Divine Sacrifice, The (36 page)

A
week later, as we crossed the River Cam to see Arthur’s castle rising above us, its massive ramparts and defensive ditches ringing its
slope, I felt a sudden sense of relief. A troop of Arthur’s cavalry rode by on the opposite bank and gave me the salute. I returned it and slipped down from my saddle as Merlin urged his
horse across the ford. Slapping my horse on her hindquarters, I walked beside the oxen as they pulled the cart into the water.

“What river is this?” a voice asked from within the cart, a woman’s voice.

“The River Cam, Myndora.”

“Then we must be nearly there.”

I just shook my head. Her eyes might be dead, but her mind was as sharp as ever. While I had sat in the cave, uncertain if I would see another sunrise, I had determined to bring her here, where
there were people who would care for her. Though she grumbled a bit, convincing her proved to be no problem. She had little, so Merlin and I took but a few minutes to pack her things and get her
into the oxcart.

Merlin became fascinated with her incredible sense of hearing, and he occupied her time—aye, he nearly drove her to distraction—with his incessant questions. But they soon
established a friendship of sorts, and I was glad.

Once we had crossed the ford, I remounted and we skirted the base of the fort. We encountered several more of Arthur’s men, and each saluted me. I was a little confused. Since the
assassination plot against Ambrosius Aurelianus, I had regained some of the respect I had lost during my self-pitying, drunken life. But this was different.

I shrugged and continued leading my little party along the road to the main gate in the southwest. As we negotiated the snakelike road, designed to make assaults more difficult, I heard a great
roar of voices. We made the last curve and there, just inside the massive gateway, stood Arthur and Bedevere, with two troop of horse lining the road leading to the market square.

Reining my horse in, I dismounted, surprised and confused at this display. Knowing not what else to do, I walked slowly up to him and took a knee. “My lord Rigotamos. I am at your
service.” To have done otherwise before so large a gathering would have been an insult.

Arthur strode forward and took my good arm, helping me to rise. “This is not my doing, Malgwyn, but theirs.”

I looked and realized that the mounted soldiers were those I had led against the rebels.

“They wished to honor you on your return, for your bravery and your skill in battle. I could not refuse them.”

I looked from soldier to soldier. Half were straining to keep a solemn face; the others had given up the task as hopeless. Their horses were impatient at standing still, and they pawed the
ground, snorting, their riders’ weapons jingling.

“But how did you know I would arrive now?”

Arthur shook his great, shaggy head and grinned. “Malgwyn, our scouts spotted you last night. We have known of your arrival to the minute.” He stopped and looked to the cart, walking
up beside it. “I see you have returned with Merlin, but who is this beautiful lady?”

“This, my lord,” I answered, “is Myndora, many years ago a friend to both Elafius and Patrick. She helped me sort out the threat against your crown.”

Arthur walked up to the cart and reached in to take Myndora’s hand in his. Though her eyes were sightless, I could tell she was embarrassed by all of this attention. For his part, Arthur
ignored her infirmity. He could be as charming as a devil. “Lady Myndora. I welcome you to Castellum Arturius.” He turned back to me. “Malgwyn, we will need to find a suitable
residence for so distinguished a lady.”

Arthur had something in mind. I could tell. “I had thought that she could take my hut, here near the gate.”

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking that head again. “I am granting her Accolon’s old house. And I am sending Nimue from my household to serve her.”

Myndora was stunned, but she found it within her to lower her head in respect to Arthur. “Rigotamos,” she finally choked out. “I do not know how I can thank you.”

“You already have, Lady Myndora.”

He smiled and winked at Merlin, who bowed in return. With a flick of his finger, two soldiers bounded forth and led the cart through the gate and into the castle.

“Now, Merlin, what do you and Bedevere think we should do with our wayward scribe?”

“Well, Rigotamos, I have given this a great deal of thought,” Merlin began. “Since the lands of the rebel lords, Dochu and Teilo, stand forfeit, I believe that those lands and
the title of lord be granted to Malgwyn. After all, it was only through his dedication to you and bravery in battle that the rebellion was thwarted.”

Arthur turned and looked to the soldiers lining the road into the castle. “What say you, men? Should I nominate Malgwyn to the
consilium
as lord?”

Voices shouted, spears rattled together. My eyes, though I willed it not to be so, spilled over with tears, and my words caught in my throat painfully. I cried not for the honor of being
proffered as a new lord, but for the honor done me by Arthur and the men I had led in battle. That was worth a thousand titles.

Merlin, seeing my state, turned to Arthur. “Rigotamos, Malgwyn should be given time to consider your offer. ’Tis a great decision to make.”

To his credit, Arthur missed nothing and paused not. “Of course he should have time. Come, Malgwyn, a feast is preparing to honor our victory and our soldiers!”

As I passed through the gates, I looked up and saw little Mariam, my daughter, running like the wind toward me. I snatched her up with my one arm and held her tight and she wrapped her arms
around my neck, and the tears came again.

A festival was held over the next few days, filled with feasting and drinking and our traditional dances, all to celebrate Arthur’s victory over the rebels. Merchants
crowded the lanes of the castle with their brooches and pots and food. I took part but showed little interest. My mind was yet unsettled. Even the return of my dear friend Kay from the eastern
lands failed to brighten my days.

One evening, after the feasting, I climbed the great wooden wall that surmounted our innermost ditch and bank. A parapet circled the castle for our guards to mount their patrols. My legs carried
me to a point in the north wall, near unto our own watchtower, from where I could see the signal fire burning on the great Tor at Ynys-witrin. In the distance, I could hear a screech owl crying
into the night. The stars seemed so close I could touch them.

“You are unhappy?”

The voice startled me. It was Bedevere. We had grown closer during our adventure at the abbey, and though he was still a solemn and taciturn man, even with me, he was now more open, more
approachable.

“I am bothered by recent events.”

“How so?”

“I think of Patrick and Elafius, even Gwilym. I think of how little moments in time can control the rest of our lives. Sometimes, the wrong decision, no matter how small, can rob you of a
happy life.”

“Granted. Have you made such a small decision?”

My eyes locked with his. “I am afraid that I have been making such a decision, that I have let the shades of the dead steal a chance at a good life.”

Bedevere smiled, an unusual expression for him. “I have seldom met a man who is so certain about events outside himself yet so confused when events affect him personally. But the Christ
and God his father protect you, Malgwyn. Let the shades of the dead go to their rest. They would not begrudge you that good life you desire.”

“I pray you are right, Bedevere.” I started to turn away, then hesitated.

“Something else troubles you?”

“Remember when I was ‘Smiling Malgwyn,’ when I killed Saxons with pleasure and abandon?”

“Of course.”

“When I was escaping from the rebels and as I made my way back to Ynys-witrin, I found myself returning to that way. I killed with near joy, certainly without regret. I thought I had left
those days behind. But Bedevere, I found myself smiling again! And I did not like it, but I could not stop, not until I was cut down once again. That memory has brought demons to my dreams and
shadows to my days.”

His face of stone softened, the hard lines melting like butter on hot bread. “Malgwyn, you are an odd man. You have killed, yes. But who has not in these times? You have acted with honor.
You killed to revenge the deaths of those you care about, to protect your Rigotamos, and to save your own neck. Show me the wrong in that. Show me the evil in it.

“Now”—and the face of granite returned, almost—“cease worrying about things past. You can do nothing about them. They are like a meal already eaten. It either
settles well in your belly or revolts, makes you sick. But once eaten, you have no control over that outcome. Go! The here and now you can mend; the future you can change!”

I knew that he was right. With a determined look on my face, I clutched his shoulder, squeezed it, and went off to the nearest ladder and descended to the ground.

Ignoring the occasional shouts of revelers, I marched through the town lanes, past the house I shared with Merlin, around the market square, and on to a house on one of the back lanes. Rounding
one corner, I almost ran into Tristan, the unfortunate noble confined to the castle for his role in Eleonore’s death. He saw me coming and scampered out of the way.

I did not bother to knock. Flinging the door back, I scanned the room, lit by a pair of oil lamps. Mariam and Owain had just carried in a load of wood and were stacking it by the hearth.

Ygerne emerged from a back room, partitioned off by a finely scraped hide hanging from the ceiling. She was tired from a day of caring for and feeding her children. A smudge of ash marked her
forehead. But her long red hair glowed just as brightly as I remembered it, and her figure pushed at her gown in all the places that stirred me.

I walked to her, deliberately and determinedly. She saw me and began to smile, but her eyes quickly grew a question. I had become a constant visitor over the last months, but she had never seen
me act like this.

“Malgwyn? What—”

And with a quick shake of my head, I wrapped my arm around her, pulled her body against me, and kissed her with all the ardor and passion in my heart.

After what seemed like the most pleasant moments of my life, Ygerne gently pushed me back, propped both hands on her hips and said, “What took you so long?”

Down below me, I felt something grab my legs. I looked and it was Mariam, who wrapped her arms around both of us and hugged with all of her might. She looked up and smiled at us, and then buried
her face in my breeches.

Later, after the children had gone to sleep, and Ygerne and I had tasted that fruit I had thought forbidden but found sweet as a ripened apple, the two of us wandered back
through the lanes of the town. She walked not on my good side, but on the side with my half-arm, which she wrapped her own hand around. It did not make me uncomfortable though, as I thought it
might; rather, it felt natural and welcome.

Our wanderings led us back to the parapet, facing north. We leaned on the wall, and I pointed out the fire on the Tor at Ynys-witrin. A warm breeze blew out of the south and against our backs.
Ygerne moved closer to me.

“Your journey was difficult.” She knew me too well.

“I do not know that I have ever had a more dangerous or twisted path,” I said honestly. “And I bear another mark of my stupidity.”

Ygerne touched the wound on the side of my head, healing but still pink and tender. “And you bring home yet another badge of honor. And not unlike that which killed your
brother.”

I had forced myself not to think of that; I did not want to think of that. “Why such a blow killed one of us and not the other is a question beyond my ken. If I tried to sort it out I am
afraid I would lose my mind.”

“Then put it far from your thoughts.” She stopped and turned back toward the point of light that was Ynys-witrin. In the distance, across the land somewhere, a screech owl cried in
the night. “What did you see out there that made you change your mind?”

“He saw how easily life can slip away.”