The Lancelot Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  "So you think the point of intellectual inquiry is immor tality? A good cynic could tear that proposition to shreds."

  "Be quiet, Germanicus."

  "I'd like to get some exercise. Is it possible for me to work out with some of the knights?"

  "I'll arrange it."

  Over the following days more and more delegates arrived. Before long the harbor at Corfe was crowded with their ships.

  Nimue served as official greeter when Merlin was occu pied with other business. She saw to their comfort, ex plained when the ceremonies would begin and what they would consist of. Then they went their own ways, conspir ing together, plotting against mutual enemies and friends, trying tirelessly to find ways to use the gathering to their advantage. Both Merlin and Nimue tired of them quickly; when they were alone together they expended a great deal of wit at their guests' expense.

  One bright, cool afternoon Germanicus took advantage of the chance to exercise with the knights and squires. Petronus and Greffys were among them. They were in a paved courtyard between two of the castle's arms. Some wrestled, some ran footraces, several of them practiced with their longbows. Lancelot, under heavy guard, was permitted to practice with the bowmen. Germanicus joined them.

  Nearby, Arthur, Merlin and Nimue strolled, chatting about the coming events, making minor corrections to the plans. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, an arrow whizzed past Arthur's head, missing him by barely a few inches, and drove itself into the stone castle wall.

  Immediately knights surrounded the king, swords, spears and other weapons at the ready. Others surrounded and seized Lancelot. Greffys wrested the bow from his hands. Once he was certain the king was unharmed, Merlin rushed to join the knights.

  "He did it, sir," Petronus told him, pointing to Lancelot. "He shot the arrow at the king. I saw it." Several of the knights backed him up.

  Merlin turned to Lancelot. "Is this true?"

  "It was an accident, Merlin," the French knight said. "My hand slipped. One of the others—this boy, in fact— jostled me as I was about to shoot."

  "Jostled you? The targets are thirty feet from where Ar thur was standing. That would take a lot of jostling."

  He fought against the men who were restraining him. "It's the truth. Ask any of them."

  Merlin was skeptical and said so.

  "For heaven's sake, Merlin, I'm already a prisoner. What would I gain by killing my jailer?"

  Merlin's face broke out in a sardonic smile. "Revenge?" To the knights he said, "Take him away. Not to the rooms where we have been keeping him. Find the deepest, darkest dungeon and lock him there."

  They led him away; he did not stop fighting them for a moment. Everyone else in the courtyard had watched what happened, riveted. The various delegates were already sepa rating into little groups to gossip about it.

  Germanicus crossed to Merlin. "He's telling the truth, you know. I saw it. One of the young men bumped into him and threw his aim off."

  "I do not doubt that that happened, Germanicus. But I do not doubt that Lancelot would have taken advantage of such an accident to provide cover. It hasn't been noised about, but Arthur is holding Guenevere and Lancelot pris oners here." He lowered his voice. "They've been conspir ing against him."

  "I know that. Everybody knows that. Still—"

  "You do?"

  "Of course." He put on a smug little grin. "You know how news travels. Especially bad news."

  Merlin put an arm around Germanicus and led him back inside. "We were so certain we were in control of the situa tion."

  "This is Europe, Merlin. Modern Europe. No one is ever in control of any situation. Not even Justinian. The world has become too complex and chaotic for that. Justinian steals, he plunders, he sends out Belisarius with an army large enough to take what he wants. But not even he has found a way to stop gossip and rumor and innuendo. They're the lifeblood of governments."

  Merlin sighed heavily. "I do not know much about the religion of the Christians, but I know about their monaster ies. Men go there and forget about the world, and they live lives of quiet and contemplation. They never even talk to anyone, not even each other. I would be so happy for a life like that."

  "You're an old fraud, Merlin. You—live in silence? Within five minutes you'd be bursting with news about some new lens you'd ground, or a new insight into Plato."

  "You are right." Merlin exhaled deeply again. "We haven't seen each other for years. How can you know me so well?"

  Germanicus shrugged and laughed. "You have become like the books you love—open and waiting to be read."

  "Don't be rude, Germanicus. Here—come up to my chambers and let's drink some wine and talk."

  "We'll have to talk softly. There are no doors to these rooms. What's wrong with you English?"

  More and more delegates arrived. Of Podarthes there was still no news, neither where he was nor when he might ar rive. It was not even known how he was traveling.

  But nearly everyone else who was expected had arrived, and Corfe Castle was bursting with activity. The legates and their retinues filled the halls and chambers, prying gently, trying to find out everything about everyone. Word about the attempt on Arthur's life spread quickly; opinion was divided on whether it had really been an accident. People who knew Lancelot insisted it must have been deliberate; he was too skilled an athlete for it to have been anything else. Others were more inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, choosing to accept Germanicus's account.

  The only ones in the castle who remained silent and avoided speculation were Guenevere, Leonilla and Leode grance.

  Then the next morning Guenevere, attended by Petronilla, burst into Arthur's chambers. A meeting was in progress. Arthur, with Merlin, Nimue, Simon and Bri tomart, was going over all the plans for the celebration. Suddenly the door-curtain flew wide open. Brit jumped to her feet at once and drew her sword. Guenevere stood at the threshold, tall and imperious, attended by Petronilla; be yond them in the corridor outside two of Arthur's soldiers waited, looking concerned. Arthur waved at them to let them know this was all right. Slowly the queen took a step into the room.

  "Guenevere." Brit took a step toward her.

  But the queen ignored her and spoke to Arthur. "Release Lancelot."

  Arthur looked to Merlin, who in turn looked at Guenevere. "Is this sort of behavior supposed to convince us that what happened really was an accident? Might you not at least have had yourself announced first?"

  Guenevere ignored Merlin. Her eyes were fixed on the king. Slowly, more loudly and with emphasis she repeated, "Release Lancelot."

  Once the startling effect of her entrance died down, Ar thur relaxed and put on a slight smile. "I beg your pardon? Did you say something?"

  "You heard me perfectly clearly. Set him free."

  "It would be an odd monarch who let assassins loose."

  "Monarchs don't come any odder than you, Arthur."

  "So you think insulting me will help your case."

  Merlin leaned forward in his seat. "I believe His Maj esty is wondering why you think he would do such a thing."

  "Because I have commanded it." Suddenly her manner softened and she added, "And because Lancelot is innocent and I think you all know it."

  She looked around the room. Neither Arthur nor any of his councilors said a word.

  Brit spoke up. "His Majesty is also wondering how you managed to escape your guards."

  "Shall we say they were . . . indisposed by some bad wine they drank?" Realizing that she was making no pro gress, she changed tactics. "Once you have caught a ven omous snake and bottled it up, Arthur, you have the knotty problem of what to do with it, haven't you?"

  Merlin decided he was in no mood for this. "I'm afraid we don't follow you, Guenevere."

  "Lancelot and I are already your prisoners. Release him from that horrible dungeon, or—"

  It was clear from Petronilla's attitude that she had no idea what the queen was about to say. She listened intently and made mental n
otes on the exchange. Merlin glanced at Britomart as if to ask, Are we certain we can trust this woman?

  Guenevere went on. "We are at the start of the largest, most important diplomatic event England has ever wit nessed. You expect to make great gains here with the na tions of Europe. But if the serpent you are holding bares its fangs . . ."

  "Just what we need," Arthur told her. "A serpent, or a pair of them, slithering loose in Corfe Castle right now. I can always put the serpents, both of them, into an even more secure bottle. This castle's dungeons are deep and secure. And I have other castles."

  "Jailing your wife in the midst of this conference? Yes, that will certainly increase England's prestige across Europe. Do it."

  "Be serious, Guenevere." Merlin adopted a tone of cold authority. "These are diplomats. They understand treason. Besides, you are in no position to be making demands. To be perfectly frank, you should count yourself lucky you still have your head."

  "I swear to you, Arthur, I will disrupt this conference and your plans for it any way I can. The least hint of trou ble will interfere with what you are hoping to accomplish. And if you jail me, there are enough people here with at least some loyalty to me who will gladly do it on my be half."

  Merlin waited till she finished, then sat back in his seat and put on a warm smile. "Who exactly do you think you might influence? Your would-be allies the Byzantines have not appeared yet. And we have managed to acquire no in telligence about where they might be. Do you think the Moroccans and the Latvians care about you and Lancelot?"

  "Lancelot and I are not the issue. You want to impress the Mediterranean world. Will anyone be impressed once rumors start circulating about the disarray here?"

  "If the source of those rumors is in jail, they might be."

  Finally Arthur got between them. "I think Guenevere has a point, Merlin. A small one but a valid one. We should have moved this gathering to Camelot or to one of our other castles. Keeping it here has given my wife a stronger hand than she could have ever had otherwise."

  Then he turned to Guenevere. "There is enough doubt to call into question whether Lancelot was actually attempting to harm anyone. But I can hardly return him to the suite of rooms you were sharing, not after what you've just said." He smiled the least sincere smile he could manage. "He will be moved to rooms of his own, in another wing of the castle. Both he and you will be under constant guard, and it will be heavier than anything you have known till now. Be advised, wife. If anything remotely untoward occurs involv ing the two of you, you will be moved immediately to the deepest, coldest dungeon in Scotland, birthday or no birth day. And after that . . . we shall consider what your pros pects are." With a mordant grin he added, "Not good, I would think."

  Guenevere's attitude changed. She softened; she looked almost girlish. Her voice turned sweet. "Arthur. Arthur, you wouldn't do that to me. I thought you loved me."

  "You married Lancelot, remember? Should I love an other man's wife, then? The two of you have already been more trouble than I ever should have permitted. I should have had your heads the first time I caught you plotting against me. Be grateful the love I used to have for you lasted as long as it did."

  It was almost possible to see Guenevere's mind racing, turning over the options and strategies. But she clearly real ized her hand was not as strong as she'd thought. She smiled a gentle smile and asked, "You will release Lance lot, then?"

  "Release? Within the confines of his rooms, yes."

  Conflict showed in her face. What she was about to say was plainly difficult for her. In a low voice, slowly, she said, "Thank you."

  Arthur signaled to a pair of his guards and told them, "Take the queen back to her suite. And this time see that she stays there."

  Brit got to her feet. "Wait—I'll come along. I want to see what happened to those guards. They should never have taken wine from Guenevere."

  "Wine." Arthur broke into an enormous grin. "I knew there was something missing from this meeting. Simon, send for some."

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  Merlin rolled his eyes and leaned his head back. Bri tomart had managed to sober the king up; one encounter with his wife and he was drinking again.

  The remaining delegates arrived—minus Podarthes, of whom there was still no news. A Turk in enormous baglike trousers came, attended by a dozen boys, in whom he had a fairly over erotic interest.

  There was a legate from somewhere in Eastern Europe; at any rate that was the best guess anyone could make—he spoke a language like nothing anyone at court had ever heard. Even the other delegates were at a loss to fathom the things he said. But he carried an invitation, one addressed to the warlord of Estonia.

  Merlin and Nimue were quite certain they had not in vited him. But they made him welcome. They had sent out pro forma invitations to a great number of minor countries, and they assumed one of them must have found its way to him somehow. Nimue identified herself to him and asked him to follow her to his rooms. "You are from Estonia, then?"

  "Lithuania," he replied, beaming enormously. "Ninga turkman holo duk."

  "Oh. Of course."

  She tried Latin, Greek and French, but he just kept re peating, "Flausenthum."

  Britomart was concerned that admitting someone who had, apparently, not been invited, constituted a breach of security. But Merlin was not so certain. "Suppose he turned out to be important? I know how improbable it sounds, but . . . Let us admit him and keep an extra careful watch on him."

  Brit's expression as he said this was half smirk, half scowl. "Lithuania."

  "Look at him, Brit. He could not appear more harm less."

  "Of course. Today, Lithuania; tomorrow, the world."

  Late in the afternoon on the day before the queen's birth day, with the castle abuzz with activity, and with heavy autumn rain falling, an enormous black carriage was seen approaching in the distance. It was pulled by four jet-black horses, and the coachmen wore black livery trimmed with sable. Greffys ran to summon Arthur and Merlin. "She's here."

  "God, I was hoping she wouldn't come." Arthur moaned.

  "I'm afraid she has, sir."

  The carriage pulled into the courtyard and came to a halt precisely two feet from the main entrance. Its occu pant could step directly indoors and never feel the rain. Slowly a footman pulled open the door. A tall, pale woman wrapped in black fur stepped down and strode into the castle as if she owned it. A pack of servants ap proached her, obediently asking if she required anything. Merlin and Arthur were still halfway to the entrance; they scrambled to follow.

  "Morgan." Arthur called to her.

  Grandly she turned to face him. Huge sleeves billowed as she spread her arms. "Brother."

  "You've come. We weren't certain you would." They embraced.

  "In fact," Merlin added, "we were just about to give your rooms to one of the delegates."

  "You have so little faith in me. You always have. Where are my rooms?"

  "Someone will show you directly. You look fit, Morgan."

  "As do you. Both of you." She nodded condescendingly. "But—fit for what, precisely? I understand there is an up start here. A—what is the word?—'bishop' or some such, I believe he calls himself."

  "Yes." Merlin was in his element. "A legate from the head of the Christian religion in Rome."

  "What business could such a creature have in England? Here, we worship the true gods. We have since the begin ning of time, and the gods have served us well."

  "He says he wants to prepare us to meet his god in the afterlife."

  She glared at him. "When we die, if we have lived good lives, we go to the Hall of Heroes." Then she smiled in a conciliatory wau. "That is key to our worship."

  "When we worship at all," Arthur muttered.

  And Merlin added, "He is a diplomat, Morgan, here on a diplomatic mission. Nothing more."

  She turned icy. "You are quite certain? No one at court is contemplating—what is the term they use?—converting to this absurd faith? The ma
n may find himself approaching the next life sooner than he thinks."

  "No one, Morgan, is converting to anything." Arthur was resolute. "Now, I expect you to behave yourself. The last thing I need right now is you making trouble. You are a member of the royal family, after all, and we have impor tant aims here. Thank heaven you left your chest of poisons at home."

  "I have a stripped-down version for travel. But you speak as if I were the usurper. I am devoted to England and its gods and traditions. If I use unorthodox means against our enemies now and then, it is in the service of my country."

  "Now, stop it, Morgan. I told you, Gildas is here as a diplomat, no more. He is not an enemy in any sense." Ar thur hoped he sounded convincing.