The Lancelot Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  For a brief instant a look of concern crossed Podarthes's face. The word vassal had had the desired effect. Then he recovered himself and replaced it with a diplomat's smile. He bowed to Arthur, quite ostentatiously.

  Meanwhile Merlin found Simon and made certain he understood the situation. Simon reassured him. "Don't worry. Just give me time to make the proper arrange ments."

  "You know the diplomatic service, Simon. Stalling is what we do best."

  On the dais, Arthur announced that his loving wife, Queen Guenevere, was about to mark her birthday by re newing on Excalibur her vow of fealty to him as well as, by implication, her marriage vow. There was a buzz among the delegates; they all certainly knew what she and Lancelot had done. If they hadn't known before they arrived, they certainly picked up the gossip at Corfe Castle.

  The musicians began playing a composition heavy with pomp and majesty. The queen stood and slowly walked to Arthur. He in his turn drew Excalibur from its sheath. It seemed to more than one person in the audience that she was shaking as she stood before him. With anger? Humilia tion?

  Slowly she got to her knees. She bent to kiss the hem of his garment, then Excalibur. And she recited in a loud, clear, expressionless voice the words of the oath Merlin had written for her, acknowledging Arthur as the rightful king of England and her rightful husband, swearing lifelong allegiance and fidelity, pledging her blood and her life to his service and to the interests of his England, and on and on.

  No one in the audience seemed to know what to make of the scene. Podarthes was frozen to immobility. Except for the queen's voice there was not a sound in the Great Hall.

  Arthur announced that he was touched and quite pleased by her assertion of loyalty. He bade her rise and return to her throne.

  When the scene finally ended, Simon approached Po darthes. "If you will follow me, sir, I will see that you are installed comfortably in a suitable suite."

  Podarthes smiled, and his green eyes seemed to flash even more brightly, and it all seemed completely artificial. "With pleasure. And you are—?"

  Simon introduced himself. A moment later Merlin joined the two of them and did likewise.

  "Ah, Merlin." Podarthes beamed. "The famous sorcerer and King Arthur's chief counselor." He looked around the hall. "Arthur is fortunate to have you. It will take a great magician indeed to deal with all of this." He gestured vaguely at the crowd in the hall.

  "I am afraid," Merlin said, trying to disguise his annoy ance, "that my reputation for wizardry is rather wildly ex aggerated. I am merely a humble scholar, and King Arthur's servant and advisor. At any rate, I am afraid your arrival was somewhat abrupt, sir, and quite unexpected at this late moment. Simon will see that you are comfortable and have the opportunity to dine and rest. There will be plenty of time for us to talk afterward. I must tell you, though, that your understanding of the political situation in England may not be quite up to date."

  "So I gathered, and as the king seems to have indicated. I am quite famished. Your hospitality is most welcome. But perhaps you misunderstand. We have been in your country for weeks, traveling about, meeting people, learning every thing we could." He smiled. "We would have been here days ago but for all this rain. I cannot recall a less hospita ble climate."

  "You have been here all this time? Without notifying us? That is most irregular, Podarthes, as I am certain you must know."

  "We were lost." He tossed off the lie as if it didn't really matter. "But about dinner . . . ?"

  Merlin gestured to Simon, who took immediate charge.

  On the dais Arthur had been watching all of this, plainly concerned. When he saw Podarthes smiling, his concern turned to mild alarm. He made a few more quick remarks to the crowd, then clapped his hands grandly and the various entertainers began circulating about the Great Hall, per forming their tricks, singing, plying groups of men with riddles and whatnot.

  Arthur climbed down from the stage and made his way through the crowd, acknowledging this delegate and that, till he finally reached Merlin. They stepped apart from the crowd into a small side room. "So he's here." The king frowned. "What on earth are we to do with him?"

  "That is easy. Keep him waiting. That is diplomacy at its purest."

  "Don't be glib, Merlin. If we do anything he regards as a slight, it could have terrible consequences."

  Merlin was breezy. "We have more pressing things to concern ourselves with."

  "More pressing? Be serious, Merlin. Wars have been started over such things."

  "Podarthes's presence makes it that much more urgent that we get to the bottom of the murder of Leodegrance. If we can prove that Guenevere was involved, it will pull the rug quite completely out from under his intention to treat with her."

  Arthur was deflated. "You're right. What do we do?"

  "I think," Merlin said softly and slowly, "Lancelot has stewed in his cell long enough. It is time we interviewed him."

  Eight

  "So you have come to question me. It is about time." Lan celot was sitting on a stone ledge in his cell, which was darker and colder than Merlin remembered from his inter view with Petronus.

  Merlin and Arthur stood in the doorway of the cell, each holding a torch. Just behind them the jailor and two guards watched, making certain they were safe and Lancelot did not have the opportunity to attack them.

  "You must give us a moment, Lancelot. The dungeons here are so much darker than the ones at Camelot. Are we actually underground, do you imagine?"

  "Move me to Camelot if it troubles you."

  The king brushed this aside. "We have so many castles in England—all with dungeons. Would you like to have your choice?"

  "No doubt you will choose the one with the most efficient torture chamber."

  Merlin laughed softly. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic. Why else choose a lover as . . . as problematic as Guenevere?" The two of them swept into the chamber, trying to display the confidence of men with the upper hand, and stood over him.

  "Wife." Lancelot got to his feet.

  "I beg your pardon?" A note of menace crept into Ar thur's voice.

  "You said lover. She is my wife."

  "Under what law, Frenchman? The Christian Church, as I take it, considers your marriage bigamous. Not even your partisan Gildas has said a word to defend it. And under English law you are both guilty of high treason." Almost as an afterthought he added with a grin, "A capital offense."

  The interrogation was not off to a promising start. Mer lin decided to try a more conciliatory approach. "We have come to hear your account of the killing of Leodegrance. Surely you do not want to antagonize us and miss the op portunity."

  "As if you'd believe what I told you."

  "Merlin is investigating." The king followed his coun selor's lead. "We intend to determine the facts, whatever they may be and wherever they may lead."

  Lancelot sat again and glared up at them. "Facts? What would you know about facts? We heard about you in France years before I ever came here. How Merlin rigged that stunt with the sword in the stone to convince the gullible you were destined to be king. Could a king whose reign is based on such fraud be concerned with facts?"

  "None of this," Merlin said firmly, "is helping your case. Would you like to tell us what happened that day? Better yet, would you like to confess to the French king's murder?"

  "I didn't kill him," Lancelot muttered. "And I think you both know it. There is nothing I could tell you that would make a difference. I half suspect you had him killed your selves, so you could blame it on me."

  "The facts would make that difference, if they can be verified."

  "Facts?" He seemed genuinely puzzled by the word. "Kings manufacture facts to suit their whims. The things called facts are nothing but political tools."

  "Yes, facts." Merlin repeated the word with emphasis.

  "You're French, Lancelot," Arthur added, "but even so you should be able to understand what facts are."

  "I didn't kill the d
amned old fool. That is the only fact."

  "Then who did, do you suppose?"

  "Kings have enemies. Old, vulnerable kings have more."

  "What enemies?"

  The French knight glared. "You think I'm going to an swer that?"

  "I think you want to save yourself from hanging."

  He fell silent.

  "Come now, Lancelot." Merlin was the soul of patience for the prisoner's benefit. "All we want is to hear your ac count of what happened that morning. Where is the harm in that? It might do you a world of good."

  "And it might not." He sulked. "But . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing. Never mind."

  Arthur was beginning to lose patience. "Look, you do understand your situation, don't you? We have a witness who says you stabbed him. A trusted witness. And the murder weapon was yours, or rather your wife's. My wife's."

  "Witness? What witness could you possibly have?"

  "Why, Petronilla, of course. She was there with you. She saw the whole horrible affair, and she is prepared to testify to it in court."

  "Petronilla! That bitch!"

  "The queen's private secretary. Who could be more reli able?"

  "Almost anyone could. That lying bitch."

  "You are repeating yourself, Lancelot. Why should we believe she would lie about this? What would it gain her?"

  "Revenge," he said softly.

  Arthur smirked and stepped back a few paces to lean against the opposite wall. Merlin pressed on. "Revenge? For what? You and Guenevere took her into your household and gave her a privileged position. Are we to believe she wanted revenge for that?"

  He looked up at Merlin as if he were the dumbest man on earth. "She wanted me to marry her."

  "She—! What?"

  "She was—is—in love with me."

  "For heaven's sake, Lancelot. She had only just seen you marry the queen. How could she expect—?"

  "She expected it because I told her I would, that's why."

  "You—?"

  "Or at least I told her I loved her." He looked from Mer lin to Arthur, then stared down at the cell floor. "We were having an . . . I was . . . we were sleeping together."

  "On your honeymoon." Arthur's voice dripped with sar casm.

  "She is young and pretty. She was willing. And Guene vere . . . well, let's just say the fires of love don't burn bright in her."

  "You're telling me that?"

  Lancelot laughed bitterly. "I thought she would be dif ferent with me. When we were courting, she . . . you know."

  "Yes, I know only too well. But Guenevere is not like other women. Ambition flows in her veins, not blood. Copulation for her is a political tactic to be used like any other. Once she has a man, she sees no need to do it any more."

  "Don't remind me. I was a fool. We were both her fools. I love her, I really do. But I need sex, like any other man."

  The interrogation was getting far off track. Merlin de cided to take charge. "And so you began an affair with her secretary."

  "Yes." He was glum.

  "And promised to leave Guenevere for her."

  "Yes."

  "You French are supposed to be such skilled lovers. Couldn't you have come up with something more origi nal?"

  "I'm a knight, not a troubadour."

  "So, you are telling us that Petronilla is lying about what happened, to revenge herself on you for, shall we say, toy ing with her?"

  "Yes. Or maybe she's just crazy. Either way, I did not kill Leodegrance."

  "You had a motive. He opposed your 'marriage' to Guenevere."

  "That was a done fact. His opposition never counted for much. Leonilla was the real power in Camelliard, and she wanted us married."

  Arthur snorted. "Mothers-in-law."

  Merlin ignored the interruption. "So tell us what hap pened."

  Lancelot paused and took a deep breath, as if remember ing, or concentrating, was difficult for him. "Well . . . we had slept late. We were late for breakfast."

  "She spent the night with you?"

  The knight nodded.

  "Guenevere has her spies, as you well know. Wasn't that risky?"

  "Of course. But Petronilla was quartered close to me. In the room next to mine, in fact. It was easy enough for us to visit each other in the night. When we woke that morning, she began pressing me again. When would I tell Guenevere? When would I leave her? When would we be married? As if any man in his right mind would leave a queen for a servant. I put her off, as I had a dozen times before, but she wouldn't let up."

  Arthur interjected, "A good warrior should admire such relentlessness."

  Lancelot glanced at him but decided to ignore the jab. "When we finally dressed and headed for the refectory, she kept at it. I told her to be quiet, someone might hear, but she wouldn't stop. So I put on speed and moved ahead of her. There was nothing else to do. She was wearing one of those heavy beaded gowns and couldn't keep up with me.

  "When I turned the corner into the main corridor leading to the dining hall, there was Leodegrance. Already dead, or nearly so. He was on the floor, and the knife was stuck in his throat. Blood was everywhere. His body was convulsing. I took a few steps toward him, but he stopped moving."

  "That is all?"

  Lancelot nodded.

  "And you did not see anyone else?"

  He thought; he tried to focus. "There was someone down the corridor ahead of me. I couldn't see clearly. In an instant she was gone."

  "She?"

  "He, then."

  "You are not suggesting Petronilla did the murder?"

  "No, of course not. She was behind me, not ahead."

  "But Lancelot, why did you say she?"

  "Whoever it was was wearing a gown."

  "A gown?" For the first time Merlin's attention was up. "Are you certain? Could it have been a man's robe of some description? Half the legates here wear them, especially in a castle as drafty as this one."

  He shrugged. "They might have been robes. As I told you, I got only the briefest glimpse. The next thing I knew, Petronilla had caught up with me. When she saw what had happened she began shrieking like a madwoman, and a moment later everyone came."

  "And Petronilla accused you."

  "Yes. She was angry, furious. The bishops always say that hell has no fury like a discarded woman."

  Arthur stepped away from the wall he'd been leaning against and stood next to Merlin. "Petronilla is nothing in the fury department. Wait until Guenevere hears your story. She seethes with rage even when she hasn't been misused."

  "Queens are difficult. Her mother—"

  "Guenevere is so much like her mother it frightens me."

  "Anyway, she loves me. She will forgive me. When I fall into her arms and do my 'I'm an impulsive little boy' act, she melts. It has never failed." He sounded quite pleased with himself.

  "She has caught you being unfaithful before this? And forgiven you?" Arthur sounded amazed. "This side of her is one I've never seen before."

  "She knew that I had tupped a few scullery maids and so on."

  "Screwing her personal secretary may seem different to her. I'd be careful, if I were you. Impulsive little boys can only get away with so much."

  "You think she might divorce me?" He sounded alarmed.

  "You'd be lucky if that's all she did."

  "But—but—I've never cheated on her before. Not with anyone of consequence."

  Both Arthur and Merlin burst out laughing. "Save the innocent act for her, will you? Your womanizing is legen dary across half of Western Europe. What is the name of that bastard son you have in France? Gilead or something, isn't it?"

  "Galahad." He sulked. "A horrible kid. Completely in sufferable. I'm ashamed that he's mine. He takes what the priests teach seriously. Goes around boasting about how pure he is. No one can stand him." Then he realized what Arthur had said. He blinked. "But you have better intelli gence than I thought, I'm impressed."

  "You should be impressed by more than
my espionage network. Guenevere has begged us to free you and find what she calls the real murderer. Presumably the owner of those robes you saw vanish around the corner."

  "Guenevere? Begged?" He couldn't hide his astonishment.

  Arthur nodded, smiling. "She has not forgotten who the real power is in England. Neither should you. We have enough evidence to convict you at trial, Lancelot. You know what that will mean."