Divine Sacrifice, The (23 page)

Part of me wanted to ask her about those ways, but another, stronger part was afraid of the answer.

Holding a fur around her, she stood and retrieved her gown. “You are a good man, Malgwyn. I would see you again. I could fall . . .” But her sentence remained unfinished as she
turned away.

I rose and caressed her neck. “We have much to learn about each other. Do not say things that you might regret later.”

She looked up into my face then and a soft smile grew on hers. “Who said that I would ever have cause to regret any words I chose to speak?”

“Belligerent to the end, my Rhiannon.” And I pulled her back against me.

“I like the way you say that, Malgwyn.” Then she spun away. “But I have no time to show my appreciation.”

A flurry of robes and gowns later and Rhiannon was dressed and ready to leave. She quickly kissed my cheek and slipped through the door without another word.

Twenty-four hours before, I would not have guessed how the day would end. Rhiannon was the first woman I had been with since my brother’s death. Indeed, she was the first woman to attract
my attention, besides Ygerne. Most women I saw held no interest for me, nor I for them. A man missing an arm or leg or hand was deemed of little value in our world; indeed, some believed them
cursed. The women that I had pleasured myself with usually did so for the price of a wineskin or a cheap bauble. I wanted nothing more than the pleasure of the flesh, so I received no more. I never
believed a good woman would show any interest in me and so I showed none for them.

Except for Ygerne. But I had been fond of her long before I lost my arm. Now, I wondered why the sister had so easily captured my attention. She was outspoken, independent, and a woman of
unusual strength, much like Ygerne. But there was a lust to her that was also unusual.

As I lay back amongst the furs, still damp from our ardor and still laden with our scents, I decided not to question the path my life had taken. When the morning arrived, I would have more on my
mind than Rhiannon, and it would be some time before I might have the opportunity to explore that path again.

My life was about to end! That was the first fleeting thought as I felt the hand on my shoulder. But I swung my left leg even as I pulled the dagger from its hiding place
amongst the furs. In seconds, I was atop my intruder with my knife at his throat.

“Malgwyn!” It was Bedevere, his voice strained from the tip of my blade.

I spun around and got off his chest, sitting back on my haunches. “Do not assume, Bedevere, that because I am lacking an arm that I also lack the ability to defend myself.” My breath
came in deep draughts from the fright. “What has happened?”

My old friend sat up and rubbed his throat. “I will not make the same mistake again,” he croaked. “There has been news, Malgwyn, of the missing patrol.”

I shook my head to clear away the last remnants of sleep. From the taste of the breeze and the look of the sky, I took it to be an hour, perhaps two, before daybreak. “Did they lose their
way?”

Bedevere dragged himself over to a wall and leaned back. I could not fathom the look on his face. It was one not of sadness, but almost of resignation. “They are dead.”

“What!” I struggled to my feet. “Where? How?”

“Be silent, Malgwyn! That is why I came for you; we do not wish the entire village to know.”

I paid heed to his warning and sat back down. “Tell me.”

“Illtud’s patrol discovered two riderless horses with Arthur’s mark on them. They backtracked the horses to a place at the end of an old trail two hours to the south of here,
near a stream. Illtud found our men’s bodies hidden under some brush.

“Arthur sent me for you. He must stay here to keep this thing silent, but he must know who has done this. That is your task. If it involves this old
monachus
, that is one thing,
but if it does not, that calls forth yet a stranger answer and one that may have grave consequences.”

“Is the place protected?”

“Illtud himself commands the watchmen.”

“Bring forth Merlin, but do not wake Coroticus or Patrick.”

“As you wish.” Anyone but Bedevere would ask why I sent for an old man such as Merlin, but no one knew the forest like Merlin did. No one could read the signs left by man or animal
as clearly as my old friend. He had spent too many years as a child, surviving in the forest. “I have a horse prepared for you.” He reached down and picked up my tunic, his nose
wrinkling. “Malgwyn, have you started wearing women’s scented water?”

“I am not at liberty to say, master of the horse. If you ask again, I have the Rigotamos’s permission to remove your head.”

Bedevere smiled. “I doubt that, but each of us has a right to his little secrets.”

“We’ve wasted enough time.”

“That we have, Master Malgwyn. Let’s away.”

Once we arrived, it took me less than an hour to discover who had murdered Arthur’s men. And most of that time was spent in riding to the secluded glen where Illtud and
his men guarded the bodies of their comrades. The site lay just off a well-traveled road, across the bridge over the River Brue, and between Ynys-witrin and Lindinis, once a prosperous Roman town.
The path was worn deeply, ending near a stream where four large fires had been built. The grass had been worn away all around the stream.

I could tell at a glance that tin ore was being panned from the stream, and from the look of the big fires, it was being smelted as well. A rickety shed stood to one side and a heavy wooden
table was before it. I looked first at it and saw broken bits of metal, familiar bits of metal, decorating the top.

“Malgwyn! Here!” Illtud directed me behind the shed. There were three soldiers in a bloody pile.

I shook my head. Regretfully, I was more used to this kind of death than that of Eleonore’s or Elafius’s. Carefully studying their relative positions, I got three of Illtud’s
men to help separate the bodies so I could better view their wounds.

They had dismounted before meeting their murderers. Only one had been struck from the front. The other two had taken broadsword strokes across their backs from two right-handed attackers. A look
of shock was frozen on the face of the man who had seen his assailants. I was saddened by the mustachioed face of the dead man. I did not know his name, but he had been helpful and respectful in
times past.

Leaning down, I hefted the arms and legs. The stiffening had come and gone, so these men had been killed not long after they had started their search. Something in the severity of the wounds
told me that their attackers had been both surprised and frightened by Arthur’s men. Frightened, yet very decisive about what course of action to take.

Men who are uncertain often make lighter cuts first as if they were pulling the blows. Not in this case. They had followed through almost viciously. When I learned their identities, I felt that
I would understand their urgency. I ordered the bodies covered and went back to the shed. I was becoming convinced that Lauhiir’s tin-smelting operation was at the heart of Elafius’s
death and the death of these three men.

“They dismounted here, Malgwyn.” I heard a crackly but familiar voice across the clearing. Merlin had arrived.

“How do you know? There are enough horses here to mount a campaign against Horsa and Hengist.”

“I had them keep their horses to the perimeter, Malgwyn,” Bedevere assured me. “I remembered how you discovered where Eleonore was murdered.”

“Sorry, Bedevere. My humors are out of sorts.”

“And whose would not be, Malgwyn? All of this mystery. Murder,” Merlin muttered. “It misted last night and the ground was already damp. No mud, but the ground was
soft.”

I saw what he did. Hoofprints, the front ones cutting in deeper when the horses came almost uniformly to a halt, lined up at the edge of the clearing. The soldiers’
caligae
with
their Roman-style hobnails had left their distinctive marks. Other boot prints were present but their soles held no hobnails.

Following the steps, I could see the soldiers cross the clearing, stopping at the table. Something happened there. The feet without nails had, one pair anyway, spun around and begun to run
toward the rear of the shed. I followed, and at the back edge, just in the shadows, was a pool of blood, black and hardening. Two of the soldiers were killed here.

The third, following closely behind them, turned and headed back to the horses. He may have gotten his sword out, for I saw two more great sprays of blood, misting the ground as an arrow
pointing to one spot. This would seem to match the soldier struck between the shoulders from behind. His attacker did not wait until he turned about.

In the sandy soil, I could see where he had lain, and I discerned two separate sets of boots on either side. They dragged him back to where he lay now, behind the shed piled upon the others.

“Whoever they were,” I said in a half-whisper, “our men knew them or knew of them.”

“Why say you that?” Bedevere’s voice, half in my ear, scared me.

“They dismounted, Bedevere. Their footprints show that they followed someone to the rear of the building, no sign of running. Only then was there any clue of a struggle. They followed
someone that they had no reason to distrust and died for their misjudgment.”

“How? How do you do this, Malgwyn?” Illtud asked, shaking his woolly head in disbelief.

I found a stump and sat down. “It is only a question of looking beyond the dead to see how they got there. There is no magic to it. Much of it is just common sense.”

“I can add something to the mix, Malgwyn,” Merlin said, holding a piece of thick cloth in his hand. “I found it in the crook of a branch. It must have torn off in their haste
to escape.”

Bedevere rushed up and snatched it from the old man. “Malgwyn! This is . . .”

I rose. “Yes, it’s a piece of a tunic from one of Lauhiir’s men.” Lauhiir arrayed his men in stunning white tunics with a green cross. This fragment showed a part of one
of the cross’s points.

Holding the cloth in my one hand, I stood and surveyed the area before me, the tin mining, the smelting, the large worktable. I went into the shed with Merlin and Bedevere on my heels. In one
corner, clearly marked in the dirt, were the outlines of six oblong boxes. Their edges had cut deeply into the dirt, as if other, equally heavy boxes had been laid atop.

“Malgwyn, though I am not your equal in sorting these things out, I believe I can help with this,” offered Merlin.

“Please.”

“You have tin mining and smelting, fragments of both tin and silver and bronze, and a place where big, heavy crates were stacked,” he began.

“And,” I said, picking up his line of thought, “you have men willing to kill to cover up their activities. And this.” I pulled the silver
denarius
that I had
found in Elafius’s cell from my pouch. Reaching down and taking a ragged piece of rock from the ground, I scraped the coin’s surface. Its bright silver proved only a thin skin, beneath
which lay a dull gray.

“They have been forging coins!” Bedevere proclaimed. “Lauhiir has been forging coins.”

“That makes many things clear,” I said. From the day of his appointment to command the Tor, I had thought that it was like putting the thief in charge of the treasure room. But his
family was prominent and had supported Ambrosius strongly. Our land was so fragmented, so split by families and factions, that such loyalties could not be forgotten. Politics weighed heavily in
every decision the Rigotamos made, even when common sense argued against it.

“So, this is the source of that prosperity that bothers Arthur so much,” Bedevere said into the silence.

“It must be so,” I said. Suddenly it all became clear. Lauhiir had been purchasing his luxuries with his forged coins. The coins circulated in the village and eventually a goodly
number found their way into the church’s hands, hence Coroticus’s ability to so lavishly provide for his table. It was a false prosperity and Arthur had been right to worry. No doubt,
Lauhiir explained his sudden wealth of coins as profit from the sale of tin. Tin was valuable, but not as valuable as silver, and that is what the receiver of the coins thought he was getting.