The Beloved Dead

by Tony Hays

  And I had thought that I was a cynical, embittered man. Merlin had obviously given these things great and serious consideration, and the answers he derived were dark and grim. “You do not believe in the Christ, Merlin, yet you follow Arthur. Why?”

  He shrugged. “I was entrusted with his instruction when he was but a boy. He grew to be a clever, honest man, a man of great gifts and a sense of humanity. Others have seen it in him. Look at that old fool Sidonius, in Gaul. Arthur’s reputation for justice and fairness in dealing with people is as widespread as the wind can carry it. I take pleasure in having had a hand in building those beliefs. I love him as I would a son. It is as simple as that.”

  “But you claim to love Guinevere like a daughter, and yet you support Arthur’s decision to cast her aside like old bread.” I still felt the sting of Arthur’s actions. Though I knew that his heart was yet with my cousin, the fact that he would forsake her for politics still left me soured and I could not escape the feeling.

  “I have explained that, Malgwyn. Yes, I support his decision, but only after trying with all my might to change his mind.” The edge to Merlin’s voice told of his irritation, but something in it told me that it was not intended for me. “Arthur is like my own child.” He paused for a second, chewing his lower lip so intensely that I feared he would harm himself. “Children always disappoint their parents, at some point, on some issue.”

  I took no comfort from his words, as I knew Guinevere would not, could not, be consoled. I feared for her, for when she learned of Gwyneira. She was a passionate woman, and such women often acted rashly.

  Little could be said after that, so we ended our day with more questions than answers and a long road ahead of us, with Arthur’s bride at the end.

  * * *

  I knew as soon as I saw her that she was trouble. Not in the same sense that Arthur’s slave Talorc was trouble, but a looming problem nonetheless. Gwyneira, daughter of Aircol Lawhir, king of Dyfed and of the Demetae, was beautiful. A petite young girl of fourteen years, her golden hair shone brightly in the sun as she stood proudly next to her father when we rode into his city.

  Aircol’s lair, perched like Arthur’s atop a windswept hill, was slightly northeast of Merlin’s birthplace at Carmarthen. An odd place, in the autumn and winter I was told that the hill took on a reddish hue from the ever-present bracken. And, unlike Arthur’s fort, Aircol’s was really two forts, an upper and a lower.

  The settlement in the lower town was of wattle-and-daub houses, some sturdy enough for two stories, and a number of old roundhouses scattered about the town. Roman ways had not taken hold in Dyfed as they had in our region, and the Demetae still built the old round-style homes. In the upper enclosure, near to Aircol’s timber-built hall was a pleasant, wooden chapel, very plain, but standing as a monument to his devotion to the Christ.

  We rode in file through the gates and along the main lane, leading up to the hall where Aircol and his daughter stood to greet us. Unlike Arthur’s hall, no market square lay before it, just a large open area. Some of Aircol’s servi had led our supply wagons away from the procession so that only Coroticus, Bedevere, Merlin, and I, with our three troop of horse, approached our host.

  “We cannot argue that Aircol has disrespected us in any way,” Merlin murmured, nodded his head in approval at the warmth of our reception.

  Aircol, tall with fair hair, strode forward with arms spread and palms turned up in welcome and supplication. “Welcome, to our home,” he said in a very, very deep voice, so deep that it seemed to echo off the walls of the buildings.

  Bedevere glanced at me with a widening of the eyes. Even the old, stone-faced soldier was impressed.

  We dismounted and, allowing Coroticus to take the lead, approached our host as the crowd cheered. I was a little puzzled. Aircol was approaching this as an arrangement already agreed, and yet we had not even begun negotiations. I did not know whether to welcome this or fear it.

  I will not bore you with details of the feast. Suffice it to say that it was designed to show two things: the bounty of Aircol’s lands and his generosity with his guests. Oysters, salmon, lamb, and pork, fresh-baked bread. It was a pleasure of a meal, properly prepared and properly served. As visiting cleric, Coroticus was asked to bless the food, a task he did with great aplomb and dignity, and much to the approval of Aircol. Two sacerdotes, of Aircol’s chapel I presumed, seemed impressed with Coroticus.

  Our roles had not been discussed with the king as yet, so other than a few looks of sympathy and a few more of fear, I was left alone, honored for my status as a councilor to Arthur, but the object of puzzlement because of my missing arm. In those days, aye even in these, a missing limb was viewed as a sign from God that I had sinned in some way, or that I was cursed. I did not mind. Once I had agreed with those who felt that way, but now I understood that it meant only that I had not been agile enough when the Saxon swung his sword at me.

  One thing that I did notice among the guests at the feasting was a general feeling of happiness. Oh, a few of Aircol’s young nobles seemed to mope about, unhappy I am sure that they were not chosen to marry young Gwyneira. But they were in the minority. Dyfed and the Demetae seemed happy with this new turn of events.

  As the feasting ended, I stood and glanced about for Merlin and Bedevere. We would be joining Aircol to begin our negotiations.

  “Excuse me, master?”

  I looked down to find a little boy standing next to me, the finery of his tunic and breeches marking him as some kin of Aircol’s. He had narrow eyes and something of a hawk’s face. “May I help you, young sir?”

  “Yes,” he said in a particularly grown-up voice. “Why is a man such as you arrayed in a noble’s clothing and joining us at a feast?”

  Rarely have I taken an instant disliking to someone. I think perhaps Gildas, the young monk at Ynys-witrin and even yet a splinter in my aged hand, was the only other person. “And, my young lord, might I have your name. ’Tis not often that I am confronted by such a brave man.”

  His narrow eyes narrowed even more. “Why am I brave?” A little uncertainty began to raise its ugly head.

  I leaned down close to his ear. “Because I am a warrior, who has killed more Saxons than you have years with one arm and two. And unless you make yourself scarce, I will add you to the list.”

  His eyes grew large, and he turned and ran straight into Aircol, who was then approaching. From the way the little one wrapped his arms about Aircol’s legs for protection, his identity became apparent.

  “I see you have met my son, Vortipor. You are Malgwyn, Arthur’s scribe and councillor. Welcome to my hall.” He extended his hand with a smile and I took it the same. “My pardon for my son’s youthful arrogance. He has not yet learned humility or good manners.”

  That this child, Vortipor, was Aircol’s son seemed out of sorts, for the father was a good man. One look told that tale. I wished that I could say the same for the son.

  He took me by my half arm then and led me away from Vortipor and the rest. “You will be negotiating for Arthur?”

  I nodded.

  Aircol glanced about and lowered his voice. “I am eager for this match to be made. You will find me very agreeable.”

  Immediately, a tingle set upon me. For one about to enter into negotiations to make such a statement was more than strange. “My lord, I appreciate your candor but does telling me this gain you some advantage that I do not see?”

  He laughed deeply, throwing his head back and letting his long, straight white hair hang down his back, over the bearskin he used for a cloak. “You are just as I have been told, a straightforward, honest man. I will tell you. Of all the lords of the consilium, Arthur is known as the most devout and steadfast believer in the Christ. Until his election, I feared that Vortimer or another who favored the Druids or the pagan gods would succeed Ambrosius as Rigotamos. Call it irresponsible, but I could never ally myself to a lord who did not share my beliefs.

  “I know you fought wi
th Arthur against the Saxons, and I know that together you thrust them back into the land of the Canti and along the eastern coast, earning our people a breathing spell. But they will return, Malgwyn. You know this. I know this. Arthur knows this. We must be ready, and for Arthur’s forces to succeed, he needs an army capable of defending the north. I have a strong force, but more importantly I have connections with the northern tribes that can bring them to our banner. They know me and trust me.”

  The more he talked, the more I liked this man. He had a strong face, wrinkled though it was, and his blue eyes were bright, almost mischievous.

  “This is all politics and warfare, my lord,” I said finally. “I am a father as well. I know that arranged marriages are a part of our world, but do you not worry about sending your daughter many miles away to marry a man you don’t truly know?”

  His smile was a good one too. “Arthur’s reputation for fairness and equity have spread far and wide. I cannot help but believe that he will treat my daughter well.” Aircol’s hand moved up to my shoulder. “I know of his relationship with your cousin. May I speak frankly?”

  Another twinge of warning touched my spine. I nodded.

  “I think Arthur was wrong in not marrying her. She was but a child when she committed to the sisters, far too young to make such promises. But he has made his decision and I am glad for the opportunity it presents to join our two houses.” He paused, stroking his mustache with a finger. “I understand that you are no friend of Lord David’s.”

  The smile touched my face before I realized it. “We have different views of some things, and I know that he champions the match between your daughter and Arthur.”

  “You will be glad to know, then, that I am no particular friend of David’s, either. I find him a duplicitous snake. I fear that his role in arranging this match is simply to sow dissent among Arthur’s men. That it also strengthens Arthur is of little matter to him. I have heard that you believe him part of the late rebellion against the Rigotamos. My own agents tell me that this is so. You will quickly discover that I am your friend and ally. Together, we may help to hold off the hounds baying for Arthur’s blood.”

  This Aircol made it difficult to dislike him, even if I were so inclined. With yet another smile, he ushered me to his private quarters where Bedevere, Merlin, and Coroticus waited.

  * * *

  The negotiations took little time. We were almost required to force Aircol to take Teilo’s and Dochu’s forfeited lands. But he gave such a substantial dowry, including a share of his gold mines in the north of his lands and a sizable donation to the abbey at Ynys-witrin, that we felt it only fair to grant him the lands. It was most puzzling.

  Aircol agreed to command the northern armies but to take his lead from Arthur and the consilium when negotiating with the northern tribes. It was as much or more than we could have wished for.

  We were done within two hours.

  * * *

  “Malgwyn,” Aircol said, throwing his arm over my shoulder. “You seem less like a victorious negotiator and more like a defeated enemy! Rejoice! Arthur’s position in the consilium is secure. All of our lands are safer still.”

  “I am happy, my lord,” I answered, despite the gloom I felt down to my very bones. “I am happy for all of us, but it is in my nature to worry.”

  “Then change your nature, my new friend,” he advised with a smile.

  “My lord,” Bedevere interjected. “We should leave for Castellum Arturius at your earliest convenience. I know that we just arrived, but I doubt that anyone guessed that we would have reached an agreement so swiftly. A quick departure could confuse our enemies and put us a step ahead.”

  Aircol’s blue eyes grew a question. “Lord Bedevere, our enemies are few and far away. I have had no serious challenges to my authority in years. Arthur’s victory against Lauhiir’s rebellion is too fresh in people’s minds to allow another so quickly.”

  That is when I saw it. All great men have flaws. After all, they are men. Aircol was naïve. Hard to believe that a man who had risen to lead a great people could be naïve, but perhaps he grew that way over time, through complacence. I liked him, so I turned and faced him. “My lord, when you think yourself without enemies, they have already won.”

  We left it at that for two more days of feasting and hunting.

  * * *

  The night before we departed for Arthur’s castle, Aircol held a great feast, one that Arthur had never matched. Though Arthur had good quantities of imported wines and goods, Aircol seemed determined to best him and every lord. I, for one, was not complaining. As the servants hurried about Aircol’s hall, I dug into the assembled dishes with a relish—salmon baked in salt dough, whole trout, pork ribs, chicken wings soaked in a garum-like sauce, suckling pigs roasted on great iron spits. The air was filled with those smells, some sweet, some bitter. The scent of leeks and fresh-baked bread was all around.

  We had lent Cerdic and Talorc to Aircol’s chief steward, and they had joined the legion of servants. I saw Cerdic now testing one of the suckling pigs. He caught my glance and winked. The red in his cheeks said that he had been testing the wine as well. And there was plenty of wine, from Aircol’s lands, from Gaul, even from Judea. Ever the accommodating host, Aircol had provided a goodly selection of cervesas and mead as well.

  And I was well on my way to a truly delightful evening when I felt a tug at my sleeve.

  “Malgwyn?”

  It was Bedevere.

  “Come outside.”

  We left the feasting and stepped out of a side door into a narrow lane beside the hall. One of our soldiers was waiting there with our friend the spy. “What have you for us?” Then was not the time for pleasantries.

  “The Druid came into the city this eve. I lost him in the lanes.”

  “Where has he been the last few days?”

  “Meeting with three other Druids near the coast. They came by boat, from the north.”

  “Were you able to get close enough to hear them?”

  Our little thief shook his head. “No. They were wary and posted lookouts.”

  “And he comes here on this night?” I did not see a purpose behind the Druid’s actions. He follows us here to Aircol’s seat and meets with other Druids. Then he enters the town on the last night of our visit.

  “Let us advise Aircol. He is no friend of the Druids. He will order a search and we can apprehend this man,” Bedevere said.

  “No,” Merlin intervened. “He has done nothing so far. Aircol is well pleased, and we will return to Arthur with not only a new bride but a strong alliance with a powerful lord. Disrupting this may be just what the Druid hopes to do.”

  I was not certain that arresting the Druid would cause problems with Aircol, who had no more love for the Druids than Arthur, but Merlin was right that we needed no further distractions. These were not our lands. We were yet strangers.

  “See if you can find him—”

  “Dylan, Master Malgwyn,” he said with a rotten-toothed smile. He was a different sort from my dead friend Lynnfann, more serious, older, but he carried himself well. Many of Gareth’s men came from good families, but fortune had thrown stones in their paths and caused them to take a different trail.

  I nodded in return. “See if you can find him and keep a close eye on him. Use your fellows. On our way back we can detail two small squads to watch our flanks and Aircol will be bringing a troop of his own horse with him. ’Tis more important that we know what this Druid is about. Watch and note what he does and who he speaks to.”

  He nodded and slipped away into the darkness.

  We turned to go back to the feast, and then something happened that I did not expect at all.

  A woman screamed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At first I took it to be part of the merriment from the feast, but as I glanced at Bedevere and Merlin and saw alarm in their eyes, I knew it was not. I started toward the sound, but Bedevere put out a hand to stop me.

 
; “This is not Arthur’s fortress, Malgwyn. Aircol’s men will see to it. Probably just some soldier dipping too deep into the mead.”

  But something in the scream reminded me of another, a scream of a pain that ran deeper than injury, a pain borne of mortal grief. ’Twas a scream just like that which I had heard on the White Mount. I shook off Bedevere’s hand and headed at a trot toward the sound. From the scratching of metal on metal and creaking of leather, I knew that Bedevere and Merlin were following.

  Others were running too, toward a large roundhouse along one of the lanes. I saw two soldiers wearing Aircol’s tunics warding off onlookers from a huddle of people at the rear of the house.

  The soldiers straightened a bit as we approached, but relaxed when they saw our tunics. “My lords, there has been a killing, nothing to concern yourselves with.”

  “They are welcome here,” spoke a voice from behind us. Aircol. I brushed past the soldiers to a narrow area behind the house and between it and a storage shed, next to a pen where the pigs were kept. Stuffed into the confined space was a young girl, obviously lifeless from the paleness of her skin, with an older woman crouched over her.

  “Bring torches and keep the others away.”

  Aircol came up beside me. “It is the daughter of one of the local decurions. He was with us at the feasting.”

  I nodded and knelt beside the girl’s body. I really did not have to look. Lifting her limp head, I found the same horrid wound that Fercos’s daughter had carried, right across her throat, to the very bone. With a heavy sigh, I pulled away her simple dress and saw that which I had hoped not to see, that most private of places ravaged and bloody, great splinters protruding from the now dead flesh.

  The metallic smell of blood and death made me dizzy, and I fell onto my backside. Two young girls, hundreds of miles apart, killed in a most savage manner. The method the same. The reason unfathomable. Killing was common across the land. I had seen much death, both rational and irrational. Life was cheap. We had all said it, and it was true. I had seen women of low repute killed by men. I had seen wives killed by husbands with vicious tempers. They were punished by what courts we had, by whatever noble ruled the land, or else they bribed their way free.