The Beloved Dead

by Tony Hays

  He began inching toward Arthur’s chambers, but Illtud moved to stop his escape.

  Kay’s face held yet a question. “Why this performance, Malgwyn? You could have simply shown us your evidence.”

  My eyes found Arthur’s face, a sad smile growing upon it. He understood then.

  “The performance was not for us, Kay,” Arthur said. “It was for them.”

  And he gestured behind Wynn, who fell to his knees then, his jaw slack, his eyes tortured, howling like a wounded beast.

  For emerging from Arthur’s chambers were three identically dressed men with long beards, white robes, and intricately carved and polished staffs.

  Druids!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “They were sacrifices!” Wynn shouted, all pretense abandoned, but the taller of the Druids shook his head.

  “This is not our way. Beltaine has passed and Samhain has not yet arrived. Besides, we cannot pass the duty of performing ritual sacrifices to one who is not an initiate.”

  Wynn’s jaw took on a firm set. “They needed punishment! They have turned from our gods!”

  “Our gods do not need our help, but our devotion. And we only kill for proper sacrifice and then only at the proper times. These are things you know well.” The Druid turned then to Arthur. “We are grateful to you for sending for us. Stories abound of Lord Arthur and the Christ. I am happy to see that you are understanding of other beliefs.”

  The Rigotamos forced a smile onto his face. “It seems my councilor Malgwyn is equally understanding.” If Illtud’s mission had been for naught, I would not have wanted Arthur to know. But I had suspected that there were good men among the Druids, and I was right. But I also suspected that I would receive another lecture about knowing my place.

  The expressions on Mordred and David’s faces were priceless. Both had begun to see this as a way to further undercut Arthur, not in a rebellion, but in a whispering campaign. “Arthur killed a Druid priest. Arthur betrayed the old gods.” That would not happen now.

  The old Druid looked to Wynn yet again. “You have dishonored our gods and our ways. You turned the emblem of your office into a weapon and have it up against a human being. These acts demand punishment.”

  He turned back to Arthur. “You will no longer be troubled with this one,” he said. “We will deal with him in our own way.” He gestured with his staff, and his two companions took Wynn by each arm.

  The flame in Wynn’s eye became wilder, and he writhed and twisted in a vain effort to free himself, the cords of his muscles near to snapping. When he realized he could not escape, such a howl rose from him that it seemed more animal than human. “Malgwyn! I beg you! You know what this means!”

  “You seek mercy from the wrong man, Wynn.”

  The small group of lords parted and allowed the four Druids to depart, Wynn still twisting and contorting at each step.

  Mordred and David approached me. “You realize,” David began, “that we could not know that Talorc had done these things, or that the Druid knew that either?”

  I nodded. “But you had your suspicions.”

  “Only after Gwyneira was dead, and by then it was too late,” Mordred pointed out. “The Druid was of a mean disposition. We thought he just enjoyed taunting the boy.”

  “He will taunt no one ever again,” I said, not without a good deal of satisfaction.

  “Aye, you maneuvered well in this, Malgwyn,” David conceded. “When it becomes known that Arthur surrendered Wynn to his fellow Druids, the people will be pleased. Obviously, you bear closer watching.”

  “Be careful, Malgwyn. Such successes will make you the target of assassins,” Mordred added. And then the two were gone.

  Before I could react, Kay had slipped up beside me. “I need your help,” he whispered.

  “With what?”

  “Just follow me.”

  Kay climbed atop the great table. “If it please my lords, I wish for the Rigotamos, my friends Bedevere and Malgwyn, Merlin and Gawain to come with me.” He paused. “Oh, and someone fetch Morgan ap Tud.”

  “To where, Kay?” Arthur grumbled. “There is work to do.”

  “Please, my lord, suffer me this one favor.”

  And despite all that had happened, he did.

  * * *

  “Kay, what is this about?” I hissed two hours later as we rode along the little finger of dry land, back near the bridge at Pomparles.

  “Just a bit farther,” he answered with a smile. At that he turned us away from the main road and off toward the old Roman shrine, where we were greeted by a rather odd assortment of people.

  In the shade of the great yew trees stood Coroticus, Guinevere, Ygerne, even little Mariam and Owain. I glanced at Arthur and saw that all annoyance with Kay had fled. Guinevere was here, and the happiness in Arthur’s eyes showed clearly that his heart had lightened in one bound.

  But where the shrine had been was now only a mass of tumbled stone and broken beams. A pile of wood, readied for a building, stood nearby, along with a handful of workers, men from a nearby village.

  “We are here now, Kay,” Merlin said. “What have you wrought here? What is this?”

  Morgan ap Tud was with us, but he looked upon me with distrust and anger. I had not taken time to speak to him since that day at Pomparles.

  Kay, standing so tall and straight, crossed the clearing and mounted a stump. “Rigotamos, am I not in charge of your household? Am I not your Seneschal?”

  Arthur nodded, but Guinevere’s presence was distracting him. I knew he burned to go to her, but she was giving him no sign that he would be welcome.

  “Then it is time for me to get about my task. Except for Coroticus, you are all members of Arthur’s household, so attend to my instructions. Owain!”

  My little friend glanced around nervously. “I did nothing wrong, my lord. I swear it!”

  Kay chuckled. “You think yourself an orphan.”

  It was Owain’s turn to straighten, to square his shoulders. “I do not complain about my place in life. The Christ and His Father have been good to me.” His speech was a pretty one, and I suspected that he had had help with it.

  “That is good, because you are not an orphan.”

  I knew then what Kay’s game was.

  Owain was confused. “My lord?”

  “Meet your father!” He swept an arm toward Merlin. “Merlin, acknowledge your son!”

  Obviously I was not the only one Merlin had sought counsel from.

  Owain could not have been more confused. He looked at Merlin and then at me. “Malgwyn?”

  “It is true, boy. Merlin is indeed your father. Your true father, not a substitute.”

  He started over to a waiting Merlin, but stopped halfway across the clearing. “He should have told me before this.”

  But Mariam marched over and shoved him toward Merlin. “He lives with Father, Owain, and you know how slow he is.”

  And the laughter truly rang as Merlin knelt and took his son in his arms. “I hope you do not mind having a tired old man as your father,” Merlin said.

  “You are already as a father to me.” The boy was certainly his father’s son.

  With the sort of flourish that only Merlin could accomplish, he produced a pair of old but beautiful scissors, rendered in silver, and a shining golden comb. In his most severe voice, he said, “As has been the custom of all of our peoples for more years than one can count, I formally accept you, Owain, into my family.” And, as prescribed by ancient law, Merlin combed and trimmed Owain’s hair. The men cheered, and the women cried.

  “Well, this has been worth the ride, Kay,” Arthur began, impatient, turning to leave, but his Seneschal held up a hand. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a vellum document.

  “Attend to this letter from Aircol.”

  At that, Arthur’s eyes narrowed. I sensed a sudden storm brewing. He knew nothing of this communication and did not like it. I have learned over the years that no king likes to be su
rprised in front of others.

  “‘My Lord Kay, Your letter was unexpected but welcome. As to your request. Though my daughter was a noble, subject to being thrown into any marriage at my whim, she believed in love, wished for it, hoped for it. Before I met the Lady Guinevere, I would not have given you the answer you desire. But I took her measure and believe that my daughter, your queen, would approve. The long ago acts of an impetuous child should not ruin her life forever, and the Christ believed in forgiveness. So, should the Rigotamos desire to marry Guinevere, and should she welcome his suit, I will not object and I will denounce anyone who does. May the Christ and His Father keep you.’”

  Kay was clever. By courting Aircol’s approval in secret, he had effectively cut off any dissent from the consilium. And there would be dissent—David, Mordred, even Illtud, who adored Guinevere, would balk at this union. The marriage with Gwyneira had been sought simply to insure Aircol’s membership in the consilium, to ally his vast resources and lands to our cause. By gaining Aircol’s approval of Guinevere first, and holding him in the consilium, Kay had proved himself a diplomat of the first order. No lord could object too loudly or risk making himself an enemy of two of the consilium’s three most important lords.

  But Kay’s cleverness aside, that did not guarantee Arthur’s acceptance. In truth, it had been Arthur’s decision to set Guinevere aside in favor of Gwyneira. We were in dangerous territory here, as we were toying with Arthur’s concept of being a good king.

  As narrow as Arthur’s eyes had grown, they were now opened wide.

  “Kay, you forget your place!”

  “No,” said Guinevere, “he does not. He reminds you of yours. You are a man, a stubborn, frustrating man, but I love you, and I fear you.”

  “You fear me?”

  Guinevere grinned, with a hint of a tremble. “And why should I not? You quite willingly abandoned me for a child unknown to you.” The trembling stopped as her ire grew. She turned to Kay. “You are a good and decent man, Kay. And I thank you for your thoughtfulness. But I fear that I will have to think upon this a bit longer.”

  The look in Arthur’s eyes then was priceless. He was stunned, more so, I think, that she had the temerity to refuse him before he had even asked than that she had chastised him.

  He grumbled, started to speak, stopped, started again, and finally lapsed into a brooding silence.

  “Perhaps this will help,” Coroticus said, moving beside Kay. “I will marry you and the Church will recognize the marriage.”

  For many years I had been happily unaware of the world and its many machinations. Now I was very much a part of it, and I enjoyed being privy to secrets. But here I was, councilor to the Rigotamos, and there were intrigues and conspiracies sprouting about me like the spring crops.

  “Perhaps, Arthur,” I said, “you should name Kay as your ‘Chief of Spies.’”

  I was suspicious though, of this abrupt turnabout. “And what brings about this change of heart, Coroticus? Just a fortnight ago, Guinevere was a disgraced woman of the community and unworthy to marry a king.”

  Guinevere sent me an arrow-tipped look, but she was curious, too.

  Coroticus cleared his throat. “I believe that Dubricius was wrong, and so I have reversed his decision.”

  “Ah, so you did not like his manner and this is a way to oppose him and still remain popular.”

  “Malgwyn!” Ygerne chided. “Must you always reduce things to motives?”

  “I–”

  “Be silent, Malgwyn,” Arthur snapped. “If these things are true,” he asked Kay, “why are we here? You could just have easily told us this at Castellum Arturius.”

  “That is true, but I have more to tell you,” Kay said, turning from Arthur and facing his audience. “At my request, Arthur granted me these lands. I have pulled down the pagan Roman shrine and intend to build a chapel here. It shall be called Lantokay, Kay’s chapel in our tongue. Your marriage chapel, Rigotamos, if you choose to marry again. It is my gift to you and our new queen, whoever that may be.” He nodded as a sign of respect to my cousin.

  At that, Guinevere allowed the tears to flow freely. Arthur, too, was moved, but he simply looked away, unwilling to reveal the moisture forming in the corner of his eye.

  Coroticus came and stood beside me. “You are a brave man, Coroticus, challenging Dubricius on this,” I granted. The episcopus had let his displeasure with a marriage between Arthur and Guinevere be known.

  “Not really. Dubricius is afraid of me.”

  “Not enough to save Ider.”

  The abbot shook his head. “Ider overstepped. Some time away from the abbey will only make him more valuable. See that you treat him well.”

  Across the clearing, preparing to mount his horse, was Morgan ap Tud. I trotted over to him.

  “Morgan?”

  He stopped and turned. “I appreciated being invited to this gathering, but I fail to see how I have contributed to it. After your accusations on the bridge, I have been expecting Arthur to order my return home at any time.”

  “I am sorry, Morgan. I felt certain that you were not the guilty party, but I needed to lull both Cerdic and Talorc, to allay their fears. Shock often brings the truth. You are an honest man, and I have told Arthur this.”

  The hard look on his face softened. “Thank you, Malgwyn. That means much.”

  “I have but one question for you.”

  “Please, ask!”

  “Where did you go the night Gwyneira was killed? I had you followed, yet you disappeared.”

  At that the little medicus grew crimson, “Malgwyn, men have certain needs…”

  And we both laughed.

  This had been a good day. A killer revealed. A father and son reunited. A king and the woman he loved put on a more honest, truer path. Only time would tell if they could navigate that path together.

  “Will you be visiting me tonight?” Ygerne asked, as Coroticus moved to congratulate Merlin, grasping and then clinging on to my half-arm.

  “Will I be welcome tonight?” I rejoined.

  “Oh, Father,” Mariam chastised me. “Do not be difficult.”

  Mariam had grown so much in the nearly two years that I had reentered her life. I laughed then, and it felt more than good. It felt right. But there was one more chore before this long day was finished.

  * * *

  I had seen these sites before, as had Bedevere, these places of ritual. This one was not difficult to find. Fires had been set in the four corners of the clearing, deep in the forests northwest of Arthur’s castle, on the summit of an old fort long since abandoned.

  Neither Bedevere nor I spoke a word as we rode up. Nearly a hundred people had gathered, some just watching, some helping the three priests with their work.

  Though they saw us, sitting atop our mounts at the edge of the clearing, they made no move to hurry us away. From the look of wonder in Bedevere’s eyes, I could tell he was surprised at the sheer number of people.

  We did not speak, did not break the silence. Of the people, some worked. Some chanted. We watched.

  My nose twitched as I caught a hint of rain riding the western wind.

  After a few hours, as the midnight approached, more people arrived. The chanting had risen. Suddenly, a piercing scream broke the night.

  I leaned forward in my saddle. Through the flickering yellow light of the fires on the far side of the clearing, I saw Wynn hauled into the clearing, still struggling, now naked.

  Many of those down in the clearing put their hands to their ears as Wynn’s screams grew louder and he disappeared from view in the great object the Druids were building.

  With a blend of back power and ropes, they raised the object to a standing position.

  “The Wicker Man,” Bedevere whispered.

  “Aye, with Wynn in his belly.”

  We watched again in silence as fire was put to the great wicker figure by the oldest of the Druids. We listened as Wynn’s screams turned from fear to pain, and
that sickly sweet smell of burning human flesh washed the scent of rain from the air. And still he screamed.

  Until.

  Until he was silent forever.

  We rode away then, content in knowing that the affair was finally ended. The Druids had punished their own, and we had punished our own. I had found justice for the dead, the beloved dead.

  * * *

  Bedevere and I dismounted at the barracks and headed back up the lane toward Arthur’s hall.

  “What of Owain now?” Bedevere asked. “Will he come live with you and Merlin?”

  “No, no. He is safe and happy with Ygerne. And he sees Merlin every day as it is.”

  “Have Merlin teach his son some manners. Arthur heard about the little assassin seeking him with Kay’s sword. He wasn’t amused.”

  We both had a chuckle at that, and I bid Bedevere a good eve, and he trudged off toward Kay’s house.

  “So it is ended?”

  The voice came from behind me. I turned to see Arthur, Guinevere, and Ygerne entering from one of the side lanes. Arthur and my cousin were arm in arm and I was pleased to see it.

  “Ah! So you have reconciled.”

  Guinevere frowned at me. “We have agreed to explore the future. I am still uncertain of him.”

  Arthur turned red.

  “Well, you are about late,” I said.

  “We were watching the great fire from the parapet,” Guinevere answered. “The Druid?”

  “Aye. Justice has been satisfied.”

  “Has it?” the Rigotamos asked.

  “What mean you?”

  “That the Druid should die for his acts, I agree. But was Talorc truly responsible? We enslaved him. We treated him thus.”

  “Arthur, I do not argue the injustice of slavery. But no one forced him to abuse those girls. No one forced him to steal their lives away.”

  “The Druid encouraged it.”

  “When I realized who the killer was, I knew then the why. Sometimes it is not easy to understand the motives of a man. And we do not even try to understand slaves. To think that they feel no hint of resentment at their captivity and their treatment is more than foolhardy. If that were so, why have there always been laws against slaves having weapons? The boy killed the daughters of men important in their villages and towns. He wanted to punish the fathers by raping and killing the daughters. He believed that he was taking some measure of revenge and that that was right and proper. Talorc was old enough to make his own choices. He chose to kill. He deserved his punishment.