One of the squires managed to strike a flint. In an instant a torch was blazing.
“Here!” Merlin called. “Bring it here!”
In a moment he had the torch in his hand. Leaning heavily on his cane with the other hand, he limped toward the spot where Arthur had been.
The king lay soaked in blood. A dagger stuck out of his chest. He was unconscious. Merlin gasped. “In the name of everything human! Arthur, no!”
Peter appeared out of the darkness behind him.
“Run and get my medical kit. Quickly!”
Peter ran.
Bedivere, hearing the commotion, rushed into the barn. “What has happened?” Then he saw Arthur and cried, “No! No! This cannot be!”
Peter returned with Merlin’s medical things. He quickly got down on his knees-as quickly as his arthritis would let him-and examined the king. After a moment he looked to Bedivere. “Fortunately, this is not too deep. The assassin missed his heart.”
Bedivere thanked the gods.
“Thank our good luck. I should be able to dress this wound as soon as the bleeding slows.” He fell to cleaning it. Then a thought occurred. “Bed, I told you this is not a deep wound.”
“What of that? We’re fortunate. Arthur is. He’s always had good luck.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“Then-?”
“The wound is shallow.” He paused, then said, “Almost as if it had been struck by a woman.”
“A woman? But we-”
“Where is Morgan?”
More lights were being lit, but the cavernous interior of the barn was still only dimly lit. Bedivere glanced around. “Morgan! Morgan le Fay!”
There was no reply. The other men looked around. There was no sign of her.
Bedivere returned to Merlin’s side. “Is he all right? Will he recover?”
“He will have to rest for a few days. He will have to ride in a carriage on our return journey. Thankfully the one that brought the Stone is empty now. Bring me Morgan. I want to question her.”
“Merlin…” He hesitated and looked around the barn one more time. “Merlin, she is gone.”
TEN
Camelot came into view just after dawn on the first sunny morning Merlin had seen in weeks. It stood on its hilltop, its stones gleaming in the early light. Its windows beamed with lights that had not yet been extinguished; but they were blinking out one by one.
Arthur’s wounds had been healing well but slowly. Merlin, backed up by Bedivere, insisted that Arthur ride in a carriage instead of on horseback at the head of the column. Merlin, seeing the beautiful prospect before them, woke him gently. “Arthur, wake up. This is something you ought to see.”
Groggily the king asked, “What? What could there possibly be?”
“Home. Camelot. I have never seen it look so beautiful.”
Arthur sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve seen Camelot before, thank you. Why don’t you let me sleep?”
“Don’t be difficult. Just look.”
He looked. There was the castle, its two great towers soaring into the sky, its stones illuminated brilliantly by the sun.
“Look at it, Arthur. After all the horrors on our journey, we are home. And it must be the most welcoming place in the world.”
“Are you turning into a poet? You certainly don’t sound like the cold-eyed scholar you always pretend to be.”
“Even a cold-eyed scholar can be glad of hearth and home. Paintonbury and Grosfalcon are behind us. I have hope that we have seen the last of the killings.”
“And now you’ve become an optimist.” Arthur smirked at him. “And they say old people lose the ability to grow.”
“Go ahead, Arthur. Enjoy yourself. You are king and you have the right. Spoil this beautiful moment for me.”
Arthur fell silent and looked out at the castle again. “We’ll be there in another hour. You’re right, Merlin. It is a beautiful place. A fitting symbol of everything we’ve tried to accomplish in England, you and I.”
“And we will have our first good, full English breakfast since we left on this fool’s errand.”
Arthur’s face lit up. “With honey cakes.”
Merlin was not certain whether to say it; he did not want to dampen Arthur’s mood. But he could not restrain himself. “You forget, Arthur. The woman who bakes those cakes is in jail now, along with her sons.”
“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?” His smile vanished. “Now that is the voice of the Merlin I know.”
“I am not a poet after all?”
“Don’t be absurd. But… but surely we can release Marian and her boys now. We know that Morgan was behind it all.”
“Do we?”
Arthur rubbed the bandage on his chest. “Is this my imagination, then?”
“You have always been so reluctant to confront Morgan. What will you do now? Send out parties of knights to find and arrest her?”
“It’s too early to think. I need that good breakfast you mentioned.”
When the party moved through the gate and into Camelot’s courtyard, Simon of York was waiting to greet them with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Behind him stood Petronus, holding still more paperwork. Various other functionaries were scattered about the yard waiting to press their business with the returning monarch and his chief advisor. Merlin stared at the scene and muttered, “Home. So much for that.”
Bedivere dismounted and approached the carriage to help Arthur out.
And Arthur grumped. “I wish you’d all stop fussing over me. I’m over the damage Morgan did to me.”
“You are our king. The nation’s welfare depends on you.”
Arthur took a few steps and brushed some dust off himself. “The nation runs itself. Crops grow or fail, the weather turns fair or foul, people get on with their lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Even the government goes on its merry way without me.” He took a deep breath, seeming to relish the cold morning air. “It’s good to be home.”
Simon had listened to his little speech with mild alarm. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
“Good day, Simon. How is the bureaucracy this morning?”
“Everything is functioning well.”
Arthur turned to Bedivere. “See what I mean? I could spend a month by the sea at Brighton and it would hardly make a difference.”
Merlin stepped down from the carriage. His hip ached and he stumbled. Petronus rushed to his side to steady him. “Welcome back, sir.”
“It is good to be home, Petronus, and it is good to see you. But tell me, how is Colin?”
“Quite well, sir, and getting better every day.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “She’ll be so happy to see you.”
“That is good. When I got your message, I was so concerned. You see-” He realized what the boy had said. “What was that?”
“She’ll be happy to see you, sir.”
“She?” He put on his best neutral manner. “I am asking about Colin.”
“Nimue, sir. She raved in her fever. I know the truth about ‘him’ now.”
Merlin sighed. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “We will discuss it later. But when I learned that Marian and Wayne were tending her, I-”
“Why did you have them arrested, sir? They were taking such good care of her.”
“Later, Petronus.”
Britomart strode out of the castle, beaming. “Arthur!”
“Good morning, Brit.”
She glanced at his bandages. “Still smarting from your brilliant military strategy, are you?”
Arthur scowled at her but said nothing.
Merlin, hearing this, crossed to join them. “Arthur’s wounds are from another war entirely. We will tell you all about it over breakfast.”
“Good. Shall I assemble all our advisors, then? And Prince Mordred?”
Merlin reached out and caught her arm. “Mordred is here?”
Confused by his reaction, Brit nodded. She looked at Arthur. “
You did tell him to stay here, remember?”
“I told his mother to remain, too. But she left almost as soon as we did. How did she get away?”
Brit smirked. “ ‘As rare and lovely things oft do, she vanished in the night.’ ”
Merlin interjected, “You might have sent us word.”
“Why?” Brit seemed genuinely puzzled. “She is the king’s sister. Arthur always says he trusts her. Is there a problem about her?” She looked to Arthur.
“Over breakfast, Brit. I’m famished.”
Everyone moved toward the castle. But Merlin and Petronus lingered slightly behind. “Go and fire up the boiler for my lifting mechanism, Petronus. I do not feel well enough to tackle the steps to my tower.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
“Then come and join us for breakfast.”
The boy grinned. “With pleasure.”
The meal was huge and sumptuous, a fitting welcome home for the king. He took his place at the head table in the hall, surrounded by his advisors. Knights crowded the other tables. Mordred, apparently unaware that he and his mother were under clouds, took a seat close to Merlin. Peter took an unobtrusive seat at one end of the table and kept silent and listened to the conversation with careful attention. Petronus, having started the fire for Merlin’s lifting device, arrived late and sat at a rear table with the squires.
Merlin took the conversational lead. “So, how are our prisoners?”
Brit smiled. “They are still imprisoned. What else do you need to know?”
“It might be helpful if one of them confessed.”
“Confessed to what, Merlin? To starting the plague? Most of Europe thinks the Byzantines spread it deliberately. I’ll show you the intelligence reports after breakfast.”
“But I am not at all certain that-never mind. Have Marmaduke and Lulua said anything?”
“About-”
“About anything at all related to their attempt to do Arthur and me in. About who might have been behind it.”
Brit was lost. “Do you think creatures like them need to be urged to commit evil?”
Arthur spoke up. “What Merlin wants to know, Brit, is whether they have given any indication that my sister might have been behind their treason.”
Mordred exclaimed, “My mother?! Why would she-? I mean, why wouldn’t she, but really, why would she? Eliminating Uncle Arthur would undermine her own position in England. The barons would never-”
“Let us say,” Merlin interrupted, “that there are grounds for suspicion if nothing more.”
“But-”
“Later, Mordred.” Arthur smiled a patient smile.
Merlin pressed on. “What about Marian of Bath and her sons? Has any of them said anything?”
“Not a word that might incriminate them, if that’s what you mean. They seem more puzzled and outraged than anything else.” Brit took a long swallow of mead. “This is supposed to be a celebration of your return, Arthur. Do you really want to let Merlin turn it into an inquiry?”
“If Morgan is behind what has been happening, the situation is more serious than I would have believed. Or would have wanted to believe. But she has made a grave tactical blunder.” Bedivere started to say something, but Arthur anticipated him and cut him off. “Almost as grave as the tactical blunder I made when we were planning the journey.”
Everyone looked at Mordred. The young man blushed and tried to go on eating as if he didn’t understand. But it was clear to everyone there: Morgan had left her son and heir in Arthur’s hands-a bad move for a potential traitor.
“But-but-” Mordred felt compelled to say something but wasn’t sure what would be appropriate. “But-would she have done that if she was really a traitor?”
Merlin stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder.”
“But-but you can’t suspect me, Uncle. I’ve never-”
“You are your mother’s son. You must know as much about poisons and such as she does, or nearly so. I must ask that you remain here in, shall we say, protective custody, until this matter is resolved.”
“Yes, Uncle. But I give you my word, I don’t want to leave. You know that Mother and I have never-”
“I am afraid,” Merlin cut him off, “that the word of the son of a suspected traitor carries very little weight.”
Arthur smiled indulgently. “It’s only for a short time, Mordred. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it all fairly soon.”
Peter approached Merlin, smiling. “It is time for me to get back to Darrowfield. I’ve been away much longer than I’d planned. Our journey together was so very… interesting.”
“I will miss you, Peter. Having you along to give me support was quite invaluable. With none of my usual aides to help me…”
“Believe me, Merlin, it was my pleasure. The chance to see you in action, even if that action was inconclusive, meant the world to me.”
“When will you leave?”
“As soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. Before noon, with luck.”
Merlin took his hand. “Until we meet again, then. Be well. And be certain to keep me posted on the murder investigation at Darrowfield. The crown wants to know who murdered our baron.”
“I’ll be sure to do so. And of course I’ll send whatever plague news I can.”
“Let us hope there will be none.”
Peter grinned and shook his hand again. “Well, I’m off to the stables to make my arrangements. As you said, till we meet again.” He made a slight bow and a little salute, then turned and headed off toward the stables.
A sudden surge of bitterly cold air swept across England that morning. There was, thankfully, no more snow or rain, but the temperature turned frigid. In the sunlight particles of ice could be seen dancing in the air, stirred by the slightest breeze.
Merlin began to feel the cold in every joint in his body. His limbs grew stiff and sore, even more than they were usually. Every now and again the pain would become so severe that he would wince and curse the weather and his own body silently.
He sent a messenger to catch Peter in the stables. The note he sent read, “Be certain to take blankets and cloaks. Winter is upon us and shows signs of being merciless.”
Then it was time to return to his tower. Petronus scrambled up the steps to make certain the lift mechanism was operating properly. Then Merlin took his seat in the sling and began his mechanical ascent, more grateful than ever that he had built the thing.
“Merlin!” Nimue jumped up from her sick bed and impulsively threw her arms around him. “It’s so wonderful to have you back! And alive!”
He permitted her embrace for a moment, then pulled free and kissed her cheek lightly. “Alive? Exactly how old do you think I am?”
She laughed. “As old as the stones at Stonehenge, if not older. You look tired. The journey was hard on you.”
“So kind of you to say so.” The raven Roc flew in through the window, perched on Merlin’s shoulder and nuzzled his cheek. He raised a hand to pet it. “But you are right. I have traveled much too much lately. Dover, Darrowfield, Grosfalcon… A true scholar does not need to travel.”
She cocked her head at him, puzzled.
“I mean it. A scholar may just as well stay where the gods put him, and dig.”
Petronus was standing behind him, watching and listening. “You don’t believe in the gods. You say so often enough.”
“Do not be difficult, Petronus.”
“It’s so wonderful to have you back and safe. May I… may I…”
“Yes?”
Instead of finishing his thought the boy rushed forward and threw his arms around Merlin. “The scant reports we had about your journey had us so worried.”
“All this hugging.” Merlin feigned distaste. “It is so unseemly.”
Nimue laughed at him. “You are a fraud, Merlin. You’re as glad to be home as we are to have you here.”
“Perhaps so.” He was giving nothing away. He found his favorite chair and sat. “Bu
t tell me about your bout with the plague. What were the symptoms? Why do you think you recovered instead of…?”
“Plague? The report you received must not have been complete.” Nimue glanced at Petronus and scowled. “It was not plague. I had a severe case of the ague. Petronus says the French call it influenza. Fever, chills, stomachache, congestion… Several people in the castle have had it. How did you get the notion it was plague?”
“At first I thought it was only a cold. But then I grew fearful that it might be something far worse. It was foolish of me. I know better than to make unwarranted assumptions. But Marian of Bath and her son Wayne-”
“They were wonderful, Merlin. They fussed over me like anxious nursemaids. They said they wanted to allay your suspicions about them.” She hesitated. “What suspicions? And why? Why on earth did you have them arrested?”
He ignored the question. “They gave you no drugs? Nothing that might have-?”
“Nothing, no. You’re being mysterious.” It was an accusation.
“I am trying to make sense of everything that has happened. Did they ever give you any reason to think they might be loyal to Morgan?”
“Morgan le Fay? No, none. Not for a moment.”
He turned to Petronus. “And you. Did you ever hear either of them say anything of the sort?”
Petronus shook his head. He was plainly lost.
Suddenly Merlin got to his feet. “I think it is time for me to interview them. Which dungeon are they in?”
“The north one. It is rather full down there. You kept sending back prisoners.”
“And one of them, at least, is guilty. But we do not yet know the full extent of the guilt.”
“You mustn’t go till you’ve told us all about the journey. We want to know everything.”
“The fact that I want to know everything is why I must go know. I promise I will give you a full account later.”
“You’re infuriating.”
He smiled beatifically. “It is my job. Till later.” He made a little salute. “Come, Petronus. Operate the lift for me.”
Nimue wanted to go with Merlin. He wanted her to stay in bed till she was fully recovered, but she insisted she felt fine. So while Petronus operated the lift for Merlin, she descended the stairs and met him at the bottom. They headed down to the dungeons.
The Pendragon Murders Page 26
