The Stolen Bride

by Tony Hays

  “And rule until he reaches manhood? No, I think he will meet a tragic end.”

  By then we had drawn abreast of each other.

  “What do you care?” he began. “You are the one who pointed the axe at his throat. You and your Rigotamos quarter far from here.”

  I saw then his purpose. This was the only way he could control the situation.

  “I will promise the consilium preference for trade over the Saxons.”

  I had no time for this. I cocked my feet, ready to speed my mount past him.

  “You will be fortunate if the Saxons do not raid Trevelgue and massacre all there.”

  The giant frowned. “What have you done?”

  “Slaughtered their embassy.”

  My answer shocked him, though he would have done the same if he saw profit in it, and he reeled a bit in his saddle. I kicked my horse’s flanks, jumping at Ysbadden, who had to fight to keep his seat.

  As I rode past, I swung the flat of my sword with all my might, striking the giant bully in the back and sending him flying to the ground.

  Seconds later, I had crossed the narrow causeway and entered the fort.

  I leaped from my horse’s back, almost before she had stopped, and hit the earth outside the hall, losing my balance and rolling in the dirt. A handful of guards were standing at the main door, and they laughed at my discomfiture.

  Rising, I cursed their mothers, dusted the streaks of dirt from my already dirty tunic, and hustled into the hall, where Ysbail presided at the front with Arthur, Merlin, and Petrocus at her side.

  Before her, on his knees, was Cilydd, head hung, hands tied.

  Ysbail looked thoroughly miserable, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

  It was not too late.

  “My lord!” I shouted.

  Arthur craned his neck around to see who had shouted. Merlin smiled at me, as did Petrocus. Ysbail’s sadness turned to absolute hatred. And for good reason.

  “Master Malgwyn,” Petrocus greeted me. “Congratulations on a fine job of inquiry. I know something of the law as you are aware, and you would have secured a conviction by any court abiding by the Codex Theodosianus. And Master Merlin did a fine job in presenting it. And, let me tell you, Lady Ysbail was very difficult to persuade. But now Lord Mordred has been freed from his confinement and justice can be done and we can proceed with the issue of her right to rule in Doged’s lands.”

  I was certain she had been very, very difficult to convince. A hand landed heavily on my shoulder, and I turned to see Mordred cleaned of the food scraps and dung heaped upon him and smiling at me as if we were … friends, and he seemed … sincere.

  “Honored Petrocus,” I began, ignoring Mordred and pushing my way through the crowded aisled hall. It was stifling hot in there, miserably hot, I remember. Any more days like that one, I remember thinking, and they would be opening a grave for me.

  I sucked in a deep breath and continued, “If this man is put to death for the killing of Doged, justice will not be done.”

  To say that voices buzzed around the hall did them a disservice. No hive of bees could match the hum of these voices.

  “Malgwyn,” Arthur’s voice rose above the discord. “He was convicted on your evidence.”

  “I know, Rigotamos, and I apologize for my incompetence.”

  Merlin did not speak but looked at me quizzically.

  Petrocus stepped forward and did speak. “I am sorry, Malgwyn, but Cilydd confessed after the evidence was presented. To ignore that would be to dishonor all that you, I am told, hold dear.”

  The fool. Of course he would have confessed. To contest the charges might have revealed what he and Ysbail were trying so desperately to hide—that her baby was Cilydd’s, not Doged’s. And Cilydd was in love with her. His last act would be to preserve her position and his child’s right to succeed Doged.

  I glanced around the hall, past Doged’s nobles, past the whores hanging on their shoulders, past the embassies gathered. And there he was, lurking near the back, his head cocked to one side, a look of worry on his face.

  “If you will permit me, Rigotamos.”

  I am not certain that I had ever seen Arthur so irritated with me. “I do not see what this delay profits us.”

  “Nor I, Rigotamos,” echoed Petrocus.

  “But this is my court, monk. And I will decide who has the right to speak, at least until that privilege is stripped from me.” Ah, love! Ysbail saw a hope, a prayer of salvaging her man’s life. And she would take up a sword herself against anyone that tried to silence me.

  Even Arthur reeled in surprise at the sharpness of her tone. I pleaded to him with my eyes. No one but me saw an old wrinkled hand rise and gently touch Arthur’s back.

  Merlin had cast his vote with me.

  “Proceed, Master Malgwyn,” Ysbail ordered me in her iciest tone. “I am anxious to hear of your incompetence.”

  Two soldiers pushed the gathered throng back, making more room around poor Cilydd.

  I took a deep breath and began. “First, I felt that under our customs of hospitality and because he was a member of the consilium, I had a duty to seek justice for Lord Doged. And I am cursed with a need to seek the truth in these situations, aye, more than a need, a compulsion that even I cannot control.

  “Lord Mordred had been caught fleeing Doged’s chamber immediately after his death. Anyone with knowledge of myself and Mordred knows that it would give me pleasure to see him summarily executed for his misdeeds, if such he committed.” I knew that I had best temper my words, no matter how fatigued I was. Mordred helped by laughing almost embarrassedly.

  “The Rigotamos, who has often called on me to be his iudex pedaneous in these situations, approved of my inquiry, and, eventually, so did you, Lady Ysbail.”

  “I do not need a history lesson,” she snapped, but immediately thought better of it. At that moment, she needed me as man needs water to live.

  “Of course not. I simply wanted to establish my credentials. What bothered me about Mordred’s guilt is that I could not see a reason for killing Doged. Mordred is an intelligent man, and he would profit nothing from doing this thing.” I paused. My next words had to be carefully chosen.

  “What I also knew, what I had witnessed with my own eyes, was that someone, disguised as Doged, had gained access to his private chambers. It was not Mordred, as he was dressed normally when captured.”

  I paused for a bare second to steel myself for my next words. I am human, and therefore flawed. I had certainly lied before in my life, but rarely in one of these inquiries.

  “When I questioned Mordred, he reported that just before they reached the rear entrance of the hall a man dressed as Doged rushed past him. I can verify this because I saw the same man rush out the main gate. I simply assumed that it was Doged, rushing to handle some problem. Upon my return to the hall, I learned that Doged had been slain and Mordred captured while fleeing the scene.

  “Mordred says that Doged was already dead when he entered the chambers.” I saw no need to mention that Saxons were with Mordred, as that would only make him look all the guiltier. “Later, the guard that Mordred had bribed was killed.” That admission cost Mordred nothing, as such bribery was more a practice than a sin. “Mordred was imprisoned and could not have killed the guard.”

  Arthur grunted impatiently at me. Petrocus smiled gently and said, “Malgwyn, no one suspects Mordred of this any longer, but you have done well in proving that he did not do it. We have the man who did this thing, and he has confessed. I see no purpose in prolonging this. To do so is cruel to Cilydd.”

  “I will decide if there is no purpose in this,” countered Ysbail. “Continue.”

  “With all due respect, Petrocus, this is my method. I was led to Cilydd as a suspect when I discovered an unusual silver and agaphite fibula that had been lost by the impostor Doged. I was told that only Cilydd had such a brooch.”

  “So, there is no question now,” Arthur said, but I raised my one hand to s
top him.

  “But I have now learned that two were sold and two were lost. In truth, I was made aware of the existence of two such brooches at the outset of this affair, but I did not pay as close attention as I ought.” I kept my eye on him at the back of the hall. I would almost certainly have bolted already, but he seemed strangely unable to move. But by that point, I had everyone’s attention.

  “Only one of the two owners was so anxious to replace it that he offered the one-eyed merchant Daoud double for another one. Only the man who had killed Doged would be so anxious.”

  Now, his eyes began darting back and forth, seeking an escape.

  “Is that not right, Lord Trevelyan?”

  He chose then to bolt. I plunged into the crowd after him, but the tightly packed bunch slowed my pursuit.

  I hated revealing him this way, but I had really needed him to attempt to escape. I needed him to show his guilt openly, for that was the only way out of this dilemma. I should have brought Daoud, the dark-skinned merchant, but my only concern then had been trying to prevent yet another, needless, death. And our natural fear of strangers would have diluted anything that Daoud had to say. No, I saw quickly, even as I used my shoulder to split the crowd, this was the only path to success.

  But Trevelyan had wisely stayed at the back of the hall and was already out the door. And in seconds so was I. I scanned the fort and glimpsed him headed to the main gate.

  Though my lungs burned and my legs were cramping, I held tight to the pursuit.

  “Stop him.”

  But Doged’s soldiers were more interested in watching the spectacle than following my orders.

  Behind me, I heard a horse snort and hooves slamming the hard-packed earth.

  My body was about to give out when I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and pull up.

  Arthur.

  With all the strength I had left, I leaped and, with Arthur’s help, swung onto his horse behind him.

  “Malgwyn, do you do these things to me intentionally?”

  Gritting my teeth as we approached the main gate and the narrow bridge beyond, I said, “Rigotamos, I am doing nothing to you or for you, but just trying to find out what really happened.”

  “So you say.”

  We threaded the needle that was the gate and crossed the bridge in two bounds. From horseback we could see Trevelyan commandeering a horse from some unfortunate citizen, and I feared for a moment that we would lose him.

  But Arthur was a skilled and daring horseman; he urged the poor horse forward, bearing both our bodies.

  In the distance, we saw Trevelyan about to reach the wooden and earthen defenses thrown up by Bedevere’s men days before.

  Trevelyan seemed intent on jumping the rampart, as we were drawing nearer. The horse he had appropriated was older than ours and not used to such rides. He thought better of it and headed for the gap in the works made for the road.

  And past us, coming from our rear, the blur of a horse and rider slipped by.

  Bedevere.

  But his urgency was unnecessary.

  Trevelyan stopped.

  And dismounted.

  We slowed as Bedevere, his momentum carrying him forward, was forced to turn his horse at the last minute.

  Trevelyan ran forward and joined a gaggle of men entering the defenses. And as we reached them, I was not surprised at what I saw.

  Lord David.

  Others hovered behind, but it was David who strode toward us, leading the pack.

  I kept my eye on Trevelyan, as I did not trust him not to mix with the crowd and attempt to disappear. But he seemed intent on throwing himself on David’s mercy.

  As Arthur and I climbed down from our horse, David wasted no time.

  “This man is under my protection.”

  “Then,” Kay, who had now joined us, said, “perhaps we should execute them both.”

  Arthur held his hand out to Kay, palm down, gesturing for him to hold.

  “David, you do not understand the current situation.”

  “And what would justify the Rigotamos of all Britannia chasing down and killing this man, a poor noble who is simply trying to help his people?”

  “Three things, Lord David,” I began. “First, Trevelyan’s men massacred and sacked a village in the far east of these lands. Second, Trevelyan murdered Lord Doged when Doged refused to settle lands upon them.” I was certain that that was what had spurred Doged’s death. “His men led a siege and assault on Castellum Dinas, as you would know since you were treating with them and the Saxon embassy.”

  “I did not,” David replied.

  “Yes, you did,” Arthur answered. “Stop this pretense. I was one of the men captured by Trevelyan’s forces and imprisoned in their camp. I heard your voice with my own ears.”

  For the first time in the years that I had known him, David was speechless. He was prepared to do verbal combat with me but not Arthur. Though David did not say it, I could see the thought behind his flickering eyes: Idiots!

  “I acknowledge that I treated with an army of mercenaries in gray tunics, but I do not see a gray tunic on Trevelyan, and I did not see him or treat with him in the enemy camp,” David said, handily dancing around the charges. “Who says that he has any connection with the mercenaries? They could have been hired by the Saxons.”

  “Who says that they were mercenaries to begin with?”

  Mordred slipped over into David’s group, easing up and whispering in David’s ear. A quick nod of his head worried me no little bit.

  “I have been told that they are all dead, Rigotamos. Massacred at the order of Malgwyn. If none of them yet survive, how will we ever know from whence they came?”

  I understood then why they had worked so hard to keep Trevelyan from the camp, or at least to keep him out of sight. Without a witness that put Trevelyan and the gray tunics together, we had no way to prove the truth. He would argue that David’s grant of hospitality protected him from punishment for killing Doged.

  My shoulders slumped as the realization hit me. I had failed in my quest. Justice would not be served.

  I began to turn away when a scuffle and shout arose from beyond the rampart.

  Spinning about, I saw two horses muscle their way through David’s mob. On one sat Ider, with a dirty, exhausted Daron behind him. On the other sat Sulien, looking equally as tired. Sitting in front of Sulien, with a dagger against his throat, was a soldier, in a gray tunic.

  “Lord Arthur!” Ider shouted. “I beg your pardon for such an entrance, but we felt that we should arrive as quickly as possible, though we did not expect to find you at the rampart.”

  Arthur considered young Ider for a long second, a smile creeping across his face. “You have no need to apologize.” He turned toward Sulien. “I see that the rumors of your death were premature.”

  “Fortunately, Rigotamos.”

  I was merely listening to this exchange. My eyes were now glued to Trevelyan, where horror grew the longer he looked at the man sharing Sulien’s horse.

  For his part, Sulien shoved the soldier in the gray tunic from his perch, and he slammed into the ground with a thud and rolled over. “We found this one hiding in the forest.”

  The soldier scrambled to his feet, stumbling forward to grasp Trevelyan’s knees. He said something in that almost but not quite comprehensible language of theirs. My eyes scanned the growing crowd, noting that Ysbail and her brother were arriving, until I found who I sought.

  “Gurdur.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The man of many languages stepped forward.

  “Do you understand this tongue?” Arthur asked, seeing immediately my aim.

  Gurdur nodded sharply. “Of course, my lord. It is an ancient form of our own language, used almost exclusively now by those from Scilly and Ennor. He,” and Gurdur indicated the soldier, “is begging this man’s forgiveness for his cowardice.”

  I had never, ever seen David so completely defeated.

  Just as I was learning to enjoy
the look, Mordred stepped forward. “Then this man,” Mordred asked, “both killed Doged and ordered that poor village sacked?” He grabbed Trevelyan in a seeming fury.

  “And do not forget, took arms against both these lands and the consilium at Castellum Dinas,” I added, eager to pile on the humiliation for which David had asked.

  “Then this pig does not deserve to live,” and with a dagger that mysteriously appeared in his hand Mordred rammed the point in Trevelyan’s gut, twisting it as he did.

  A moment, a second, before the light left Trevelyan’s eyes forever, I clearly saw the question: Why? I could have told him, but there was no time. The light was gone, a dull glaze settled in, and a fly landed on his eye, seeking a meal.

  I did not hear the voices, the shouts, around me. The swiftness of Mordred’s action had stunned me. That Trevelyan had earned such a death was unquestionable. That Mordred was the one to do it was surely questionable.

  Ysbail shared my view, and also, apparently, her husband’s dislike of Mordred. And it was her shrill voice that shook me from my reverie. “You have gone too far, Lord Mordred,” Ysbail chastised him. “Tell me why I should not return you to my garbage pit until you decide to behave?”

  Mordred recoiled as if struck. “Lady Ysbail,” he said in almost a mocking tone. “All I have done is kill a murderer and an enemy of your rule. Surely there is no misbehavior in that.”

  “I have learned something of these matters from Master Malgwyn,” she answered in a way that none of us expected. “Rushing to action is a risky path, and though I believe in Trevelyan’s guilt, I would have insisted on a more formal process, one in which the facts were considered more judiciously. And you did not ask my leave.” Now that was the Ysbail I was expecting.

  I found it fascinating that Ysbadden stood silent behind her. Perhaps he was learning something too from this affair.

  Moments later, Arthur gathered myself, Kay, Bedevere, Ider, and Sulien together, away from the others.

  “Ider, what has happened?”

  “Bedevere assigned me to command the force left behind at Castellum Dinas. After he, Malgwyn, and Kay left for Trevelgue, a patrol I had posted to round up stragglers returned with these three,” and he indicated Sulien, Daron, and Trevelyan’s man. “Sulien and the girl had him trussed up like a pig. They had apparently captured him.”