by Tony Hays
Dubricius’s heavy jowls sank in disbelief. “That is unacceptable!”
“Episcopus, let me explain it in terms even you can understand. You have no say in this matter. None.”
“He is right, episcopus,” Coroticus said, a little uncomfortably.
“The Church is ascendant in all things,” Dubricius replied. “Do not think that you cannot be dismissed as well, Coroticus.”
The warning was ominous, but the abbot suddenly straightened and strode toward Dubricius with a purpose. “Do not think you can rid yourself of me so easily. Ider acted foolishly. But my father in Aquae Sulis has stronger connections in Rome than even you. You would do well to remember that.”
For the first time in my acquaintance with Dubricius he seemed truly frightened. He spun about, gestured to Gildas, and they hurried back toward Ynys-witrin, with Coroticus following in their wake.
“Well, Master Malgwyn, can you think of some service that this young pony can do for us?” Arthur enjoyed teasing.
“He is impetuous, my lord. But perhaps that can be made to serve us.” I reached toward Ider with my one hand and tousled his tonsure.
Arthur slapped him on the back. “Do not worry, boy. Your days of serving the Christ may not be over yet. But in the meantime, entering the service of the Rigotamos will give you fine experience against that day.” He looked about, saw Bedevere and called him forth. “Lord Bedevere, see what use you can make of this new recruit.”
Bedevere chuckled and Ider smiled at long last. Off they went together.
“Shall we escort the women, my lord?” I looked about but Ygerne and Guinevere had gone.
“Perhaps we should escort each other. Tell me, what errand did you send Illtud on?”
“Give me yet a little time to see if anything comes of it. If he is successful, it will rid us of one problem.”
“Malgwyn, you are forever taking liberties.” Arthur chuckled. “But you have done what I thought impossible, so I will humor you.” He looked about, the wind catching his cloak. “Where has Aircol gone?”
I had not noticed him leave, and I climbed upon a half wall of logs, intended for a fortification. Swiveling back and forth, I finally saw him, a lone figure riding slowly along the lane, headed toward Gwyneira’s burial place.
“What of Talorc, Arthur?” I asked, hopping down from the pile. Flies had gathered about the dead boy. I felt no dishonor at being the instrument of his death; he had certainly felt none when he killed the children. But I understood him now, and Wynn had not been completely wrong when he said that we were to blame.
“Arthur?” I ceased musing and looked to the Rigotamos, who stared at the slave’s body fixedly.
“Let him glut the ravens. The people need to know how we deal with such as he.”
“Rigotamos, I pray to your god, the three gods, all of the gods, that we never encounter another such as he.”
We walked south along the Via Arturius then, silent, while all about us, the clanking chains and creaking leather of an army disbanding filled the air.
“Arthur,” I began, reluctantly, “my conduct in this matter has not been—“
He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. “No, Malgwyn. You are a victim of your own conscience and no man can be condemned for that. You saw a series of children savagely murdered and you were not allowed to do anything about it. That burned within you, as though you yourself were guilty. When you learned of yet another death, that misplaced guilt surged up from your stomach like tainted meat.”
“But even before that, I behaved toward you like an unruly child.”
Arthur smiled and shook his head. “Malgwyn, you were angry with me, and rightly so. I had cast aside your cousin in favor of another. I kept you from searching for the killer of these girls. But even in all of that, you judged me well enough to know how far you could push. The Christ help me if you ever turn against me.
“You have the luxury of doing the right thing, the just thing. A king by election, not by birth, does not have that freedom, not always. You know that I wish to be just, and I need you at my side reminding me of that.”
I nodded. It was moments like that which reminded me why I had followed his banner so many years before.
But one more frayed knot had yet to be repaired in this tapestry of frayed knots.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Though Ygerne was less angry with me, she still pled exhaustion when I stopped by on my return from the bridge. I trudged through the lanes wearily, coming finally to the simple house that Merlin and I shared, to find my friend sitting on a pile of furs with great deep creases in his already wrinkled forehead. “What troubles you?” I asked, unhooking a gourd of water from a post and taking a swig.
“A matter has been weighing heavily on me, Malgwyn. Can I trust in your silence?”
“Of course.” For a second, my weariness disappeared. Merlin was more than my friend; he was my teacher, indeed something like my father.
For a long moment, he was silent. “You know that I have never married.”
I nodded.
“But that does not mean that I have no children.”
This took me completely by surprise. “What are you saying, Merlin?”
“Malgwyn, I know you. Have you not often remarked, at least to yourself, on how much Owain and I favor?”
So many pieces fell into place then. Nyfain, the boy’s mother, had been a woman of uncertain fidelity even when her first husband was living. His death simply brought her lusts out into the open and then the marriage to poor Accolon did nothing to change her ways.
“Are you certain?”
He cast a jaundiced look my way. “Have you any doubts?”
I could not help but laugh. “No, even Paderic could see the resemblance.”
“I should have acknowledged him years ago, but now I am afraid that to do so would cause more harm than good.”
It did my heart good and lightened my mood considerably. “When we have sorted out this affair, Merlin, we will sort out that one. Does Arthur know?”
“No, but I suspect he has guessed.”
“Do not look at this as a problem. See it as an opportunity.” I glanced about the room and realized that, once again, we were without food in our storage pits. “Come, let us see if we can scavenge some food at Arthur’s kitchen. At least Cerdic will not be there to complain.”
“What of Wynn, Malgwyn? I had forgotten about him.”
“He will keep. Come, my stomach howls for food.”
* * *
And keep Wynn did.
I spent the time waiting at a stone mason’s shop near Lindinis, where I supervised the carving of four memorial stones commissioned by me and a fifth commissioned by Arthur. Such stones for women were uncommon in our world, but, as I have been told so many times, I am an uncommon man. I needed to honor those poor children who had been stripped from us. Arthur needed to honor his queen.
Though little Mariam fussed at me for my absence every time I saw her during those days, I needed the relative quiet of Lindinis. I needed it to consider all that had happened, and all that was yet to happen. Others were seeking solitude as well. Merlin mentioned that Kay had absented himself from the fort without saying what he was about. Arthur stayed secluded in his chambers, emerging only occasionally, and then without much comment. He sent a message off by his fastest horse, but he would not answer when anyone asked. Each evening, when daylight was stealing away, Arthur could be found atop the parapet, staring across the lands in some sort of reverie.
As the stonemasons cut the memorials, I took my seat on an old log and tried to understand how force should be used and how justice should be applied. We lived in a world where strength, though not everything, was truly one of only two things of consequence—the other being wealth. And though I saw no place for truth and justice in that, I could not resist the urge to pursue them. Someone needed to.
Then, one day as I sat and watched the workmen, my attentio
n was drawn to a woodworker in a nearby shop. He was using an old Roman lathe to turn a piece of wood into some object. I watched for a moment, fixed on the thin curls of wood he shaved from the stick, leaving a smoother, almost shiny surface in its wake.
I reached into my pouch, forever and always hanging from my neck, and pulled the bit of worked wood out, the wood I had found in poor Hafren at the White Mount. And now I understood all that had happened on that dark night so long ago. And the smile that had once marked me as “Smiling” Malgwyn returned, for another enemy was soon to die, and I took great pleasure in it.
* * *
The waiting ended after a fortnight, when our old friend Illtud returned, looking weary, bedraggled, and accompanied by three men.
Word of their arrival reached me at Lindinis by a rider dispatched by Arthur. The stones were nearly finished, and once my next chore was completed, I would take them to be set up. I mounted my own horse and rode at a trot to Castellum Arturius.
Arthur met me at the main gate. He was not happy, but his anger was checked by his curiosity. “Your guests are disposed as you requested.” He paused. “I must question your judgment in having them brought here.”
I waved him off with my one hand and dismounted. “It needs to be done this way, Arthur. I promise you. My intent is not to subvert you, but it is better this way.”
“Why have you been so secretive?”
“To protect you. Please, humor me a little longer.”
With his hand brushing back his long hair, the Rigotamos stared at me with undisguised confusion. But after a moment, he followed as I mounted the lane toward his hall.
The great timber hall was quiet. The aisles and great feasting table were empty. I motioned for Arthur to sit, with Bedevere and Kay flanking him. Mordred, Gawain, Gaheris, and David had arrived earlier in the day, summoned by Arthur at my request. Merlin I kept at my side. I would not sit. Illtud stood just inside the main door. My “guests” were nowhere to be seen.
“We are here as you requested. What is this, Malgwyn?” Arthur demanded, his patience truly worn thin. Guinevere yet refused to see him. With Gwyneira gone, he did not understand, but I did. She was protecting herself.
I nodded to Illtud. “Bring the Druid.”
Keeping the Druid Wynn prisoner had brought condemnation on me by David and Mordred. Arthur certainly could have granted Wynn’s freedom, but he did not. He knew that I had a reason for begging his indulgence. And he was loathe to accommodate either David or Mordred in any way.
I took a deep breath, straightened my tunic with my one hand, and prepared to begin. Roman justice might yet have another day of life left in it.
“I wanted you all here because I think you all have a contribution to make to this. Too often we impose punishment quickly, fatally.”
“As you did with Talorc?” Mordred said, but I ignored him.
“That cannot be done in this case.”
“What is this nonsense, Arthur? This is why you dragged me here?” David’s annoyance dripped from every word.
“Be silent!” Arthur commanded, banging a fist on the table. The room fell quiet.
“We know that the Druid did not kill any of these women. It is an affront to the gods to keep him imprisoned or to punish him,” Mordred argued.
Arthur rose and placed both hands firmly on the table. “You will be silent or I shall order you both gagged.”
Mordred and David looked about then and realized that none of their aides were there. Arthur had conveniently gotten them out of our path.
Silence reigned.
And Illtud entered with the Druid Wynn, hands tied before him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his hair hung in greasy locks. I noticed some sores on his bare feet. All of it did my heart good.
I had no sympathy to spare that day.
“Bring him here,” I ordered, pointing to the space between the table and Arthur’s chambers. Illtud shoved him roughly to the hard-beaten earth, tossing his staff to the ground beside him.
“I protest!” shouted Mordred, leaping to his feet. “This priest came here as my guest!”
“And he was treated as such until he became suspect in the murder of Queen Gwyneira. You turned him over willingly. If you would wish us to use the ancient rules of hospitality?” and Arthur’s voice trailed off.
Mordred sat down immediately. By the ancient rules of hospitality, Mordred could himself be found guilty of any crime committed by one of his guests.
Wynn struggled to his knees, his face smudged with dirt. He did not even attempt to disguise his hatred of us. “Is this where you condemn me on false charges?”
“No, Wynn. This is where we discuss your crimes against our people.”
He spat on Arthur’s floor. “I did not touch those girls. This is not my doing. It is your doing, all of you. You treated that boy like an animal and he repaid you for your ‘kindnesses.’”
“You know much about him for not being involved.”
Wynn pursed his lips. “I have long observed how the believers of the Christ talk of love, redemption, forgiveness, but then you treat your people as swine for the butcher.”
“Druids sacrifice innocents to appease their gods,” I said, shrugging. “Better a live pig than a dead child. Yet, for a man, Druid or no, who claims to know nothing of this, you seem very well acquainted with his reasoning.”
He did not like my statement. Shrugging, he rose to his feet. “The soldiers talk.”
“The soldiers care little about why the boy would kill. Are you certain that you know nothing of these deeds?”
“That is what I said,” Wynn insisted.
“And you certainly did not know that Talorc was involved?”
“I had no contact with the boy.”
There!
A flicker of surprise. Two flickers.
But not from Wynn.
From Mordred and David.
“You have something to add, Lord Mordred?”
He fair jumped from his chair.
“Wynn was your guest and lived in your camp. Did you ever see him with Talorc?”
Mordred did not want to answer. Those hawkish eyes, flashing back and forth, and the nervous tongue licking his lips, told that tale all too well. But he was too smart to defend the Druid, not when he did not know what I was about.
“Mordred?” Arthur prodded him as he would a stubborn horse.
Arthur’s cousin brushed his braided lock from his face. “Yes, I saw him talking to Talorc. Cerdic had loaned me the boy to help serve in my camp.”
“They spoke? Often?”
Mordred nodded begrudgingly.
“About what?”
“I do not eavesdrop on priests and slaves.”
“And you, Lord David? Did you see these conferences?”
A proud, handsome man, David was also more clever than his ally Mordred. He could hide his lies better.
“I did, but like Lord Mordred, I have no idea what they were talking about.” And that was the lie. But David was not my quarry on this day.
“Are you certain?” I narrowed my eyes. “You came to me just after Gwyneira was killed and—”
“I might have heard a little,” David admitted, rushing to cut me off. “The Druid frequently told the boy that Aircol would never live up to his promise to see Talorc freed.”
“Frequently?”
David hated me yet, and well he should. He had no greater enemy than me. But on this one issue, he had no choice but to cooperate. “He seemed to badger the boy unmercifully about it.”
Turning back to Wynn, I suppressed the pleasure I felt at forcing Mordred and David to serve my purposes. “You see, Druid, even my enemies put the lie to your words.”
“They are servants of Arthur’s,” he said, turning away. “They will say that which pleases the Rigotamos.”
I chuckled despite myself. “You obviously do not know Mordred and David that well,” and that drew nervous laughter from everyone.
“So I co
unseled with the boy. That proves nothing. It was easy for Aircol to say he would press for Talorc’s freedom, but it did not happen, did it?”
“Events hardly allowed for it. You insured that.”
Arthur cocked his head and nodded slowly, slightly. He understood then what I was about, but the frown that next appeared on his face said that he did not see success along this path.
David was becoming impatient. As was Mordred and even Gawain. But they were not truly my audience, and I had now done what I needed to do. I had caught Wynn in a lie. I had shown that he had poisoned Talorc’s mind against Aircol. Now it was time to reveal the last lie.
“Wynn, you have said that you never touched any of these poor children.”
He nodded, eyeing me carefully.
“But then why were you in the forest near where Fercos’s daughter was killed right afterward?”
A hint of alarm flashed in his eyes. “That is impossible. I was nowhere near there.”
I walked over to his staff and picked it up. Cradling it under my half-arm, I moved to the table and placed it there. “Then, perhaps, you could explain how a bit of your staff appeared where poor Fercos’s daughter was killed?”
I pulled the large splinter with the smooth face from my pouch and laid it next to Wynn’s staff. “I found that in Hafren’s wounds when I cleaned her.”
“A lie! A complete lie!” Wynn proclaimed.
But the lords all stood and looked at the items. They were not a perfect match, but when David realized how neatly the bloodied splinter matched the little gap at the bottom of the staff, the shock in his eyes turned to revulsion.
“She was but a child, Druid!”
In unison, they all turned to look at Wynn, who finally understood.
“Tell me, Wynn. Was it you or Talorc who knocked me down in the copse at the White Mount?”
Wynn’s eyes began that flickering back and forth that animals begin when they are hunting an escape.
“What I do not know is whether you left that splinter behind when you showed Talorc how to ravage her or whether you took your own pleasure when the boy had left?”