The Killing Way Page 5

  Even then, hours after the feasting, the great hall was not yet empty. Ambrosius Aurelianus, Rigotamos of the Britons, lounged beside the table, still snacking. A haze of smoke from the fire hung against the beams overhead, slowly filtering out through the hole in the roof.

  With Ambrosius was Nyfain, leaning too close to him for a married woman, I thought. But I often suspected that Nyfain’s marriage to Accolon was one of convenience for her and loneliness for him. It gave her enough status to receive invitations to the feastings (due more in her late husband’s honor than anything else), and Accolon’s pay enabled her to buy pretty things to wear.

  “Malgwyn,” Ambrosius began, slightly tipsy from the wine. “Arthur told me he was going for you. Have you resolved this affair?”

  “No, my Lord Rigotamos. ’Tis too soon for resolution. Did you know the girl?”

  “Only that she had a family connection to you. Do you think Merlin did this thing?”

  “I do not wish to believe it. But man is an unusual animal. He is as unpredictable as our changeable weather.”

  “I think he did no such thing,” Nyfain interrupted. She wore the plump cheeks of a well-fed woman in her middle years. “Merlin adored the girl. He had no reason to harm her.”

  “You knew her well?”

  “Aye,” she said. “She often watched my boy.” Nyfain had a young boy, child of her first husband. “’Tis funny that you were the one named by Arthur to see to this.”

  “Why funny?”

  “Eleonore mentioned you last eve. Right after the feasting, she told me she must see you. Something about a conspiracy, murder. I thought she had been sampling the wine too heavily and told her so.”

  “What say you, my lord? Have you heard aught of such things?” Even as I asked the question, I noticed one of the other soldiers, one casting the die, was listening, it seemed. He looked familiar, but I could not place him.

  Ambrosius’s face wrinkled into a wry smile. “I am the Rigotamos. Not a moon passes that I do not hear of some plot to murder me. I have seldom found substance to any of them.”

  I nodded. That much was certain in this violent age. Rumors of rebellion and assassination floated across our land like ill winds. And a girl was likely to take nothing and make it something.

  But if it were true, why kill Ambrosius now? His reign was within days of ending. To kill him now served little purpose, with one exception—Ambrosius’s championing of Arthur as the next Rigotamos.

  How would a girl like Eleonore know of such a plot, if one existed? Would such a girl eavesdrop on the wrong conversation? No, the answer to her death lay in another direction.

  “She was such a pleasant girl,” Ambrosius said after another swig from his jug.

  “Aye, she was,” I agreed.

  “You realize that this matter will have serious repercussions for Arthur. If Merlin is truly guilty, then Arthur’s patronage will work against him when the consilium votes. If he is not guilty, Arthur will be accused of protecting him. And my support will lose some of its strength.”

  I nodded. These thoughts had occurred to me. But such conspirators, with the selection of a Rigotamos at stake, would hardly reveal their plans to a serving girl. No, I insisted to myself, Eleonore’s death had a simpler answer.

  Still, that she wanted to see me lent Nyfain’s story a certain credibility. We had spoken on occasion in recent years, but not often and then only in passing.

  “Malgwyn, I remember well the way you eyed a battlefield and knew instinctively the best line of attack. I trust you in this, but the consilium is pushing for a vote. I have stalled them for two days. I need you to hurry.”

  I frowned. “Haste is one thing I cannot promise, Rigotamos. But if there is truth to be found, I shall do my best to find it.”

  By then I noticed that Ambrosius was drifting off to sleep. Nyfain had deserted us for Mordred and a group of his men, drinking and singing songs in these early morning hours. I watched as Mordred whispered something in her ear, probably negotiating the price of her bed for the night. The pair wandered out the door, arm in arm. Her husband, Accolon, would not see her this night, just as in most, I understood. Nyfain, a woman of noble birth, stripped of her position by her first husband’s death at Caerleon, married Accolon to stay close to the court. Though Accolon was no officer, Arthur treated her at court as he would any noblewoman. Of his many faults, pity for others was one.

  But though she accepted Accolon for his support and humble house near unto the gate, her heart still lay with the luxuries of the nobles and their vices. In turn, she became one of their vices. For his part, the old soldier hoped she would help him recoup his stature with Arthur, lost long before. The boy, Owain, was abandoned in the middle.

  I remembered the day I first encountered the boy. He squatted in front of my hovel, nearly as dirty and grubby as was I. But his eyes were bright and uplifted, holding none of the fear I had seen in other children’s eyes when they beheld me.

  Just returned from Ynys-witrin with a bundle of manuscripts to copy, I narrowed my eyes at the boy and growled, but he gave not an inch.

  “Are you Malgwyn?” he asked without a hint of concern.

  “Aye, and who would you be?”

  “Owain,” he answered spryly. “My mother is Lady Nyfain.” And that had explained his appearance. “Father Accolon says you were a great warrior.”

  “Accolon is kind.”

  “Would you teach me how to be a warrior?” Something in his voice, a pleading and a forthright manner, softened my heart.

  Soon, he was spending more time at my hut than his own. He was an eager lad, and I taught him the manner of mixing inks and sharpening quills. And I told him stories, not of my own exploits, but of warriors long dead. Though I would never admit it, I grew fond of the boy and missed him when he was not around.

  I pushed thoughts of Owain from my mind and turned back to the mission. “My lord, do you know where Lord Tristan is?

  Ambrosius shook his wobbly head. “No. He took his leave earlier.” Leaning toward where Nyfain had been, he spoke as if she were still there. “Did I tell you, my dear, of the day we stormed Caerleon?” But before he could finish the thought, he nodded off again into a drunken slumber.

  As we went to leave, Arthur beckoned to us from his chamber. I sighed. I had known this would come, but I’d hoped for further time to study and deliberate. But as Kay and I entered, I saw another man there—Accolon. He looked about at us and seemed confused. “I was told to report to the scribe Malgwyn.” I thought then of his wife, just on the other side of the hall, bargaining with Mordred for her favors earlier in the evening. Poor fellow.

  He was older than most of Arthur’s men, gray in the beard and hair. His cloak was bare in spots where the fur had worn away. I smelled the sickly sweet odor of honey mead about him.

  “Have we not served together?”

  “Aye, many moons ago we shared a battlefield or two.”

  “You are the man who found the murdered girl?”

  “Aye. In the lane beside the old man’s house.” His voice was thick and gravelly.

  “Was that spot on your regular round?”

  “Aye. There are two of us in the lanes at night. We patrol separately the lanes on either side of Lord Arthur’s hall and then come up the opposite sides of the town until we meet in the northeast.”

  “What time did you find her?”

  “About two hours past the midnight.”

  “How long between times that you passed Merlin’s door?”

  “A half hour, maybe longer.”

  “Was there any disturbance there earlier? Did you see the maid roundabouts?”

  “Not there. Not then.” Accolon narrowed his eyes as he concentrated. “Earlier. About the midnight. At the gate on the Via Caedes. She was there with a man.”

  “Merlin?”

  He shook his head. “I could not tell you. He wore a hood and was in the shadows inside the gate.”

  “Shadows
?”

  “The moon shadows.”

  “What caused you to take notice of them?”

  He shrugged. “She was laughing and joking.”

  “And her companion?”

  “He said nothing.”

  “And then?”

  “And then nothing. I continued on into the fort to report for watch.”

  Though it filled in a minor gap, it ended at a stone wall. Almost literally. Also, Accolon’s tone of voice bothered me, rubbed me raw. It held an insolence, directed not at me but at the world.

  “If there is nothing more, I’m finished with my duties for the night.”

  “Go then,” I said, “but I may speak with you further.”

  He grunted and left.

  “That is not a happy man,” I said in the ensuing silence.

  Arthur’s familiar, deep voice rumbled through the room. “For good reason.”

  “And what reason is that, my lord?”

  “Accolon wanted to marry my sister Morgan. But she cared for him not, and I refused to force her into a marriage not to her liking.”

  “And, by the looks of him, he had no dowry to sweeten the porridge,” I said.

  Arthur shook his bearded head. “Once he had, but he is too fond of drink and dice. I would not saddle my sister with such as him.”

  “And yet you keep him as one of your men.”

  “Each man needs a job, a purpose. It was the right thing to do. If a man has no purpose in life,” he continued, looking straight at me, “then he should look beyond himself and seek a purpose.”

  “I have a purpose, my lord. To drink and pleasure myself for as long as my body will allow.”

  “That may take many years. I am about to seek rest, Malgwyn, but I wanted to know if you have discovered anything about this affair.”

  Impatience had been one of Arthur’s faults as a young officer. But since I was young then too, I saw it as boldness, good leadership. In the older Arthur it annoyed me. “I have discovered many things, my lord. And when I am ready to tell you, I shall. But first I have questions for you.”

  Kay chuckled. “Malgwyn, you take liberties,” he said.

  Arthur fumed. “Ask your questions.”

  “What was your relationship with Eleonore?”

  “She was a servant here.”

  “That is all?”

  His eyes narrowed and crimson painted his cheeks. “That is all.”

  “Your interest in her welfare seems out of place, my lord.”

  “Say what you mean plainly, Malgwyn.”

  “Were you bedding the maiden?”

  “And if I were, it would be my right.” Arthur did not believe that, nor did I truly believe that he had a hand in this affair. A custom did exist in those days, called prima nocte or “first night.” It involved the first night of marriage and a lord’s right to take the bride. It was a right Arthur would never claim. But the chance to irritate him was more than I could resist.

  I changed subjects abruptly. “Lord Arthur, I shall need to question Guinevere.” I was aware that this would enrage Arthur. His cheeks puffed out and turned red. The fire in his eyes matched that of his cheeks.

  “Absolutely not!”

  “With all the respect due you, my lord, she is my cousin—family—and I have a right and need to speak to her. I’m sorry, Arthur. I must. You charged me to this task, and you must allow me free rein to question whom I please. I have learned enough to know that Eleonore was seeking me out before she was killed. She spoke of it to Nyfain. She may have spoken to Guinevere as well.”

  “No, I will not have it!” He really had no objection; he was just angered by my disrespect.

  “My lord, if you do not allow me the freedom to act as I please, I cannot promise you any results, let alone those you desire. Besides, it’s not as if you were married to her.”

  And at that, Arthur’s face, while blushed before, now turned crimson in anger. I stood my ground, giving not an inch to his bluster. His unwillingness, in my mind, to marry Guinevere had been a particular sticking point in our relationship, even in the best of times. For Arthur to marry Guinevere would bring his oft-noted devotion to the Christ into great doubt. It did not matter that many of the people did not share that devotion. In these unsettled times, they looked for consistency, truth, not the mere illusion of it. She was a disgraced sister of the women’s community, who had broken her vows and been cast out. Many still lived who remembered how Vortigern had cast aside Sevira, his Briton wife, for Rowena, daughter of the pagan Saxon Hengist. And just as many believed that the calamities that had befallen our lands could be traced to that betrayal.

  In both the people’s eyes and the church’s mind, Guinevere was not fit for marriage to a lord. Indeed, Bedevere once told me that the archbishop of all Britannia, Dubricius, had ordered Arthur not to marry her. It mattered to no one that Arthur had been as much at fault in Guinevere’s shame as she had. No one but me. For I could also remember that she had been but a child when she took those vows. Merlin’s rumors, intended to protect them both, had created another obstacle. If Arthur were to marry her, the people would think that she had bewitched him, and their faith in him would drop even further.

  Kay stepped forward. He could be so silent as to sit in the middle of the room and not be noticed. But given a battle-axe against the enemy, he was like some great animal, fierce and deadly. “Arthur,” he said gently. “You know Malgwyn. You know he would not make such a request unless it was necessary. He is Guinevere’s cousin. He will treat her with respect.” Inserting himself between us, he deftly diverted the argument.

  A pause ensued and the crimson drained from Arthur’s enraged face. He was protective of Guinevere. He knew people gossiped about her, considered her a lowly consort, not a true wife of a noble. And he knew that his refusal to take her as his bride added to my grudge against him. But knowing these things did nothing to simplify a very complicated matter.

  Bedevere, amused by the scene, excused himself to check the posting of the guards.

  Arthur laughed grimly. “You haven’t changed, Malgwyn. Fiercely independent. One of the shrewdest men that I know. But blinded to any knowledge of yourself. Ask her what questions you will. She’ll answer at her own pleasure.” He paused, letting that remark sink in. “We are feasting on tomorrow’s eve, in honor of the consilium. I would have you attend and observe. Ambrosius has set the vote for the next evening.”

  “Has this something to do with the murder of Eleonore?”

  “No. This has something to do with the future of this kingdom.”

  “The last time I concerned myself with the future of this kingdom, I came home with this.” I tapped my empty sleeve. But I knew what he’d say next, and I knew too that I would be attending the feast.

  “The Saxons threaten us once more, Malgwyn. But this time they are using their brains and not their swords. The consilium meets to choose a new Rigotamos. It is a perfect time to create havoc. I have nearly the entire consilium in my castle, under my care. I cannot afford to have aught go amiss. Your battle wound is of no importance; your nimble brain and unclouded mind are. And, I judge, you are not the hard-hearted, uncaring lout you would have us believe. You care, old friend; you just choose to keep it well hidden.”

  “For half a loaf of hard bread, I would rip your throat out, my lord. You weave words more skillfully than any maker of tunics,” I conceded, because he was right. “As you wish. I will attend. Perhaps then I’ll have more to tell you about this affair. I must warn you, the evidence does not look good for our friend Merlin.”

  His head drooped until his beard touched his tunic. “I feared so.”

  Suddenly, I felt very tired, more weary than I had since my days in battle. The night was gone and the sun would soon be raising its head, and I had had no sleep. I knew that a puzzle such as this one required my strength, my concentration. “I go to take my rest now, my lord. I have seen and done all that I can before daylight.”

  “Plea
se, Malgwyn, I have a room at my hall for you. Rest there.” Arthur was almost pleading.

  “Thank you, my lord. But I’ll only rest well in my own place.”

  Arthur frowned. “There are many who would wish that you fail in your inquiry, that Merlin is swiftly dispatched and that his crime can be turned against me, if crime he committed. I fear for your safety. I will set a guard upon your door to watch over you.”

  I shook my head. “No, that will not do. I’ll have no young stripling that I know not standing post.” In truth, I needed no such guardian, but Arthur had handed me an opportunity to have my own way without him knowing it.

  “Malgwyn, I insist.”

  This time I frowned and hung my head. “Well, my lord, if Kay would allow me to stay at his house, then I suppose I could agree.”

  “Is that agreeable with you, Kay?”

  My friend nodded.

  “Then watch him closely. He is valuable to us.”

  Headed to Kay’s house, we encountered Bedevere, trudging along the muddy, slippery cobblestones.

  “You seem lost in thought, old friend,” I greeted him. He looked up, his dark eyes framed by heavy eyebrows and a beard that reached high on his cheeks. I did not know who had befriended Arthur first, Kay or Bedevere, but they held equal esteem in Arthur’s eyes. Of late, Bedevere had been touring the borders to the south, marking the settlements of the Saxons—new settlements, that is. Kay and Bedevere were as different as night and day. Kay was tall and prone to anger. Bedevere was stocky and taciturn.

  “And you seem sober.”

  I chuckled. “You were never one to throw compliments about freely.”

  “Forgive me, Malgwyn. I have been in ill humor of late.”

  “And why is that?”

  “My vote has been courted by two other lords.” Bedevere’s words drew a dark cloud over me, as dark as the moon was on this eve.

  Kay and Bedevere both commanded regions of our land, scattered about the countryside, thus giving them seats on the consilium.