The Divine Sacrifice Page 14

  He shook his woolly head. “And ‘tis strange, Malgwyn. He is hiding. Only that explains our failure. Granted, word spread quickly of our search, but we moved even more quickly. Were he just visiting villages, we would have found him.”

  “Will you search through the night?”

  He shook his head. “No. We will begin again at first light. A man in hiding has too many sanctuaries in the night. And if he is truly in hiding, he is more dangerous to my men. Better to wait until daylight; less chance of losing a man to accident.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Are they all returned?”

  “No, one three-man patrol sent out toward the Mount of Frogs has not reported.”

  “Let me know when they do.”

  “Malgwyn,” Bedevere said, half chiding, “you will certainly know if they do not”

  “The Mount of Frogs! Malgwyn! It is enchanted!” My newest naysayer was none other than my friend Merlin.

  “Merlin, what brings you here?”

  “Arthur thought I might be of some assistance to you.”

  I wrapped my one arm around him and hugged tightly. “I need you as much now as ever, Merlin. I hope your bag of tricks is full.”

  “I thought he could sleep with us at Coroticus’s hall, so he wouldn’t be so lonely,” Bedevere said, but a thought came to me and I stopped him with a hand.

  “No, I will sleep in Elafius’s cell; perhaps it will bring me an understanding of this affair.”

  “Perhaps,” Bedevere agreed with a bearded grin. “But perhaps you will just wake up chilled in the morning.” Monachi were not allowed to have fires in their cells. It was said to be an old tradition, emphasizing the suffering monachi endured for their Christ. In reality it was to keep the monachi from burning down their huts. They tended to be somewhat forgetful in that regard, and the ground was marked in places with the burned remnants of such a monachus.

  “Perhaps, but Merlin will need a place to rest, and I would have him do that in your chamber. I need silence, to sort out this matter.”

  “And I am too loud for you,” Merlin muttered. “If you could but hear the ravings of his snores and the blasts of his …”

  “I have, my friend.” Bedevere smiled broadly, a rare occurrence. “And yours as well.”

  “So this is the famous Merlin of whom I have heard so much.” Patrick’s voice crackled over the gathering as he joined us, with Arthur beside him.

  Merlin tensed for a moment, but when the old episcopus clapped a hand on his back, I noted that Merlin relaxed. In moments the two men were laughing.

  This boded well for us, I thought. I felt certain that Gwilym would give us the key to Elafius’s demise. In my heart I felt bad, because whoever Gwilym was, Coroticus and Rhiannon seemed duty bound to keep it hidden. Whatever fate might befall them for preserving that secret was sad, but I suspected that they knew the hazard of their actions. I felt especially bad about Rhiannon. She was a beautiful woman, one with spirit. I could not deny my feelings for Ygerne, but those growing for Rhiannon were stronger yet. As she was a sister of the community, though, I knew I would never see a chance to grow those feelings yet deeper.

  In actuality, the death of Elafius was more than likely a simple affair. Coroticus’s hurried plea and the lies about Gwilym’s true identity merely made it seem more ominous. In my experience with men of the religious orders, they tended to puff up small matters, as a flat goat flagon would grow thrice its size when filled.

  The more I turned it over in my mind, the more I thought that Patrick’s quandary was the most critical. If I had any skills at defense, Patrick was a man worthy to expend them on.

  We were in something of an oddly festive mood, considering the burial of Brother Elafius. But Patrick’s mission had become less important, it seemed, and since he had confided to me his real reason for coming to our island, I think a great weight had been lifted from him. Perhaps he had dreaded his meeting with Elafius and confessing to his boyhood friend. Perhaps in Elafius’s death had lain some relief, but I realized that I was being unkind.

  Over my shoulder, I noticed that Bedevere had pulled Arthur to the side with a note of concern on his face. I joined them and immediately observed that Arthur was tugging on the ends of his mustache. He did this only when something nagged at him.

  “A problem?” I queried.

  “I am not certain. There is something out of sorts but I cannot reckon it. Lauhiir is too anxious to please, and he seems well equipped for a young noble in his first command. The village and abbey seem too prosperous for these times.”

  I had been so busy with the matter of Elafius and handling Patrick that I had forgotten my own curiosity about these things. “What make you of this?”

  Arthur shrugged. “I am not sure. I had hoped that you would be finished with this Elafius affair and could apply that brain of yours to something more important.”

  “Be at ease, my lord. I suspect that by morning all will be settled. The old monachus Gwilym will not avoid Bedevere’s patrols tomorrow for long. His companions will weary of the task and, besides, monachi are trained to serve the Christ, not to evade pursuers.”

  “You believe he killed Elafius?”

  “I believe he was the only one with reason and no one can say he didn’t kill him. I believe that the yew extract was left to implicate Rhiannon. But I doubt her complicity though I also know that two people had a hand in his death.” I paused. “Until I can question Gwilym, this is all I know.”

  “Now, tell me of this commission and why you need to accompany Patrick to Castellum Marcus.”

  “Arthur, I promised Patrick that I would go to Castellum Marcus with him and counsel him.”

  Arthur’s expression surpassed annoyance. “I need you here! Besides, he has been no friend to the nobles of Britannia. Make your apologies and remain with me.”

  “But Arthur, you told him I would have your leave to go.”

  He brushed a leaf from his sleeve as if he were brushing my argument aside. “You know little of religion.”

  Aye, this was true. But Arthur wanted me to disappoint Patrick. He had no wish to do so himself.

  “My lord, he is a man in trouble. Should it matter that he has opposed you from time to time? And remember, Ceredig deserved every word Patrick said against him. The man lined up new believers in the Christ and slit their throats, Arthur!”

  The Rigotamos did not like my defiance, but he had never liked it. He suffered it because he knew that, like him, I tried to do the right thing. “Why would he wish you to go with him to Castellum Marcus? What is happening there that could possibly involve you?”

  “He is being called before a special commission, meeting at Castellum Marcus, to answer charges of rape and murder newly levied against him. If his accusers succeed, they will strip his bishopric from him.”

  “When did this happen? Where? Among the Scotti?”

  “No, no. Many, many years ago, before Patrick was taken as a servi. A young girl was murdered and violated, and Patrick now stands accused.” I was careful in my wording. There was no need to violate Patrick’s confidence.

  “And he wishes you to investigate a murder that happened before any of us were born?”

  “He wishes me to be his counselor only, my lord. Arthur, it has become obvious to me that the church operates much as a band of lords. No one lord should be perceived to be more popular or more famous. Now there are elements in the church who believe that Patrick has reached such a renown. They hope to drag him down, no matter how old the evidence. Please, Arthur, it will take but a few days at most. Whatever is happening here will keep for that long. And when I return, I will be able to concentrate more fully on these strange doings. In truth, I have noted an uncommon prosperity.” Then, I remembered the little thief Llynfann, and his errand. “Early this morning, I dispatched Llynfann to find the source of all of this bounty imported by Coroticus and Lauhiir.” I looked about but saw no sign of him. “Bedevere, have you seen any hint of the little ban
dit?”

  “No, Malgwyn. But I have not been looking.”

  Arthur seemed to feel better upon hearing that I had not been blind to the situation. He relaxed, his shoulders sagging a bit. “So, you expect it to be only a few days?”

  “A week at the most.”

  “Then I will gather my forces and return to Castellum Arturius when we have settled with this Gwilym. To remain longer at this time would cause too much curiosity. And if Lauhiir is up to some evil, I would not have him know that I am suspicious. Not yet, at any rate.”

  “A question, Arthur?” Bedevere spoke up. “So the village at Ynys-witrin is prosperous? So Lauhiir seems wealthier than perhaps he should be?”

  It was then that I learned to value Bedevere as much as Kay. While Kay’s friendship and loyalty knew no bounds, Bedevere, though quiet, was not afraid to seek out the weaknesses in an argument and force you to face them. His queries were good and valid ones. Where Kay was often led by his heart, Bedevere spoke with his brain.

  Arthur’s mouth curled into a frown, drawing his mustache down. “False prosperity is no prosperity at all and is but misery waiting to befall those who experience it.” Arthur had an ability to see beyond the immediate, to look to the future. Not into it. But to it. Some gave Merlin the ability to foresee the future, but he did not. He never claimed such a thing. Others claimed it for him.

  The servants were hurrying platters and jugs from the abbot’s kitchen to his hall. Tonight was to be a proper feasting in honor of Arthur and Patrick. No chanting. No reading of sacred texts. From the smells wafting past us, I knew we would be treated to the finest wines and foods, finer even than that provided by Arthur at his table. Amphorae from Syria and Italy, filled to the brim with wine, were carted across the muddy pathway. I saw platters of oysters, the moist, white skin of freshly dressed chickens, and pink pork loins seasoned and ready for the hearth, bowls of young vegetables harvested by the monachi, fresh-baked bread from the abbot’s ovens.

  In two big pits outside the kitchen, heaped with glowing, orange coals, two of the servants dug carefully, to the accompaniment of sparks and rising smoke. Moments later, they gingerly removed one, two, and then three long, ash-gray objects, and my mouth immediately began watering. This was a dish I dearly loved. Salmon, stuffed with plums, bread, and herbs, covered in salt dough and buried beneath an open fire. The dough baked hard and kept all of the juices inside. My Gwyneth, my long-dead wife, had cooked salmon in this manner, and every time I ate it, it reminded me of her, brought her close to me in good memories.

  I was grateful to see several mortaria carried across, bowls with special knobs in the bottom in which food was ground for those whose teeth were worn down. My problem lay not with my teeth but with my difficulty in cutting my food, so I favored the pastelike food that I could spoon into my mouth.

  “Savoring the food already, Malgwyn?” Merlin’s cracked voice broke over my shoulder, and I felt the light touch of his agespotted hand land on my arm. I turned and by his side I saw Patrick, fewer wrinkles in his face now. He seemed younger, happier.

  “And what have you and the episcopus been discussing?”

  Merlin winked. “He has converted me to this Christianity, and I have promised to persuade our Lord Arthur that all nonbelievers should be foresworn from drinking alcohol until they convert.”

  Even Patrick laughed at this. “If that were true,” he added, “I would no longer have a mission.”

  Coroticus, wearing his abbot’s furs and jewelry, appeared from his hall. I smiled inwardly at his show of wealth. He knew that it would, or should, infuriate Patrick. I reckoned it as the only way Coroticus could show his independence, to show his displeasure with the way we had treated him.

  “Welcome to my hall. It is a bit early for our evening meal, but I invite you to enter and enjoy some warmed and spiced wine. I expect Lord Liguessac and the sister Rhiannon to join us. The brothers will eat separately from us to night so that they may keep to their practices, and so that we may be free to discuss those matters of an earthly nature that concern us.”

  I suspected that that was Coroticus’s way of saying that we would talk about Elafius’s murder, and perhaps it might signal the beginning of some negotiation for the surrender of Gwilym. For that, I could not blame him. He was sworn to protect the brethren, and Patrick would denounce him for betraying that as quickly as he would for harboring a murderer.

  I smiled, though, to know that Rhiannon would be among us. Part of me was excited by her. Part of me hated that I was. Ygerne was ever present in my mind, but the shade of my brother guarded her and kept me from pressing my suit. It was silly. This I knew. Perhaps if I had not so neglected my brother and his family for so many years, I would not feel so strangely about it. No matter the cause, I did feel odd, and until I could conquer that feeling I could not bring myself to let Ygerne know my heart. Heart. A man’s heart is a creature of conflict, and none more so than mine.

  We went in then and found seats around Coroticus’s long table. His servants hustled about, filling our beakers from bowls of steaming wine. The beakers all matched, and I recognized them as products of Gaul. I knew that they had not been cheap. Another sign of that pesky prosperity that worried Arthur.

  As if he had heard, I saw the Rigotamos cock his head to one side and look straight at me, jiggling his beaker in his hand. I nodded, but so slightly that only Arthur would have noticed. He was telling me that to night, this night, I was back working as his counselor, not in a coito with Patrick.

  I took up my beaker and enjoyed the scent of the fennel and clove mixed with the steaming, pale red wine. One sip told me that it was only lightly watered, and that the spices enhanced its flavor nicely. As I drank, I saw Rhiannon sweep into the hall, her long robe lofting behind her. She wore a kind of wrap around her head and a silver cross at her neck.

  Almost on her heels, Lauhiir hurried in, his face red and puffy and his tunic stained with sweat. He stumbled to a halt before Coroticus and bowed. “My apologies, my lord abbot, for being so late. Pressing business on the Tor delayed me.”

  Coroticus nodded as did Arthur, and Lauhiir hustled to his seat. My father told me that the old Romans used to lie on couches around their tables. I smiled at the thought. No wonder their empire was falling apart. Even Arthur, for all his devotion to things Roman, would never countenance such luxury, such softness. But that was the soldier in him. For us, the realities of life made a luxury of social niceties. We ate when we had food. Starved when we had none. Whether we did that standing up or sitting down was of little consequence to us. But to eat lying down implied that we were sick or near death. I chuckled out loud at the thought. For what had the Roman empire been but sick and near death? The softer they got, my father had said, the closer to ruin they had come.

  Now that all the guests were present, the servants streamed in with baskets and baskets of hard-boiled eggs and oysters still in their blackish-gray shells.

  As they worked, I glanced around and looked, really, at Coroticus’s hall for the first time. Strangely, I noticed that there was little difference between this, an abbot’s hall, and Arthur’s hall, that of a king. Banners covered the sturdy timber walls. One held what I took to be a portrait of the Christ set against the Greek letters chi and rho. Others held figures of the cross. I had seen the same thing on floor mosaics in old Roman buildings. These designs were woven skillfully into a long cloth banner. This bothered me. Skilled weavers, at least this skilled, were not many in our lands, and importing such would not be cheap.

  A wall at one end blocked off Coroticus’s suite of chambers, where Bedevere and I had stayed the night before. I looked back toward the entrance and found my nose but inches from Rhiannon’s. So lost was I in surveying Coroticus’s hall, I had not noticed that she had circled the table and slipped into a chair next to me.

  “You are not half so grim and ugly when you are not questioning people, Master Malgwyn,” she teased me. “What causes you to study the walls?
”

  “I wondered where the abbot obtained his wall hangings.” I turned away, resuming staring at the wall.

  Next, I felt her breath, warm and scented with chewed mint leaves, blow on my neck. The hairs rose and a flush spread up my face. I leaned away and turned toward her finally.

  “You do not act like a sister of the Christ, my lady.” And, in truth, she did not.

  She was beautiful. Free of the cosmetics of chalk and berry juice, her skin showed no blemish. Her defiant chin, thrust out toward me, was one of her most appealing attractions. I truly longed for her. And this I could not show.

  “Are you and Coroticus intent on enraging Patrick?”

  She smiled and nodded across the table to Bedevere. “Why say you this?”

  “Your clothing. It is just that kind of thing that makes Patrick angry. His has been a life of simple things, of hunger and deprivation. For him, sacrifice is the way to the Christ. For him, luxuries are the province of the corrupt, fine jewelry”— and I reached and held her ornate cross in my palm—”the properties of the evil.”

  She looked away, her eyes now focusing on the wall. “I would argue that if one truly loves the Christ, then displaying His symbols, in whatever manner, is praiseworthy. That I appreciate fine workmanship should not matter.”

  “As you wish,” I said. In truth, I cared little about her clothing. “How did a sister come into possession of such an ornate cross? Did you not take a vow of poverty?”

  “I did, but it was a gift from the abbot when I took over the sisters’ community, a symbol of my new office.”

  “He seems not to have deprived himself either,” I said sourly.

  “And why should he? He is the abbot, not one of the monachi. His station requires him to attend councils and feasts. You cannot command respect in tattered rags. Besides, he comes from a rich family.”

  I knew one beggar, his clothes soiled and smelly, whom a king raised high, but I decided not to mention it. Such would seem as bragging, and I had nothing to brag about.

  “What bothers me, Rhiannon, is that Coroticus has only recently begun adorning himself with such trinkets. And now he is sharing his bounty with you.”