The Making of the Lamb (61 page)

Pirro approached, wielding his sword. He lightly scratched Daniel’s face, drawing a thin trickle of blood. “You are not so high and mighty as you were back at Rumps, are you?” Pirro had his men remove the gag, but Daniel maintained a stoic silence. “What should I do with you now? It would be fun to just run this sword right through you, and then there would be one less Jew—”

“He will be worth something to his family,” a youngish Celt named Waylin interjected. “If he is related to that Jesus fellow, they will pay us a nice ransom.”

“His family disowned him,” said the tall one. “I heard people talk about it at the festival. They say he tried to rape the daughter of the Belgae king.”

“That’s too bad,” said Pirro. “I was thinking of selling him as a slave, just the way his cousin did to me. But if the Belgae king is on his way to seek revenge, I do not suppose anyone will buy him at the slave market. Has anyone heard whether the Belgae are offering a reward for this man’s skin?” None of the band members responded. “I do not suppose they will pay much. Their king will probably figure that he is pretty much dead anyway once he hears that we have him. Maybe I should just start by cutting off his balls.”

“I bet he knows where his family keeps the silver. If he wants to live he can take us there,” said the tall one.

Pirro turned to Daniel and drew another trickle of blood from his cheek. “What have you to say to that? Show us where your father and Jesus keep the silver, and maybe I will let you live.”
Or maybe I will kill him anyway, once I have the silver.

“I do not care what you do with me,” muttered Daniel. “Kill me if you want. That will not give you revenge on Jesus, and it will not get you the silver.”

“That’s easy to arrange.” Pirro raised his sword.

“Hear me out. There is a way to get what you want, both revenge and the silver.”

What deception is he up to? He still thinks I am a fool. It would be better to dispatch him now and be done with him.
Pirro raised his sword higher, but the shouts of his men stayed his hand. They wanted to hear how they could get their hands on the silver.

“Jesus pretends he is sending this princess away tomorrow, but he wants her for himself. If you want revenge, then waylay this woman on the road tomorrow and turn her over to me. Give me the woman he holds most dear.”

“That’s an interesting notion,” said Pirro. “Giving Jesus’s woman to the man she accused of trying to rape her.”

“Who cares which bastard she wants,” said a stout red-headed fellow. “She is only a woman, and I do not care about taking revenge on this Jesus fellow. How will taking her and turning her over to this fool get us any closer to the silver?”

“Once I have the princess,” said Daniel, “I will take you to the silver. But without her, I lead you nowhere, even if you do your worst. She is all that I live for.”

The arguments went on through the night. Despite describing in gruesome detail the horrible death that lay in store for Daniel, Pirro and his thugs were unable to intimidate him into showing them the location of the silver without first capturing Bridget for him. Reluctantly, they finally agreed to do as he wished.

Daniel watched the road like an animal stalking its prey. He and Pirro’s men had concealed themselves in dense woodland near a turn. Pirro had provided him with a sword and shield. The princess and her retainers would have to come this way towards Pilton Hollow and then on to the east to the lands of the Belgae; this was the only road in that direction. Daniel and Pirro’s men would have the advantage of surprise. Bridget’s retainers had no reason to expect an attack in the sacred precinct of the Tor. The worst part of the wait was listening to the tawdry jokes the brigands made at Daniel’s expense about his love for Bridget.

Finally, the royal wagon emerged, accompanied by three riders. The wagon itself was little more than a four-wheel cart drawn by a team of horses, with a driver seated in front. A thick cloth canopy surrounded the space where Bridget would be sitting, protecting her from the sun and the curiosity of onlookers.

This seemed almost too easy. Bridget’s riders appeared relaxed in the saddle, joking among themselves, oblivious to the men hiding in the vegetation.

Daniel felt a rush of excitement as the wagon reached the turn in the road. He imagined Bridget’s body against his own, as he thought about making her his. Shutting his eyes, he ravished her in his mind.

Pirro’s shout, his command to attack, startled Daniel from his reverie. The brigands struck first with arrows that whistled through the air all around him. Bridget’s wagon driver had no chance to react. An arrow pierced his throat. One rider fell from his horse, wounded by an arrow through his thigh. Pirro and his men engaged the other two riders with swords. The wagon lurched as the horses began to panic. Daniel charged forward, jumped up next to the fallen wagon-driver, and grabbed the reins to control the horses.

Pirro and his men drove the two remaining riders away from the wagon. Seizing the opportunity to grab Bridget, Daniel jumped off the driver’s seat and drew back the canopy, eagerly anticipating her boundless joy at his rescuing her.

An anguished cry pierced the woods. After a moment, Daniel realized it came from his own throat.

Bridget lay silent, slumped on her cushions. A single arrow, one of the volley loosed by Pirro’s men but given flight through Daniels desire, had pierced Bridget’s breast.

Daniel climbed into the wagon next to her, holding her in his lap as she breathed her last. His tormented wailing shredded his throat.

Pirro and the other brigands abandoned the fight and ran. Of course they ran. A royal princess was dead, murdered in the sacred precinct of the Tor. The clamor would be raised against them swiftly and surely. If caught, they would be shown no mercy.

From the depths of hell, the Fallen One chortled in delight. This was no longer a case of assault or attempted rape. Jesus’s cousin had committed murder. Though Daniel was not the bowman, those arrows had been launched by his own lust and fury. It scarcely mattered that Satan had used that lust to subdue Daniel’s better nature, or that Pirro would not have sought out Jesus without Satan’s prompting. Lucifer had only drawn on the already-existing flaws in their souls.

Surely, now Jesus will see the depths of his own cousin’s depravity. If this man so beloved by Jesus could be so depraved, what hope will Jesus ever find for the rest of creation, peopled by souls who are strangers to him?

Just one more little piece of work remained. Only madness shielded Daniel from realizing the import of his actions. Rather than leave him in that blissfully ignorant state, the Devil abandoned Daniel. Regaining his sanity brought the torment and self-loathing that Lucifer expected would last through the end of his days.
His life will not last long now, and his soul—when it makes its way down to hell for me to feast upon—will be the tastier for all its guilt and suffering.

Like all vital matters that crossed the divide between the secular and spiritual, the fate of the outlander required a discussion between the king and the archdruid. Elsigar had come to Grengan’s home in the Lake Village. “Have you talked to him?” Elsigar asked.

“We’ve talked, but I still do not understand what happened,” Grengan said. “Nor does Daniel himself understand why he did these things. He seems as horrified as we are. For all his time with us, I never suspected he had it in him to commit rape and murder, and you have known him even longer from his days among the Dumnonii.”

Elsigar sighed. “He was only fifteen summers old when he came to Britain, and though he was foolhardy like any youth of that age, I never saw a trace of deceit or meanness in his character. I have seen him grow into the most sober of men.”

“What does the family say?”

“His father has disowned him,” Elsigar replied. “I stopped at the family house on the way here, but I did not have the heart to intrude upon their grief. I did call Jesus away; he will be here anon.”

“They can still remain in Britain, can they not?”

“They are outlanders, and there has been much spiritual disorder around them of late. Let us not forget the changes wrought in the Tor while Jesus was alone at the summit. I am convinced he did not practice any dark magic, but he told me that he provoked the wrath of his god. And now a princess is dead.”

“This family brought prosperity to the people, and we should not forget how Daniel and Jesus both fought for the freedom of the Dumnonii,” said Grengan.

“I am not sure how long they will want to stay among us, anyway. Jesus told me his god wants him to return to his homeland, although he seems loath to do so.”

They fell silent at the sound of footsteps on the deck. Jesus came into the room. Grengan stood to greet him. “We are talking about what to do with Daniel. We seem to have no good options. He must be put to death for the murder of the princess.”

“Did he shoot the arrow that killed her?” Jesus asked.

“Daniel was not one of the archers,” said Grengan.

“He joined in the plot, so it does not matter. Under the law they are all guilty, no matter which one loosed the arrow,” said Elsigar.

“Did any of them intend to slay the princess?” Jesus asked. “He wanted her to be his woman, and in his madness he thought she loved him, too. They had no reason to kill her.”

“That too does not matter,” said Elsigar. “They attacked her wagon, slew her driver, and wounded her guards. It is hard to believe all of that was an accident.” Elsigar shook his head. “In any case, Daniel is an outlander. For him to take up arms in the sacred precinct of the Tor merits the punishment of death in itself.”

“This is not just a local matter. A princess of the Belgae is dead,” said Grengan. “If we are not careful, we might provoke them. Wars have started for less. We must summon the kings and chief druids of the Silures and the Dumnonii to determine what to do, since we maintain our neutrality under their protection.”

“I can speak for the druids, unless others decide to come,” said Elsigar.

“May I speak with Daniel now, please?” asked Jesus.

Grengan looked to Elsigar, and the archdruid raised no objection. “However, I would not hold out much hope that you can do anything for him. He has committed murder and brigandry. I think he is sorry for what he did, but that does not change the nature of his crimes. I will tell the guards to let you see him whenever you like. You will have a few days at most before his punishment is imposed.”

Jesus rode on horseback to the place where Grengan’s men held Daniel. It was halfway to Priddy, near a place called Wookey Hole where the River Axe emerged on the surface from subterranean caverns. Jesus heard the guards as he approached. At first, it sounded like the typical Celtic revelry fueled by an excess of mead, but as he drew nearer it became clear that they were taunting the prisoner. Jesus closed his eyes.
It sounds so much like the jeers of the Roman soldiers that I hear when I envision my crucifixion.

The jeers stopped once the guards saw Jesus.

They had Daniel, bound and gagged, at the bottom of a twenty-foot sinkhole. Archers watched from the rim, ready to shoot him dead if he made any move to escape.

“Can you remove his gag?” Jesus asked. “Grengan said I could speak with him.”

“You can remove it yourself when you get down to him,” the captain answered. “Just don’t loosen anything else. These archers have orders to shoot quickly if there is any move to escape. You can use the ladder, but we will pull it up behind you.”

A guard lowered a ladder into the pit.

“May I bring him some water? He looks in need of it.”

The guard pointed to a nearby bucket and cup. Jesus climbed down the ladder to Daniel, and the guards then pulled it up. Ropes held Daniel tightly in a sitting position. Jesus told him what he was about to do, and then he removed the gag. It took a few moments for Daniel to clear his throat and stop coughing.

Jesus sat next to his cousin. “Let me know when you need more water. How long have they kept you like this?”

“Since they captured me. You are the only one who has come to see me besides Grengan. He said they would have to put me to death for murder, but he seemed sad about it.”

“Elsigar is very sad, too.”

“What about my father? I do not suppose he feels any kinder toward me, now that I have committed murder. Does he still disown me?”

“I am sure he is heartbroken.” Jesus hesitated. “But he does not talk of you.”

“I am dead to him already. I cannot say I blame him. I do not know even myself, Jesus.” Daniel began to cry. “I desired her from the moment I laid eyes on her, but I do not understand what made me attack her. I am not like that!”

“I knew you would never do such a thing, even when you grabbed her the first time.”

“I remember doing all those things, but I do not understand the madness that drove me. It was more than lust. I could not think straight. I even thought you wanted Bridget for yourself. Everything seems so crazy.”

“This is not the first time a young woman has turned your head.”

“But I have never lost control that way. I wish I had never touched Bridget, but I know I did, and she died because of my actions, and now I will pay the price. I cannot even beg for mercy. The deeds I have done deserve death. I am so wretched. Not just for incurring the punishment I face, but also because what I did was so sinful and wrong. I would give anything to make things right.”

Jesus brought another cup of water to Daniel’s lips. “Satan drove you to this madness. When I searched you out the other night at Wearyall, I saw how he possessed your mind. He led you to this evil, and now he has abandoned you to face the consequences on your own.”

“It is so horrible, Jesus. I cannot drive away the awful memories. It was I who did those acts, but it was like watching someone else. I never wanted to do such evil.”

“Let us pray together for God’s compassion.”

“What can God do for me now? If he is just, he will know that what I have done requires punishment.”