by Tony Hays
For a fraction of a moment, I thought that they would come to blows. I had forgotten the servi, but they had not forgotten us. Cerdic had seen many things in his life. Wars and traitors and treachery. Some said that as a boy, Cerdic was present when Vortigern cast out his Briton wife. Whatever his true history, the blustery, gray old cook stepped very high in my regard as he positioned himself between the two lords, Arthur and Aircol.
“You accomplish nothing by this,” he declared with narrow eyes and in a firm voice. “Act like the lords you are and not like petulant children. You are both far too old for that.”
In any ordinary place and time, I would be watching Cerdic’s bloodied head rolling on the floor. But an odd thing happened. The lords stepped back, hanging their heads to the ground, well chastised by the old servus.
Kay and Bedevere left on their missions. I turned to the other servants. “Speak not a word of any of this. Disobey me and you will not live to regret it.” With wide eyes, they nodded in unison. “Now, return to clearing the hall.”
Of course, I knew that each of them would be bribed by the other lords. It was for that reason that I waited until they were out of the room before I continued.
“I can tell you more, my lords. Whoever did this thing came from behind her. With the right hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet, the left hand held the stick or branch that ravaged her.”
Aircol cocked his head to one side, his face holding a skeptical look. “How can you possibly know these things? You were not there.”
And then support came from an unlikely source, indeed a source that should never have been present. “Lord Aircol, I can personally vouch for the truth of Malgwyn’s method.”
I turned quickly. Tristan, who had managed to find us.
Aircol looked from me to Tristan and back. He knew of the trouble between Tristan and Arthur, part but not all. “You swear it?”
The young lord nodded slowly, but firmly. “Malgwyn does not countenance such fancies as alchemy or magic. No one knows his abilities better than I.”
Though it came at an awkward moment, Arthur actually chuckled at the statement. “The first time that Malgwyn explained these sorts of events, I too doubted them. But Tristan speaks the truth.”
“My lord, the wounds on her left thigh were deeper. And the killer’s fingers left bruises on her face, on the left side of her face. The only way to accomplish that is to be behind her, wrapping your right hand across her mouth and assaulting her with the weapon held in your left hand. But, that could also indicate that the bruises were left on her face when he subdued her, and she was either freshly dead or unconscious when he attacked her.” I did not tell them about the hand being smaller than my own, convincing myself that it was not relevant.
“Unless,” Merlin’s voice came from the door, “there were two people involved in this.”
“Which does not seem to be the case,” I answered without looking at him. Normally that would be an insult, but we had grown used to each other over time.
Aircol appeared not to have heard our last exchange. The frown on his face and the narrowing of his eyebrows told me that he was trying to understand what I had said about the wounds. Finally, he nodded, as much to himself it seemed as to us, and said, “What do we do now?”
“You will take your rest. On the morrow, we will mourn your daughter’s passing and prepare for her burial.”
“And then?”
“And then we will seek justice for our queen.”
* * *
My next visit was one that I dreaded with all my heart. The barracks. Ygerne. As I left the kitchen and started along the cobbled lane, I saw that Arthur was beside me. “This is not a trip for you to take, Arthur.” No one else was with us, and I could dispense with my customary formality.
“You do not truly think that either woman did this?”
I stopped and turned to him. “I do not know. I can tell you that it makes no sense for Ygerne to be involved if Guinevere is not. But it makes a great deal of sense for Guinevere to be involved.”
Arthur bristled at my statement. “Why? I see no difference! After all, it was Ygerne who you told about the killings, not Guinevere.”
“Please, Arthur! What possible reward could Ygerne gain from killing the girl?”
He frowned and looked away. “Preferment when I married Guinevere,” he almost mumbled.
“But if you were going to marry Guinevere, you would have done so already. If you wish to blame someone, blame yourself. You tossed Guinevere aside. ’Twas Guinevere who left the note and Guinevere who probably killed the girl. Guinevere is of my blood, Arthur. Do you think that I wish to see her dead? Do you think that any of this is easy for me? I do not like it any more than you do, but everything points that way.”
“You wish for it, so it is.” He paused and stared at me intently. “Understand this, Malgwyn. I was growing to love Gwyneira, perhaps as much as I loved Guinevere. I will see her avenged. But no one will pay for this deed unless you can prove without question that they did it, or unless they confess it freely.”
“And how often does that happen,” I scoffed.
“Make it happen.” The look on his face, the tightness at the corners of his mouth, told me everything about his intentions. He would protect Guinevere; I would protect the truth.
“I will follow the path of truth. You may follow what you will.”
“You will make certain that suspicion does not fall on Ygerne,” he accused. “Do not pretend that you are not capable of hiding the truth to protect your own interests. We both know that is not the case.”
The heat rose in my neck and spread across my face. “I will make certain that suspicion falls only on the one who deserves it.” I had hidden facts before, but I was not aware that he knew of it. Perhaps he was just guessing. Perhaps not. But I knew at that moment that the truce between us was fragile indeed. I was certain of one thing; he did not realize that the pain he felt at Guinevere’s possible guilt was doubled for me. And that pain was so severe that it nearly sucked the air from my lungs. Without another word, he spun about and left me to my task.
* * *
The guard at the barracks gate looked embarrassed. I recognized him immediately as one of the men who had ridden with me during the recent rebellion. “Malgwyn, we have treated her well.”
“Did she offer much resistance?”
The gruff soldier shook his head. “It was almost as if she expected us. She came along meekly.”
“That does not sound like Ygerne.”
He laughed. “No, it does not.”
I passed through and made for the door. Taking a deep breath, I opened it and stepped inside.
“So, he did send you.” Her voice was just as harsh as it had been the day before.
“You would do well to temper your tone. This affair does not bode well for you at all.”
She brushed that flaming red hair from her face and squinted at me. “Why? If Arthur or Aircol demand it, you’ll see me put to the sword.”
“Think you so? Think you that little of me?”
“Why should I not? You watched as Arthur betrayed Guinevere and married the little meretrix. Why should you not look the other way now?”
I winced at her words. They would not serve her well. “Gwyneira was no whore. She was just a young girl promised in a marriage in which she had no say.”
Ygerne looked at me then, with a piercing gaze and a growing horror. “You were in love with her.”
I threw my hand up. “Because I do not believe she was a whore? Ygerne, you make no sense whatsoever! What has happened to you?”
She pursed her lips. “You!”
Getting any worthwhile information was seeming less and less a possibility. Perhaps I had misjudged Ygerne. This was not the woman I had come to love. “Will you tell me what happened when you went to see Gwyneira?”
“Why? You will not believe anything I say.”
“Ygerne, you may remain quiet or you
may help me find the truth. Someone is going to die over this. Right now, you and Guinevere are the most likely. I do not believe that either of you did this, but you are giving me no weapons with which to fight your cause.”
She crossed the room and settled into a chair. “You must promise not to tell others what I am about to say.”
“Why?”
“Promise.” Not a request, a demand.
Obviously, she was not going to tell me unless I acceded. “Very well.”
Ygerne sighed deeply. “The girl was dead when Guinevere went to see her. She came to my house, upset, frightened. I went to see for myself. It was just as she said.”
“When you went to see her the other day, did you tell her of the killings I had described to you?”
“Of course. I was trying to take her mind off of Arthur.”
“So you told her of killings that a Druid priest claims are the gods’ vengeance against Arthur? And that is supposed to steer her thoughts away from him?” I shook my head, but she was not in a mood to agree. I decided to move forward.
“And then what happened?”
She looked up at me quizzically. “Nothing happened. I returned to Castellum Arturius. I did not see her again until this eve. Malgwyn, she did not do this thing. The sort of cruelty that I saw in Arthur’s chamber is not within her.”
“Why did you not raise the alarum when you found her so?”
A look of incredulity spread across her face. “Of course, Malgwyn! That was my first thought. And my second was that I would immediately be thought guilty! I knew that you men would be back soon enough and she would be found. And there was no power on earth that could help Gwyneira.”
I could not quibble with her analysis, though I did not think that anyone we left behind would have immediately blamed her. “What happened when you returned home?”
Ygerne shrugged. “Guinevere was gone, back to Ynys-witrin, I assumed.”
“And you did nothing? Told no one?”
“Understand me, Malgwyn. I did not know this girl. I do not like killing but her death does not touch me in any special way. Arthur used Guinevere for his pleasure and then tossed her aside when a younger woman was handed to him. This serves all of you right for playing with people’s lives, bartering them as if they were goods to be sold.”
“That is the way of it everywhere.”
“The Saxons do not treat their women thus. They accord them property and status. And the Picts do likewise.”
“Ygerne, how would you know what the Saxons and Picts do?”
She looked at me as if I were a dolt. And perhaps I was. “People talk, Malgwyn. And we have traders passing through who treat with both.”
I had given little thought to such things, merely accepting affairs as they always had been among us. Apparently, though, our women had. I did not have time then to ponder the meaning of that, but it was something to consider later.
“Well, now it is time for you to talk to Arthur and Aircol and tell them what you have told me.”
She leapt to her feet with fire in her eyes and that red hair flying about her shoulders. “I will not! I told you, Malgwyn. What I have said is for your ears alone!”
“And what does that accomplish but keep the eye of suspicion turned to you?”
“Exactly! As long as there is some doubt, you can convince them to wait.”
“Wait for what, Ygerne? You did not see Aircol, or Arthur! They will have revenge!”
But Ygerne did not respond in kind, rather she smiled softly at me. “You will convince them, because it will give you time to find who truly did this thing.” She paused and walked across the room, leaning against a wall. “I do not think you would betray your noble sense of justice to save me. But you know that I did not kill Gwyneira, and you know that Guinevere did not either. Or at least you hope that is true. So, you will not rest until you find the true killer. That is what I depend upon, Malgwyn.”
My heart fell. Part of me wanted to feel pride that she respected me so much. But another, larger part was saddened that she did not believe I would protect, defend her. Then was not the time to worry about such things, though.
“Unfortunately for your plans, Ygerne, the servi remembered that Guinevere came first and you second. And I finally realized who left the note for Gwyneira calling her a meretrix.”
Ygerne lowered her eyes.
“You knew?”
She did not answer, turning away from me.
The truth hit me like a Saxon spear. “You put it there.”
“We thought it a harmless jest.”
“Calling a poor child a meretrix was a jest? You and my cousin have a strange sense of humor.”
Then she turned and looked at me with something approaching a smile. “It was meant more for Arthur than the girl.”
“Your choice of targets seems a bit askew.”
Her attempt to soften did not work. She realized it and changed her tactics. “It was ill-advised. I do not dispute that. But Guinevere did not kill that girl any more than I did.”
I hung my head and crossed to her side. “And I do not doubt you, but I fear that Arthur and Aircol will. Why should they not? The servi have already told us that you and Guinevere were the girl’s only visitors. I told Arthur that I recognized the hand on the note as Guinevere’s, though I did not know that you played a part in that. And they know that I told you of those blasted deaths on the road. What more do they need? If I did not know the two of you, I would think you guilty, and your silly actions have done nothing to make anyone think otherwise.”
Twisting her head, she brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Right now, you are upset at the girl’s death and with me and your cousin. But when you calm, you will realize that there are other answers as well.”
“It does not matter that there are other answers. What am I to tell them now?”
“That I will not speak. That I said nothing.”
“You are playing a dangerous game, Ygerne. You know that I love you, but there is nothing stopping Arthur from serving up your head to satisfy Aircol.”
“Yes, there is,” she answered.
Before I could ask her what she meant, the door burst open and Illtud bounded into the room.
“What?”
The soldier who would be a priest hung his head, his long hair hanging in sweat-laden locks against his mail shirt, and caught his breath. Finally, he met my eye.
“We have a problem.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I jerked my head toward the door, avoiding the glare in Ygerne’s eyes, and followed my friend out into the night air.
“Bedevere just returned.” Illtud wasted no time. “An envoy from Melwas met him on the Via Arturius. Melwas has announced that he has Guinevere under his protection and that he will not surrender her to Arthur and Aircol.” He paused and breathed deeply. “He has closed off the road at Pomparles and to the north and east as well. Ynys-witrin is closed to all.”
“Is he mad! That is a virtual admission that she is guilty. Arthur will have no choice but to assault Melwas’s fortress and take Guinevere by force!”
“Could this be another rebellion?”
I paused and considered events. “My heart tells me no, but my head tells me maybe. David cannot be trusted any more than Mordred can. Both lust after Arthur’s seat. I suspect, though, that they are waiting for some hesitancy on Arthur’s part, some indication that he will not challenge Melwas. That would leave an opening for David, probably, to ally with Aircol against Arthur.” I turned and saw Bedevere approaching from the great hall. “Quickly! Fetch Arthur and bring him to Kay’s house!”
Bedevere, within hearing now, shook his shaggy head. “No, Malgwyn. Arthur gathered the soldiers here and those in the encampment below and started off for Ynys-witrin.”
“Then you must stop him!” The vision of Arthur, probably still cloudy from drink, and his soldiers, certainly still reeling from mead, clashing with clear-eyed soldiers at Melwas’s
fortress was one of horror. “Bring both him and Aircol back here to Kay’s house. But whatever you do, they must be stopped! They will be slaughtered!”
It took my friend but a second to realize that I was right. He spun and raced back up the lane. I breathed easily for the first time in the last minute. Bedevere was an excellent rider and had one of the fastest horses among us. He could easily catch Arthur. And though he would resist, Arthur respected Bedevere enough to listen to him.
“To Kay’s,” I told Illtud.
* * *
We did not have long to wait. A hastily gathered band still moves slowly, and Bedevere caught them just a few miles from Castellum Arturius. I wish I had been there; those who were told me it was a dramatic scene. Arthur threatened to behead Bedevere, but he stood his ground and brought Arthur around. But they were both smart enough to do this outside Aircol’s presence, in a glen off the road.
When I next saw Arthur, the circles around his eyes had grown deeper and darker. His tunic was streaked with sweat, and like Illtud, his long, chestnut hair hung about his shoulders in wet, tangled strands.
Old terra cotta lamps filled with oil were scattered about, their flames dancing on the walls so that it seemed a hundred people were in the room rather than just our small band—Arthur, Bedevere, Kay, Illtud, Merlin, and me. We had convinced Aircol to seek some rest. On the morrow, he would face a task no father should see.
“What did Ygerne say?” Arthur wasted no time.
I shook my head sadly. “Nothing. She refuses to bear witness against Guinevere or even to defend herself.”
“Then they were in this together. Both shall have to suffer. And the Druid?”
“Illtud came to me with this news before I had the chance to question him. But I have heard no one say that he was seen about the lanes at all.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Perhaps if we behead Ygerne now,” Arthur continued, “that will pacify Aircol enough to allow us time to gather forces to besiege Melwas.” As I write these words, they seem to evoke a tone of calmness, of casual brutality. But that was far from the case. The air was laden with the scent of sweat and fear and pain, laden so heavily that each breath seemed a torture, unbearable.