The Stolen Bride Read online

  The onlookers peeled themselves off the wall and resumed their drinking and carousing. I noted Cilydd considering our little trio with a smile, but quickly he returned to his drinking. I saw too that he was sharing a pot with the hapless Trevelyan.

  We moved to one of the tables and sat with Ider while a servus filled our pots with mead.

  “What did you find?” I asked. Though he had been with us for almost nine moons, I still found the sight of Ider without a tonsure unsettling. It was like I was looking at a different man. And perhaps I was.

  Ider combed his hand through his unruly mop and shook his head. “You will not be happy.”

  “How so?”

  “Doged has no chapel, aye, no church at all.”

  Bedevere screwed his face up in confusion. “But is Doged not of the Christ?”

  “I found one sacerdote, an old fellow, who said he ministers to Doged. He says that Doged does not display his faith in the usual way for fear that the people will turn against him. The old gods are strong here. In truth, Ysbail, Doged’s new wife, is not of the Christ. The Rigotamos will not be happy.”

  I agreed. Arthur’s faith in the Christ was one of the best-known things about him. The Cross graced his tunic and his shield. And it remained a point of contention between him and me, as if we needed yet another. I had not embraced the Christ, and at that point did not plan to. Despite my misgivings, though, I often thought that if it attracted believers such as Arthur, Bedevere, and Kay, it must be worthy. Merlin had never pledged his faith to the Christ either, but Arthur and Merlin’s bond was strong, easily surpassing that of religious faith.

  “This land is not empty of believers in the Christ,” Ider said. “Doged simply does not use the Cross or the chi roh which came before it.”

  “What does he use?”

  “A yellow chevron.”

  The symbol on Doged’s shields and tunics. But I had never seen or heard of it before, at least not in that way.

  Bedevere must have seen the confusion in my face. “They say it was the first symbol of those who followed the Christ, that Joseph the Arimathean brought it with him.”

  One small mystery solved, but it answered none of the major questions we still had. Could Cilydd and his brother be persuaded to halt their infant rebellion? Could the gold in Doged’s lands be mined profitably? And did the Saxons truly have Mordred as a hostage? And why should they choose now to send an embassy to Doged? Finally, but most important to me, who had killed those villagers, and what had happened to the ones they took away? Too many questions and, I suspected, too little time to sort them out. Perhaps when Merlin arrived we could resolve at least some of them.

  Merlin. He had changed in the years since we renewed our acquaintance. For many winters, Merlin had been considered a kind old man whose mind wandered. While Arthur loved him dearly, more and more, over time, Merlin had been left out of the councils. But since we had been sharing a hut, I had noticed that his “wandering” grew less frequent. All who knew him had seen this. And, over time, just as he had once been excluded, Merlin’s sage advice brought him back to the fire.

  Anyone who removes himself from other humans loses a part of himself. I had. I doubt that living with me brought Merlin’s senses back to him, but he had earned his return to Arthur’s councils and my respect along with it. He had always held my friendship.

  “How does Doged stand with the people?” Bedevere queried.

  “Well. He is a kind lord, and the common people will not desert him while he lives. He treats them with a fairness that they do not expect to receive from any of those who would replace him. They are very fond of him.”

  “What of the Saxons and Mordred?” I asked.

  Ider shook his head. “I found out nothing. The Saxons are not looked upon kindly here. They are encamped somewhere north of Trevelgue. I did hear that one of Doged’s nobles, Druce, had visited them, but no other.” I resolved to meet this Druce. He seemed to be a man that needed much study.

  We had little else to discuss. Ider was assigned to find out what he could about the Saxon envoy. Bedevere and I would continue to represent Arthur at Doged’s court, at least until Merlin could join us and free me to do some searching on my own.

  Just as we were leaving the now-emptied hall, I remembered my charge from Doged. “Ider. Would you find some parchment? I promised to prepare a conveyance for Doged, and I would do it tonight when few are about.”

  “You will not do it in the camp?” Bedevere queried.

  I looked around. “The light is too dim there, and I need a table such as one of these to work on.”

  And so, within the space of an hour, I had scraped a parchment and begun carefully lettering the conveyance.

  Beyond the scratching of my quill, the only sounds in the hall were the crackling of the fire and the gentle snoring of the servus left behind to see to my needs.

  I looked up at about the midnight, if my reckoning was correct, my hand cramping and the nub of my arm rubbed raw from holding the parchment in place. I still had three lines left to inscribe, and I would be glad to see them done.

  The main door to the hall scratched open and Doged came stomping through, his cloak flapping about him and his head bowed.

  Jumping to my feet, I gave him the salute, but he waved me off.

  “I did not realize that you had left, my lord.”

  But Doged ignored me, walking like a man enraged and entering the door to his suite of chambers and slamming it behind him with such fury it shook the timber walls of the hall.

  No matter the cramps in my hand, I finished my chore quickly. I suspected that Doged’s queen was the cause of his anger, and I had no desire to involve myself in his marital problems.

  Carefully folding the parchment, I tucked it in my pouch, dismissed the weary servus, and headed toward our camp, beyond the walls.

  I could not stop yawning as I navigated the path to the gates. Two of Doged’s soldiers were posted there, looking just as weary as I.

  But then something very strange happened.

  Lord Doged, dressed in the same tunic and cloak, came flying past me, running faster than anyone his age should be able to, leaving the guards reeling in his wake.

  And then, even as I was watching Doged flee across the rickety bridge, a cry arose from near the timber hall.

  “Lord Doged is dead!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “That cannot be!” I shouted, to no one in particular. The guards looked at me questioningly, as if they knew something I did not.

  I spun on my caligae and ran back up the rise to the hall, where the servus who had waited upon me was screaming the alarum.

  Grabbing him by his tunic, I jerked him around. “Lord Doged just left the fort. He cannot be dead.”

  The poor fellow cringed, his eyes looking away. “He is dead, master. Come, see for yourself.”

  A host had gathered, and I grabbed one of Doged’s soldiers. “Go to the gate. Let no one in or out.”

  “What right have you to give orders here?” the soldier, suddenly remembering his duty, questioned my authority.

  With no hesitation, I released the servus and took the soldier by the throat, lifting him off the ground. People were often amazed at my strength, but when you have but one arm it has to do the work of two.

  I said nothing as the man sputtered and choked. When I released him, he stumbled to his knees, but he quickly gained his feet and ran for the gate. Strength often substitutes for authority.

  Ignoring the gathering crowd, I followed the servus into the timber hall, through the door at the other end into Doged’s private chambers. This time, we went through the further door and into a small antechamber with doors on either side and at the rear. I thought Doged’s feasting hall seemed smaller than it appeared from outside.

  The servus indicated the door on the right, which stood partially open. Taking a deep breath, I entered.

  The very first thing I saw was Ysbail, dressed in a flowing yellow gow
n of fine linen. She looked just as imperious as she had at the feasting.

  Doged was naked or nearly so. His death held no secrets. He lay on his back, an ordinary-looking dagger protruding from his bare chest. In the flickering light of the torch, I could see two or three other stab wounds. Whoever had done this intended for Doged to die.

  “My husband is dead,” Ysbail said, in a dull, dry voice, dead and lifeless as Doged.

  “Bring torches!” I shouted. The sounds of servi scuffling to answer my call filled the room. I had absolutely no authority here, none.

  “Why do you call for torches?” Ysbail asked, seeming to notice me for the first time.

  “To better see what has happened here, to help determine who committed this murder.”

  She looked at me curiously, not hostile, but with real curiosity. “We know who killed him. He was caught running out the back door toward the kitchen. Some servi were finishing up their chores. They are holding him now.”

  “Might I see him, question him?”

  Now the hostility began its ascent. “Why should I allow you to see him?”

  “My lady, I have a certain reputation for helping to resolve matters such as this. Indeed, your own husband commissioned me to look into a similar affair just this evening.”

  Ysbail’s eyebrows rose. “What similar affair? I know of no such incident.”

  “Harrumph.” Bedevere cleared his throat. “Lady Ysbail, Malgwyn speaks the truth. We discovered a village on your eastern border that had been attacked, many people killed. Lord Doged asked Malgwyn to investigate. I swear it on my honor.”

  The new ruler of these lands looked first at me and then at Bedevere. “You indeed have honor. And I will accept your word. Your man may question the murderer.”

  I knew that I was about to shove a stubborn mule, but I had to take the risk. “And could I bother you not to disturb matters here until I have had time to study them? I guarantee you that if this man has truly killed Lord Doged, then I will prove it so and he may be punished. I am certain that the Rigotamos would make the same request of you if he were already here.” Never before had I taken such liberties with the truth. But I knew this: With Doged dead, his lands would quickly fall into open rebellion unless we moved swiftly to maintain control. The prospect of gold and the safety of our trading port here were paramount. And who knew what havoc the Saxons would try to wreak.

  “Do as you like,” she said after a long moment. “I did not love him, though I bear his child. Besides, the killer has asked for you.”

  “Your prisoner asked for me?”

  She finally turned and looked at me. “Well, not by name, but he screamed for the ‘one-armed scribe’ as he was tied up. You are the only one that I have ever seen.”

  Immediately, my mind flew like an arrow shot to Cilydd. If he was striving to avoid a prolonged war by assassinating Doged, I feared he had underestimated. Ysbail seemed as one who would and could hold on to her lands.

  A scuffle sounded at the door, and I turned to see the antechamber filled with servi and others. Among them was Gurdur, the man who could speak all languages. I motioned him into the room.

  “Gurdur, hurry to our camp and return with Bedevere and Ider. We must try to preserve some order to this or all will fall into chaos. As soon as Doged’s death is widely known, the various factions will begin summoning their troops. War will be inevitable.”

  With a quick nod, Gurdur disappeared into the crowd.

  I turned then to Ysbail. “A word, my lady?”

  “Speak.”

  “I pledged to serve your husband as he saw fit. Lord Arthur often appoints me his iudex pedaneous to investigate such things as this. I—”

  She stopped me with a hand. “I do not speak Latin nor understand it. Talk plainly.”

  “Call it an investigator, someone who studies these events and seeks the truth.”

  “Ha. The only truth you will seek is that which profits Arthur.”

  I stepped toward her, much closer than I should have. “You do not know me, my lady. Do not pretend you do. If I tell you I will seek the truth, that is what I will do, no matter where it goes.”

  For her part, she gave not a step but stared into my eyes with those unrelenting blue ones of hers. “If you do that, you may not like where it takes you.”

  “I am willing to hazard that.”

  She turned away swiftly then. “Do as you like, but we already have my husband’s murderer.” But halfway across the antechamber, she pivoted. “I am sending for my brother, Ysbadden, to assist me. Cross me and you will answer to him.”

  Again, Ysbail made to leave, but something she said earlier, something that had nearly escaped my notice, came rushing back. “You are with child?”

  For the first time in our short acquaintance, she smiled, and it brought a little warmth to her pale face. “I am.”

  My life was made of complications created by others. Well, and those I created for myself.

  “You are certain?”

  Ysbail looked at me with total disdain. “Yes, I am certain. Do not question me again or I will have you cast from the cliffs.” At that, she disappeared across into another chamber. For a new queen, she had taken to the role quickly.

  I gave a few more instructions to the servi and then went through the back passage. It opened onto the narrow lane between Doged’s hall and his kitchen. Two soldiers stood guard outside the kitchen door.

  Curious, I passed between the guards and looked into the kitchen, quiet now but for a single servus and a single torch. It would be yet another hour or so before they began to stir in preparation for the morning meal.

  The man seated on the floor, his hands tied above him to a post, looking completely miserable, could not have surprised me more.

  Mordred.

  And his words caused me to nearly burst out laughing.

  “Malgwyn! You must save me.”

  “My lord Mordred. How surprising to see you here.” In truth I was both surprised and confused, though I should have known that the story of his being held hostage by the Saxons could not have been true.

  “Cut these knots and release me.”

  I will confess to great pleasure at seeing him so disposed. I had long wished to see Mordred trussed up like a suckling pig and roasted on a spit. But I knew that the story wouldn’t be that simple.

  “Mordred, you know I cannot do that.” And I could not. But I was enjoying his discomfiture. Mordred’s eyes flicked between the door guards. I understood and asked that they withdraw, which they did reluctantly.

  “You are far away from home, Mordred. Aye, we have just received word that you are held hostage by the Saxons, and yet I find you here killing Doged.”

  His narrower face grew even narrower and anger marked every crevice. “Don’t be a fool, Malgwyn. You are smarter than that. My killing Doged would throw these always fractious lands into even more turmoil.”

  I squatted in one corner. “I am neither a fool nor an idiot. But I have little authority here, as you must be aware.”

  “The woman? She is but recently the sister of a mere bully, and he all but a latrunculus. She will have to have a nobleman to rule with her.”

  “Ysbadden is hardly just a bandit. If denied nobility, he will simply cut someone’s head off and take his lands. In this case, half of the work has been done.” I paused for a moment while I considered how much to tell Mordred. “The laws of this land are unclear on these matters. True, that a woman has never ruled alone, but none of our laws say she cannot. Were I you, I would be more concerned by my own fate.”

  I cannot lie. I was taking more than just a little pleasure at Mordred’s position, but the specter of Ysbadden taking over Doged’s lands, with the possibility of gold within them, was a nightmare. For that matter, as pleasant as he seemed, Cilydd was an unknown. And with the Saxon embassy here at such an opportune time, I could see any number of people who wished Doged dead. Of course, I had to ask the question—was this confluence
of events chance or planned?

  I did not know. And I did not like it. With Arthur occupied at Tyntagel, the whole matter was in a state of chaos. One thing I did know: Without Bedevere’s agreement, I was not about to let Mordred free of his captivity; indeed, I could not. This was not Castellum Arturius; this was not home.

  “Malgwyn,” Mordred began with a warning tone in his voice. “Now is not the time to settle our differences.”

  “It may not be,” I agreed, “but proving you innocent may not be that simple either. For the gods’ sake, Mordred, you were caught fleeing his chambers!”

  “You think I do not know that?” He turned his head away, the most honest move I had ever seen him make. “I went there to talk to him, not to kill him.”

  “Talk about what?”

  He turned back toward me then, squinting, and I could not tell if he was being honest or not. “I was attempting to negotiate a truce between him and Cilydd before a war began.”

  “A noble purpose. And he grew so frustrated that he stabbed himself in the chest?”

  “He was already dead.”

  “I was in the feasting hall, Mordred. I did not see you pass.”

  Again that shadow passed his face which made the truth hard to discern. “I entered from the rear. Doged and I had an understanding.”

  At that, I laughed aloud. “Mordred, you cheer me. Bedevere and I spoke to Doged not four hours before he was found dead, and he spoke of you as an enemy, not a favored ally.”

  Arthur’s cousin did not bother to argue; he simply shrugged. “I intended to press Doged to step down and allow Cilydd to take command. Your arrival was well known; I bribed a guard to let me in the rear entrance.” I sometimes thought that Mordred preferred lying to telling the truth.

  “But the rest is as I said it was,” he continued. “When I entered his chamber, he was already dead. Knowing what it would look like, I turned and ran. But Lady Ysbail was in the passageway, and the guard I had bribed blocked my path.”