The Killing Way

by Anthony Hays

  I broke the surface sputtering and choking, but I was glad to see the sun.

  “We have caught an exceedingly large fish, Lord Kay,” a familiar voice said as the rope continued to pull me to the river-bank, the south bank.

  Gareth and his band of latrunculii appeared. Kay was astride his horse, the other end of my rope looped over the horse’s neck. Beside him stood my horse, pawing and scratching at the earth.

  As I climbed up the muddy bank, I noticed that Kay’s cheek held a long, bloody cut. Gareth’s men likewise were bloodied, and their tunics showed the rips and tears of battle.

  “The Saxons?” I managed to choke out.

  “Feeding the dogs upon the bluff,” Gareth said with a harsh smile.

  “How?” I struggled to a sitting position and fingered my pouch in amazement that it had stayed around my neck through all.

  “When they learned our deception,” Kay answered, “they disappeared. I knew that you and Accolon were in danger, so I ran like the wind back to Gareth’s camp. He volunteered to help. We continued on foot to catch up with you, and Gareth sent one of his men to go for our horses. We arrived just as you leaped from the bluff. Those you left for us gave a good accounting of themselves.”

  I nodded, absently reaching inside the pouch and feeling for the cheese. I pulled the soaked hunk out, wrapped in a bit of torn cloth like that from Eleonore’s hand. As I looked at it, clutched between my fingers, the truth dawned on me. The whole affair became clear. Quickly I rummaged through the pouch and retrieved the bit of cloth I found with Eleonore. I knew then what Accolon had tried to tell me.

  “To the castle!” I shouted. “We have no time to spare.” Two of the bandits helped me to my feet, and I staggered to the side of my horse.

  “What is the matter, Malgwyn? We have yet minutes of daylight,” Kay argued.

  “Assassination! Druids!”

  “Go quickly, Kay,” Gareth urged. “He may be a madman, but he is a madman I trust.”

  I reached deep within myself and found enough strength to mount the horse, but my reserves were fast dwindling. The red ball of the sun was nearing the western edge of the sky. “No more time for talk. They will be preparing Merlin for beheading even now. And the Rigotamos is in danger as well.”

  “From whom?” Kay queried.

  “From the consilium,” I answered, bringing a frown to my friend’s face.

  “Go, Malgwyn!” Gareth counseled.

  “Your debt to me is discharged, Gareth. You owe me nothing now.”

  Gareth’s eyes twinkled in that devilish way of his. “My debt to you will never be discharged. You believed in a bandit when no one else would. Now, finish your task.”

  I nodded, jerked the reins, and aimed my horse for Arthur’s castle, just a mile or so in the distance. As I kicked his flanks, the old horse laid his ears back and lunged forward.

  Our route took us across an open field and intersected with the Via Arthur. Once there, we raced our sweating horses down the muddy trail.

  As we approached the cavalry encampment, three soldiers moved to block the lane, until they recognized Kay and we flew past them, their mouths hanging agape. Before us, the Via Caedes near my hut began its ascent to the northeastern gate. One lane split off and skirted the base of the fort, headed around to the main gate near Arthur’s hall. I ignored it and headed straight for the smaller gate. I did not believe we had the time for the extra distance. The last journey along the Via Caedes had begun.

  In seconds, the horses’ hooves were clattering on the cobblestone lane, and while most horse men would dismount to lead their mounts through the double gate, we rode straight through, nearly scraping our heads on the rampart above.

  The streets were ominously quiet. No one walked in the smaller lanes. Arthur’s castle seemed deserted. Until we neared the square in front of Arthur’s hall.

  Two hundred people were crowded around the edges of the square. The merchants’ booths were closed, and some children had found perches on their thatched roofs. Others were astraddle their father’s shoulders. It seemed like a festival day. We had seen precious few of those in recent years.

  A late afternoon cloud, dark and thick, had brought a sprinkle of rain to the castle as the cobbles were slick and the air clean, empty of even the tanners’ stench. Since Arthur’s hall rose on the high point of the plateau, I could look over the heads of the onlookers from atop my horse. “Kay!” I shouted.

  Arthur, his long brown hair blowing in the breeze, stood in front of his hall, wearing his finest tunic, with a slave boy holding his shield and sword behind him. Off to the side stood Vortimer and his men, Tristan, who looked ill, Mordred, and a group of country folk. Ambrosius and his guard stood slightly apart. He looked old, much older than I had ever seen him. This affair had weighed heavily on him. Kneeling before Arthur was Merlin, dressed normally now, no patterned robe in sight. The last sliver of the sun was settling in the western sky. Arthur’s face was as grim as I had ever seen it, his teeth clenched and lips stretched into a thin line. It took no prophet to see what Arthur intended. If Merlin was to be executed, he would be the one to do it. He would burden no other man with this chore.

  As I watched, transfixed by the sight, Arthur held his hand out and the young slave placed the sword in his hand. He gripped it tightly and took a step closer to Merlin’s bowed head, even as the crowd’s heads turned to see us arrive.

  “My lord! Not so quickly with the sword!”

  Two slaves rushed up to take our horses, one slipping and falling on the wet cobblestones as he met us, and we dismounted in unison. Arthur took a step back from Merlin. That spurred Vortimer, Mordred, and Lauhiir to step forward.

  “My lord, I demand—” shouted an enraged Vortimer, fighting to turn a tide only he could see roiling against him.

  “Hold your tongue, Lord Vortimer!” Arthur ordered, holding up a gloved hand and releasing a giant sigh. “Malgwyn has arrived and deserves his say.” He closed the distance between us and laid his hand on my shoulder. “You look worse than the day I delivered you to Ynys-witrin,” he said softly. “I hope you bring good news.”

  “The path was filled with enemies of all shapes, Arthur, but I think I have divined a solution that will settle the affair and keep Merlin’s head on his shoulders.” I hoped to do more than that, but I did not want to throw my dice askew.

  “But did you find the truth?”

  “What is the truth, Arthur, but the story most favored by those in power?”

  “Malgwyn!” he hissed.

  “Be calm, my lord. Yes, I found the truth.”

  “Why do you wait, Lord Arthur?” Mordred was on the attack, stalking across the cobbles, his sword clanging at his belt. “Does Malgwyn wish to talk himself out of his own death?”

  As for Vortimer, he stood apart from his lieutenant. He had a confused look on his face, a look that confused me also. I thought to see a cool, calculating expression. But this was definitely not one of those.

  “Kill them both!” came the cry.

  “My lord!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the buildings. I stepped away from Kay and moved to the center of the square. In a corner I glimpsed Ygerne and her children, including Mariam. I looked down at my torn, mud-streaked tunic, new just the day before, and I was certain my wet hair was knotted and tangled. I thought of how embarrassed I had been before at my appearance, but I felt no embarrassment at that moment. Before, it had been my own laziness that caused my filth. On this day, I wore my ragged clothes with pride at how they were earned. This was my one chance. “Is this what you came for?” I shouted with a strength I did not feel. “To see a killing? I thought it was to see justice done. More is in these deeds than can be seen by normal eyes.”

  They stopped their screams at that, and the taunting voices turned to low rumbles.

  “What more can there be?” Lauhiir asked, his eyes narrowing. “Two women are dead by the old man’s hand.”

  “ ’Tis simple, my lord. The tale
is one of treachery and treason.”

  This last sent the crowd rumbling even louder, and I listened as the word treason circulated through the mob.

  “If an old man’s deviltry is treason, then I suppose you are right.” Vortimer was speaking slowly, cautiously. He did not know what I had discovered. He did not know how to respond.

  I walked in a wide circle, and Vortimer followed me. The smell of the wet cobblestones stung my nostrils as I rounded the opening. My eyes searched the crowd until they found their quarry. Of course they would be here. They had much at stake. And they were easy to pick out from the crowd, but there were too few.

  “My Lord Arthur,” I began. “Master Merlin is innocent of these crimes.”

  “Such is easy to say, Malgwyn,” Mordred challenged.

  “And just as easy to prove.”

  The people were listening to me now. No rumbles crowded the air.

  “The woman Nyfain had not been dead but a few hours when I found her body. Merlin was already securely locked away at the barracks. He could not have killed her.”

  “But he is a sorcerer!” a voice insisted. I recognized it as El-vain, from the night before.

  “It would take more than sorcery for him to kill her from the barracks, bound to a post.”

  “And what of Eleonore?” Vortimer prodded. “’Twas his knife by her body. ’Twas in front of his hut that she was found.”

  I nodded agreeably, keeping my eyes focused on my quarry, continuing my circle around the crowd. “All of that is true. But all is not as it seems. She was not killed in front of the hut, but elsewhere and moved there.”

  One of Lauhiir’s men snorted.

  “Her body was ripped nearly in half, yet there was little blood on the cobblestones in the lane where she lay. I found where the blood had dripped from her body as she was moved from beneath the watchtower. That is where she was murdered, my lord,” I reported to Arthur.

  “How come you to know this, Malgwyn?”

  I noticed that Vortimer and his men had grown quiet. “There were great gouts of blood on the ground beneath the tower. And I found where her head had been bashed against one of the posts. Her hair and blood were on the post.

  “They laid her on the ground and then cut her open and took her heart. The sole intent of their actions was to lay blame at Merlin’s feet and turn the people against Arthur and the Rig-otamos.”

  “They? They? Who is this ‘they’?” Mordred would not surrender easily.

  I turned and smiled at him. “It was a mystery to me until I found the soldier Accolon.”

  For the first time in our acquaintance, I saw fear in Mor-dred’s beady eyes. He swiped a drop of sweat from his forehead. “And where is Accolon? If he has information important to this affair, he should present it himself.”

  Murmurs of agreement floated through the crowd.

  “I agree. But unfortunately, Accolon was killed as we tried to reach Arthur’s castle.”

  “Very convenient,” Lauhiir replied, a hint of confidence returning to his voice. “So, you will attempt to pin the blame of this matter on some poor soul with a broken brooch of a witness?”

  I had reached the place where I wanted to be. Spinning around swiftly, I surprised Lauhiir, and he backed into the open square a step or two.

  “No, my Lord Lauhiir, not on some poor soul. When I first searched dear Eleonore’s body, I found something clutched in her hand.” I paused and looked straight at Kay, half winking my eyes in a gesture I hoped he would recognize, and then I looked at Arthur and smiled. “That something was this,” and I pulled the piece of torn cloth from my pouch. Taking three quick steps, I snatched up the hand of one of the hooded Druids. “And I believe it fits in this hole.”

  A gasp circled the crowd. The robe I displayed had a snatch of cloth torn from it, exactly the size and shape of the piece I found with Eleonore. My quarry was so surprised that he did not react at first.

  “The Druids!” a voice wailed.

  “But Druids only kill for sacrifice!” argued Elvain.

  As quickly as my one arm would allow, I yanked the hood back from the man’s head, exposing an oily topknot. “But these are not Druid priests! These are Saxon spies!” As he spun away from me, his robes flew open and the point of a sword slipped into view.

  “He has a sword!” the chant went round the square. Druids did not touch weapons, except for sacrifice. Such a weapon meant only one thing. They were not Druids. I had spoken the truth.

  “Arrest them!” Arthur cried, sending half a dozen soldiers rushing forward.

  Even as Arthur shouted, I searched for the others. I looked swiftly about the square, not at the crowd but at the roofs. It took but a second.

  “Assassins, my lord! The Rigotamos! Look!”

  I spoke just as a hooded figure launched an arrow at Ambrosius. What happened next, I could never have predicted.

  Two men lunged in front of Ambrosius to protect him. For his part, the Rigotamos did not shrink from my warning, but held his back straight and stood his ground.

  One man was a half-step farther away and a half-step slower to react. But in this footrace, second place did not mean just losing; it meant losing the place of honor—the right to take an arrow aimed at the Rigotamos.

  No sooner had the first arrow sunk into that barrel chest than a second whistled through the air. Vortimer sacrificed himself to save the Rigotamos. The world seemed to tilt, and I felt dizzy. Everything I had reckoned about Eleonore’s and Nyfain’s deaths hinged on Vortimer being behind it. Once I knew Saxons were involved, Vortimer, through his stepmother, had the perfect link.

  But even as my world spun, I acted. I grabbed an old Roman short sword, a gladius dangling from my horse, and hurled it with all the strength my left arm could muster.

  It caught the false Druid in the stomach, slightly off center. He tumbled from his perch and slammed into the ground with a thud.

  I saw movement in the crowd. “My lord! Look to your flanks!”

  Two more Druids rushed Ambrosius across the square, daggers drawn. Arthur bounded to meet them. He took the first one with a slash that split him nearly in half, sending huge gouts of blood spraying across the square. Arthur spun and thrust his blade into the second up to its hilt as Bedevere and Kay reached him. They formed a semicircle around Ambrosius, a barrier to further assaults.

  Almost as a second thought, it seemed, Lauhiir and Mordred joined them.

  All notions of executing Merlin had fled and the crowd bubbled excitedly.

  A fourth Druid, on the edge of the crowd, had his arms pinned by some helpful citizens. Soon, every Druid in the crowd had been grabbed and held. I dismounted and strode across the square. When I reached the first Druid held, I studied his robes and jerked back his hood. He wore the same greasy topknot as that of the Saxon in the grove.

  “It is well known that Druids do not touch weapons,” I shouted to the crowd. “These too are Saxons!”

  He spat in my face. Kay and Arthur moved toward me, but with my one good arm I waved them off and wiped my face. “Your days of spitting in our faces is fast coming to an end.” As I spoke, men were carrying Vortimer, his chest holding the two arrows of the false Druids, out of the action. Ambrosius shrugged off his bodyguard.

  “Malgwyn!

  Across the crowd Druids were subdued by citizens, all Druids. “Stop! ’Tis only the ones in the dark robes that bear us ill will!” I noted with interest that Mordred’s and Lauhiir’s men were also spreading through the crowd.

  But Mordred beat them to the target, drawing his sword and lunging at the one I held. “Kill the Saxon vermin!” he cried.

  I swear by the ancient gods that he meant to thrust his sword through us both, but I released the Saxon and stepped back quickly. Mordred would have impaled only him, but our false Druid spun away faster than Mordred could lunge, dashing to a corner of the square.

  My eyes grew as large as boulders as the Saxon snatched Mariam away from Ygerne and pressed
a dagger to her throat. Kay and I strode forward to attack him.

  “Not another step,” the man shouted in our tongue, heavily accented as his words were.

  Two other Saxons, swords drawn, quickly closed on him, and silence reigned across the square.

  Ygerne seemed frozen with her arms outstretched, reaching for dear Mariam.

  “If any harm comes to us, the child dies.”

  Still no one spoke.

  “What is it you want?” Arthur asked.

  “Horses and safe passage to the nearest Saxon settlement.”

  They were brazen, I gave them that. Dressed as Druids they had stalked our lanes for days, murdered two women, subverted Ambrosius’s authority, and now they demanded free passage or my daughter’s life.

  I had cast her away; now I was deathly afraid of losing her forever.

  But she was unusually calm in the Saxon’s arms. She looked at him with that penetrating gaze of hers. She was her mother arisen from the grave. As if sensing her disfavor, the Saxon pressed the dagger point harder at her throat and stepped back away from me.

  “You may as well surrender,” Mariam told him as we all looked on in amazement. “Father will not let you harm me.”

  My face grew pale and clammy. My hand shook. “Why do you call me that?” I croaked.

  “Mother told me this morning that it was time. She said it was time that I accepted you as my father and time that I knew that you did love me, but I think I knew it all along. She said you were just afraid.”

  I stood before her, my one hand reaching out to her, the fingers trembling. To save her, I had to let the murderers go. To capture the murderers, I must sacrifice my daughter. I looked to Arthur, and he smiled oddly, as if to say the decision was mine.

  “Take me. Leave the child.” It was a sad response to so dreadful a situation, but I knew nothing else to do without endangering Mariam.

  The Saxon who held her knew his advantage, and he was not going to relinquish it. Mariam was his guarantee of safe passage. An old one-armed man was worth but little for his purposes.

  “Never!” He spat on the ground.