The Lancelot Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  Germanicus listened to him, smiling faintly. "You were not in our country very long, Merlin. Was it even two years? It must be easy for you to think of it as a kind of paradise. But believe me, it is not. We have factions, both political and religious. Christians poison pagans and vice versa. Partisans of one party in Byzantium jockey for ad vantage over the others. And you should see how vicious the various parties in the Hippodrome can be. Nothing erodes the human character faster than sports.

  "It only seems different to you in Egypt because of all the ancient monuments. Their timelessness makes all the squabbling seem small. But even they have a negative ef fect. Every crackpot in the Mediterranean world comes to Egypt, looking for the supposed wisdom of the ancients. As if stones could be wise."

  "Perhaps the men who placed them were."

  "That is rubbish and you know it. They were stone masons, nothing more."

  Merlin sighed. "I say again, when I lived in Egypt I was happy. I was free to study at the great library in Alexandria. There is nothing to study here but fog and rain. This damned murder . . . Why did Leodegrance not stay at home?"

  "Murder and politics can teach you at least as much as piles of old stones." He sighed in frustration. "Look at what you've accomplished here, you and Arthur. You have built, or are building, a society based on fairness and justice for everyone, not just a handful of nobles. All across the Medi terranean world, people talk about it."

  "Gossips."

  "Nonsense. You are refusing to acknowledge what is happening here. Not since Athens in its glory days has there been such a society. You are working wonders here, genu ine wonders as impressive as the Pyramids."

  "Then why does it all seem so futile?" Merlin brushed aside a piece of rubble with the tip of his cane. "If I could peel away one thin sliver of the world's evil, how much would still remain?"

  "Stop talking like that. You are doing some good, even if it seems minimal to you. Other people will do the same, in time. You are showing them the way."

  A serving woman rushed past them, carrying a bundle of something; it was impossible to tell what. She barely ac knowledged them as she hurried past.

  "This current business—the murder of Leodegrance— that is what is weighing me down. For as long as I can re member he has been part of our world, and now . . . I need to go someplace where I will never have to deal with such affairs again."

  "The North Pole?"

  "Stop it, Germanicus. I am serious."

  "So am I. The only place you can find no problems is a place where there are no human beings. Personally, I relish all the problems. They keep my mind fresh; they keep me alive."

  "You are a politician. I am a scholar, or try to be. That is the difference."

  "You are precisely right, Merlin. All the squabbles and infights, all the plots and schemes, even the occasional murder—they excite me. I am engaged with humanity in a very vital way. I would never trade that for a stack of books."

  "People have been having this discussion since before the time of Homer. And it keeps resurfacing, like the plague."

  "Like the—? I don't follow you."

  "Never mind. Your colleague Podarthes has more or less admitted to us that the peculiar Lithuanian man is in his service, by the way."

  "Really? I tried to engage the man in conversation last night. But it was no use. Greek, Latin, English, French—he was impervious to them all."

  "Your Byzantine court is not capable of directness. You must be aware that 'Byzantine' is becoming a watchword for complex deviousness. He has been here, pretending to understand nothing but doubtless taking in everything that is said in his earshot. I think some of the other delegates must have known, or suspected. I can only imagine what intelligence he must have been able to give to Podarthes. Germanicus, I want you to understand that I am serious. I want to go back to Egypt, to live the rest of my life there in quiet contemplation. Take me back with you."

  "My old minister, Cathacticus, died last month. I haven't found anyone to replace him. Do you want the job? I may have to require that you accept it."

  "You would do that?"

  "You are too intelligent, too resourceful, to be permitted to retire from pubic service."

  Merlin stopped walking and leaned against a wall. "There is never any rest, is there?"

  "Of course not."

  "So that I might help you remain engaged with human ity, I must do the same."

  Germanicus thought for a moment. "I'm not certain I'd phrase it that way, but yes."

  Softly Merlin said, "I need to be alone. Do you mind?"

  "I don't like seeing you in this kind of mood."

  "You are the second person who has said that to me to day. Leave me alone, will you please? The mood will pass."

  Looking concerned, Germanicus headed off to the refec tory.

  Wanting solitude, Merlin made his way to one of the cas tle's ruined "arms" and proceeded to walk along it. A guard was posted to keep delegates from drifting into the ruin by mistake. There was no one else in sight, which pleased him. The guard saluted him and he walked past the man without saying a word.

  Almost at once he felt like he was in another place, an other world, quiet and empty. The floor was littered with scraps of stone which had evidently flaked off the walls and ceiling; there were cobwebs everywhere. From ahead of him came the sound of running water.

  Halfway along, the roof had partially collapsed. Rain water poured in, then vanished through cracks in the floor. Wind blew in and ruffled his clothing. He looked back over his shoulder. No, he could not go back and face more people.

  Ahead of him, the roof was intact and no more rain and wind got in. He moved quickly past the gap in the stones, covering his face with his cloak to fend off the rainwater, then resumed a more leisurely pace.

  At the end of each of the eight arms was a tower. They were octagonal in shape, like the heart of the castle itself, and narrow, unglazed windows looked out from them. This place was as far as he could get from the occupied part of the castle without actually going out into the storm. He headed directly to the window opposite the entrance and gazed out at the drowned world.

  "You'd think the rain would come in, wouldn't you?"

  The voice came from behind him. Merlin turned, alarmed, and thought it was Nimue. But it was a young man, standing in an angle of the walls. He was dressed in court finery and he was vaguely familiar, but it took Merlin a moment to place him. He was Jean-Michel, Leonilla's servant, or gigolo, or whatever he was.

  "There are enough cracks. But somehow the elements stay out. The ancients knew more about building securely than we do." The young man smiled. "But then I'm no ar chitect. Hello, Merlin."

  "Jean-Claude," Merlin was not at all happy to find him there.

  "Jean-Michel. You recognize me. At least somewhat."

  "I came here to be alone." He said it pointedly, hoping the boy would take the cue and leave.

  "So did I." Touché.

  "Is it not your job to tend Leonilla? Frankly, she seems to need a lot of tending."

  "She has disappeared on another of her little walk abouts. There are a dozen servants looking for her. Marthe, the head maid, doesn't like me. I decided to come here instead."

  "You sound as if you know this place. How did you get past the guard?"

  "I've been coming here every day. Sometimes more than once a day. The guard knows me; I bring him sweets. It is so lovely to be away from people."

  "You could be myself as a young man."

  "I will take that as a compliment. And what is King Ar thur's chief minister doing here, may I ask?"

  "The same as you. Seeking solitude. If it were not for this bloody rain, I would be outside, walking in the woods, studying the trees and the animals."

  "There we differ, then." Jean-Michel smiled. "I have nothing to learn from rabbits and badgers."

  "But damp stones and drafty corridors can teach you what, exactly?"

  "The sweet, sweet pleasure of solitud
e. Euripides aban doned Athens to live in a cave. I could happily do the same."

  "Your mood echoes my own."

  "Perhaps I should become a minister, then."

  Merlin rested his cane against the wall. "Instead of what? What exactly are your duties?"

  The young man laughed. "You want to know if I sleep with the queen?"

  "She is old enough to be your grandmother. No, your great-grandmother."

  "I love her."

  "Er, yes. I suppose someone has to."

  This puzzled the boy, and it showed.

  "Leonilla is a formidable woman." Merlin adopted the tone of a lecturer. "People respect her, fear her. But I have never heard anyone mention her and love in the same sen tence. Not even her daughter."

  "She took me in when my parents died. I was twelve. You know what happens to orphans—nothing. No pros pects, no future, none at all. Leonilla decided she liked me and raised me as her own."

  "I don't recall seeing you at her court."

  "I was there, keeping quietly to the background." He hesitated. "I know what people think of her. But she has been like a mother to me."

  "A loving mother." Merlin's voice dripped with irony.

  "We—yes. I—what would be the word?—I like older women. I have always beeen attracted to them. My earliest memory is of attraction to a schoolmistress. And Leonilla, I love. Is that a crime?"

  "Flaunting your 'love' as you do is a lapse of taste, to say the least. And would be for even a more conventional couple. I would appreciate it if you would leave now, JeanLouis. I want to be alone."

  "Jean-Michel." He turned to go.

  "No, wait. There is something I would like to ask you."

  "Yes?"

  Merlin took his cane and crossed the room to a stone bench. Sitting down heavily, he patted the seat beside him. "Sit here. Let us talk."

  "Isn't that what we've been doing? But you want to be alone. I'll just go now."

  In an instant Merlin turned from tired old man to royal minister. "Sit here. Let us talk."

  Compliant, Jean-Michel sat.

  "There is a young woman, Petronilla. You know her?"

  "Yes, of course. Her mother is an intimate of the queen."

  "Tell me about her."

  Jean-Michel's eyes narrowed. "You think she was in volved in the murder."

  "No." Merlin hoped the lie was convincing.

  "You think she was working secretly for Leonilla."

  "That had not occurred to me. Thank you for the in sight."

  The young man jumped to his feet. "And you are inves tigating the murder. Why would Leonilla have her own husband killed? What would she gain?"

  "I am only concerned with Petronilla, not with your . . . adoptive mother. Tell me about her."

  "There is not much to tell, really." He shrugged and sat. "Her mother and Leonilla are old friends. There is a little brother, too, a boy named Petrus or something."

  "Petronus."

  "Yes, that's it. He was . . ." He groped for the memory. "He was sent here to Guenevere's court. Then he disap peared. Nobody seemed to care much. But if you're look ing for a suspect, he would be a likely one." His eyes narrowed. "He is here, isn't he?"

  "But the girl." Merlin was not about to be drawn from his inquiry.

  He sighed. "She was groomed to be one of Leonilla's at tendants when she came of age. Good education, every luxury . . ."

  "What about lovers?"

  "You do have a curious mind."

  "It is my job."

  Jean-Michel wrinkled his nose and went on. "There were stories. Gossip. People said she had a vindictive na ture. She took lovers, then treated them horribly when they lost interest in her, or she in them. I never paid much atten tion."

  "I see. Do you have any idea why she was sent to En gland?"

  "To be Guinevere's secretary, I think. What is this in aid of?"

  "Nothing. Just an old man's curiosity, no more."

  Jean-Michel leaned back against the wall. "You expect me to believe that?"

  "What you believe, Jean-Paul, is no concern of mine. But tell me about Leonilla and her marriage."

  "Jean-Michel. I keep telling you. Is this some sort of of ficial inquiry, then?"

  "Let us say a friendly questioning. A murder has been committed here, a royal one. You must understand that we cannot let it go uninvestigated—unsolved. You were one of Leodegrance's subjects. You must want justice at least as much as I do."

  "People say you are a wizard. Why don't you just sum mon up a genie or a spirit or something and have it tell you who the killer is?"

  "If a tenth of the things people say about me were true, I would be the most powerful man in Europe. The king— Leodegrance, I mean—opposed this absurd 'marriage' be tween Lancelot and Guenevere?"

  "I think so, yes. But I never mixed in affairs like that. I told you, I always preferred to keep in the background."

  "And Petronilla? Who did she side with?"

  He shrugged. "I have no idea. But you're talking to me as if I might know something worth knowing."

  "Do you not?"

  "Most people at Camelliard would tell you no. In their minds, I am Leonilla's . . . boy, nothing more. The fact that I might love her and yet still have a sound mind never seems to occur to them. I am young and handsome, and I have the queen's favor, and so in their minds there can be nothing more to me."

  "I try never to underestimate anyone. Anyone at all." Merlin took his cane and got to his feet. "Thank you very much for the information. It has been most enlightening."

  "Really? I haven't told you much—certainly nothing but gossip you could get from any servant." Jean-Michel smiled at him. "If you want to know who killed Leode grance, you should look to his daughter. She wanted to marry her knight; I have no idea why. Lancelot is not much more than a lump, a mass of muscle. But love is so strange."

  "You would know that."

  He bristled. "Leodegrance opposed the marriage quite vigorously. Guenevere hated him."

  "Perhaps you are right. Our queen has committed so many villainies." Merlin sighed. "One more would hardly seem to make much difference. At least, I doubt it would, to her. But thank you for the information."

  "I have given you so little."

  "More than you think. You will keep this talk confiden tial, I trust."

  "Who would I tell?"

  "The queen—your lover."

  "No. You've seen her, talked to her. You know about these odd walks she goes on, where no one can find her. Her mind is going. At her age . . ." He looked away from Merlin and lowered his voice. "I wish old age did not do that to us. It is so difficult to see her like this."

  "Old age does its worst. I shudder to think what will happen to my mind in the coming years."

  "A mind like yours will never decay. Not till your body does."

  "It would be so nice to believe that. But I have never had that kind of luck."

  "This reputation of yours—all these claims that you have magical powers—can it have survived if you did not work to promote it?"

  "People still believe in dragons despite the fact that dragons do nothing to promote it."

  It was a new thought to the young man; it showed in his face. "I . . . suppose so."

  "Once, just once before I die, I would like to pass an en tire day without having to explain to anyone that I am not a magician, wizard, mage, sorcerer, conjurer or any of the other species of that ilk. Such persons do not exist except in folktales."

  "Folktales are all most people have to believe in."

  "Believe me, I know it. Thank you again for the talk, Jean-Claude."

  "Jean-Michel."

  "Yes. Thank you." "You might at least get my name right."

  Merlin recounted his unexpected exchange with JeanMichel to Nimue and Brit. "It seemed so obvious that Lan celot had done the murder, most likely at Guenevere's insistence. But now . . . Every time I question anyone the situation grows muddier. I suppose we should be grateful for this
rainstorm. It is ravaging the country, but at least it is keeping all of the interested parties bottled up here."

  "This strikes you as a good thing?" Brit sounded skepti cal. "Doesn't it make more death inevitable?"