Divine Sacrifice, The

by Hays, Anthony

  Gwilym took a deep breath. “My understanding of the Christ and his teachings says that women should be prized as much as any man. Yea, there are yet manuscripts which say that the Magdalene was a disciple, and the one most beloved by the Christ. If this be so, how can it then be said that He would have denied women a role in His faith?”

  The one answer ready on my tongue was that women were a lesser sort, a weaker sort than men, but I had seen too much in my life to really believe that.

  “Since you have traveled so widely and yet still hold views that Rome has long since denounced, can I presume that you knew Pelagius? Perhaps studied under him?”

  He cocked his head. “What makes you think that?”

  “Your continued belief in the teachings of Pelagius, in the face of the church’s denunciation, speaks to a personal loyalty.”

  “You are indeed a perceptive man. Coroticus told me of this. Yes, in my youth I knew Pelagius, and it was my honor to accompany him on some of his travels.”

  “But this is not something you have shared with the rest of the monachi.”

  Gwilym smiled. “Do you read minds, Master Malgwyn?”

  “No, but it would only make sense. To preach Pelagianism is one thing; to be known as a colleague of Pelagius is something else entirely.”

  “You understand much.”

  “Did you argue with Elafius?”

  “I did. Many times since I arrived. He was most annoying.”

  “How so?”

  “Age usually teaches us how little we know. That is where true wisdom lies. Elafius thought he knew everything. He had no wisdom, only knowledge. Knowledge without the wisdom to use it properly is dangerous.”

  “Was Elafius dangerous?”

  “Perhaps, to someone. But not to me. I thought him sad.”

  “Did you see him the night he died?”

  “Only at the meal. Then he went to his cell and I to mine.”

  “Did he seem disturbed? Did he act differently than normal?” I felt, rather than knew, that Gwilym knew more of this affair than he was revealing.

  The old monachus did not answer at once. He considered the question carefully. “He seemed distracted that evening, as if something occupied his mind. But he was a secretive man, and he would not speak of it to me were he not so.”

  “You did not like him.”

  “I think I have said that.”

  “I find this most frustrating, Gwilym.”

  “And why is that, Master Malgwyn?”

  “I have the feeling that everyone knows something they’re not telling me about this affair.”

  “A conspiracy?”

  “No, Brother Gwilym. I think everyone has a different bit of the story. But for whatever reason they are all being quiet. I fear there may be too many secrets for me to ferret out this one.”

  “It is said that Lord Arthur trusts you above all other men, trusts your judgment, your wisdom.”

  “In some matters, perhaps. I have known the Rigotamos for many years, warred with him as one of his captains. You learn who you can trust in such times.”

  “Then you will not want to disappoint him in this affair. It will prove unfortunate if you do.”

  This was something new. While no one was offering much information, no one had yet hinted that Arthur was vulnerable in this matter. I believed until that moment that it was most probably bound up in religion. That was one of the reasons I had turned to Patrick.

  “Why say you this?” I inquired.

  “Because nothing and no one is as it seems.”

  “Including you?”

  Those lively eyes sparkled at me. “Most especially me.”

  I laughed then, but it was the laugh of a frustrated man. “Then how do you propose I proceed?”

  “With equal measures of caution and suspicion, I advise. Know that the reason some will lie to you has nothing to do with your quest, it is to protect secrets of their own unrelated to Elafius. I have lived many years, Master Malgwyn, and I have learned to discern the difference between truth tellers and liars. You will encounter few of the former and many of the latter.”

  “That is most discouraging.”

  “Be that as it may, I sense from you a stubbornness that will not be swayed. This bodes well for your task.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “I speak as honestly as I dare.”

  “And if everyone I question is as forthcoming as you, Arthur will be dead of old age and I not far behind him before I ever get to the root of this matter.”

  Then the old monachus did something I did not expect. He reached out a wrinkled hand, touched my half-arm almost tenderly, and fixed his gaze on mine. “You have faced death, and he did not make you tremble. I think he will have a hard time conquering you.”

  I shrank back. “Are you a seer, or a madman?”

  He laughed, drawing his hand back. “Neither, and both. But more than those things, I am a judge of men. Arthur chooses well in whom he places his faith.”

  With a bewildered shake of my head, I realized that I had learned all I was going to discover here. Gwilym would keep his secrets a while longer. And I suspected that he had no hand in Elafius’s death. I could not be certain, but I did not feel him strongly in that affair. “Go about your business, Gwilym. And I shall be about mine.”

  “Gwilym! I am so glad that I have found you.” Coroticus had joined us.

  The old monachus rose and bowed to the abbot, who looked strangely uncomfortable with what was, truly, his due from the monachi as their leader. “Yes, lord abbot, how may I serve you?”

  I found the look Gwilym gave Coroticus rather odd as well, almost a confirmation of the abbot’s discomfort. “Well, uh, I was hoping that you could do an errand for me.”

  “Anything, my lord abbot.”

  “Please walk with me then, and I will explain it to you.” And Coroticus took Gwilym by the arm and led him through the door and away.

  I shook my head. Never had I seen the abbot so solicitous with one of the monachi, even aged ones like Elafius. This new monachus would stand more study.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A few moments later, and I was standing in the path between the abbot’s kitchen and the great hall. Monachi and servi scurried by, carrying large amphorae, the kind that held wine, up the path from the village. I guessed that they contained wine from the far east. Coroticus and his bishop on the western shore were devoted to the vintages from that region. Although I knew that Coroticus had never been to Jerusalem, I also knew that early in his church career he had traveled to Rome. It was there that he gained his taste for fine wines.

  Two monachi were hurriedly digging a grave in the cemetery near the old church. My stomach gnawed at me, but I knew it wasn’t from hunger. Or perhaps it was, a hunger born of the paucity of information in the death of Elafius.

  I still could not fathom who stood to profit from the old monachus’s death. Had Lauhiir been up to something with Elafius that he would not want known?

  And now I was allied with a man with whom I was absolutely uncomfortable. I drew abreast of the old well beside the chapel, the one called the Mother Chapel, and took the opportunity to sit on a rock next to it.

  I noticed then that the men carrying amphorae went not to Coroticus’s kitchen, but continued on toward the Tor and Lauhiir’s encampment. And behind them came even more men, carrying amphorae and skins, wrapped bundles. It was a virtual caravan of goods.

  “Good man?” I queried of one of the workers, wearing the tunic and breeches of a common laborer and carrying a lighter load than many of the others.

  He stopped and looked over at me. “Aye, master. May I help you?”

  His words burst forth with enthusiasm. He would be helpful. No suspicion tainted his words. That was a telling factor.

  “For whom are these supplies intended?”

  The man shrugged. “Some for his lord abbot, but most for the new lord on the Tor.”

  I waved him on, and
his weary steps carried him on his journey. What was it Gwilym had said? Nothing was as it seemed? Lauhiir had neither the money nor treasure for such purchases. So, how then, could he pay for these things?

  The parade of amphorae and parcels continued past me. Two of the servi, tiring of the task, set their loads down next to one of the wooden huts to refresh themselves. I stared at the pile of goods, wondering again where Lauhiir had got the money to purchase such luxuries. As I watched, I saw a shadowy hand slip from the door of the cell, snag one of the parcels, and silently slip it inside. I grinned.

  After a few moments, the servi took up their burdens and resumed their chore. I rose and walked idly up to the door, suddenly snatching back the fur door and grabbing a squealing, howling Llynfann by the scruff of his neck.

  “Master Malgwyn!” the little thief stammered. “I was doing you no harm!”

  “You are a thief, my little friend. You harm anyone stupid enough to leave their valuables near you. But right now, I have need of you.”

  I released him and he straightened his tunic.

  “How may I serve you, master?”

  “I need your especial talents. I need to know where these goods come from, the ones that Lauhiir brings. And I wish to know how he pays for them.”

  Llynfann knitted his brows together, not a difficult feat since his thick brows painted almost a single dark line across his forehead. “You do not ask for much, Malgwyn.”

  “The more difficult the deed, the more coins will clink in your purse.”

  He nodded then and smiled a ragged-toothed grin. “For you, Master Malgwyn, I would do anything. Else, Gareth would slit my throat.”

  “Ahh,” I said with a smile. “You’re more interested in saving your own neck than being of service to me.”

  He shrugged. “What does it matter as long as I do your chore?”

  “Excellent point. Find me when you have news.”

  And the little man darted away, lost from sight within seconds.

  With that chore under way, I grabbed a soldier from Arthur’s troop and sent him to fetch Bedevere and the young monachus Ider. I resumed my seat and watched the monachi scurry back and forth about their duties, and I pondered the seemingly endless procession of questions that plagued my mind in this affair.

  Who had reason to kill Elafius? That was at the heart of the matter. I knew the how, and I was fairly certain I knew the when. But it was that ever-present question of why that worried me like a nagging wife. Why should it profit any person, man or woman, to murder the old monachus? That was the one thing I couldn’t fathom.

  As I pondered these questions, I saw that the soldier had accomplished his mission swiftly. Bedevere and Ider were already striding across the grounds toward me.

  “Master Malgwyn,” Ider sputtered. “You have need of me?”

  “Yes, Ider. You will speak to all of the brothers. I need to know if any of them saw Elafius or anyone else about that night, especially around his cell. I must account for every second from the time the evening meal was ended until the morn, if possible.” Ider’s eyes grew large. “This is a task within your abilities, Ider.”

  He nodded and gulped. Bedevere, as was his nature, said nothing, just fixed me with a bemused smile.

  “For you, old friend, I need you to circulate amongst Lauhiir’s men, asking the same questions. In particular, I need to know if they saw any sign of Rhiannon. She claims to have gone back to the women’s camp after the meal. I need to know if this is true. Also, my little thief, Llynfann, will be looking for me. If he can’t find me, he may come to you. Keep him safe.”

  “But Malgwyn,” Ider interrupted. “How would the soldiers know aught of Rhiannon?”

  “You think that Lauhiir’s soldiers go without women?”

  “Malgwyn! They are religious women!” Ider was aghast.

  “And religious women do not desire men? Grow beyond your innocence, Ider.”

  “The boy is young, Malgwyn,” Bedevere softly chastised me. “But what of you? While Ider and I are doing your work, what will you be doing?”

  “I’m going to confer with my new partner, Patrick, to see if his inquiries have produced anything of value.” I noticed the look in Bedevere’s eyes. “You do not trust him?”

  “Malgwyn,” Bedevere began, hitching his breeches and sitting on a rock. “We have known each other many years. I watched you closely in the affair of Eleonore. You have always seemed to have a clear path before, a well-planned journey that would take you to the truth. But in this matter, I do not sense that. I see you floundering, like a man in the river who cannot swim.”

  He was right. And I knew it. I turned to him. “In Arthur’s castle, I know the rhythms of life as well as my own heartbeat. When something goes wrong in that rhythm, I can sense it, feel it. I have learned over the years to detect truth in the same way. When I hear a lie, most times, it jars me like a club to my chest. In truth, Bedevere, everyone that I have questioned in this affair, but you, Arthur, Guinevere, and young Ider, has lied to me. Aye, even Coroticus and Patrick. It is as if everyone here has a different secret to hide. Gwilym told me as much himself, though I think he is privy to more secrets than just his own. When faced with such a situation, I have no alternative but to change my methods.”

  “That may be the most I have ever heard you say, Malgwyn.” Bedevere chuckled. “So you are off to question Patrick in the guise of conferring with him? Do you think he will be so easily fooled?”

  “Never fear, old friend. I do not underestimate Patrick. He could not have survived so long among the Scotti without being clever.”

  “More than clever, Malgwyn. Perhaps tricky, and even deceiving.”

  “I will heed your advice, Bedevere.”

  I found Patrick washing his face in a decorated red bowl outside the wattle-and-daub cell provided for him. I took the chance to appraise him from afar, this man who had become a legend in the church. His frame was spare, but his arms, thick with cordlike muscles, spoke of a man who knew hard work. At an age when most men turn frail, Patrick moved with the strength and certainty of men half his years.

  “My lord episcopus!” I announced my presence as I drew near.

  Patrick stopped his ablutions and wiped his wrinkled face with a piece of cloth. “Master Malgwyn. Will you join me in prayer.” It was not a request, but a statement.

  “No.” It was a test, a chance to see how the old man would react to being contradicted.

  To my surprise, he turned away from me with a smile and lowered himself in a chair. “You are either a man of strength or a spoiled child. Your history, as I know it, would argue against the latter.” He adjusted his robes and motioned to a stump beside him. “Please, sit. Let us treat as men of the world. Men such as we need no Arthur or Coroticus to observe our actions.”

  I nodded. This was Patrick’s conversation. It took me but seconds to realize that.

  “I came from near these lands, you know. Bannaventa, near the coast. My father was a decurion named Calpornius, and we had both a town house and a large estate, some of which my grandfather, Potitus, had given us. It was a beautiful place, a good place for a child.” Patrick’s eyes were focused beyond me, toward the mist-covered Tor rising high above us. “I was a poor student, Malgwyn. And I knew not God. In truth, we were all slipping away from the Christ. Old shrines to the Roman gods were being rebuilt, renewed. The departure of the legions left everything confused. Men who had once owed their positions and wealth to Roman patronage were now faced with a future that did not include Roman protection.”

  “I can only imagine, episcopus.” I knew not what else to say, indeed, it seemed he expected nothing from me.

  “Did you know that I was only sixteen winters when the Scotti kidnapped me from our estate? I was a mere child. But I was child enough to do much harm. In the space of an hour, I committed a grievous sin. And it was shortly after that that I was kidnapped and taken to Hibernia. I told only one other person of it. I have always wonder
ed if my servitude were a penance for my sin.”

  I wanted so badly to ask the old priest what his sin had been, what wrong he had committed. But for whatever reason, Patrick had decided to confide in me. In my heart I knew that it was wrong to venture any questions. I took a careful look at him, put aside my prejudices and tried to appraise him as a man. And I noticed what I had missed when I saw him as just another obstacle in the road. He was an old, tired man, and the wrinkles in his face mapped the burdens on his soul.

  “Tell me something of your history, Malgwyn. How came a simple man such as you to the service of a tyrant?”

  Before I had really looked at him, I would have met his request with carefully worded derision. Now, I simply began. “I was a farmer, episcopus, with a wife and child. They were murdered one day in a Saxon raid while I was gone to market with the other men of our village. Vengeance drove me to Arthur’s men.

  “I showed a talent for warfare and killing, and Arthur made me one of his captains. Until a Saxon at the River Tribuit separated my arm from the rest of me.” I lifted my half-arm in demonstration. “Arthur saved me and brought me here. The brothers made me a scribe and I made myself a drunk. Then, not long ago, Arthur saved me yet again and made me his counselor.”

  Patrick turned to me and chuckled, something I had not seen him do before. “Malgwyn, do you realize that you summed your entire life up in less time than it takes for me to wash my face?”

  “It has not been a very eventful life, episcopus.”

  And at that, Patrick laughed a full-bellied laugh and slapped his knee.

  “I am glad to be so entertaining, episcopus.” His reaction did not really upset me as much as it surprised me.

  “Malgwyn, if we are to be colleagues in this matter, please call me ‘Patrick.’ You have told me of yourself. Now tell me of Arthur.”

  “What would you have me say?”

  He looked to the sky not in frustration or exasperation, it seemed, but simply in contemplation. “How do you feel about him?”