The Stolen Bride Page 9

  But now, the gods had delivered him to me. And I could not touch him. This was no favor of the gods. This was a curse.

  Yet I smiled also and willed the crimson from my face. “Ceawlin was once a visitor to Arthur’s seat.”

  Gurdur launched into a flurry of words in the guttural Saxon tongue.

  The milky-eyed Saxon smiled again, but this time with an edge. He looked to Gurdur and spoke.

  “He commends Arthur’s hospitality, but he says yours was somewhat lacking.”

  “Tell him that I disagree. We were very anxious for him to remain with us permanently.”

  When Gurdur translated this, the Saxon laid his head back and laughed deeply. With what sounded like a series of grunts and wheezes, Ceawlin spoke again to Gurdur.

  The man of languages seemed also adept in understanding those words not spoken. He frowned and cleared his throat. “Ceawlin says that he would welcome the chance to discuss that with you in less formal surroundings.”

  This time it was Bedevere who answered. “Tell him that we look forward to it.”

  Ceawlin did not wait for Gurdur’s translation and turned away quickly. I took that to mean that he understood more of our tongue than he would admit.

  I drew Bedevere to the side. “This makes a difference. We know that Ceawlin is one of the Saxons’ assassins. He is here and Doged is dead.”

  “How would he have gotten into the fort, or Doged’s chambers?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps he bribed a guard as Mordred claims to have done. Perhaps he was one of the many Dogeds running about last night. But I tell you this, Bedevere: I promise you that no matter what else transpires, that Saxon will not leave these lands alive.”

  I left Bedevere keeping an eye on the Saxons and went to find Ider. Almost immediately, a young boy that Ider had sent stopped me in the lane and led me to an old hut on the edge of the fort.

  “Malgwyn.” Ider stepped from the door. This was a rickety old hut. The walls had holes, and the thatch looked like it suffered from the plague. Inside were Sulien and Daron.

  Before I could speak, Daron ran to me, her hand over her mouth. “You have been wounded, master!”

  In that moment, in the dim light, she again looked so much like Gwyneth that I felt light-headed, dizzy.

  “I am fine. Ider,” I said, changing my focus and seeking some purchase in reality, “this will scarcely keep out the rain.”

  He smiled tightly. “Lady Ysbail said this would be good enough for us.”

  “She is such a caring hostess. Sulien, take Daron and find us wine and bread and cheese. Our guests may be hungry and I wish them to be honest with us.”

  Daron gave me an odd look, but Sulien, gently, pulled her out the door. I reached to pull the wooden door shut. One set of leather hinges popped free, and the door fell on my shoulder. More such hospitality and I would have need of Morgan ap Tud.

  * * *

  The men were sitting on the floor, playing at dice by the light of a single torch. At my entry, they scampered about, snatching up their coins. Something crackled on my skin, and I realized that I probably wore some of the boy’s blood. It was just as well. Few men kept secrets before a bloodied madman.

  “Who was stationed at the main gate?”

  Two men raised their hands; from the sleep weighing down their lids I believed them. I recognized the servus left with me in the great hall, and the guard who had captured Mordred. I needed others to speak to, but these would do for a start. I watched one of the guards adjust his fibula, holding his cloak in. It was a fine stone, an agaphite. I remembered then that I needed to send a patrol to Doged’s old seat and see what security there was at the mines.

  “You.” I pointed at Mordred’s captor. “How came you to capture the man behind your lord’s hall?”

  “I had stepped into the kitchen, my lord, for just a second, and when I came out two or three men were running from the rear door. I grabbed one.”

  “Three?”

  The man squinted. “Perhaps, master. It was late and dark. There was certainly more than one.”

  I drew him to the side, leaving Ider watching the others. “That,” I began, “is a pretty stone, expensive.”

  The guard smiled through rotten teeth. “I found it in the lane last eve. Bit of fortune, that.”

  He extended it in his hand and I took it.

  “Where were you when it was found?”

  “Between the kitchen block and the main gate, master.”

  By the gods. It sounded as if half of Britannia had wandered through the fort. No wonder Doged was dead. He must have been trampled by the crowd.

  We were interrupted then by Sulien and my “servus,” Daron. Apparently her minder had had a talk with her, and she behaved more like the slave she was supposed to be. They spread what food they’d found around the hut, and I gave them time to eat a little before I continued.

  “Could one of the men you chased have lost this brooch?”

  He shrugged nervously.

  “It is unusual. Have you ever seen another like it?” I needed to put him at ease.

  “Only two others. Lord Cilydd has one. I do not remember who had the other.…” He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I cannot recollect, but it was recently. No matter.”

  Cilydd again. While this stone could have come from the quarry at Doged’s seat, ships from Egypt traded with us, and such stones were found there as well.

  I questioned the others, but none was willing to admit that they had let Mordred in, or anyone else either. I released them finally, when I had drained them of what information I could, which was far too little.

  * * *

  “How is the Lady Igraine?”

  Arthur was not a happy man. The sun had set by the time he reached Trevelgue, and his escort had been challenged by Druce’s men. Much like I had done, Arthur sorted it out himself, though he succeeded without killing anyone.

  Ysbail had refused to greet Arthur personally, leaving the chore to one of Doged’s more faithful nobles, a man whose name I no longer recall. But she had ordered a large house made ready for the Rigotamos, and it was there that we met.

  “She is failing, but still difficult. She has already ordered Morgan’s beheading three times. He says that it is only a question of time. It may be tomorrow or a fortnight. Judging by her complaints about Morgan, I would say she has a little time left, but not much.” Arthur’s hair hung in wet strands about his face. The weather had not been kind, storming and blowing all the afternoon. He looked more like a drowned dog than a high king. Morgan had not been in his party, and I knew that Arthur had left the medicus to see to his mother. “What has happened here?”

  Bedevere and I quickly described all that had transpired. “In truth, Rigotamos, we have been much confused,” I conceded. “The situation grows more and more uncertain with each passing hour. We still await Ysbadden Penkawr, though I thought he would arrive before you. Until then, Ysbail is satisfied to let me investigate her husband’s death. But she is equally satisfied that Mordred is the killer. I fear only his death will satisfy her.”

  Arthur shook his head. “We cannot allow that.”

  “Even if he’s guilty?” I had already accepted this reality, but I could not resist chiding Arthur.

  Those quick eyes of his locked onto mine, but his voice was as gentle as I had ever heard it.

  “I cannot fight another rebellion so soon, and David and some of the others would cry for my head if I did not come to Mordred’s defense. And, quite honestly, I have nothing to purchase their loyalty with.”

  “Then Doged’s death is a double tragedy.” I explained how Doged had intended to transfer the mining rights to the consilium.

  “And he died before signing the conveyance?”

  “He did. And only Bedevere and I were present when he spoke of his wishes. I doubt that Ysbail would honor it even if it were signed.”

  “Malgwyn,” Arthur began. “Bedevere has told me of the boy yo
u killed. You have nothing to regret in that. His fortune was told when he took up arms with Druce. They killed one of my men. You avenged him. That is all that needs to be said.”

  I shook my head. “A man of my years and experience should control himself better.”

  “Well,” Arthur answered, “I find no fault in you. Now, tell me of Ysbail.”

  “She is, as you said, beautiful, but very demanding,” Bedevere began. “But she can be reasonable. When I offered our services to keep her safe, she accepted.”

  “After some thought,” I reminded him. “She is not a stupid woman; she is actually very clever. But she was not prepared for this turn of events, and she moves slowly, cautiously.”

  “That speaks well of her.”

  “Aye, caution is always more to be wished for,” I agreed. “But though she is cautious, she is unlearned in the ways of nobility. This is not Gwyneira, a girl groomed to be a queen from birth. She is the sister of a local bully, chosen by Doged for her beauty and youth and ability to provide heirs.”

  At that, Arthur nodded. “You are blunt, but correct. Have you any thought of who did kill Doged? Perhaps if we can do that service it will buy some goodwill.”

  “Do we care for her goodwill?” Bedevere asked. “She is but a woman and cannot rule by herself.”

  “That is not completely true. Just look at the Iceni queen, Boudicca,” I said. “She not only ruled after her husband’s death, but led troops into battle. I do not remember completely now, but I once read a manuscript at Ynys-witrin, a treatise on law, that gave a special name for women who ruled lands.”

  “He is right, Bedevere,” Arthur agreed. “My mother ruled the lands around Tyntagel for a time after her first husband, Gorlois, was killed.”

  “That was why I was counseling that we send for this monachus, Petrocus, to advise us. He is said to be quite learned and has the people’s trust as well.”

  “Send for him. It will raise the Church in the people’s eyes that we trust him with this. I have understood Doged’s reluctance to flaunt his belief in the Christ, but perhaps this is an opportunity. I have heard much of this Petrocus and would welcome the chance to meet him.” Arthur paused before continuing. “Do you have any idea who killed Doged?”

  I shook my head. Briefly, I explained about the many Dogeds tramping through the fort, about the manner of Doged’s death, and finally about the strange parchment we had found in the old lord’s chambers. “Who took it from my house, scraped it, and then sent it here I can only guess.”

  “This is unimportant,” Arthur said abruptly, his face becoming grim. “You will have more fortune discovering who was with Mordred. Forget about these alleged impostors.” He jumped to his feet and paced across the room. “You’ll find no answers there.”

  I was used to people attempting to channel my inquiries, especially Arthur, but I had never seen him so suddenly agitated. “I disagree, Arthur. I think it was most likely one of these impostors.” For once, I was not just being stubborn. It did seem most likely to me that an impostor had gained access and killed the old lord.

  Arthur spun about, grabbed me by the tunic, and jerked me to my feet. “You will forget these impostors! You will forget the parchment! Look elsewhere!”

  With that, he pushed me back and I fell against the wall. Arthur stormed from the room with a reddened face and the veins pumping angrily at his neck.

  Bedevere stared after him for a moment, but then he crossed the room and helped me to my feet. “Malgwyn, I do not know what to say. I have never seen him in such a fury.”

  I brushed my tunic off. “Nor have I.”

  “What will you do now? What course will you pursue?”

  Staring long and hard at the doorway through which Arthur had disappeared, I gritted my teeth. “I will do what I always do. I will seek out the truth, no matter where it leads. And Arthur should prepare himself for that.”

  With that, I too stormed out of the room, the sound of Bedevere yelling my name behind me, only this time I was headed for Doged’s kitchen.

  * * *

  “Soon, you will no longer concern me.”

  Mordred looked even more miserable than he had the night before. Ysbail’s men had moved him to a stake next to a pit for kitchen trash. The putrid smell of rotting meat filled the air, and it looked as if the servi had been careless about throwing the table scraps away; some of them hung off of Mordred.

  “I fear that you have disappointed me, Malgwyn. You, the great finder of truth.” Mordred was trying to be his usual self, but the strip of yellow-white chicken skin across his shoulder lessened the sting of his words.

  “I will tell you this only once. Arthur is here and has agreed to let you be executed for Doged’s death.” Lying to Mordred caused me no pain. He had lied to me many times. “I still have until Ysbadden Penkawr arrives to find the killer, but he should be here any moment; indeed he may be entering the fort even as we speak. The guard who caught you claims that you had companions. Who were they?”

  His hands were tied tightly together by the wrists; I saw how the leather bit into his flesh. The other end of the thongs was securely anchored to the stake. Mordred wanted to brush the chicken from his shoulder, but, try as he might, he could not reach it.

  His shoulders sagged and his head drooped. “I do not believe you. Arthur has not the strength to allow my death. He knows that it would stir up an entire region against the consilium.”

  “He has no choice, Mordred. You were caught fleeing Doged’s chamber. It is well known that you fomented rebellion against Doged here two years past. Ysbail has no love for the consilium and Ysbadden, her brother, has even less. In willingly giving you up to the sword’s edge, Arthur may yet gain some goodwill. You are giving me nothing to aid your cause. Now, will you tell me who your companions were? Or shall I tell Arthur to sacrifice you for the sake of the consilium?”

  “If I am to rely on their help, I am doomed either way.”

  I scarce recognized Mordred’s voice then. It held a tone of defeat such as I had never heard before. “Who? Who were they?”

  “Two of the Saxons,” he mumbled, his voice so low that I had to bend over him to hear, catching a whiff of rotting fish as I did. “They forced me to bring them and to gain them entrance to Doged, to plead with him, to bribe him; I swear I do not know what their plan was.”

  “So you were held hostage?”

  Mordred turned his head and did not speak.

  “I must know everything.”

  “I was returning from David’s lands to my own,” he said finally, grudgingly it seemed. “It was just a small escort, five men and myself. We made camp for the night, drank a good bit of mead. When I awoke, the men were dead and I was held by a Saxon raiding party, from the sea.”

  “Why were you not killed as well?”

  “Your friend was among them.”

  “What friend?” I asked, though I knew of whom he spoke.

  “Ceawlin, the smoky-eyed Saxon that almost killed your child. He remembered me from Castellum Arturius, and he told his fellows that I could be of value to them.”

  Suddenly it all became clear. “So you bribed the guards at the gate as well?”

  “They came much cheaper than the one at Doged’s hall, and they were more faithful to the bargain,” Mordred answered bitterly, spitting on the trash heap.

  “How so?”

  “Do not be so naïve, Malgwyn. The guard that gave us entry to Doged’s private chambers was the same man who captured me as we fled.”

  “And Doged was already dead when you entered?”

  Mordred nodded. “As we were entering the rear door, a man rushed past us.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “We could not see him. He kept his cloak about his face, but I remember the guard saying something about the man not getting his way.”

  “Mordred, I do not know whether to believe you or not. How do I know that you were not a willing participant in all of this? I still believe
that you allowed the Saxons into our territory to kill Ambrosius.”

  “Believe what you will, but I did not kill Doged. And neither did the Saxons with me.”

  I had known Mordred for more years than I could remember, and I had never trusted him. But this time, the rumbling in my stomach told me he was innocent. I had already determined this, but I needed to hear it again. “Did you see anyone about dressed as Doged?”

  Mordred frowned and cocked his head. “No. Why would someone dress as Doged?”

  The tone of his voice, the tilt of his head, the question in his eyes, all told me that he was truly confused. I noticed something else about Mordred at that moment. His hands tied tightly together, trash from Doged’s kitchen hanging from his shoulders like some sort of rancid cloak, Mordred looked nearly bereft of hope.

  “Take heart, Mordred. I will do my best to keep the sword from your neck. I prefer to save that pleasure for myself.”

  He glanced at me with dead eyes. “I am not sure that even you can get me out of this mess. What will you do now?”

  “Find the guard you bribed. If anyone knows the name of the earlier visitor, it will be him.” I paused. “Mordred, I am going to send one of Bedevere’s men to stay with you. He will have instructions to find me should Ysbail change her mind.”

  For the first time, in all the years that I had known him, Mordred blessed me with a sincere look of gratitude. I just shook my head and lumbered off in search of the guard.

  And I found him, behind Doged’s hall, but he would be doing no more talking. His throat had been slit.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I do not know why I was surprised. Nothing that had happened since our arrival at Trevelgue had made sense. But this did. Our pliable guard was a key player in all of this. And now I stood over him, sprawled in the moon shadows outside Doged’s hall, his cut throat looking for all the world like a second mouth, grinning, the blood, black in the night, glistening with the flickering torches in the lane.