The Beloved Dead Page 7

  Looking around, I saw a soldier I knew, one who had fought with us in the wars and had been at the White Mount. With a jerk of my head, I called him forward from the ranks. “Take a message to the Rigotamos. Tell him this, ‘Druid. White Mount. Ynys-witrin.’ Do you understand?”

  He was a likely enough man, with good, strong features and a seasoned eye. The nod came swiftly and a quick glance around made it firmer still as he saw and recognized Wynn. “As you command, master,” and he was off without bothering to seek Bedevere’s approval.

  “What is that man’s name?” I asked Bedevere as he rode up next to me.

  “Aidan. Where have you sent him?”

  I jerked my head back and to the left. Bedevere’s raised eyebrows told me all.

  “To Arthur?”

  “It may be a small thing, but he should know. We have had our troubles with Druids in the past, and this one cursed him.”

  “Agreed.”

  We continued along in silence for a bit, following the road as it turned and headed toward Aquae Sulis, the only sounds those of the leather and chains of our saddles and the wagon.

  “You are no friend of the Druids,” Bedevere began, “and no friend of the Christ. In what do you believe, Malgwyn?”

  I was silent for a moment. It was a question that had troubled me greatly of late. In truth, I was not certain. I knew only that I had a great yearning for something to believe in. The Druids were wise men, and there was much to be said for their philosophy. But I could conceive of no god or gods that would demand human sacrifice for their pleasure. Yet the Christ was something as elusive as the morning mist that was here and there and everywhere, but slipped through your grasp like river eels. And though I was not a well-educated man, I knew that the Christ represented God’s gift to man and that He had been sacrificed, but had arisen. This troubled me too.

  “Malgwyn?”

  “It is not an easy question, Bedevere. Nor one that I am yet prepared to answer. I respect the Christ and those beliefs, for if believing in the Christ makes men like you and Arthur and Kay, then it is truly good. But, as the Druids do, I believe that there is something godly in the fields and forests and wind and rain and sun. Yet I tell you frankly that their practice of sacrificing humans, of the Wicker Man, chills my blood. I have seen too much killing on the battlefield to appreciate gods who demand it to stay in their good graces.”

  “The Christ is about faith, Malgwyn. And faith is something that you can neither see nor hear nor feel. It is in your heart.”

  As time had passed, I had grown much closer to Bedevere. Kay had always been my favorite, but his temper and his youth would forever separate us. He was a pleasant companion, but Bedevere was not just a friend, but a seasoned partner, one whose eye caught things that I had not seen and whose mind grasped connections that eluded other men.

  As we rode along, I saw that Morgan ap Tud was riding apart from the rest. I still felt bad for being so sharp with him at the White Mount, so I nudged my horse up to join him.

  “Arthur is not letting you stay in one place long,” I offered.

  Morgan turned to see me. “Malgwyn! It appears neither of us gets to stay in one place.”

  “I would ask you how you are settling in, but you’ve hardly had a chance.”

  He nodded. “It is difficult. I spent many years studying with my teacher, Melus. I knew everyone within a day’s ride, intimately. And now…”

  “Fear not, Morgan. Once the issue of Arthur’s marriage is settled, you will have time to make friends among us.”

  “When Lord David recommended me to the post, I was so honored that I’m afraid I did not consider everything.”

  “You are close to Lord David?” I tried to pose the question as innocently as possible.

  Morgan beamed. “Yes, our families have been friends for years. My father was one of David’s lieutenants in his younger days.”

  “Yet you have become a medicus.”

  The little physician dropped his head. “I was never very good with the tools of war, but I have always been bright and curious. ’Twas Lord David himself who suggested the healing arts. He always said that there were many ways to serve.”

  “Indeed.”

  I rode on a few minutes later. With such close connections to David, Morgan would bear watching.

  * * *

  We had been some three hours on the road, if it could be called that. This was no Roman road, built to last a thousand years, layered for strength and evenness. This was more a wide path, uneven, muddy, and rough on our wagons, which bounced and rumbled along. Cerdic’s wagon had already become mired twice, requiring our soldiers to dismount and lift it onto drier ground.

  I thought that is what had happened again, as I heard cries behind us and the creaking and rattling of our column as it stopped. Turning in my saddle, I saw a sight that made me laugh out loud.

  Approaching us were the three soldiers Bedevere had sent in search of my friend Gareth, the thief. But they had been disarmed, their arms and hands bound, and their mounts taken. Herding them along from behind was Gareth, atop the best of the horses, with a dozen of his men as escort.

  “Malgwyn, I am insulted!”

  The entire column was laughing now at the soldiers’ predicament, even Bedevere, who did not often laugh.

  “And why is that, Master Gareth?”

  “You sent only three men to capture me? Surely you knew that my head has a much higher value and only three men were doomed to fail. Besides, all you had to do was ask.”

  “Well, Gareth, they were sent to invite you, not arrest you.”

  The little bandit cocked his head to the side and placed his hand on his dirty red tunic. “Oh! They should have made that clear. Really, Lord Bedevere, you must teach your men more manners. They were very impolite.”

  Bedevere was laughing out loud now. He and I knew things about Gareth’s service to Arthur that others did not. And Gareth was allowed much liberty. Ider was confused, but Coroticus was not. He knew something of Gareth’s worth. Indeed, Gareth yet stood accused of a murder that he did not commit, accused by the abbot.

  With much shouting and many jests from their comrades, the three soldiers were released. We all dismounted, and Bedevere and I met with Gareth away from the others. I no longer trusted Coroticus in many things, and the safety of our party was one.

  We squatted in a clearing just off the road, the three of us—Bedevere, me, and Gareth.

  “How are you, Malgwyn? Much time has passed since we last met.”

  “I am sorry for Lynnfann, Gareth. He was a true friend and served me well.”

  A dark cloud covered Gareth’s face. “One day, I would have you tell me of his end.”

  “I will. He died with honor, though his killing was not honorable.” During the hours leading up to the rebellion, I had conscripted Lynnfann to do some spying for me. He was accomplished in slipping in and out of places unseen. But he had been captured by the rebels, as was I, and it was only his quick thinking that spared my neck. Later, during our imprisonment, he had met his end under torture, loyal to me to the last.

  Gareth nodded. “What need have you of me? I have purses to lift this day.” Ever the bandit.

  “We need some of your men to cover our flanks.”

  “You have three troop. Send one to each flank and keep one in your escort.”

  “We do not want them seen,” Bedevere explained. “We need to know if anyone follows or approaches, but it is best that such a man not know that he has been spotted.”

  “You want spies.”

  “Call them what you will. Our need is still the same.”

  Gareth’s manner was worrying. I knew that he would mourn the death of Lynnfann, and I hoped that it would not damage our friendship, but I seemed to have been wrong.

  “It will cost you. I am not a wealthy man who gives favors for free.”

  Bedevere and I exchanged looks. How foolish we had been! “How much?”

  “Lynnf
ann had a wife and child. The Rigotamos must pledge to ensure their feeding and upkeep. From what I know of his last days, he was of some service to Arthur. Let his family be cared for.”

  A wife and child? I had never known. But I was not empowered to grant such a favor. Only Arthur himself could do so.

  “It is done.” Bedevere surprised me with the speed and firmness of his answer. “And if Arthur objects, then I will make them part of my household. I know enough of Lynnfann’s sacrifice to honor him thus.” He offered his hand to Gareth who took it in his own, more delicate, fingers.

  “I have heard it said that the great Bedevere has no heart but much honor. I am glad to see that such was only half right. I would have granted the favor for Malgwyn’s sake alone, but Lynnfann’s family deserves better than I can give them. And, perhaps, his son will not have to steal to scrape out a living.”

  “Then you may rest easy.”

  I reached across and tousled Gareth’s hair, at which his somber face finally broke into a major grin. “Will that suit you, you thief?”

  “Quite well. ’Tis good to see you again, Malgwyn. You’ve stayed away too long.”

  “Arthur keeps me busy. And I have little time for outlaws like you.”

  Gareth stood and motioned for one of his men. “My lord,” he addressed Bedevere, “tell this one where and how you wish my lads to be used.”

  With that Bedevere took Gareth’s man aside, as Gareth and I eased to the edge of the clearing. “Tell me of Lynnfann’s death.”

  So I told him the whole tale, a story that I have told elsewhere and will not repeat here. Suffice it to say that much of Arthur’s success in defeating the rebellion raised by Teilo, Dochu, and Lauhiir could be credited to Lynnfann’s deeds. I left nothing out and Gareth listened with great interest.

  “I never told you this, but Lynnfann was my brother’s son. My brother is long dead, and I had taken the task of raising him. It was a sad day when I learned he had been killed.”

  My face blazed red in shame. I had never known that, and because of my own situation with Mariam and my dead brother Cuneglas, I would have flown like the wind to tell Gareth immediately of the boy’s death.

  He must have read my thoughts, for he grasped my shoulder. “I do not blame you for his death. I am certain you did all you could. But let us swear together that, one day, we will truly avenge his killing.”

  “On that, you have my word, Master Gareth.”

  We rejoined the rest and all remounted our horses. Gareth reined his mount, jumping and neighing, to our side. “Now, you unseemly lot, keep Aircol’s daughter safe on your return.”

  Our mouths agape, we watched the little bandit ride off, singing some old song. “How does he know about Aircol?” Bedevere asked, more amazed than I had ever seen him.

  I shrugged. “I am sure I do not want to know how.”

  Our flanks now protected by Gareth’s men, we proceeded on our journey. The roads and the weather, and any trouble we might encounter, could easily stretch our one week journey into two. The cloudy, dark day matched my mood, and I considered it an ill omen, not the way you want to start an important task.

  * * *

  At dusk, as we made our camp, properly this time with the soldiers preparing a hastily dug ditch and bank, I wondered at their stamina. They were not Roman soldiers, of whom I had heard so much during my life. Roman soldiers, my old father had said, could march all morning, battle all the afternoon, and build a proper fort by sunset. I thought he stretched the truth a bit, but I had seen the ruins of Roman forts. They covered our landscape, it seemed, almost as pestilentially as their villas. And I knew that, in the north, some were sturdy and strong enough to be used yet by chieftains there, nobles of those tribes.

  All of us had at least a little Roman in our blood, an officer here, a common soldier there. They had been among us too long not to have left their mark. We, here, in the far western lands, were less tainted by their blood, but Arthur, Ambrosius Aurelianus, Guinevere all had Romans in their ancestry. My father said that even we were descended from a Roman soldier named Pantera, long, long ago.

  But, much to Arthur’s chagrin, our soldiers did not have the discipline that legend assigned to the men of Julius Caesar. He tried, and to an extent, he succeeded. And that was why we had been successful against the Saxons. But with the Saxon armies at bay for the moment, our men were beginning to resent the discipline on which Arthur relied.

  Bedevere, Merlin, and I shared a campfire near the center of our enclosure. Coroticus and Ider had their own, served by a pair of slaves from Melwas, I presumed, as I did not recognize them from my days at the abbey. Cerdic and Talorc kept trudging back and forth between the wagon and the fire, grumbling about this thing or that which they had forgotten to pack. The soldiers, now preparing their own fires, were grumbling, too. Only one troop was fresh. The other two had made the journey to the White Mount with us. They were Arthur’s sharpest troops and he had wanted to make the best impression on Aircol, so no rest for them.

  A screech owl cried in alarm off in the forest. Many considered it an ill omen, but I liked it. After all, there was much in the world to be alarmed about, but the cry of the owl meant I was home and so I found comfort in it. On this night, though, it reminded me of another owl, crying into the darkness as I lay on the hard ground. But it had not been an owl, rather the piteous cry of a mother, wailing over the body of her dead daughter. It was a memory I would have eagerly wished on another.

  Our supper was boiled beef, leeks, and cabbage, not a pretty meal, but filling. Talorc had just taken our platters away when one of the soldiers posted on guard appeared at our fire with a prisoner in tow.

  “Who is this that you have dragged into our midst?” Merlin was grumpy, aggravated that his bed must wait.

  “I am sorry, my lord. But he insisted that he see Master Malgwyn,” the guard apologized.

  The prisoner wore a faded, ragged tunic and seemed drunk, but I had spent too many years in that state not to recognize an act when I saw one. “Go back to your post. We will deal with this one.”

  As soon as the soldier was out of hearing, I turned to the drunk. “You are one of Gareth’s men, but I do not remember your name.”

  “No need,” he said, straightening himself. “I bring you word.”

  “Already. ’Tis only been a few hours.”

  He shrugged. “We were told to be on the lookout for any strange ones following you or coming near to your party.”

  “Aye,” Bedevere agreed. “You were.”

  The thief pointed to the west. “Not a ten-minute walk over that way is a single traveler. He seems to pace himself with your party, and as soon as you stopped for the night, so did he.”

  “A single man?” Why would a single man follow us? “Do you know him? What lord does he serve?”

  Gareth’s man grinned. “He serves no lord, Master. He is a Druid priest. I have seen him about Ynys-witrin of late, supping with Melwas and his men.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wynn! Would that Druid never go away? I was beginning to wish that Arthur had run him through on the road near Londinium. It seemed that that would have solved a great many problems. First, he tries to foment discontent among the people at Londinium. Then, he curses Arthur. Later, he appears at the side of a lord suspected of no good. Now, he was found following our party at a distance!

  “Shall I kill him?” Gareth’s man said it simply and plainly. Bedevere and I exchanged looks. No matter how tempted we were, this was not something either of us was prepared to order. Bedevere believed in the Christ and had no love for Druids, but I did not think he would countenance killing this one. In truth, other than the insult to Arthur, we had no reason. Besides, alive he might be a source of information. Dead, he would be no good at all.

  “No. Leave him be,” Bedevere ordered. “But watch him closely, and if he seems about to do some harm to us, dispatch him. Otherwise, just keep us informed on what he does and who, if anyone, he me
ets or talks to.” He looked then to me and Merlin for confirmation. We each nodded.

  “Go then. Be vigilant.”

  And, much like my old friend Lynnfann, he disappeared as though he had never been there.

  “What do you make of this?” I asked Merlin, who knew far more about the ways of Druids than I.

  “This does not smell of Druid practice to me. Something else is at work here,” he judged. “The Druids of my acquaintance have been, generally, honorable men, not conspirators and plotters.”

  “How so?”

  Merlin leaned back on his cloak, propping his old skinny body up on an elbow. “Druids do not like this new religion. It denies the very basis of their beliefs, and it replaces them as the men of the most importance in society. I have heard it told that Julius Caesar feared the Druids because of the sway they held over the people, as religious leaders and as the holders of ancient laws and rituals.

  “But in reality, it has not been the Christ who has challenged the Druids for power, but, like Caesar did, the lords. Belief in the Christ has been one of the ways they have stolen from the Druids. Lords are generally about power, wealth, and territory. As this religion gains converts it will gain lands and power. The lords who at least appear to support it will gain as well. What Wynn may be doing is attempting to make converts among the lords, whose military power would make his order’s standing stronger.”

  Something was missing in his recitation. “I do not disagree with you, Merlin. But what of their beliefs, their faith? What of the Christ? Of the divine sacrifice? What of the Druid’s beliefs, their gods and rituals and festivals?”

  Merlin smiled an old man’s smile of jagged teeth. “Except for such as Arthur and Ambrosius and our friend here, Bedevere, the truth of religion is unimportant to lords, only how they can use it to consolidate their positions, to increase the heft of their purse.

  “The Druids I have known relished their position, their role in society. They held themselves above petty matters. This Druid does not.” Merlin paused. “And I tell you, Malgwyn, if the Druids have turned themselves to conspiracy and power, we are in for more of a challenge than the Saxons ever posed.”