by Tony Hays
I think the flat tone of my statement shocked Coroticus more than anything else. He nodded slowly, seeming relieved that I was not going to expose him.
“What of Lauhiir?”
“I will not interfere with your grant of sanctuary to Lauhiir. But know that Arthur will keep guards here from now until the end of time to catch him if he ventures beyond the vallum ditch and bank. In other words, my old friend, you are stuck with him.”
Coroticus grunted. “A small price to pay, I suppose.”
“Far too small, abbot.”
“And Gwilym?”
“Do as you please with him. I am sure he will want to leave. Let him.” I turned to depart, but a thought struck me and I faced him once again. “If it should occur to you to arrange for my death, be assured that I am not a weak old monachus nor will I give you a chance to stab me in the back.”
My next visit took me to the cell of Gwilym. I found him there with Rhiannon. Pausing in the doorway, I considered the ancient monachus. I truly did like him, as much for his willingness to offer his own life for that of his daughter as anything else. It was an emotion familiar to me.
Rhiannon was as beautiful as ever. I wanted to believe that she had given herself to me willingly, but at the back of my mind another truth ate at me. I did not believe that she had not slept with the abbot. He was a virile man in his prime, and she had reason to keep him happy.
“What shall I call you— Tremayne, Agricola, Gwilym?”
“Whatever pleases you. Should I call you ‘Smiling Malgwyn’ or ‘Mad Malgwyn’ or ‘Malgwyn the Wise’?”
I smiled at the last. “I have been anything but wise in this affair.”
“You faced many obstacles.”
“I faced many lies.”
Gwilym smiled then. “Yes, many lies.”
“I know that you did not kill Patrick. I know that you had no hand in Elafius’s death. You confessed to Patrick’s murder because you feared Rhiannon had done it. She did not.”
Even in the cool evening air, a fine sheen of sweat had erupted on his forehead. Now, he visibly relaxed, the contours of his ancient but rigid muscles disappearing beneath his robe. He reached over and patted Rhiannon’s knee. “My daughter is a passionate and devoted woman, Malgwyn. I did not want to believe it, but I could not take that chance. My life is near its end. Better that I be thought guilty than that she forfeit her life protecting me.”
“Is that not what being a father is about?”
Rhiannon flashed me a look of gratitude for saying no more than that.
Gwilym hung his head. “I would never have harmed either one. They were, once, my dearest friends. Poor Elafius! He never suspected that I was, in truth, Tremayne.”
“Did it amuse you to argue with Elafius?”
“Yes, I will admit to that. His memory was always horrible, even when we were children. So Lauhiir killed him over this forging business?”
I nodded, perpetuating the lie. “Rhiannon, would you please leave your father and me alone?”
She looked quickly to Gwilym, and he just as quickly nodded his assent. With a fleeting glance at me, she disappeared through the door.
Pulling a chair closer to Gwilym, I sat down heavily. “I want to talk about Addiena.”
He shook his old white head slowly. “ ‘Twas a sad thing, Malgwyn. The power of lust has turned many good men evil.”
“Yes, it has. I have heard the story twice now, from Patrick and from Myndora. But a few things still bother me.”
“Please, ask.”
“Patrick told me that he confided to you hours after the attack.”
“That is true.”
“I see. And when the signs of the Scotti raiding party were found, you kept his confidence and let the awful deed lie at their feet?”
“Patrick was a good man. He had a moment of weakness, something all men are subject to. Addiena was already dead. Patrick was obviously repentant for his sin. I saw no reason to ruin the rest of his life.”
“Yet years later, you told Severus that Patrick had killed and ravished the girl?”
Gwilym hung his head. “I was still young and incautious. I wanted to impress upon Severus that the church was not without error. In a fit of youthful passion, I disclosed Patrick’s story. As it was, it did not further my cause. The church, to this day, condemns Pelagius and his beliefs.”
“Yes, that is true. But you bring me to my real question. Why did you lie to Patrick and Severus? Indeed, why have you lied your entire life?”
His head flew up. “Lied? Lied about what?”
“You murdered Addiena.”
Gwilym exploded to his feet, sending his wooden stool flying across the cell. “How dare you!”
I leaped to my feet and grabbed him by his robe, driving him against the wall, causing the wood to shudder. “It is over, Gwilym!” He was lighter than I thought, and I nearly lifted him from the ground with my one hand. “It is over!” I repeated, my nose just inches from his.
His eyes searched mine for some doubt, some uncertainty, but he found none.
He went limp in my hand and I lowered him slowly to the floor. “How … did … you know?”
“Myndora told me, though she did not realize it.”
“My sister? How? She knew nothing, only what I told her.”
I released him and he slumped against the wall, all of the fight gone from his eyes, replaced with a fearsome sadness, the likes of which I had never seen. “You told her too much.”
He looked up at me with a question in those eyes.
“According to Patrick, he told you about the assault on Addiena later, after her body had been found.”
“That is true. He did.”
“But when you told Myndora, when you warned her, you told her you had seen it happen.”
He wanted to deny it. He had not thought of that conversation for a lifetime. I could see his eyes flitting back and forth in their sockets as they searched for an answer.
“I … I …” But he could dredge up no words to counter mine.
“It was more than that though, Gwilym. Let me tell you what I think happened. You were all going to meet that day. But Elafius was late, and he sent Addiena ahead. Patrick was already there when she arrived.
“He was a young boy with all of the desires that mark young boys. Addiena was there. No one else was around. He tried to force himself on her. I suspect, though I have no way of proving it, that he did nothing more than cause her to faint from sudden fright. I believe he has convinced himself over the years that he actually did ravish her.
“And then he ran, frightened beyond all words. But you were there, Gwilym, watching from afar. And you ran up to Addiena, saw her lying there, her gown askew, and you could not resist any more than Patrick could. But she awakened as you attempted to mount her, and you choked the life out of her.”
“No! No! Patrick did! You could not possibly know anything about that. It happened before you were born!”
“But I do know how you described Addiena’s death to Myndora. You talked about her eyes bulging and turning red with blood as she fought for air, her lips turning blue! Only someone who had been there could know those details! I have studied the bodies of men and women choked to death. I have seen the little points of red in their eyes. But you have to be close, virtually on top of them, to see it. You ravished her and you choked her to death to hide your deed. And then you let Patrick believe he had done it.”
Gwilym looked up at me then, his eyes red with tears, tears that overflowed the wrinkles in his face. “How could she remember those things so completely?”
“How could she not, Gwilym? One of her friends had just been murdered, and you were telling her that the boy she loved did it. She will never forget that as long as she lives!”
“I did not mean to kill her. But when she awakened and saw me, I panicked. I knew I could never explain it!”
“Such is the excuse of most murderers, Gwilym. ‘I did not mean to’ co
uld be etched in stone. But, in your case, I truly believe that you did not intend to kill her. What I do blame you for is not telling Patrick the truth all those years ago. Patrick was a good and honorable man, who has dedicated his life to the Christ. He was your friend. He deserved better!”
Nodding, he wiped the tears from his face with an agespotted hand. “What will you do with me now?”
Sighing, I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Now, Patrick is dead. There will be no council at Castellum Marcus to judge him. Addiena is dead and few are now alive who even remember her. I see nothing to be gained by revealing your part in this affair. You are free to leave here as you wish. I would suggest Gaul. It is a pleasant enough place, and Rhiannon will be able to fulfill her role in the divine sacrifice without incurring the wrath of the church.”
“But I am Agricola, the champion of Pelagius. You do not wish to secure the favor of the church by exposing me?”
“I am Malgwyn, and I could care less about the battles within the church over philosophy. But do not place your trust in Coroticus. He might be tempted. In fact, I think he will be tempted. One further question. Why did you go to Patrick’s cell that night?”
The old priest bowed his head. “To beg his forgiveness for betraying his confidence. To plead with him not to betray me to Dubricius and Severus. I was happy here.”
I sighed. But he had had no intention of relieving Patrick of the burden he had wrongly carried all these years. Man is a predictable creature. “If it is of any comfort, I believe he would have forgiven you. The Patrick that I came to know in his last days was a man of forgiveness.”
Gwilym stood. “I would thank you, but I sense that such would not be appropriate or welcome. You are an uncommon man with an uncommon clarity of vision. Arthur rises in my esteem by keeping such as you close to him.”
I turned without speaking and left his cell, only to find Rhiannon waiting for me.
She looked vulnerable and more beautiful than any time I had seen her. Even in her religious robes, designed to hide her figure, she was more than alluring. I think, most of all, I liked her eyes. They seemed always to hold a challenge, always anticipating an argument. They were alive.
“Rhiannon, I will take my leave now. I have yet another journey to make before I return home.”
“You have no accusations to make against me?”
I was tired of this affair, so tired. “What would you have me say, Rhiannon? That I know you helped Coroticus kill Elafius? That I wonder if your visit to my cell that night was to distract me, to divert attention away from you while Patrick was being killed? Fine, those are the things that burden my mind. But while I can prove that two people had a hand in killing Elafius, I have no way of proving that you were one of them and, now, no interest in doing so. It is over. Let the dead rest.”
The lines in her face tightened with disappointment. “I gave myself to you because I wanted you. What difference does the other make?”
Her words held no comfort for me. Indeed, my heart was already feeling empty and unsure, and now that she had spoken, I felt even worse. But like a farmer’s fork, my pain had more than one prong. We had joined that night with no hesitation, no awkwardness, and I had allowed those feelings, those urges, to steal my resolve. It was not what she said that hurt me; it was what she did not say. She denied nothing that I said.
“Go to your father now. He needs you. Our paths were not meant to join but for a moment.”
And then I turned and walked away from her, never turning, never looking back, for fear I would lose my way. I passed through the old burying ground and saw that they had buried Patrick next to his friend Elafius. As he requested, there would be no stone to mark his grave.
Merlin waited for me at the entrance to the abbey, perched on top of his horse and holding the reins of mine in his hand. It was odd to begin a journey at night, but so much of this matter had happened in the dark.
As we rode out of the village, I turned my horse to the west.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A week later, as we crossed the River Cam to see Arthur’s castle rising above us, its massive ramparts and defensive ditches ringing its slope, I felt a sudden sense of relief. A troop of Arthur’s cavalry rode by on the opposite bank and gave me the salute. I returned it and slipped down from my saddle as Merlin urged his horse across the ford. Slapping my horse on her hindquarters, I walked beside the oxen as they pulled the cart into the water.
“What river is this?” a voice asked from within the cart, a woman’s voice.
“The River Cam, Myndora.”
“Then we must be nearly there.”
I just shook my head. Her eyes might be dead, but her mind was as sharp as ever. While I had sat in the cave, uncertain if I would see another sunrise, I had determined to bring her here, where there were people who would care for her. Though she grumbled a bit, convincing her proved to be no problem. She had little, so Merlin and I took but a few minutes to pack her things and get her into the oxcart.
Merlin became fascinated with her incredible sense of hearing, and he occupied her time— aye, he nearly drove her to distraction— with his incessant questions. But they soon established a friendship of sorts, and I was glad.
Once we had crossed the ford, I remounted and we skirted the base of the fort. We encountered several more of Arthur’s men, and each saluted me. I was a little confused. Since the assassination plot against Ambrosius Aurelianus, I had regained some of the respect I had lost during my self-pitying, drunken life. But this was different.
I shrugged and continued leading my little party along the road to the main gate in the southwest. As we negotiated the snakelike road, designed to make assaults more difficult, I heard a great roar of voices. We made the last curve and there, just inside the massive gateway, stood Arthur and Bedevere, with two troop of horse lining the road leading to the market square.
Reining my horse in, I dismounted, surprised and confused at this display. Knowing not what else to do, I walked slowly up to him and took a knee. “My lord Rigotamos. I am at your service.” To have done otherwise before so large a gathering would have been an insult.
Arthur strode forward and took my good arm, helping me to rise. “This is not my doing, Malgwyn, but theirs.”
I looked and realized that the mounted soldiers were those I had led against the rebels.
“They wished to honor you on your return, for your bravery and your skill in battle. I could not refuse them.”
I looked from soldier to soldier. Half were straining to keep a solemn face; the others had given up the task as hopeless. Their horses were impatient at standing still, and they pawed the ground, snorting, their riders’ weapons jingling.
“But how did you know I would arrive now?”
Arthur shook his great, shaggy head and grinned. “Malgwyn, our scouts spotted you last night. We have known of your arrival to the minute.” He stopped and looked to the cart, walking up beside it. “I see you have returned with Merlin, but who is this beautiful lady?”
“This, my lord,” I answered, “is Myndora, many years ago a friend to both Elafius and Patrick. She helped me sort out the threat against your crown.”
Arthur walked up to the cart and reached in to take Myndora’s hand in his. Though her eyes were sightless, I could tell she was embarrassed by all of this attention. For his part, Arthur ignored her infirmity. He could be as charming as a devil. “Lady Myndora. I welcome you to Castellum Arturius.” He turned back to me. “Malgwyn, we will need to find a suitable residence for so distinguished a lady.”
Arthur had something in mind. I could tell. “I had thought that she could take my hut, here near the gate.”
“No, no, no,” he said, shaking that head again. “I am granting her Accolon’s old house. And I am sending Nimue from my household to serve her.”
Myndora was stunned, but she found it within her to lower her head in respect to Arthur. “Rigotamos,” she finally choked out. “I do not know how I
can thank you.”
“You already have, Lady Myndora.”
He smiled and winked at Merlin, who bowed in return. With a flick of his finger, two soldiers bounded forth and led the cart through the gate and into the castle.
“Now, Merlin, what do you and Bedevere think we should do with our wayward scribe?”
“Well, Rigotamos, I have given this a great deal of thought,” Merlin began. “Since the lands of the rebel lords, Dochu and Teilo, stand forfeit, I believe that those lands and the title of lord be granted to Malgwyn. After all, it was only through his dedication to you and bravery in battle that the rebellion was thwarted.”
Arthur turned and looked to the soldiers lining the road into the castle. “What say you, men? Should I nominate Malgwyn to the consilium as lord?”
Voices shouted, spears rattled together. My eyes, though I willed it not to be so, spilled over with tears, and my words caught in my throat painfully. I cried not for the honor of being proffered as a new lord, but for the honor done me by Arthur and the men I had led in battle. That was worth a thousand titles.
Merlin, seeing my state, turned to Arthur. “Rigotamos, Malgwyn should be given time to consider your offer. ‘Tis a great decision to make.”
To his credit, Arthur missed nothing and paused not. “Of course he should have time. Come, Malgwyn, a feast is preparing to honor our victory and our soldiers!”
As I passed through the gates, I looked up and saw little Mariam, my daughter, running like the wind toward me. I snatched her up with my one arm and held her tight and she wrapped her arms around my neck, and the tears came again.
A festival was held over the next few days, filled with feasting and drinking and our traditional dances, all to celebrate Arthur’s victory over the rebels. Merchants crowded the lanes of the castle with their brooches and pots and food. I took part but showed little interest. My mind was yet unsettled. Even the return of my dear friend Kay from the eastern lands failed to brighten my days.
