Divine Sacrifice, The (16 page)

“Tell me something of your history, Malgwyn. How came a simple man such as you to the service of a tyrant?”

Before I had really looked at him, I would have met his request with carefully worded derision. Now, I simply began. “I was a farmer,
episcopus,
with a wife and child. They were
murdered one day in a Saxon raid while I was gone to market with the other men of our village. Vengeance drove me to Arthur’s men.

“I showed a talent for warfare and killing, and Arthur made me one of his captains. Until a Saxon at the River Tribuit separated my arm from the rest of me.” I lifted my half-arm in
demonstration. “Arthur saved me and brought me here. The brothers made me a scribe and I made myself a drunk. Then, not long ago, Arthur saved me yet again and made me his
counselor.”

Patrick turned to me and chuckled, something I had not seen him do before. “Malgwyn, do you realize that you summed your entire life up in less time than it takes for me to wash my
face?”

“It has not been a very eventful life,
episcopus
.”

And at that, Patrick laughed a full-bellied laugh and slapped his knee.

“I am glad to be so entertaining,
episcopus
.” His reaction did not really upset me as much as it surprised me.

“Malgwyn, if we are to be colleagues in this matter, please call me ‘Patrick.’ You have told me of yourself. Now tell me of Arthur.”

“What would you have me say?”

He looked to the sky not in frustration or exasperation, it seemed, but simply in contemplation. “How do you feel about him?”

“Is that important for you to know? I do not think Arthur bears any guilt in the death of Elafius or the spread of Pelagianism.”

He nodded. “No, but his shadow lies heavily across the land. Even in Hibernia, I hear of the great Arthur, his strength, aye, his compassion. These are not traits that I normally apply to
tyranni.
Coroticus tells me that you have not always been with Arthur, that for a long while you hated him. But then you suddenly emerged as his champion, ferreting out a conspiracy
against Britannia and the church. I have seen enough of you to know that, sober, you are a man of caution, a man of intelligence, and not a man easily frightened or cowed. So, I must know why a man
such as you chooses to serve a
tyrannus
.”

I studied that face once again. It was stern, yet not hostile. He would have his answer or I would be pestered with the question and little work would be done. I remembered a phrase in an old
manuscript I had copied for Coroticus. “You proceed from a false premise, Patrick. Arthur is not a
tyrannus
. You use too large a brush, and hence you paint too many men with your
accusations. Are there
tyranni
among us? Of course. Most of the members of the
consilium
are but
tyranni
striving to appear noble. We have
iudices
in our larger
towns and they are unjust. You have priests who are not holy. But you have priests who are good and godly men. We have
iudices
who are just. Some members of the
consilium
are
noble and good men—Bedevere, Kay, and most especially Arthur. You cannot view the world in such absolutes, Patrick. All is not good or evil. Whatever god or gods created this world, it was
not done in absolutes.”

“Do you deny that good and evil exist?”

“No, but I would say that all men are capable of good and evil. Good men sometimes make decisions that result in evil. Sometimes evil men make decisions that result in good.”

Patrick shook his head slowly. “You live in a confusing world, Malgwyn. And though I am not the shrewdest of men, I note that you have carefully skirted appraising Arthur as I
requested.”

I hung my head. He might think himself not very shrewd, but there was little that he missed. “Arthur is . . . Arthur. He is a unique man, at least a unique man to hold his
position.”

“And how is he unique?”

I considered the question. “He has a conscience. He cares about something more than the heft of his purse. Arthur cares about the lives of his people.”

“Malgwyn, you will forgive me if I do not accept your word with my whole heart. I have been observing nobles such as your lord Arthur for many, many seasons now. I have heard several claim
to care for the people, but they were words only. I have seen these
tyranni
slaughter women and children in a border village of a neighboring lord and call their actions necessary to
protect their own people. Can you tell me that this is just? That this is godly?”

“No, I cannot tell you that. But I can tell you that it is the way of the world.”

“I am not a wise man, Malgwyn. I have often wondered why God chose me to minister to the Scotti. For He knows what suffering they have caused me. And He knows that there are many other men
smarter than me. But if one accepts your words, that this ‘is the way of the world,’ does it yet relieve us of our responsibility to try to make this a better world?”

I stood swiftly, a frown spreading across my face. The old man’s protestation that he was not wise was at the least self-serving and inaccurate. He had driven the talk in this direction
because he knew that if I disagreed with him, I was putting the lie to my own actions. The damp weather gave body to the manure used in mudding the cell walls. It was an appropriate odor.

“Be at ease, my new friend,” Patrick counseled. “Please sit. We are not enemies, and I find much to like in your Lord Arthur.”

I planted myself back on the stump and waited for Patrick to begin again. And once more, he looked not at me but into the distance.

“I tell you this, Malgwyn, because I feel that I can trust you. I have encountered few men who are so universally respected, especially few men who have also been so universally pitied for
being a drunk.

“I am engaged in a battle, Malgwyn. The church fathers in Rome are attempting to take my life’s work from me.”

“Why?” Patrick’s work was known far and wide, as the Briton who had brought the pagan Scotti to the Christ. He was the kind of man around whom legends were spun.

“I told you of a great and horrible sin I committed as a youth, and of my best friend whom I confided in. He kept not my confidence. Officially, it is that sin, they claim, that keeps me
from being qualified as a bishop. Unofficially, they believe I have become too powerful in the church. They fear me, and what they fear they remove.”

An understanding struck me. “You did not come here in search of Pelagianism at all. You came here to speak to Elafius about this sin of yours. Elafius was your best friend, the man who
betrayed you to the church, and you came seeking revenge.”

He turned toward me then, the wrinkles in his face seeming deeper somehow. “No. Elafius was the brother of the girl I killed, and I came seeking his forgiveness.”

I was fifteen years old, young and fanciful. We had few needs then; the Roman withdrawal was just completed and our larders were still full. Except for the occasional raids
by the Scotti, we felt safe and secure. My father and grandfather were still important men in our town. Indeed, my grandfather, Potitus, was a
presbyter
and my father a deacon. During the
Roman time, they had been engaged in the collecting of taxes, and with the Roman army leaving us, they too were at somewhat of a loss. My older brothers and the
servi
handled the farm
work. My mother and sisters busied themselves with the management of our town house and villa. I had few duties except to be young and have fun with my friends.

My closest friends were Elafius and his sister, Addiena, and my dearest friend of all, Tremayne, son of our neighbor Trahern. Elafius, Tremayne, and I were all of nearly the same age, but
Addiena was somewhat younger. We chased each other and played games, fished, hunted.

That summer we had not yet seen all the changes that would soon take place. The elders knew, but they put on a cheerful face and went about conducting their business normally. An
undercurrent of fear was palpable but we played anyway; uncertainty in our elders was something we did not want to acknowledge.

I was old enough to understand the changes that were happening to me physically. At our country estate we had animals. I was not the smartest child, but I was not stupid either. I knew how
those urges in me could be served, but I had no practical understanding of the matter. That summer, as I was going to meet my friends, I happened upon two of our
servi
in a barn. I saw
them and then I understood the coupling. The woman seemed to enjoy it as much as the man. They did not hear me and I did not disturb them.

Elafius, Addiena, and Tremayne were to be waiting for me at a little spring on the far side of our estate. People rarely ventured there, and it was a good place for children to play. But
when I arrived, Addiena was alone.

I saw immediately where this story would lead, and though Patrick was speaking softly, I glanced around nervously, but no one else was near. We looked for all the world like two colleagues in
rapt discussion. I yet started to caution Patrick, but his raised hand stopped me before I made a sound.

She turned and looked at me as I approached, and she smiled. Addiena was such a pretty child, long brown hair and already the beginnings of a mature form. She favored games where she would
hide and we would find her, if we could. She had a quick laugh. Seeing the
servi
had stirred strong emotions in me. Seeing Addiena made me wonder at what the
servi
found so
pleasurable. And I resolved to take this chance to find out. I will not tell you the rest except to say that she was frightened by this new game I was showing her, but I had gone beyond being able
to stop the demon in me. I tried to force myself on her. She began screaming and I covered her mouth, tighter and tighter, frantic now because I knew that Elafius and Tremayne would be drawing
near. And then she stopped struggling, stopped screaming, stopped breathing. I swear to you that I stopped breathing too as I looked down and fully understood the horrendous thing I had done. The
shame and the horror soaked me like a chilling rain, and I shivered beneath the hot sun.

I leaped to my feet and ran as fast as I could back home, praying that neither Tremayne nor Elafius had seen me. I rushed inside the villa and straight into my father’s arms. He asked
me what was wrong, and unable to think of anything else, I told him of seeing the
servi.
I was out of breath and he assumed that I had been confused by what I saw. He laughed and told me
that we would need to talk later.

In a few hours, Elafius, his father, Tremayne, and a few other men appeared at our villa. They told of how Addiena had been found, strangled, abused. I could not hold back my tears, though I
believed that they would know immediately that I had done this thing. But all believed it was because I was distraught. Except Tremayne. He just looked at me oddly and said nothing.

In the community, speculation was that some rogue or
servi
had done this deed. The men, organized by my father, mounted their horses and patrolled the countryside. On the third day,
they found traces of where a Scotti raiding party had put in on the coast, some miles away. Although they were able to trace their movements to a point not far from where Addiena had been killed,
it ended there. Her death was ascribed to the Scotti raiders anyway. It seemed the most likely story.

A fortnight later, Tremayne and I were walking across the field, near the spring where Addiena had died. Tremayne was a good lad, my best friend. His father was a
decurion
just as
mine was. We had been born the same year and raised as neighbors. I was somewhat larger than he, and he had an inquisitive nature that had escaped me. Indeed, Tremayne was smarter at fifteen than I
have ever been.

“I saw you that day, Patrick,” he said to me. “What day?” I asked. “The day that Addiena was killed. I glimpsed you running away, but Elafius did not
see.” I was shaking inside, and a cold sweat bathed me. I could lie, but Tremayne would see through it. He stopped and sat in the grass. “Tell me what happened,” he said. And I
did.