The Killing Way

by Tony Hays

  Arthur and Merlin moved closer to the Saxons as two soldiers brought three horses clomping into the square.

  Ygerne was frantic. Tears ran down her cheeks as she watched the Saxon’s dagger point push against Mariam’s neck.

  I looked quickly about, trying to see some way to prevent them from leaving. Mariam’s life was forfeit if they made good their escape. They would kill her without hesitation once they were clear of the fort. This much I knew.

  The soldiers brought the horses up as two of the Saxons watched them, their swords at the ready. I had developed a very deep hatred for the Saxon holding Mariam, his topknot gleaming in the early evening. One eye was dark and menacing; the other was the color of milk. His lips were thin beneath a trimmed mustache—trimmed, I knew, to further his hoax as a Druid. He took a queer pleasure in testing the strength of Mariam’s skin with the point of the dagger.

  I made ready. My dagger in hand, I measured the distance and considered the best time to strike. Mariam might be killed, but not because her father abandoned her to the devil Saxons. I had to try.

  My Saxon turned to hand Mariam off to another as he prepared to mount the horse. That was it. I would strike as Mariam was handed back up to her captor. If I could dash between them, perhaps I could snatch her away. With any luck, the worst she would suffer would be some bruises.

  The time was ripe. The milky-eyed Saxon easily leaped upon the horse. Once the reins were in his hand, he turned back and bent slightly forward to take Mariam.

  His fellow lifted her slightly and took his eyes off us, leaving only one watching.

  I flipped my dagger over and threw it with all my might at the third Saxon as I dove for Mariam.

  My aim was off and caught the Saxon in the shoulder instead of the chest. Time slowed down then, and with all my senses concentrated on Mariam, I heard nothing of the crowd, though I could see mouths open.

  I felt my tunic pulled at the back, and I guessed that Kay was trying to keep me from suicide, but nothing could hold me back.

  The Saxon holding Mariam turned, and his eyes grew large as I barreled toward them.

  The milky-eyed Saxon raised his sword, and my heart almost burst as I saw he had time to strike Mariam before I could reach them.

  The sword started down.

  Then something very strange happened.

  A brilliant white light encompassed us all, blinding me just as I wrapped my arm around Mariam and fell to the ground, rolling.

  I heard horses neighing, people shouting, curses, moans. I smelled the strong odor of sulfur in the air.

  Then the blindness faded, and as I held Mariam tight against me, I saw Arthur’s sword clash with the third Saxon, my dagger still protruding from his shoulder. Kay had joined combat with the other, backing him farther and farther toward the edge of the square.

  Looking above me, I saw Ygerne, her face a study in fear. Swiftly, I handed Mariam to her and leaped to my feet.

  Arthur parried a Saxon blow. The man was game, but Arthur was a mighty swordsman. Another moment, another clash of iron, and Arthur lopped off his opponent’s head with a mighty swing. The head thunked against the ground and rolled a few feet toward the barracks. The Saxon’s body stayed upright for a long second before collapsing, blood gushing from the great hole at his neck.

  The milky-eyed Saxon was matching swords with two of Arthur’s men from horsetop. He scored a lucky blow, leaving a mighty wound across the chest of one of the soldiers, and he broke free, dashing on horseback for the gate. I started after him on foot, unarmed, but with murder in my eyes.

  “Stop, Malgwyn!”

  It was Arthur’s voice.

  I slowed and turned. Arthur, his sword dripping red, dangling from his hand, breathed heavily and sweat dripped from his beard. “They will catch him at the gate, Malgwyn.”

  He was right. I would only waste what strength I had left. Turning, I sought out the last Saxon. Kay had forced him to surrender. Still partially blinded, he was being held by Lauhiir from behind and the tip of Kay’s sword against his chest.

  Lauhiir was nervous. Even as he tightly held the Saxon by his topknot, his dagger pushing against the man’s tunic, I could see fear in Lauhiir’s eyes. But I had questions for the Saxon.

  “Whence came the light?” I asked Arthur as we walked toward the false Druid. “Merlin? Some of his special powder?”

  “Aye.” Arthur laughed. “I think he planned to use it to escape in case you did not arrive.”

  “The old fraud!”

  “What now?”

  “Our prisoner has things to tell us.”

  Walking up behind Kay, I touched his shoulder and he stepped away with a grunt. “Watch him, Malgwyn. He is still dangerous.”

  I wondered if he meant the Saxon or Lauhiir.

  The captive had a bloody cut across his forehead, and blood trickled from temple to jowl.

  “How came you to this place?”

  He looked at me with hatred burning in his eyes. “We walked.”

  The crowd, pressed against his back, laughed nervously.

  “Who helped you? Who gave you access to the castle?” I knew the answers, but I wanted him to say it in front of everyone. I wanted no mistakes about it.

  The Saxon swallowed deeply, looked to Lauhiir and back to me. His mouth opened, but only a cry came out as his head was jerked back and a dagger slipped from behind and sliced his throat as neatly as it would a pig’s. Great gouts of crimson answered my question, spurting from him and soaking me with the hot, thick liquid. I wiped my mouth and watched as pandemonium erupted in Arthur’s castle. I knew they would never find the killer; the Saxon was pressed against the crowd. In the confusion, anyone could have done the deed and fled without a witness. Without a witness in a crowd of people, I thought.

  Mordred suddenly appeared at my elbow, solicitously offering me a cloth, which I waved away.

  “Lord Mordred!” Arthur thundered. “How did this happen? Find the murderer!”

  But I could tell by the set of Arthur’s jaw that he too knew that his command would never be fulfilled.

  Lauhiir’s and Mordred’s men appeared, prancing and snorting like young horses, as if they had resolved this affair themselves, and dispersed the crowd. Grumbling, the people returned to their homes. A few of the merchants began to clean up from the affray.

  “Father.”

  I looked down and saw Mariam standing there with a cloth.

  “Mother said to give you this,” she said, handing the cloth up to me. “She said to tell you to come to our house for food and rest. You have had a hard day and need to rest.”

  I knelt down and took my daughter in my one arm and held her close. Before I could speak, I felt her tiny lips on my cheek. “Thank you for saving me, Father.”

  I buried my face in her hair and cried.

  Would that this was the end of it, but it was not. I tucked the cloth in my belt and cuddled Mariam’s chin in my hand. Her cheek was warm and soft, and her eyes were just like her mother’s. Yes, more was left to be done.

  I let Mariam go reluctantly and sent her home as I swabbed my face, cleaning the blood and sweat away. I knew my eyes must still be rimmed in it. I could feel it drying and cracking as I opened my eyes wide.

  “Come, my lord. We have another prisoner to question.”

  Bedevere came racing up, his face wrinkled in frustration. “Lord Arthur! The guards did not stop the Saxon. He rode through unmolested.”

  “Bring them here. Now!”

  I touched Arthur’s sleeve. “A word, my lord.”

  We stepped away from the crowd. “Leave them be, Arthur,” I counseled. “We know they are the creatures of your enemies now. We can watch them. Having them beheaded will serve no purpose.”

  “But they ignored my orders; they allowed that Saxon to flee!”

  “I know. But they may be more profitable to us alive. They can make up a thousand excuses for their lapse.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Aye, I
take your meaning. Very well.”

  “My lord, the matter of Eleonore is not finished. Let us roll the die once more.” Straightening what was left of my tunic, I marched off at Arthur’s side for his hall.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  All of the other members of the consilium were gathered in Arthur’s hall once more. The time had come to settle affairs, though events in the market square had changed my mind about many things. As we entered, I saw that Lord Vortimer had been laid upon the great round table. Two arrows protruded from his thick chest. They had struck home despite the coat of mail garbing his body. Merlin went to him immediately, but after examining the wounds, the old man looked toward Arthur and Ambrosius and shook his head.

  I walked to where Vortimer lay, blood bubbles painting his lips. He was yet conscious. As I approached, his men closed about him, but with uncommon strength, he raised his head, saw me, and waved the soldiers off.

  “You thought I was the architect of the murders,” he said weakly.

  “Aye, but you proved me wrong when you took the arrows for the Rigotamos. No traitor would give up his life so valiantly.”

  A faint shake of his head. “I am not disloyal, no matter how much I disagreed with the Rigotamos or coveted his crown.”

  “But you knew that something was awry.”

  He shook his head again. “I suspected it. No more than that, but I thought to turn it to my advantage. Of that much, I am guilty.”

  “Be at rest, Vortimer. The shadow of guilt has passed from you. Your sacrifice will be sung in halls throughout the land.”

  At that, he breathed his last. His eyes remained open, staring fixedly at nothing. I sighed, remembering how much time I had wasted thinking him guilty.

  “Malgwyn, the Druids were part of his company.”

  “The real Druids,” I noted. Arthur and Ambrosius looked confused. “The false Druids, dressed in dark robes, were not in Vortimer’s company. I did not realize it until I looked again at the scrap of cloth I took from Eleonore’s hand.

  “There were two groups of Druids—one group that arrived with Vortimer and another that arrived several hours later, wearing much darker robes. Cuneglas remarked upon it, as did Kay and Bedevere.”

  “Then who was behind the second group of Druids, the false Druids, if not Vortimer?” asked Ambrosius.

  “I, like all of you, was too willing to believe Vortimer guilty. But you must needs go back to the murder of Eleonore to penetrate the truth.”

  “Accolon must have been guilty,” Tristan said nervously. “Why else would he have run?”

  I turned to the young lord and smiled shrewdly. “If you thought two murders and a conspiracy against the Rigotamos were to be wound around your neck, you would find any number of places to be other than here. Accolon believed himself labeled a murderer. He was a simple man, though, who had no lust for the Rigotamos’s crown.”

  Tristan looked relieved, and very young, all at once. He bowed to Arthur and Ambrosius. “I shall take my leave. I too regret the complications that have harmed your city. I will carry your words to my father, but I cannot tell you that he will not treat with the Saxons himself.”

  “You will not stay for the election?” Ambrosius asked, somewhat perplexed.

  The young man shook his head nervously. “I must consult with my father.”

  Arthur’s countenance darkened, and his eyes flashed with anger. “That would be a grave mistake, Tristan.”

  “Perhaps, my lord, but time will tell. I feel that it is important to take this matter up with my father quickly. I will leave tonight.”

  “No,” I said, “you will not.”

  Arthur drew back in puzzlement. “Malgwyn! You forget yourself.”

  “I think not, my lord. You asked me to investigate not only the affair with the maid but the matter of Lord Tristan’s entreaty as well.”

  Both Arthur and the Rigotamos nodded cautiously. I gestured to Kay and Bedevere with my head, and they moved to bar the main door. A sheen of sweat on Tristan’s lip glittered in the torchlight.

  “When the Saxons were revealed, I had only begun my explanation of events. But it is just as well that we do this in your hall, my lord. I have tales that we will all wish to keep quiet, I think.”

  Merlin, frail and wrinkled, narrowed his eyes at me. He knew me too well, the old scoundrel, and he suspected that I had fashioned this entire scenario, except for Mariam.

  “The Saxon spies were not the only ones involved in Eleonore’s death. It is that which I wish to discuss now. We can concern ourselves later, Rigotamos, with how these spies were able to infiltrate our town.”

  “I would like to hear that now,” Ambrosius insisted.

  “Malgwyn is right, Rigotamos,” Arthur said with a smile forming on his face. “That can wait until later. Continue, Malgwyn.”

  I turned back to the young nobleman. “Lord Tristan, what did you and Eleonore argue about at the gate?”

  The question caught the young man by surprise. His head jerked up. “I . . . we . . . what do you mean? I saw her not that night. Not after the feasting.”

  “Accolon saw you, Tristan. He saw the two of you arguing just inside the gate on the Via Caedes near unto the midnight.”

  “You said nothing of that before the people,” Mordred argued.

  “I did not need to. This was a matter to be settled in Arthur’s hall, not in front of all the people.” I beckoned for Tristan to answer. “Now, my lord, what were you arguing about?”

  Fear radiated from the young lord’s eyes. “I begged her to leave with me and go back to Castellum Mark. There I could convince my father to allow me to marry her.”

  “And she would not go.”

  He shook his head. “No, she would not hear of it. She said this was her home and . . .”

  “And what?”

  Tristan averted his eyes from us. “She did not care for me. She said that she enjoyed my company, but that did not mean she wanted to marry me.”

  “How came you to the watchtower?”

  “I asked her to go for one last walk with me. When we reached the watchtower, I drew her underneath.”

  All he was saying fit with what I had thought. “When you pressed your suit, she became angry. And you pressed too hard; you bashed her head against the post.” I did not raise my voice. I said it softly, hoping that it would soothe him and make him tell the truth.

  Tears fell from Tristan’s eyes as his face tensed. “I did not mean to hurt her. Her face went pale; she collapsed in my arms. I saw the blood on the post.” The lord dropped into a chair, his face falling into his hands. Across the hall, I could see Kay stretch himself to full height and his gloved fists clench and release, clench and release.

  “And then?”

  At last, he raised his head. “And then I went in search of Vortimer, anyone, to help me. I was frightened. I knew that the girl was Arthur’s favorite. I found the Druids. I knew that Vortimer had brought them here. They hurried to help me.”

  “Which Druids? Those of the light or dark robes.”

  “I sought only the first ones I could find. They were eager to help.”

  “Of course they were!” Arthur broke his silence. “They were Saxon spies. They saw a way to undercut my strength and force one of our lords to their side.”

  “But you did not know that then,” I offered.

  “No!” Tristan shouted. “No, I did not learn that until they set about their work.”

  “How?”

  He looked beseechingly around the great hall, but all of the consilium turned away from him. Tying one of them to this crime did nothing to help Tristan, and he knew it. “Why, when they took up the dagger to take out her heart. Everyone knows that Druids will not touch weapons.”

  “Yes.” I laughed wearily. “We all know about that.”

  “I confronted them, and they threatened me with death if I did not keep quiet. They knew my secret and told me that if I did not push hard for a treaty, they would get word
to you, my lord, and my life would be forfeit for killing the girl.” He spun around quickly toward Ambrosius. “My Lord Rigotamos, I beg you to take mercy on me!”

  “Lord Tristan, tell me why I should not march you into the square beyond those doors and behead you before all the people of Arthur’s castle?” Ambrosius thundered, his beard shaking with every word.

  The young nobleman fell to his knees and clasped the Rigotamos’s legs. “I meant her no harm, my lord. I swear it! Whatever you command, I will do, if you will just spare me.”

  Bedevere slipped in next to Arthur and whispered something in his ear. In turn Arthur counseled with Ambrosius. Nodding in approval, the Rigotamos turned to Tristan to deliver his verdict.

  “This is what you shall do, Lord Tristan. You shall compose a message to your father, demanding that he not treat with the Saxons under any circumstances. You will tell him that the Saxons have proven themselves unworthy of our trust and that the Rigotamos demands obedience from the entire consilium. Malgwyn will write your letter so there is no mistake in what you say.

  “Then,” Ambrosius strode over to Tristan and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, “you shall stay here at Arthur’s castle as surety against your father’s obeisance. You will serve as one of his nobles, and you will honor his shield, until such time that I think it meet that you be returned to your father.”

  Tristan dropped his head. “I am at your command, my lord. It will be as you have ordered.” The boy’s face was wet from fright, and the dampness had soaked the neck of his tunic down to the middle of his chest.

  With that matter settled, I addressed the assembly again. “There is more, my lord. This was a complex maze, and I am only now navigating my way clear. Lord Tristan is at fault, but Eleonore would be dead anyway. She was marked for death by other than Tristan.”

  “How? By whom?” Arthur demanded.

  I held up my hand. “Eleonore learned of a conspiracy to kill Ambrosius and, in the election of a new Rigotamos, to secure the crown for Vortimer.”

  “But Malgwyn! You said Vortimer was innocent.”

  “And he was. Vortimer was easy to manipulate, but volatile, and as we saw in the market square, loyal as well. The conspirators could not take the chance of including him in their plans. They had to count on being able to sway his opinions. With Vortimer, not much was left to chance.