by Tony Hays
He did not speak, but his eyes told me much.
“Mordred, you and I are not friends, and I suspect we never will be. But perhaps you will answer one question for me.”
Brushing one of his braids from his face, he raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps.”
“Why is it that so many people seem to understand this far better than I, yet no one wishes to tell me anything?”
He smiled then, with those perfect white teeth of his. I often wondered how he kept them until once I saw him cleaning them with the end of a broken stick, the wood fibers frayed. “By joining the consilium, Aircol immediately became one of its most powerful members. No one is demented enough to want to admit knowledge of his daughter’s death, especially not to you. But that does not mean that they do not have such knowledge.”
“And why should they be threatened by me? I am no lord of the consilium.”
At that, Mordred threw his head back and laughed. “No,” he agreed. “You are not. But you could have been. And you rejected it. No one knows quite what to make of you. You seem to desire no power, but look at yourself now. You have great power, and it has flowed to you not because of the lands you hold or your wealth. Nor do you profess to be a believer in the Christ, even if just for the advantages that such a declaration can bring you. Those advantages are the things that lords understand. You, they do not understand. And they do not trust what they cannot understand.”
I was amused by his recital. “And you, Mordred? Do you understand me?”
He smiled in a way that chilled me. “Oh, yes, Malgwyn. I understand you, just as you understand me. That is why a day will come when you and I will have to bring an end to our enmity. And when I have dispatched you, I will celebrate your feats and curse the decaying mind that brought you to such a tragic end.”
Then it was my time to laugh. “You are better than one of Merlin’s tonics, Mordred.”
He nodded and wandered off. Our laughter confused poor Merlin, who could only see two sworn enemies smiling and amiably chatting with one another.
“Come, Merlin. Let us go study Arthur’s chamber once more. Perhaps with her body removed something more will reveal itself.”
* * *
We searched the walls and the two entry doors. We searched the bedding. No signs of anyone forcing the doors. No signs of a hidden entrance, not that I expected to find one. Our structures were simple ones, of timber and wattle. Even the great stone roundhouses in which many of the old folk still lived had few surprises.
“Malgwyn,” Merlin said finally. “There is no answer here. Whoever did this thing left nothing more for us to find.”
I felt the heat rise in my neck, and I slammed my fist into the wall. “Then where are the answers, Merlin! Where?”
My old friend threw his arms in the air. “I do not know, Malgwyn. We may have no other possibilities than Guinevere and Ygerne.”
I raised my one hand. “No, Ygerne said they did not do it and I believe them.”
“People lie. You know this. Do you believe them because your head or your heart tells you so?”
Looking back at him, I felt a tired smile stretch my face. “Both, I suppose.”
“People also make mistakes, Malgwyn. You and I know that better than most.”
Something in his tone of voice was out of order, out of character. “Merlin, the world knows about my mistakes. But what mistakes have you made?”
He waved the question off with a tired hand. “Perhaps later, when we have weaved our way clear of this affair.”
When Merlin did not want to speak of something, he did not speak. I did the only thing I could and gestured to the door. Time to seek Ider and Illtud.
* * *
We found the pair in the lanes northeast of Arthur’s hall, staring down at something near a house. Ider had just taken a step in our direction when he looked up and saw us approaching.
“Malgwyn, hurry!”
I hastened forward, but Merlin, as was his way, never broke stride nor quickened his pace. As I neared, Illtud reached down and plucked something from the ground, thrusting it at me. In the morning light, the black encrustation did not sparkle, looked dull despite its sharp edges. They had found our murderer’s torture tool, lying not five feet from the lane leading out the northeast gate.
Ider cocked his head to the side. “Why would it be discarded here? Were the culprit Ygerne, it would have made more sense to drop it between the hall and her house.”
“And were it Guinevere, this would be right along her path out of the fort and to Ynys-witrin,” Illtud pointed out.
But I shook my head as I studied what was, really, just an ordinary stick of firewood, the sort cut for Arthur’s hall and a hundred other houses. “Whoever killed Gwyneira would have had blood splattered all about them. Had Ygerne seen Guinevere in such a state, she would not be so certain of her innocence.”
“She was certain enough that you would stake their lives on it?” Merlin had caught up with us.
“I believe so. And according to her story, Guinevere came straight to her house after leaving the hall. Surely if she had had this thing with her, she couldn’t have hidden it from Ygerne.”
Illtud frowned. “Could she not have started toward Ynys-witrin and then panicked, dropping it here and turning back to Ygerne’s?”
He made sense, though I hated to admit it. Merlin looked at me with a sad smile while Ider stood there expectantly, waiting I am sure for a clever reply by me that would absolve Guinevere of all guilt.
“Yes, old friend, she could have. This does not proclaim either woman’s innocence, nor does it prove their guilt.” Even as I said it, Ider’s shoulders drooped. “Have you found anyone that saw anything?”
Illtud shook his head. “No, the people here in the back lanes saw nothing. Those who live closer to Arthur’s hall saw only the servants, soldiers, and lords. It was a hectic night for all, Malgwyn. What will we do now?”
“Go and speak with the guards on the gates from last night. I will go to the barracks and speak to the Druid.”
“Think you still that the Druid had a hand in this?”
“I refuse to speculate. Gwyneira’s death came as such a shock to me. After all the deaths on the road.” I stopped and shook my head. “The lords will be back soon from the burying, and I need to have questioned the Druid by then. You two go about your chores and we shall ours. We will meet back at the feasting hall in time for the consilium’s gathering.”
“As you say,” Illtud said and then jerked his head, motioning young Ider to follow him.
Illtud and Ider stalked off for the northeast gate as Merlin and I turned our feet toward the barracks.
I studied the piece of wood once more, without the others watching over me. I saw nothing new save the blood-encrusted end. It had been freshly cut, the axe bites at the opposite end exposing the white meat of the wood, untarnished by the elements. I wondered if the axe that cut the wood could be identified from the marks it left. Perhaps. But then I would only know from which wood pile it came, not who wielded it against Gwyneira. And to track it down would take more time than I had.
“Something, Malgwyn?” Merlin asked.
I shook my head. “Just a thought. Let us go and see the Druid.”
* * *
Wynn threw us a foul look as we entered. Merlin chuckled. The guards had tied the Druid’s hands, raised above his head, to the same post that had held Merlin when he stood accused of killing young Eleonore. Druids had shown their faces then as well, but they emerged innocent in that affair, at least the true ones did. I thought Wynn many things, but innocent was not one.
“Is this your idea of hospitality?” Wynn’s voice cracked. I guessed that he had been left without water. Merlin looked to me and I nodded. He shuffled over to the post and untied Wynn’s hands. I took a water gourd from a table and tossed it to the Druid, who caught it awkwardly as he tried to rub the pain from his wrists.
“Do not think for even an instant that I
have any sympathy for you,” I told him coldly. “You wish for nothing more than Arthur’s downfall and that because his beliefs do not match yours. The killing at the White Mount, the one at Caer Goch, and that on the journey back were all within your ability, and I believe you committed them simply to prove that your ‘curse’ on Arthur was real.”
Wynn seemed less intimidating in that barracks room, his robes torn and dirtied, a bloody cut at the corner of his eye. Mordred may have given him up willingly, but it seemed that Wynn had not gone willingly. “You may believe what you wish,” he said finally, after downing a healthy swallow of water. “That does not make it true. I tell you once again that I did not kill those girls.”
“But you do not deny killing Gwyneira?”
He narrowed his eyes. “And how could I do that, Master Malgwyn, when you forbade me entry?”
“Yet you found your way in after the marriage itself. As we speak, every guard, every soldier, every man or woman who was here is being questioned. If you were anywhere near Gwyneira, I will know by nightfall. And you will be dead by morning.”
Wynn looked at me with a smile both on his lips and in his eyes. “By morning, Malgwyn, you will have discovered that I was not in the town and the consilium will be poised to assault Melwas at Ynys-witrin. When that happens, I doubt that you will be concerned with a simple Druid priest. Besides, your reputation has spread far and wide. You wish only the guilty to be punished, and without proof, you will not punish the innocent. You are known for your sense of justice and truth.”
“I am known too for my fondness of mead, but here I stand before you, sober and serious. Do not believe all that you hear, Wynn. It would not be wise. Where were you last night, after we departed for the ride?”
“I was in Mordred’s camp.”
“Even until we returned?”
Wynn nodded, pausing only long enough to take another swig from the water gourd. “Even then. I had no place else to be. Indeed I was even then preparing for my next trip.”
“To where?”
The Druid smiled, and I got the feeling that he was enjoying this. “Away from here. Malgwyn, I did not kill those girls nor the Lady Gwyneira either. You may try all you wish, but you will never be able to prove that I did these things because I did not.”
He said this with such confidence that another thought struck me.
“But you know who did.” I said it flatly, without the hint of a question.
At that, the Druid smoothed his robes and smiled once again. “Even if I do, I am under no obligation to tell you.”
To Merlin’s horror, I nodded as if in agreement. “That is true, Wynn. And I am under no obligation to release you. And I have no intention of doing that.”
“You cannot hold me hostage!” Wynn’s eyes grew wide and I enjoyed that.
“I can and I will. Even during the Roman days, Druid, authority came with much power. It is even more so now, though Arthur wishes for only fairness and equity. I am his official iudex pedaneous, his investigator, and Aircol’s as well. As long as I think you may hold answers, I will hold you. Besides, as long as you’re tied to a post in here, you can do little mischief out there.”
With Merlin on my heels, I pivoted quickly and left, the whining of the Druid as music in my ears.
* * *
“We have no choice but to lay siege to Ynys-witrin and take the woman Guinevere and Lord Melwas!” Celyn was a bloodthirsty little lord. From the look on Arthur’s face, I could tell that he was not impressed with Celyn’s reference to Guinevere as “the woman.” Nor was I. In that one simple sentence, Celyn had laid bare our charade.
The lords were seated around the great round table in the center of Arthur’s feasting hall. Only a handful of members were absent, and those the ones that had not attended the marriage. Where they chose to sit said much about their allegiances. Near unto Arthur, on either side, were Kay, Bedevere, Ambrosius, Gawain, and, surprisingly, Tristan. Opposite were David, Mordred, Gaheris, and Celyn son of Caw. The chairs on either side of Aircol were empty. Merlin and I sat apart from the table so that we might see everyone.
“How might we best proceed?” Aircol asked, ignoring Celyn’s pronouncement. He was maintaining his temper and this was good.
“Both Lord Arthur and Lord Aircol have the right to seek retribution for this deed,” Bedevere began. “But do we truly know that Guinevere played a part? Should not that question be answered before we begin a war?”
It was a fair question, and one that neither Arthur nor I were particularly happy to answer. Bedevere thought he was helping, but in reality, I would much rather have talked about Melwas’s misdeeds than Guinevere’s. But too many people knew some if not all of what had transpired. Merely the rumors were enough to force me to give an accurate accounting, something I felt compelled to do anyway but wished to delay as long as I could. One thing that I knew: Once the decision had been made to attack Melwas, Guinevere’s guilt would be assumed and with that probably Ygerne’s as well.
And with Ygerne in our custody, Arthur would push for her immediate execution and then use that to press for negotiations with Melwas, praying for time to let tempers calm.
“Malgwyn?” Ambrosius prodded.
I ransacked my brain for some way to avoid discussion of the murder. But I saw none. “This is far too soon for me to report any results.” My retort was weak. “Let us make this first about Melwas’s disobedience. When we have resolved that, we can turn to the issue of Gwyneira’s death.”
“You are much too clever a man for such a poor sally,” said Mordred, reveling in my discomfiture. “Were it not for Gwyneira’s death, there would be no reason for any of this. Now, delay no more!”
I had lied before. Everyone lies. But I had tried to confine my lies to the unimportant and the necessary. And Gwyneira’s death could hardly be classed as unimportant. “Very well. My investigation has uncovered few things for certain,” I began, but the quick grumble that erupted around the table told me to stop all pretense. “After the lords and their men went off on the ride, only two people were seen entering Gwyneira’s chamber—Ygerne and Guinevere. We are holding Ygerne at the barracks, but she refuses to say anything.” She had actually told me much, but I had promised not to reveal any of it. I knew Ygerne well enough to know that breaking her confidence could cost me much pain. “Guinevere is, of course, with Melwas and thus I have had no chance to question her.”
“And the Druid?” David entered the fray, but I sensed something odd in his tone, a gesture of, of, kindness, support? I was uncertain, but it was unexpected.
“We are holding him at the barracks as well, but he has given little useful information.”
“Was he seen inside the fortress?” This from Arthur, looking now for any hook on which to hang his hopes.
“None of the guards at the gates, none of the servants, no one we have questioned as yet saw him.” And then Lord David truly puzzled me, for he seemed saddened by this news.
“Then, it is decided!” declaimed Celyn, who was quickly becoming more than an aggravation. “We demand that Melwas hand her over or we assault his fortress!”
“A moment, Lord Celyn. Are we a land that believes in justice, or are we to forget that which sets us apart from the Saxons?” I had never seen Arthur speak more forcefully or certainly. It saddened me though to know why he was so passionate in his defense of justice. And it saddened me that I approved wholeheartedly of his tactics.
“I have not yet finished my inquiries either, Rigotamos. These things are not immediately resolved.” The plaintiveness of my request was not lost on either Aircol or Ambrosius. And it was Ambrosius who finally spoke up.
“This is a matter that should not be decided either too hastily or with too much delay. And, if we are to attack Melwas and remove him from the tor, we need more soldiers than we have. It is a formidable place to assault with even twice the men we have.”
“And Melwas has now built a fortification on the high ground to th
e east,” Mordred pointed out. In the wettest weather, there were only three approaches to Ynys-witrin and hence the tor. From the south across the bridge near the old Roman shrine or from the east via a narrow neck of land.
Ambrosius frowned. “If I speed a rider at once, I can have another hundred men here by morning.” He stopped and remembered his place, turning to Arthur. “Rigotamos, I suggest that we give Malgwyn two further days to complete his investigations. In the meantime, we can well use the time to strengthen our forces, and, perhaps, negotiate a better solution to this.”
I could fair see the flames burst forth from Celyn’s nose as he pawed the ground like an angry stallion, but a hand on his shoulder from Mordred held him in check.
Deadlines.
I hated deadlines.
And then Illtud spoke and made it worse.
“I am a peaceful man, my lord Rigotamos,” he began, at which Celyn snickered until Gawain cuffed him on the back of the head. “But I have seen enough of life to know that cruel times often require cruel actions. Charity is an aspect of the Christ, but one abused in a king. One thing that I have learned from my friend Malgwyn is that justice and mercy are often in opposition,” Illtud said. “If you wish to spark Melwas to action, you must raise the stakes. He knows that a siege of the tor will take many weeks. The one person that Melwas will listen to is Guinevere. We must appeal to her as much as Melwas, play on her emotions.”
I could not see exactly where Illtud was going, but my stomach began a rumbling.
Arthur began tugging his mustache and spinning the end between his fingers, never a good sign.
“What is it you are suggesting, Illtud?” Ambrosius asked.
“If we couple the deadline given to Malgwyn with an act designed to make Guinevere come forward on her own.”
“And what would that be?” I was beginning to see his direction and I liked it not.
“Malgwyn, you have questioned Ygerne and you have questioned all of the servants. They say that only she and Guinevere entered the girl’s chamber. Ygerne admits such and will not publicly deny her involvement. Indeed she chastised the Rigotamos for entering into a marriage with Gwyneira. I know that she is your woman, Malgwyn, but even you cannot deny that these facts weigh heavily against her.”