Divine Sacrifice, The

by Hays, Anthony

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We arranged ourselves at the front of the hall. I turned to the four soldiers left by Arthur for my use. They were common soldiers, not officers, and each carried a small round shield, a spear, and a cloak rolled into a bundle and wrapped across his body from shoulder to hip, a hip that universally held a dagger. “Bring us the woman Rhiannon,” I instructed one of the men. Two of them saluted and headed out of the hall.

  “Shall we begin with this woman, this Rhiannon?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes, episcopus,” I said. “There is much of this affair wrapped around religion, it seems. I have taken her measure as a person. I would hear your thoughts of her as a person of God.”

  Patrick nodded. Now that his secrets were revealed, he was still as devout in his beliefs, but I sensed an ease with me that had been missing before. The soldiers gone, Patrick turned to me. “Your anger was not at Arthur, my new friend. Your anger was at all the killing you had done, but which had not wiped away the anguish from your soul. You had killed and killed Saxons and yet they came. Your men lay around you dead and still your beloved wife had not risen from the grave. You wished to die. And Arthur kept you from that, but your anger was at yourself for all the killing you had caused.” He spoke softly, without a hint of chastisement.

  “You are a very, very perceptive man, Patrick. But I have come a long way along the road that you have laid out.”

  “But you have not come to the Christ. He can take your burdens from you.”

  “Please, episcopus, I have the greatest respect for those who have chosen that way. But I am not one of them.”

  “Yet,” he added with a smile.

  I returned the smile, feeling comfortable before the old episcopus as I had not before. “Not yet.”

  “Then perhaps I should take this time to work on that.”

  I rolled my eyes as he began.

  Rhiannon was just as fetching today as the day before. Her long hair flew violently about her shoulders, and her robe seemed to stay on only by God’s mercy, so excitedly did she cast her arms about.

  “Do you think that I have nothing else to do but answer your summons?” she asked me, quite unabashed. She stopped long enough to cast her eyes up and down Patrick. “For a great episcopus, he seems harmless.”

  “The same might be said of you.”

  The look she shot my way could have pierced the toughest iron, and she moved with a firm step to a wooden chair set in front of the abbot’s dais. “Ask your questions! I have work to be about.” I was more taken with her than before. I knew she was of my age, maybe a bit younger, but her monastic life had kept many of the lines of age from her face that marked those of her contemporaries. Her eyes fired like nothing I’d seen, and I could readily understand how Coroticus would be tempted.

  I kept my eyes averted from Patrick.

  “You will be silent, woman!” The impatience was thick in Patrick’s voice.

  “I know you’re an ancient man, but are you so bored that you brought me here just to look at?”

  This time even the soldiers chuckled. Coroticus had had some small snacks laid out and she helped herself to some oysters without asking.

  “I think you take liberties.” I said, trying to bring myself to the task at hand.

  Her hand paused on its journey to her lips, but then continued. “Are these your oysters, Master Malgwyn?”

  “They are God’s oysters,” Patrick pointed out. “And He gives us dominion over them.”

  “Then I am exercising my dominion.” She sat back in her chair, smoothing her gown. I was not positive, but I sensed a tremor of concern in her manner. This confrontation caused her greater fear than her first, and she covered for it by her cockiness and lack of respect, and I wondered at the cause. She seemed younger today, and that was odd, but I could not say why I believed it so.

  “Have you not resolved the old man’s death yet?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I was hoping for your help in that. I understand he was your favorite debating partner.”

  She cocked her eye at me. “I suspect that if you listen long enough you will learn that I was his lover as well.”

  Patrick grunted. The old episcopus’s forbearance was welcome but it seemed it had less time to last.

  “Madame Rhiannon, your part in this inquiry will last only so long as I suspect that you are keeping information from me. The sooner you cease your childish actions and tell us what we need to know, the sooner you can return to your duties with the women’s community. Do you understand?” I left nothing to the imagination as I stood and leaned in toward her.

  But this one was not easily intimidated. She did not look at me, but threw the now-empty oyster shell to the floor. “Malgwyn, you are a strong man. And that is good, but don’t think that just your strength will be enough in this endeavor.” To demonstrate her diffidence, some bone hairpins magically appeared in her hands and she went about the task of pinning up the fireball that was her head of hair.

  I was tired, no, beyond tired, of people telling me what I was and what I was not. “Tired” was a weak word to describe my anger. Flinging my cloak back, I lunged forward, planted Rhiannon’s feet on the floor, sending the bone hairpins flying about the room, and pointed at two of the soldiers. “The abbot has an iron rod for roasting meat. Find it! Then stoke a hot fire in the hearth.” I turned and looked into Rhiannon’s widening eyes. “I will have answers to my questions or we will feast on your feet tonight!” I spoke strongly, but the nest of her hair tickled my nose and the view I had down her wrap, revealing two wondrous breasts, made my manhood strong also. Her hair was scented with rose water, and I found myself breathing of it deeply. I released her and stepped back.

  “Malgwyn!” My tirade had brought Patrick to his feet. “We do not torture people.”

  I chose now to shock him and all those around us. “You may not. But I do. My commission is to find the killer of Elafius, and you all treat it as a joke. I did not like him, but he deserves better. So”—and I paused and touched each eye in the room with my own—“I will do what I have to in order to make this thing happen.”

  The soldiers, who were less shocked by such orders, shrugged and left to find the iron rod. I set myself to building a fire in the great hearth. “Episcopus, if you will lend a hand and tie Madame Rhiannon into that chair, I would be grateful.”

  “Certainly, Master Malgwyn.” And without another word, he snatched a rope coiled in the corner.

  “Episcopus!” Rhiannon shouted. I admired her flexibility. She went from insulting Patrick to seeking his protection as quickly as the flicker of an eyelid.

  Patrick dropped his head and looked very regretful. “I am sorry, good sister. I have no authority here. ’Tis Malgwyn who wears the judicial robe. At best I am simply a guest.”

  “Ask your questions,” Rhiannon said, the flippancy gone from her voice. With Coroticus absent and Patrick conspiring with me, she had little choice. I nodded to Patrick and he tossed the rope in the corner.

  She looked at me with less disdain, and I found it welcoming. I wondered how much of her attitude was a disguise for her own fear. A great deal, I thought. Like everyone at the abbey, it seemed, she had some secret. Even Patrick had one, as I was now aware.

  I did not answer her immediately, finding my eyes drawn to the glowing red and orange embers of the fire, the touch of the fragrant smoke sending my nose twitching before it escaped through a small hole in the roof.

  “I understand that you have known Gwilym, the old monachus, for many years. Is that true?”

  Poor Rhiannon. She had been prepared to discuss Elafius, the divine sacrifice, her whereabouts on the night of Elafius’s murder, but not Gwilym. Her face could not hide her surprise at all. Her eyes, bright and brown, grew wide. Her fingers clenched the sides of her chair so tightly that her knuckles seemed ready to burst through the skin. She had no ready answer so she told me the truth.

  “Aye. What of it?” But her shrug was
too late. And she knew it.

  “Why did you not tell of this before?”

  “Why should I? He did not kill Elafius.”

  “But he was the one spreading Pelagianism. It was his activities that caused Elafius to send for Patrick. That sounds like he might have had reason to rid himself of an interfering old man.”

  Her eyes flashed again, but this time with anger, anger that I would accuse her friend of such evil. “No. I have known him all of my life. He is not capable of this.”

  “He is not capable of murder, but he is spreading Pelagianism?” Patrick entered the fray.

  This time the old episcopus was the target of her flashing eyes. “Believing in the ideas of Pelagius does not make one capable of murder,” Rhiannon snapped at him. “No matter how much you would wish it so, all believers in the Christ have not repudiated Pelagius. There are yet many in Gaul and here in Brittania who believe that he was right and that the church is wrong.”

  Patrick bounced to his feet with a speed that belied his age. “How dare you! You would steal the meaning from the Christ’s sacrifice!”

  “Pelagius does not steal anything! He simply says that man alone can either accept or reject salvation. The Christ set the perfect example by sacrificing His all. But man is not dependent on the grace of God for his salvation!”

  “You speak rubbish, woman! Salvation is by God’s grace and good works! Hear me, woman. I knew Agricola, and I debated with him and bested him. You are but a child and cannot match his skills, so do not pretend that you can!”

  “And you are become an old man in his dotage! Do not pretend otherwise!”

  They would have continued like that for hours, but my head was already in pain. God’s grace. Good works. Free will. Undiscoverable truths! “Enough!” I shouted, springing to my own feet. My eruption accomplished its purpose as both fell immediately silent, yet fixedly glared at one another. “Can you say with certainty that Gwilym could not have done this thing?”

  Rhiannon pursed her lips and looked away from me. “No,” she admitted after a long moment. “I cannot. I did as I told you yesterday. I left this community, crossed the vallum into my own, and did not return. I know not what Gwilym did after the meal.”

  She was lying, but whether it was on the question of Gwilym or her own activities I could not determine.

  Patrick looked to me. “We must see this Gwilym.”

  “He is away now,” Rhiannon said.

  “No, he is not,” I said. “ ’Twas just this morning that I spoke with him.”

  Those blazing eyes cut to me, and I sensed something unsaid. “You are of the women’s community. How would you know that he was away?”

  “Do I not have eyes, great Master Malgwyn? He was leaving the abbey as I was brought here. We passed on the path and spoke.”

  “About what?”

  “The abbot sent him with one of the other brothers to a nearby village to help with a sickness.” She almost whispered the words.

  I felt the flush of my face as the anger rose. So that had been Coroticus’s game when he plucked Gwilym from my chamber! Had Coroticus been right there, I might surely have broken his neck. He knew that we would be seeking the old monachus again. For some reason, rather than just obstruct us with his silence, the abbot was taking a more active role in blocking our queries. I remembered Gwilym’s warning that he was hiding as much as anyone. Apparently, our abbot knew that secret as well.

  “What or who is Gwilym?” I demanded. “Why is he so important? Why is he being protected?” Both Patrick and I leaned in expectantly, though we had no hope of an explanation.

  Rhiannon looked first to Patrick with the narrowed eyes of hatred and then to me, her expression less harsh. “I will not tell him,” she spat out. “And,” she continued more softly, “you, I cannot tell.”

  “Why can you not tell me? Did Gwilym do this thing?” That he was guilty seemed the only reason for this continuing effort to block my inquest.

  She shook her head. “I cannot say, but he is not the kind to do murder.”

  “Then why?” I was pleading with her. To my amazement, Patrick had stayed silent throughout this exchange.

  Tears had filled her eyes by then, and she simply shook her head. As frustrated as I was with her, I took no pleasure in treating her this way. Her cheeks were stained with the shiny tracks of tears. Had she not been a woman of the community, the chalk that most women used to whiten their faces would have been running down her cheeks, driven by the tears. “Go,” I said finally.

  “Malgwyn!” Patrick sprang to his feet.

  “We have nothing with which to charge her, episcopus. We have no witnesses that place her near Elafius after the evening meal. I doubt not that the other women will confirm that they saw her in their community near unto the time that Elafius must have been killed.” The disgust in my voice must have come through strongly for I noticed Patrick’s shoulders droop in resignation. “Go, but we may have more questions for you. Be so good as to not leave the abbey to help in villages.”

  Rhiannon stood and smoothed her dress. With both hands, she wiped the tears from her face and tried to regain her dignity. “Do what you must, Malgwyn, but I do not believe that Gwilym did this. It is not in his nature.”

  “Murder is in any man’s nature if he is pushed to it.”

  She cocked her head and looked at me oddly. “If you need me, I will be easy to find.” With that she swept from the room.

  “I think that was a waste of time, but this question of Gwilym must be resolved,” I said. “As of now, he is the only one we know with reason to kill Elafius. I do not think the woman was involved, at least with the act itself.”

  “Agreed. Then I believe we must inquire of Coroticus. He seems to be engulfed in this affair.”

  I had no desire to question my friend, but Patrick was right. We had leverage with Coroticus because of the church and his position. And he absolutely knew things that he was not telling us. But Patrick’s sovereignty over him was more supposed than real. Bishops were zealous in guarding their bishoprics; they regarded the presence of another episcopus as that of an invading king, bent on their destruction.

  I did not think Coroticus viewed it as such, but I believed that he would use it to his advantage. I nodded to my soldiers. “Find Coroticus. Bring him here, but do not harm him. Show him every respect. Tell him that the episcopus and I request his presence.”

  They left and Patrick turned to me. “Do you believe that Coroticus did this?”

  “No, Patrick. I know Coroticus too well. He might stand to the side and allow someone to die. He might direct it to be done. But I do not think he would ever foul his own hands with blood. And if he had wanted Elafius dead, he could have had it done years ago. When I was here, after the River Tribuit, Elafius was just as annoying as anyone.” I stopped and pulled on my beard for a second. “That is what bothers me, Patrick. Elafius was annoying. But unless you are a tyrannus, that is little reason to kill. If such were sufficient, Arthur would have killed me years ago. A question, Patrick?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why do you so fervently oppose women playing a role in the divine sacrifice? It seems of little consequence to me.”

  “Malgwyn, my new friend, it is well-established doctrine that women should play no role in the sacrifice. It would dilute the meaning. The same practice has infected Brittany as well.”

  “What is it they do that so outrages you?”

  “Ofttimes, a sacerdote or presbyter will travel from house to house administering the divine sacrifice to families. In some regions, a woman is allowed to hold the cup that contains the precious blood of the Christ.”

  I knew that he was speaking symbolically, although I had heard some of the monachi once discuss their belief that the wine they drink somehow becomes the real blood of the Christ once they drink it. Such things were beyond my ken. “And this offends you?”

  “It is contrary to teaching and tradition. The Christ had no women a
mong his apostles. So, how could it be proper for women to take an active role in celebrating His sacrifice?”

  “When I lived among the monachi here, I heard some of them talk about the Magdalene, that she was a favored one.”

  Patrick frowned. “She was a fallen woman that the Christ raised up, but that was all.”

  “And you do not think that the Christ—”

  “Malgwyn!” Patrick snapped, his face flushing red. “He would not have done such. He had not that need.”

  I held up my hand in submission. “ ’Twas just a question, episcopus. No offense intended, I swear it.”

  His complexion returned to normal and the wrinkles softened again. “Women are just a . . . a . . .”

  “A lesser sort?”

  “That is not my judgment, Malgwyn, but the judgment of Saint Paul.”

  “Were I you, episcopus, I would not voice such beliefs before the lady Rhiannon.”

  Patrick chuckled, smoothing some of the wrinkles from his face. “No, I do not believe that would be a wise course.”

  Young Gildas entered the hall carrying a pitcher. “Episcopus, I thought you might like some refreshment.” He filled a beaker for Patrick, then turning toward me, he hesitated. Patrick sipped from his beaker and smiled at me.

  “Please, Malgwyn, join me. A cup of small beer will settle our stomachs and our nerves.”

  At that, Gildas reluctantly filled a beaker and offered it to me. I think it was at that moment that my future with Gildas became as hard as flint. The gall of the youngster! To place himself as my judge! I would not easily forget his impertinence. Our time of reckoning would come.

  The young monachus seemed about to say something to Patrick, but he paused and turned the corners of his mouth down into a frown and left without a word.

  “Forgive him, Malgwyn. He is young.”

  “He is too certain of himself for a youngster. I wonder how much of his insolence comes from his father and brothers. They oppose Arthur, you know.”