The Beloved Dead

by Tony Hays

  I did not need Illtud to point that out to me. I could strangle Ygerne for her stubbornness. And I could strangle Illtud for turning my own methods against me. “Your point?”

  “We all know that Ygerne and Guinevere are close; Guinevere, after all, is your cousin. Perhaps if we send word to Melwas that we intend to attack in two days and to underscore our resolve that we will behead Ygerne as Guinevere’s conspirator, perhaps that will spur action by Guinevere.”

  “And should it not spur action?”

  Ambrosius laid a hand on my shoulder. “Malgwyn, no one knows more than I of your sacrifices. And certainly no one is more grateful for your service. But you know as well as I that no impartial iudex would be able to ignore such evidence. Especially when Ygerne refuses to defend herself.”

  “Does that not speak of guilt to you?” Aircol asked. We were straining his good will. That I could tell.

  “I think it speaks of stubbornness more, my lord. But I take your meaning. So, if it does not spur the action desired?” I asked Arthur.

  “Then, Malgwyn, we shall have to behead Ygerne and assault Melwas.” In his defense, he said it softly and without any pleasure.

  “And?” I could not let it rest.

  Arthur waited a long second before answering, his eyes never leaving mine. When he spoke, it was firm and decisive. “And Guinevere must lose her head to the sword as well.”

  * * *

  No one could mistake the import of this, least of all Aircol. The old man looked at Arthur with a gleam of respect, but said nothing, merely nodded. Even David and Mordred seemed surprised. They exchanged sudden, quick glances.

  “Who among you has troops close enough to be summoned?” The Rigotamos had become the general once more.

  Three of the lords spoke up, swiftly dispatching riders as they did so. Arthur turned to Kay. “Speed a rider to our eastern garrison. Fetch two troop of horse. With any luck, they will be here tomorrow morning. Mordred!”

  “Yes, my lord.” For once Arthur’s cantankerous cousin offered no snide comments.

  “Take command of the troops we have already here. Establish a camp at the old Roman shrine to the south of Ynys-witrin and await my arrival.”

  “At your command, my lord,” and Mordred scampered off, shouting orders left and right.

  Arthur stopped and looked at those of us left. “My Lord Aircol, I assume you will wish to commit your troops to this matter?”

  With a nod and a grim smile that only highlighted his wrinkles, Aircol agreed.

  “Then take them and join Mordred.”

  “And you?”

  Arthur glanced about quickly. “I will follow shortly, as soon as I have made further dispositions and made arrangements for our supplies.”

  Gwyneira’s father found his mount and departed. Arthur gathered Bedevere, me, Illtud and Merlin away from the now frenzy-filled room. “Bedevere, I trust you and Illtud only with this. Go to the defenses Melwas has constructed to the east. Take two of my troops. Do not allow yourself to be seen. I do not want Melwas to know you are there.”

  Merlin nodded, his long gray locks dipping with each bounce of his head. “You do not wish him to feel trapped, yet.”

  The Rigotamos smiled. “I wish there to appear that there is an escape route. But I want it closely watched. One of the others might be bribed to let Melwas flee, but you two will not.”

  He turned to Merlin. “I want you with me to give me counsel, and you have established a stronger rapport with Aircol than I.”

  Though I had not noticed him until then, Morgan popped up before Arthur. The Rigotamos tapped him on the shoulder. “Organize all the servi save those attached to my kitchen. Prepare the wagons with supplies to treat the wounded if we attack. Then bring them on to the old Roman shrine.”

  Morgan’s eyes held a question.

  “Any of the servi can show you where it is. Now, be off!”

  And the medicus scampered out. For a moment, I considered again whether he could have done these things. Appearances said no. But appearances sometimes lied.

  “And what about me, Arthur?” I was afraid that I already knew the answer.

  He cut his eyes around at me in that manner of his, that manner that said I had better listen and take heed. “You know what your task is.”

  “I am to find who truly killed these girls, and you have given me two days. How generous, my lord!” The bitterness on my tongue was unmistakable. “And if I cannot?”

  “You are to find who truly killed Gwyneira. If that is the same person as he who killed those girls, all the better. My bride has been foully murdered, Malgwyn. Her death is the only one of concern right now. You saw the consilium, Malgwyn. They wish this alliance with Aircol as we all do, but they also smell a chance here to undercut me, and they will exploit it to the fullest. Unless you can find a different answer, or unless Ygerne and Guinevere surrender and defend themselves. Otherwise, I will be forced to execute them both.”

  “But if anyone has to be executed, you would prefer that it be Ygerne.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Just as you would prefer it be Guinevere.”

  “Do not pretend you know what I want, Rigotamos. I will find the truth, no matter how painful it is.”

  Arthur’s eyes softened then. “Malgwyn, you and I are already suspect in this. If we do anything that can be seen to favor the killer of Gwyneira, everything we have worked for will be lost.” He stopped then, his eyes softening. “This affair can end several different ways, Malgwyn, most of them badly. For it to end well, that, old friend, will be up to you. This time, if you fail, it will not be your own head, or even Merlin’s on the block, but Ygerne’s and Guinevere’s. And I fear the consilium will fall apart and drag our people into chaos once more. You have until the sun reaches its height two days hence.”

  And with his chestnut hair, tangled and damp with sweat, drooping behind him, he spun and strode from the hall, leaving me alone, staring at the walls and wondering where to begin.

  In all of my life, both before and after, I had never felt such a weight on me. Guinevere, my cousin and childhood playmate—Ygerne, who had emerged from the carnage of revolt as the love and stanchion of my life. I hungered for the truth of these killings, but I cringed inside at the thought that it might be named Guinevere or Ygerne. I prayed to the old gods; I prayed to Arthur’s God. And then I set about my task.

  PART FOUR

  YNYS-WITRIN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Castellum Arturius had never seen such a flurry of activity. I walked from the main door of Arthur’s hall and looked down the lane to the barracks at the far end.

  Chaos would have seemed organized.

  Soldiers raced about, like ants fleeing from a destroyed hill.

  Cerdic’s raspy voice rose above the cacophony of chirping, shouting oaths, orders and curses at Talorc and the other servi as they loaded the wagons.

  And mothers herded their children into their houses, away from the clambering hooves of horses and soldiers.

  Children!

  I had completely forgotten about Mariam, Owain, and the others. Spinning around, I near fell to the ground. Striding with careful, measured steps toward Arthur’s hall was Owain, dragging a sword behind him.

  “Owain! No!”

  With eyes narrowed, he pulled the sword in front of him and clumsily raised it. “You will not stop me, Malgwyn! The Rigotamos intends to kill Mother Ygerne. I will not let him!”

  Word had indeed spread quickly. I ran to him, snatched the sword away with my one hand, and pushed him to the side with my stump. “This is not the way, Owain!”

  Out of the flow of people, I knelt beside him and tried to hug him, but he pulled back, as firm a set to his jaw as I had seen on any grown man. “No! They murdered my mother! I will not lose Mother Ygerne too!”

  I reached out and took him by the neck. “And you think I wish to lose Ygerne? Come to your senses, boy. The other soldiers will stop you before you get close, and th
ey will not even allow you the honor of dying for your cause.”

  He dropped his head at that and took on the look of the little boy he really was. I did not wish to disgrace him or make little of his intent. He was honorable, but reality was necessary, though bitter its draught.

  “Believe me, Owain,” I said, as earnestly as I could. “I will do everything in my power to keep Ygerne safe. But you have to understand that she brings much of this on herself.”

  Owain shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes. She refuses to speak of what happened that night. She refuses to deny that she had something to do with the Lady Gwyneira’s death.” And publicly that was true. In privacy she had told some things, but I promised to hold her words close and not share them with anyone.

  “But why?”

  “She thinks that remaining silent will also protect Guinevere.”

  “And will it?”

  “I do not believe so. Owain, Arthur has given me two days to find an answer to all of this. I need you now more than ever. You have proven your bravery by protecting Mariam from Vortipor. You must watch over Mariam and the other children now while I sort through this affair. If Ygerne and Guinevere are to be spared the sword, I cannot worry about the children’s welfare. That is your responsibility.”

  The tears disappeared from his eyes as if by magic. “What must I do?” The gods bless the boy! No hesitation. No question.

  “Keep them safe and fed. Do not let them into the lanes when it is like this. Guard them with your very life. I am depending on you, boy!”

  He said nothing, but the firm set to his jaw and the severity of his look affirmed his understanding as clearly as any words scratched on parchment.

  “Good. Now, take your sword.” I stopped. “Where did you get it?”

  Owain screwed one side of his face up in guilt. “It is Kay’s extra.”

  When this was over, I had to talk to Merlin about the lessons he was teaching this boy.

  “Well, go back home and see to the children.”

  As I watched, he turned and headed back to Ygerne’s with purpose and confidence in his step. I wished that I could feel the same.

  * * *

  Watching Owain’s retreating back, I suddenly realized that Arthur had left me with no one to help. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a solitary figure loitering about the door to the feasting hall, looking lost.

  “Ider!”

  The lone figure turned quickly at my call.

  I was not certain how to read the expression on his face. Though he had seen much during the rebellion, Ider was still very naïve. But, the young monachus looked, well, excited, an emotion alien to most brothers of the Christ that I knew. And he was just what I needed.

  As soon as he saw me, he dashed across the market square, his monachus garb flapping about him. “Malgwyn!” In his haste, he stumbled on a stone and nearly fell on top of me.

  “What … is … happening?” The words came out in a staccato rhythm as Ider rushed to catch his wind.

  I explained the situation to Ider as best I could. “Melwas refuses to hand over Guinevere, thus defying the consilium. Arthur has ordered all available troops to be gathered at the old Roman shrine near the River Brue. He is giving Melwas two days to hand over Guinevere or face an assault.”

  “And the consilium supports this?”

  I nodded. “Ygerne is already being held. She refuses to speak about Gwyneira’s death. She even refuses to deny that she had a part in it. As a way to force either Guinevere to surrender or Ygerne to speak, Arthur has ordered that Ygerne be killed on the bridge should our demands not be met two days hence.”

  “And your orders?”

  “Why, to sort out the entire matter in two days,” I answered, the sarcasm unhidden.

  Then my young monachus friend pursed his lips and stared at the sky. “You will need my help, of course,” he said with a certainty that made me laugh. But as I stared at his reddened face and carefully tonsured head, I realized that I did indeed need his help, that his help might be crucial.

  I grabbed his arm with my hand and steered him toward my house. “Come, Ider. I need to change clothes and you need to help me.”

  * * *

  “Malgwyn, this is dangerous!” Ider was horrified as my plan took shape. “And a blasphemy!” he added, even as he straightened my robes.

  I ran my hand over my now expertly shaven tonsure and clean-shaven face. “Ider, do you believe in a God of mercy?”

  He nodded.

  “I do as well. And this is a mission of mercy.”

  Ider frowned. “I am not stupid, Malgwyn. You are dressing as a monachus to slip past Melwas’s defenses and gather information for Lord Arthur.”

  “Young friend, you think me too much Arthur’s errand boy. Although, if Arthur had thought of that, he would have ordered it. I do this not for Arthur, but to discover the truth.” I stopped. My answer surprised even myself, even as I realized that I was correct. A voice in my head told me that if I discovered the truth of Gwyneira’s death that I would learn who killed those other girls, the one’s unworthy of Arthur’s notice, but who were beloved by their families and were now dead. “But you are right. I do wish to get inside the abbey.

  “You are a bright and curious man, Ider. Do you remember during the rebellion last year?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you remember that despite all of our patrols, Lauhiir got inside the abbey and so declared sanctuary?”

  Ider’s head dropped. I had guessed correctly.

  “Oh, my young friend. You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

  His face popped up, red. “No, Malgwyn! I only learned of the tunnels later!”

  Properly attired as one of the monachi, I patted him on the shoulder. “I know. I figured that one as young and curious as you would know all such secrets of the abbey. But what I need now is for you to guide me to one of the entrances. Where are they?”

  The young monachus hesitated, turning away. “Malgwyn, I promised the abbot that I would never reveal that.”

  “Ider, I will not tell Coroticus of your help. And if he should find out, I will not allow him to harm you in any way.”

  At that, Ider looked completely incredulous. “How can you stop him? He is the abbot!”

  I simply smiled. “I know, but he and I have an understanding. Now, stop this nonsense and tell me!”

  Ider drew back, and I was immediately ashamed. He had done nothing to earn my reproach.

  “Please, Ider. It is important or I would not ask it of you.”

  That soothed him somewhat, and his shoulders slumped a bit. “There is one, in the village, below the abbey.”

  “Is that the one that comes out near the old well? At the corner of the vetustam ecclesia?”

  “Yes. That’s how I found it. It is cleverly concealed inside the vetustam, in that corner that lies nearest the old well.”

  “But I’ve been in the vetustam many times, and I have never seen any such entrance!”

  And now it was Ider’s turn to smile at me. “Have you not seen the large chest in the southeast corner?”

  “The big one? The one that they say holds the relics of Joseph the Arimathean?”

  “Aye. That chest is never moved. But soon after the rebellion, I was in the vetustam and noticed that the dirt had been disturbed. I moved it and beneath was the entrance to the tunnel.”

  “And you told Coroticus?”

  “Yes, and he ordered me to forget about it, and he threatened me with expulsion from the community if I ever betrayed its existence.”

  “But you did not forget about it.” I already knew the answer so there was no use to make it a question.

  He smiled sheepishly. “I needed to know where it went. I followed it until it emerged near both the old Roman wharf and the small community of believers.” I knew where he meant. Out on the lower western slope of Wirral Hill, a newer group of sisters had gathered and built a chapel. They were more
like the hermits of old than the new breed of monachi spreading across the land.

  But the location made sense for an entrance to a secret route. It lay far down the slope from the village, and it would be sheltered from most eyes.

  I clapped my young friend on the shoulder. “You once told me that you desire to be like me in sorting out these matters. I think you are well on your way.”

  * * *

  With the sun at meridian height, Ider and I, now arrayed as monachi with hoods about our heads, mounted horses and threaded between the now constant stream of soldiers and wagons. Though rain had not been a recent visitor, the ground was moist, and the hooves of a hundred horses had turned the Via Arturius into one long, muddy track.

  So intent were the soldiers on their tasks that none gave us a second look. The bulky robes of the monachi allowed me to hide the fact of my missing arm quite well. Aye, Mordred passed within ten feet of me yet never raised an eyebrow. But then Mordred probably had never envisioned me as a monachus. He knew me all too well and I him.

  “What will you do once you are inside Melwas’s defenses?” Ider asked as we neared the old Roman bridge at the southern end of Wirral Hill across the River Brue.

  “We will do what has to be done. You will make certain that Coroticus does not know that I have slipped into his lair, and I shall find Guinevere and talk some sense into her.”

  “If your mission is peaceful, why would Coroticus not welcome it?” I prayed that Ider would one day cease being so innocent.

  “If I am successful, then this affair might be resolved without violence. Coroticus and Dubricius would rather the Church accomplish that than me.”

  “But surely they would not hinder you?”

  At that his naïveté simply became too much for me. I stopped and took his shoulder in my one hand. “Ider, you are a good and decent man, but your superiors cannot lay claim to the same title! They do whatever it takes to better their own positions, not because it is the right thing to do! Right has little to do with it!”