The Killing Way Read online

“Make yourself known!” responded Arthur.

  A single figure separated itself from the throng, a tall man in peasant’s clothes. “I am Elvain of the lands near Ynys-witrin.” For such one of low birth, he was very well spoken.

  “Speak, Elvain.”

  “My lord, you hold a killer within your walls, a killer that has struck twice, most brutally. We demand justice. The justice that you so loudly proclaim. The facts are clear; the old man is unsound. He has murdered two women. You must put him to the sword before he kills again!”

  “Good Elvain, he is locked safely away here in my barracks while we seek the truth of the matter. He is no harm to anyone.”

  “But he’s a sorcerer, able to slip such bonds with magic!”

  This brought the mob to life again. “We have seen him, my lord!” cried an anonymous voice. “We have seen him disappear before our very eyes. This stockade could hold him no better than a tree holds a bird in flight. He is a magician!”

  I could not be certain where the voice came from, but I thought my ears pulled it from the shadows.

  “He is an old man, and old men’s minds often say things they do not mean.” I entered the fray at last, stealing the mob’s attention from Arthur.

  The mumbles from the crowd were different than before. Many of them knew me, but they knew me as “Mad Malgwyn” and not arrayed as a king’s councillor. This caught them off balance, as I knew it would.

  “Malgwyn is my councillor in this affair. I have appointed him my iudex pedaneus, my investigator,” Ambrosius said, emerging to legitimize my role. I rolled my eyes at his use of the old Latin term. Only the older folk and Arthur would recognize the official title. I had heard that in the larger towns like Londinium, a citizen still carried the title and duties, but here in the country, such offices had fallen fallow, like a field too often planted. Aye, in some places iudex was used for almost any civic office.

  “Merlin did not kill the women,” I pronounced.

  “’Twas his knife found with the body,” Elvain protested, and others shouted their agreement.

  “I will condemn no man to death until all the facts are known,” Arthur proclaimed.

  “The facts are known!” bellowed a new voice. “If you won’t punish the sorcerer, we will.”

  The threat brought a new surge from the mob, pushing against the stockade wall, and its boards creaked under their weight. Arthur swayed, nearly losing his foothold, and gripped the pointed end of one of the logs in the wall to recapture his balance. The crowd roared at the sight of Arthur toppling. And they surged forward hard.

  Arthur clung to the fence by one hand, and that one losing its hold.

  Yet another powerful wave pounded the wall.

  The wall collapsed.

  Ambrosius’s bodyguard encircled him and hustled him to safety amid the chaos.

  The mob trampled Paderic’s contingent and pushed the horsemen aside. For a wonder, Arthur was able to roll to the side. But it was about to turn horribly bloody. Some of the riders had flipped their lances so the pointed edge threatened the people.

  And then they charged.

  Screams of pain filled Arthur’s castle.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw and then heard the whistle of a club swing by my ear. I rolled away from my assailant and blasted a foot into his privates as he hovered over me for the kill. He crumpled into a ball and lurched to one side. Across the parade ground, I could see a small group of unarmed men trying to separate the soldiers from the mob; soon they too were slicked in blood.

  An odd screech sounded, loud and clear, and I watched as Arthur’s men, with military precision, formed up twenty yards from the mob, leaving the leaderless horde with no opponent. It was the high-pitched cry of the tawny owl, Arthur’s assembly call when no other means were present.

  Then, much like a dog who catches the wagon wheel he chases so fervently only to be lost and confused when the wagon stops, the mélange of people simply milled about aimlessly. Once inside the walls they knew not what they were to do. Merlin was still hidden away in one of the buildings and no one quite knew what to do next.

  Arthur, his retinue recovered around him, marched onto the parade ground. “You will stop!” he shouted once more, and this time he signaled for the remaining horsemen to turn the pointed lances toward the mob. The mood of the crowd turned uglier still, but they retreated at the sharpened points. Their momentum had carried them this far and then broken like a cracked pot.

  In the lull, I took the chance to take an accounting of the fracas. Arthur’s hopes of a bloodless confrontation were at an end. At the center of the conflict, at the shattered gate, four or five bodies lay scattered, their limbs askew, their eyes lifeless and dead. Another dozen or so moaned with wounds that would certainly take their lives. For a moment I was back at Tribuit and the river Glein. But these weren’t Saxon carcasses, rotting in the sun for my pleasure. These were my countrymen; I saw nothing to smile at in this skirmish.

  From around the edge of a building came Merlin, with a troop of horse soldiers at his side. He held a brightly painted staff in one hand and wore his finest robes, marked with half moons and stars, a concoction of his in celebration of his study of the stars.

  “I am Merlin!”

  More than my shouts, Arthur’s whistles, or the horsemen’s lances, that proclamation quelled the uprising. I was proud of Merlin in that moment. Faced by dozens of his countrymen who wished him dead, he maintained his dignity and strength. Spreading wide his arms, he raised them and then flung them toward the ground. His robes whooshed as they ripped the air and then a pair of explosions erupted on either side of him and flashes of grayish-yellow light encompassed him.

  Though shrouded in the smoke, he never quite disappeared from view. It was a simple trick I had seen him do a thousand times before to entertain little children, using some sulfur concoction. But in the tension of the moment, he accomplished his purpose well. Clubs were dropped and combatants took a handful of steps back.

  “I submit myself to the crowd’s mercy.”

  And this neither the crowd nor Arthur expected.

  An unsettled buzz rippled through the crowd. No one knew how to react.

  “Ambrosius’s justice fills not their empty gullets, and so I’ll offer myself up to preserve the Rigotamos and the rule of his land,” Merlin explained in a dry, cracked voice. Not to mention Arthur’s claim to that exalted seat, I thought.

  “So you admit to doing these things?” exclaimed a youth near Vortimer.

  Merlin shook his head. “Some say it must be so. I say it isn’t.”

  “Then the Rigotamos must judge. ’Tis he who is the chief magistrate.” A bobbing of heads ruffled the assemblage.

  Ambrosius took another step into the center of the crowd, moving, in the crowd’s mind at least, back into control. “Malgwyn,” he began, as if nothing had interrupted us a few minutes before, “have you finished your searchings?”

  “No, my lord. I have not. The road is twisted.”

  “My Lord Rigotamos,” Lord Vortimer shouted, offering himself into the fray finally, “in a lesser king’s hands this could just be a ploy until sufficient time had passed to let the favored suspect go to his freedom. Malgwyn’s investigations could take years. And we have yet the election of a new Rigotamos. A time limit must be set. A day of reckoning marked.”

  “That is fair and just,” Ambrosius agreed, his head hanging as he conjured a suitable time.

  “Tomorrow,” Merlin shouted into the silence. “Tomorrow at the fall of the sun, if Malgwyn has not cleared my name to everyone’s satisfaction, then I’ll offer myself for the Rigotamos’s punishment. I will offer my head for the lives of the two women.”

  “Merlin, what if Malgwyn fails?” Vortimer sneered.

  Merlin gave me a wink. He crossed the parade ground and stood next to Ambrosius. “I have faith in Malgwyn, and should it not prove well placed, I have enough belief in your rule to subject myself to it.” He leaned closer. “
You must set the terms for this or your enemies will use it against you. And should it become necessary, you must cleave my head from my shoulders.”

  “So let it be then,” Ambrosius began, stepping into the affair. “We will meet here at nightfall tomorrow evening and hear Malgwyn’s report. Should he find to everyone’s satisfaction that Merlin is innocent, then he will go free. Should his proof point to another, that one will be arrested and condemned. Should his proof aim the axe at Merlin’s head then so be it.” And Arthur would never win enough votes to wear the robes of a Rigotamos.

  “What if Malgwyn doesn’t return?” some sly wag threw into the silence.

  Ambrosius’s face grew rigid. “Then both Malgwyn and Merlin will pay for the lives of the poor women. What say you, Elvain?” He turned to the now-bloodied man, holding a rag on his head.

  “I can only speak for myself, but this is just. The Rigotamos is fair.”

  My head reeled at the pronouncement. But then I saw that Ambrosius had no choice. Only a truly barbaric double execution would satisfy this crowd and prove his commitment to justice above all. He turned to me as people began carrying off the wounded from the fray. “Serve us all well, old friend.”

  “Malgwyn!” Kay was shouting from across the parade field. “Come!”

  Four men were carrying one of Ambrosius’s bodyguards away. I noticed a peculiar sight and rushed to him. Two arrows had pierced his back. Yet I had seen none of the mob with bows. Aye, it was not much of a fighting weapon in those days.

  But arrows are aimed. A battle-axe can wound four men by accident. An archer seeks out a target. Was Ambrosius such a target, and if so, by whom? His death would certainly throw the election of a new king into chaos. Assassination was nothing new, but for whose benefit? And who had committed such an act? Could Vortimer be that bold? Suddenly, Eleonore’s warnings of a conspiracy cast her murder in a different light.

  “Malgwyn!” Kay’s voice broke me from my reverie.

  I ran to where he stood, in an alcove of the stockade wall and the barracks, near where I had seen that new brood of Druids as the fighting began. A body lay on the ground and a small bundle of a child sat beside it, rocking on its heels.

  I snatched up Mariam and hugged her to my chest, checking quickly for a wound but finding none, and then shielding her from harm. My eyes were wide and I felt fear as I’ve never known it, spinning around, seeking danger, until a hand caught me.

  “Malgwyn!” Somewhere in the cries, I recognized Kay’s voice. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Malgwyn.” He took Mariam from me. “It’s Cuneglas, Malgwyn.” I saw then it was my brother’s body laid on the ground.

  My one hand flew to my hair, and I pulled a great gob of it out. A howl of rage ripped from my throat and overwhelmed the mourning cries of family and friends as they searched through the dozen or so wounded. Kay held me about my waist as Bedevere rolled the body over. Cuneglas, my brother, had a ghastly wound across his temple.

  Fury flushed my cheeks, rising rapidly from my chest. “How?”

  Mariam, a strangely odd look on her face, turned her face toward me. “I slipped out of the house. To see what was happening. When people started fighting, I hid here in the shadows. Father came for me and called to me. I started toward him and some men attacked him.” She spoke as if reciting a lesson at school. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  His breathing was shallow but still visible. I had seen this before. He could be dying or just knocked senseless. It might take days for the truth to be known.

  “No, he lives still.” Kneeling, I brushed her hair lightly with my hand. I looked up to find Arthur, Bedevere, Kay, and Paderic standing over me. “It is no one’s fault,” I told myself and them at the same time. “The soldiers thought he was but one of the mob. They had no way of knowing.”

  Arthur nodded and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “The Christ will protect and keep him, Malgwyn.”

  “But ’twas not one of the soldiers,” a tiny voice said.

  We all turned to Mariam. “’Twas a group of men who attacked him. Not soldiers. They came from the shadows just there,” she said, pointing into the darkness, near where I had seen a group of the Druids standing. That struck me as strange, but when I looked about, I saw that the Druids had disappeared.

  A wave of fury rose again and I shrugged off Arthur’s hand. “Kay, see her safe home,” I commanded, my vision clouded with the fog of anger.

  “Malgwyn!” Arthur warned. “Focus. Keep your eye on the hawk, my friend. ’Tis just what they would want, you squandering your time tracking down your brother’s attackers instead of putting a stop to this insurrection.”

  I shook his hand off. “End this game, Arthur. You are lord of this castle. Use your men to quell this rebellion. I have other work to do. Cuneglas deserves justice and he shall have it!”

  Suddenly he grabbed me by the neck and drew my face to within inches of his. The sweat of the skirmish still lay heavily on his skin and his eyes bored into me like a witch’s. “No, Malgwyn. I cannot do that and you know it. I believe in truth and justice; I believe in the Christ. If I forsake all that, I become no better than Vortimer, Lauhiir, and the rest, just another scheming, conniving thief with no concern for honor, just for the heft of my purse. And I condemn our people to another generation of poverty, death, and destruction. When a man believes in something strongly enough, he does what he must to keep that belief alive. Believe with me, Malgwyn. Stronger forces are at work here. Eleonore and Nyfain were simply tools used in constructing something greater and more dangerous. Discover what happened to Eleonore and you will discover who is behind this. Then Eleonore and Nyfain can be avenged.”

  I took a breath then, the first I had taken since he began to speak. With that swelling breath I took control of my anger. At best, Cuneglas was an innocent victim of this intrigue. At worst, his was an attack calculated to confuse and hinder me. Either way, staying my course was the only sure way of saving us all.

  I watched as Mariam sat next to the motionless Cuneglas, stroking his brow.

  This was my brother, a brother who had taken my job as Mariam’s father. I could not just leave him. Accolon could wait until I had done all I could for Cuneglas.

  I motioned to two soldiers. “Go quickly and bring Merlin to Cuneglas’s house.”

  They turned to Arthur for his agreement. He frowned for a long second, but then nodded. He understood. With curt gestures, Arthur directed that Cuneglas be taken to his home. Coroticus, who had walked up, sent a soldier to Ynys-witrin for his best healers and their herbs and potions.

  “Malgwyn.” Arthur called me to the side. “The wound is deep. He may not survive the night.”

  “That is why I will stay here until his crisis has passed.”

  “But Malgwyn, too much is at stake,” he urged softly.

  “You are right, Arthur.” I pointed at Mariam, following stolidly behind the soldiers bearing Cuneglas. “The only father that little girl has known may be dying, and I will do all I can to keep him alive and comfort her. He has been her father, and she should not lose him like this. Not without my trying all that I can.”

  Arthur’s shoulders sagged.

  “Fear not, my lord. I have sworn to serve you and the Rigotamos. That I will do. I will tell you this—nothing is as it seems. I need time, time for reflection to work my way through this maze.”

  In the pause that followed, Bedevere went about the chore of clearing the parade field, setting soldiers to repairing the stockade walls. Hooking my one thumb in my belt, I felt the scrap of parchment the maiden had slipped to me during dinner. I pulled it out and unfolded it; reading the words sent my eyes flying open. My dear, sweet cousin. I would owe her a great debt before this affair was finished. Though Guinevere’s family was wealthier, and we saw each other but seldom while growing up, our common status as embarrassments forged a strong bond between us in later years. And I had become very protective of her.

  But, true to my cause, I sat with Cunegl
as into the early hours of the next morning. One of the healers from Ynys-witrin, with Merlin’s help, packed healing herbs in the gash across my brother’s temple. They dressed the wound with linen cut into fine strips. After a few hours, once Cuneglas’s breathing became steady but shallow, Merlin turned to me.

  “Only time will tell now, Malgwyn. We have done all we can.”

  I nodded. Accolon was still missing, but I knew how to find him. The note told me that. And I was beginning to see that his guilt might be more a chimera than reality. That Guinevere was involved spoke as loudly of his innocence as anything. Though I did not doubt the message, I had to wonder at the journey it took to get to me. A sudden rush of fear swept over me. Until then, Guinevere had just been a minor part of this affair. Now, she seemed to hold information that could make her a target. Arthur appeared in the door, there to check on Cuneglas I was sure.

  “My lord!” I called to Arthur. “My lord, a horse and Kay to accompany me! I beg you. We may yet meet tomorrow’s deadline.”

  Ygerne rushed to my side. She took my good arm and squeezed it. “Malgwyn, be careful. I wish no more harm to fall on this family.”

  “I’m doing all I can. The soldier Accolon holds the key and if Kay and I can find him, my family will be safe.” It took a second until I saw the smile on Kay’s face.

  “What?”

  “You said ‘my family.’ ”

  Arthur strode forward and plucked up Mariam from the floor. “This family is now part of my household, and will be protected as such.” His beard brushed the top of Mariam’s head, tickling her eyes as she looked up at the giant holding her. “I’ll see to them,” he said. “Take what you need.”

  “You are Lord Arthur,” Mariam said, her tone as curious as ever.

  Even in that scene of carnage and death, with Cuneglas a few feet away, Arthur found a smile to give her. “You may call me ‘Uncle,’ ” he answered, bringing looks of confusion and consternation to Kay and the other soldiers.

  I laughed, but said nothing as a soldier arrived with my mount. For I knew that he was right, or at least nearly so, and it was something I had never thought to hear him say. Perhaps Guinevere was not without hope after all.