The Beloved Dead

by Tony Hays

  Suddenly I caught a glimpse of where little Vortipor learned some of his manners. “I wish revenge for your daughter as well. But I will take it from the ones who did it.”

  They had rested me against a log. Up the road toward the shrine I saw Cerdic and Talorc running with bloated goatskins. In their wake came David, Mordred, and Celyn, hurrying to see what had happened.

  As they administered the wine, Dubricius and Coroticus approached.

  “I should have known that you would reappear, Malgwyn,” the episcopus said. “I should have let Melwas kill you when he wanted to.”

  “My lord, I am like a weed in a garden. Just when you think I have been eliminated, I spring back up.”

  Coroticus held his tongue, but I caught a bit of a smile on his lips.

  Struggling to my feet, my chest still bare, I faced Arthur and Aircol. “My lords, you charged me to find out who killed Gwyneira and the other children.” That was something of a misstatement, but I did not intend for them to forget the others, the lesser dead some would call them.

  “I think we already have done that, Malgwyn,” Dubricius said.

  Looking then at Ider for the first time, I saw how much his “diversion” had cost him. “This man killed no one. Ider is a good and loyal friend, and more brave than any of us would have believed. But he is no killer.”

  Gildas and Melwas inched across the bridge, anxious to see what was happening.

  Ider’s shoulders sagged in relief.

  “Yet he confesses it,” said Dubricius.

  “Episcopus, he was not at the White Mount when the first girl was killed thus. He was not at Castellum Arturius when the girl Nimue was killed thus.”

  “What!” exploded Arthur. “She did not die in such a manner.”

  “Indeed she did!” retorted Ygerne, speaking for the first time. “You knew only that she was dead. Merlin, her guardian, had already left for Caer Goch. You and Kay were worried only about pleasing this man and his daughter. I cleaned her for the grave.”

  If a king can be truly embarrassed, Ygerne had accomplished it with Arthur. Had the Rigotamos been anyone else, her life would have been forfeit if only for her tone. But it was Arthur, and he was not any other man.

  “Then,” asked Dubricius, “why would this monachus confess to something he did not do?”

  “Because he is my friend, and because he wishes only the guilty punished. He delayed events, at great risk to himself, so that Guinevere and I might escape from Melwas.”

  “If he did not do these things, and Guinevere and this other woman did not, who did?”

  If I had been Dubricius, I would have grabbed a shield. Ygerne’s face was red with fury. She was not fond of being called “this other woman.”

  “Someone that none of us would have ever dreamed capable.” I paused. My plan hinged on this one moment. For the killer to reveal himself, the next few moments had to work just right.

  Looking about, I saw that I had everyone’s attention—Arthur, Aircol, Bedevere, Dubricius, Coroticus, Ygerne, Guinevere, the other lords, Ider, even Morgan. Melwas and Gildas had crossed the bridge now, too curious to ignore the drama then playing out.

  “WHO, Malgwyn?” Arthur thundered.

  But I tarried yet a second longer and then began. “The Druid Wynn was nearby when all the killings took place. He had excellent reason and plentiful opportunity.” That was not exactly true, but close enough. “Morgan ap Tud!”

  And the little man jumped.

  “You too were nearby when these killings occurred. Aye, you suddenly appeared at the White Mount just after I had been attacked by the killer!

  “And on the return from Caer Goch, you disappeared during the attack by the Saxons. You emerged from the forest only after it was over.”

  Morgan took a step back, fear widening his eyes.

  “And the night that Gwyneira died, you did not go riding with us and you disappeared from view.”

  “No, Malgwyn!”

  I advanced on him. “No one would ever suspect a medicus of this sort of mutilation.”

  “But why, Malgwyn? Why would I do this?” It looked for a moment as if Morgan might have a heart seizure as Kay and Bedevere moved toward him.

  Shrugging, I took a few more steps about the growing circle. “Who knows? Perhaps some lord intent on Arthur’s downfall.” I could not resist the thrust at David, and I was finally in place.

  “But you were not the only one with the opportunity.” I stopped and stabbed my finger in the chest of yet another.

  “What say you, Cerdic?”

  The old cook took three steps back, and I feared his shaky old knees would give way. “Malgwyn, I…”

  “You were there when each and every girl was killed. You are a servant, and no one pays much attention to servants.” I advanced slowly on him.

  His knees did give out then, and he fell to them. I will never forget the trembling around his eyes, nor their tears. “Malgwyn—you cannot think that I—”

  “What else am I to think, Cerdic?” I glanced quickly about. Had I accused Aircol himself, I would have not have commanded the others’ attention so absolutely. But this was not the end. I drew close and leaned over him, my eyes close enough to see the spittle on his lips and in his beard. “Were you not with us when all these things happened?”

  “Yesss…” he spluttered, “but—”

  Abruptly, I pulled back from him, two and then three steps, turning half from him with a self-satisfied smirk on my face. “And where were you, Cerdic, when the Scotti attacked us? When, I have learned, another unfortunate child was killed?”

  It was as if he had forgotten that, and he did just what I hoped he would do—his eyes flew to another.

  And the guilt in that second set of eyes told the tale.

  “Take him, Bedevere! Now!”

  Three soldiers slammed the wriggling, writhing figure to the ground. I walked to him and looked down.

  Talorc.

  Talorc, the Pictish slave boy.

  His face held fear, but something more. Something proud and arrogant yet.

  “I could not fathom why the sticks of wood smelled of onions. But then, you work in the kitchen.

  “When I studied Gwyneira’s corpse, I noted that the marks left by the hands that had broken her neck were small, not man-sized. At first, that just seemed to point at Ygerne or Guinevere. But it fits you as well.”

  One of the soldiers snatched up Talorc’s right hand and thrust it in the air. A small hand, not yet fully matured.

  And, just as I was about to say more, I was roughly shoved aside.

  Aircol, angry yet confused, stood over Talorc. “Why, boy? Why? You saved her life from the Scotti. Arthur had agreed, at my request, to free you in honor of your bravery. I—”

  Before Aircol could continue, Talorc turned white as a spirit and roared like a wounded bear.

  “NO! No!”

  I strode forward then and, kneeling, took his young throat in my one hand. “Gwyneira, I think I understand. But what of the others? Why them? They were just children, the daughters of…” Of village leaders, of decurions, just as Gwyneira had been the daughter of a king. I needed nothing else, at least not then.

  Releasing his neck, I motioned to the soldiers who jerked him to his knees.

  “You did these things to punish the fathers, did you not? To seek revenge for your enslavement?”

  He smiled then, in a most foul way.

  “You hated them, though you didn’t even know them. They represented everyone who had mistreated you.”

  His eyes narrowed, just slightly. “They deserved it. They all did.”

  “Even Nimue? She was but a slave like yourself.” I desperately wanted to understand why she had to die.

  “She did not deserve freedom. She had done nothing to warrant it.”

  “So you killed her because of her good fortune?”

  “She died because she had not earned her freedom. Because she refused me my right.” I no
longer recognized his face, so twisted in hatred and anger was it.

  Enough of this. “And you have earned this.” With a quick nod, one of the soldiers snatched up a hank of hair on his head and stretched out his neck.

  I snatched a dagger from Aircol’s belt, a pretty new one, took but a single swipe.

  Talorc died as the blood flooded from his throat, but the anger, the hatred, only left his eyes when they too had died, open, yet vacant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Talorc’s death brought silence to the gathering. Life was brutal in our lands, but seldom had anyone seen such a sudden and bloody taking of life. I had allowed no defense, indeed no opportunity for anyone to stop me. Yet I had fulfilled my promise to Gwyneira and to the beloved dead.

  As his body lay slumped over in a pool of blood, I motioned for Illtud, who had joined us on the bridge. It took but a moment to explain to him what I needed.

  “Are you certain?”

  I nodded.

  And he departed, without Arthur’s leave.

  Coroticus looked more than a little relieved. “What of Melwas now, Rigotamos?” he asked.

  Young Gildas, fingers still clasped over his stomach, smiled. “If my lord abbot and the episcopus will allow me…” They nodded. “I believe I have a solution to this situation.”

  We all turned then, to see what the monachus was about. Lord Celyn, in particular, seemed anxious to see what his brother had to say.

  “Since it is obvious that Guinevere was not guilty of these crimes as you believed, and thus Melwas was preventing a horrible wrong, I suggest that he be forgiven his defiance.”

  Melwas, little toad that he was, nodded quickly. He was not so mad after all.

  “With the following condition: As penance for his deeds, he should grant certain of his lands to the abbey.” Gildas would go far in the church. That much I saw immediately.

  “And what should he owe the consilium for his act of defiance, no matter its cause?” asked Mordred, anxious to be a factor.

  For a wonder, Dubricius and Coroticus remained quiet and allowed Gildas to take the lead.

  But Celyn’s brother proved his youth. He blinked a few times and looked amazed. “If he has satisfied the Christ and His servants, then it is unseemly for the consilium to demand anything more.”

  To a man, the lords of the consilium looked at the rotund monachus in equal amazement.

  “This affair is separate from that of my daughter’s death, Rigotamos, and I am newly come to the consilium,” Aircol said.

  “You have an idea, Lord Aircol?”

  Aircol stroked his beard. “I think it meet that Lord Melwas surrender his portion of the lead mining to the other members of the consilium for one year.”

  I could not hold the chuckle in. That would put a stop to much of his imported wine and other goods. Since it fattened all the lords’ purses, there was no need to take a vote.

  With Guinevere released and Talorc dead, the great crisis had passed, and the lords began organizing their troops to return home.

  Yet we were left with Cerdic.

  The bridge had cleared but for our small band, circled now around the old cook. Two of Arthur’s men held his arms. The Rigotamos circled Cerdic, tugging at the ends of his mustache.

  “I do not know what to do with you. You have been with me nearly as long as I have taken breath in this world. At war or at home, you have done your job with only a minimum of complaining.”

  “My lord,” Cerdic began, more controlled now. “I knew only of the one girl on the journey back from Caer Goch. I saw Talorc slip away into the forest, and I feared he was trying to run away. I followed him and spied him working his butchery on that poor girl.”

  “Cerdic,” Arthur said sadly. “When you saw how Gwyneira died, you must have realized that the boy did it. You are many things, old friend, but stupid is not one.”

  Rather than argue with the Rigotamos, Cerdic merely bowed his head.

  We had no prisons, no dungeons, no place to hold prisoners for long, not really. As much as I liked Cerdic, his offense could not go unpunished. To do so would weaken Arthur in the eyes of Aircol, and others. And, as though Arthur were reading my mind, he nodded, more to himself than to anyone else.

  “Lord Kay.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Take Cerdic to the barracks and confine him there. At such a time as is convenient, take one of his eyes. He will remember then not to withhold information.”

  Aircol nodded approvingly. “I did not think his offense merited his death.”

  “There has been too much death already,” Arthur said.

  In truth, Arthur’s decision was very wise. Of Talorc’s execution, much would be said of its speed. No one would doubt his guilt. But in those days there was still a belief that the old Roman system of justice was to be admired, with its courts and judges. My old dad often said though that under the Romans justice was bought and sold more freely than the lead they mined. As time passed, it would be Arthur who was blamed for the killing. Time twists tales. Aye, in the last few years I have heard it said that ’twas Bedevere who was missing part of his arm. I have been swallowed up by time. And that suits me well.

  For Cerdic’s punishment, Arthur would be praised for his restraint. Other lords, Mordred, for example, would have condemned him. No one knew, as I did, that Arthur would tell Kay to make certain that the old man was well and truly drunk before his eye was taken.

  But as the soldiers removed Cerdic from the bridge, the cook looked at me with undisguised hatred. By using him to force Talorc to reveal himself, I had cost him his pride as well as his eye.

  “You have made an enemy,” Ygerne said. Now that the guilty one had been punished, those under suspicion were ignored. I looked down at my love. Her red hair needed brushing, and beyond the circles beneath her eyes, she looked well. “Did you have to betray him?”

  “Do not feel sympathy for Cerdic. He brought this on himself. Had he told us what he saw in the forest, we might have saved Gwyneira’s life. But to answer your query, yes. Talorc was very cunning. I had to put him off his guard. Ambrosius had told me that another girl had been murdered on the journey back. I remembered then that Cerdic had appeared from those same woods after the Scotti attacked, and he had been very reluctant to give any excuse. When I realized who had done these things, so many elements suddenly made sense. I guessed, and rightly so, that Cerdic had caught Talorc about his mischief. So I twisted matters to make first Morgan and then Cerdic look guilty. Cerdic’s instinct when accused of killing the girl was to look to the true culprit. Had I not done that, he would never have betrayed Talorc.”

  “You were guessing? That seems a great chance to take.”

  “I was confident that I had read affairs correctly.”

  Ygerne nodded. “Why then did Talorc scream so wildly when Aircol told him he had asked for his freedom?”

  “That is a story for another day.”

  I looked about. There stood my cousin, shivering a bit, her shoulders yet bare. “What now, Guinevere?”

  “I shall go home,” she answered with a tired smile.

  “Not back to Melwas’s fort?”

  “I think the little toad understands how affairs stand.”

  “If you need anything, cousin, all you must do is ask.”

  She stepped close, leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips near my ear, she whispered, “Marry her, Malgwyn.”

  Pulling away, she nearly bumped into Aircol. “Forgive me, my lord.”

  The lord of the Demetae took Guinevere by her shoulders. “So, you are the maker of all this trouble?” he asked, but the twinkle in his eye played his tone and his words false.

  “My lord, had I not been held captive by Melwas, I would have come straight to you and proven that I did not do this thing. I will not pretend that I was happy about her marriage to Arthur, but I did not wish her harm.”

  “Yet you left her a threatening note.”

 
; Guinevere hung her head. “The actions of a spoilt child.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “They were. But your honesty speaks well of you.”

  He took another long look at her, and then moved past.

  “Malgwyn!” Ygerne’s voice carried urgency. I looked up and saw young Ider confronted by Dubricius and Coroticus, with Gildas smirking as he looked on.

  Poor Ider! I had forgotten him in the excitement. Without another word, I left Ygerne with Guinevere and approached the small conclave.

  “Is there some problem, Coroticus?” I asked, the warning in my voice unmistakable. I knew something of Coroticus that no one else knew, and I would use it if I had to.

  The abbot looked no better and somewhat worse than he had earlier. “Malgwyn, this is not the time.”

  Dubricius narrowed his eyes at me. “This is a Church matter, Malgwyn, hardly the business of drunks.”

  I did not move. “Coroticus, what is going on?”

  Despite his superior’s look of disdain, the abbot finally answered. “My lord episcopus has decided to cast Ider out from the community.”

  No wonder the boy looked ill. His life had been spent in the Christ’s service. “And what has he done to deserve such a punishment?”

  “Quite simply, he confessed to murder and lied before God.”

  “He confessed to murder in order to save Ygerne’s life.”

  “It does not matter. And besides, he lied before almighty God.”

  “Episcopus, if you discharged monachi or sacerdotes or even episcopi for lying before God, He would have no servants.”

  “Oh, how clever you are, Malgwyn. But my decision is made. I do not seek nor need your approval.”

  Coroticus looked ill indeed, but he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, quite rightly, that there was nothing he could do.

  “Then he shall come and serve me,” a new voice said. Arthur had joined us. Now he stood, rubbing his wool-wrapped hands together, and considered Ider. “Any man who is willing to lay down his life for another in a just cause can sit at my table. I am always in need of new advisors, even, occasionally, on Church affairs.”