The Beloved Dead

by Tony Hays

  Melwas threw his head back in laughter. “Ahh, those little pet names you have for me! How delightful!”

  I stood and we left the hut with Guinevere glowering behind us. For a moment, I thought about strangling him and taking our chances with his men, but two of them appeared from either side of our little prison.

  From our vantage point, we could see as far as Wirral Hill and beyond the faint glow of campfires near Pomparles. Melwas stared into the distance for a long moment before turning back to me. “We do not know each other well, Malgwyn.”

  “No, my lord, we do not.”

  “Although I expect that I will have to kill you soon, I thought we should become better acquainted.”

  “That seems unnecessary, my lord.”

  Melwas nodded sadly. “But you are Guinevere’s cousin, and should circumstances allow, I might let you live.”

  He seemed totally detached from the situation.

  “Melwas, are you not aware that the consilium is raising an army to assault your position? That you have no escape route?”

  The little lord laughed, a belly-deep chortle. “But Malgwyn, what better way to convince the lady that I truly love her than to defy the consilium in her defense.” His eyes twinkled at me and I shuddered.

  We were in deep trouble. He was serious. Melwas honestly thought that Guinevere would see his insane actions as proof of his abiding love for her. What a fool!

  “Melwas, my lord, that is not going to happen! Every lord in the consilium demanded this marriage to ally Aircol to our cause. But then Gwyneira was murdered. The alliance is yet threatened. The only way to satisfy Aircol and bind him to us is to find the guilty party, and at this moment, that seems to be Guinevere. Arthur will assault the tor with all the strength he can muster in just more than a day from now. If you stand between the consilium and the Lady Guinevere, you will be crushed!”

  He shook his head. “I do not think that will happen, Malgwyn. When Guinevere stands with me, arm in arm, Arthur will see his error. He will understand. Besides, if he attacks, the abbey will be destroyed. Neither Arthur nor Aircol would do that to their precious church.”

  “You have not heard anything that I have said. You are mad!”

  “I am a man in love who will not be denied. Be grateful, Malgwyn, that I have spared your life. Were it not for Coroticus and Ider, your head would have already leapt from your shoulders. You are a meddling busybody and we would all be well shed of you. I have no need of you. When I receive my new—” He stopped suddenly. And I saw his plan immediately. The little lord intended to negotiate his way to new lands by suddenly appearing to listen to reason at the last moment. I did not doubt that he wanted to take Guinevere to his bed; she was a beautiful woman. But, like most lords of his ilk, he sought personal advantage as well.

  “Besides, they cannot muster enough men in so short a time to successfully assault the tor.”

  I thought I saw a flaw in his plan; well, in truth I saw a herd of them. “But though you ‘turn’ reasonable, that will have nothing to do with saving Guinevere. You will have to surrender her.”

  “Malgwyn, Malgwyn. She has been promised sanctuary by Dubricius in the abbey. Lauhiir yet enjoys safety within its precinct.”

  “Lauhiir was a different matter. My lord, I will warn you once more. Lord Aircol demands justice for his daughter. He will have it and sanctuary will not stop him. If you do not hand her over to them, they will assault.”

  Again the fat little lord grinned. “Now, Malgwyn. Who is better suited to judge the actions of nobles? Their equal or a one-armed scribe?”

  “Argh!” I threw my one hand into the air and returned to the hut without his leave. He had lost all command of his senses. The small of my back tensed, in case the little worm struck me, but he didn’t, and I pulled the wooden door to behind me.

  And, after I told her of Melwas’s lunacy, Guinevere and I spent our time in the narrow hut thus—she voicing new possibilities and I countering them with the facts.

  By the time that I noticed that it was nearly as dark outside as inside, we had talked until our tongues were sore and our food was gone. And we were no closer to solving the puzzle.

  “Are we to be fed no more? Or does Melwas think you need to be thinner?” I asked, more for lack of anything new to say.

  Guinevere slapped at me, but without malice. “I always liked it, when we were children, when you would tease me. No matter how ill my mood, you could always make me feel better with your teasing. Melwas will send food soon. He profits nothing by starving us.”

  I was not really listening, and Guinevere noticed. “What troubles you?”

  “My friend, the monachus Ider, he betrayed me to Melwas. I want to believe that it was because he had learned something important, something that would have made my original plan unworkable. When I was placed here, with you, I thought this was it, that he discovered that you were truly imprisoned. But we have not heard from him.”

  “Perhaps Melwas has not allowed him access.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You think too much, Malgwyn.”

  At that, the door swung open on its leather hinges, the glow of an old Roman lamp revealing a tired Coroticus. Alone. He stepped in and pulled the door shut behind him.

  It may have been the shadows cast by the lamp, but Coroticus looked more worn than I had ever seen him. He sat down on the floor with a heavy sigh.

  “Malgwyn, we have had our differences, but I have always had respect for your abilities.” He paused. “We need more than that this time.”

  “Why?” Guinevere asked, alarmed.

  “Melwas is truly insane. He believes that he is protecting you from certain death, and he believes that his actions will persuade you to love him.”

  I shook my head sadly. “Does he not realize that Arthur and Aircol will kill him without a hint of regret?”

  “It is not without its romantic attraction,” Guinevere conceded.

  “Please, cousin.”

  “It may not be that easy, Malgwyn,” Coroticus said. “He has effectively sealed off all of the approaches to Ynys-witrin, and the sky was covered in clouds late this afternoon. A hard rain tonight will turn the abbey and the tor into an island once more. A siege will take a long time, and the people of the village will suffer.”

  I struggled to my feet. “Coroticus, every conceivable piece of evidence points to Guinevere and Ygerne, either acting separately or together. Aircol will force Arthur to produce Ygerne at Pomparles in a last ditch effort to get Guinevere to surrender. When that does not work, Ygerne will be executed according to the laws, and the consilium’s forces will launch an immediate assault. They will not lay siege.”

  “They will if the rain makes the levels impassable.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Are you certain of their intent?”

  “That was the decision taken at the last conference before I left. I have no reason to believe that their plans have changed. In truth, the only reason that I think Aircol agreed to wait two days was to give the lords time to assemble a goodly force.”

  “Can they?”

  “Without doubt. Every lord present pledged his support and most have large forces within two days’ ride.”

  “A full scale assault will doom the village. Nothing will be left. The abbey will be destroyed!”

  “It would seem, Coroticus, that you will get your wish. Go, and negotiate our way out of this disaster.”

  My heart fell into my stomach.

  Coroticus looked ill.

  “What?”

  “Though we have not been confined here, Dubricius and I are as much prisoners as the two of you. Melwas will not let us beyond his defenses in order to treat with the consilium.”

  “Does he expect the consilium to simply concede?” I exploded.

  “He is quite mad, Malgwyn.”

  I thought of Bedevere and Illtud, blocking the other approaches, but telling Coroticus of them was as good as telling Melwas. The
abbot would use anything to his advantage.

  Guinevere stood then. “Is there not anything you can do, Coroticus, to convince him of the folly of his path?”

  “Perhaps if I already had Arthur and Melwas in the same chamber, I could, but that will not happen. And some among the brothers are being just as insane. Why, Ider is now counseling Melwas to move the two of you to the vetustam ecclesia; in case the worst happens, he can claim sanctuary for himself and the two of you. But all that that will accomplish is to ensure the destruction of the abbey!”

  “You are correct. If the assault begins, sanctuary will have no meaning. They will be like dogs with the taste of blood in their mouths. They will clamor for more.” I stopped, losing myself in the yellow-orange flame of the lamp for a moment. A smile broke across my face as Ider’s purpose became clear. What a clever monachus!

  “Coroticus, go to Melwas and support Ider on this point! Assure him that neither Arthur nor Aircol would dare desecrate the abbey, and that it is a good and logical plan should all else go awry.”

  Guinevere and Coroticus looked at me now as if I were mad.

  “Malgwyn!”

  “Go, my lord abbot! Do as I say!”

  “In the name of the Christ, Malgwyn, I pray that you know what you are doing,” Coroticus murmured. But he did not object any further and left us alone again.

  “Tell me what you are planning, Malgwyn,” Guinevere asked.

  “Not yet. First, while we wait for our food, help me understand how a man or anyone could profit from abusing these poor girls in the way that they were.”

  She narrowed her beautiful eyes at me, but without a spoken objection we began to talk.

  * * *

  And that is how we passed the night and all the next day. Only our guards disturbed us, and then only to feed us and allow us brief respites to relieve ourselves. Neither Coroticus nor Melwas nor even Ider visited us.

  “So, you have five young girls dead from brutal and horrible assaults, assaults that seem to be unprovoked—”

  “—five girls?” I almost missed it. “You mean four.”

  Guinevere looked at me quizzically. “No. I mean five. Young Nimue was killed thus as well.”

  The walls of the little hut seemed to close in around me, and I found it hard to breathe. “No one said aught of this to me. They said only that she was dead. How do you know that she was killed in the same manner?”

  Guinevere blinked in near confusion. “Malgwyn! Ygerne helped to prepare her for burial. Who told you of this?”

  “Arthur and Kay.”

  She grunted. “Well, of course they would not have told you. They never looked upon her. A vigile found her in one of the abandoned houses in the old Roman village. He assumed that she had gotten drunk with the wrong sort. Ygerne said that there was little blood on her gown.”

  “But they said that she had been found the day after our departure for the land of the Demetae.”

  “That was true. But Ygerne said she was already stiff and beginning to bloat as the dead do in hot weather.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me this? I will have to think through everything again!”

  “By the time you returned, Ygerne was so out of sorts with you that she could scarcely speak. But what difference does this make?”

  “Don’t you see, cousin? The Druid Wynn did not enter our town that night. He came here instead, to Ynys-witrin. We saw him with Melwas in the village. He could not have killed Nimue.”

  Nimue. Such a pretty child. On the eve of her freedom to have her life ripped from her. Damn this bastard to Hell! If I survived Melwas and this insanity, I would not rest until I choked him to death with my one hand!

  I remembered how happy she seemed when Arthur released her, how embarrassed she seemed by all the attention. As I thought these things, I heard the door open and someone enter.

  I smelled food.

  Onions.

  Maybe it was the memory of Nimue. Maybe it was the smell of onions. Maybe it was Arthur’s God in His Providence, guiding my brain.

  But suddenly, the answer appeared.

  I knew who had killed them all!

  I knew as surely as I knew that the sun would rise on the morrow. Looking up, I saw that it was Coroticus who had brought our platters. I leaped to my feet and grabbed his arm, scattering the food about the cell.

  “You must have us moved to the vetustam ecclesia, Coroticus!”

  The abbot winced at the fierceness of my grip. “I have tried, but he seems not to be interested.”

  “Then redouble your efforts. Triple them! If you wish to have an abbey this time tomorrow, then Guinevere and I must be moved immediately!”

  Coroticus studied my face, probably trying to decide if I had gone mad myself. He turned to Guinevere and God bless my cousin, she nodded.

  “I do not pretend to understand him, Coroticus. But we both know that he is seldom wrong in these things. Do as he asks.”

  The abbot, his face lined thrice over by the weight of this crisis, nodded and left without a word.

  “Who was it, Malgwyn?”

  “Not yet, cousin. I need to think carefully, need to plan carefully. I will get but one chance to resolve this and it must work.”

  “But what if Coroticus does not succeed?”

  I brushed my hair from my pounding forehead. “He will.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he must.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  But no one came the rest of the night. Guinevere dozed fitfully, leaning up against the wall. I could not sleep.

  Merlin had been wrong, but not completely. He had suggested that when I knew why these deeds were done, I would know the who. But, now that I knew who had killed those girls, I understood the why. Or perhaps the “why” and the “who” revealed themselves to me at the same time. It saddened me for more than one reason. I understood why the girls had been killed. It was not a good reason, but it was an understandable one. We were all to blame in a way.

  As soon as I understood these things, my tired mind concocted a way to accomplish what Arthur said I must. I had run my plan through my mind a thousand times but it was all for naught if we were not moved to the old church, the vetustam ecclesia. And it rained; it rained as if it might never rain again.

  The hastily built hut was rife with leaks, forcing Guinevere and me into one reasonably dry corner. I suspected that the levels were soaked, if not actually flooded. It would make the consilium’s assault both more difficult and more bloody.

  “Why do you not just call in Melwas and Dubricius and tell them who is guilty of these things?” Guinevere asked as the sun began to poke its head above the eastern horizon.

  “Because Arthur was right. In order to prevent both your death and Ygerne’s, I must be able to either prove it absolutely or make the killer confess. I cannot prove it absolutely, and Melwas wants this coming battle. He has lost all sense of reality. He will resist any resolution that takes control away from him. Therefore I must maneuver events to force the murderer to confess.”

  She nodded. “Why will you not tell me?”

  “The person who did these things is unlikely. I believe if I approach this in the correct way, he will reveal himself. I believe he will be unable not to. If you or anyone else knows, your eyes may give it away before I am ready, and my plan will fall apart.”

  “Then it was the Druid Wynn? Or Morgan?”

  “Be patient, cousin.”

  The door to our little prison opened and Coroticus presented himself. “Melwas has agreed to have you moved to the vetustam ecclesia.”

  From the looks of him, the abbot had spent all night haranguing the lord. His robes were wet and smelled of mud and rain. His tonsure needed trimming. But it was his eyes that disturbed me the most. They were very nearly dead, just a bare spark of life, and then only deep in their sockets.

  “I would ask how you managed this miracle, but I fear the answer.”

  He slumped to the
ground. “It was not my doing. Melwas went up on the tor and what he saw frightened him.”

  “What could he have seen to cause him such a change of heart?”

  Coroticus smiled. “The consilium has mustered nearly two thousand men and Arthur has them building boats.”

  “Boats?” I asked.

  “Boats,” he confirmed.

  And that explained it all. Melwas did not have enough men to guard the entire circumference of Ynys-witrin and the great tor. With flat-bottomed boats or boats of shallow draft, Arthur’s soldiers could float across the flooded levels and invade the isle at any point. The idea had come from Merlin, I was certain. He had mentioned it to me on more than one occasion after Lauhiir’s abortive rebellion.

  “So he’s not completely mad.”

  The abbot shook his head. “And he is finally allowing Dubricius and me to cross over and parlay with the consilium.”

  “Then go, but leave Ider behind with us.”

  Coroticus narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “I will need him.”

  “You will be in the vetusta ecclesiam.”

  I smiled.

  “Very well, but I must speak to Ider when this is all over.”

  “No, you will not. Or Dubricius and I will have a long talk about you.”

  The abbot scowled. “You are every bit as evil as you have accused me of being.”

  Guinevere looked from one to the other of us in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “It is unimportant,” Coroticus answered and left. Moments later, two of Melwas’s soldiers appeared and walked with us from the fort, around the women’s community and into the abbey grounds. Word of Arthur’s tactics had obviously spread. Soldiers rushed to and fro. The sisters were hurriedly storing away food. As we moved through down the slope and through the apple orchard between the women’s community and the abbey, a fascinating sight appeared. The brothers, instead of preparing for a siege as were the women, seemed to be standing about dithering, wringing their hands. All, that is, except one, Gildas.

  The youngest brother of Celyn was a statue of peace in a landscape of chaos. He stood near the old church, his fingers laced over his belly, waiting as Coroticus and Dubricius left the abbot’s hall and headed in his direction. So Coroticus had turned to the child monachus as his aide in this affair. Just as well; it would keep him out of my way.