The Stolen Bride

by Tony Hays

  Merlin and I waited several minutes after the rattling chains and squeaking leather of the strange party passed before resuming our journey.

  “Who do you think that was?” I asked Merlin.

  “Probably some traders from Gaul,” he said, shrugging. “Malgwyn, Arthur needs to send another troop to reinforce Ider. Too many people know of the agaphite and the possibility of gold. The steps you have taken are good, but the word will out, and you know it will.”

  “I chastised Arthur for releasing Illtud to the Church.”

  “And you should have.” Merlin chuckled. “Illtud is a fine commander, one of the best. What think you of this religion?”

  I jerked my head back in surprise. Never had Merlin even mentioned the Christ and Arthur’s faith. “In truth, Merlin, I do not know enough of it to say. My father often said that we had not enough wealth to abandon the old gods.”

  “Aye.” Merlin nodded. “It does seem to take much wealth to gain power in the Church. But it has always seemed to me that a religion should embody power, not be bought and sold like so many servi. When I journeyed in Egypt, I heard many stories of this man they call the Christ. Some there say He was but a magician; others hold that He was a philosopher. You know of the traditions that say He came here as a child, with the Arimathean.”

  “Do you credit those? Coroticus, at the abbey, has old parchments that speak of these tales. Aye, they even say that the Arimathean is buried near the abbey.”

  “You know of the thorn tree on Wirral?”

  I nodded. On the summit of Wirral Hill stood a lone thorn tree, one that only bloomed in the winter. Legend had it that Joseph of Arimathea came here with some companions after the Christ had been crucified. They reached as far as the hill near Ynys-witrin, where Joseph planted the little tree that he had brought from the far east.

  “I have only seen its like one other place,” Merlin continued.

  “Where?”

  “Near Jerusalem on one of my voyages as a youth.” Merlin paused and then chuckled. “As a child really. But still, if the Arimathean did not bring it, who did?”

  “Who indeed?”

  Silence ensued for several minutes. Even in the dark of night, I could see that Merlin was deep in thought.

  “Malgwyn?” he said finally. “If something happens to me, will you promise to take care of Owain?”

  “Merlin.”

  In the moon shadows, I saw his hand come up. “No, Malgwyn, I am not ill. But I am an old man, and I wish to know that my son will be well cared for if I die.”

  “You know that I will, but surely Arthur would be a better choice.”

  “Arthur has other things to occupy his time. You are already a part of Owain’s life. Besides, your woman is not the only one carrying a child.”

  “Guinevere is with child?”

  And then Merlin laughed aloud. “Did you think that they do not lie together?”

  “But she has not said anything to me; I am her cousin.”

  “She does not tell you everything, Malgwyn. But, this time, she was not certain until just before you left on this journey. Even Arthur does not know yet. It is my charge to tell him.”

  “Poor Doged.” I remembered then. “He did not live long enough to learn that Ysbail is carrying his child.”

  “In truth?”

  “Aye.” I nodded. “She told—”

  Before I could finish, Merlin fell from his horse. I jerked my reins up quickly and scrambled from my seat.

  “Merlin.”

  He was lying on the ground, facing away from me. As I knelt beside him, he rolled over toward me. “Malgwyn,” he croaked. “I believe I have been struck.”

  And the arrow protruding from his shoulder proved him right. Something whistled in the air, and I saw another arrow embedded in the ground.

  I felt a hand grasp my arm, tightly.

  “Malgwyn, go quickly! Get to Arthur and tell him of this.”

  “Merlin, I cannot leave you like this.” Another arrow struck the ground less than a foot from me. The rhythm of horses’ hooves sounded down the lane.

  My old friend smiled. “This is but a nick. You do not think that I would allow a band of latrunculii to kill me. Now go! Before you are struck as well. I will be fine.”

  Arrows sang through the night air. My mind moved as quickly as it could. They outnumbered us; I could tell that by the sheer volume of arrows. I saw that Merlin’s horse sported three arrows in her flanks. By the gods, the horse was brave! But she couldn’t carry Merlin any longer.

  “Bring up the extra troop, Ider!”

  It was an old trick I had used once before. Though they were probably certain that we were but two, my hoax might give us a few extra seconds. I dragged Merlin into the forest on the side of the road, quickly.

  “Good,” Merlin hissed. “Now go. I need to get into hiding and stop this bleeding. I will just slow you down and end up getting us both captured. Go.”

  And he was right.

  And I did, though it nearly tore my heart from me.

  I mounted my horse and urged him forward, screaming into the night air like a legion of Roman soldiers.

  And praying that Merlin would be safe.

  * * *

  A schoenus down the road, I dismounted and led my horse into the moon shadows. My stomach roiled and I lost what little I had eaten in the weeds.

  It did not matter that it was the smart thing to do.

  It did not matter that it was Merlin’s desire.

  I had left Merlin behind.

  My heart felt like it would split my chest open. I could not seem to breathe.

  I was torn between two roads—return for Merlin or do as he commanded and seek help.

  Falling back on my haunches, I pulled my knees up and willed my stomach to calm. In a few minutes, I succeeded in controlling my breathing. I was embarrassed. Too much was happening too quickly. But Merlin was right. I needed help to bring him to safety. And Merlin was a tough one, and he knew much about surviving in the forest.

  No, Merlin was right.

  I must ride for help.

  And continue praying for Merlin’s safekeeping.

  * * *

  “Malgwyn! Where is Merlin?” Arthur met me at the gate.

  I slid from my mount and motioned for a boy to come and take him. “We were attacked, Arthur, not an hour from Trevelgue!”

  “By who?”

  I just shook my head. “I do not know. They wore no markings on their tunics. Merlin was hit with an arrow in the shoulder.”

  “And you left him?” Arthur was enraged.

  “I had no choice. We were outnumbered, and he and his horse were hit. He demanded it and he was right. Had I not ridden on, both of us would be captured or killed. Besides, he was not wounded fatally, and I helped him secret himself in the forest before I left.

  “Believe me, Arthur,” I continued. “I did not leave him behind willingly.”

  “No, but you certainly saved your own precious hide,” Arthur spat at me.

  The next thing I knew, Bedevere had my wrist grasped firmly in his and I had a dagger between my fingers. “Step lightly, Rigotamos,” I warned.

  Arthur, his face red, seemed about to say something, but instead, he turned and stomped off.

  “Are you mad?” Bedevere yelled. “Threatening the Rigotamos is punishable by death!”

  “Then he should not have questioned my courage. Do you think I was happy about leaving Merlin behind?”

  “No, of course not. Arthur is just upset over his mother and not hiding it well. And he had an argument with Kay.”

  “About what?”

  “Kay demanded a field command. Arthur told him he would serve in whatever position it pleased him to offer.”

  I could sort out this problem quickly enough. “Call Kay here. Give him a troop and send him after Merlin.”

  “But Malgwyn…”

  “Are you not Arthur’s Master of Horse?”

  Bedevere nodded.


  “Then it is within your power. Arthur’s too busy insulting his own men to remember Merlin’s plight.”

  “Malgwyn…,” Bedevere began in a low, warning rumble.

  “Would you trust anyone else?”

  Bedevere shook his shaggy head. “Very well, but Arthur won’t like it.”

  “Arthur will just be happy that Merlin’s safe and sound, as will we all. Where is Kay? I will tell him myself. He will need information from me. I will go with him.”

  “There were how many in the party that passed you?”

  “Ten riders, it seemed.”

  “Probably just a band of latrunculii. Merlin was right. Better that you came here. Kay and a troop will be enough to fetch him. We will need you.”

  “But Bedevere.”

  My granite-faced friend just shook his head. “I love Merlin as you do, but this fort is but tinder awaiting a spark. We do not even know who our enemies are. And unless you find who killed Doged, it will be laid at Mordred’s feet.” Bedevere paused and pulled me beneath the parapet. “A rider arrived this morning. Lord David has heard of Mordred’s plight. He intends to march here with his forces and rescue Mordred by whatever means necessary.”

  I shook my head, disgusted at the very mention of David. We had crossed swords many times since Arthur’s election as Rigotamos. My disputes with Arthur were but those of children compared to my feud with David.

  “But you do not know that he is, indeed, coming?”

  “No. But do you really believe that David will not exploit this for his own purposes?”

  Bedevere was right. David would not allow a single opportunity for power to pass him by. Reluctantly, I agreed to stay.

  * * *

  Moments later, I had told Kay all I could about where I had left Merlin. Though Kay did not say, his eyes bespoke gratitude for this assignment. When Arthur made Kay his steward, I wondered how long Kay would be content with the job. He had done well, having lasted nearly three years. But Kay, who had once loved to tease others, had himself become the butt of jokes. I shrugged to myself. Kay was the perfect choice to find Merlin. He loved our old friend. He was a battle-hardened veteran. And, at present, he had little else to do.

  * * *

  The time had come to bury Doged. A great funeral pyre had been built atop the highest of the burial mounds within the fort. I knew that after the fire turned to cold ash, Doged’s men would bury his bones in the center of the mound, and atop what could be dozens of nobles before him.

  ‘Twas more a custom of the west than our lands. I had never attended a cremation. We buried our dead intact, wrapped in special cloth, interred in stone-lined graves or wooden boxes. But Merlin once told me that the Romans burned their dead. And our ancestors, back in the dark recesses of our history, had done the same. I would not know this, but once, when I was plowing a field with my father, we found a strange pot in the ground, with charred human bones, or at least the teeth seemed human. Father said he had seen the like before.

  Arrayed before the mound were all of Doged’s nobles—Druce, Cilydd, and the rest—as well as other nobles from far away, I suspected. To my surprise, I saw even a Scotti noble with his retinue. I bumped Bedevere and motioned toward the Scotti with my head.

  “I do not know his name, but I have heard that he is the father of Mark’s bride to be. Apparently, Doged played some role in negotiating the match.”

  “Perhaps Mark reneged on the arrangements and this Scotti killed Doged in revenge,” I jested, and immediately regretted it. This was not the time to speak lightly of death.

  As I stood with the crowd at the base of the mound, I heard someone clear his throat in a deep growl.

  “Bedevere said that he had sent Kay after Merlin. Thank you.” Arthur cleared his throat once again.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not having me beheaded. Rigotamos, I truly do not seek to enrage you. I would have given my one good arm for Merlin. But he was injured; our enemies were closing in. I did not know how many we faced. Merlin was right to order me away.”

  “I know,” Arthur said. “I know. And I should not have wasted time chastising you. I should have sent Kay immediately. No, I should have gone myself. I pray that he is not too late.”

  Glancing quickly at Arthur, I could see the fierce vein pumping at his neck and his whitened knuckles. I am not certain that Arthur was ever more frustrated than right then. His heart was with Merlin and his plight; his duty bade him stay.

  “Kay will serve us well, Rigotamos.”

  He straightened his shoulders a bit. “The Christ will keep them both safe, if that is His will.”

  And then Ysbail motioned Arthur forward.

  I did not stay to hear Arthur declaim. Slowly and silently, I slipped back through the crowd and went in search of Daron and Sulien.

  * * *

  Back down in the fort proper, a young boy came running toward me, bearing an arrow. “Lord Malgwyn!”

  I stopped and he pulled up quickly. “Hold, boy. I am no lord.”

  “But you are Malgwyn?” The child leaned over, bracing himself with his knees.

  “Aye. What do you want with me?” I was testy, from both my worry over Merlin and my verbal skirmish with Arthur. By all rights, I should have gone with Kay, but Bedevere insisted that I would be needed at Trevelgue.

  “Lord Kay sent me to you with this.”

  And then I saw it. I snatched it from the child’s hand, sending him stumbling back in fear. “Where did he find this?”

  The boy’s eyes grew wide.

  “Where?”

  “He said it was stuck in your horse’s flank.”

  The arrow was exactly like those from Daron’s village, a Saxon point on a Briton shaft, with Briton fletching. We had been attacked by the same band that massacred those poor villagers.

  And I had left Merlin at their mercy.

  “Where is Kay?”

  The boy fell back once more. “He left some time ago, master.”

  “Bring me Lord Bedevere then, with all speed.”

  The boy raced back up the lane. Stupid child. He had probably spent too much time showing off the arrow to his friends. Perhaps even sealing Merlin’s fate.

  I whirled about in the lane. I found myself in a most unfamiliar situation. I did not know what to do, did not know what direction to go.

  Then, I saw one of the strangest sights of my long life. Striding up the lane was a tall monachus, wearing a plain, brown robe with a mighty gold cross hanging about his neck. His nose looked more like a falcon’s beak than a human appendage. He wore a strange tonsure. In those days, the monachi among us shaved all the hair above their foreheads. But the top of this man’s head was completely shaved, leaving but a circle of hair around his skull. Coroticus, the abbot at Ynys-witrin, had told me of this. It was the custom in Rome.

  He smiled as he came toward me. “You must be Malgwyn.”

  Whoever this man was, he was far more jovial than recent events dictated.

  At that moment, however, I was more worried about Merlin than about meeting yet another monachus. I nodded at him and spun about, searching the crowd now descending from Doged’s funeral even as the column of smoke from his pyre rose to the heavens.

  I could not see Bedevere in the throng, but then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned, expecting to see my old friend there. But no, it was this odd monachus.

  “Is there some way I might be of service?” I fair spat the words out, so impatient was I.

  But the monachus showed no offense, just smiled in an oddly calming manner. “I was told to seek you out.”

  Why in the name of the gods would someone send a monachus to seek me out?

  And then he answered that question without it being spoken. “I am Petrocus.”

  I was an idiot. Of course. This was the learned monk from the community of believers near Tyntagel. Too many things were happening too quickly. “Please forgive my temper. The
situation here is changing with each and every moment.”

  “Is that arrow of some importance?” he asked, pointing. “You clutch as if it were.”

  “It was found embedded in my horse’s flank. I’ve only seen its like once before.”

  “Yes.” Petrocus nodded. “A Saxon point with our own fletching. An unlikely combination. I have seen this before as well, recently.”

  “Where?”

  “A farmstead near our community was raided, the family killed, their livestock taken.”

  I nodded. “The other I found was in a village, near unto the border with the summer country. The entire village had been sacked and all the people massacred, save one.” I stopped suddenly. Did I want this monachus to know of Daron? Long ago, I had learned that the robes of a sacerdote or presbyter were no guarantee of a good man. Caution bade me to keep silent.

  “Near the summer country, you say,” Petrocus repeated, not seeming to have really heard my last comment.

  “Aye, just across the border in Doged’s lands.”

  He nodded. “These are frustrating.”

  “I agree, but why do you think so?”

  Petrocus pursed his lips. “Does it signify Saxons buying Briton shafts? Or does it signify Britons buying Saxon points? Both are freely available and freely traded up and down the coast.”

  “But we have no trade agreement with the Saxons.”

  “And we have no guarantee that the sun will rise tomorrow, save for the fact that it always has. Merchants and traders do that which is best designed to bring them a profit. Agreements between kings mean little to them.”

  I liked this Petrocus. Somewhat like Coroticus at Ynys-witrin, he was a man of the world. But Petrocus spoke plainly, not doling out his thoughts in bits and pieces. “Do you know why you were summoned?”

  “To provide counsel on Doged’s wife’s legal rights. It is my understanding that the woman and Doged were only recently wed,” Petrocus said, sounding much like Merlin.

  Merlin.

  What was wrong with me? I was allowing myself to be distracted at every turn. But before I could say aught, Bedevere came bounding down the lane with my little messenger at his side.