Morgan smiled out the window of the carriage. “And so, brother, this Cloud-Cuckoo-Land of yours, this nation of justice and brotherhood, comes to its end.” She laughed, long and heartily. “King Arthur.”
“The only thing that has come to an end,” Merlin interjected strongly, “is the life of poor John of Paintonbury.”
“And you think this plague will stop with just him?” She could barely suppress her glee.
“Why do you sound so smug, Morgan? Do you suppose,” Merlin asked her, “the plague will confine itself to obliterating only those people you disapprove of?”
“The plague,” Morgan pronounced, opening the carriage door and stepping down, “was sent by the Good Goddess to punish the sins of Camelot.”
“No!” Bishop Gildas was more vehement than Merlin had ever seen him. “The disease is a punishment for the veneration of a pagan symbol.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Arthur’s voice rang in the near-empty courtyard. “This is no time for your bickering. Merlin, take John’s body away and examine it. Do whatever you think you must. But be quick about it. We must leave as soon as possible.”
“Excellent idea, Arthur. We must be certain what killed him.”
“Surely we know that, at least.” Gildas had not stopped glaring at Morgan.
“When you have finished your examination,” Arthur said, looking from one person to the next as if daring them to stir up trouble, “come back here.”
“You still mean to make this journey, Arthur?”
“Of course. Now more than ever.”
“With only a small armed force?”
“Don’t start.”
Merlin sighed deeply, then instructed Nimue to find servants and a litter for the body. “There is that cloth treated with wax-you know, the material I have been experiment ing with. You will find it in my workshop. Wrap the body in that, and the disease should be contained.”
Nimue ran off to follow his orders.
Arthur looked numb; the morning’s events were beginning to wear him down, and it showed. “You think you can contain the plague with cloth?”
“If it is plague that did him in, I cannot say. But we must not be hasty in our conclusions.”
“You’ve described the plague to me time and again. John showed all the symptoms, the red marks, the fever, the hallucinations…”
“Yes.” Merlin fell silent and would say no more.
“Where is Simon?”
“Your majordomo fled like a frightened hare.” Morgan did not try to disguise her pleasure at this. “He was the first to take to his heels.”
“Why don’t you go back inside the castle, Sister, and stop trying to annoy everyone?” Suddenly her presence there struck him. “You are not to come with us on this journey, Morgan. You have too many partisans out there in the hinterland. I want you here at Camelot, where I can keep you under surveillance.”
Morgan laughed at him. “I should go, anyway. With the plague threatening us, I should go to my sanctuary and pray. For England.”
“You are to remain here at Camelot.”
She smiled. “Of course. Whatever the king wishes.”
Mordred followed her out of the carriage, and the two of them headed back inside the castle.
Peter finally found the resolve to join the others. “Merlin, may I assist you in your examination? The chance to work with you-to learn more about your methods-would mean so much to me.”
“This will be only a cursory examination. There is hardly time for a full postmortem. But I would be glad to have you along.”
Nimue returned from the castle carrying a bolt of waxed cloth and accompanied by two servants, neither of whom tried to disguise his fear.
Merlin took an end of the cloth and wrapped it around John’s body, being careful not to touch any exposed areas.
“Take it up to my tower. There is an empty room-you know the one-two levels below my quarters.” He turned to young Robert. “Go along and help them. Then I want you to stay behind to assist Colin. He will need assistance, with all this happening.”
“But, sir-”
“Do it.”
He frowned. “Yes, sir. But-but-”
“Yes?”
“If I am to be your servant, sir, I should be with you. You may need someone to help you.”
Merlin sighed. “Oh, very well. You probably have a point. But go and assist Colin now.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy beamed.
Merlin followed them into the castle.
Arthur waved to one of the knights, Accolon, who was loitering at the entrance to the castle, beckoning him to join him. “Go inside and see if you can find Simon. We’ll be leaving soon, and I need him to organize things.”
“Surely everyone essential is here, Majesty.”
Arthur looked around. “Except most of the knights, plus the functionaries and the servants. They have all scattered. I will need Simon to arrange to get them back here or arrange for some new ones, so we can get under way.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Merlin’s lift mechanism had been shut down; he was expected to be gone for days, after all. So he made his way slowly up the tower steps to the unused storeroom where the body had been taken; Peter helped him. Merlin took the opportunity to ask him about the status of the investigation into the death of Lord Darrowfield. “You must certainly have some idea by now who did the murders.”
“None, I’m afraid, Merlin. Lady Darrowfield seems to have had the best motive, for her husband’s death, if not their sons’, but there are half a dozen servants who saw her safely in her room the whole night.”
“And are those servants reliable witnesses?”
“I’m not certain what you’re suggesting. They are trusted retainers.”
“Simply this: If Lady Darrowfield was responsible for the killings, she could hardly have done them alone. Moving the bodies and lashing them to the stone would have been work. And if Darrowfield and his sons fought back…”
“I see what you mean.”
“It is the sort of duty only a ‘trusted retainer’ could be called upon to do. Surely that has occurred to you before now.”
“Yes, but it seems so unlikely she’d have murdered her own sons.”
“You know the myth of Medea. But you know the lady much better than I do.”
Nimue was waiting for them in the examination room. “I got medical instruments from your quarters and brought them.” She held out a brown leather bag.
“Excellent. But fetch some lamps, will you, and some magnifying lenses? Peter, will you go along and lend him a hand?”
They went. The two servants who had helped carry the body had vanished as soon as they had placed it in the room. Merlin sent Robert also to assist “Colin” in whatever way he could.
Merlin found himself alone with the corpse. The room was filled with an eerie stillness. Softly he whispered, “Why do I feel so uncertain what killed you? Everyone else seems positive enough.”
When Nimue, Robert and Peter were back, the examination began. Merlin inspected the entire body with his lenses. And everything was consistent with death by plague. The red blotches on the body were darkening to a near-black. And there were no other marks, nothing that might have suggested an unnatural death.
When they were finished, Nimue asked, “Well, are you satisfied?”
“I do not know, Colin. Something is nagging at me, but I am not able to pin it down with certainty.”
“Something that would not show, even under your magni fiers?”
“Perhaps. But you have been following the dispatches from the countryside. There have been no reports of plague appearing anywhere close to Camelot. It seems so unlikely that it should crop up here, in this spectacular fashion, just at this moment.”
“Would you prefer a whole wave of disease to strike us?”
“In a way, yes, I would. At least that would conform to the way we know the plague spreads. But this.” He made a vague gesture at the corp
se. “This seems so very unlikely.”
Peter asked him, “Do you mean unlikely or unnatural?”
Merlin furrowed his brow. “I do not know. I wish there was some way to be certain. But I cannot shake the feeling that the court jester is laughing at me in death, just as he did so often in life.”
By the time they rejoined Arthur in the courtyard, the sky had clouded over with a thick layer of ominous black clouds. There was distant lightning. Simon had returned from wherever he had fled to and was busily overseeing a new group of servants as they made ready for the journey. They grumbled. Robert stowed all of Merlin’s things in the carriage.
“So our majordomo is back on the job.” Merlin did not try to hide his disdain for Simon.
But Arthur wanted to be conciliatory. “Simon keeps everything running efficiently. You should have a bit of respect for his office, at least, if not for the man himself.”
Merlin ignored this. “It is going to rain.”
Arthur scowled at him. “Would a bit of peace cost you so much?”
“If it rains much, the roads to the west may become impassable.”
“Merlin, please. If you are determined to be difficult, at least do it in an amusing way. Better yet, tell me what you found in your examination of John’s body.”
Merlin hesitated for a moment. “All signs indicate that he died from the plague, as everyone had assumed. But-”
“Yes?”
“I am not satisfied. I do not know why, but something about his death is nagging at me, as if there were something obvious I have overlooked and I cannot remember what.”
“It will come to you. Sooner or later, you think of everything. As does Simon.” He added this pointedly.
“You have the mind of a bulldog, Arthur.”
“A British bulldog. I will take that as a compliment.”
“But since you have mentioned Simon again, you must instruct him to cremate John’s body as soon as possible.”
“I was planning on carrying him home, so that his family could bury him. We should be passing near Paintonbury on our journey.”
“That would be unwise, Arthur. You remember his father. He was one of your fiercest opponents. Avoiding Paintonbury would be wise. Besides, assuming he really did die of the plague, his corpse could possibly infect everyone who comes near it. You could be helping to spread the disease to another part of the country.”
“You honestly think so?”
“I do not know. And that is the problem. There is so little we know. Why has only John been stricken, of all the people here? And why him, at all? He came to us from the west. The plague is raging in the east.
“At the very least, I would like to return to Dover to interview some of the people who have been ill with it but recovered. We could learn so much that way. As things stand, we have no idea how it is transmitted from one person to the next. By touch? Through the air, like malaria? It would be so helpful if we could know.”
Arthur paused. “You think this journey is foolish, don’t you?”
“There are so many ways that we know diseases are transmitted. And none of them involve crystalline skulls. There are times I fear I will never persuade you to reject all these superstitions and approach the nation’s problems with reason. If it actually is the plague that killed John, his corpse could potentially spread the contagion to every town it passes through.”
“If you don’t know how the disease is spread, Merlin, how can you be so certain it has nothing to do with the Stone of Bran?”
Merlin threw his hands up to show his exasperation. “Fine, Arthur. We will go to Wales and bury your rock. Then, when we return, you and I can go over all the reports of mounting deaths in the meantime.”
“Don’t be morbid. This may work. It is the only concrete idea anyone’s come up with. The fact that two of my advisors have proposed it gives it force enough, in my mind.”
“I’m through arguing, Arthur. Let us get this journey over with as quickly as possible. I will leave instructions for the cremation of John’s body with my assistant Colin. Please see that Simon will cooperate with him.”
“Yes, of course.” Arthur’s mood changed suddenly. “Merlin, I have lost another of my sons.”
“The lot of kings and princes…”
“I know. I hoped it would be different.”
“It never is, Arthur. Nothing human ever is.”
The first drops of rain fell. There was a quick shower, then it passed. Arthur glanced up at the sky disapprovingly.
“Simon, give the signal that we are ready to start. Have everyone form into a proper train.”
Simon was about to do so when someone appeared from inside Camelot, shouting loudly, “Dragons! He said there were dragons!” It took Merlin a moment to recognize the shouter. It was mad old King Pellenore.
Merlin sighed, exasperated. To Arthur he said, “It appears your permanent guest has news for us.”
Pellenore rushed across the courtyard to Arthur’s side. “They told me that awful boy jester of yours has died.”
“Sadly, yes. But there is no time to discuss it now, Pellenore. As you can see, we are about to leave.”
“He said there were dragons devouring him. Attacking him. Their flames burned him to death.”
Arthur looked to Merlin. “Say something.”
Merlin laughed. “What would you suggest?”
“Dragons!” Pellenore shouted the alarm so everyone could hear. People began to break their formation, confused. To Arthur and Merlin, Pellenore said, “You see? I’ve been telling you for years they are here. And they pose a very real danger to us all.”
“Pellenore.” Arthur made his voice firm. “Listen to me. John died of the plague. The first case this far inland. Dragons had nothing to do with it.”
“The servants ran into the castle to hide.” The old man was terribly worked up. “They said he was screaming about dragons. He knew what killed him, all right.”
A streak of lightning crossed the sky and more rain began to fall.
“You see?” Pellenore could not have been more distressed. “Their fire is inflaming the very sky!”
“Enough of this.” Arthur was usually patient with the mad king whose castle he had stolen. But he was at the end of his patience. “Pellenore, we have to go. This rain will slow our progress. I promise you we will be on guard for any dragons that may attack us.”
Pellenore started to reply, but Arthur made a signal and the column departed on its progress across the countryside.
The journey was easy enough, or would have been. The rain never turned heavy, and as a result the roads remained easily passable. There were relatively few other travelers, so the column would have made good time except for a persistent mist. It snaked its way in streamers among the trees. It billowed in translucent banks, at times blinding the riders. Arthur ordered the knights with the best vision to lead the way. For three days their progress grew slower and slower.
At night the mist developed into fog. Thick walls of it welled up in the road, slowing progress even more. Worse yet, it made hunting difficult. Simon had ordered sufficient provisions for the journey, but there was an expectation that they would be complimented by freshly caught game. Instead of that, the party relied on stocks of dried venison and salt pork; it was not long before the knights began to grumble.
Villages along the way were fogbound. There was no more fresh meat to be obtained in them than there was in the forest. Inns were low on food. Most of them could not accommodate so large a number of guests anyway. Arthur and his close advisors got rooms. Everyone else was left to camp out.
Late the third night at one inn, over a meager supper of soup and bread, Arthur muttered, “I wish the gods would give us decent weather for this.”
Gildas jumped at the opening he had given him. “Perhaps the One is angry at your repeated blasphemies.”
“Let him send us some fresh beef, then, and the blasphemies will stop.” Merlin grinned.
; Arthur got between them and ordered them to stop their bickering.
“I was not bickering,” Merlin said emphatically. “Merely making an idle comment about the weather is enough to get himstarted.” He pointed at Gildas with his spoon.
“Stop it, both of you.” Arthur used his best command voice. “If you have to engage in this kind of nonsense, do it outside where it won’t bother anyone else.”
Suddenly a young man rushed into the room. Merlin recognized him as one of the knights’ squires; he was not certain which one. The squire bowed deeply to Arthur. “Your Majesty, I am Philip of Manchester, squire to Sir Accolon.”
Arthur stopped eating. “Yes, Philip. What is on your mind?”
“Accolon sent me to report to you, Sire. We have a crisis.”
“Crisis? We’re in the middle of a forest. What kind of crisis can there be?”
“The knights, Your Majesty…”
Arthur wanted to get back to his dinner, such as it was. “Well, what about them?”
“Someone is bothering them, Sire.”
“Bothering them?”
“Throwing things.”
Merlin broke out laughing. “Someone is throwing things at the knights? And that is your idea of a crisis?”
Arthur brushed this aside. “What is being thrown?”
“Stones, sir. And handfuls of mud.”
Again Merlin laughed. “Which knights have been spattered with mud?”
Philip started to answer but Arthur cut him off. “Try and hide your amusement, Merlin. Philip, who is doing this?”
“No one knows, Your Majesty. He throws his missiles, then disappears into the forest.” He looked abashed but added, “The undergrowth is especially thick here.”
“This is all well and good.” Merlin sipped his soup. “But in the name of everything human, what do you want us to do about it?”
Philip blushed. “The knights and the other squires sent me to ask you for instructions. How are we to deal with this?”
“Surely,” Merlin said gravely, “Camelot’s finest knights can mange to catch a trickster.”
“But is it merely a trickster?” Arthur directed the question at no one in particular. “We are moving into unfriendly territory. The local kings and barons here have never really reconciled themselves to the idea of a central government under one man’s rule.”
The Pendragon Murders Page 13
