"Why on earth did we invite him? Or did we?"
"We sent pro forma letters to the states around the Bal tic. Who could have guessed they would come? The Finns and Estonians had sense enough to realize they would be out of their league and stayed home. Then again, he was overheard mentioning Albania, or something that sounds like it, so he may actually be from somewhere in the Bal kans. It is anyone's guess."
"But why one earth would they have chosen him to rep resent their grievance?"
"Perhaps they thought it would rattle us."
Arthur turned to Simon. "Is this committee of three here now?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"How undiplomatic. But I suppose we ought to see them. It appears we have the chance to be more Asiatic already. Usher them in." Simon turned to go.
"No, wait." Merlin help up a hand. "Give us a few mo ments to go over the intelligence reports on them. Such as they are."
"Yes, sir."
"And have three stools arranged here. Put plush cushions on them."
"Yes, sir."
Brit sent for the files; a clerk hurried to fetch them.
As it turned out, there was nothing much in them they did not already know. After twenty minutes Simon came back in. "Your Majesty, they are fuming. Gildas says it is unheard of for men of their stature to be kept waiting."
"It is standard practice to keep diplomats cooling their heels. They showed up with no appointment, after all. If they are angry, it gives us an edge."
Arthur handed the intelligence reports to Brit, who folded them and put them where they couldn't be seen. Then he told Simon to arrange the three stools and show the gentlemen in. And, plainly peeved and not trying to disguise it, they entered. Gildas appeared even taller, thin ner and more emaciated than he had on his arrival at Corfe. He glared at Arthur, Merlin and Brit in turn and sat grandly down on the center stool.
The Lithuanian—no one in the castle seemed to know his name; Brit wondered if people even had names in his country—entered second. Everything about him was in constant motion, his limbs, his facial features, his eyes. He walked to the stool on Gildas's right and made to sit down. But he almost missed. Gildas caught him by the arm and steadied him.
"Garjentamius," said the man from Lithuania.
Andrea of Salesi entered last. He was young for a dip lomat, and darkly handsome, as the expression has it. He was also obviously fit; it was possible to see how muscular he was through his clothing.
The three of them made an odd trio: thin, fat and in the middle. If Andrea had not been so good-looking the scene would have been quite comic.
"Welcome. You know my advisors, Merlin and Bri tomart." Arthur played the hearty ruler. "We understand you have a grievance. I hope your accommodations are satisfac tory."
Andrea started to speak but Gildas cut him off. "They are quite satisfactory, King Arthur. But they could not pos sibly be satisfactory enough. We appear to be confined to them."
"Surely not." Arthur pretended surprise and turned to Merlin. "Can this be true, Merlin?"
"Certainly not, Your Majesty." Merlin arranged his robes. "We have taken certain security measures, in light of yesterday's tragic occurrence. And of course there is this storm. There have been reports of flash floods. We could hardly permit our guests to put themselves in danger by wandering about the countryside." He turned to the three. "You must all understand that we have to be certain of the castle's security—your security and that of your col leagues."
The Lithuanian began to babble something rapidly. An drea interrupted. "One of my men wished to go into town earlier, to buy some provisions."
"Provisions?" Brit interrupted him. "What could you possibly need that we cannot supply? Besides, as Merlin has noted, it's pouring down rain."
But Andrea ignored her and went on. "He was stopped by your soldiers. Forced to return. Are we to be your pris oners, then? Is that England's idea of diplomacy? Hostage taking?"
"No one is a hostage." Arthur spoke firmly. "You are our honored guests. You would not wish for the assassin of Leodegrance to escape and run free?"
"Of course not. But—"
"Or to strike again?"
Gildas jumped to his feet. "Given a preference we would rather have him outside of the castle. That, apparently, is not to be permitted." He smiled sarcastically. "Besides, do you not already have him in custody?"
"He will not escape," Arthur said firmly. "But we do not know that he acted alone. We must maintain security until we are certain everyone—including all of you—is perfectly safe."
"But, Your Majesty. The killer is Sir Lancelot. Everyone knows it. Most of us witnessed his apprehension. What need could there be for further security?"
The Flausenthurmian stood up and began shouting in comprehensibly and waving his arms wildly. "Gedjia dee bok Lithuania!" Gildas put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him firmly back to his seat. From between them, a knife clattered to the floor. Gildas jumped back and away from it, then looked at the king, plainly abashed, and bent to pick it up. But Brit lunged for it and took the weapon before he could.
Arthur put on a wicked grin. "You see, Bishop? Knives appear out of thin air and nearly injure you. And you thought we should relax our security."
They bickered for several minutes more, with Gildas and Andrea insisting security be relaxed and Arthur hold ing his ground. Finally Merlin took the king aside and whispered something in his ear. Arthur smiled, nodded and returned to his seat. "I am afraid it is not possible for us to relax our security measures. But we are most sensitive to your needs and requirements. Therefore we will assign a member of our household staff to each of you, personally, to see that all your needs are met. There should be no more necessity to leave Corfe Castle for provisions of any kind." He smiled at them in what he hoped was a conciliatory way.
They grumbled; they protested about constraints on their movements; they asked whether these "members of the household staff" would be in fact anything but spies. But Arthur refused to be moved. "You are guests in our country and in our castle. We must do what we feel is right to pro tect you. We regret that you mistrust our motives, but we simply must do what seems right and proper to us."
Amid more protests the three of them finally took their leave, plainly unhappy. Even the Lithuanian seemed to have sensed somehow that they had been rebuffed. As they left they began to bicker among themselves—at least Andrea and Gildas did; the Lithuanian burbled more of whatever he had been burbling all along and was roundly ignored by his colleagues.
Once they were out of sight, Arthur, Merlin and Brit re laxed. Arthur called for wine and asked Merlin, "You're sure you don't mind suspending school for a few days?"
"The squires and pages have been working hard at their lessons. Well, most of them have. The more athletically in clined among them have no use for actual learning. But I think a break will do them all good. And I daresay most of them will be happy for this chance to play at being secret agents. We can call them 'diplomatic actors' or some such."
Brit asked, "Are they really bright enough to do this? I mean, do they have enough on the ball, or do they only have jousting and wrestling on their minds?"
"The majority of them will be fine. Once you and I have taught them how to behave and the kind of things to look for, I am fairly certain they will do a good job for us. The duller ones among them can be assigned to the less impor tant delegates. That peculiar man from Lithuania, for in stance."
"How can we know how important he actually is?"
Merlin shrugged. "Or how unimportant. But I am begin ning to be suspicious of him. How odd is it that the dele gates would have selected him, of all people, as one of their spokesmen?"
Arthur gaped at him. "What on earth do you mean?"
"Well, have we had any word yet about Podarthes?"
"You think that he might be—?"
Again Merlin shrugged; then he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He got to his feet and began to amble about the ro
om in an uncharacteristic way. "There is no way to know, is there? But it would explain his presence here, despite his plain inability to interact with us, diplo matically or otherwise. And it would explain why at least some of the others wanted him to represent them—if they know who he really is, I mean. At any rate, we will have to choose one of the brighter squires to keep watch on him."
Merlin was now standing near a tapestry. Suddenly he pulled it back. "This squire, for instance." Standing behind it, clearly eavesdropping, was the boy Petronus. When he realized he had been exposed, he gaped wide-eyed at Mer lin, then at the king. And he drew a dagger and bolted, ran away so fast Merlin was a bit startled. Brit lunged and grabbed for him but he was too quick.
Merlin shouted, "Walter!" A guard just outside the room planted himself squarely in the doorway. Petronus tried to push past him, but Walter was too big and too strong. He caught the boy, confiscated his knife and dragged him, struggling wildly, back before the king.
"Well, well, well." Britomart's tone was strongly ironic. "We seem to have caught ourselves a would-be assassin."
Six
An hour later the three of them—Arthur, Merlin and Bri tomart—headed resolutely down to the dungeons, accom panied by two soldiers. Brit had suggested putting Petronus in the same cell as Lancelot, whose squire he had been be fore he defected to Arthur's court. "Then we must place someone to eavesdrop on them. With luck they'll say some thing incriminating and save us the trouble of probing for the facts."
Merlin liked the idea but said, "I wish we were at Camelot. Pellenore knows all the hidden passages there. Nothing happens at Camelot that he does not know about."
"Perhaps we can ask Petronilla. She may know about the castle's hidden places. I think she would be delighted to incriminate her brother."
They had decided to let Petronus and Lancelot keep company for an hour before confronting the boy. Then the time approached.
The jailor told them that he had been listening carefully, but neither of the prisoners had said much. He unlocked the cell door and the three of them went in, followed by the two guards in case either prisoner made a break for it or tried to overpower them.
The cell was dark; it might have been midnight there. Two torches, one at either end, gave the only light, and they barely seemed to penetrate the gloom. Lancelot was pacing angrily. Petronus was sitting on the stone floor, back to the wall, looking worried, as well he might. He was also shiv ering; the cell was icy. And dribbles of cold rainwater poured in through cracks in the wall. He looked as if he might have been crying.
But before any of them could address Petronus, Lancelot planted himself squarely before them. "You've come to talk."
"Yes, Lancelot." The king was sanguine. "But not to you."
"You have to talk to me. I have rights. That is one of the hallmarks of your England, isn't it? I have the right to be heard."
"There will be a trial soon enough." Arthur signaled to the soldiers to move him out of the way.
Merlin smiled what he hoped was a warm smile and took a step forward. "Petronus."
"You sound surprised to find me here." The boy sulked. "You did put me here, remember? I'm cold. I can't stop shaking."
"Now, now, Petronus. That is no way to talk."
"How would you talk, in my situation?"
"I would cooperate with my captors in hopes of better ing my circumstances."
"Of course."
Brit advanced a few steps toward him. "I must say I'm grateful for one thing, Petronus. You are no longer my squire. To have you do this while you were in my service would have been a considerable disgrace."
The boy started to say something, but Merlin cut him off. "Instead you did it in mine. I wish I knew what to think. I have always liked you, Petronus, ever since we first met, in this very castle. And all of us have been good to you—welcoming and kind. How could you have betrayed us like this?"
Petronus looked at Lancelot, who glowered at him. The boy was clearly frightened of him. Merlin whispered to Arthur, "Perhaps this was not the best idea. He will not tell us anything with Lancelot present."
Arthur thought for a moment, then nodded.
"Petronus," Merlin said, "we have decided to move you to a warmer place. Just so you will understand we mean you nothing ill, if you will only talk. Who put you up to this?"
Abruptly Lancelot exploded. "And what about me? You will give this rat a more comfortable prison, but I have to stay here in this icy hole?"
Arthur smiled at him. "And you are still on your honey moon. Life can be terrible, can't it?"
At Arthur's signal the guards took Petronus and led him from the cell. Arthur, Merlin and Brit saluted Lancelot with mock-cordiality and followed them. To the guards Arthur said, "Take him to my study for now. But keep close watch on him. He's quick."
On their way back up to the king's rooms, they dis cussed what to do. Merlin noted that there certainly seemed to be something between Lancelot and Petronus, but it had the air of distrust and intimidation more than conspiracy. "Let me interrogate him. I've been working with the squires in school; I think I've learned how to talk to them."
"The young are always alien." Arthur sounded resigned to the sad fact.
In the king's study, Petronus was sitting at the confer ence table, the guards just behind him. He was apparently fighting back tears, and he looked terrified. Two more sol diers stood at either side of the room's entrance, watching him. When he heard the three of them enter he looked up, wide-eyed. "Are you— You're going to torture me, aren't you?"
They took seats around the other three sides of the table. Merlin smiled gently. "Of course not. But we must know why you did what you did. We have been so kind to you since you came here. This hardly seems the way to repay us."
"I—I'm sorry. I'm so ashamed. They made me—they told me—"
"Who are they? Lancelot and Guenevere?"
The boy nodded. Then he turned and looked directly at Arthur. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I'm so sorry. I never meant to—"
"What did they threaten you with?" Merlin interrupted.
"They—they said—I—"
"Calm yourself, Petronus. If you did what you did under coercion, we will certainly take that into account. But tell us."
"They said—they—they told me they had my sister. They said they would torture her, even kill her if I didn't do what they wanted. They sent me a lock of her hair and a brooch, a family heirloom, as proof that they had her."
Brit spoke up. "But you and Petronilla don't even like each other."
"Even so, she is my sister. I couldn't just let them . . . do those things. A squire has a code of honor. Protecting his own family is one of the cornerstones."
Merlin shot Brit a glance as if to say, See what comes of your so-called chivalry? Then he turned back to the boy. "And what did they require you to do?"
Softly, so softly it was almost a whisper, he said, "Spy for them. And kill the king."
There was a long silence. His words seemed to hang in the air around them. Finally Petronus lost control and began to cry, to sob loudly. "They fooled me. She was with them, she was all right, she wasn't their prisoner at all. I'm so stupid. I'm so ashamed."
"There was no way you could know. But why didn't you come to us? Why didn't you tell us what they were doing?"
"So you could do what? What could you have done? Would you have raided Corfe to rescue her? A French girl you didn't even know? Would you have risked civil war over that? I—I felt trapped. But—but I tried to— I never really told them anything important."
"You attacked me. In the dark. It was you." Arthur raised his voice menacingly and pointed an accusing finger at the boy.
"I didn't want to hurt you, Your Majesty. I tried not to. But it was dark, and you fought. I . . . I never really would have . . . I had other chances . . . and I . . . I thought if they thought I was trying, that would make them leave me alone. Please believe me. I didn't want to hurt you. Or anyone. I had my knife, and I
thought if I could maybe nick you with it, they would hear and think I was trying to do what they wanted. But you fell against me, and . . ." He finally broke down completely and sobbed like an injured animal. "I'm so ashamed. I'm so sorry. Please believe me. They made a fool of me, an evil fool."
"Folly is always evil." Merlin made his voice gentle. "Look at me, Petronus."
Slowly the boy raised his head and looked Merlin in the eye.
"You said it yourself. They deceived you."
"You believe me?"
"Let us say your story seems plausible. And perfectly in character for Lancelot and Guenevere. But there is one thing we need to know."
The Lancelot Murders Page 14
