by Tony Hays
“Rigotamos,” Ysbail said with a smile. “This seems very much an affair for the consilium to settle. If the wise Petrocus agrees?”
“As Lord Mordred is a member of the consilium, and it was that body that he conspired against, I think it meet that they should deal with him,” Petrocus said with a wink.
Arthur nodded to Bedevere and Kay, and they hauled Mordred, cursing and spitting, from the tavern.
“I see Merlin has been making free with his expertise again,” I said.
“He guessed that Mordred had more of a hand in this than it would seem, and he guessed that you would head straight for Mordred. So why not take a leaf from Doged’s book?”
Why not indeed? I thought. But it was from Uther’s book rather than Doged’s, a secret that I would keep as promised to Igraine.
Though I relished the sight of Mordred tied up as a prisoner, I knew that such was not to be. “We cannot try him. Even if the consilium agreed, he has a mighty defense for everything and we have few witnesses against him.”
Arthur nodded. “True, but we will keep him in custody a bit longer to teach him a lesson.”
“Rigotamos,” Ysbail began. “I believe that Malgwyn has a conveyance prepared at my late husband’s request, granting the mines at Castellum Dinas to the consilium, assuming that the consilium will take responsibility for the mining.”
My eyes widened in surprise, something that Ysbail did not miss. “My husband told me of his plan. The cleverness of it impressed me then and still does. Malgwyn, if you will alter the conveyance to reflect Doged’s death, I will sign it and the bargain will be struck.”
Arthur bowed his head to Ysbail. “My lady, you may not have been born a queen, but you have certainly grown into a fine one, a queen worthy of a great people.”
At that, Cilydd ordered a round of good brandy for us all, and we drank to the health and fortune of the new queen and her commander, to the shade of Doged, even now protecting the next life, and to Tristan, who had assuredly saved my neck.
An hour later, we were all further into our cups than we should have been and there was a commotion at the door. A rider, wearing Arthur’s tunic, stormed into the tavern. My heart sank. The Saxons were massing for attack. Or some other harm was visiting our lands. Celebrations were all too brief.
“Master Malgwyn,” the rider croaked into the room. Petrocus hurried a cup of water to him, and forced a little past his cracked and dry lips. “Master … I have word for you … from Castellum Arturius.”
A thousand disasters peopled my visions. “What, man? Speak plainly.”
“Your woman … Ygerne…”
I was about to go mad.
“What?”
“She has delivered your daughter.”
“A son! Ygerne has delivered our son!”
I drained my cup dry, but then I saw Arthur, and indeed everyone, looking at me oddly.
“What?”
“You have no son, Malgwyn.”
“But,” I stopped and pointed at the rider, “he just said…”
A daughter.
A sister for Mariam.
So much for soothsayers and prophets.
Well, there was nothing in the world prettier than a new baby girl, no matter how unsettled the world she entered.
And we were drinking to my new child when Ider, his head hung in embarrassment, presented himself to Arthur. “My lord, I wish permission.”
We all turned. Ider’s voice was serious. Arthur put his cup down. “Permission for what, boy?”
He drew a small figure from behind him, Daron. “I wish to pay court to Daron, Rigotamos, with your blessing.”
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“You have been busy, Malgwyn,” Ider answered. My little monachus had grown up. “She has no father or guardian from whom to seek permission.…”
“Malgwyn is my guardian, or at least I wish it so.” She turned her gaze to me, and a hint of mischief crept into her eyes. “Now you know where I was the night that Doged was killed.”
My face was a deep red, I knew.
“Both requests are granted,” Arthur proclaimed.
During the celebration that followed, Arthur drew me into a corner. “Did you mean what you said last night?”
“That I had forgiven you for saving me at Tribuit? Yes, I did and I do. But remember this—I will still strive for the truth in all things, and if that becomes an annoyance to you, then so be it.”
He laughed and clapped me on the back. “I would expect no less. When we return home, we must talk about Kay. He worries me.”
I just smiled. Kay worried me too, but I truly believed that with me, Bedevere, and Merlin to help, Arthur would find a way to bring our old friend back into the fold.
And then yet another commotion erupted from the front. Emerging from the gaggle was the now-bedraggled Morgan ap Tud bursting into the room, looking thinner than he ever had.
My heart dropped. Igraine was dead. Arthur, for all of his blustering, would be devastated. I snatched Merlin by the arm and indicated Morgan. He took my meaning and we moved to flank little Morgan.
“Rigotamos,” Morgan began. Arthur spun about, his face falling at the sight of the medicus.
“Lady Igraine has survived the current crisis and her situation has stabilized. She will live yet longer.”
A smile lit Arthur’s face and he raised a toast to Morgan, as the land’s finest medicus.
But our little companion’s face held no mirth.
“What, Morgan?”
“All that this means for me, Malgwyn, is that I will have to deal with that hellcat again. Twice she ordered me castrated and my testicles served to the dogs.” He shook his head sorrowfully.
“You did your job well, Morgan; find cheer in that.”
And the little medicus cast a jaundiced look at me. “So you say, Malgwyn. So you say.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
And so, two weeks later, we crossed the River Cam and came within sight of Castellum Arturius. Those mighty ramparts were as welcome to me as a warm fire and a full belly. And that is exactly what they meant to me in reality as well.
I was heartily tired of our cook’s food. ’Twas not really his fault; it was his first journey with us. Arthur’s old cook, Cerdic, had withheld information from us nearly a year before, in the events surrounding Arthur’s brief first marriage. Arthur had had Cerdic’s eye taken as punishment for the lapse. Though Cerdic had been with Arthur for many years, we were no longer certain of his loyalty. So a youngster had been chosen, and he knew little more than how to boil beef and pig. Between his poor cooking and all the riding, running, and fighting I had done on this journey, I had lost much weight. Ygerne would be worried about me.
To my hearty disapproval, we had tarried in the west for another several days, helping Cilydd organize Ysbail’s soldiers and negotiating those long-sought lands for the people of Ennor and Scilly. ‘Twas nearly a comical sight as Ysbail and Arthur treated with the leader of those landless folk. All of their men were dead, and the oldest male left was but sixteen. Still, the young man comported himself well and won for his people the lands surrounding Daron’s village, which required concessions from both Arthur and Ysbail.
Kay had taken most of our troops back to Castellum Arturius well before our main party departed. Merlin took the opportunity to go to Tyntagel and visit Igraine; he would join us later at home. So it was left to Arthur, Bedevere, and Ider to command on our return. But Ider left our party at Ynys-witrin to introduce his new lady to Coroticus, an event that I would love to have seen, but home called more strongly.
My old enemy Mordred had a most uncomfortable journey. Bedevere commissioned a great cage of wood to be built and mounted atop a wagon. That had served as Mordred’s jail during a most rough journey. Mordred cursed me, Arthur, Bedevere, the Saxons, Trevelyan, and on and on.
“At least,” I had told him, “you are spared the indignity of having our garbage dumped on you.”
“I shall have the pleasure of watching your head bounce in the dirt yet, Malgwyn,” he had promised me. But he bore his discomfort mostly in silence. I knew, though, that we both had scores to settle yet.
And such were my thoughts as we drew closer to the shadow of our home, thoughts of home and feuds and the future.
“We have come far,” a voice said beside me.
“We have, Rigotamos,” I agreed. “It has been a long and tiring journey. I am glad that it is nearly over.”
“Oh, Malgwyn,” he said. “I fear it has only begun.”
I was tired, tired to the bone. “Please, Arthur, do not say that. I fear I have no strength left in me, not even a schoenus worth.”
He laughed that deep laugh of his, and after the trials of recent days it was good to hear. “Do not take me so literally, Malgwyn. Look there,” and he pointed to the ramparts. “It stands a little bit taller, shines a little bit more. Its reach is a bit wider.”
“I nearly returned a head shorter,” I reminded him.
Again that warm laughter.
“And that is why our world is a bit brighter. You helped me remember who I am, what I am.”
The creaking of leather punctuated his words, and I gave deeper thought to them. “I am tired, Arthur. Perhaps if you spoke more clearly.”
“It is what I said to you at Trevelgue, Malgwyn. The old world is changing. We are writing a new history, one in which the rule of law settles disputes, not the power of the sword. Your willingness to accept that rule, despite a host of attempts to circumvent it, including my own, has strengthened it beyond any of our individual abilities to do so. That future we both desire is finally within our grasp. And you have become a moving force behind it.”
I heard his words, but the fatigue, deep in my bones, made them faint and confused. “I think, Rigotamos, that you make too much of my guilty nature.” Having worked so hard to find truth, I had to accept my failure in so many ways. Was I right in killing Ceawlin? Tristan and the law said yes. But only my heart held that truth, and no matter how fiercely I searched it, it was not talking.
“You are guilty only of helping me find a way for our people.”
Responding to him did not seem worth the effort. But I could not resist. “I am not sure of what we have accomplished, Arthur. Doged is dead. His killer gained the lands that he sought. We have further irritated Mordred and David, chancing a break in the consilium.”
The Rigotamos laughed out loud at me. “Malgwyn, can you see no victories in this affair? True, Doged is dead. But the rebellion he feared has been averted. And his plan for the mining of the gold and agaphite at Castellum Dinas is in place. Yes, Trevelyan’s people have found lands at last, but, in reality, either Mark or his father or Ambrosius or I should have settled lands on them long ago. And Trevelyan will not enjoy them. With so few men among them, they will soon intermarry with our people.
“Your head is still attached. My mother lives. Your daughter has been born. I will soon have a child as well. Malgwyn, we have much for which to thank the Christ and His Father. My father once told me not to borrow trouble. I would extend the same advice to you.”
I was too exhausted to argue.
* * *
“Father!”
My beautiful Mariam met me at the great main gate, below Arthur’s hall. The sunlight shone off of her blond hair, and my heart lightened with her smile.
Arthur and I dismounted inside the gate. Bedevere was busy conducting our companion Mordred to our cavalry encampment between the fort and the River Cam. Two servi rushed up and took our horses, leading them away to the stables in the barracks.
Mariam leaped up and I snagged her with my arm. She kissed my cheek and giggled as my unruly beard tickled her.
“Have you been a good girl?”
“Of course, Father,” she assured me, but there was an extra twinkle in her eye that usually meant she had been naughty.
“Then, let us go and see your new sister.”
She hopped down and took my bedroll and pouch and led me away from Arthur. “Come, Father! Mother is waiting.”
Arthur waved. “I will come and see your new one soon. I have some homecoming chores myself. And he headed to his hall, a special bounce in his step.
“Did you behave yourself, Father? Mother worries about you.”
I stopped and knelt beside her. “Do you remember the Saxon who tried to take you from me?” She had been much younger and I did not know how much she could recall.
But the merriment in her eyes died at my words. “Yes, Father. The one with the odd eye. I remember him.”
“You never have to worry about him bothering you again.”
She smiled then, a smile of relief. “I knew that you would avenge me someday, Father. But I did not think it would take this long.” Again, she gave me that mischievous twinkle.
It took but a few minutes to reach Ygerne’s house in the back lanes of the town. Feeling a welcome burst of energy, I banged my first on the door. “Ygerne, I am home!”
The door swung open, and I entered, half-expecting to hear the wailing cry of my new daughter.
Then the strangest thing happened.
A strap of cloth circled my head, gagging me. Someone covered my head with a leather hood, tying it tight.
Before I could react to that, hands quickly wrapped a rope around my body, holding my one arm useless against me. At the same time someone bound my feet with a second rope.
Nearly before I could speak, I was knocked off my feet and tipped over onto a deer hide.
I tried to cry out, but the gag held tight.
I heard voices, but none I could identify.
My captors carried me some distance, to the main gate if my senses were correct, where I was thrown onto the bed of a wagon. Seconds later, I heard and felt another person, trussed up as was I, land next to me with a loud grunt.
David. It had to be David’s doing. Outraged by his failure at Trevelgue, he had somehow arranged my kidnapping.
But Mariam? Ygerne?
What had he done with them?
My bound companion was restless as well, rolling and struggling against his restraints.
We were in motion by then, headed who knew where.
I caught a whiff of the captive next to me. Mint. A chill struck my heart.
Arthur!
He constantly chewed mint leaves to freshen his breath. I would forever associate that smell with Arthur.
Kidnapping the Rigotamos? David would have to have a number of fellow conspirators. Perhaps Melwas. Perhaps Mordred’s brother Gawain. Perhaps we had gone too far by imprisoning Mordred. If Gawain had turned against us, then mayhaps his brother Gaheris had as well.
The gag and the deer hide hood made breathing difficult but not impossible. But whoever had tanned the hide had done a poor job of it and it stank horribly. I would have given anything to speak with Arthur then. Who else might they have taken? Kay? Bedevere?
The bumps and lurches of the wagon told me that we were on a road, not crossing open ground. I could not fathom where they might take us. Were this truly an insurrection, they would be better served by killing Arthur immediately. But that was apparently not their intention.
And the wagon rolled.
I thought I might go mad indeed. My death had faced me too often in recent days. No man is equipped to deal with such highs and lows so swiftly thrust upon him.
Arthur continued to struggle against his ropes. Aye, and I tried my own, but our captors had been expert in tying the knots.
And still the wagon rolled.
Finally, after what I judged to be some two hours, the wagon turned from the road and into a damper, cooler place. I had been there before; I knew it. The smell was familiar, though the scent of fresh-cut wood was in the air.
I could hear the murmuring of people but nothing distinct, nothing understandable. Our captives cut away the bindings around my ankles and pulled me from the wagon. I could have fought then, kicked, but
I was curious. I was led, firmly but not roughly, a few feet and then I sensed that I was inside a building, a new building. The scent of construction was in the air. Seconds later, I felt and smelt the presence of Arthur.
Then hands were fumbling about me, removing the rope around my body and removing the hood and gag from my mouth. It was dark and I had to blink my eyes to clear them.
But when I did, I was astounded, and most thoroughly confused.
Arrayed before me were Kay, with a broad grin, the abbot Coroticus, Ider, Daron, Gawain, even Sulien and Morgan ap Tud. I turned to my left and saw Ygerne, holding a bundled baby; Mariam; and my dear cousin Guinevere. At that, I looked up and around and realized where I was.
Lantokay. “Kay’s Chapel” in our native tongue. Nearly a year before, Arthur had granted these lands to Kay. Kay had torn down an old Roman shrine here and built a chapel, one that he intended as Arthur’s wedding chapel.
And as I remembered, a smile spread on my face as I realized that I was about to witness Arthur’s second marriage, to Guinevere. “But,” I grumbled to myself, “Kay could certainly have let me in on the surprise.”
Coroticus spoke first. “Lord Kay, while I applaud your intentions, I think you could have done this without so much subterfuge.”
“But Coroticus, my good abbot, you know how contrary these two can be.”
“That is absolutely true,” I agreed, getting into the spirit.
But there was no accompanying chuckle. And I looked about and saw that everyone was looking at me, amused.
Feeling awkward, I moved toward Ygerne. “Let me hold my child.”
But she handed the bundle off to Mariam, who moved to a corner.
Ygerne, her beautiful red hair glowing, narrowed her eyes at me. “You think we went to all of this trouble for just Arthur? If you wish to claim this baby, you must marry me before the Christ.”
I was stunned. “Marry? You?”
And then, as was her nature, she advanced on me and slapped me across my stomach. “Yes. Marry me. Here and now.”
All eyes in the chapel were fixed on me.
