Divine Sacrifice, The (25 page)

He ended with a plea for Patrick to hurry at all due speed to Ynys-witrin, moaning that had he, Gildas, not arrived when he did the entire island of Brittania might have been lost to Satan.
Well, that is not exactly what he said, but the intent was the same.

The thought struck me that perhaps Gildas could have committed these crimes. I did not tarry over the thought long however. The little
monachus
was certainly odious, and he was
physically able to plunge a knife in Patrick’s back, but he struck me as the kind of man who persuaded others to do his work for him. Not at all like his brothers. Huaill, at least, had been
man enough to face Arthur in combat, not shrinking or shirking from the mortal match. Their father, Caw, had been one of the holdouts from the
consilium
, refusing to ally himself and his
people with that coalition. Affairs had not broken into open warfare until after Caw’s death. Even Celyn had had the courage to confront Arthur face-to-face at his election. Such was not
Gildas’s way.

Rolling Gildas’s missive back up, I turned my attention to another scroll. It too was a letter to Patrick, but this one was from Dubricius at Castellum Marcus, Lord Mark’s
headquarters. He was asking Patrick to inquire among the Scotti about pirate raids up and down the coastline. It was his feeling that the Scotti were at fault, but he asked Patrick to endeavor to
find out.

Not a particularly easy job when one was trying to convert those same Scotti to Christianity. But in my experience, our bishop was not a man who understood subtleties.

I knew of these incursions by pirates on our western coast. But we had suffered such attacks to the south for years, and they had always proven to be the work of Saxons. The Scotti and Picts had
not resorted to piracy since Vortigern’s days. Indeed, it was the advent of those awful raids that convinced Vortigern to bring the Saxons to our island. But in recent years, the barbarians
had found more profitable ways to pillage and the Saxons had adopted piracy to further their own goals.

I had no reason to suppose that these raids sprang from a different source and could only wonder that the bishop did. They were simply harassment, stealing a few items, killing a few villagers,
burning a few huts. Arthur and I had discussed this very subject not a full moon past. I had ventured that they were an effort by the Saxons to drive our coastal villages further inland, leaving
room for their own settlements. Arthur had agreed.

The other scrolls were various items of correspondence, none of which seemed connected. I lowered myself into the one rickety chair, just sticks of wood bound together with leather strips.

“Malgwyn?” I looked up to see Coroticus standing in the doorway.

“Yes? What is it?” My tone was sharp, testy, to match my mood. Whoever killed Patrick had left less behind him than a simple cutthroat would. And it hid the motive most
effectively.

“Bedevere must speak with you. May he enter?” Something in Coroticus’s voice caused me to study him closely. He was unhappy, more than unhappy. He seemed ill. It was as if he
had lived three lives since I had last seen him.

“Are you well?”

The abbot swallowed deeply, the lines marking his face growing ever deeper. “Yes, Malgwyn. But first Elafius and now Patrick! Lauhiir has disappeared too! I do not understand these
things.” Again I felt strongly that he was withholding information from me. But this was not the time to press him.

“Neither do I,” I said, attempting to sound sympathetic when in reality frustration was closer to my true feelings. Bedevere appeared over his shoulder and I motioned him in.

“Malgwyn, I must speak with you.” He glanced at Coroticus, who immediately saw his meaning.

“I will leave you to your labors,” he said gracefully and slipped out.

“Yes, old friend?” I prodded Bedevere, whose eyes were locked to Patrick’s corpse.

He started at the sound of my voice and turned reluctantly from the unfortunate old bishop. “Two of Lauhiir’s men say they were in this area last night and saw the old priest,
Gwilym, entering Patrick’s cell.”

“How? We had all approaches guarded. He could not enter!”

Bedevere raised a hand. “We have just taken Gwilym prisoner, within the abbey. He is claiming sanctuary.”

“Where?”

“In his cell.”

“When did Lauhiir’s man see him at Patrick’s cell?”

“An hour after the midnight.”

“Did he see nothing else?”

“No, at least he said nothing. Ider is with him now at the abbot’s hall. I knew you would wish to question him further, so I held him.” Having spoken, Bedevere looked away from
me, a hint of a blush marking his cheeks.

Gwilym! Within the abbey? Within the
vallum
? How in the name of the gods had he managed that? Armed patrols scouring the countryside, and armed guards and patrols protecting the abbey
itself! Arthur just might order some horrible punishments for this failure. No wonder Bedevere was embarrassed. Were any other man commanding the troops, I fear Arthur might have done something
rash, but Bedevere was too close to him, their friendship born of too many moons together for Arthur to do more than bluster and grow angry.

I tried to focus on what Bedevere had reported. Gwilym had been seen after the midnight. That would seem a bit early, but not too much so, for the condition of Patrick’s corpse. I found it
interesting that Lauhiir’s men had been about the abbey precinct that late. But they could have been visiting one of the women in the village and returned via the abbey.

“What of the night Elafius died?”

Bedevere shrugged. “We did not ask; he did not say. Is there more yet to do here?”

I shook my head. The darkness that had clouded my path some time before returned to haunt me. At least I had someone to question, someone who might have reason to kill Patrick. But I did not
feel his guilt strongly. That he was a vigorous old man was certain, but he did not strike me as a murderer. Like Bedevere, I shrugged. Many people could be driven to kill given the right
reason.

I cast one last look at the remarkable old bishop and then followed Bedevere from the hut.

A
s we sloshed through the mud to the abbot’s hall, I saw one of the newly arrived troops of horse entering the abbey grounds from the
village. Illtud was at its head; he must have gone out to the river bridge and led them in. In theory, with Lauhiir now a fugitive, Arthur could have commandeered Lauhiir’s men, but the men
allying themselves to the greasy little lord were too unpredictable. Better to have men you knew and trusted at your side.

Soldiers from the earlier troop stood close by the hall. “Is Arthur inside?”

“No. He is meeting with a
decurion
in the village,” Bedevere answered. “I sent most of the troop with him as an escort. He did not argue. He is worried.”

I nodded. He should be. Lauhiir’s men, by killing Arthur’s men, either with Lauhiir’s approval or not, had essentially declared open warfare with the Rigotamos. It was an odd
sort of war, because in Lauhiir’s absence his men seemed confused. So was I. And with that, we stepped inside. At the end of the long room, I noted Coroticus, Gwilym, Ider, and two soldiers
in Lauhiir’s service. They swayed uneasily, leaning first on one leg then the other. Coroticus too looked uneasy, but old Gwilym seemed as implacable as ever. My young friend Ider was his
usual, hand-wringing self.

“Gwilym, these soldiers say they saw you outside Patrick’s cell last night after the midnight. Is this true?”

“I suppose so. You could also say that I saw them outside Patrick’s cell after the midnight.”

There would be nothing easy about this. “Did you visit Patrick?”

“I would have but he was already dead.”

“You raised no alarm?”

Gwilym turned those piercing eyes upon me, and they struck me with the force of a battle-axe. “I am not stupid, Master Malgwyn. I knew how it would look.”

“That I would immediately think you did this thing?”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose you had nothing to do with it?” My irritation was as loud as a cock’s crow in the morning.

“You may suppose that, but I am telling you that it is fact. I did not kill Patrick or Elafius. Will you take the word of a pair of drunken soldiers over that of a man of God?”

I looked at Lauhiir’s men. Their soldier’s tunics looked no more ragged than I would expect, and their eyes were less bleary than many I had seen. And Gwilym had been less than
forthcoming, far less. He would not like my answer, but it was the only one that made sense.

“Yes, I do. We have been seeking you since yesterday. Extra guards were posted at the entrance to the abbey and around the
vallum
. How did you make entry here without being
seen?”

“That is of no consequence now, Malgwyn,” Coroticus chimed in quickly. “He is here now and is afforded the sanctuary of this holy place.”

I frowned at the abbot. “Let us understand one another, Coroticus. If this
monachus
killed Patrick, he had best be prepared to spend the rest of his life within these confines.
For I will move to Ynys-witrin and watch this place as a hawk stalks its prey. And if he sets one foot beyond the
vallum,
I will arrest him and see that he is executed for his
crime.”

“He is not outside of the abbey precinct, and thus he is under my protection and that of the church. Therefore, Malgwyn, you have no authority.”

I smiled at him. “Actually, my lord abbot, I do. You gave it to me to investigate the death of Elafius. And while I would not betray the abbot’s right of granting sanctuary by trying
or punishing Gwilym, I will have him watched over. He has a bad habit of disappearing at the most opportune of times. Lord Bedevere, please have Brother Gwilym confined to his cell under
guard.”

I thought Coroticus was going to be ill, though he had looked that way almost since our arrival. He could have stripped me of the authority that he himself had bestowed, but he knew that would
make him appear the lesser man. So, he made no protest.

Lauhiir’s two soldiers moved forward. “We’ll take him, master.”

Something in their eyes warned me against it. “No. The Rigotamos’s men will handle it.”

The great wooden doors of the hall slammed open, and Arthur, followed by a three-man escort, strode quickly into the room. This did not bode well at all. He ignored Gwilym. And he glanced at
Lauhiir’s men with disgust. “Either exchange those tunics for those of my service or begone before I have the lot of you beheaded. Malgwyn, Coroticus! We must speak in private,
NOW!”

I motioned to Bedevere and he grasped the old
monachus
by the arm, gently to be sure. Coroticus led us to his inner chamber, leaving Lauhiir’s men as if rooted to the spot in
their shock at Arthur’s tirade.

Once beyond the hearing of the others, Arthur spun upon us, his long brown hair whipping about his face. “We have trouble.”

I chuckled. “What more trouble could we have? We have a dead
monachus
and a dead bishop, three of your own soldiers dead, and the lord responsible missing.”

For once, Arthur’s dark eyes brooked no criticism. “A rider has sped word from Rome. An envoy is on his way from Rome to attend this meeting at Castellum Marcus about Patrick’s
mission to the Scotti. Apparently, there are those, highly placed in Rome, who seek his removal. It seems, Malgwyn, that they are more serious than you thought.”

Coroticus turned even more pale and unsteady. I gave him my one arm to hold. “There are those who believe he has become too powerful in Hibernia; they believe that there were more riches
to be gathered there than the devout Patrick would agree on.”

“And?” Arthur could cut through all the dressing that we often clothed our words in. “What else?”

Coroticus’s eyes flicked back and forth, and he licked his lips wetly. “I—”

At that I dropped Coroticus’s elbow, allowing it to almost drop to the floor, and he stumbled. “Patrick killed someone in his youth, at Bannaventa. Only one other person knew of it,
and that person told someone in the church. For what reason, I do not know and neither did Patrick.”

“How come you to know this?” Arthur asked.

“Patrick told me yesterday.”

“Why would he tell you? You are no
presbyter,
no
sacerdote
.” Coroticus was confused, confused and flustered.

“That is of no consequence.” I paused and turned to Arthur. “We could have Kay question his credentials at the eastern border?”

Arthur settled into a rickety chair and held his bearded chin in his hands. “Aye, we can do that. But it will buy us little time. Romans object to delay.” Such was ironic,
considering that Arthur held great pride in his Roman heritage. He stayed silent for a while. “Our agents in Gaul tell of his arrival in Brittany with an assistant named Johannes Paulus, a
young
sacerdote
of our lands.”

“And the envoy?”

“A newly made bishop from Rome, named Francesco, known for his learning and passion. They will be here within days, perhaps sooner if my spies misjudge. The spread of Pelagianism is as a
foul pestilence to Rome and Patrick’s letter sparked swift action. Now, when this Francesco arrives and finds that Patrick’s been murdered it will be havoc.” He turned to me, his
eyes pleading. “Malgwyn, this affair must be settled quickly, more quickly than before. Though I prize many Roman ways, I know enough of the situation in the empire that they will move
swiftly and heavy-handedly. We have achieved our independence, fragile though it might be. I do not relish Roman troops quartered among us once more. They could easily splinter the
consilium
.”