by Tony Hays
The vetustam ecclesia was known throughout our lands as the most ancient of churches. Old stories told of the tin merchant, Joseph the Arimathean, having built it after the Christ was crucified. Aye, some said that the Christ had come to these lands as a child with Joseph.
Once a simple wattle structure, it had been encased with lead to help preserve it. Only one door provided access, in its western wall. Inside was an altar at the eastern end. And in the southeastern corner was the intricately carved box that held the abbey’s relics, the bones of the Arimathean, not the two mysterious cruets he was said to have brought with him. No one knew where those were secreted nor, exactly, what they contained.
The soldiers shoved us, very unceremoniously, into the chapel, tossing a goatskin of water in behind us.
“Your lover is not a good host,” I said, feeling more relief than I had in more than a day. But the wallop I felt at my back stopped my good cheer.
“Do you think me so common that I would truly take up with that madman?”
I turned to confront a Guinevere with the reddened face of the truly angry. “Cousin, no! It was a mere jest.”
The lines in her face smoothed, a bit. “Malgwyn, do you not realize how Arthur’s decision crushed me?”
“Surely you knew that at some point he would be pressured to wed?”
“In truth, cousin, I believed that enough time would have passed to allow us to be married.”
“Such wishful thinking, Guinevere. Such a romantic. I always believed you to be a woman who lived firmly in reality.”
“Do not be fooled, Malgwyn. I can be every bit as cunning and cold as those you pledge your fidelity to.”
“Of that, I have no doubt. And that may serve you well in the hours and days ahead.”
She cocked her head and looked a bit like Mariam at that moment. “Of hours, I understand. Of days, I do not take your meaning.”
As was so common with me, I had said too much. And now I had no choice but to answer. “As soon as this is resolved, the consilium will be casting about for another advantageous marriage for Arthur. I doubt that you will be on that list.”
Her head drooped. I did not think that I had ever seen her so dejected. But her face bobbed back almost immediately. “Do not count me out yet,” she said, her voice strong with defiance. “That would be unwise.” Something in her words made me glad that I would not be one of those thwarting her plans.
Before I could embarrass myself further, Ider arrived, and before I could open my mouth to give voice to my complaints, the young monachus raised a hand for silence.
“I did exactly what you do, Malgwyn. I did what was necessary. As soon as I learned that Guinevere was more hostage than consort, and hidden away within Melwas’s fort, I knew that you would be arrested straightaway. It seemed logical to me that one of us should remain in favor with the church and Melwas.”
Shaking my freshly tonsured head, I smiled. “It seems that the apprentice is teaching the master now.”
“Do not compliment me yet. The distance from the tunnel’s exit and Pomparles may not seem far, but you may have to swim for it, something you are not well suited for,” he pointed out.
“True. Melwas will not look kindly on losing his hostages and he will prevent us if he can. The troops of the consilium will not be able to tell at a distance who we are and may attack.”
Guinevere nodded. “I take your meaning. How shall we deal with this?”
“We have no way to alert Arthur’s men. If Ider will be so kind as to provide a diversion on this side, I believe we can at least cut our risks in half. Do you know how the men are armed? Will it simply be a race?”
Ider grimaced. “No, Melwas has bowmen along the southern approach, more to keep Arthur’s men from encroaching too closely. But he will turn them on you if he sees you. What sort of diversion must I provide?”
“I am afraid, Ider, that that will be up to you. Come, help me move this chest. We can waste no more time.”
* * *
The tunnel was narrow, more of a rabbit hole than a true passageway, or so it seemed that way to me. My monachus’s robes made it all the more difficult. Paved with flagstones, the tunnel had been constructed with some care. Stout beams spaced at regular intervals supported the roof.
In later years, I would see similar structures in the far west of our lands. But those were designed for storage and for hiding from marauders.
“Does anyone know who built these?” I asked, essentially in the dark as only our small torches provided any relief from the pitch black of the tunnel.
“I asked Coroticus, but he said no one really knows,” Ider answered, his voice seeming hollow and distant.
“What is at the end?”
“Just a wooden door.”
“Go then. We will find our way. When you judge we have had time to reach the other end, begin your diversion. We will need them looking away from us for as long as we can.”
“Is it near the midday yet?” Guinevere asked.
Ider shook his head. “You have more than an hour.”
With that, he disappeared, leaving Guinevere and me to brave the dank, dark tunnel alone. Somewhere down its length, I heard water dripping against the stones.
“Come. We have little time.” I stepped forward, comforted to feel Guinevere’s hand clutching at my tunic.
We inched along the mostly straight trackway, slipping occasionally on the slick flagstones for some time. The small torches gave us little warning of what faced us. Once I heard what sounded like a rat scurrying along, and a sound like something slithering, but I had no desire to find its source.
“We should move faster, Malgwyn,” Guinevere hissed behind me.
I turned to answer and then realized that her voice sounded different, or rather the sound of it in this tunnel had changed.
“What?”
Without answering, I took three quick steps forward, stretching my one arm out so that the torch might reach farther into the blackness.
At the edges of the yellow globe of light, I saw what I feared, what I had not even thought of until that moment. A landslide had partially blocked the tunnel. One of the wooden supports had rotted and collapsed on itself, spilling dirt and rock into the opening until only one tiny hole could be discerned in the upper corner of the slide.
I rushed over and held the torch close to the cavity. It was large enough so that I could see through to the other side. The landslide had been a recent one, I saw, as my hand sank into the soft earth. The blockage was not too thick, but it would take time to clear it.
Behind me, Guinevere gasped as she realized our predicament.
After a moment of silence, broken only by our labored breathing, Guinevere’s voice sounded. “Come, cousin. You will see what your one arm can do.”
So did we both.
* * *
We shifted rock and dirt behind us like furious demons, for what seemed like hours. But though my head ached and my heart felt ready to burst through my chest, I knew it could not have been that long.
In the dim, dim light of our fading torches, I looked to Guinevere and knew I was glad I did not have a looking glass. Her face was near covered in dirt and her gown looked more like a rag. Somehow the front had been ripped down almost revealing her breasts. My head turned in embarrassment, but her voice stopped me.
“Now is not the time for that, cousin. Besides, they are not the first you have ever seen.”
I grunted and returned to our task with that passion born only of desperation.
Ygerne’s life was hanging by less than a tortured thread from Guinevere’s gown.
Sharp pains ripped through my fingers with each handful of earth. I knew that at least some of my fingernails had been torn, and I guessed that Guinevere suffered the same.
Though we did not speak, only one vision drove us then—Ygerne kneeling, head bowed, awaiting the sword blow that would end her life. Two people were truly responsible for this horror. And both would
pay!
Even as I thought this, my arm slipped through into a void. I snatched up my nearly extinguished torch and saw that we had cleared enough space to wedge ourselves through.
“Here, cousin,” I urged her. “Help me through.”
“That would be better done from the other side, Malgwyn.”
I shook my head, though she could not really see it. “We do not know what is over there. Better that I go first.”
“No, better that I do, and then I can pull you through by your arm.”
She was right. Bending down, I let her use my back to hoist herself into the opening. I could hear her grunt, and the sound of dirt and rock sliding down beneath her.
“Guinevere?”
Nothing.
“Guinevere!”
The sound of spluttering and spitting burst through the hole. “Yes! I am all right. I just got a mouth full of dirt. Here, reach through!”
I did. And with yet more grunting and the ripping sound of my robe tearing from me, I tried with all my might. But my strength was gone.
My fingers, slick with sweat and mud, slipped from Guinevere’s grasp. That Ygerne might die because I could not pass through a hole in the earth was a sin, greater than any other sin.
“You are not helping, Malgwyn,” Guinevere said, almost in the same voice she had used when we were children at play. “When this is over, I shall tell Ygerne that you did not care for her enough.” And somehow that fleeting bit of youthful teasing put vigor back into my legs and I willed myself forward.
This time, our grip was strong, and together we pulled me through the hole, my robe catching and ripping as we went.
Then I was through, and the world became a blur in shades of darkness.
Groaning, I righted myself. I could sense rather than see Guinevere. “I would tell you, cousin, how bad you look, but I would be lying.”
Though the pains in my arm, legs, and hand were great, I forced myself to my feet. “We have little time to waste, if any.”
We slipped and slid along the wet stones, headed almost frantically for the end of the tunnel, not certain how far it was or what we might encounter on the way.
* * *
The end of the tunnel took us both by surprise. After feeling our way down the pitch black for what seemed a Roman schoenus but was probably only a few hundred feet, my fingers struck wood.
I put my shoulder into it, but it gave just a little.
“What is wrong?”
“Something is on top or against it.”
“Then put your back into it,” instructed Guinevere.
And I did.
And it gave, tumbling me out onto the ground behind the hovel. We were very nearly due north of the bridge, and the rains had truly swollen the river and the levels.
With Guinevere pushing at me from behind, I climbed out, flipped around, and helped her out as well.
My eyes flew to the sky. The sun was at meridian height!
“Come! We have no time!” And I set off along the edge of the water, the fatigue paining my legs forgotten.
“What shall we do?”
“Ider will have given up on us by now. Indeed, we may be too late. We will cross the water east of the bridge. Some of that stretch is still probably low enough that we can wade. What we cannot wade, we will swim.”
We crossed the ground with more speed than we thought possible.
Suddenly, we rounded the new, palisaded sisters’ community and came within sight of the bridge.
“NO!!” My roar resounded like that of a wounded bear.
In the distance, kneeling on the bridge, was Ider, head bowed, awaiting the blow from Aircol’s sword hovering above his neck.
I looked behind me at Guinevere, catching but a glimpse of the beautiful noble lady she was. Her hair hung in clumps; scratches marked her face. Her gown was shredded from waist up, and her bosom lay naked before me. I could only guess what I looked like.
“NO!!” I shouted again, as loud as I possibly could. And it worked well enough to steal Aircol’s attention. And everyone else’s.
Heads on both sides of the bridge turned toward us, and then arrows split the air. Melwas’s archers.
I grabbed Guinevere’s hand in mine and splashed into the flooded levels.
Though there was much shouting, I could not tell who was saying what. Aye, I could not tell much at all. Above the din, I heard someone shout “Hold!” but I did not know if it was Melwas, Arthur, or someone else.
I only knew that Ygerne might well be dead, and for reasons I could not fathom, Ider was next.
I was blessing the inaccuracy of Melwas’s archers when I felt the nip of an arrow at my ear.
And Guinevere yelped.
The water was at my chest now and I did the only thing I knew to do. “Grab my waist,” I ordered Guinevere.
But then a figure, something like the water nymphs my old dad had told me about, splashed past me.
Blood dripped from the arrow wound to Guinevere’s cheek.
“No, cousin. You grab mine.”
She was truly an extraordinary woman.
Neither of us could look up long enough to judge our position. My one arm was so exhausted that I despaired of holding on much longer.
More arrows split the water about us.
And I swallowed a mouthful of brown river water, choking me, burning my lungs.
Then Guinevere screamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
For a moment I believed that she had been struck again by an arrow.
Then something hard and wooden banged against my head.
And as had happened before in my life, a hand grabbed me and pulled me from the water.
“We have saved a drowning rat from the waters,” Merlin’s voice cracked.
“But what fate have we saved him for,” Bedevere answered.
As my eyes cleared, I realized that I was aboard one of Arthur’s flat-bottomed boats.
I jerked forward. “Ygerne? Ider?”
“Both yet live,” Bedevere assured us.
“For the moment,” Merlin added.
“Forever,” I said.
Neither man answered, just gave me an odd look.
“Malgwyn, Ider has confessed to committing all the killings. When Ygerne was brought out on the bridge as Arthur had promised, he broke into tears, rushed across the bridge and threw himself on Aircol’s mercy.”
And Guinevere, who now had a wool blanket draped across her bare breasts, said nothing but gave me a curious look.
“It works quite well, Malgwyn. Guinevere and Ygerne are innocent. But why do you look so disapproving?” Merlin finally asked.
“Guinevere did not do this thing. Nor did Ygerne. I know now who did.”
“Ider, of course.”
“Do not bother, Bedevere,” Guinevere said in a shaky voice. “ ’Twas not Ider, and Malgwyn will not tell you.”
Moments later, three of Arthur’s soldiers waded out and helped pull our boat ashore.
I looked about. Coroticus had spoken the truth. The consilium had gathered at least two thousand. They were lined up back down the road to the south, staying to the dry and avoiding the swamp. The bulk of the boats were farther south, along the ridge. Only a handful were here, on either side of the bridge. If this was a sample of what the consilium could do when united, the Saxons were indeed in trouble.
With Bedevere’s help, I sloshed through the water and regained land.
Ider was a true friend. I had underestimated his bravery. But he had provided just the distraction we needed. It was now time for my own.
I swooned.
“Malgwyn!” Merlin rushed to my side. My old friend did not miss a step when I winked at him. He rose and gestured for two of the soldiers. “Can’t you see this man is injured? Bring him to me at the bridge.” They hesitated. “Now!” stormed Merlin in his deepest and strongest voice.
Moments later, with Bedevere carrying Guinevere behind us, we mounted the bridge itself.
Arrayed before us were Arthur, Aircol, a still kneeling Ider, my dear Ygerne, Dubricius, and Coroticus. On the far side of the span were Melwas, two of his chief lieutenants, and young Gildas.
“You!” Arthur shouted at a soldier. “Fetch Morgan ap Tud!”
“My lord Rigotamos,” I croaked. “A word.”
Arthur approached with something like a smile on his face. He knelt beside me. “You accomplished that which I thought impossible. You have provided a confession.”
With a weak finger, I beckoned him closer. “A false confession, one that can be dismissed with a single stroke. Guinevere and Ygerne have not yet escaped Aircol’s sword.”
To his credit, Arthur maintained his smile, though it was a bit more strained, stretched at the corners. “Why would he confess to something he did not do?”
“To help me. To help you. Bear with me, Arthur. I have the answer, but it is not what you would expect. You will yet have your confession, I think.
The short, slender physician Morgan ap Tud arrived with his bag of herbs. “Some wine, Morgan,” I said more loudly. “I beg of you.”
Arthur rose and looked about. “You!” He pointed at one of the soldiers. “Go back to the shrine and have Cerdic send some wine!”
Morgan ap Tud leaned close, listened at my chest and grinned at me. “You will be fine.”
“But not all of us will be, Morgan. Not all of us.”
He blinked and stepped back, a look of consternation and confusion marking his face.
Aircol directed a soldier to watch Ider, and he approached me. “I thought you had run away, Malgwyn. What means this bizarre appearance?”
“I brought you Guinevere, my lord.”
“Yes, you did. But you see we have already found my daughter’s killer, this rogue sacerdote.”
“I do see that, Lord Aircol. But are you certain?”
“He has confessed it. Are you telling me that a sacerdote would lie?”
“You are telling me that a sacerdote would kill.”
A hint of a smile creased the lines at the corners of his eyes. “Malgwyn, I want revenge for my daughter, and I am just tired enough of all this delay that I will take it where I can find it. If not the monachus, then Guinevere and your woman will do.”