by Tony Hays
Arthur’s eyes popped open. “Then why did she deny it?”
“I do not know. That fact in itself would render this entire matter moot.
“Unless,” I began, the idea even then forming, “she fears that announcing such would make her a bigger target than she is.”
“How?”
“All we have now is a thin crust of order, due to your presence alone. Beneath the surface, these lands are bubbling with intrigue. If any of the factions knew she was with child and that they could eliminate both her claim and the child’s with one blow, I would not give a hide of land for her chances.”
Arthur scraped past me, and I noticed that he was wearing a new kind of armor, designed by Merlin but supposed to have been used many, many years before.
“You should wear something that will protect you, not a suit of linen.”
The Rigotamos laughed at me. “Do not let Merlin hear you say such.” He paused. “Take your dagger and slash at my stomach.”
“Oh, have you become a god now that you can survive the dagger?”
Arthur and Bedevere grinned. “Just do it.”
Seeing Arthur’s mood lightened was worth it. I pulled my dagger out and slashed across his midriff. My blade, as sharp as I could make it, did not even scar his breastplate.
“What? Is this some magic Merlin has wrought?”
“It is made with successive layers of cloth, melded together with the strongest glue. Shaped and allowed to harden, it is as strong as chain mail and lighter.”
“As you say, but I will still place my faith in chain.”
“What you say about Ysbail makes sense. But the question becomes, what do we do about it?”
Although I was becoming annoyed at the gesture, I shrugged. I seemed to forever be shrugging in this matter. “I do not know.”
“What do you not know, Malgwyn?”
I turned at the voice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I will tell you what I know,” Ysbail answered herself, gliding across the room. “I know that you have no idea who killed my husband. I know that you and your master here will do almost anything to keep me from executing Mordred, and that you only champion my cause in order to secure my allegiance to the consilium.”
“And I know that you hide the fact that you are with child because you fear assassins.”
Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears. “You do not know everything. And it is only in deference to Arthur that I tolerate you at all. You are cursed by the gods and should be turned out on the moors to die.”
Though Arthur swayed at the ferocity of her words, they did little to me.
“Do you think you are the first to call me cursed? No, I hold that honor myself. And you maintain your position only because the Rigotamos is championing it. Would you prefer that he call his troops together and leave? Within hours, Ysbadden, Druce, Cilydd, the Saxons, all would be reducing these lands to burning rubble.”
Now, Arthur recoiled at the ferocity of my words. But he did not dispute me.
Ysbail scowled at me and swept from the room, leaving a faint scent of lavender in her wake.
I turned to look at Arthur, expecting to see his now-familiar scowl only to be surprised at the grin stretching his lips.
“At last, my stubborn, disobedient scribe has returned. Now, perhaps, we can resolve all of this.”
“Have you been dissatisfied with my service, Rigotamos?” The heat was spreading up my neck and into my face.
Arthur just laughed. “Since we began this journey, you have moped about, mad at me, mad at everyone. You would be mad at Doged, but he conveniently was murdered and hence spared himself from your ire. You showed a flicker of your old self back in that unfortunate village. But since then it is as if you are fighting with yourself.”
My shoulders slumped.
“I know what worries you, Malgwyn. Last night, I sent a rider back to Castellum Arturius with but one task: to ride here on the wind at first word of your child’s birth.”
Those were the kinds of things that endeared Arthur’s men to him. Yes, he was a lord, a king. And, yes, he sometimes had to take action that might seem cruel. But in a day when loyalty was both everything and nothing, Arthur was an exceptional man.
“Then our children will be cousins.” I had meant to wait until Merlin was returned to us, but Arthur should know.
The Rigotamos drew his head back and blinked. “What?”
“It seems Ygerne is not the only one with child at Castellum Arturius.”
“Guinevere?”
“Aye. Merlin was meant to tell you, but I could no longer keep it from you.”
His eyes clouded over. “How long have you known?”
“Calm yourself, Arthur. Merlin told me just before we were set upon. I was hoping for his rescue so that he could deliver the good news himself.”
Bedevere clapped him on the back, and I saw a true smile on Arthur’s visage for the first time in many moons.
“Let us ensure that his father keeps his crown for a while longer,” Bedevere said. He turned to me. “Your prediction about Tristan proved to be true. My scouts report that he is on the way with twice the number of soldiers that we requested.”
“He was a boy, and boys make mistakes. He is proving himself to be a good man.”
“Go,” Arthur instructed our friend, and square-jawed, loyal Bedevere merely nodded once and left.
Arthur looked at me then. “Sit down, Malgwyn.”
And I did, and he took a seat opposite me.
“I did not dispute you in front of Ysbail, but you understand what risk I would take should I repudiate her now and support Druce?”
“Aye, without doubt. You would lose your reputation for loyalty and honor. But for me to threaten such behind closed doors, out of the earshot of our enemies, costs you nothing.”
Arthur nodded and smiled. “Good. And that is why I did not dispute you. But I wanted to be certain that you did not think that badly of me.”
“Do not fear that, Arthur. Your consistency is at times boring, at other times frustrating, and on occasion dangerous, but I do not doubt its sincerity. Whether I like it or not, I have become your harbinger of ill winds. But, since I have never been all that well liked, I do not mind being the point of your sword.”
“Malgwyn,” Arthur began, leaning forward. “For a man with the sort of uncommon insight that you possess, you know little about how people view you. You ARE well liked, but more importantly you are well-respected.”
“I doubt that David would agree.”
“David respects you more than most. But he sees it as a weakness.”
We sat silently for a moment longer. I wanted to say something to Arthur, something I had locked away long before. But a knock at the door stole the impulse from me.
Our visitor was one of Arthur’s men. “Rigotamos, a man is here requesting to see you. He says that he has Lord Bedevere’s and Master Malgwyn’s permission.”
“That would be Trevelyan,” I realized.
Arthur looked confused.
“He is the lord of those poor folk from Ennor, pleading his case for lands on which to settle.”
The Rigotamos nodded. “Poor folk indeed. I was told that many of them died when the sea swallowed their land.” He shrugged. “I have little to give him but my ear. That shall have to be enough.” He motioned to the guard to allow Trevelyan entry. I took the opportunity to leave. The last thing I wanted to see at that moment was another disappointed man.
* * *
As I wound my way through the narrow lanes, I realized just how alone I was. My three most faithful companions in these matters—Merlin, Bedevere, and Kay—were all away, or lost. Even young Ider, who had proved himself so loyal and brave in the recent affair at Ynys-witrin, was at Castellum Dinas.
Remembering some cheese I carried in my ever-present leather pouch, I reached in and felt around, my hands coming to rest on a pair of square objects. I pulled them out. An ancient pair of di
ce, brown and worn, given to me by my old father. He claimed that they had passed from father to son from the old Roman soldier who started our clan. I suspected, though I never knew for certain, that my dad won our land with these. And then a thought struck me, and I picked up my pace.
“Sulien.”
The old warrior appeared in the doorway of the hovel we shared, a questioning look wrinkling his leathered face.
“Go and ask among the soldiers; find the friends of the guard who was murdered. Tell them you have an amphora of Gallic wine and dice. Invite them back here to drink and play.”
“The world is collapsing for these people, and you wish to play knucklebones?” His tone was beyond chastising.
“Trust me, Sulien.”
He shook his head ruefully. “As you say.” And with that he headed off to do as I asked.
The door of the hovel popped open and Daron slid out. She strode straight up to me and put her hand out. “Give me some coins and I will go fetch the amphora and some food.”
I did not reach for my pouch, instead frowning down at her. She could not have reprimanded more powerfully with words as did the frown she threw my way.
“I will not run away again. If I am to have justice for my people, my family, I am wed to you until this affair is better.”
The firm set to her jaw decided the issue for me, and I pulled some coins from my pouch, giving them to her. Her fingers lingered on mine a second or two longer than was comfortable. But then she spun about and started off up the lane to Doged’s kitchen.
Doged. It was no longer his kitchen. Indeed, I could still see a thin wisp of smoke ascending to the sky from his funeral pyre. But if not Doged’s then whose? Poor Doged, old though he may have been, he gave his people stability, hope. Now, they faced nothing but division and chaos.
* * *
Three hours later, it would seem to a passerby that a new tavern had opened. Daron had been forced to slap all three of Doged’s men for taking liberties as she served the wine. Sulien had tossed four men out who thought it a public party. And the friends of the dead guard considered themselves fortunate that the strange, one-armed man wished to enjoy their company. And they felt exceptionally fortunate that he was wealthy and horrible at knucklebones.
But suddenly, their luck turned bad. Worse than bad. Between the one-armed man and his soldier friend, they took every denarius the guards had; the poor fellows had even lost the old coins of the Durotrigii that weighed down their pouches.
But drunk from the good Gallic wine and convinced that their luck would change, they bet all they had on one roll of the dice: their freedom.
It wasn’t uncommon in those days, but it was becoming more rare. In all honesty, I had maneuvered these poor fools into just this position.
And.
They lost.
I have seen the defeated in battle become servi. Once, when Ambrosius was yet the Rigotamos, I saw Lord David enslave an entire Saxon village. But these people were already defeated; they had had time to accept their fate. These soldiers had not, and the sudden turn from elation to defeat lined their faces in ways that even a lifetime did not. All in the span of a moment.
A flash of rebellion sparked in their eyes, but Sulien’s sword, laid across the table, drowned that errant spark.
But I had no intention of taking their freedom. I simply needed them to answer my questions.
“A sad turn of events, men. But this is what happens when you risk everything for nothing.”
“This is not fair.”
“No, you cheated us; you must have.”
“We can resolve this fairly, I think. I need information. And I will trade you your freedom in return.”
“That is all?” said one, the leader, an old man with a ragged scar down his cheek.
I nodded with a smile. “That is all.”
“Then ask and be damned.” The glow of the wine had fled, and I knew that a headache was even then growing in the back of his neck. I had felt the same thing many times myself.
“One of your fellows was murdered two nights past.”
“Aye,” the older man said, “Rhys. What of it?”
“Rhys took bribes to give people access to Lord Doged. What do you know of this?”
All three put on their most shocked faces, but I was unimpressed. “I do not think that any of you or Rhys, for that matter, knowingly assisted in your master’s death. And what you tell me now, here, will be carried on the wind no further.”
They exchanged looks and then all nodded.
“Rhys was greedy. Each of us had chances to profit. But Lord Doged was a good man, and we took our tasks seriously. Rhys was new to Doged’s service and felt no loyalty. He came with the Lady Ysbail.”
“What chances? You were approached?”
All three nodded vigorously. “Of course,” said the youngest. “Druce himself came to me. He offered me lands and coins if I would let him pass.”
“To what end?”
“To kill Doged, I supposed.”
“But you rejected him.”
“Aye. The old master was a good man. He gave me leave when my mother was dying.”
The others obviously agreed. The old one said, “I was with him the last time he took arms for the people. We tracked and killed a Scotti raiding party. When Lord Doged was a younger man, he was a ferocious warrior. We caught them plundering a village, and Doged himself waded into them and saved a child, killing three of the devils in the process. No, we all told them to pleasure themselves.”
“Except Rhys,” I prompted.
“Aye. He thought we were foolish for turning down their offers.”
“So, who did he deal with: Druce? The Saxons? Who?”
“If we knew, master, we would tell you. Had Rhys not caught that lord running from the hall, we could have all stood accused.”
He was right. Because of the ever-present threat of assassination, those who guarded their lords’ persons were held equally liable should something happen.
Of course, all that they said could be simply lies, told to placate me, but I was accustomed to sorting out the lies from the truths. That was one of my few talents. These men were not lying. I would stake my one hand on it.
“I would ask one last thing in exchange for your freedom,” I continued after a long pause.
“Ask.”
“Ysbail is your mistress now. I would ask you to be more vigilant in guarding her person. And I promise you this: a purse of gold greater than any that her enemies could offer you, if she stays alive until after this court renders its judgment.”
The three exchanged serious glances. But it took little time for them to nod their agreement.
“Now, go sober up and get back to your duties. Wait.” I had forgotten something. “Have any of you seen a brooch like this before?” I pulled the agaphite piece from my pouch.
“Certainly, master. All in these parts know that brooch. It belongs to Lord Cilydd.”
“How can you be certain that this is his? Surely if there is one there are more about?”
“Aye,” the older man said. “But this is the only one in these lands where the blue stone is set in silver, or at least the only one that I have seen that is set in silver. The others are set in pewter.”
One of the other two twisted his face in uncertainty.
“You know of another?” I asked.
He shook his head. “In the back of my mind, I remember seeing another, but I can no longer remember who had it or where I saw it.”
“Another silver fibula?”
“Just like Lord Cilydd’s,” he confirmed. “But it may have been a passing trader’s cloak.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
“Not completely, master. But ask Old One-Eye. He’s the only one that sells them. His shop is down by the docks.”
“‘Old One-Eye,’ what sort of name is that?”
“He has another name, but no one knows it. He’s a dusky one and comes from far away
, from Judaea some say, from Egypt others allow. It is said that he was once a slave and his master took his eye for some crime. He wears a leather patch over it and some sort of hat of wound cloth.”
* * *
The later in the day, the more threatening the northwestern sky became. I walked up on the parapet surrounding Doged’s seat and sought the seaward side. A true gale was blowing to the north. On the distant horizon I could see the white peaks of wind-whipped waves.
“A rider from Castellum Dinas has arrived.”
I turned to see that Sulien had joined me on the parapet. “A single rider?” My heart quickened. A single rider meant Bedevere had stayed there; a single rider meant there was something wrong.
“Aye.” His tone was sober; he knew what that portended. “While searching for Merlin, they found sign of two, maybe three hundred horse, all seeming to converge on Castellum Dinas. They rode straight to the town and found that Kay and Ider had already suffered one assault, but had repelled it. And yet, they had been unable to identify their attackers. They had killed some, certainly, but they bore no lord’s symbol on their tunics, nothing to mark their allegiance, and no one among our men or the people of the town recognized them.”
“And no Merlin?”
Sulien shook his head slowly.
“Is Arthur seeking me?”
“Yes, but not for the reason you think.”
“What then?”
“Druce and Ysbadden have gone to Ysbail and given her an ultimatum: Honor Lord Doged by executing his murderer, Lord Mordred, or face a true rebellion. Malgwyn…” Sulien paused. “With Druce and Ysbadden together, and this phantom band tying up Bedevere and Ider, our resources are halved; we might not win in a pitched battle.”
The need to chastise him for such talk rose from my belly and near choked me, but he was right. Whoever these scoundrels were, they were effectively preventing us from being a factor in this affair. I respected Arthur’s Christ and His Father. I truly did. But at that moment, I wished only that Illtud were still with us rather than studying for the Church in Gaul. He was one of our finest commanders, and I thought that we needed him far more than Arthur’s God did.