“That will be satisfactory. You may have it delivered to Malgwyn.” Among my many tasks for Arthur was to keep track of all documents submitted for his, or the consilium’s, consideration.
At that, Lauhiir saluted, spun about and went back to his lair. Arthur, Bedevere, and myself trudged out the western gate where our horses were tied.
“Will we be returning to the castle tomorrow?” Bedevere asked.
Arthur paused and stroked his beard with a gloved hand. “No. Too much is amiss here. The dead monachus, his tie to Lauhiir, Patrick, Pelagianism, Coroticus’s deceptions. I fear that we are needed, if for no other reason than to support our friend Malgwyn in this matter. As Rigotamos, I can take some of the burden from him in delicate matters. And should he need to cross swords with Lauhiir, we can provide a barrier. By himself, Lauhiir might be more inclined to ignore him. With you and me at his side, Malgwyn will have an easier time navigating these murky waters.”
I hated to admit that I needed Arthur, that I needed any man, but he was right. In his castle I operated under his protection. You would think that now that he was Rigotamos, the High K ing of all the Britons, I could perform my duties throughout our lands, but such was not, and would never be, the case, I feared. While some lords paid Arthur the proper obeisance, others gave only assurances that they would, then turned and did what they pleased.
“So, Malgwyn,” Bedevere began in a surprising moment of levity. “How does it feel to have the Rigotamos and a lord of the consilium in your service?”
“An obedient dog might serve me better,” I grumbled, struggling into the saddle.
“An obedient dog cannot condemn someone to beheading,” Arthur pointed out.
“True, but neither can a dog condemn me to beheading if I displease it.” A thought struck me. “My lord, how well do you know the young monachus Gildas?”
Arthur shook his shaggy head. “Not well. I know his family better. Aye, I was forced to kill one of his brothers, Huaill, for piracy in our waters. Their father, Caw, refuses to pay obeisance to the consilium even yet.”
“Do you pay any heed to what he says?”
“Why should I? He is a child, spoiled by his father, disregarded by his brothers, who could only find a home with Coroticus, and then only because his father paid for it.”
“You are harsh in your judgment.”
“I am harsh only when it is deserved. He will scheme and connive and cause Coroticus unknown trouble. What he needs instead is a good spanking. Trust me, Malgwyn. Hear little of what Gildas says and believe less. But you have had your experiences with his family.”
“Me?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Remember the upstart noble that tried to prevent me from taking up the sword?”
“The boy noble? Celyn?” Then I remembered.
“Aye! He is Gildas’s brother, the only member of that family that pays any allegiance to the consilium, but I suspect that he serves more as a spy for his father than as a true lord. Why do you suffer him?” Sometimes, Arthur’s logic seemed as no logic at all.
“Ambrosius and I discussed him. In truth, Ambrosius believed that it was important to keep at least one channel of communication open to Caw. I did not and do not believe that we will profit from it, but I bowed to the Rigotamos’s wish. Now, it is a deed done.” He stopped and ran a hand through his long hair. “To reverse it now would show disrespect to Ambrosius.”
“Why care you for that?” My frown could not have been more severe. “Ambrosius is Rigotamos no longer. You”—and I grasped his arm with my hand—“You are the Rigotamos. Celyn’s brother Huaill fought against you, forcing you to kill him. No other man would give heed to the same concerns that trouble you. Banish him from your court and worry yourself no more.”
“Malgwyn, you must understand. I do not intend to be like other men. If we are to have a united land, then the Rigotamos’s crown must have respect. Overturning decisions made by the past Rigotamos does nothing but diminish the office. And to rule by fear is easy. To rule by the common consent of your peers and the people is not easily accomplished. But it is that kind of respect that is lasting. And it is that kind of respect that the Christ would smile upon.”
I released his arm slowly. “I know that I often seem impatient for you to act, Arthur. But sometimes men such as Caw must be struck down simply to get their attention. Some men respect only strength and brutality. It has always been this way. My fear is that in your quest you will appear weak to those who would strike you down.”
He cast those deep, probing brown eyes at me, and his face stretched into a half-smile. “Then they would be mistaken and I would deal with them appropriately. Remember this always, Malgwyn. I will do what is necessary when it is necessary.” He paused and let the smile become large and welcoming. “We are not so very different, Malgwyn. You act very much as I do. If you truly believed that brutality and direct action were always the best way, you would have killed Mordred in the affair of Eleonore.”
“I could not prove his complicity, my lord,” I said, hanging my head.
“Exactly, Malgwyn. You believe in justice. You believe in doing what is right, no matter how. In that we are as one.”
With that, we edged our horses down the uneven, terraced steps back toward the abbey, Coroticus, and Patrick.
Feasting with Coroticus was quite unlike dining at Arthur’s hall. While I had stood in amazement at the kind and variety of the foods offered at the Rigotamos’s table, Coroticus was even more generous. Platters of oysters, still in the shell. Pork, chicken, fish. Wine from Rome and Gaul. But the vegetables were delightful. The brothers kept gardens, and now, in the midst of the growing season, Coroticus’s table fairly groaned beneath their weight.
However, while Coroticus’s feast offered greater variety, Arthur’s hall was less filled with ceremony, or rules. At least on this occasion. I had eaten at Coroticus’s table when it seemed little different than Arthur’s. But, with Patrick present, Coroticus had implemented new rules, including scripture reading while we all ate.
After welcoming one and all (but especially Patrick), and saying a blessing for our meal, Coroticus gestured for us to begin eating, which was fine by me. At Arthur’s table, I usually failed to enjoy my meal because I was paying special heed to conversations going on around me. Part of my duties for Arthur was to be aware of all that went on at his feasts, who spoke to whom, what they talked about. I was constantly on my guard.
Still, there was something eerie about the silence at Coroticus’s feast. The only sounds, beyond the crackling fire, were the smacking of lips and teeth as food was eaten, and the droning of an old monachus as he read Latin from a scroll.
Patrick seemed pleased by Coroticus’s piety and adherence to the accepted conventions, pleased and reluctant to show it. I judged him tough and savvy and unwilling to acknowledge strength in any man other than himself. Such was the failing of many powerful men.
The meal gave me time to consider what I had learned so far, as little as it might be. On the one hand, I had Elafius, an elderly monachus and one famed for debating religious practices with Rhiannon, head of the women’s community, killed by a broken neck. Indeed, Elafius was apparently many things—theologian, metallurgist, and owner of a silver denarius when such was forbidden by the church.
Then there was Lauhiir, newly appointed lord of Ynyswitrin. That he had aims opposed to Arthur’s was accepted. But whether those aims had a hand in Elafius’s death was still a lesson to be learned, as well as Rhiannon’s involvement if any.
Too many questions befogged the landscape. For a man whose war reputation rested on knowing the ground and exploiting it, a mist-shrouded battlefield was a true challenge. Even my friend Coroticus was not acting as usual. When you cannot even trust the actions of your friends, judging those of your enemies becomes far more complicated.
I sighed, almost too loudly. No such situation was without its difficulties. That much I had already learned in Arthu
r’s service. That and other things, such as behaving at court, treating with nobles and commonfolk alike. In different clothes, that is. I had learned how to change from “Mad Malgwyn,” the drunken crackpot who lived on the edge of the castle, to Malgwyn, counselor and scribe to the Rigotamos. Such had not been an easy path, but most nobles remembered my guile and passion in fighting the Saxons in the days before my great wound at the River Tribuit. And those memories served me well when my abilities, my courage, were threatened.
Now, as I looked along the tables, I realized that I had chosen a good path, if one fraught with dangers and intrigues. I had been given a second and third chance to prove myself in this life, and for that I was grateful.
And even as I thought these things, the sound of dishes being retrieved from the table filled Coroticus’s hall with clatter. Among the common monachi, severity of diet was as much a tradition as scarcity of personal possessions. But with Patrick here, our abbot was not afraid to show his well-supplied table, and the monachi were granted a reprieve from their ordinary fare of bread, soup, and vegetables. Patrick seemed more impressed with the silence and readings than the abundant food though.
With the dishes taken away, Patrick cleared his throat. Now was the time for business to begin. “Good Malgwyn. Have you reached any conclusions about the sudden death of Elafius?”
“I have had little time to inquire as yet, episcopus.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “That is disappointing. Perhaps too much is made of your reputation for resolving such matters.”
“Other men assign me my reputation. I make no claim to be any better or any worse at these things than any other man.”
Patrick nodded. “Such is a facile answer. You did not spend the day lost in drink, did you? I would expect no less from a counselor to a tyrannus.”
The sound of a chair thrown back shattered the silence in the hall. Arthur.
I did not look at him, merely raised a hand to stay his anger. “Great episcopus. All in our patria sing your praises. You are called the guiding light of the Christ west of Gaul.”
The old bishop narrowed his eyes. “What profits you to remind me of this?”
“I profit nothing from saying this or from inquiring after the death of Elafius. The Rigotamos profits nothing either. We have endeavored only to do our duty as we see fit. We do not insult you with outrageous claims. Rather we celebrate your strength and courage in the worship of the Christ. Do we not deserve the same consideration?”
I sensed rather than saw Arthur relax. By chastising Patrick for his rude behavior, I had turned not only the attention away from us but away from Elafius. For the moment.
Coroticus sighed deeply. “Malgwyn, you forget yourself.”
But Patrick, his face suddenly a marvel of sadness, waved a wrinkled hand. “No, no. Good Malgwyn is right. You must forgive me. I am an old man, one filled with passion for all things concerning the Christ. Often I let my zeal overrule my gentler emotions.”
“Not at all, episcopus. The fault lies within me,” I conceded. “You see, I am not the devoted servant of the Christ that you are. Aye, it is a constant source of embarrassment to Lord Arthur for he is as great a believer as you, regardless of how you may view tyranni.”
“Then perhaps I should make it my personal goal to bring your soul to the Christ.” He was not asking a question. He was making a statement. I fought to control my eyes, as they desired nothing more than to roll in exasperation. I knew without looking that Arthur and Bedevere too were fighting a chuckle. My eyes dared not even venture to Coroticus, he who had spent hours trying to claim me for the Christ.
“Now,” Patrick continued. “Send for this woman, Rhiannon, who, young Gildas tells me, believes that women should take part in serving the divine sacrifice.”
“Are you certain that it’s wise to enter into such an inquiry after such a tiring day?” Coroticus asked.
At that Patrick’s face screwed up into an expression of frustration. “I am certain, abbot, that I can brook no further delays in this matter. I have traveled a great distance to study this problem. All I find once I arrive are your protestations of assistance and your obstruction of my task.”
Had I been in Patrick’s position, I could not have stated it better. That much was certain as well. We had been intent on blocking his path, were still intent on masking his way. But did it have to be such? Why were we so resistant to Patrick?
“My lord episcopus?”
“Yes, Malgwyn,” he said fretfully.
“I have a proposal.”
“Speak.”
“Though you are very much my senior, we are both too old for all of this debating. Each of us has his purpose, his focus. I suggest that rather than fight each other, we cooperate, share our results. Pool what talents God may have granted us and see if we can unwind this spider’s web together.”
“A coito?” Patrick’s lined face took on a thoughtful look.
How like Patrick! A coito. I had once heard Arthur use the term and asked him what it meant. In the old days of the Roman republic, Arthur had told me, it described the way that consuls arranged to share power with their colleagues. Sometimes one would handle external affairs, the other internal. Other times there would be a senior partner and the other junior. When Arthur mentioned it, he had been approached by a member of the consilium, shortly after his election as Rigotamos, and pressured to divide the kingship as the consulship had oft been split centuries before. Naturally, he declined.
But I was inclined to join together with Patrick. He knew the religion of the matter. I knew the politics and something of the personalities as well. Together we might be able to unravel this tangle. Arthur would not like it, but I was making a career of doing things that Arthur did not like.
After several seconds, Patrick nodded slowly. “It is agreed. I will share with you my findings and you will inform me of yours. In this way, we leave far less to chance.” Patrick paused. “I would not do this thing with many men, Malgwyn. But you have a grace about you, a sense of the Christ’s hand watching over you. Some men like you are blessed.”
A flush rose in my cheeks.
“I do this to speed my inquiry, my lord bishop, not from being led by the Christ.” I saw no reason to operate under false colors. “You have knowledge and a quick mind to aid me, so I will use you.”
“Malgwyn!” Bedevere burst forth at my bluntness.
“I think that the episcopus appreciates honesty in men of all stripes.”
For his part, Patrick had already forgotten the exchange. “Malgwyn may not publicly proclaim the Christ, but who are we to say that His hand does not guide Malgwyn yet? Each man makes choices for his own reasons. I require only that the end result of those reasons be in the glory of God.”
“I require that the end result of those reasons be to the glory of the truth, which, as my dear friend Coroticus would say if he were not so tongue-tied, are one and the same.”
“And he would be correct,” decided Patrick.
I rolled my eyes. I personally knew several truths about the church that they would not want revealed. Everyone hides things. This is a fact of life. The issue becomes the importance of what they are trying to conceal. The more important the secret, the more they will lie to hide it. The more they lie, the more their lies get tangled and stumble over each other, entrapping them. It was such things that I looked to for guidance in finding the truth. And since my talents seemed to lie in that direction, whether I favored it or not, that was my charge from Arthur, to seek the truth.
“I am now ready to see this woman, Rhiannon. Bring her before me and stop these incessant delays!” And Patrick headed for the door.
“Episcopus. As the abbot has noted, it is quite late. Perhaps we should begin tomorrow? Your journey has been long, and this day’s events have surely added to your weariness.”
Patrick honored me with another of his severe looks. “For a man prized for his industry, you seem very reluctant to apply yourse
lf.”
“My lord, tired minds often forget to ask the right questions and often fail to recognize important information. Believe me, I have experience in this.”
The old man frowned, but nodded. “Very well. On the morn then. Now, if you will excuse me, Coroticus,” Patrick began, and then, cocking his head to one side, he added, “And you, Lord Arthur,” almost as an afterthought.
“But of course, episcopus,” Coroticus stammered. “Whatever you wish.”
Patrick began walking again slowly, almost painfully it seemed. Followed closely by his two monachi, he headed for the door. Halfway there, he paused, not bothering to turn, and spoke. “Good Malgwyn?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am told that you have a fondness for strong drink.”
“Not as much now as some time before.”
“I will expect you to keep your mind clear in this matter. You will upset me greatly if you resort to that again. Place your faith in the Christ. Lean on him.”
I did not answer him, merely watched his back as he continued out of the great hall. When he and his followers had safely departed the hall, I turned back to Arthur, Bedevere, and Coroticus.
“Are you sure that was wise, Malgwyn?” Arthur asked.
I shrugged. “This affair is too confusing. It is unlike the deaths at Castellum Arturius. Here there is no logical motive, no obvious goal. Almost anyone could be guilty of this crime. Lauhiir had had some secret dealings with Elafius. Rhiannon had argued with him over religious matters. My good friend Coroticus is hiding something. No, no,” I said with a wave of the hand as Coroticus started to interrupt. “Your protestations will fall on unwelcome ears, abbot. I am not asking you to divulge that which you would hide. At least not at this time.
“We have accusations of Pelagianism, the whimperings of that dolt Gildas. Aye, we need Patrick to help us sort through all of this. I do not doubt his honesty, though I do not share his devotion to his cause. We both seek the truth for different reasons.”
Divine Sacrifice, The Page 8
