Divine Sacrifice, The (11 page)

Now, we climbed the winding path that led to the summit, where signs of ongoing construction were plentiful. From all appearances, Lauhiir had laid into the project with a vengeance, and
building was furious on the south and east sides. A timber hall was rising at the same time that rough-cut stone and logs were forming a rampart around the entrance. On three sides, the approach to
the Tor was defended by steep slopes. Wisely, Lauhiir was allowing the Tor’s natural slope to act as a barrier and only building gateways where they were needed. The slope was so steep that a
handful of spearmen could hold off three times their number.

As we arrived at the temporary gate, I noticed a crew of metalworkers, hammering away at a makeshift hearth and another smelting tin from tin ore. A group of village folk carried big baskets and
lined up near the hearth before one of Lauhiir’s men. He would tip each basket over, eye the contents, and then count out a coin or two from a pouch next to him.

Tin was one of our great commodities, one the Romans had treasured and exploited. Our campaigns against the Saxons had kept us from reentering the tin trade. But Lauhiir’s commission from
the
consilium
dictated that he immediately begin further mining and smelting. Naturally, he would receive a share of the profits, as would Arthur and the other lords.

I remembered then the documents on metallurgy in Elafius’s cell. And Rhiannon’s revelation that Lauhiir had been conferring with the
monachus
. Could Elafius have been
engaged in some manner by Lauhiir to help with the tin mining? Could something have gone wrong in their relationship? Something so wrong that it called for Elafius’s death?

Shaking my head, I tried to drive the thoughts out. I was too ready to believe ill of Lauhiir, too prejudiced by my recent dealings with him. That trail lay too near the path I would wish it to
be. Such affairs were seldom resolved with the easy solution, a point I often made to my friend Kay.

As we passed through the gate, I saw Lauhiir talking with some workers and studying some designs. Despite his long fingers and hands, he was neither tall nor short. A large paunch pushed at his
tunic, and a faint sheen of sweat covered his face, giving him that oily appearance I would forever associate with him.

“Is that the best you can do?” Bedevere shouted. I snapped from my musings. Lauhiir’s guards had apparently given Arthur a sloppy, half-mocking salute, and Bedevere was
upbraiding them for it.

To my amazement, the pair of guards did not bother to respond. Indeed, they gave our little party their backs in the supreme sign of insolence. Then, suddenly, a tubby windstorm blew into their
midst, scattering them with the flat of his sword, laying both of them low.

Lauhiir jammed his sword back into its sheath and bowed majestically before Arthur. “Forgive them, my lord. They are young and ignorant. I welcome the Rigotamos to my new home.”

So, Lauhiir, who had once been one of Arthur’s most fierce critics, was going to play the subservient noble. This might prove to be an interesting trip after all.

Arthur dismounted, followed by Bedevere and myself. “I accept your hospitality, Lord Liguessac.”

And so began the obligatory bowing and scraping by Lauhiir. Bedevere and I followed in Arthur’s wake as he walked with the young lord inspecting the construction projects under way. At the
very peak of the Tor was the great watch fire, used to send signals on to Castellum Arturius. With the sun riding low in the sky, you could see the glow of the fire at Arthur’s watchtower far
to the south. In times of trouble, it would burn a deep red from some mixture of Merlin’s. He had also manufactured a concoction that would turn the flame a bluish-purple. All of these
mixtures were distributed to Arthur’s watching posts, and each of them had a specific purpose or message they conveyed.

On high ground at the east of the summit, a timber hall was taking shape. Down one slope were the gnarled branches of an old apple orchard. I suspected that Lauhiir had been burning some of the
wood from there, as I could smell its fragrant scent, hovering over the Tor.

The hearth had been built and three of the walls had been erected. To the south, already in use, were the metalworkers’ hearths. Lauhiir was very ambitious. Some five hearths were manned
by teams hard at work. Men manned the bellows, keeping the fire hot as other men, having pounded the tin ore into a powder, thence into balls by adding water, clay, and straw, were feeding the
balls into the fire. Once fired, the brittle remains would be broken open to reveal the smelted tin.

But in truth, we were less interested in the work being done than in Lauhiir’s demeanor. As Arthur had said on our trip from the castle, “Any fool can fortify the Tor. Even young
Owain couldn’t botch that job.” So, it was Lauhiir’s sentiments that we needed to measure. And I had the added task of judging his involvement in the death of Elafius.

For some reason, I did not feel strongly that he was involved. I did not know why, but the death of an ancient yet simple
monachus
seemed disconnected from the aims of a young,
ambitious lord. Having said that, I had misjudged such things before. No one could be excused from guilt in this affair. At least not yet.

At one point, as we made our circuit of the summit, I found an opportunity to begin probing. “How is the mining operation coming, my lord?”

“I have sent the word out that we would be paying for tin ore. Every family hereabouts has a pan for searching the streams,” he reminded us. “As you can see, we’ve begun
the process of smelting. It is not complicated, but it is time-consuming. Alas, I will miss the counsel and advice of the
monachus
Elafius. He made himself an expert on tin mining to help
me with my work.”

I raised my eyebrows. Either the news of the old monk’s death had traveled quickly—it was but a thousand yards from the abbey to the Tor after all—or Lauhiir knew much.
“In truth?”

“Aye.” The pudgy lord nodded glumly.

“You are well informed, my lord.”

Lauhiir shrugged. “Some of my soldiers told me. They had spent the night in the village and passed by the abbey on the way here. Elafius was very eager. Our process was organized by his
instruction.”

“A truly sad loss, then,” Arthur interjected. “I did not know that
monachi
were versed in such subjects.”

“He studied the documents at my behest,” Lauhiir replied hurriedly. Too hurriedly, I thought.

“What led you to him?”

“Why ask you?”

I shrugged. “No real reason, my lord. It just seems an odd coupling for such an enterprise. I knew Elafius fairly well from my days at Ynys-witrin, but I knew nothing of his interest in
metallurgy.”

Lauhiir considered this for a moment, stroking his beard with those long, long fingers. “Now that you ask the question, I suppose it was that new
monachus,
Gwilym, that first
directed me to Elafius.”

This was a new name to me. “A young
monachus
?”

Lauhiir laughed heartily. “No, a new arrival, but as old as the forest.” Then he leaned in conspiratorially. “ ’Tis Gwilym that has brought this visit by Patrick.
’Tis he who has been whispering Pelagianism among the brothers.”

Arthur, Bedevere, and I exchanged looks. Why had Coroticus not told us of this? We had questioned him directly about Pelagian influences, and yet he had not mentioned any adherents, even avoided
the issue.

Bedevere gave me a questioning look. I knew what he was thinking. Perhaps Coroticus had withheld this information, but what did Pelagianism have to do with the death of Elafius? ’Twas a
good question, and one that I did not have an answer to. But that a man such as Coroticus, he who had called me to this task, would hide anything, spoke volumes.

“Surely you knew this?” Lauhiir asked.

“Coroticus has fully briefed us on the situation at the abbey,” Arthur replied. “If you do not mind a further question, why did this Gwilym direct you to Elafius in this
matter?”

Now it was Lauhiir’s turn to shrug. “I think I mentioned at the evening meal one night that I needed help with the tin mining. Gwilym suggested Elafius as a tireless researcher and
learned man. The next day I visited with him and learned that the old
monachus
had been correct. He eagerly offered to help. I accepted his assistance.”

“Did Coroticus know of your arrangement?”

At this, Lauhiir became red faced, too much so, I thought. It was a simple question, and I thought it appropriate since Coroticus had charge of the abbey and all therein. “I do not
know,” he sputtered. “I did not feel the need to seek his permission.”

“Of course not,” Arthur said with a smile, defusing the growing argument in Lauhiir’s eye. I held further questions, knowing that Arthur wanted no squabble over authority.
Where a noble and an abbot were concerned, Arthur preferred to leave their relative positions ambiguous.

“Oh, Lord Liguessac?”

“Yes, Rigotamos.”

“Have you heard from Lord David lately?”

Lauhiir’s eyes grew wide, too wide, I thought. “No, my lord. Why would you ask?”

Arthur shrugged. “He sent word to me that he had reports of Scotti raiding north of here, and that he intended to send scouting parties to investigate. I just wondered if they had reached
this far south.”

“No, Rigotamos. I would invite you to dine with me, Rigotamos,” he said, changing the subject, “but until my hall is completed, I have been dining at the abbot’s table.
He has been very gracious.”

“Then we shall be dining with you after all. Coroticus plans a feast in honor of Patrick. It is my duty to attend.” Arthur said nothing without carefully considering his words,
especially in the presence of such as Lauhiir. By Arthur’s words I knew that he had no desire to dine with Patrick. And he cared not that Lauhiir knew.

We began to return to our horses when Arthur hesitated and turned back to our host. “Oh, I meant to ask you when the
consilium
might expect an accounting of the mining you have
accomplished to date? I saw a merchant ship at the old Roman port, from the far eastern provinces, I judged.”

Lauhiir’s face turned red again, but not from anger this time. Rather, his discomfiture came from embarrassment. “I, uh, well, yes, we have sold our initial shipment to a merchant
from Judea. I’m sure that I can have an accounting prepared before you depart for Castellum Arturius.”

“That will be satisfactory. You may have it delivered to Malgwyn.” Among my many tasks for Arthur was to keep track of all documents submitted for his, or the
consilium’
s, consideration.

At that, Lauhiir saluted, spun about and went back to his lair. Arthur, Bedevere, and myself trudged out the western gate where our horses were tied.

“Will we be returning to the castle tomorrow?” Bedevere asked.

Arthur paused and stroked his beard with a gloved hand. “No. Too much is amiss here. The dead
monachus,
his tie to Lauhiir, Patrick, Pelagianism, Coroticus’s deceptions. I
fear that we are needed, if for no other reason than to support our friend Malgwyn in this matter. As Rigotamos, I can take some of the burden from him in delicate matters. And should he need to
cross swords with Lauhiir, we can provide a barrier. By himself, Lauhiir might be more inclined to ignore him. With you and me at his side, Malgwyn will have an easier time navigating these murky
waters.”

I hated to admit that I needed Arthur, that I needed any man, but he was right. In his castle I operated under his protection. You would think that now that he was Rigotamos, the High K ing of
all the Britons, I could perform my duties throughout our lands, but such was not, and would never be, the case, I feared. While some lords paid Arthur the proper obeisance, others gave only
assurances that they would, then turned and did what they pleased.

“So, Malgwyn,” Bedevere began in a surprising moment of levity. “How does it feel to have the Rigotamos and a lord of the
consilium
in your service?”

“An obedient dog might serve me better,” I grumbled, struggling into the saddle.

“An obedient dog cannot condemn someone to beheading,” Arthur pointed out.

“True, but neither can a dog condemn me to beheading if I displease it.” A thought struck me. “My lord, how well do you know the young
monachus
Gildas?”

Arthur shook his shaggy head. “Not well. I know his family better. Aye, I was forced to kill one of his brothers, Huaill, for piracy in our waters. Their father, Caw, refuses to pay
obeisance to the
consilium
even yet.”

“Do you pay any heed to what he says?”

“Why should I? He is a child, spoiled by his father, disregarded by his brothers, who could only find a home with Coroticus, and then only because his father paid for it.”

“You are harsh in your judgment.”

“I am harsh only when it is deserved. He will scheme and connive and cause Coroticus unknown trouble. What he needs instead is a good spanking. Trust me, Malgwyn. Hear little of what
Gildas says and believe less. But you have had your experiences with his family.”

“Me?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Remember the upstart noble that tried to prevent me from taking up the sword?”

“The boy noble? Celyn?” Then I remembered.

“Aye! He is Gildas’s brother, the only member of that family that pays any allegiance to the
consilium,
but I suspect that he serves more as a spy for his father than as a
true lord. Why do you suffer him?” Sometimes, Arthur’s logic seemed as no logic at all.

“Ambrosius and I discussed him. In truth, Ambrosius believed that it was important to keep at least one channel of communication open to Caw. I did not and do not believe that we will
profit from it, but I bowed to the Rigotamos’s wish. Now, it is a deed done.” He stopped and ran a hand through his long hair. “To reverse it now would show disrespect to
Ambrosius.”

“Why care you for that?” My frown could not have been more severe. “Ambrosius is Rigotamos no longer. You”—and I grasped his arm with my hand—“You are
the Rigotamos. Celyn’s brother Huaill fought against you, forcing you to kill him. No other man would give heed to the same concerns that trouble you. Banish him from your court and worry
yourself no more.”