Divine Sacrifice, The (9 page)

“We are here, my lord,” the tallest of the trio said.

Arthur barely glanced at them. He was in deep thought about something.

“My lord?” The boy obviously did not know his place.

Finally, after a few more silent seconds, Arthur waved a hand at them. “Leave the other men here to serve me. You three go quietly to the women’s community and inquire as to
Rhiannon, the abbess. When you find her, take her into custody, politely. Bring her to me here. If I hear that you have harmed her in any way, you will find no sanctuary from me. Am I
understood?”

All three swiftly nodded.

“Then go.”

They saluted after the Roman fashion and left.

“What is it, Arthur?” Something was troubling him, and since only he, myself, Bedevere, and Coroticus were there, I could hazard being so familiar.

He turned and stared at the abbot with those dark, piercing eyes of his. “You lied to Patrick, old friend. I have heard you argue, hide, misdirect, but I have never heard you lie before,
and you do not do it well. Whatever is happening here does not bode well for you, or for Ynys-witrin. Do not let the abbey’s safety depend upon your lies. Lauhiir is not as I am. If he senses
weakness, he will exploit it and most fiercely.” Arthur surprised me. He gave voice to the very thoughts I entertained.

For the first time in all the years I had known Coroticus, he found no words to answer Arthur. He hid his chiseled features by dropping his head down into his brown robes.

Arthur jerked his head at Bedevere, signaling him to go outside and take charge of the escort.

Coroticus hurried after the burly soldier, murmuring something about seeing to Elafius’s burial. Gildas, standing quietly in a corner, started to say something, thought better of it and
followed the abbot out.

“Tread carefully here, Malgwyn. This story seems to have its share of twists and turns. If this woman, Rhiannon, is responsible, our problems may just be beginning.”

“With the church?”

“And others.” Then, after that cryptic pronouncement, Arthur swept from the great hall, leaving me alone.

With nothing to do until the woman was taken into custody, I made for the kitchen to see if any scraps could be found.

One thing that could be said of Coroticus is that he did not cheat his guests on food. Nor did he pay much attention to custom. By tradition,
monachi
were not allowed
to eat the flesh of any animal that walked on four feet. But, since the abbot entertained distinguished guests, I found servants preparing pork and lamb for the evening meal. They cooked the meat
on an iron spit, hung above a large stone, a hollow carved from its center where wood was kept burning. The meat popped and sizzled and filled the kitchen with tantalizing smells that made my
hunger all the more real.

On a sturdy wooden table, I found some cheese and bread and eagerly ate. The servants paid me no mind. First, in my crimson tunic, they knew I was part of the Rigotamos’s party. Second,
some of the older servants remembered me from my long stay some years before.

As I cast about for some wine to wash down the food, one of the older servants, a man named Deiniol, approached me.

“Malgwyn. It is good to see you again. You do not visit often enough.”

“I have little reason to wander this way now that I serve Arthur, and I have no need of religion.” Before serving as Arthur’s counselor, I had scratched out a living copying
manuscripts for the abbot. It was while recovering from the wounds that cost my arm that I learned from the
monachi
how to write.

“You heard about old Elafius?”

“Aye, that’s one reason I am here.”

“It had to be that woman, Rhiannon.” Obviously, word of my discovery that Elafius was poisoned had spread quickly. Deiniol did not hide his distaste for the lady. I was becoming very
intrigued. She had only been at Ynys-witrin for two or three moons. A short time to become so disliked.

“Why say you so?”

“They argued most fiercely, Malgwyn. Every day it seemed, Elafius and Rhiannon found themselves in another argument.”

“What, exactly, did they argue about?”

“The divine sacrifice. Women in the church. Rhiannon has very strong opinions, as did Elafius. They argued last night in the great hall. Patrick had not yet arrived, but Elafius boasted
that he had sent for him and expected him at any moment.”

That was something, I thought, Rhiannon would not welcome. Patrick was a traditionalist. As for myself, I did not believe it mattered who served the divine sacrifice, as they called the ritual
that symbolized the Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross. Aye, there was alchemy involved in that ritual. Once, I heard Coroticus and others argue over whether it was really wine and bread or
changed miraculously into the body of the Christ. I am a simple man, and could not grasp their meaning, but it sounded as outlandish as some of the beliefs of the Druids.

“Could she have killed him, old friend?”

Deiniol thought for a moment. He pursed his lips and a bit of cheese clinging to one lip fell to the ground. “Only if it was poison, Malgwyn. She is not the kind to take a man by the
throat. Aye, she is strong, but that calls for a cruelty that I do not think she possesses. And Elafius was stouter than he would appear. That she would wish him dead, yes. That she could choke the
life from him, I doubt.”

I thanked Deiniol for his thoughts, and stole away with some bread and cheese, wandering from the kitchen out toward the old church. A pair of the
monachi
were digging Elafius’s
grave near the church, and I found myself drawn to the site.

Taking refuge beneath a tree to the south, I ate my food and watched quietly as they turned the sod. Few men were buried on the battlefield, and that is where I had seen most of the dead in my
life. Their carcasses rotted, glutting the ravens, until nothing was left but bones. But at least Elafius would have the dignity of a burial, a Christian burial.

Such burial practices had changed, aye, even in my lifetime. In times past, we worried not about what direction we buried the dead, but now those who followed the Christ insisted that the bodies
be buried facing the rising sun. What difference that made, I do not pretend to know. But Coroticus was adamant about it.

So, Elafius was dead of a broken neck. Of that I was certain. But why the yew extract? Was his neck broken accidentally? These “whys” were the only questions left to be answered. But
they were large questions. Major questions. Certainly he did not drink the extract by himself. Marks on his body indicated that someone had held him and forced him. Who? To that question, I could
not find an answer. I did not yet know the woman Rhiannon. So, I could not say as yet whether she could have done this deed. And the silver
denarius,
where none should have been? That was
a question too.

Whoever killed Elafius also had searched his belongings. That did not seem like the actions of a woman angered to murder by religious beliefs. That fact spoke of someone who knew what they were
looking for, and it was something specific. I tried to recall those manuscripts flung about—treatises on herbs, questions of theology, metallurgy. Just an assortment you might expect to find
in the cell of a
monachus
who worked in the scriptorium.

The food filled my belly nicely, and I turned from the problem with Elafius to other concerns. Patrick’s inquiry was likely to last some time. He was a strong man, strong in his beliefs.
If he found this Pelagianism thing roosting hereabouts, he would cut it out as one would cut out an arrow. He would not care who else was cut in the process.

Though I had spent many months at Ynys-witrin, healing from my wounds, I learned little of the Christ and this religion. It was a strange faith, anchored in belief in a man said to be the son of
God. Coroticus preached that to believe in the Christ was to be granted life eternal. Somehow, I was not sure that was truly a reward. Life had been difficult at the best of times. An eternity of
that seemed more curse than blessing.

I shook my head to clear it. Such things were beyond my ken. My chore was to focus on Elafius, to discover what mischief had been done to him. And to ferret out what it all portended for the
abbey and Arthur’s domain. Those things, and not the fate of poor Pelagius, were my problem.

Brushing bread crumbs from my beard, I rose as the
monachi
finished digging Elafius’s grave. My belly was not full, but it was eased. At that moment, I wished that it were my
head, not my stomach, that found comfort.

“Malgwyn!”

I looked up to see Ider racing across the burying place.

“Malgwyn, the soldiers have returned with Rhiannon. She has been taken to Coroticus’s hall. Three of her women fought with us and tried to stop us. We took them as well.”

“We?”

“Well,” the young
monachus
said with a red face, “I tried to help as best I could.”

“I’m sure you did.” From the sounds of it, Arthur’s orders had not been strictly followed. If Ider were correct, they were not quiet at all. All of Ynys-witrin must know
of it now.

I rubbed my forehead with my one hand wearily. Nothing seemed to be going right. And we had yet to visit the renowned Lord Lauhiir, a task that thrilled me not. First things first, I thought.
Better to confront the lady without Patrick than to hear her story for the first time with his interference.

On any other day, I might have spent my morning playing with my daughter, Mariam, and taking my noon meal with my dead brother’s wife, Ygerne. She and I had become good friends in the
months since his death. I had begun to wish that I had found her before my brother, but such was not to be. I was old and one-armed, not fit for a woman as good as Ygerne. Of that much I was
certain.

But instead of the simple pleasures of home, I found myself following after Arthur and straightening out messes.

I heard the horses’ hooves before I looked up and saw them.

Soldiers, in purple tunics, two riding abreast. Their hair was long and flowing, sweeping behind them as they bore straight down on me.

Stopping dead in my tracks, I watched as they paid no attention to my crimson tunic, sign of my service to the Rigotamos. Only my quick feet took me from their path as they gave no ground. I
stumbled and fell to my knees, scraping one on a stone and covering my knee in mud.

“Out of the way!” one of them shouted, already past me. They pulled their horses up short in front of the old church.

Heat radiated up my neck and my eyes grew wide in anger. As they dismounted, I took a stone the size of my hand and hefted it. The pair was laughing and talking, their backs to me. With a skill
born of practice and necessity, I flung the rock with my left hand and was lucky enough to strike one of them in the head, dropping him in his tracks.

The other whirled around, reaching for his sword, and came for me.

But by that time, I had my sword in hand and gave it a quick tilt upward, inviting him to come forward. I saw then that this was barely a boy, a mewling upstart of a boy to be certain, but a boy
nonetheless. Fright showed in his eyes, and he glanced quickly left and right. And saw no allies.

“Do you not recognize the tunic of the Rigotamos’s household?” K illing him would do no good, and the child must learn sometime.

He went pale as a corpse, pale as poor Elafius. “I’m sorry, master. I did not know.”

“No, you young whelp, you did not think. Your Lord Lauhiir should train his soldiers better.” At that, I turned and gave him my back as I walked into the abbot’s hall.

The soldiers had indeed taken Rhiannon into custody.

I walked into the hall amid the screams and shouts of a tall but slim and buxom wench, her arms held by two soldiers who were barely managing to keep their grip.

“Release her,” I ordered. “She is no prisoner.”

And the dark-haired woman, now free, turned to see her benefactor. Oh, she was a handsome one. Though Ygerne had been filling my thoughts, I cannot deny that the fire in her eyes sparked a
rumbling in my loins. By Arthur’s God, she was a beautiful woman!

“Who are you?” Her predicament had apparently not sunk in as yet.

“I am Malgwyn, counselor to the Rigotamos, and
iudex pedaneous
in the affair of Elafius’s murder. The Rigotamos ordered that you be brought here to be questioned by me. If
you choose to blame someone, then blame me.”

“I will. Should I choose.”

The Rigotamos entered with Coroticus. Arthur stayed silent, knowing that it was my duty to perform. Coroticus looked ill.

“As you most certainly know by now, Elafius is dead. It is known also that you argued with him. I wish to know why you were arguing.”

She tossed her long tresses back and laughed. “That you must ask that question exhibits your stupidity, not your sagacity.”

Ahh, this was one for the parchment. Our lady Rhiannon, head of the women’s community, was truly a formidable woman. But I would not take her challenge. “Answer the question, woman,
or you will be under arrest, bound and gagged.”