by Anthony Hays
“First, tell me your story that I may search for some answer.”
“If we are to leave we must do it now. I trust you, Malgwyn, but I think that my knowledge of this matter is all that keeps me breathing. I will tell my story to Arthur.”
My first impulse was to strike him down with a single blow. To lure me here with promises of revelation, and then deny me that which I was promised, was almost more than I could take. But he was both right and wrong. What he knew was certainly all that he owned of value, but while it might keep him breathing in some ways, that information could bring his death by others.
“Quickly, then,” I decided. “Let us leave this place behind.” Accolon needed no further encouragement.
Our shoes found poor purchase on the muddy path and going up took twice as long as coming down. “Kay led them away to the northwest,” I said, panting, as we reached the top of the falls. “We will move south by southeast to Arthur’s castle, staying away from the roads. With good fortune, we will be with Arthur before they realize they are chasing but one man.”
“And if they catch Kay?”
I shrugged. “Kay knows how to deal with trouble.”
“You throw your friend’s life around casually, Malgwyn.”
In the cool of the early morn, I turned to lecture him on the dangers that men such as we face in this life, but the gray hairs painting his beard were legion. A pair of scars, remnants of old battle wounds, marked the left side of his face, lying like wagon tracks upon his cheekbone. He needed no lessons from me.
“Much is at stake here, Accolon. This affair is about more than the killing of two women.”
“I know that better than you, Malgwyn. I have followed Arthur’s banner all of my life.”
“If we are to preserve him, then we must do what is necessary. Kay knows this.”
Despite the burning in my lungs and the weariness in my step, we started off once again.
The path we chose took us between the old Roman road and the lane from Arthur’s castle to Ynys-witrin, that road known as Via Arthur. We had ten miles to cover through forests and fields, with no lanes, just mere forest and animal paths. Yet I foresaw no problems. We had the entire day, and it was but a four-hour journey even in our exhausted state. To make certain, I chose a straight path. We would allow ourselves no margin by taking a more circuitous route.
Two miles from the glen, we stopped beneath an oak tree long enough to eat some of Guinevere’s food. I was ever alert to sounds of our pursuers, but it seemed that Kay was doing his job well, and safely, I hoped. The cheese was hard and cracked at the edges and the bread was stale as well, but the water was welcome and we tore at the food with our teeth.
“Tell me something of that night, Accolon.”
“You would worry a sore until it bleeds,” the old soldier grumbled. “We would be better served continuing our journey.”
“Why did I come for you then?”
He grinned crookedly. “’Twas the only way I could be guaranteed safe passage back.” The spark of humor in his eyes faded quickly. “Malgwyn, I am but an old and tired man whose life has been one of rejection and failure. But that life, no matter how miserable, is all that I have left. This knowledge is my only road back to respect, to earning the trust that Arthur placed in me by allowing me back into his service.”
“But how does telling me harm your plan?”
“You are much like me, Malgwyn. We are both but shadows of what we once were. What assurance do I have that you would not kill me as soon as you have heard my tale and take Arthur’s reward all for yourself?”
I clambered to my feet angrily. “What I do I do for the girl and for the truth, not for Arthur or any reward.”
“I am counting on that, but in these days when treachery calls at every door, I must protect myself, even from you. Be at peace, Malgwyn. You shall know my story soon enough. And though I know not everything, I think you will, once you have my piece of the puzzle.”
In truth, I could understand his suspicions. Ours was a time when a man’s word was good only as far as it didn’t endanger his own position. Trusting anyone was not a wise policy. Vortigern had trusted his Saxon mercenaries and watched in frustration as they turned on him. Kings of the many tribes were often assassinated by brothers and others. Such events were what made Arthur special. His love of the Christ tempered the practicality of his Roman heritage. That, as much as anything else, accounted for his appeal. But even that was not enough to bring all the Briton tribes together.
Still, too much was at stake here to accept his refusal. “What if you are killed along the journey to the castle? What then?”
The old soldier reached across and patted me on the arm. “I have weathered too many battles to die upon this road. Be at ease, Malgwyn. All will be well.”
I wished with all my heart that I could taste but a bit of his confidence. “Then tell me of Nyfain. How came she to die?”
Accolon’s cheeks turned red. “Those who killed Eleonore killed Nyfain too, killed her for what Eleonore might have told her.
“After duty and after you questioned me, I went to the barracks to drink and ponder over it all. After a while, I sought Nyfain at home to seek her counsel. I wanted to tell her of what happened and see what she made of it. When I arrived, she was not in our house. I searched and found her in a storage shed. She had been butchered like Eleonore. I was in a panic.”
“And you ran because you were afraid that someone would blame you with both murders? But you knew that Merlin was being blamed.”
“Aye. But I also knew that the old man had nothing to do with it and you would discover that truth. Nyfain was killed after Merlin was arrested. I had already spoken to you, so you knew I was one of the last people to see Eleonore alive. I was approached in the lane when I left my house. This man told me that I should keep silent or the same punishment would be visited on me as Nyfain.”
“Who, Accolon? Who? A name, man! Give me a name!”
The grim soldier looked grimmer still. “I can’t, Malgwyn. ’Tis the only thing of value I have left. If I give it to you, I have nothing to bargain with.”
I leaped forward, my face framed in red. The quick move found my good arm pinning against Accolon’s throat.
“Kill me, Malgwyn,” Accolon choked out, “and you’ll never get that name. Death holds no fear for a man such as me.”
Breathing heavily, I released Accolon, the foul odor from his clothes filling the air. He was right. For Accolon, there was little left. I knew well how he felt.
The big warrior rubbed his throat. “You may have lost half an arm, but you are not a man I would choose to fight.” A sincerity in his voice made me a little more friendly toward him. In many ways, we were much alike.
Wiping a crumb of bread from my lips, I considered his words and then wrapped our food back in its cloth. “We have miles to go. Come, let us finish this journey.” I felt I had learned all he would tell me, though I yearned for more.
Accolon reached down and offered me his hand. I took it in my own, and he helped me to my feet. “You are a good man, Malgwyn. I have heard it said many times over.”
I looked him straight in the eye. “Arthur did not reject you. Morgan did. It was her choice, not his.”
The old warrior’s head drooped in a tired nod. “I finally understood this. She was too young for me, and I would never have been happy with her.”
“Then let us go see Arthur and end this current matter. I think you will rise substantially in his esteem.”
The day grew warmer and warmer, hot for our land. We were both exhausted and our journey was taking far longer than I expected. Without a path, our scramble across rough ground and through dense copses of woods was slow indeed. The sun was well past its noontime perch and we had covered but four, maybe five miles, with another schoenus, another four miles to go, at least.
Sweat stung my eyes and dripped from my beard. My shoes were not those of a warrior and the leather was teari
ng. My fine new tunic was torn in a half-dozen places from thorns and low-hanging limbs. I collapsed in a copse of trees sprouting up in the middle of a rocky field.
“I must rest, Accolon. I have not a soldier’s strength any longer.”
“You are just fat and lazy from your wanton life.”
I could not argue with him. Although I was less fat than he, I tired more easily than the old soldier. I lay and gathered my strength as he studied the land behind us. We still had some time. The ground from here to Arthur’s castle was more level, less broken than that which we had covered.
“Off your lazy arse, Malgwyn!” Accolon suddenly hissed. “Your ruse has collapsed.”
I pulled myself to my feet and grabbed his shoulder with my one hand. At first I saw nothing save the rock-strewn land, stretching back to the last stand of trees. Then, watching the curve of the field, I saw movement, a head bobbing. I strained to see, but only one man moved slowly, popping up and gauging the land to his front.
He did not know we were there, so close, and he was being cautious, probably so that he could return to the others quickly and alert them to our presence. But here we were, not two hundred paces away. And we had seen him before he saw us.
I scouted around swiftly. Undoubtedly the others of his band were not far behind, perhaps even in the dark line of trees behind us, just waiting for their scout to wave them forward. I cast about for a solution, thinking. “Quickly, Accolon! Help me.”
Pulling a young sapling, about an inch thick, forward, I motioned for Accolon to cut it and he did. I whispered my plan to him and he quickly set to work, while I held my stick under my half- arm and sharpened one point. “Here.” I nodded, pointing at my tattered tunic. “Strip some of these threads and twist them.” With a jerk, he tore away a length of my linen tunic. I thought of Ygerne and how pleased she had been with it. With any luck, it would save our lives.
While Accolon worked, I found a good place to execute my plan near the opening of the copse. A deer path was worn between a pair of trees, standing some ten feet apart. The trees and bushes of the copse were thicker on either side, and I had no doubt that our pursuer would choose the deer path. And that would be his misfortune.
Soon, Accolon joined me and we prepared our surprise. “Now,” I told him, “you go on across to the far woods.”
“And what of you?”
“I want to have a little talk with your pursuer. It will be a few moments before his companions realize that something has happened. Fear not. I will join you.”
“I do not like this, Malgwyn.”
“Neither do I, but I need to know something of these men.”
“Then I shall stay. Tell me what you must know.”
I grabbed his shoulder. “You worry too much. Go. Wait for me in the edge of the trees.”
He frowned but then set off at a swift gait across the field. I secreted myself in the mass of brush and thorns to one side of the path and waited.
And waited.
A thorn found its way to my earlobe, but I knew by then that there was nothing I could do. Nothing. Even then, I could hear the rogue’s shoes scraping on the ground.
I chanced a look. I succeeded in driving the thorn deeper into my earlobe, but I caught enough of a glimpse to see him rise to a half-crouch. As I suspected, he was heading straight to the deer path, eager to ferret out any sign of our passage.
Tears flowed from my eyes, but I had to watch and see if our trap worked. I gripped my dagger in anticipation.
White spots appeared before my eyes, but I could not tell if they were from fatigue or dread.
My breathing, already ragged, grew shallower.
It happened quickly, too quickly. The sound resembled a bird flapping its wings angrily, trying to free itself from the leaves of a tree. At least until the point of our little spear slammed into our pursuer’s abdomen with a sickening, wet thud.
I leaped out of my hiding place and pounced on the intruder, my one hand snaring his throat. “Make not a sound,” I whispered, looking swiftly at the piece of wood protruding from his belly. “You are a dead man already.” The blood, looking almost black against his rough tunic, began a small stream down his side, and he looked at me with questioning eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The question had no need for an answer. I knew by looking, but when he spoke all doubt vanished. Accolon’s pursuers were Saxons. He was a grizzled warrior, not unlike Accolon in his own way. But where we wore beards down to our chests, Saxons went clean shaven except for long, drooping mustaches. This one had the mustache plus an oily topknot. I had heard of such things in Gaul but had seen no Saxons here in our lands arrayed thus.
“How many?” I asked in the Saxon language. I knew little of it, but enough, I thought, to handle this.
Wild-eyed, he shook his head. Did that mean he understood me not?
“How many?” I repeated.
He shook his head again and this time he spat in my face. A rage took my soul and wrapped it in a fog. I grabbed the end of the stick, aimed it upward, and thrust it into his heart. With a gurgle and a scarlet froth from his mouth, his eyes grew blank.
No surprise marked his death face, only hatred. I had given what he expected, and rather than satisfaction at yet another Saxon death, I felt embarrassment.
Searching his clothing, I found nothing of use to us but a dagger. I shoved that into my belt, pushed myself to my feet, and ran through the small copse of trees and out the other side. His companions would not wait long for his signal before sending another to check on him. I had seen all I needed to see. My thoughts darted to Kay, and I prayed to Arthur’s God for his safety. He had followed me blindly, but willingly, and such was the mark of a friend.
As I bolted across the opening, I could see Accolon waiting at the edge of the trees. I stumbled, breathless, past him and would have fallen, but he snagged my tunic.
“Malgwyn! Who are they?”
“Saxons.”
Accolon’s face screwed up in obvious confusion. “Saxons? Why would Saxons seek me?”
“I do not know, but there is one less to deal with.”
“You killed him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“He served his purpose,” I said sharply, courting no further discussion on that matter.
He seemed to understand and nodded. “I thought ’twould be some of Tristan’s men.”
“Why thought you that?”
“ ’Twas one of them that warned me. This surprises you?”
I thought for a moment. Vortimer had practically confessed by threatening me at the feasting. Tristan was always eager to follow after Vortimer. And his vote would be cast for Vortimer. In truth, only a few of the lords were committed, the majority for Arthur, but some, like David and Lauhiir, were liable to shift with the wind. If Arthur’s credibility suffered, Vortimer could count yet more votes. Vortimer would always be hampered by his father’s memory. That he would use someone else for his dirty work made sense. But, I said simply, “Nothing in this matter surprises me any longer.
“Come, we have more miles to cover and little time. The Saxon’s friends will be coming swiftly, and they will not be as easy to kill now. What ever you know is of importance to them, enough to risk their lives.”
Accolon frowned. “I cannot put the two together. I cannot see how one is tied with the same knot as the other.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but thought better of it. His caution in this matter was sound. Too many others had seen their lives ended by not keeping an eye to the horizon for treachery.
“We must go. Talk only delays our journey.”
“You still think I should trust you with my knowledge.”
“What I think is not important, Accolon. We have no time for this. The castle lies too far away.”
Accolon nodded. “You place great faith in me. It has been many seasons since anyone has done that. I shall not forget it.”
“You are wrong, Accolon. Arthur pl
aced great faith in you by taking you back after you allied yourself with his enemies.”
“Aye, you are right. I—” His eyes narrowed at some distant object. I turned to look just as the buzz of an angry bee swept past my ear.
A slicing, like that of a knife in raw meat, sounded, followed by a grunt. I turned back to Accolon as surprise registered in his widening eyes.
A spray of blood splattered me as I watched skin flap open from Accolon’s skull.
Two more bees buzzed, followed by the dull thuds of arrow in flesh.
Accolon, his mouth still open, fell with an arrow protruding from his right arm and another from his chest.
I dropped to the ground as more arrows split the air above. With my one arm, I wrapped it around Accolon’s chest, beneath the arrow, and kicking hard with my feet, dragged his heavy body behind the tree.
“Malgwyn . . .” In his throat I heard that rattle that accompanies death.
“Be still. Your head is bleeding and your arm is pierced. But ’tis the arrow in your chest that worries me.”
“Do not pull it out,” he croaked.
“I know.” Arrows in the chest, if removed without hot iron to cauterize the wound (and sometimes even when that was available), could cause the victim to strangle on their own blood. I knew not why, but I knew that I had seen men die quickly from chest wounds that bubbled blood. Leaving the arrow in would give us some time.
“I . . .” and then Accolon passed out, his eyes closing. I knew not if it were the loss of blood or the blow to his head.
They were still approaching. I knew that. And I knew that staying there would condemn us both to death. Without thinking about the consequences, I crouched, pulled Accolon’s body over my shoulder, steadied him with my stump of an arm and ran as fast as my old legs would carry us.
The arrows flicked past us, and I braced for the one that would hit me, yet never broke my stride. Ahead, across open ground, I could see a patch of dark woods. I needed no advisers to tell me that our pursuers would be right behind me, but if I could get us into the forest, I could find sanctuary where I could watch for them crossing the open ground. At least I could use the chance to evaluate our situation.
