by Tony Hays
“My lord, that would certainly seem the simplest path,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But let us consider the matter. I have spent only a few moments with Ygerne, too little time to be confident of anything. I have not questioned Guinevere at all. And let us not forget Wynn, the Druid, and his proximity to each of these deaths.”
Merlin squinted at me. “No one saw Wynn near the hall. You just said so yourself.”
“No one that we have spoken to yet.” If Merlin was to oppose me, I was in serious trouble, and so were Ygerne and Guinevere. I turned to Arthur. “Remember Eleonore’s death? Kay and I questioned nearly everyone that lives along the lanes and those without the castle as well. These matters cannot be understood without a little time.
“I have my, um, other agents to speak with as well.”
Arthur understood, and he reached up and tugged at the ends of his mustache. I knew what he was thinking, and that was my advantage. He did not want to believe that Guinevere was responsible for this any more than I did. But the precarious edge I was walking was that Arthur would gladly sacrifice Ygerne to save Guinevere. He was no monster as some lords seemed. He wanted the guilty party to pay. But he had to punish someone. And the longer it took, the more trouble he would have from Aircol, and the more his enemies would try to exploit the situation.
Kay, though renowned for his temper, emerged as the voice of caution. “Rigotamos, we have a more immediate problem. Melwas is defying your order. And by isolating Ynys-witrin he has, essentially, taken up arms against the consilium.”
That must have given Merlin an idea. His thick eyebrows arched, and I watched a smile stretch his thin lips. “Kay is right, Arthur. You should call a meeting of the consilium immediately to deal with this.”
The old devil! He knew exactly what that would do. It took Guinevere’s guilt or innocence out of the game. Everyone would know that Guinevere was at the heart of it, but by classing Melwas’s defiance as defiance of the consilium as a whole, it made it very awkward for his enemies to do aught but support him.
Arthur looked at me with a tired smile. I would have at least a little more time to resolve this affair. Glancing to the window, I saw that the sun would soon be poking its head into the sky. “Bedevere!” Arthur barked. “You and Kay alert the consilium that we will meet at my hall when the sun is at its height. Merlin, will you alert Dubricius and Coroticus that we must bury Gwyneira this morning.” He turned then to me. “You know what you must do.”
I nodded. Sleep would elude me yet another night.
* * *
By the time that the sun had truly climbed from its bed, I was somewhat organized and quite nearly sober. Though I feared that my stomach would rebel, I stuffed it full of bread. I was unsure of when I would have a chance to eat.
And I sought out Gareth’s men. Or rather they sought me out. “Master, the little medicus simply disappeared,” one said, munching on some of the bread I had brought.
“Disappeared?”
“We lost him for a moment when the lords left for the ride,” related the one called Dylan, who had helped us at Caer Goch. “He did not go back to his hovel, and he did not leave the fort.”
So Morgan could not be counted out quite yet. Very well. “What of the Druid?”
“You will not like it, Master Malgwyn,” Dylan cautioned.
“Tell me.”
“He left the fort when the lords left and went straight to Lord Mordred’s camp. He did not venture out again.”
“He did not venture out that you saw,” I corrected him. I was not yet ready to absolve Wynn of any guilt. Gareth’s men were good, but not infallible.
“What now, Master?”
“Keep an eye on the medicus.”
With my belly rumbling, I went to meet the little band allotted to me for this task—Merlin, Illtud, and my young friend Ider, who had served me so well during the dark days of the past rebellion. We were well balanced. Merlin brought maturity and a pragmatic approach, something I was just learning. Illtud added the warrior’s mind. Ider offered the voice of innocence that was often indispensable to such quests. I was bedeviled with a need to do the right thing, the just thing.
On my way to Arthur’s hall, I met Coroticus, scurrying to the stables for a horse. “I see you have heard,” I greeted him.
His gold cross, emblem of his office, swung wildly about his neck as he rushed along the lane, but he stopped at seeing me. “Malgwyn! I knew Melwas was headstrong, but I never dreamed he would do this.”
“Has his lust for power swallowed his good sense?”
Coroticus smiled wanly. “He is in love, and that is worse.”
Although I had my doubts about the abbot’s sincerity, he certainly seemed to be genuinely distressed. Then again, if Melwas had truly sealed off Ynys-witrin, that would reduce the number of rich benefactors coming to see the abbey and filling its coffers.
“You must help me, Malgwyn.”
“And what can I do?”
“I propose to let the Church resolve this.”
I laughed. I did not mean to, but I did. Arthur might agree to such an arrangement, but if he did it would be seen as a horrible weakness on his part. Arthur was a devoted believer in the Christ. Most of the lords considered themselves such as well, but only a handful like Kay and Bedevere truly believed. A few, like Mordred, leaned more toward the old gods.
“I am serious, Malgwyn.”
“Forgive me, Coroticus. I just cannot see the consilium allowing the Church to make decisions for it.”
He scowled at me. “In time, you will learn to fear the Church.”
“I thought the teachings of the Christ were those of love?”
The grimace on his face grew. “See that you do not get caught in the middle. One day, Malgwyn, you will have to choose who you truly serve.”
“Then I have no choice,” I told him. “Thank you for allowing Ider to stay behind to help me.”
The abbot’s features changed then, softened. “Use him well. He is one of the brightest among us. I see a great future for him, if you do not corrupt him.” With that, he resumed his journey and I mine.
At the great hall, I found Dubricius donning his robes as several of the lords milled about. He would be presiding over Gwyneira’s burial. He saw me and finished adjusting his attire. “Master Malgwyn, a moment?”
I nodded, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. I had great respect for the teachings of the Christ, but some of His sacerdotes and presbyters troubled me, including Dubricius.
“Episcopus?”
He motioned for me to join him to the side, away from the others.
“I have heard of your experiences at resolving these things. I know too that you are completely loyal to Arthur.”
“I am completely loyal to the truth, episcopus. More often than not, I have found Arthur’s loyalties are the same.”
Tugging at his fur-lined collar, he studied me with a cocked eye. “It is in everyone’s interests that this dispute be resolved amicably. Even if that means making choices that are contrary to one’s desires. No other consideration is as important.”
I reached out with my one hand and stopped his continuing fidgeting. “Are you telling me I should allow Ygerne to be killed if that will allow this situation to be settled without bloodshed.”
And then I learned why he was an episcopus. Gently but firmly, he removed my hand from his person and looked me straight in the eye. “That is exactly what I am saying. I am pleased that I am not misunderstood.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You are not misunderstood.” Stepping in closer, I bumped against him intentionally and he moved back. “I do not need your advice or approval. If you think I do, then you are mistaken.”
“Do not challenge me, Malgwyn!” he rasped, a bit of fear lighting his eyes. “You will find that I am not without influence.”
“Then do not tell me how my inquiries should turn out before I have even conducted them. You bury the dead, episcopus. I w
ill find the ones who did it.”
Even now, fifty winters later, I can still see the surprise in Dubricius’s eyes. He was so accustomed to being deferred to that he had no ready answer for an open act of defiance. Yet he found one.
“Should it come to a stand-off between you and me, Malgwyn, you’ll have no trouble recognizing me. I will be the sober one.”
At that Aircol entered the feasting hall and Dubricius swept away to join him. The arrow had been well aimed and hurt. I did not crave the mead or cervesas as I once had, but, after the events of two days before, I could not expect anyone to believe that. It had been a costly lapse of judgment.
Young Ider bounded over to me then, with that limitless enthusiasm I had come to associate with him. His newly shaven tonsure made his head seem to poke like a new sprout over his rough brown robes. I had chided him the night before that his tonsure was in sore need of attention. Obviously, he had taken me at my word.
In a few moments, we had been joined by Merlin and Illtud. Merlin and I often saw things differently, and that was one reason that I prized his opinion so. But I could not recall when so much depended on our actions. Ygerne. Guinevere. Our alliance with Aircol, aye, the future of the consilium itself. Certainly the rebellion had been terrible, but something about this lacked the openness of a rebellion. Something rancid flavored the air in this matter, something foul and hidden.
But before I could begin assigning tasks, a grunt and raised eyebrow from Merlin turned me around. Lord David stood behind me with a smile on his face. A handsome man whose face bore few of the wounds of excessive living, David had secretly sided with Lauhiir in the recent war. But when it became obvious that their plans had unraveled, he deftly switched sides and I had been unable to convince Arthur of his complicity.
“Malgwyn? A word?”
David would not want the others to hear what he had to say. We had no secrets from each other; he had told me frankly where he stood during the rebellion because he believed I would be dead before I could tell another. That did not happen.
I stepped away from the others and joined David.
“I do not have to tell you that I will make use of this situation to my own profit.”
I nodded. He paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “But know this. Aircol’s seat on the consilium is worth allowing Arthur to remain as Rigotamos for a spell longer. Others do not see it that clearly.”
“Are you saying that you know something of this affair?”
His eyes flitted nervously from me to Merlin to Illtud and back. “I am saying that I have my suspicions, but, in truth, that is all I have.”
“Very well. Thank you for your candor.”
“Even rivals find moments of cooperation valuable.”
“If I have learned anything in Arthur’s service it is that few things are clearly defined.”
“Then there is hope for you yet,” David said with a smile.
“But none for you,” I countered, turning away before he could reply.
What did that mean? Was David preparing to betray Morgan, in much the same way he switched sides and betrayed Lauhiir?
“Time is wasting, Malgwyn,” Merlin reminded me. I could tell by the urgency in his crackling voice that he was more than worried.
“Illtud, you and Ider talk to everyone that lives along the lane on the eastern side of the hall. If this person did not come through the feasting hall, then they would have to have come in that way.”
“You are proceeding as if Ygerne and Guinevere are innocent,” Ider said.
“I am proceeding as if we have already spoken to the servants, who were in the best position to see who entered from the feasting hall. We know that Ygerne and Guinevere had been there; now let us see who else might have been there.”
“And what will you and Merlin do?” Illtud asked.
I paused for a moment, glancing at David, across the room now. He caught my eye and smiled. “Merlin and I will question the guards on each of the gates and see if we had visitors from outside last night. Then we will attend the meeting of the consilium. There is something more here, but I do not know yet whether it is important or not.” Breaking from my reverie, I jerked my chin up. “Go and see what you can learn.”
They disappeared from the hall just as I felt a dagger point in my back, rather low down on my back, and a familiar voice rasped in a low whisper, “I will kill you where you stand.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Why, Master Vortipor,” I said, turning slowly around. “You have me at the disadvantage.” My tone was jovial, but the dagger point was most serious, as was the pressure with which he pushed it against my back.
“Fine,” the little lord said with a gleam in his eye. “I shall gut you like a pig,” he continued, switching the blade to my belly. “You were charged with protecting my sister and you failed. For that failure only one punishment will do. And your daughter dishonored me.”
And then his dagger went flying through the air, clattering against one of the beams in the ceiling before falling to the earthen floor. “And only one punishment will do for you!” Aircol shouted, swatting the little boy’s behind. “Now, go and mourn your sister’s death and terrorize your betters no more.”
Vortipor puffed his lower lip out and slinked off, brooding.
“Forgive him, Malgwyn. I have done a poor job with him. He has learned not how to use power and station wisely, but how to use them to torment people.”
“He is young, my lord. All youngsters are cruel at such an age.”
“As you say, Malgwyn.” He paused and took a tentative step toward me. “I wanted to apologize to you for my words last night.”
With the wave of my one hand, I silenced him. “They were the words of a father distraught over his daughter’s death. I would have done no differently if it had been Mariam lying there.”
Behind his flowing white beard, I saw his expression grow grim. “Lords have long been criticized for their brutality, Malgwyn. Patrick, the old episcopus to the Scotti, enraged Ceredig with that letter of his, but he was right. You cannot remember the Roman days, nor really can I. But I remember my father telling me that law and justice were the first casualties. Those with wealth and power used them viciously. I do not want to strike out blindly. I want only the guilty to pay. The Christ teaches mercy. So I shall be merciful. What I must know is whether or not I can trust you to find who is truly guilty.”
“You can trust me,” I answered, “to do my best. That is all I can promise.”
“What drives you, Malgwyn?” he asked, shaking his head. “What makes you search for the truth of these things so passionately?”
“Should we not always wish for the truth, my lord?”
“Wishing and achieving are often two different things. You have a knack, I am told, for achievement.” At that, he turned away as four of the servi carried Gwyneira’s body into the feasting hall. Wrapped in a white shroud, she was to be buried in the same ground that held my Gwyneth and my brother, Cuneglas. I had thought that he would wish to take her back to Caer Goch, but he said no. “For however short a time, this was her home; these were her people. She should rest among them.”
Later, perhaps, when time had passed and the present situation was resolved, Arthur would likely build a more impressive tomb for her and her remains would be translated there. But for that day to arrive, much had to be done.
Arthur had sent three troop of horse to cover the three approaches to Ynys-witrin: the southern road to the old Roman bridge at Pomparles, the northern lane leading from the Roman town of Fontanetum, and the eastern passage, a massive bank and ditch entrance commissioned by Melwas and just recently completed. I knew that dispatching the troops would heighten tensions, but I knew also that Arthur had little choice. Whatever his motivations, Melwas had challenged Arthur, and the Rigotamos could not be seen to shrink.
Merlin and I stepped out into the market square, into a beehive was more to the point. In all my years, I had
never seen such activity, such scurrying about. The cobbled lanes reverberated with the clatter of hooves, matched only by the jingle of mail shirts, swords, and the creaking of leather.
“Merlin, would you wait for me here. I have a visit to make.”
His old eyes crinkled into a smile. “Of course.”
Threading through the throngs of people, I made my way to Ygerne’s house. My Mariam was playing in the lane with the other children as Owain stood a silent but careful watch, leaning against a wall with the air of a much older boy. She turned and saw me approach and dashed toward me, her blond hair flying behind. “Father!”
I knelt and wrapped my arm about her. “I am sorry to have been away for so long.”
Her cheeks were red from play. “I am sorry about the new queen, Father.”
“I know. I am too.”
She pulled back a bit and put on her most stern face. “Mother did not do this. You must release her.”
“Soon, little one. Soon. Until then, Owain will keep you safe. Isn’t that right, boy?”
He bounced off the wall he had leaned against. “Yes, Master Malgwyn. Though they complain about my cooking.”
I laughed and it felt good. “I will have Cerdic send over a girl to cook until this affair is resolved. Take care of these babes, Owain, or you will answer to me.”
Rubbing Mariam’s blond hair gently, I reluctantly turned away and headed back toward the hall.
* * *
“Malgwyn!” The voice had almost a warmth in it, which was more than unusual as it belonged to Mordred. Merlin sneered, but I was curious.
“Mordred. And how are you today?”
He moved close and took my arm in his hand impatiently. “No matter what you might hear, Malgwyn,” he whispered, “I had nothing to do with this matter.”
“You say that as if you know who did.”