by Tony Hays
“Then that is how it will be,” Arthur said, rising. “We shall begin in three days’ time. That should allow each claimant to choose an advocate and prepare.”
Immediately, I saw smiles paint the faces of Ysbadden, David, Druce, and, oddest of all, Ceawlin. I wanted to scream, “NO!” But Arthur had left me no room. For some reason, they wanted this three-day delay. And what they wanted was almost certainly bad for us.
The crowd in the hall began to leave; Ysbail had had all the food withdrawn earlier. Looking toward the front of the hall, I saw Arthur wave a woolen-wrapped hand at me, beckoning me to join him.
“You are slowing down in your old age, Malgwyn.”
In plowing through the lingering mob I had happened upon David. He was a handsome man with darker hair than Arthur’s.
“How so?”
“The only question to be settled by this iudex is whether Ysbail can rule these lands on her own. It does nothing to determine who will rule if she cannot.”
“And you are telling me this because…?”
“I want you to tell Arthur that I intend to support Druce’s claim to these lands. The consilium is not as one on this issue.”
“That is as good as a declaration of war against Arthur, and the consilium.”
“Only if Arthur is stupid enough to start a war. And you know as well as do I that Mark will join us.” His arrogance was palpable; it almost oozed from his pores.
“Do not misunderstand me, David. I would love nothing better than to slit your throat on the battlefield, but know this: Arthur will not yield. Not on this matter.” I stopped. If I said more, David would know (if he did not already) that there was more at stake here than a pair of ports and more lands.
But even that little bit brought the sly narrowing of David’s eyes that never boded good.
“We will talk more of this later,” he said, sweeping past me then.
I sighed and joined Arthur, Bedevere, and Ysbail near the door to the private chambers. Once the stout wooden door was shut behind us, I wasted no time.
“Ysbail. You told me that you were carrying Doged’s child.”
Though my outburst was intended to intimidate her, it seemed to strengthen her resolve. Now it was she who narrowed her eyes at me.
“I was mistaken. Would you like to see the proof?”
And that humbled me into silence. Arthur and Bedevere, standing behind Ysbail, grinned at my discomfiture. They would pay later. A servus who had brought a tray of cups of watered wine smiled a little as well. Fortunately for her, she was not my servus. But I still did not believe Ysbail’s denials. Her earlier, unsought admission rang more true. And denying it now only weakened her position. I was greatly confused.
“Did you set a guard to watch over Petrocus?” I asked Bedevere, who nodded grimly.
“I do not think they would harm him now, but with this pack of rogues I do not wish to be caught off guard.”
“The weight of the law is still on Ysbail’s side,” Arthur pointed out.
“But as Petrocus said, the weight of the law is not the only consideration. Rigotamos,” I began. “David says that he will ally with Druce and support his claim. Even to the point of taking the field against you.”
I expected Arthur to explode at that, but he began tugging at his mustache as he did when thoughtful. I think I was the only one that saw the vein pumping angrily in his neck, a sign of his anger.
“Malgwyn,” Ysbail began in the lull, “perhaps it is now time to show my resolve. I shall order Mordred’s execution for killing my husband.”
“That is the one thing you cannot do,” Arthur interrupted. “David and Mordred are old allies. David would use Mordred’s death to further bolster his cause, to render a split in the consilium.”
Ysbail’s eyes narrowed in a hint of frustration. “But David is himself splitting the consilium, is he not?”
I nodded. “Aye, he is. But Lord David is a master at taking two opposed positions at the same time.”
But then Ysbail’s jaw became rigid. “That is of no matter to me. My husband’s murder demands justice. You have found no other person who could have done this, have you?” She did not wait for my answer. “Then, it is settled. I can at least do that for him.”
I looked to Arthur for help. He was still tugging on his mustache. “I cannot allow you to do that,” he said finally, gently.
Only Ysbail’s raised eyebrows showed her indignation. Her voice was remarkably calm. “I do not see how you can stop me. Indeed, I think it might be a wise move after all. It will show the people that I will not blindly follow the consilium’s orders as my husband did.”
I truly hated the world of lords. No one said what they meant. Each sought some advantage for themselves in everything they did. Moments like this were when I truly longed for my life as a farmer.
“No, Lady Ysbail. What that would do is force the Rigotamos into siding with Druce. For if he allows the beheading of Mordred, he may, very well, face civil war within the consilium.” This was one of my tasks for Arthur, to state the blunt, sometimes brutal, realities without his having to do so. I was not fond of that part of my job either.
“And what of your vaunted reputation for fairness and justice? Which my husband so often mentioned?”
I began to answer, but Arthur held up his hand.
“I can scarcely champion fairness and justice while lying dead on the battlefield, Ysbail.”
“Ysbail,” I interrupted. “I do not like Mordred. Indeed, I despise him. Were it my decision to make, I would slash his throat this instant. But he did not kill your husband. I am more certain of that than anything else.”
“Why?” ‘Twas more challenge than question.
“Mordred swears that Doged was already dead when he sought entry.” Telling her of the Saxons complicated my argument. “He says that a previous visitor ran past him as he entered the rear door. The guard that both parties bribed, apparently, was killed last night, to silence him. Mordred could not have had a hand in that. He was tied up by your own guards.” The Saxons could have eliminated the guard, but Mordred could not have, so I was not telling a complete lie. And with Arthur there, I could scarcely bring up the many Dogeds prancing about that night.
A long moment passed. Ysbail hung her head finally. “I know of the guard’s murder. He was one of my people, not Doged’s.”
Bedevere cocked his head to the side. “Doged allowed one of your men to guard such a vulnerable spot?”
She shrugged. “I demanded little. Very well, I will delay killing him, but he will remain my prisoner until such time as you can bring me something better than ‘he did not kill the guard,’ which does nothing to acquit him of my husband’s death, or until this current crisis is resolved.”
It occurred to me that she had no great desire to order anyone’s death, and that raised her in my esteem. But there was a nervousness about her when she talked of Doged’s death that I did not understand. A woman so disinclined to order a prisoner’s execution is hardly going to commit murder herself unless forced to. But, as Bedevere pointed out, Doged had allowed his killer access and his death had come suddenly, as if he was unaware of his attacker’s intentions. Ysbail would bear further observation.
“If I might ask a favor?”
Ysbail frowned at me once more. “What?”
“Do not allow Mordred to visit with David, Druce, or the Saxons. The longer we keep them apart, the more frantic Mordred will become and the sooner he will tell us everything he knows.”
“You think he is still withholding information?” Arthur asked.
“I think Mordred always withholds knowledge.”
I turned to Arthur. “Rigotamos, this three-day delay is but a ploy by David to stall for some reason.”
Arthur smacked his head with his woolen-wrapped hand. “I am a fool. David arrived without an escort, riding at breakneck speeds. He needs the extra time for his army to arrive.” Arthur spun about and grabbed Bedevere by the a
rm. “Speed a rider to Castellum Arturius. Have Gawain send an additional troop.”
“A suggestion?”
Frustrated, he turned on me. “Yes, what?”
“Send a rider also to Castellum Marcus, but have the rider find Tristan. Tell him that I have asked him to bring two troop here.”
“You?” Ysbail did not quite believe what I had said.
I just smiled at her. “He believes that he owes me a debt. He will come.”
Arthur slapped a hand across my shoulder. “Good. They will have a shorter journey, and with good weather they should reach us before David’s men arrive. How many men in arms do you have here?”
For once, Ysbail was truly at a loss. She looked to Bedevere. “Maybe two hundred or two hundred and fifty. How many are loyal I cannot say.”
I counted in my head. “We have two troop here, one at Castellum Dinas with Ider and one with Kay seeking Merlin. If Tristan proves true, we will have a sufficient force to repel any assault.”
“What if we must take the field against them? Defending a prepared, protected position is easier than defeating an army on an open field.”
I looked to Bedevere, who screwed his face up in thought.
Finally, he looked to Ysbail. “Forgive me, but your husband’s soldiers are ill trained, though I do not doubt their eagerness. But our men are veterans of many battles. Tristan’s will be as well. Druce’s men are in worse shape than Doged’s; most are little more than children. David’s will be like ours. It will all depend on how many David brings.”
“It would not be like him to commit his entire force unless he was absolutely assured of success,” I added.
“Then we should be safe in that event,” Arthur concluded.
“Unless the Saxons join in, or Melwas.” Melwas, the lord at Ynys-witrin, had plagued us the year before.
Arthur’s shaggy head shook. “No, Melwas is licking his wounds, and David knows that he would court disaster by openly allying with the Saxons.”
“Would he?” I should have remained silent, but I trusted David far less than Arthur did.
“You have doubts?”
“Mark has already counseled treating with the Saxons. Although Mordred has not said so openly, I suspect that he was more guest of the Saxons than prisoner.”
“Yet you think Tristan will be eager to join us.”
I chuckled. “Tristan is a young man who feels that he owes me a debt of honor. Such men are passionate about these matters.”
“The consilium was fragmented under Ambrosius as much as it is now. Gawain, Gaheris, Bedevere, Kay, Aircol, Pascent, they are all loyal.”
Arthur was right; they were loyal. The last, Pascent, was the brother of Vortimer and yet another son of Vortigern, who had brought the hated Saxons to our island. After Vortimer’s death some four years before, Pascent had emerged as his successor. I had only met Pascent once, but he seemed a good man, as brave as his brothers and more trustworthy than his father.
But Arthur always wanted the consilium to act as one, and even the most loyal of members hesitated at that.
“What you must decide, Rigotamos, is whether these lands are important enough to risk splitting the consilium in half.”
Only then did I realize that Ysbail was still there, listening carefully to all we were saying. She deserved to know what potential riches this land held, but I knew that Arthur would not sanction telling her, at least not yet, for fear she would use that knowledge against us.
And Arthur noticed her interest as well. “The ports here bring in much revenue to the consilium,” he hurried into the pause. “What good is a united land if there is no money to govern it?”
He was telling me that yes, it was important enough. At the mention of ports and revenues, Ysbail’s interest waned.
“Then,” Arthur continued. “What is our plan?”
“I will see to the riders and begin organizing our troops,” Bedevere said.
The Rigotamos nodded. “I will attempt to parley with David and the others.”
“And I will join Kay in his search for Merlin,” I added, but Arthur quickly shook his head with a rueful grin.
“You, my scribe, will prepare for this court, and you will seek Doged’s true killer in earnest. Kay is capable of finding Merlin.”
As I began to protest, Arthur rested his hand on my shoulder. “I am as worried about our friend as you are. But sending you to join Kay will not speed his quest. The Christ and His father will watch over Merlin, as they watch over each of us.”
I did not like such answers. I preferred to make my own destiny. But Arthur should be more cautious about his desires.
“Then I will not brook interference, Rigotamos. And I believe that the false Dogeds hold a key to this affair. I will pursue that and all the evidence, no matter where it leads.”
Crimson rose in Arthur’s cheeks, but I was not moved. This was a familiar scene for us. “It is a waste of time,” he replied, without half the fervor of before. More important events had taken his attention. He no longer had a will to fight me on this.
I did not respond, just stood firmly. After a moment, Arthur nodded jerkily, once. But as I turned away, I could not help but notice the shine of fear in Ysbail’s eyes.
* * *
By all rights, my task should have been the easiest one that I ever approached. Poor Eleonore was killed in the lanes of Castellum Arturius, with hundreds of people as possible killers. Old Elafius was murdered in his cell at the abbey, true, but it was a community of brethren, each of whom could have killed the old monachus. But this was a lord of the consilium, killed in his own chambers with a guard at the door. I think that is why I found the whole matter so frustrating.
I left them then and wandered out into the fort, and even further, out into the village beyond the walls. Events had moved so swiftly that I had not had time to truly consider everything that had happened.
The delicate smell of sour wine drew me toward a stall on the road leading down to the port, but I ignored its pull. The lanes were full of visitors from the villages inland; though they came to mourn Doged, the flavor of a festival hung heavily in the air. I did not hunger for the company of others. I needed some solitude, a difficult commodity to purchase in that time and place.
“Malgwyn!”
Startled that someone shouted my name, I looked up to see Sulien urging me inside a small building, a public house of some sort where food and drink could be bought. Anger grew in my belly. If Sulien had abandoned Daron to drink, I would have his head.
But my fears were unnecessary. Inside, at a table, Sulien, Daron, and one other man were sitting. An old Roman pitcher held wine from the looks of it. Whoever owned the pitcher was lucky. It was of that bluish-green, wavy glass made by the Romans, and from the nicks and cracks had seen many a winter. Few of these survived now.
The stranger did not like my appearance. He cast his eyes at me with ill-concealed disdain, rose, and left, taking his beaker with him.
“Who was he?”
“A lustful man who wanted to purchase our friend here for the night.”
I chuckled. “Was he unwilling to pay?”
“I told him that she was the servus of one of Arthur’s councilors, a mighty man with one arm who would kill anyone that looked at her with evil intent.”
Daron slapped Sulien on the arm. “I am not a meretrice, or a servus,” she huffed.
In certain ways, Daron seemed to me as an adult Mariam, my daughter. She was a combination of Mariam and her mother.
“No, you are not, Daron. But until we discover who laid waste to your village, you must play a different role.”
She looked away, brushing her hair from her face. “I thought you had forgotten my village.”
“Now, girl,” Sulien scolded her. “Malgwyn serves the Rigotamos. He has many duties to perform.”
Daron flashed her blue eyes at me. “And it seems he gets none of them done.”
Her shot was true, and I hung my h
ead. “Daron, I want to bring your village justice more than anything. And I would have you safe when I do.”
The light drained from her eyes. “My village is dead to me now. I have no village.”
“And what village would that be?”
The sudden voice sent my hand groping for my dagger.
David. Leering over our table.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sulien leaped to his feet, placing his nose only inches from David’s.
Lord David stumbled back two steps, grasping the hilt of his sword. “You dare attack a lord of the consilium?”
Sulien smiled. “No, my lord. My beaker is empty, and I am simply going for another. My apologies for frightening you.” With that, he moved past, nodding and winking at me, and headed to the wine merchant.
David released his sword and straightened his tunic. “You should put that one on a leash, Malgwyn,” he advised, sitting down.
“Why? Because he is thirsty?”
“Such thirst may get him killed someday.”
“Are you here to threaten or talk?”
David chuckled. “We have no secrets between us, Malgwyn. Who is she?” He nodded toward Daron.
“My servus.”
“I have never known you to hold servi.”
“Time and people change.”
He shrugged. “As you like. But she is a pretty one.”
“Your business?”
“I no more desire to cross swords with Arthur than he does with me. It profits no one but the ravens.”
“Good, Arthur will be pleased to hear that you plan to withdraw your challenge.”
David shook his head. “Malgwyn, Malgwyn. You never cease to amaze me. You know that is not what I intend. These lands need a firm hand. Doged was a good man, but in his last years he ruled by virtue of his kind nature. People see that as a weakness. It was only a matter of time before Druce toppled him.”
“Or Cilydd.”
“Bah,” David spat. “Cilydd lacks certainty. He is too cautious and would talk instead of act.” He paused. “I will speak plainly.”
