go home to Camelot, will you?”
“You have my word,” Merlin concluded, and stepped off to join Brother Aaron. I looked around for the dog before I left, and noticed that she had slipped over to the bed where Brother Thaddeus had turned his broken body to the wall, and was nuzzling the old monk’s neck. Surprised, he raised his head for a moment, and the dog lunged at his face with her tongue, turning up her mouth in what I could swear was a real smile. Brother Thaddeus’s tense face relaxed and he sat up, stroking the dog’s long, smooth head with his unslung arm, and whispering bemused greetings in the borzoi’s ear. With that, she turned and trotted toward me, ready to head out the door, and a calmed Brother Thaddeus waved goodbye to her with his good hand.
“Well,” Merlin murmured as we stepped into the dorter’s hallway. “That dog is beginning to grow on me.”
Chapter Twelve
Hawking
Moving through the cloister, Brother Aaron walked us down the steps and out of the dorter, where the monks had their cells. Off the cloister was the chapter house, where the monks met together and where, I noticed, they kept a small library in the corner. On the other side of the cloister was the refectory, where the brothers took their meals. Next to the refectory was the kitchen and, a few steps from there, the abbot’s quarters in a separate building. Brother Aaron took us into the foyer, a waiting area for those who came to see the abbot. Here two small wooden chairs welcomed us, and we sat in them as Brother Aaron knocked on the door to the abbot’s private inner office. After poking his head in, Aaron stepped back from the door and told us, “They’re ready for you now, if you’d care to go in.”
“They?” I wondered aloud. But I didn’t have long to wonder. When we stepped into the inner office, two particularly manly looking monks stood on either side of the abbot, who sat behind a small wooden writing desk facing us as we entered. Two more wooden chairs were set up for us facing the desk, but we remained standing for the moment, all the time eyeing the abbot.
He was a beefy specimen, with a large round face and magnificent jowls that waggled when he moved his head from side to side. His pale blue eyes looked at us without expression, and so I was having difficulty deciding whether he was friend or foe. The other two monks looked solemn, but I marked that down to worry over what had happened the previous night, and not to animosity toward us.
The room was sparsely decorated, but was certainly less ascetic than the other monks’ cells in the dorter. A door in the rear of the office led, I assumed, to the abbot’s private chambers, but judging from the size of the building as it had appeared from the outside, I knew those quarters could not be particularly large or luxurious. The office did have one tapestry hanging from the rear wall, which depicted Judas Maccabeus cleansing the Temple from the abomination of pagan worship. I had the feeling that this abbot was of the same bent as those Jews of old, especially remembering his reported performance of the previous evening.
“I am Abbot Urban,” the portly monk began in his sonorous baritone. “Please,” he gestured toward the wooden chairs, “Make yourselves comfortable,” and we sat down. The chairs were not particularly comfortable, as it turned out. The dog lay down on the floor to my right, and I had the briefest sense that she was far more comfortable than I was.
“Father Abbot,” Merlin began. “I am Merlin, a representative from Logres, from the court of Camelot. This is my assistant, Gildas, squire to the king’s own nephew. Please accept our deepest sympathies for last night’s incident. I understand that the brigands were searching for me and my companions. I am grateful to you for your protection of Sir Dinadan, and I regret whatever role we have had in bringing trouble to this house.”
Abbot Urban’s eyes closed and he held up his hands in an exculpatory gesture. “Please
,” he began, “You are not the ones at fault here. I appreciate your courtesy, but the villains responsible for this deed are the ones who performed it. And I have cursed them with bell, book and candle. But I mean to do more. Show them what we intend, brothers.”
The two big-shouldered monks behind him revealed to us, hidden in the folds of their robes, heavy short swords that they both carried. Merlin’s considerable eyebrows shot up fairly quickly as the abbot continued, “We intend to guard this abbey tonight as if it were a castle keep, and will continue to do so until these curs and the villain who holds their leashes are brought to justice.” It may have been my imagination, but I thought for a moment I heard a muffled but indignant growl from the dog, as if she did not appreciate the abbot’s metaphor.
“Brother Michael and Brother Gabriel are former knights, who joined our order after half a lifetime of warfare. They are well versed in matters of defense, and we will have some surprises in store for anyone who thinks of attacking this house of God tonight.” Abbot Urban’s face had waxed crimson as his ire rose. “The audacity of these men—to profane the temple of the living God and to violate the sanctuary of His divine house! Their actions are unconscionable, and as abbot of these premises I will not tolerate it. It will not happen again.
“But,” he continued, calming himself somewhat, “I asked you here for two reasons. One is to give you my blessing and encouragement in your hunting down of the ones behind all of this murder and mayhem. If there is anything that anyone at this abbey can do to assist you in this quest, do not hesitate to ask. We are ready.”
“I wish we had come to you earlier,” Merlin sighed. “Much damage may have been prevented. But you can assist us a great deal by continuing your care for Sir Dinadan. I know that under Brother Oswald’s nursing he is improving by the hour. But I have one question that might help a bit: I understand that these two fellows, Brother Michael and Brother Gabriel, went this morning to complain to Lord Kaherdin about the attacks last night. Can they tell me what success they met with?”