The Stolen Bride

by Tony Hays

  Petrocus’s face held a truly pained expression. “But, Malgwyn, did you indeed kill a Saxon envoy at Castellum Dinas?”

  “Aye,” I answered. “One by me, others by other of our men. And I feel no remorse. They had taken up arms against our forces. They had abandoned the protection of Lady Ysbail’s hospitality by doing so.”

  That pained expression merely grew. “Malgwyn, the Saxon that you killed, in single combat if I am to understand correctly, was one that you knew, personally.”

  I shrugged. I could not see where he was taking this. “What of it?”

  “Lord Bedevere tells us that you swore, several days ago, to kill Ceawlin before you left these lands.”

  And then I remembered. It was true. Bedevere had not betrayed me. He had done what he always had done, answered questions frankly and honestly. Arthur could not intervene for me because that would negate all that he had said to me earlier that same day. In truth, I had said virtually the same thing to Arthur. I was trapped by the truth that I had so long hailed.

  “The Saxon envoy Ceawlin infiltrated Castellum Arturius, posing as a Druid priest, on the eve of Arthur’s election as the Rigotamos. After a failed attempt to murder Ambrosius, he took my daughter, Mariam, hostage. It was only truly good fortune that kept him from slitting her throat.”

  The crowd sucked in a collective breath. Blood feuds they could understand.

  “But you knew that he was protected by our laws of hospitality and yet swore to kill him anyway?” Petrocus persisted.

  David’s strategy was easy to see. He would counter explanations that included the Saxons taking arms against us by showing that Ceawlin was a dead man no matter what happened and despite Ysbail’s hospitality. It was not a killing in defense of anything; it was an act of murder.

  “This is nonsense!” David exclaimed. “I will ask the only question that needs asking. Lord Bedevere?”

  “Lord Bedevere.”

  “Yes.” Were Bedevere’s tone more icy, I would have thought winter had come a season early.

  “You were within the walls of Castellum Dinas during the fighting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see Ceawlin strike a blow against anyone before he was savagely attacked by Malgwyn?”

  Bedevere’s eyes flicked back and forth, from me to David and back again. He did not want to answer the question, but he could not stray from his nature. Still, he hesitated. “The fort was filled with men fighting. I was too busy to keep an eye on Ceawlin, or Malgwyn for that matter.” But his tone said otherwise.

  “You did not see him at all?”

  My old friend’s eyes again carried his heart’s message. They said a silent apology. “I glimpsed him once, toward the end of the fighting.”

  “Doing what?” Somehow, in some manner, David knew what had happened inside the fort, though he had not been there. Or perhaps he was guessing, assuming.

  “He appeared to be seeking escape. But,” Bedevere hurried, “he was armed.”

  David smiled. “Who would not be when swords and spears are dancing about all around you? Did you see him strike anyone before he defended himself from Malgwyn’s assault?”

  The voice was very small now, belying the man who spoke. “No. I did not.”

  “This is not the time or place to sort out these charges,” Arthur interrupted. “We should settle this at Castellum Arturius before a jury of the consilium.”

  “Why?” David sneered. “So you can assure the result that you desire? Malgwyn is no lord of the consilium. ’Twas Ysbail’s hospitality that was offended, and it should be Ysbail’s court at which it is resolved. If Malgwyn did murder the Saxon envoy, it must be Ysbail who carries out the punishment. It is her right.”

  With great obvious reluctance, Arthur sat down. David was right. The offense had been to Ysbail, and, if she wished, she could summarily take my life, which was what David wished with all his heart.

  I felt another tug at my tunic and found little Culhwch standing there. With my hand I brushed him away. I had no time for children at that moment.

  But then the tug came even stronger, and a voice said, “Master Malgwyn.”

  I looked down at him, impatient and annoyed. In the back of my mind, I was aware of a scuffling at the front of the hall. Cilydd, seeing his son, was moving to collect him. But my aggravation had already overtaken me. “What, boy?”

  Unblinking, with nerves of steel, he frowned at me. “You should not kill a Saxon envoy, no matter the cause. That is a mortal insult to his host.”

  I felt, rather than knew, that my face had turned red. This boy would not understand my reasons, no matter how I explained them. He knew only that hospitality was sacrosanct and had rules that must be obeyed.

  The emotions ranging within me at that moment were almost more than I could face. I felt shame, shame at my arrogance, shame at my willfulness, shame at my murderous heart. Most shamefully of all, it took a child to show me. And as I looked from face to face of those closest to me, I saw, or at least thought I saw, something that pierced my heart as surely and as cruelly as a Saxon arrow—pity.

  Mariam did not need such as me as her father.

  Ygerne did not need such as me as her man.

  If I were to deserve all the good things that had been said of me, all the praise heaped upon my bones, there was only one thing that I could do.

  “My lady,” I began, taking a knee before an uncomfortable Ysbail. “I submit myself to your judgment and apologize for violating our laws and customs in your domain. Do as you wish with me; I am guilty.”

  I just barely heard the clamor in the hall. Some cried for my head. Some cried for my forgiveness. Casting my eyes up for a mere second, I saw the self-satisfied look on David’s face, and though it galled me to see, I realized that I had caused my own fall. I could not blame David with this.

  The reluctance was strong in her face as she looked first from Arthur then to Cilydd and then Petrocus. “Take him,” she ordered two of her soldiers. “Confine him, but make him comfortable. Tomorrow will be soon enough to dispose of this matter.”

  And they did.

  * * *

  “I did not believe that this would happen.” David shook his head in mock surprise. “You always had such spectacular luck. But, in truth, you were always but a peasant raised high by a general’s whims.”

  I was in the hut that Ysbail had originally assigned to me. Outside, two of her soldiers stood guard.

  “I am to die tomorrow, David. They can kill me only once. Say another word and I’ll reach down your throat and rip your black heart out.”

  David smiled, but I noticed that he edged closer to the door. “You thought you were so clever in sorting this affair out, and yet you missed the truth by a Roman schoenus.”

  “And what truth would that be?”

  “You should have spent more time puzzling that out before you murdered a Saxon envoy. Listen carefully. A man will shade the truth to protect himself. Always.”

  “My puzzling days are finished, David. As you can see.” I was growing tired of this. “Why do you not go join your friend Mordred and drink to my death?”

  Again he favored me with that cunning smile. “Mordred, yes, he and I certainly have plenty to celebrate. Until the morrow, Malgwyn. I shall look forward to seeing your head parted from your body.”

  And he was gone.

  I did not need David to remind me of how shamefully I had behaved. But his comment about shading the truth locked itself inside my head and I could not shake it out. I had made many mistakes in my life, but I always seemed to find the truth before it was too late. Now, David said that I had missed a shading of the truth, from someone.

  So, I sat and spent my last night in this world going through everything in my mind, sifting through it, looking for shades. It kept me from thinking about Ygerne and Mariam. I had written a message to them, trying to explain, and entrusted it to Merlin.

  Between my musings, I had visitors.

 
; Bedevere.

  My old square-jawed friend, in many ways my best friend, simply put his hand behind my head and buried my face in his shoulder. He spun and left before I noticed the tears in his eyes, but I already had. He said nothing.

  Kay.

  As was his wont, he blamed everything on Arthur. “He could end this with a single word!” Kay raged. “You are the best of us, and you do not deserve this fate.”

  Petrocus.

  “I have known you but a little while, Malgwyn, but I find much in you to be praised. On the morrow, I will consult with Lady Ysbail, and she will levy judgment on you. But after you confessed, there is little doubt as to what the punishment must be. You know this.”

  “I know that I am reaping the bad seed that I have sown throughout my life. But if you reckon my guilt is true, then why have you come?”

  “To bring you to the Christ and assure you of a place in Heaven.” His sincerity fairly dripped from his voice.

  Coroticus, the abbot at Ynys-witrin, Arthur, Bedevere, Kay, young Ider, had all tried to convert me to this new faith. Even the great Patrick, episcopus to the Scotti, had tried. And all had failed. Though I found much to appreciate about it, I had not taken that final step.

  And I would not in the face of Petrocus’s efforts.

  “You are a good man, Petrocus. But to embrace this faith on the eve of my death speaks of desperation, not conviction. I would not disgrace you or Arthur or any who truly believe by grasping it to simply save my neck. And, quite frankly, you should not want me to.”

  I expected another tongue-lashing, but Petrocus just chuckled sadly. “You will certainly be trouble for the Devil.”

  “Then I will serve a far greater purpose.”

  He was gone.

  Merlin returned after the midnight. But he did not speak; he paced. Back and forth, back and forth, for several minutes.

  “Merlin, have you nothing to say?”

  He stopped, reached inside his tunic, and brought forth a small flask. “This draught will render your guards unconscious. I will be waiting around the corner with a change of clothes. We can be halfway home before anyone realizes you are gone.”

  “No, Merlin. We cannot. My arrogance nearly cost Cilydd his life. My refusal to listen to anyone will now cost me mine. And perhaps that is how it should be.”

  “But Arthur—”

  I shook my head. “Arthur can no more help me in this than he could when you were accused of killing Eleonore. We bested David nicely in this, and yet he will claim some small victory. Arthur has made justice and truth so much a part of his reign that to intervene for me, in such an obvious breach of ancient law, would cost him his seat. That which we have both strived for is being tested here and now.”

  “Bah. You are talking foolishly. This is not some lesson to be taught. When the sun rises tomorrow, they will take your head. The son that Ygerne carries will never know his father. Mariam will have lost a second father, and this time the real one.”

  He was telling me nothing new.

  “That does not matter. Ygerne will find another, a better man than I. Mariam will yet have memories of me, and she will have the satisfaction of knowing that I took responsibility for my actions.”

  Merlin looked at me then, not with pity or sorrow but with disbelief. “You talk like a noble. We are not noble, Malgwyn. We are but poor men who have, for a season, the ear of a king. And kings are marked generally by their stupidity and their arrogance and their lust for power. It has been our good fortune to serve one that tempers his lust with a need to provide a better life for his people. That is truly noble. And for that we can be thankful. But, as you know all too well, we are each of us on our own when a king’s seat is threatened.”

  His harsh words struck me as if by a fist.

  “Merlin, you love Arthur.”

  “I do, as I would a son. As I do my own son, Owain. But while most kings are simply interested in saving their own hides, Arthur seeks to retain his seat because he thinks that is what is best for the consilium. But that makes him no more unlikely to glut the ravens with your flesh than David would be. Now, stop this nonsense and let us go.”

  I shook my head. “That simply confirms my decision. You see, Merlin, I believe that he is our best hope too.”

  Merlin’s old wrinkled head shook so forcefully that I half-expected to hear him crackle. “Then, I have no more time to waste here. I must find some other way to save your scrawny neck.” With that he stomped out with such vigor that he seemed a young, angry man.

  Finally, Arthur.

  Little of the night was left when Arthur appeared in the door. He did not look at me; rather he stared at the wall. I could not imagine what he would say.

  “At daybreak, your guards will be relieved by two of our men—Sulien and another who rode with you at Ynys-witrin. They have been instructed to take you to Dinas Emrys, where you will stay in a kind of exile or confinement, much like Tristan did. You will be well on your way by the time that this arrangement is announced.”

  “No.”

  He spun around on me then. “No? I have been up the entire night negotiating this for you. Bedevere and Kay are threatening war against Ysbail if you are executed. David and Mordred are threatening civil war if you are not.”

  “And Ysbail and Cilydd?”

  Arthur chuckled then. “They would throw you a feast and name you honorary lord of these lands. The only thing they feel more strongly about than each other is their hatred for all things Saxon. Ysbail has banished her brother from Trevelgue, and amazingly, he has left.”

  “He is afraid of her. She may be the strongest-willed woman he has ever encountered.” I paused. “Mordred and David would use this against you. Aelle is young and anxious to return to warfare. This is an excellent excuse. Between a civil war and a new Saxon invasion, our lands would become a swamp of death. If you allow this deal to go forward, you will be signing the death warrants of hundreds of those same people you claim to champion.” My one hand flew up to stop his protest. “My apologies, Rigotamos. Hundreds of those you do champion.”

  “I cannot allow your death, Malgwyn. Is there nothing that can stop this madness? What truly happened in that fort?”

  I rubbed my forehead with my one hand. “I do not know, Arthur. There were indeed Saxons fighting alongside Druce’s and Trevelyan’s men. But I cannot claim to have seen Ceawlin strike a single blow against us. All that I knew, all that I could see, was that milky-eyed mongrel with his dagger to Mariam’s throat.”

  “You are always hard on yourself, Malgwyn. Far more so than other men. Would Ceawlin be dead now if he had not been at Castellum Dinas? No. Would you have assaulted him here, in the lanes? No. I have negotiated a settlement that pleases everyone except the Saxons, David, and Mordred, and we have never cared all that much for what they thought.”

  A smile stretched my face then. “What did you tell me just yesterday? Something about this affair marking a new era, a new age for our people, one of justice and the rule of law? And yet, here you are, using your influence to arrange to save me. Arthur, either you believe in justice or you do not.

  “Even if David and Mordred were to embrace this arrangement today, tomorrow they would be sowing the seeds of discontent from these lands to our northernmost regions. And the Saxons may well use it to invade, in force. Should they do that, you will need Mordred and David. But by your allowing me to receive the ancient punishment, they may think twice about challenging you.

  “You were willing to execute Merlin when poor Eleonore was killed, to illustrate your devotion to the truth and to justice. And he was not guilty. I killed Ceawlin. No doubt exists about that. You must now be willing to sacrifice me.”

  “That was different. I was not yet the Rigotamos. Now, I am.”

  I walked up to him and put my hand on the back of his head and pulled it forward until our foreheads met. “And that is why it is even more important to follow the path of justice. Many men proclaim themselves just and
honorable, until they grasp the power. And then that pretense falls away, and they are exposed as ordinary tyrants. You are more than that.

  “I do not want to die, Arthur. But I have committed an offense that merits that punishment. Know this: I no longer curse you for stealing me from Death at the Tribuit. You gave me a life that has been good, and a purpose to serve that has kept my head high. You are the best among us, and though I have caused you much aggravation and annoyance, I do love you as only one old warrior can love another.”

  The Rigotamos’s eyes overflowed then, and we hugged. Then he left without saying another word. Through the one, wavy Roman glass window, I could see a faint hint of red in the coming day. If a man had only one more sunrise to see, that one was not a bad choice.

  * * *

  The crowd was larger than that for Doged’s funeral. The best of Ysbail’s chairs had been arrayed at the foot of the big barrow on which her husband’s body had burned. Apparently, it had seemed a propitious place for my beheading.

  I blinked in the bright sunlight as Sulien and another drew me from my shack. As we walked through the crowd, there were no calls for my head, no cries for my blood. Just silence.

  Sulien would not look at me, angry, I was certain, because I refused to allow my escape.

  Soldiers had formed a semi-circular clearing in front of the chairs, some thirty feet at its deepest point. A place, it seemed, had been appointed to me as well. An old stump stood in the center of the semi-circle. Sulien and his mate led me next to it and then left me there alone, facing Ysbail in the center chair, with Petrocus to her left and Arthur to her right.

  The woman I had once considered as icy cold as a winter’s morn in the furthest reaches of our land looked less icy and more sorrowful on this morning.

  Petrocus stood, and the buzz of the crowd settled. “Malgwyn, you have been accused by Lord David of having killed one Ceawlin, a Saxon envoy enjoying the hospitality of Lady Ysbail. You have admitted as much. Do you stand by that admission now?”

  I knew that Arthur, Bedevere, Merlin, all of them, wanted me to denounce my admission, my confession. But I could not do that. I knew that I had killed Ceawlin, but I could not say that I had seen him raise a weapon against anyone other than me, and that in self-defense. And I could not deny that I had a bitter feud, a personal feud, with the Saxon. A simple nod answered the question.