Divine Sacrifice, The (14 page)

I sat down and hung my head. “Rhiannon may be innocent. And she may not be. I do not yet have enough information to clear her or convict her.” I raised my head and focused my eyes on
Arthur and Guinevere. “But you both know that I will follow the evidence wherever it takes me. I did not especially care for Elafius when I lived at Ynys-witrin, but no man deserves to die
before his time. Death is too much a part of our lives as it is. And murder, to me, is a disturbance of the true order of life. Someone helping it along is an insult to that life.

“And mark this. I will be the one deciding who is to blame in this affair. Not Patrick. Not Lauhiir. Not Guinevere. Not Arthur.”

Arthur’s power seemed to rise up in his throat and threaten to choke him. But, with Guinevere’s hand on his shoulder, he swallowed deeply and nodded.

“You knew he was stubborn when you first went to him, Arthur,” Guinevere softly chided.

“Aye, he is stubborn. And carries himself as an unruly pup. But—”

“But,” Bedevere concluded, “he is a master at these things. Do I have to remind you?”

“Be of good cheer, Rigotamos,” I said after a moment. “At least your crown is not resting on this.”

That showed how little I understood about the powers at work in this matter.

I awoke the next morning, still as muddled in my thinking as I had been the night before. Bedevere was already up and about his business. I sat up and leaned my back against the
wall. Had I made a mistake in allying Patrick to my cause? He was most certainly a man of great biases. I had made the move almost in desperation. But such a move, once made, could not be
retracted.

With a shake of my head, I used my one hand to push myself to my feet. Self-pity was something that I thought I had put behind me. Obviously there was no cure for such a disease.

The sun had already risen in the east. I could smell food cooking in the kitchen building. A cock crowed somewhere in the distance. It was a lonely call, less a greeting to the new day than a
plaintive cry, one that sent a shiver of memory along my back.

My earlier sojourn at the abbey was a dark time in my history. The loss of my arm had seemed the last rung on a ladder that led only down. And I had blamed Arthur for leaving me alive when I had
nothing to live for. I closed my eyes and shook my shaggy old head. Falling into self-pity was a danger for me, an ever-present one. Merlin, my friend and companion of recent months, sometimes gave
me a concoction of valerian root to forestall these bouts of melancholy. It helped in some strange way, and Merlin took no small pleasure in that, as I was always teasing him about his
“cures.”

But in truth, the only cure for my inner doubts and fears was my daughter, Mariam. A smile lit my face as I pictured her bright features.

“You are the man Malgwyn?”

The voice startled me from my reverie. I looked to the door and saw a truly ancient
monachus,
his face as wrinkled as Merlin’s, his towering but spare frame clothed in the same
brown cloth sheltering his fellows.

“Do I know you?” I straightened and tried to place his face, but to no avail. He had not been among the brothers when I had lived with them.

He shook his head as a tired smile marked his lips. “No, our lives have not yet overlapped.” With a grace unexpected in one his age, he slid further into the room. “I have been
told that you seek the murderer of the
monachus
Elafius.”

I nodded. “And you are . . . ?”

“I am Gwilym.”

My eyebrows rose automatically.

“You have heard of me then.”

“Your name has been mentioned in my inquiries.” The sparkle in his eyes intrigued me. I had not expected him to present himself so readily. Indeed, a part of me half expected him to
be at the heart of whatever was yet unspoken in this affair. “I have been told that you are whispering Pelagianism in the community.”

Those lively eyes sparked more brightly. I guessed that he had not expected so direct a question. Ofttimes, I felt that we danced around too much, attempting politeness at the expense of
truth.

“You do not waste time.”

“I am not as young as I used to be. Wasting time is the privilege of the young. So,
do
you champion Pelagianism?”

“Might I sit? If you are old, then I am ancient.”

I motioned to a chair.

He moved slower than Patrick, but with just as much grace. “Yes, I have spoken in favor of Pelagianism. To say so causes little harm since you would have discovered it eventually anyway. I
would not call it ‘whispering,’ though. I made no secret of it.”

His candor brought a smile to my lips. Would that more of those I questioned were so forthright. “You know that Pelagianism has been denounced by the church fathers in Rome?”

“Of course,” he conceded, still wearing that same smile. “But that does not keep me from believing as I like.”

“Did you argue with Elafius?”

“Of course. Elafius was a strong opponent of Pelagianism.” He said that term as if it rolled strangely off his tongue.

I searched my mind, trying to remember what I could about Pelagianism. Something about free will and original sin. I had committed too many sins in my life to remember the first. But I had spent
enough days at the abbey to know that my sins were not the ones in question when it came to Pelagianism. He and Augustine were perpetually at odds. But even Augustine granted that Pelagius had been
a likable man, even a good man. He had disappeared when I was but a child, some said to the far eastern lands.

For me, this was so much idiocy. But I knew that religious men took such things seriously. Was it enough to spark a murder? I still could not fathom that. Especially the manner of
Elafius’s death. It was such a haphazard, clumsy affair. I believed that it had taken two people to kill the old
monachus
. At least. One to hold him down. One to pour the yew extract
in his mouth. But why go to so much trouble? And then breaking his neck. Obviously the manner of his death was important. But why? Was there something symbolic about the yew extract that I was not
seeing? Why not a simple sword? Why not a dagger across his throat?

And who stood to profit from the old
monachus
’s death? Murder was always about profit of some kind. It was always about gain.

“Do you have other questions?”

Startled, I realized that I had forgotten about Gwilym. I judged him to be about Patrick’s age, perhaps a bit older. It was odd for such an ancient
monachus
to arrive at the
abbey.

“Whence came you here?”

“Gaul,” he answered quickly, too quickly, I thought. Gaul. First Rhiannon and now Gwilym. I wondered.

“Were you acquainted with the new abbess in Gaul? You both arrived here about the same time.”

“I have known Rhiannon all of her life. Her father was a close friend of mine.”

“So you came from Braga as well.”

He shook his old, bald head. “I came originally from near unto Caermarthen as did Rhiannon’s father. But when the first colonies went to Brittany, we went as well. Our paths
diverged. He chose the life of a farmer and I chose service to God. Later, I returned to Braga and learned that Rhiannon was also serving God. She was offered the post here, and as I have no family
of my own, I came with her.”

“So you have spent your life in Gaul?”

“I have traveled much in my life. But it would seem that all those roads led only to my
patria,
the land of my birth. I find a certain comfort in that.”

“What say you of Rhiannon’s insistence on women serving in the divine sacrifice?” I doubted that she might still be involved in this affair, yet I worried that I was thinking
with my loins and not my brain.

Gwilym took a deep breath. “My understanding of the Christ and his teachings says that women should be prized as much as any man. Yea, there are yet manuscripts which say that the
Magdalene was a disciple, and the one most beloved by the Christ. If this be so, how can it then be said that He would have denied women a role in His faith?”

The one answer ready on my tongue was that women were a lesser sort, a weaker sort than men, but I had seen too much in my life to really believe that.

“Since you have traveled so widely and yet still hold views that Rome has long since denounced, can I presume that you knew Pelagius? Perhaps studied under him?”

He cocked his head. “What makes you think that?”

“Your continued belief in the teachings of Pelagius, in the face of the church’s denunciation, speaks to a personal loyalty.”

“You are indeed a perceptive man. Coroticus told me of this. Yes, in my youth I knew Pelagius, and it was my honor to accompany him on some of his travels.”

“But this is not something you have shared with the rest of the
monachi
.”

Gwilym smiled. “Do you read minds, Master Malgwyn?”

“No, but it would only make sense. To preach Pelagianism is one thing; to be known as a colleague of Pelagius is something else entirely.”

“You understand much.”

“Did you argue with Elafius?”

“I did. Many times since I arrived. He was most annoying.”

“How so?”

“Age usually teaches us how little we know. That is where true wisdom lies. Elafius thought he knew everything. He had no wisdom, only knowledge. Knowledge without the wisdom to use it
properly is dangerous.”

“Was Elafius dangerous?”

“Perhaps, to someone. But not to me. I thought him sad.”

“Did you see him the night he died?”

“Only at the meal. Then he went to his cell and I to mine.”

“Did he seem disturbed? Did he act differently than normal?” I felt, rather than knew, that Gwilym knew more of this affair than he was revealing.

The old
monachus
did not answer at once. He considered the question carefully. “He seemed distracted that evening, as if something occupied his mind. But he was a secretive man,
and he would not speak of it to me were he not so.”

“You did not like him.”

“I think I have said that.”

“I find this most frustrating, Gwilym.”

“And why is that, Master Malgwyn?”

“I have the feeling that everyone knows something they’re not telling me about this affair.”

“A conspiracy?”

“No, Brother Gwilym. I think everyone has a different bit of the story. But for whatever reason they are all being quiet. I fear there may be too many secrets for me to ferret out this
one.”

“It is said that Lord Arthur trusts you above all other men, trusts your judgment, your wisdom.”

“In some matters, perhaps. I have known the Rigotamos for many years, warred with him as one of his captains. You learn who you can trust in such times.”

“Then you will not want to disappoint him in this affair. It will prove unfortunate if you do.”

This was something new. While no one was offering much information, no one had yet hinted that Arthur was vulnerable in this matter. I believed until that moment that it was most probably bound
up in religion. That was one of the reasons I had turned to Patrick.

“Why say you this?” I inquired.

“Because nothing and no one is as it seems.”

“Including you?”

Those lively eyes sparkled at me. “Most especially me.”

I laughed then, but it was the laugh of a frustrated man. “Then how do you propose I proceed?”

“With equal measures of caution and suspicion, I advise. Know that the reason some will lie to you has nothing to do with your quest, it is to protect secrets of their own unrelated to
Elafius. I have lived many years, Master Malgwyn, and I have learned to discern the difference between truth tellers and liars. You will encounter few of the former and many of the
latter.”

“That is most discouraging.”

“Be that as it may, I sense from you a stubbornness that will not be swayed. This bodes well for your task.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“I speak as honestly as I dare.”

“And if everyone I question is as forthcoming as you, Arthur will be dead of old age and I not far behind him before I ever get to the root of this matter.”

Then the old
monachus
did something I did not expect. He reached out a wrinkled hand, touched my half-arm almost tenderly, and fixed his gaze on mine. “You have faced death, and
he did not make you tremble. I think he will have a hard time conquering you.”

I shrank back. “Are you a seer, or a madman?”

He laughed, drawing his hand back. “Neither, and both. But more than those things, I am a judge of men. Arthur chooses well in whom he places his faith.”

With a bewildered shake of my head, I realized that I had learned all I was going to discover here. Gwilym would keep his secrets a while longer. And I suspected that he had no hand in
Elafius’s death. I could not be certain, but I did not feel him strongly in that affair. “Go about your business, Gwilym. And I shall be about mine.”

“Gwilym! I am so glad that I have found you.” Coroticus had joined us.

The old
monachus
rose and bowed to the abbot, who looked strangely uncomfortable with what was, truly, his due from the
monachi
as their leader. “Yes, lord abbot, how may
I serve you?”