The Lancelot Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  "Yes." He turned glum. "My head."

  "Is there anything else you can tell Merlin and me that might help your case?"

  Sullenly he shook his head.

  "We'll just be going, then."

  Lancelot sprang to his feet. "Arthur, please. I've served you ill. I've never been loyal to you, not since I arrived in England. But I know you. You believe in justice, in fair ness. Do not execute me for a crime you know I didn't commit."

  "I know you say you didn't commit it. That is not quite the same thing. Every murderer on record—"

  "I wouldn't lie to you, not about this."

  Arthur paused and smiled. "I know. You're just an im pulsive little boy."

  Lancelot's features froze. "I suppose I deserve that."

  "Of course you do. But what else do you deserve? That is the real question here, isn't it?"

  Merlin also paused in the doorway. "Oh, and by the way . . ."

  "Yes? What else?"

  "We've uncovered the agent you sent to assassinate Ar thur. I hope you were not counting on him to do his job. You will have to pin your hopes on something else, I fear."

  "That little rat Petronus. What has he told you?"

  "A great deal." Merlin grinned. "Thank you for the veri fication."

  A moment later the king and his advisor left their pris oner to sulk and wonder how badly he had hurt his case. Arthur had found the interview highly satisfactory; Merlin had his doubts.

  "What on earth do you make of that?" Arthur walked briskly back to his rooms.

  "Lies. Or so I would guess. Lancelot is the only logical suspect. Who else could have done the killing?"

  Arthur shrugged. "We have a castle full of men with ul terior motives. England should have stayed a backwater. You will question Petronilla again?"

  "Do you really think it would accomplish anything, Arthur?"

  "It might make Lancelot's story more plausible."

  Merlin sighed. "And this was looking so neat."

  "Do you want neatness, or do you want the truth?"

  "That is a question you should ask yourself, Arthur. You have Guenevere's pledge of loyalty. You have her 'husband' in jail. You have gained the recognition—at least some recognition—of the international community. Why upset the applecart?"

  "Question Petronilla again. Better yet, search her room. She may have been foolish enough to keep a diary or some thing."

  Merlin made an ostentatious bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

  "And don't be a smartass."

  "Your wife is . . . a prisoner?" Podarthes smiled at Arthur and adopted the faux-humble demeanor of a professional courtier.

  The king, Merlin and Britomart were receiving him pri vately. He seemed mildly put off by it; Byzantine grandees were used to attention and considered it their due. Nimue was in attendance, taking notes, and four guards were sta tioned at the corners of the room. Podarthes was dressed, rather pointedly, much more magnificently than anyone else present. His golden cloak shimmered in torchlight. Nimue found the ostentation amusing.

  Arthur frowned at the ambassador. "My wife is, shall we say, indisposed. But it is not her wish that we discuss the reasons."

  "I see. Perhaps it is merely her time of the month, then? But I am quite at your service, Your Majesty. On what sub ject may I enlighten you?"

  "You may," Merlin interjected, "explain why you have been in England for nearly a month without presenting yourself. You must certainly be aware of how . . . irregular that is. We have already drafted a letter to Justinian protest ing formally."

  "Our ship was blown off course. We landed somewhere to the north. The country was unfamiliar to us, and so . . ." Podarthes smiled; he didn't expect them to believe a word of it.

  "Mightn't you have asked for directions? And why would you have come here so early—a month before the queen's birthday?"

  "Surely it is not unusual for a ship to be blown off course here. English weather is notorious everywhere. This storm that is raging outside now, for instance. Do you think it will let up anytime soon?"

  Arthur smiled. "There has been only one report of a ves sel being blown astray by this wind. And that was one of yours, en route to France. And now your ship . . . You are pinning a great deal on the wind. Or perhaps you ought to find better navigators."

  "Just so, Your Majesty. But I was under the impression you wished to open diplomatic talks."

  Britomart was in an impatient mood. "That is exactly what we're trying to do, Podarthes. What have you been doing here? And how did you escape the notice of our agents for all that time?"

  "The emperor has carried on a lively correspondence with Queen Guenevere, under the reasonable impression she is the reigning monarch in England. Imagine our sur prise when we learned it to be otherwise."

  "So you were gathering intelligence?"

  Merlin decided to get between them, and to take a shot in the dark. "Surely your agent here—the one who pretends to be a Lithuanian—could have told you what you needed to know."

  Podarthes's eyes widened. "Lithuanian?"

  "He is your agent, is he not? I have suspected as much all along. There was no other plausible explanation for his presence here. Tell us the truth, Podarthes. He speaks per fect English, Greek and Latin, does he not?"

  "I have," the ambassador said slowly and carefully, "no knowledge of the man. I am as bewildered by his language as anyone."

  "That hardly answers the question."

  "At any rate," Arthur said firmly, "you now have a cor rect understanding of the political situation here. The queen is not the one you must treat with."

  "Yes, of course, Your Majesty. But you understand, I must contact Byzantium before I can proceed at all. This altered political situation . . ." He smiled feebly.

  "Go and write, then. I will have a special courier take your letter there as rapidly as possible."

  "With respect, Your Majesty, I should prefer to send one of my own men."

  "We will take that under consideration. But you do un derstand the situation, do you not?"

  His face was blank. "Situation?"

  Merlin spoke. "We are investigating the assassination of King Leodegrance. Your earlier absence made it out of the question to suspect you. Now that we know you were here in England all along . . . You do see the question that raises?"

  "Neither I nor any of my people had anything to do with that crime. Besides, you are certainly aware that I have im munity from prosecution." He smiled wickedly. "As a dip lomat."

  "And you are certainly aware," Merlin said smiling back at him, "that we do not have formal diplomatic relations with Byzantium. A claim of immunity would carry no weight."

  "But . . . you certainly have the killer in custody al ready."

  "As the king said, we are investigating. There are unan swered questions." Merlin glanced at Arthur, who nodded slightly. "I believe that is all for now, Podarthes. You may go."

  Clearly unhappy with the way the meeting had gone, Podarthes stood to go, bowed and walked out of the room. These English were better at the game than he'd expected.

  When he had gone, Arthur sat back in his chair and re laxed. "Evidently the Byzantines aren't quite as clever as their reputation would indicate."

  "Or they are more so." Brit was still bristling. "Can we believe anything he said? Anything at all?"

  "Justinian loves spies and spying." Merlin adopted his best schoolteacher tone. "He spies on his own subjects ceaselessly. It is not out of character for him to send his people here early and place them undercover. We must send riders out to our own people across the countryside and see if we might learn—or guess—what Podarthes has been up to."

  Brit jumped to her feet. "I'll send men out right away."

  "Excellent, Brit. But now it is time for us to, er, to have a talk with Petronus. Do you wish to remain for that?"

  "God, no."

  He turned to Nimue. "I would like you to leave as well, Colin. This may prove delicate, and I want him as much
at ease as possible."

  A moment later they were gone and the boy was ushered in under heavy guard. The head guard whispered a quick ex change with Arthur, who told him to have his men wait out side. Petronus sat on a low stool, facing the king and Merlin; he was clearly worried about what was going to happen.

  Once the guards had left the room, Merlin turned to him and smiled his best schoolteacher smile. "Petronus. Hello, Petronus."

  "You sound surprised to see me here."

  He chuckled. "Not at all, I am merely trying to make you feel welcome, to put you at ease."

  "Why?"

  "Now, do not take that attitude. We have taken you from prison and let you stay in your own room, Surely that should demonstrate our goodwill."

  "Well . . ." He sulked. "I guess so."

  "Excellent."

  "What did Lancelot and Guenevere tell you? About me, I mean."

  "Lancelot made some comments that seem to support your story, at least in part. But we have more to learn. In the meantime—"

  "What more could you need to know?"

  "Please, Petronus. A great deal has been happening in the Spider's House. I will tell you frankly that there are more mysteries than we bargained for. Unless we get to the bottom of them . . ." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness and put on a sadder-but-wiser expression.

  "People always say you learned to act from Samuel Gall, that actor friend of yours. And that you've outclassed him as an actor."

  "People at court always love nasty gossip. Courts thrive on it."

  "It is true, though, isn't it?"

  "Listen, Petronus. Your guards have told us you have been exceptionally well-behaved. Do you really want to turn this meeting into an adversarial one?"

  "No, sir, I guess not. But I—"

  Arthur interrupted. "Petronus, we want to know about your sister."

  "I—" It had caught him off guard and it showed. "Petronilla?"

  "Exactly."

  "What could you possibly want to know about her? She is Guenevere's secretary. And she's a lying scheming bitch. She always has been."

  "Yes." Merlin smiled again. "So you've told us. But there must be more to her than just that. What about love, for instance?"

  "Love? Petronilla?! You can't be serious."

  "I an afraid we are. Did she have affairs before she came to England? Did she take lovers?"

  The boy was lost; his face made it clear. "She—she lived in a nunnery at Lyons from her early teens. I was eight when she left, and it was as if my world had suddenly been flooded with sunlight. Then when I was fourteen she came home. She claimed she had left the convent voluntarily. But there were rumors she had had an affair with one of the priests. The abbot's secretary, in fact. I think our parents knew the details, but they would never discuss them with me."

  "But you heard? And you guessed?"

  "Well . . . yes."

  "And?"

  "They were only rumors. I don't actually know."

  Sternly Arthur said, "Stop this shilly-shallying. Tell us what you heard."

  "Well, Your Majesty. they said she was madly in love with this priest of hers. Desperate to marry him. But his vows . . . he wanted no part of that. You know how ambi tious they can be. Petronilla was nothing to him but a bedmate."

  "No, we don't know a thing about priests and their am bitions. This is England, not France. Go on."

  "Well, what I heard was . . . was . . . that she had tried to poison him. The one she said she loved. How's that for an older sister to look up to?"

  "And do you believe it?"

  "That she . . . ?"

  "Yes. Did she do it, do you think?"

  "Well, they never found any real evidence. There were just lots of suspicions. But she was driven out of the con vent and came home to us. The poor priest was left feeble minded by whatever she had done."

  "You believe she did it, then?" Arthur raised his voice. "If you do, just say so."

  And Petronus cowered a bit. "All I can say, Your Maj esty, is that it seems in character for her, as I've always known her. Petty, vindictive, self-centered, grasping . . . She is a complete horror of a woman. I have to think my parents sent her to England to be rid of her."

  Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. Merlin looked at the boy, not smiling for once. "So Petronilla is capable of trying to eliminate a lover she is not happy with."

  "That was the rumor, sir, yes."

  "And were there any other lovers who ended unhap pily?"

  "None that I know of. But Petronilla and I have never been close. When I was a child she used to torment me. Stick needles into me. I . . . It's a terrible thing to say, but I hate her."

  "Yours is not the first family to spawn such a creature, Petronus." Merlin's tone was fatherly, or as close to it as he could manage. "Or such feelings. Go back to your rooms, now, and behave yourself. This birthday gathering will be over soon enough. Or it will be if this bloody storm ever lets up."

  "But, sir, if I may ask, what is this all about? I thought you'd want to talk about the charges against me. I—"

  "Go to your rooms. We will talk further, I am certain. Perhaps not till the delegates are gone, but you may count on it."

  Without saying a word, and with an unmistakable look of confusion on his face, the boy left. Merlin heard the guards form up and take him away.

  "What on earth are we to make of that?" Arthur stared at the stool where the boy had sat.

  "If he is telling the truth, Arthur, it tells us a great deal about Petronilla's character, does it not? For the first time I find myself seriously considering the suggestion that Lan celot might not be the murderer of Leodegrance. I will have the girl's rooms searched. It is too much to think that she might have kept a diary or any such thing, but we can hope. And we must have our agents in France find out what they can about her."

  "A teenage girl in a nunnery? Who would ever have no ticed her? Why would they?"

  "True, Arthur. But if she is lying to incriminate another lover . . . Why kill Lancelot herself when she can have us do it for her?"

  "There are moments, Merlin, when your dark view of human nature makes sense to me."

  "I wish it did not seem quite so reasonable."

  Not having his accustomed tower at Camelot for solitude, Merlin had chosen to occupy rooms at the far end of the longest of the spider's legs. He headed there now, walking slowly along the corridor, lost in his thoughts. Some time alone . . . perhaps a bit of reading . . . maybe even a good long nap . . . That would be so sweet.

  A young guard hurried up behind him. "Merlin, sir."

  His spirits fell. He paused and turned slowly to face the man. "What is it?"

  "I'm sorry to bother you with this, sir, but it didn't seem quite important enough for the king, and—"

  He resumed walking. "If it is unimportant, by all means, tell me about it."

  "I didn't mean to imply that—"

  "No, no, and I did not take it that way. I am so tired of dealing with important matters. A small one will make a nice change."

  "Well, sir," he said uncertainly, "it is not exactly trivial. It's the queen."

  "Do you mean Guenevere, or Leonilla? Leonilla is more and more distracted. She keeps going on these little walk abouts of hers at the strangest hours, and to the strangest places."

  "No, sir. It is Her Majesty, Queen Guenevere. She wants to receive visitors."

  Merlin stopped walking. "Visitors? She is a prisoner and she knows it. Refuse her." After the briefest instant he found himself wondering who she might want to receive.

  "The Byzantine, sir. Podarthes."

  "Oh." He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "Tell her no. Tell him no. She is to have no 'guests.' And inform Podarthes that any diplomatic business is to be presented to the king."

  "We've told her all that, but she is being very insistent."

  "Damn. Very well. I will deal with her."

  A few minutes later he was at Guenevere's rooms. "Good morn
ing, Guenevere."

  "Merlin." She smiled a tight smile. "How very nice of you to visit me, at least."

  "I hope my humble company will be sufficient for you."

  "Why, whatever do you mean? And how is the confer ence proceeding?"