by Tony Hays
And the memory of her face beckoned me as well, so, without delay, I gave him the details.
* * *
“You missed me,” Ygerne said later, nuzzling under my good arm. Owain had taken the children to the market square where vendors had set up shop and the festival was already beginning, leaving Ygerne and me to reacquaint ourselves.
Despite my long journey, I had but to look at her once to feel that special warmth in my loins. Her red hair glowed in the flashing of the fire and the press of her full breasts against me threatened to ready me for action again.
“I am not ashamed to admit it.”
“You could scarcely hide it,” she teased.
We had long been drawn to each other, even before my brother Cuneglas died. And that fact I was ashamed to admit. He had been killed during the events surrounding Arthur’s election as Rigotamos, but he was known throughout the town for being untrue to Ygerne. After the death of my Gwenyth and before Ygerne, I had found my pleasure where I could, usually among the serving girls. We were all lonely, I suppose, looking for what comfort we could find in this world. But those days were over. Ygerne and I had not yet married, nor did we yet live together. Though I had finally taken my brother’s place in bed, I could not bring myself to move into his home.
When we were sated with each other, I told her of the strange murders I had encountered on my journeys. I found Ygerne to be an excellent ear, and I needed badly to talk about what I had seen.
“How strange! And there was no sign that they had been truly bedded?” she asked when I brought my story to a close.
“No. Nothing that I could mark down as evidence of that.”
She propped her head up on her hand and narrowed her eyes. “No one saw anything? A stranger lurking about?”
Something in her voice said she had more to tell me but she wanted answers to her questions first. That was her manner.
“Nothing. But, in both situations it was dark and we were on unfamiliar ground. And,” the words almost caught in my throat, “we were there on other business.”
The flash in her eyes should have caught my tongue in mid-flight. Trouble was brewing.
“Then it was not about pleasure. The killer had some other reason for abusing them thus.”
“I thought so too, but I cannot fathom what that could be.”
“Perhaps if you had spent more time seeking this monster and less playing matchmaker, you would have.” She could not hold back any longer.
I knew that the words then on their path from my mouth were destined for disaster, but I could not stop myself from speaking them. “Mariam tells me that you counseled Arthur against this marriage,” I said after a few moments of silence. My nose twitched at the scent of wood smoke heavy in the air.
Ygerne moved away from me a bit. “He asked me what I thought. I told him. He did not like it.”
“I do not suppose he would.”
“Why?” She rolled completely away from me then and gave me a frown.
“He was already committed to this before he asked your thoughts. No man likes to be told that he is wrong about the path he is already on.”
“No man likes to be told anything by a woman,” she snapped.
“You are not being fair, Ygerne!”
“I am a woman, Malgwyn. And I know how much a woman’s opinion counts in this world.”
“Arthur has done this because he feels it is in our people’s best interests.”
“Then Arthur needs to spend more time among the people. What man wouldn’t leap at the chance to bed a beautiful young girl? Arthur is no different than any other. And she is just a pampered child who knows nothing but a life of privilege.” The bitterness of her tone surprised me. She spoke the words with the sharp tang of acid on her lips.
“Ygerne! Give the child a chance. You have not even met her. She has only just arrived.”
And then Ygerne bolted to her feet, pulling a fur about her. “What? You too are abandoning Guinevere, your own kin, your own blood? Why do you defend this child? Did Arthur commission you to initiate the girl, teach her how to pleasure him?”
“Ygerne! That is not fair!”
“Go! And do not show your face in this house until…”
I bounded to my feet. “Until what?”
“Until I give you leave!” The fire in her eyes was matched only by that of her hair, and her breasts, bound now by the animal hide, shook with her anger.
“Ygerne!”
“Go!”
I pulled on my braccae and tunic and left, more puzzled by her anger than upset by it. Once outside the door, I looked hard at the planed boards. Were I to live past a hundred winters, I would never understand women.
* * *
Merlin frowned at me as I entered our house. “I did not expect to see you for a fortnight.” I had moved in with him after Arthur’s election as Rigotamos and my commission as his scribe. Merlin could be forgetful, and he needed someone to watch over him. I needed to be needed.
“Nor did I expect to see you so soon.” The irritation in my voice bothered even me. “Ygerne is out of sorts with me over this damnable marriage!” I tossed my pouch in a corner and slumped in a rickety chair. Against the far wall was a long table, covered in pots and vials filled with innumerable cures that Merlin provided for the sick. From the sharpness of the headache growing between my temples, I would be hunting his pot of willow bark extract soon.
“You expected her not to be opposed?” The question in Merlin’s voice was a surprised one.
“Maybe. Perhaps. I do not know, Merlin! How could I have known?”
The old man shook his head in mock exasperation with me. “Malgwyn, you are an intelligent man, but you know little about women.”
“Then, teach me, master.” The sarcasm lay heavy in my voice.
He crossed the room, limping a bit I noticed, and stood over me. “Now, Malgwyn. When has any man understood a woman? This is a gift that the three gods have not granted us.”
“Nor Arthur’s one god?”
He chuckled and nodded. “Nor the one, nor any. We are forever fated to be left in mystery about the inner workings of the female mind.”
“So I am wasting my time in the trying?”
“There is only one thing you can do—remember those subjects that have infuriated her and never bring them up again.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “Well, Master Merlin, since the topic at hand is Arthur’s marriage and that will be the only subject under discussion for the next week at least, I am not sure that I can see a clear path to avoiding it.”
“Nor do I, Malgwyn. It would seem that you, my friend, will be without the good Ygerne’s pleasures until enough time has passed to calm these troubled waters.”
“Your ability to prophesy is uncanny.” I stood and walked to a corner of our wattle-and-daub house, tossed back an animal hide covering our storage hole. For a couple of minutes, I rummaged around for some cheese and bread, but found neither. “What am I to eat?” I grumbled.
“You will eat as I eat, from Arthur’s larder. If you will recall, we have both been away for the last several weeks. Restocking our food stores will have to wait for a few days.”
“I have eaten enough of Cerdic’s food. I was hoping for something with more flavor than a piece of firewood.”
And Merlin laughed loudly as he slapped my back.
We wandered up the lane to Arthur’s kitchen, where Cerdic was berating Talorc for some horrible travesty he had apparently committed. Along one wall, I saw pots of milk, sour milk, and I knew that if I looked closer I would find wood sorrel mixed in, used to help the milk curdle for cheese making.
“Cerdic, be of good cheer! We are home at last,” I encouraged him.
He grimaced and stepped back from Talorc. “You do not have to prepare three nights of feasting with a staff of worthless servants.” Cerdic eyed us carefully, yet another frown growing on his face. “Why are you here?” He grunted and nodded as he looked u
s up and down. “Seeking scraps from Arthur’s table, I suspect.” Cerdic turned to the Pict. “Boy, go fetch them some bread and cheese, and some of that pig meat.” Talorc scampered off.
“Why so unhappy, Cerdic?” I asked as Merlin and I settled into a pair of chairs. The old slave was often in an ill humor, but today he seemed especially so.
“Why? I have hundreds of people to feed and I am shorthanded.”
“Aircol brought servants. I will speak to him about lending some of them to you,” I said, glancing around at the bustling scene, servi carrying platters, amphorae. A familiar face was missing though.
“Cerdic?”
“What?”
“Where is Nimue, the slave girl that Arthur freed?”
Kay and Arthur entered then from another door, one facing Arthur’s hall, across the lane.
Before Cerdic could answer, Arthur interrupted. “What? What are you asking about?”
“Nimue, the slave girl.” Merlin and I spoke almost at the same time.
Kay and Arthur looked at us quizzically. “She is dead. No one has told you? Poor child. She scarce had time to enjoy her freedom. They found her, what, Kay,” Arthur looked to his friend, “two days after they left?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My mind whirled and I nearly fell from my chair. Nimue dead! “How?”
“It appeared that she drank too much, perhaps in celebration of her victory. Paderic found her in one of the old houses in the village below.” Arthur must have seen the fury on my face. “Malgwyn, we all liked Nimue, but she was a simple serving girl. From all indications, she was drinking to celebrate her freedom, drinking with the wrong companions, ones who cared not for her safety.”
My eyes shot to Kay. What he must have gone through! Kay had loved Eleonore, the ill-fated sister of my own dead wife, and she had been murdered. We had all watched with pleasure as he quietly, indeed tenderly, paid court to young Nimue. And now the deepened lines in his face and his brusque manner had an explanation.
My judgment was true. Kay did not even look at Arthur or agree with him.
“You should have sent for me!”
Arthur shook his shaggy head. “Your mission to Aircol was more important. In truth, Malgwyn, I never gave a thought to sending for you. People die. Some violently. Some not. I am sad to lose such a girl, but you were already nearly two days on the road before she was discovered, and it was not an unusual death.”
“You mean it did not appear to be unusual, my lord.”
He nodded absently. “We have more immediate problems, Malgwyn. I know that you liked the girl, and as I have said, I mourn her loss, but what is done is done. Focus on those still above ground.”
The way he so easily dismissed the poor girl rubbed me as raw as a tanner worried a hide with his scraper. I detested too the way in which he disregarded poor Kay’s feelings. But there was nothing I could do about it. Arthur was right, as he normally was, about that which was important and that which was not. I had other, more important things to worry about: the coming wedding and Ygerne’s anger. Such was enough to occupy any man. Still, I would miss young Nimue; she was a pleasant sort, the kind to brighten a man’s day with her smile. Though a slave, she had rarely bemoaned her condition, which made the granting of her freedom by Arthur all the more sweet. Bittersweet now, it appeared. And I mourned her death for my old friend Kay.
I sometimes wondered why God or the gods or fate spared my life and not those of folk more deserving—like Nimue. But in the end, that way led only to madness as there was no answer, at least not one that we were equipped to understand.
“Yes, Rigotamos, you are correct.” I rose and headed for the door.
“Your food, Malgwyn?” Merlin called after me.
Stopping, I swiveled my head just a bit and answered without really looking at him. “Food holds no interest for me suddenly.” That Arthur was right did nothing to lift the darkness then burdening me.
Despite the protests of Arthur and Kay, I left the kitchen and walked up the lane to the uppermost rampart, climbing then the parapet. Over the months of Arthur’s tenure as Rigotamos, I had come to consider this my favorite place, that site where I could think without distraction. But as the wind whipped about me, it seemed a hateful place, and I felt as dark as I had in all those days when I would not let the sun brighten my day no matter how hard it tried.
With the growing gusts of wind, the clouds descended across the land, obscuring the signal fire on the great tor at Ynys-witrin. And with the clouds came pebbles of rain, forced into my hair and my beard until my head felt like a sodden mass. I thought of nothing, really, as I allowed the gods of nature to assault me. A weight pressed against my forehead, but it seemed from the inside out and my eyes lost focus of all around me.
I do not know how long I stood like that, leaning against the timbered walls, the world nothing but a jumble of greens and browns and grays. I had never told anyone, but I did not really like the wine and mead and cervesas of which I drank so much. But it made time pass more quickly and kept me focusing on my pleasure and not my sorrow.
Lately I had begun to think of those times with a wistfulness, a longing. No Arthurs. No Ygernes. No Druids. No complications. Just an occasional manuscript to copy, a skin of wine to drink, a string of forgettable women to bed. I did not fool myself. I was as forgettable for them as they were for me. We sought solace, a little tenderness, from each other. And, generally, the trade was a good one. But the tenderness lasted just a moment, a wink of an eye.
“Malgwyn?”
Startled, I turned and saw that young Owain had joined me. The orphan was growing into a tall, spindly lad. He was the son of Nyfain, a once noble lady whose first husband had died in battle. She then married Accolon, who in his youth had been one of Arthur’s first followers. But he fell in love with Arthur’s sister, Morganna, a woman whose fancies were as changing as the wind. Morganna left it to Arthur to turn Accolon away, and the warrior blamed Arthur for the whole mess. But, late in his life, he returned to Arthur’s service. Indeed, Arthur’s election as Rigotamos had rested on Accolon’s shoulders. In his last hours, he served Arthur faithfully and well, giving his life in the end. Nyfain too died during that affair, leaving poor Owain, who had never really known his true father, an orphan.
I had become close to the boy and let him help me with my duties as a scribe. He lived now with Ygerne and her brood, and Merlin was seeing to his education.
“Yes, Owain. What is it?”
“Are you ill?”
I glanced down at him, his smooth child’s face marked now with lines of worry.
“I suppose so, in a manner. Why?”
He screwed his face into a frown and leaned on the rampart next to me. “I am used to seeing you grumpy, unhappy, even angry, but I have not seen you look like this in many moons, not since before Mother and Father Accolon died.”
“It is good of you to notice, boy. But I have no easy answers for you.” There was much more I wanted to say to him, but I could not expect him to understand. What I would say was about sacrifice, pain, lives lost, and for what? No one had any more to eat than they did before. No one paid fewer taxes. The healers knew no more about curing illnesses. I found myself asking a question that I could not ask and maintain my sanity.
Had the land truly prospered under Arthur’s reign?
The Saxons threatened us less, but in the lull Arthur’s enemies within the consilium had simply seized the opportunity to work their mischief. The only one I could see who had honestly profited by Arthur’s ascension was Ambrosius, now retired and living the truly good life.
But none of that was for Owain. His world consisted of Castellum Arturius, the boys and girls with whom he played, me, Ygerne, Merlin, the secret out-of-the-way places where he refought battles. Once, before we went to the White Mount, I found him behind one of the old buildings below the fort. He had prepared a credible model of the River Tribuit and, using bits of tesserae from a broken mosaic as soldi
ers, recreated our victory there, hollow for me though it had been.
Owain was stunned at being caught, but I had knelt with the shaken boy and showed him how to correct his troop placements. For an hour, I taught him the lessons that Tribuit had taught all of us; I even showed him where my arm had been taken and how it had occurred, things I had never before relived for anyone.
His grasp of things military had surprised me, and I had seen the budding general within him. But I worried for him.
Now I just smiled. “ ’Tis just a mood, Owain, and it will pass in time.”
“Because of Nimue?”
“She is certainly a part of it. I just learned of her death. It is bound to make me melancholy.”
He nodded in his little boy way. “I liked her. She was always kind to me. Malgwyn, she was very young. Why did she die?”
“I do not know, lad. Some people die young of too much drink. Sometimes something in their bodies goes awry. Sometimes there just is no explanation.”
“Surely God knows.”
We were on tortuous ground here. I had not embraced Arthur’s faith, at least not in any meaningful way. Nor was I a believer in the old ways. Yet, I felt a great yearning, a desire for there to be more to this existence than random chance. “There is reason in all things, Owain, though we may not be able to understand it.”
He nodded. Death was nothing new to him. It was an all too familiar visitor in those days. My father used to say that we had been cheated of our youth when the Romans left, that while affairs had not been perfect under their rule, there had certainly been less death and violence. The world into which Owain had been born was one where Death did not tiptoe through the lane, stealing into an occasional door and visiting its sorrow on those within. In this world, Death boldly marched from village to village, kicking in doors and terrorizing everyone.
“Why is Mother Ygerne upset with you?”
“I do not know for certain. She is upset that the Rigotamos is marrying Gwyneira. I know that much. But somehow I feel there is more than that. It bothers me, but I am not certain that I know how to mend the rift.” I cuffed him on the ear. “Any suggestions?”