Divine Sacrifice, The (12 page)

“Malgwyn, you must understand. I do not intend to be like other men. If we are to have a united land, then the Rigotamos’s crown must have respect. Overturning decisions made by the
past Rigotamos does nothing but diminish the office. And to rule by fear is easy. To rule by the common consent of your peers and the people is not easily accomplished. But it is that kind of
respect that is lasting. And it is that kind of respect that the Christ would smile upon.”

I released his arm slowly. “I know that I often seem impatient for you to act, Arthur. But sometimes men such as Caw must be struck down simply to get their attention. Some men respect
only strength and brutality. It has always been this way. My fear is that in your quest you will appear weak to those who would strike you down.”

He cast those deep, probing brown eyes at me, and his face stretched into a half-smile. “Then they would be mistaken and I would deal with them appropriately. Remember this always,
Malgwyn. I will do what is necessary when it is necessary.” He paused and let the smile become large and welcoming. “We are not so very different, Malgwyn. You act very much as I do. If
you truly believed that brutality and direct action were always the best way, you would have killed Mordred in the affair of Eleonore.”

“I could not prove his complicity, my lord,” I said, hanging my head.

“Exactly, Malgwyn. You believe in justice. You believe in doing what is right, no matter how. In that we are as one.”

With that, we edged our horses down the uneven, terraced steps back toward the abbey, Coroticus, and Patrick.

Feasting with Coroticus was quite unlike dining at Arthur’s hall. While I had stood in amazement at the kind and variety of the foods offered at the Rigotamos’s
table, Coroticus was even more generous. Platters of oysters, still in the shell. Pork, chicken, fish. Wine from Rome and Gaul. But the vegetables were delightful. The brothers kept gardens, and
now, in the midst of the growing season, Coroticus’s table fairly groaned beneath their weight.

However, while Coroticus’s feast offered greater variety, Arthur’s hall was less filled with ceremony, or rules. At least on this occasion. I had eaten at Coroticus’s table
when it seemed little different than Arthur’s. But, with Patrick present, Coroticus had implemented new rules, including scripture reading while we all ate.

After welcoming one and all (but especially Patrick), and saying a blessing for our meal, Coroticus gestured for us to begin eating, which was fine by me. At Arthur’s table, I usually
failed to enjoy my meal because I was paying special heed to conversations going on around me. Part of my duties for Arthur was to be aware of all that went on at his feasts, who spoke to whom,
what they talked about. I was constantly on my guard.

Still, there was something eerie about the silence at Coroticus’s feast. The only sounds, beyond the crackling fire, were the smacking of lips and teeth as food was eaten, and the droning
of an old
monachus
as he read Latin from a scroll.

Patrick seemed pleased by Coroticus’s piety and adherence to the accepted conventions, pleased and reluctant to show it. I judged him tough and savvy and unwilling to acknowledge strength
in any man other than himself. Such was the failing of many powerful men.

The meal gave me time to consider what I had learned so far, as little as it might be. On the one hand, I had Elafius, an elderly
monachus
and one famed for debating religious practices
with Rhiannon, head of the women’s community, killed by a broken neck. Indeed, Elafius was apparently many things—theologian, metallurgist, and owner of a silver
denarius
when
such was forbidden by the church.

Then there was Lauhiir, newly appointed lord of Ynyswitrin. That he had aims opposed to Arthur’s was accepted. But whether those aims had a hand in Elafius’s death was still a lesson
to be learned, as well as Rhiannon’s involvement if any.

Too many questions befogged the landscape. For a man whose war reputation rested on knowing the ground and exploiting it, a mist-shrouded battlefield was a true challenge. Even my friend
Coroticus was not acting as usual. When you cannot even trust the actions of your friends, judging those of your enemies becomes far more complicated.

I sighed, almost too loudly. No such situation was without its difficulties. That much I had already learned in Arthur’s service. That and other things, such as behaving at court, treating
with nobles and commonfolk alike. In different clothes, that is. I had learned how to change from “Mad Malgwyn,” the drunken crackpot who lived on the edge of the castle, to Malgwyn,
counselor and scribe to the Rigotamos. Such had not been an easy path, but most nobles remembered my guile and passion in fighting the Saxons in the days before my great wound at the River Tribuit.
And those memories served me well when my abilities, my courage, were threatened.

Now, as I looked along the tables, I realized that I had chosen a good path, if one fraught with dangers and intrigues. I had been given a second and third chance to prove myself in this life,
and for that I was grateful.

And even as I thought these things, the sound of dishes being retrieved from the table filled Coroticus’s hall with clatter. Among the common
monachi,
severity of diet was as much
a tradition as scarcity of personal possessions. But with Patrick here, our abbot was not afraid to show his well-supplied table, and the
monachi
were granted a reprieve from their
ordinary fare of bread, soup, and vegetables. Patrick seemed more impressed with the silence and readings than the abundant food though.

With the dishes taken away, Patrick cleared his throat. Now was the time for business to begin. “Good Malgwyn. Have you reached any conclusions about the sudden death of
Elafius?”

“I have had little time to inquire as yet,
episcopus
.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “That is disappointing. Perhaps too much is made of your reputation for resolving such matters.”

“Other men assign me my reputation. I make no claim to be any better or any worse at these things than any other man.”

Patrick nodded. “Such is a facile answer. You did not spend the day lost in drink, did you? I would expect no less from a counselor to a
tyrannus
.”

The sound of a chair thrown back shattered the silence in the hall. Arthur.

I did not look at him, merely raised a hand to stay his anger. “Great
episcopus
. All in our
patria
sing your praises. You are called the guiding light of the Christ west
of Gaul.”

The old bishop narrowed his eyes. “What profits you to remind me of this?”

“I profit nothing from saying this or from inquiring after the death of Elafius. The Rigotamos profits nothing either. We have endeavored only to do our duty as we see fit. We do not
insult you with outrageous claims. Rather we celebrate your strength and courage in the worship of the Christ. Do we not deserve the same consideration?”

I sensed rather than saw Arthur relax. By chastising Patrick for his rude behavior, I had turned not only the attention away from us but away from Elafius. For the moment.

Coroticus sighed deeply. “Malgwyn, you forget yourself.”

But Patrick, his face suddenly a marvel of sadness, waved a wrinkled hand. “No, no. Good Malgwyn is right. You must forgive me. I am an old man, one filled with passion for all things
concerning the Christ. Often I let my zeal overrule my gentler emotions.”

“Not at all,
episcopus
. The fault lies within me,” I conceded. “You see, I am not the devoted servant of the Christ that you are. Aye, it is a constant source of
embarrassment to Lord Arthur for he is as great a believer as you, regardless of how you may view
tyranni
.”

“Then perhaps I should make it my personal goal to bring your soul to the Christ.” He was not asking a question. He was making a statement. I fought to control my eyes, as they
desired nothing more than to roll in exasperation. I knew without looking that Arthur and Bedevere too were fighting a chuckle. My eyes dared not even venture to Coroticus, he who had spent hours
trying to claim me for the Christ.

“Now,” Patrick continued. “Send for this woman, Rhiannon, who, young Gildas tells me, believes that women should take part in serving the divine sacrifice.”

“Are you certain that it’s wise to enter into such an inquiry after such a tiring day?” Coroticus asked.

At that Patrick’s face screwed up into an expression of frustration. “I am certain, abbot, that I can brook no further delays in this matter. I have traveled a great distance to
study this problem. All I find once I arrive are your protestations of assistance and your obstruction of my task.”

Had I been in Patrick’s position, I could not have stated it better. That much was certain as well. We had been intent on blocking his path, were still intent on masking his way. But did
it have to be such? Why were we so resistant to Patrick?

“My lord
episcopus
?”

“Yes, Malgwyn,” he said fretfully.

“I have a proposal.”

“Speak.”

“Though you are very much my senior, we are both too old for all of this debating. Each of us has his purpose, his focus. I suggest that rather than fight each other, we cooperate, share
our results. Pool what talents God may have granted us and see if we can unwind this spider’s web together.”

“A
coito
?” Patrick’s lined face took on a thoughtful look.

How like Patrick! A
coito.
I had once heard Arthur use the term and asked him what it meant. In the old days of the Roman republic, Arthur had told me, it described the way that consuls
arranged to share power with their colleagues. Sometimes one would handle external affairs, the other internal. Other times there would be a senior partner and the other junior. When Arthur
mentioned it, he had been approached by a member of the
consilium,
shortly after his election as Rigotamos, and pressured to divide the kingship as the consulship had oft been split
centuries before. Naturally, he declined.

But I was inclined to join together with Patrick. He knew the religion of the matter. I knew the politics and something of the personalities as well. Together we might be able to unravel this
tangle. Arthur would not like it, but I was making a career of doing things that Arthur did not like.

After several seconds, Patrick nodded slowly. “It is agreed. I will share with you my findings and you will inform me of yours. In this way, we leave far less to chance.” Patrick
paused. “I would not do this thing with many men, Malgwyn. But you have a grace about you, a sense of the Christ’s hand watching over you. Some men like you are blessed.”

A flush rose in my cheeks.

“I do this to speed my inquiry, my lord bishop, not from being led by the Christ.” I saw no reason to operate under false colors. “You have knowledge and a quick mind to aid
me, so I will use you.”

“Malgwyn!” Bedevere burst forth at my bluntness.

“I think that the
episcopus
appreciates honesty in men of all stripes.”

For his part, Patrick had already forgotten the exchange. “Malgwyn may not publicly proclaim the Christ, but who are we to say that His hand does not guide Malgwyn yet? Each man makes
choices for his own reasons. I require only that the end result of those reasons be in the glory of God.”

“I require that the end result of those reasons be to the glory of the truth, which, as my dear friend Coroticus would say if he were not so tongue-tied, are one and the same.”

“And he would be correct,” decided Patrick.

I rolled my eyes. I personally knew several truths about the church that they would not want revealed. Everyone hides things. This is a fact of life. The issue becomes the importance of what
they are trying to conceal. The more important the secret, the more they will lie to hide it. The more they lie, the more their lies get tangled and stumble over each other, entrapping them. It was
such things that I looked to for guidance in finding the truth. And since my talents seemed to lie in that direction, whether I favored it or not, that was my charge from Arthur, to seek the
truth.

“I am now ready to see this woman, Rhiannon. Bring her before me and stop these incessant delays!” And Patrick headed for the door.

“
Episcopus
. As the abbot has noted, it is quite late. Perhaps we should begin tomorrow? Your journey has been long, and this day’s events have surely added to your
weariness.”

Patrick honored me with another of his severe looks. “For a man prized for his industry, you seem very reluctant to apply yourself.”

“My lord, tired minds often forget to ask the right questions and often fail to recognize important information. Believe me, I have experience in this.”

The old man frowned, but nodded. “Very well. On the morn then. Now, if you will excuse me, Coroticus,” Patrick began, and then, cocking his head to one side, he added, “And
you, Lord Arthur,” almost as an afterthought.

“But of course,
episcopus,
” Coroticus stammered. “Whatever you wish.”