“No, sir, I’m afraid not.”
“Drat. I will have Petronus show you, as soon as possible.”
Ten minutes later, assisted by Robert, Merlin climbed the spiral stairs to the King’s Tower. Halfway up, they encountered Simon.
“Merlin.” The majordomo smiled too widely for it to be genuine. “And his new valet. How nice to see you.”
“How did you know I’d taken a valet, Simon? It only just happened tonight.”
“It is my job to know everything that occurs in Camelot.” He smiled again, pleased with himself. “The boy came to me and told me he’d be accompanying you on the journey. He said you sent him. I questioned him at length.”
“You sound awfully smug about being a busybody.”
“In the service of the king.” Simon lowered his eyes in mock humility.
“Anyway, what on earth does Arthur want at this hour?”
“There is a visitor.”
“What?! You got me out of bed for that?”
“It is Peter of Darrowfield.”
“Oh.” Merlin turned to Robert. “Give me your hand. We ought to get up there quickly. Good night, Simon.”
Moments later he was at the door of Arthur’s study. He told Robert to wait outside, arranged his clothing so it looked neat, not disheveled, and went in. Peter was there, with the king, still dressed for travel and covered with dust from the road. They both smiled when they saw Merlin, and Peter stood.
“Peter. How wonderful to see you here. Does this mean you have found Lord Darrowfield’s murderer?”
“I regret not. No, Merlin. I came because I have not received any communications from you for more than a week.”
“I have written every day.”
“So His Majesty tells me.”
Arthur rubbed his hands together and poured goblets of wine. “We have just been discussing the situation. Apparently someone has been interfering with our couriers.”
“I see. And whoever it is must be the killer.”
“I thought so.” Peter took his wine and drank deeply. “Naturally I thought you should know. I’m afraid my inquiries have gone nowhere. But if we can find out who’s been doing this…” He left the sentence unfinished and took another drink.
“And who is protecting the village and the castle while you are here?”
“I have two deputies. I have trained them quite thoroughly. Darrowfield is in good hands.”
“I see. How is Lady Darrowfield?”
“Wracked by grief. More for her sons than for her husband, but even so… She is not too mournful to work at consolidating her position as Lord Darrowfield’s heir.”
“She wants the fiefdom for herself?” A look of concern crossed Merlin’s face.
Peter nodded.
“I have just been telling Peter about this journey we’re making.” Arthur drained his cup and poured himself more. “We won’t have time to get a full report from him. There is too much for him to tell. The murders, whatever has been happening to our envoys… I’ve suggested that Peter come along with us. He can ride in your carriage and give you all the information you require. Unless you’d rather wait till we get back for Peter’s report.”
“No, no, it will be fine, of course. It has come as a surprise, that is all.”
“Government is always a matter of surprises, Merlin.” Arthur drained another cup.
“Please do not remind me. Or, if you must, at least try not to sound so hearty about it.”
“Stop grumping at me.”
“Well, it is late, and I need my rest. I will see you both in the courtyard tomorrow morning, then.” He found Robert and went back to the Wizard’s Tower and bed.
And so the next morning, well before dawn, the party assembled in Camelot’s main court. Dozens of people-squires, knights, servants-were there, forming up in a rough line, some to accompany the king, some to see him off.
A score of Camelot’s knights, dressed to the teeth in their armor, though no one anticipated much danger, strutted about, jockeying for position; each of them wanted to ride as close to the king as possible. Arthur had solved the problem of their constant bickering within Camelot by adopting his famous circular table. But once they were outside the castle, it was a free-for-all. Perceval was there of course, to guide them to the place where he had found the Stone. And Bors, Gawain, Kay, Agravaine, Accolon, Lionel… they squabbled like old women after succulent fruit in the marketplace. Merlin watched them with detached amusement.
Simon of York was there, fussily overseeing last-minute preparations, dressed in his finest clothing as if he thought it might impress someone. He went from person to person and from group to group issuing orders, which they promptly ignored.
Bedivere and Britomart, neither of whom was leaving on the journey with Arthur, emerged from the castle and approached him. The king greeted them with robust heartiness. “Do you have it clear what I want you to do, Bed?”
“Yes, Arthur, but-”
“Do it, then, and don’t bicker. You are to follow us one day later. If we have any trouble, you will come along and fix it.”
“If it is still fixable. I hardly have to tell you how much can go wrong in a day. This idea of you making your progress with only forty armed men-”
“How many times do we have to go over this? We were up half the night, arguing about it. The country is in turmoil. If I travel with a sizeable force, it will give the appearance of tyranny or, worse, that I want to start the civil wars again. I will not try and explain to you still again how catastrophic that could be. If we-”
“Would you rather have them think the king who was victorious in those wars is a fool?” Bedivere was offhand.
Arthur worked to maintain patience. “Look, you know how tenuous our position is. Half the barons in England would start fighting again on the least pretext. More than half. Look at John’s father, Marmaduke of Paintonbury. He’d go back to war against us gleefully. We can’t afford-I can’t afford-to give him that pretext.”
“That does not make what you want to do sensible, Arthur,” Brit protested. “I beg you to reconsider this foolish plan. Or at least take more knights with you now. We have no idea what dangers may-”
“That is quite enough, both of you. I have decided on this, and that’s that. It is the royal will.”
“But strategically this is-”
“Enough, Brit! I have decided, and that’s that.”
She glared at him. “This is what comes of listening to Merlin on military matters instead of your military staff.”
“Merlin does not enter into it. You know I never consult him on things touching the army.”
“Be serious, Arthur. You can’t expect us to believe that.”
Arthur made a quick survey to see that the preparations were proceeding. Then, still talking, still bickering, the three of them went back inside the castle.
A large carriage had been readied for Merlin; he had made it clear to Arthur and to Simon that he had no intention of suffering a journey of this length on horseback. And there was also a second carriage, solely to carry the Stone of Bran in its silver shrine, along with two guards.
Robert met Merlin beside the carriages. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Robert.”
“This is all rather exciting, isn’t it?”
“That is not the adjective I would use.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Nonsensical would be the correct word.”
“I don’t follow you, sir.”
“Never mind. You have packed all my things, as I instructed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My medical kit?”
The boy nodded. “It is all in the carriage. I was up before dawn getting it all ready.” He grinned, pleased with himself. “Are we-is there really any chance we’ll encounter the plague, sir?”
A squire pushed past them, nearly knocking Merlin off balance. He glared at the young man. “I certainly hope so. If there
is any justice in England.”
“You shouldn’t joke about a thing like that.”
“What makes you think I am joking?”
Nimue joined them. Merlin went over last-minute instructions with her. “I shall want daily reports on the disease’s progress. Send the most reliable riders you can find. Someone’s been interfering with communications between Camelot and Darrowfield. We can’t let that happen to us. Write more often than daily, if you think it warranted.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
“And you must keep in careful contact with the mayors of all the important cities. Tell them what you must, to avoid panic. Invent, if need be.”
“We’ve been over all this, Merlin. Three times.”
“This is not a situation we can take chances with,” he grumped. “Have you met Robert?”
She smiled at the valet. “Yes, of course. At Darrowfield.”
“Of course. I had forgotten. As I told you last evening, Robert is to be my new valet. Oh-and do not let Petronus fall behind in his lessons. You know how lazy he can be.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
“I wish the king did not want me on this foolish trip.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do I detect a note of patient condescension?”
“Yes, Merlin.” She turned to Robert. “How long do you think it will take you to get used to this?”
“Believe me, compared to my mother, Merlin is the soul of calm reason.” He smiled, first at Nimue, then at Merlin.
Simon came past again, consulting a sheaf of papers in his hand and barking orders at everyone, quite ineffectually. Merlin could not resist goading him. “And do you have any instructions for the plague dead, Simon?”
Simon glared at him and kept moving.
“Don’t go.” Merlin didn’t want to give up his little game so easily. Simon turned and faced him again, not trying to disguise how unhappy he was.
“What do you want, Merlin?”
“Do you know what the king was talking to Brit and Bed about? It seemed like a tense little conference.”
Simon shrugged. “They are worried about the king’s safety.”
“And well they should be. This plan of his-”
“He has gone back inside. He said he wanted to fetch that supercilious jester of his. No one has seen the boy all morning.” He looked around impatiently. “Arthur should be out here, helping to impose some order on all this. But you know how he likes to make a dramatic entrance.”
“Honestly, Simon. You act as if he has never traveled before. How much order is needed? How many of these journeys has he made?”
Simon shrugged. “The king loves his country.” He glanced up at the sky. “He should be joining us shortly. Along with that rude young man of his.”
“John.”
“Precisely. Oh dear, some of the knights are squabbling.” He rushed off to try to calm them.
A group of musicians emerged from the castle, playing a fanfare. Merlin turned in their direction, expecting to see Arthur. But instead, Morgan le Fay swept out into the courtyard, her black robes swirling magnificently. A few paces behind her was her son Mordred, looking even paler and more sickly than usual in the morning light.
Simon crossed to her, rather anxiously it appeared. They exchanged a few words; before long, neither of them looked happy. Merlin decided it would be wise to get between them.
Approaching them with a smile, he asked, “Is there some problem? Good morning, Morgan, Mordred.”
“There is a problem indeed. This fool”-she indicated Simon-“refuses to obey my instructions.”
Simon stiffened. “I am the majordomo of Camelot. I answer to no one but the king.”
“Now, now, Simon.” Merlin was all conciliatory unction. He turned to Morgan and asked her what she required.
“A carriage. I have no intention of letting this expedition proceed without me.”
“I see.” Merlin made a show of rubbing his chin pensively. “I was not aware you were planning to come along. Did Arthur not order you to remain here?”
“Of course I will come. If only to make certain that fool Gildas remembers his place.”
“I see.” Scanning the crowd, he asked Simon, “Where is Gildas, anyway? The good bishop does not seem to be in evidence.”
Simon shrugged. “The king only mentioned two carriages, one for the Stone and its shrine, one for yourself and your new valet.” He wrinkled his nose at Robert.
Morgan smiled a political smile. “Perhaps we might ride along with you, Merlin.”
Alarmed, Merlin said that there was likely to be much more room in the Stone’s transport. “Besides, the king’s orders…”
Morgan stiffened slightly. “I see. Very well, then.” She gestured to Mordred that he should get into the coach; he did so glumly.
Simon put a hand on the boy’s arm, to stop him.
But she was not finished. Looking from Merlin to Simon she said sternly, “It would behoove the two of you to remember who I am. Who we are.”
“Morgan, we know.” Merlin was in no mood to be lectured. Why did she not simply go back inside the castle and let the matter rest? What could she possibly hope to accomplish by needling everyone?
“I am a member of England’s royal house. If something should happen to my brother, I stand next in line to the throne.”
“I would not be too smug about saying so.”
She ignored this. “Even if the barons should bristle at the thought of a woman on the throne…”
“Yes, Morgan?”
“Even so, Arthur has no heir. My son Mordred would then inherit the crown.”
“Such a heavy crown for such a frail boy.” Merlin was suddenly amused at her morbid seriousness.
She glared at him, angry at his insouciance. Simon pointedly stood between the two of them and the carriage door. Morgan tried to push Mordred into the carriage but Simon quite effectively blocked his way. Morgan glared and put a hand on Mordred’s shoulder. “Come. We will discuss this with your uncle.” In a moment they were lost in the press of people.
As they left, Merlin whispered to Simon, “She has a point, you know. Despite all her pretentious balderdash, she is next in line for the throne. You would do well to show her a bit more deference.”
“The way you do?” Simon scanned the crowd, watchful for more trouble.
“I have known Morgan almost as long as I have known Arthur. I know her moods and her caprices; I know just how far I can taunt her. And I know that hiding behind my titles would be useless, if she was really angry at me.”
Simon stared at him blankly. “What are you saying, exactly?”
“Only this: When handling a venomous serpent, it is best to use a light touch. And Morgan has more venom than any serpent I know of.”
Peter of Darrowfield came out of the castle, carrying a pack. He joined Merlin and Robert. After bidding them good morning he asked, “Where are our horses?”
“Horses?” Merlin laughed. “With my poor back? I have ridden enough horses to last me till doomsday. We will be riding in this carriage.”
“Ah, I see. If you don’t mind, I’ll get in now. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well.”
“Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
More musicians appeared, playing still another fanfare, this one slow and regal in tone. Arthur emerged from the castle, dressed in his best battle armor and accompanied by Bishop Gildas, who looked more self-satisfied than Merlin had ever seen him, and John of Paintonbury, who looked quite out of his depth.
They walked slowly, deliberately, in accord with the music. Arthur looked neither to his left nor right, but kept his gaze magnificently forward; no Byzantine emperor could have looked more regally aloof.
But it quickly became apparent that something was wrong. John was tottering as he walked; and he was mumbling something to himself. Arthur and Gildas seemed not to notice.
John stumbled but caught himself and kept walking. His c
omplexion flushed. He coughed violently. Then he started waving his arms about wildly and shouting, “The dragons! Keep them way from me!” The sound of his distressed voice carried clearly over the music.
Merlin rushed forward to help the boy. “John! John, what is it? Tell me what is wrong.”
John fell into his arms, and Merlin eased him to the ground. The boy was hot, feverish. Red-black blotches began to appear on his skin. “The dragons!” he cried. “Their fires are devouring me!”
His body gave an enormous shudder and was still. Merlin checked for a pulse and breathing, then looked at Arthur. “He is dead.” His voice held a trace of astonishment.
Arthur’s face was a mask; it might have been made of wax. Slowly, in a tone so low it was barely audible, he asked, “Is it-?”
But before Merlin could respond, someone in the crowd cried out, “Plague! The plague is here!”
People scattered. People rushed about madly, as if mere activity might protect them. Up in Merlin’s tower a dozen ravens took to the air, squawking shrilly. Yet nothing seemed to offset the awful stillness of John’s body.
SIX
The mere suggestion of plague seemed almost to have a magical power, or at any rate a superstitious one. People fled into the castle or to the various wooden buildings surrounding it, as if to be in an enclosed space with the plague-infected might be safer than being out of doors with them. In only moments, most of the crowd in the courtyard had vanished; the only ones left were Arthur, Merlin, Nimue, Robert, Peter, Gildas, Morgan and Mordred in the carriage, and a few knights. Peter of Darrowfield stood apart, evidently uncertain whether he should be so forward as to join the king’s inner circle.
Merlin watched the panic with a sort of detached alarm. “This should not be happening,” he said softly.
Arthur’s face was stone. “And so the plague comes to Camelot.”
“No one touch the body.” Merlin spoke much more forcefully than usual for him, even though no one had made a move to touch John’s corpse. “I must conduct an examination as soon as possible.”
“To what point?” Arthur sounded more annoyed than puzzled. “We know what killed him.”
“Even so.”
The Pendragon Murders Page 12
