by Tony Hays
“Who were these visitors?”
“Her brother, Ysbadden; Druce and David; Cilydd; Trevelyan; and the one-eyed merchant from the wharves.”
I thought for a moment. Her visitors, mostly, were far from strange. Ysbadden, Druce, and David were probably continuing to threaten her. Cilydd too, but for a different purpose. Trevelyan was probably pressing his plea for lands; I suspected he was thrown out on his ear. Ysbail had far greater matters with which to contend. But the one-eyed merchant? That made little sense.
“And Daron?”
“Malgwyn, we are running very low on soldiers at Trevelgue. Coming even this far with merely a three-man escort is lunacy. Our other men are assigned to other duties. We could not spare one more man to stay back and watch Daron. With those who ravaged her village about the town, I did not want to chance her safety.”
“Agreed.”
“Malgwyn, Sulien.” Arthur was already on horseback. “Time to return to Trevelgue.”
I looked to the sky and judged that the edge of the storm was even then pounding Trevelgue and all who called her home.
* * *
“So, who killed Doged?” Arthur had ridden up next to me.
“My lord, you know that I dislike revealing such things until necessary.”
“Malgwyn, this is an affair of Doged’s people. I can certainly influence events, but you have no reason to withhold this information from me.”
“Rigotamos, I do not do this to be contrary. I do not like to withhold information. But oftentimes, my instinct may give me the answer, but it is only after reflection that I am able to explain it logically.” I did not mention the real reason—that in times past I had been wrong and the truth only presented itself at the last moment. Better to be chastised for keeping one’s own counsel than to speak prematurely and be revealed an idiot.
Even in the wind, I could hear Arthur grunt unkindly. “You would try a man’s patience. But tell me this: Did what you learned from my mother aid in finding your answer?”
“I would say that it was the key.”
And the change in his voice was apparent. “So, you know.”
“I do, Arthur. And I promised your mother to keep the truth sacrosanct.”
Silence. Then, “Good.”
“I will drop back a bit and make certain no one is following us.”
Again, Arthur grunted. And I slowed my horse and let the others trudge past me.
“So what have you discovered?” Daron had fallen in step with me.
“Unfortunately, nothing about your village. But I did encounter some of those same men not far from here. Very soon, the road will be clear to settling scores for your people.”
No moonlight brightened her face, but it seemed to me that I saw her smile nonetheless. “So you have not forgotten your promise after all? May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“You do not know me, not really. You did not know the people of the village. Yet, you take up our cause as if you are of our blood.”
I looked at her and weighed my answer. “Once, I had a woman who looked much like you. Once, I lived in a village much like yours. One day I came home to find it ravaged, like yours. So, Daron, we are of one blood.”
She simply nodded.
“But I must ask you, Daron: Where did you go on the night that Doged was killed?”
“I went nowhere.”
“Sulien saw you.”
“Then Sulien was mistaken. I did not stir.”
“Well, it is of no matter. I have sorted out the question of Doged’s killer.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed.”
“Who killed him?”
“If I will not tell Arthur, I certainly will not tell you.”
With that, she kicked her horse in the flank and flew forward. Her words rang false, and I felt a knot the size of my fist grow in my belly. I was grateful of only one thing: Whatever game she might be playing, it had little to do with our current crisis.
Before I could follow that thought further, Sulien, who had been riding ahead, trotted back down our little column.
“Horses ahead. Perhaps a dozen.”
“Too many for us to take a chance with.” Arthur’s voice emerged from the darkness.
“Rigotamos?” An unexpected voice then sounded.
Daron.
“Speak.”
“We are not that far distant from my village. I know these lands well.”
I realized that she was right. We were at that part of the journey that took us southeast, passing not far from Celliwic. The idea of taking refuge there flew through my mind, but though it would provide walls, we had left no troops to guard those walls, and five men and a woman would provide precious little coverage.
“Can you guide us along a path that will avoid Celliwic? I have no soldiers there, and I would not endanger the people of the town by leading these assassins into their midst.”
“I know a way.”
So, our little band followed Daron through winding forest paths and across streams large and small. With the last breath of the gale still blowing around us, it was difficult to keep track of our direction, but I sensed that it was more or less a southerly one.
No more reports surfaced of mysterious horsemen, and we relaxed a bit. I began thinking about how I would convince Ysbail of the truth. She would reject it; that much I knew. Much would depend on the strength of my argument and how many people were present when I spoke. Why? I wished to place her in a situation where she could not simply reject me out of hand. Igraine had confirmed for me what I was already seeing in these events. It was a painful truth, but truths usually bring pain. Others would see the truth as well, and they would believe it, as it was not something that would profit me or Arthur or the consilium.
“Malgwyn.”
Sulien. We were traveling without benefit of torches, just in case these marauders were about.
“Here.”
“Daron has disappeared.”
“What!”
“She rode ahead, claiming that she must check our route. When she did not return, I went forward. She was nowhere to be found.”
Blast the girl!
But before I could continue berating the absent Daron, our horses began snorting and pawing the earth.
Others were near.
I turned swiftly to warn Arthur, but a break in the clouds above let a bit of moonlight slip through.
A ring of dark figures surrounded us. The first thought that ran through my mind was that Daron had betrayed us.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
With but five of us, we stood no chance of defeating them in close combat. At least twenty-five of them encircled our small band. And they wore the now-familiar gray tunics.
None of them spoke a word.
Each of us gripped our swords and spears and readied our hearts for the end. I said a prayer to Arthur’s God for the safety of my family. We would not escape this fate. My heart fair leaped from my chest and nervous sweat stung my eyes.
But they did not charge.
One said something to another in a tongue that was near incomprehensible. But I recognized enough of the words to be incensed. The speaker had said that we traveled as noisily as a bunch of women. “Or led by women,” the other had answered.
Daron.
What else was I to believe? She had led us here and then disappeared. We were betrayed.
They were otherwise silent, for the most part. One barked orders to the others and about half the men moved toward us. We immediately raised our weapons, which prompted the leader to halt his men. One pointed at me and said something in their nearly comprehensible language, but which sounded a great deal like “we were told that the one-armed man was valuable and not to harm him.”
So. They did not know that they held the Rigotamos of all Britannia. I saw Arthur’s mouth open, but I put out my hand and touched his wrist. Better not to reveal his identity until we knew more. The band of thugs did
not seem disposed to kill us out of hand. How they knew of me I could only guess. Perhaps Daron had been touched by my determination to avenge her village.
Ha. Her village? Now it seemed that she was more the attacker than innocent victim. They must have left her behind to plant a spy in our camp, a great deal of trust to put in a woman, but a shrewd ploy. We would never have believed a man. It told me much of our enemy’s intelligence.
I spoke then, in our language, assuming that they could understand enough. “What law have we broken? We are but common soldiers out on a foul night.”
The leader looked to me and smiled. “If what I am told about the one-armed man is true, you are anything but ordinary.”
“Who tells you anything? Who are you?”
And he laughed at me. I noted his long, drooping mustache and shaved chin, a mark of many Gallic tribes. But he did not “feel” like a Gaul. Perhaps he was from Braga, where many Britons had settled in earlier days. Nimue, one of my favorites among the servi, had been from Braga. But she was dead now, on the very eve of her freedom.
The question remained, why was he here? And why were they killing Britons indiscriminately? They served no lord that I knew. They were not Picts nor Scotti nor Saxons for that matter. Mercenaries. Hired by Druce. I thought him fully capable of such. And David. This smelled like David. He was a duplicitous snake.
But I kept these thoughts to myself, though I longed to speak with Arthur about them. The less attention I gave him now, though, might mean the difference between life and death. I looked quickly to the others, but they were following my lead and staying silent.
Their leader motioned to a pair of his men, and they disarmed us and began the task of tying our hands together. Of course, my situation posed a special challenge, but they simply tied my good arm to my body.
They began marching us to the east, toward, I estimated, Castellum Dinas. Why they had not yet killed us I did not understand. But I knew that we were better off keeping Arthur’s true identity a secret, or perhaps it was my own pride that made me pleased to be thought a more important man than he. I still do not know.
* * *
We reached our destination just as dawn began to grow in the east. Whoever these people were, they had established a marching camp just to the west of Castellum Dinas. But it was absolutely a military camp, no women. They were resourceful. I saw that they had scavenged some old Roman leather tents, now patched with a multitude of materials. We were thrown into one of those and our hands untied.
One thing puzzled me: They had no more than a hundred men, yet they were rampaging through the land at will. As I pondered this, I felt a hand touch my shoulder.
“They have the advantage of surprise, Malgwyn. And we are far from our home, in what is truly a strange country, at least to us. It is also a country at war with itself.”
“Do you still believe that Castellum Dinas and those rocks are so important to the consilium?”
“More than ever now. Because now, it appears that even more people know of them. And since we did not share what we knew with anyone, that indicates that our foes came to that conclusion with different information.” His logic was complex, but it was there.
A breeze blew the scent of roasting chicken into our tent, and my nose crinkled at the smell. And my belly rumbled. It had been many hours since I had eaten.
“If we do not return to Trevelgue by sunset, Mordred will be dead and consilium influence in these lands will be but a faint memory,” I reminded him.
Arthur looked at me then, coldly. “If we do not return by sunset, it will be because we are dead.”
Sulien and the other two soldiers sucked in air at the bluntness of Arthur’s words, and it did not escape his notice. I was curious to see how he would handle this. Arthur’s title as Rigotamos caused men to follow him without question. But there, in that tent, we were all equal, all prisoners.
“Sulien,” he began. “You have a woman and son near Ynys-witrin.”
My friend jerked back in surprise. “I do, Rigotamos.”
“And you men,” Arthur said, indicating the other two men. “You each have families in the old Roman village below Castellum Arturius.”
They nodded.
“Do they have ample food to eat? Can your children play without fear?”
All three men looked at each other questioningly, but they nodded nonetheless, though Sulien’s face was shadowed with some doubt.
“Sulien? Your son, Malgwyn, is a playful boy, is he not? I believe that he bested the other boys in a footrace a fortnight past.”
And now I was shocked. That Arthur knew my family was not surprising. That he knew Sulien’s boy so well was amazing.
Arthur turned to another. “You have a young daughter named Nyfain, who is betrothed to a merchant near Lindinis.” He turned yet again. “And your wife is a cousin of Kay’s,” he said to the last soldier.
Silence, not Arthur, reigned over the next few moments.
“Will you trust me to lead you now?”
No one spoke. But then no one had to.
He nodded.
“Rigotamos, you know that there is little chance that we will make it back to Trevelgue. We may die in the attempt, but it would be a forlorn attempt at best.”
“What would you have me do, Malgwyn?”
“I do not know,” I said after a moment. And I did not.
Arthur went to the leather door and looked out quickly. Dawn had not fully come yet. “We have time yet. Trevelgue is but two hours away by a swift horse. For now, we should watch and wait.”
“Why not tell them who you are, Rigotamos?” Sulien asked. “And barter for our freedom?”
Arthur looked at me and nodded.
“These people, whatever their origins,” I answered, “have already proved their brutality. Revealing his identity might just as easily seal our doom. It is a chance that we do not have to take.”
Sulien was no idiot.
“Perhaps a rescue party will be sent,” suggested one of the other men.
“By who? Bedevere, Kay, and Ider are besieged at Castellum Dinas. We have few enough troops left at Trevelgue. The Rigotamos is known to have gone to Tyntagel to see about his mother. No one will think anything of his delay in returning.”
“But Lady Ysbail. She might—”
Arthur shook his head. “She would most likely welcome the opportunity to act without my pressure. Indeed it might solve many of her problems. I regret to say that we are on our own.”
A thought struck me. “Perhaps, Rigotamos, it is time that we test our host’s mead and cervesas.”
He looked at me then, quizzically.
“We need an advantage, Rigotamos. I think I have an idea.”
“You!” I shouted out the tent door. One of the gray-clad soldiers stopped and frowned. He said something in his hellish tongue. I did not know its exact meaning, but he seemed to reject my attempt at communication.
I took the chance to glance quickly around outside. Nine rectangular, leather tents formed in a kind of oblong. That number would account for almost a hundred soldiers as we believed. What we did not know was if this was the only encampment. One more might spell our doom. Who were these people?
My quarry appeared, spear in hand and frown on face.
“We need food, drink.”
“Starve.”
And that settled that attempt.
“Malgwyn, let us wait and watch.”
* * *
And we did, as the sun climbed above the eastern horizon. The storm was completely gone, leaving that fresh smell of rain-washed earth, almost, almost, brightening my mood.
Roman tents were made of goatskin, or so my father had told me. The only ones to be found in those days were old ones, patchworked together like the one holding us. In the days of the legions, I knew that eight men would live in each tent, a contubernium. But that was all from a time long past. These ragtag tents had seen better days, and smelled better too. As the sun continu
ed its ascent, the heat from our bodies, trapped by the leather, made the space nearly unbearable.
Two hours later they had apparently become used to seeing my face peering out from the flap. I counted some seventy-five different soldiers. One man seemed to be in command. He was tall, about my years, with a scar beginning under his left ear and running straight down his neck, disappearing beneath his gray tunic. He strode through the camp with quick, sure steps.
The tent next to ours was a center of activity. Soldiers came and went, always hurriedly. And it was into this tent that the scarred soldier turned.
But I still kept one eye peering out the tent flap, and thus was astounded when I heard voices nearly at my ear.
“Who are they?” The voice was familiar, but I could not put a name to it.
“The one-armed man you warned us about and four common soldiers.”
“Keep the one-armed one alive. We will still have to kill him, but he may have value soon. Kill the others.”
“Leave them where they will be found,” the first voice said, and I knew then who spoke. Druce.
“Of course. You will honor your promise when this affair is ended?”
“You have my word,” Druce said, smoothly, and I could fair smell the lie on his tongue.
Silence ensued for a moment, and a third voice spoke. This one needed no guessing.
“Honor nothing,” Lord David said, apparently alone then with Druce. “These latrunculii are nothing more than common murderers. Use them to bolster your claim to the throne. Present their bloodied heads to the people and show that you are their defender, ready to take arms to protect them. These thugs will say nothing against you. They will be dead.”
“You will honor your word, Lord Druce,” and this voice shocked me to my very core.
Tristan. The young lord on whom I had staked our futures!
Behind me, I heard Sulien speaking to Arthur, but I turned and signaled for silence.
“What does it matter?” David asked.
“A noble’s word should count for more than just another lie,” Tristan snapped, and despite my horror that he was even in this camp, I felt a certain pride in the message he conveyed.
But David’s last words chilled me even as Tristan’s words warmed me. He said: “You will learn.”