by Tony Hays
The lanes were busy with people, rushing about as if it were a festival. I grabbed a lad, a bit older than my little friend Owain, Merlin’s son. “Do you know Lord Bedevere? Lord Arthur’s man?”
The lad’s eyes grew wide at my missing arm. He gulped and nodded. “Go and fetch him here; tell him to bring men with torches, that Malgwyn needs him.” I pulled a single silver denarius from my pouch and pressed it in his hand.
He scampered off down the lane, and I retreated into the night shadows at Doged’s rear entrance. Leaning against the wall, I avoided looking at the dead guard and tried to make some sense of it all.
Too many Dogeds. Agaphite brooches. Bribed guards. Saxons. Mordred. Rebellious lords. Arthur in a seeming fury over nothing. And, perhaps, a hidden treasure. The one thing I knew for certain—the future of Doged’s lands, aye, if Arthur spoke the truth, the future of the consilium as well, rested on untangling this puzzle.
I had never been more confused. And I knew why. I did not want to be here. I should be at home, at Castellum Arturius, playing with Mariam, seeing to Ygerne as her day grew near. I should be there to greet my new child. That was where Cuneglas, my dead brother, would be, were he living; he would not abandon his family to go chasing after some lord. Blasted Arthur! Blasted consilium!
And then I stopped, stopped condemning them. Were it not for Arthur and his blasted consilium, there would be no loving family for me. I would still be but Mariam’s odd uncle, as she believed me to be before my brother’s death. I would still be finding solace with servant girls. No new son’s wail would greet me when I returned home. A son. Ygerne might have already given birth. Yet there I sat, condemning the very men who made it possible.
“Malgwyn.”
At first, I thought it was Bedevere, but it was too hoarse, too throaty. I turned to see Sulien and Daron joining me. “Sulien, keep her away.”
But it was too late. She had seen the smiling throat of the dead man. To her credit, the cry caught in her throat, and I quickly gathered her against my chest. “I wish I could shield you from such sights, Daron.” In that instant, she was my Gwyneth, almost. And I released her quickly, too quickly, for I’m sure that it seemed to her that I had pushed her away. Aye, and it must have seemed so to Sulien as well, as he hurried to pull her back.
I did not wish to hurt her, but at times her resemblance to my Gwyneth was more than uncanny, and more than uncomfortable.
“Take her back to our hut, Sulien. Guard her closely. This affair becomes bloodier by the minute.”
In my confusion and frustration, I failed to hear Bedevere approach.
“This way. Bring the torches up.”
Just seconds later, the world brightened and I recognized my friend. “What has happened here?”
I pointed at the dead guard. “This is the man that Mordred bribed to let him in last eve. And before you ask, no, I did not kill him. I wanted to question him again and found him thus.”
With the torches, at least I could see more of how Doged’s man had been killed. One thing that this poor man’s death accomplished was to lend credence to Mordred’s protestations of innocence. For surely Mordred had no hand in it. Of course, the Saxons could have killed him to obscure their role, but as much as I wanted to feel my dagger slice through Ceawlin’s gut, this did not smell of Saxon work. While that put me more at ease, it proved nothing.
Something bright glittered in the torchlight, and I rolled his head to one side. ‘Twas the silver and agaphite brooch, still fastened to his cloak. I unfastened it, awkwardly with my one hand, and tucked it in my leather pouch.
“What was that?” Bedevere’s eyes missed little, even in the night.
I rose. “A fancy brooch this man found last eve between here and the main gate. I do not know what significance it has, if any, but it is made with agaphite, which might mean that more than just Doged knew of its presence.”
Bedevere shrugged. “Perhaps, but it could have been brought from far away, Egypt perhaps.”
“Then I would see others being used. A trader does not bring just one of his wares. Though Lord Cilydd is said to have one just like it.”
I motioned one of the torchbearers in closer. The stubble on his chin seemed marked by a smudge. Looking closely, I saw then that it was a bruise. Either the guard had taken a blow or, more likely, the killer had jerked his head back roughly from behind before slitting his throat.
Someone was eliminating witnesses.
As I thought that, raucous laughter boomed from the hall and Ider flew around the corner. “Bedevere, Malgwyn. Hurry!”
Bedevere motioned for two of his men to stay with the body, and we hurried after Ider.
* * *
Ysbadden Penkawr was the biggest man I had ever seen. He easily stood a head taller than Kay, whose height was renowned throughout our land. His tunic was made from rough-cut deer hide, as were his braccae. The belt wrapped about his amphorae-sized waist was studded with iron bits, filed to a point and shiny. Matching daggers were jammed into the belt, and in his left hand he carried a short club. He looked nothing like his pale sister.
You could hardly tell where his beard ended and his hair began. But oh, that hair. Though the rest of him was cut from the roughest, unscraped of hides, his hair was adorned with more combs than I had ever owned.
Among certain tribes, the practice of hair grooming and fancy combs was part of reaching maturity, and our nobles throughout the land loved nothing better than to decorate their hair with such trinkets as those Ysbadden sported. I counted three silver combs and two bone. His hair had been thoroughly brushed and decorated. Somehow, all the care did not soften his appearance; it only made him all the more menacing. But more frightening than his general appearance was the crooked smile that marked his red, pockmarked face. I had never called a smile evil until I saw Ysbadden.
As we pushed through the crowd, my throat caught.
They had pushed the tables back and the crowd was five deep all around. In one quick look I saw the Saxons, Druce, Cilydd, the sad Trevelyan, and many of the lords from the night before.
And on his knees in the center was Mordred.
My boast to him that Ysbadden could arrive anytime had come true.
I knew of no way to save him.
“Is this the one-armed scribe, Sister?”
Ysbadden’s voice was deep and rumbling, like thunder. But the way in which he spoke to his sister, ponderous and belittling, irritated her; I could tell.
But Ysbail nodded.
Ysbadden turned to me and fixed that evil, crooked smile on me. “So you are the one that champions the killer of my brother-in-law? Perhaps I should just kill you too.”
I glanced about quickly. Every eye was on me. I knew that I could not defeat him in regular combat. But I had no choice but to try. “Perhaps,” I agreed. “But as your sister will tell you, I merely asked her for time to investigate, to make certain that this man actually killed Lord Doged. If you want to lop off his head, then do not let me hinder you. I have never liked him.”
Ysbadden stopped and cocked his head at me even as Mordred spat at me, in frustration I am certain. “You have no desire to save him?” Ysbadden was confused. I am certain that he expected me to challenge him. “Then you have discovered that he did kill Doged?”
I shook my head. “No. I do not think he killed Lord Doged. As yet, I do not know who did.”
The giant shrugged. “Then, he will do. He is of the consilium and I do not like them.”
“Malgwyn.” Mordred turned toward me, his hands tied behind his back and blood streaming down the side of his face. His eye was blackened, and he had clearly taken much abuse.
Ysbadden threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, this one is especially pitiful. He must beg a one-armed man to save his life.” As he said this he turned his back on me, a mortal insult. And one that I could not ignore if I wanted to retain some semblance of respect, from our men, from Bedevere, from Arthur, from Ysbadden.
M
y left hand moved swiftly, but my aim was not true. Though Ysbadden howled like he was mortally wounded, I succeeded only in nicking his ear with my dagger, which continued on and stabbed deep in a timber post.
Ysbadden whirled around, club in hand, and advanced on me. “Perhaps I should kill both.”
One-armed though I was, I crouched, ready to grapple with Ysbadden.
Then, my vision was blocked by movements from either side.
Arthur.
And Bedevere.
Ysbadden laughed. “So the cripple needs two men to protect him.”
Arthur shook his head. “We do not protect Malgwyn. He has no need of our protection. We protect Lord Mordred, a senior member of the consilium.”
“So you are the great Arthur? You are not much to look at, nor your fellow either. I believe that I will rid the consilium of its head. Sister,” Ysbadden said to Ysbail. “That will make it easier to rule these lands.” And he advanced toward Arthur and Bedevere, who both reached for their daggers.
I cast about for a weapon to use; I would not let my friends die in vain.
“STOP!”
The command rang in my ear.
Lady Ysbail strode forward and placed herself between her brother and Arthur. “Brother, you will put away your weapons. I rule these lands, and I say who dies and who lives. And I will not have my husband’s funeral besmirched by your bullying.”
To say that I was surprised cannot even touch my shock.
She turned then to Arthur and Bedevere. “In the morning, we will bury my husband. Even now, my servi are preparing his funeral pyre atop the burial mound here in the fort. I expect you, Lord Arthur, to light the fire to honor his service to your consilium. You, Lord Bedevere, have fulfilled your pledge to me, and I thank you.” The common woman was becoming a queen.
Before anyone, including Ysbadden, could speak, she faced me, a faint smile marking her pale face. “Few two-armed men have the courage to challenge an insult from my brother. That you did raises you in my esteem. And I watched as you charged Lord Druce’s army alone; that was not the action of a common man. You have bought yourself more time to investigate my husband’s death. I grant you until the sun rises two days hence. If you cannot offer up another murderer, I will order Lord Mordred beheaded.”
Turning her eyes once again to Arthur, she gave him a hard look. “If you wish to have any influence here in these lands, you will have to deal with me. Not my brother. We will talk more of this after my husband has been honored.”
At that, she swept out of the hall and into her private chambers. Two of her soldiers appeared and hauled a struggling Mordred out, probably to tie him again in the trash. Two other soldiers posted themselves at her door.
The feasting hall fell strangely quiet in her wake. The Saxons, Ceawlin among them, wasted no time in leaving. Ysbadden came toward me, and I tensed again, but the now-gentle smile on his face eased my fear.
“You charged Druce’s army alone?” he asked. “Yet, you live.”
“Druce is more bully than lord. Bullies appreciate strength.”
Ysbadden touched his still-bleeding ear and grinned ruefully. “I like you. You have courage. I will not kill you today.”
“Then,” I said, “I will not kill you either.”
Ysbadden turned to Arthur. “So you are the great Arthur, Rigotamos of the consilium.” He paused and looked Arthur up and down. “You do not seem much to me. Maybe someday I will kill you, but for now I will honor my sister’s wishes.”
Bedevere, quiet, taciturn Bedevere, was seething. “It sounded more like a command to me.”
The giant turned and looked down at Bedevere. “I do what I please, when I please, and no woman will tell me what to do.”
Arthur walked up to Ysbadden. “I have battled my whole life against men like you. And it is only out of respect for your sister that I do not challenge you to combat here and now. But when Doged is properly honored, I will come hunting you.”
“A pretty speech,” Ysbadden grumbled, but he turned and left, wiping the blood from his ear as he went.
The crowd thinned in the hall, leaving but the three of us and Cilydd and Druce, who were arguing, it seemed, in a far corner. Arthur drew Bedevere and me aside.
“What news have you, if any?”
“Rigotamos, I confess I am as confused as I have ever been. But here is what I know: Mordred admits now that he was a captive of the Saxons, and that they forced him to gain them an audience with Doged. Whether that is true I do not know.”
Arthur nodded, pulling the ends of his mustache into his teeth as he did when thoughtful. “My agents to the north have told me as much.”
“But someone else was there before them. And the same guard who Mordred bribed must have been bribed by this other man.”
“And Mordred did not know who he was?”
“No. And now the guard has been killed. That is how I know that Mordred is being truthful with us. While the Saxons could have killed the guard, they are not stupid. And they realize that Mordred would blame them if only to save his own life. And Mordred could hardly have killed him, as he was tied at the trash pit.” I did not mention the person disguised as Doged this time. Not because I was afraid of Arthur, but because I was even more confused as to how that fit into the events surrounding Doged’s death. And I still believed it did.
“You have certainly made an impression on Ysbail,” Arthur said.
“At the price of a boy’s life.” I hung my head at the admission.
“Malgwyn, you have no reason to be ashamed,” Arthur assured me. “Indeed, Bedevere says that there might have been many more deaths had you not acted so swiftly and decisively. To allow the killing of my soldier without retribution would have emboldened Druce.”
“Perhaps, Rigotamos, but I should have left it to Bedevere to respond. It was his decision to make, not mine.”
At that, Bedevere laughed aloud. “Have you heard me complain, Malgwyn?”
“No,” I conceded. “But tell me, had I not interfered, how would you have dealt with the situation?”
Bedevere turned and looked at me so intently that I became uncomfortable. “Malgwyn, as I stand before you and Arthur, I would have ordered the charge and more than just that one boy would have died. Your brash actions saved lives.”
“And it won you the friendship of Ysbadden,” Arthur chided.
“That,” and I scowled at him, “is no honor.”
“Perhaps,” conceded Bedevere, “but it also raised you in Ysbail’s esteem. I think, in fact, so much that were you so inclined you could easily capture that prize.”
Rather than answer, I simply deepened my scowl. “Rigotamos,” I changed the subject, “will you grant me a patrol to visit Castellum Dinas to check on the mining there?”
“I will do more. I have sent a rider to Gaheris, asking for two of his troop to join us here. I will give you a troop of horse and Ider to command. Leave them there when you have finished your inspection, but instruct Ider to avoid any loud demonstrations of our presence. In truth, Castellum Dinas is more hunting lodge than true town. And with Doged holding court here, it will be mostly deserted. While I do not want anyone else in control there, I also do not wish to show uncommon interest.”
“What about those mining?”
Arthur shook his head. “Doged halted all mining after this new ore and the agaphite was found.”
“Surely the workers were curious?”
“I do not know. But do not tarry there, Malgwyn. Despite your words to Ysbadden, we cannot afford for Mordred to be executed. It will virtually assure that Cilydd or Druce or whoever emerges as lord of these lands will not join the consilium, and it may indeed incline them toward a peace with the Saxons. And our failure to protect Mordred will further embolden our enemies, David, Mark, and others.”
“I wish that Merlin were here,” I admitted. “He knows so much more about these rocks.”
“Oh, he will be at Castellum Dinas when you arrive,�
� Arthur added. “I had word two hours ago that he and Kay were riding with all due speed. I dispatched a rider on my fastest horse to divert them there. When you arrive, send Kay on here. Use Merlin as you see fit, but bring him with you when you return. I may need his counsel on the morrow.”
Bedevere and I turned away, off to do our duties, but I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned back. In the darkness, with only the flickering torches, Arthur looked much younger. The black of night hid those gray hairs conquering his beard. “Malgwyn, Bedevere, there is much happening here that I do not understand, and I suspect you are the same. But I know this: We have never faced so many potential enemies at one time. One misstep, one misspoken word, and we could lose our westernmost lands and the ports that go with them. We cannot afford that, not now. And we cannot afford a civil war with the Saxons here to watch.” He paused. “There are those in the Empire who do not wish the consilium to survive. Before we were born, Malgwyn, this land provided much food for the Empire. We could do so again, but they would rather take it than pay for it. If we are to remain a free people, you must succeed.”
And he was gone, leaving Bedevere and me standing alone. “Take heart, Malgwyn,” Bedevere said finally, into the silence. “You will be so busy with this affair that you will cease to worry about Ygerne.”
I parted ways with him then, even as I realized he was right. Since my encounter with Ysbadden, I had completely forgotten about Ygerne and our coming child. And that bothered me.
We returned then to the dead guard, but I could find nothing else of note. I sent a servus to fetch help so that he might be properly buried and left, straightaway, for Castellum Dinas.
* * *
“Merlin.” I threw up my hand at the sight of my dear friend.
This was to be another long night. The journey to the mine at Castellum Dinas had taken only two hours, though the cursed wind that plagued our western lands made it seem twice as long. The cool blast wrapped around me like a Fury, ripping at my cloak, pushing me forward, it seemed, and then back. And, for what appeared to be good reason, Ider, myself, and our troop of horse were the only ones on the road. Reluctantly, I had left Daron with Sulien. She had seen so much devastation in the last days. I wanted to wrap her in warm furs and keep her safe from harm. But, for then, Sulien would have to do.
