Divine Sacrifice, The (33 page)

“Bring me Lauhiir, Gwilym, Coroticus, and Rhiannon. I have had enough of their lies and half-truths. It is time for answers. When that is finished, I have an idea of how to handle the
battle ahead.”

With Merlin and Bedevere helping me, we moved into Coroticus’s main hall. Merlin gave me more of the willow bark extract. As I waited for the group to gather, I steeled myself for the task
ahead. Questions were to be asked and answered. Lies and secrets were to be revealed. But my plan lay along two paths—one of justice, and one of truth. Now was just the prelude, the
beginning. The true ending would come later.

Several minutes later, the hall had been transformed into a tribunal, with myself as chief inquisitor. I had the quartet seated in front of me in a row. Arthur, Bedevere, and
Merlin were arrayed behind me. At my direction, two soldiers guarded the doors, as much to keep people out as in. Ider and Gildas, I knew, were pacing outside. I had no trouble with Ider’s
presence, but Gildas was not welcome.

“Let us understand some things first,” I began. “I will not spare anyone. It is time for all to be known.”

Lauhiir favored me with a greasy, smug smile, believing that his sanctuary excused him of all misdeeds.

“Lord Liguessac!”

He fairly leaped from his seat. “What?”

“Did you kill Elafius because he threatened to reveal your forging operation? Despite being an annoying old man, he was a good man and would have objected to your plan.”

“What forging? What do you mean?”

At that Arthur rose and in two steps had fronted Lauhiir and jerked him about. “Enough, you mongrel! Everyone here knows that you were using the tin mining to aid in your forging of Roman
coins. Else you would not be seeking sanctuary with Coroticus. And thanks to Malgwyn, we know that you conspired with Teilo and Dochu and the Scotti to overthrow me.”

I wondered that he did not mention David, and I saw a subtle hint of a question in Lauhiir’s eyes as well.

“Rigotamos,” I said calmly. “It does not matter if Lord Liguessac admits to such. We all know it is true. Elafius discovered in some manner that you were forging coins.”
Reaching into my pouch, I extracted the silver
denarius
I had found on Elafius’s floor. “He had this with him when he died. I suspect you missed this one when you searched his
cell for the others.”

Lauhiir shifted uncomfortably. “You have proven nothing.”

“Who else stood to profit from Elafius’s death? Only you. Had he revealed your secret to anyone, it would have meant your death for treason.”

“If that is so, how did I get in and out of the abbey precinct without being seen? Answer that, Master Malgwyn!”

Glancing behind me, I saw that Arthur and Bedevere were both leaning forward. We had all wondered how Gwilym and Lauhiir had gotten past our cordon around the abbey
vallum.

I smiled at Lauhiir. “I remember something Lady Rhiannon said to me once, about there being ‘ways.’ Did you have the tunnel dug, Coroticus?” I said, spinning to face the
abbot. “Or was it already here?”

“They, Malgwyn, they were already here. Though I will admit to having them widened.”

“What tunnels, Malgwyn? What are you talking about?” Arthur was confused, as well he might be. I had pondered the question deeply. I knew the efficiency of Arthur’s men. I knew
that the chances of not just one, but two men avoiding detection while slipping into the abbey precinct were slim at best. But the fact was that both Lauhiir and Gwilym had appeared within the
abbey defenses unseen. And a man like Coroticus would not resist the opportunity to either create an escape avenue or to use one already there.

“Where are they?”

Coroticus sighed. “The one that Lauhiir and Gwilym used runs from the chapel well, under the women’s community, and comes out near the spring below Lauhiir’s fort.”

“And the others?”

“The others are none of your business, Malgwyn. I am still abbot here and beholden only to the Christ and his church.”

I heard Arthur grumble behind me, but the abbot was technically right. Although the abbey operated under the sufferance of the local lord and the Rigotamos, it operated under the nominal control
of the bishop, in this case, Dubricius.

“Which now brings us to the question of Patrick’s death. I confess that I was utterly and totally confused as to how this fit in with the murder of poor Elafius. Until, that is, I
realized that the two were not connected. Elafius was killed to protect the conspiracy against Arthur. Patrick was killed to keep another secret.

Coroticus stood. “This is nonsense, Malgwyn! You must be drunk!”

“Sit down and be silent, abbot. Or I will disregard your office. I may be one-armed, but I can still throttle you,” I said in a calm, even tone.

Coroticus sat.

“I was convinced that Patrick’s and Elafius’s deaths stemmed from the same cause, until I went to Bannaventa.” As I expected, two pairs of eyebrows rose. “No, we
did not advertise that I was going. I garbed myself as ‘Mad Malgwyn,’ and I went in search of answers, answers to an old mystery.”

“What old mystery? Rigotamos, why do you allow him such liberties?”

“Need I remind you, abbot, that it was you who called Malgwyn to this task. And your protestations simply make you look guilty in this affair.” Arthur’s voice was stern,
brooking no retort.

“Patrick told me that he had been called to account for a deed he had done as a youth, a deed he had told only to his best friend, a youngster named Tremayne. That would be you,
Gwilym.”

The old
monachus
had remained quiet throughout. Now, he looked only sad. “You have visited my sister, Myndora.”

“Aye, I have. She told me of your friendship with Patrick, of the death of Addiena.”

“He killed Patrick because of some childhood disagreement?” Poor Lauhiir. He really understood so little.

“No. He killed Patrick because he knew that Patrick would recognize him, would recognize him and reveal that Gwilym here has also been known as Agricola, the Pelagian.”

Arthur rose in surprise. Bedevere quickly followed. Rhiannon began to rise, but Gwilym took her arm and guided her back to her seat.

“Patrick’s death was necessary, sad but necessary,” Gwilym said. “He would have stopped me in my quest to continue Pelagius’s mission. I did what I had to do to
protect my task. It was, he was, a divine sacrifice, dedicated to the glory of God.”

“No!” Rhiannon cried, clutching Gwilym’s arm. But he pushed her away.

“No, my girl! I have nothing to fear. I am under the abbot’s protection.”

I smiled at that. “It is only natural, Gwilym, for a daughter to wish to protect her father.”

At that, my old friend Coroticus turned pale and nearly passed out. He had not known.

“So, that is it?” Merlin queried. “Lauhiir killed Elafius and Gwilym killed Patrick?”

“Yes,” I lied. “And both are protected by the ancient laws of sanctuary.”

Arthur grimaced. “Lord Liguessac, this is not finished. You cannot remain here forever. And you now have more to answer for than just the killing of three of my men. Malgwyn has shown you
to be a murderer in your own right as well as a traitor.” He turned to Coroticus. “You, dear abbot, are risking the survival of your abbey by protecting these people. Of this, we have
much more to discuss. Much more. Right now, I have a rebellion to put down. Bedevere!”

“Yes, Rigotamos!”

“Set guards on the old
monachus
and Liguessac. They may be protected by the laws of sanctuary, but that does not mean we cannot keep our eyes on them.”

“Immediately, my lord.”

“Rigotamos?” I did not know how Arthur would respond to my request, but I was determined in my course.

“Yes, Malgwyn.”

“I want a troop of horse to command.”

Arthur, Bedevere, Merlin, Rhiannon, they all looked at me as if I were crazy. “Malgwyn, half your head is bloodied. You are not steady on your feet.”

“Arthur, give me a troop to command or I will join the battle as a simple soldier. This you cannot stop.” At that moment, a heat rose in me, blocking out all knowledge of pain. I had
felt it before, but never this strong. Blood. I wanted to soak myself in the blood of my enemies, and fatigue and the great wound to my head would not stop me. An energy coursed through me that
could only be sated by my sword sunk to the hilt in the rebels’ bellies. This time, only death would steal me from the battle.

To my surprise, Bedevere stepped forward. “Rigotamos, we need him. We are far short of experienced commanders. We have none of the other lords nor Kay.”

“He is right, Arthur,” Merlin added.

“It seems that I am outvoted, Malgwyn. May God have mercy on us and lead us to victory.”

As we left the hall, Merlin walked up beside me and whispered, “You left a great deal out, Malgwyn. It was not very satisfactory, nor particularly logical.”

I draped my good arm about his ancient shoulders and squeezed. “No, my friend, it was not. But the time will come. Trust me.”

I leaned forward in my saddle and studied the ground as a beautiful sun burned off the early morning mist. I did not understand why the rebels had dithered and wasted a full
day, but I was grateful for it. The delay had allowed me to mend a bit more and compose a message for my daughter, Mariam, and Ygerne, my brother’s widow and now Mariam’s mother.

Our strategy was bold, and depended as much on Teilo’s and Dochu’s inexperience as on any faith in Lord David. Bedevere commanded our left flank, Arthur the center, and I the right.
Illtud commanded our reserve, slated to enter battle only if David betrayed us at a critical moment or if the tide of battle turned against us in some other way.

Our scouts told us that all was confusion in the rebel camp. The Scotti were still there; apparently the rebels had found some other form of payment. Their presence made our victory a chancy
thing, but that there was confusion was good. I remembered, too well, the Scotti lord of the white and gold tunic. He struck me as a man of confidence, a man to respect in battle, and no fool. He
would not spend his men on a failed cause.

We moved in force down from the hills of Ynys-witrin and across the marshy levels. All of us, that is, except Illtud, who led his force far to the right. That provided him with the clearest and
quickest avenue to enter the fray. Arthur and Bedevere were to make the primary assault, hitting the center and the left. When the rebel leaders began to pull troops from the right to reinforce, I
would strike their weakened flank and ride up into their rear.

I was proud as I watched our army take the line. Arthur, as was his way, rode forward, chestnut hair flowing behind him, unhindered by a helmet. Pausing for a moment, he pulled his sword, thrust
it in the air, and declared in a voice that rang across the land, “For God and Brittania!”

And then nothing could be heard but the screams of our woad-painted warriors and the thunderous pounding of horses’ hooves as they charged the rebels at the base of the hills to the
north.

Minutes later, as our plan unfolded, I too thrust my sword into the air. But my cry was a little different, and the words caught in my throat just a bit as I screamed, “For God, Brittania,
and Llynfann!”

And we charged.