"Steam engines?" He made a sour face. "What on earth for?"
"Spoken like a member of the French court. Do you have any idea what will happen to Leonilla now? Does she still have enough influence to keep her throne?"
He smiled a wide smile. "I certainly hope so. Whatever would become of me if the nobles depose her?"
"There's always Guenevere." She said it without thinking.
"Guenevere is spoken for."
"Twice over." She grinned back at him. "If you get my drift."
Suddenly his own smile vanished. "When will Lancelot go to trial?"
"As quickly as possible. A matter of weeks, probably. It will involve assembling a jury of his peers. We are sum moning a party of Arthur's knights from Camelot."
"Ah, the famous Knights of the Round Table."
"Yes, exactly. And preparing the case against him will take time. Merlin is to prosecute, and he won't be able to give it his full attention till the last of the delegates is gone."
"I should have thought the case was open-and-shut."
"There is some doubt whether Lancelot is the actual kil ler, it seems. Merlin wants an airtight case. But I shouldn't be talking about it."
"It is quite all right, Colin, You can trust me. So there are other suspects in the murder?"
"As I said, it isn't something I should discuss. Eat too much of that soup and you won't be hungry for supper."
"I'll eat light. I usually do. The queen likes me to stay trim."
"Oh, to have the problems of a queen."
"My queen, at least." He stood to go. "It would hardly be pleasant having Guenevere's problems, would it?"
Just as he reached the door she had a flash of insight. She asked him, "What exactly is your position at Leonilla's court, Jean-Michel?"
"I'm an ordinary courtier, nothing more. As lowly as they come."
She decided to take a chance and repeat one of the bits of gossip she's heard from the servants. "That's funny. I heard a rumor you were the court jeweler."
An expression of alarm crossed his face; he worked to conceal it. "Jeweler? Whoever could have told you such a thing?"
"I'm not sure I remember. It was just a shred of idle gos sip, that's all. I'll see you tonight."
Looking concerned, he told her he'd make a point of looking for her.
Nimue brought Merlin and the king up to date on what she'd learned from Jean-Michel as the king was dressing for dinner. Greffys helped him into his ceremonial robes.
"We've always assumed Guenevere and Leonilla were working together. He says they're not, at least not re cently."
Arthur gaped at her. "My lady wife is not the brightest of women. It's difficult to believe she has hatched all these plots on her own."
"She is an extraordinarily cunning woman, Arthur." Merlin, like the king, was puzzled by the news.
"Yes, Merlin, but cunning is not quite the same thing as intelligence, is it? A bigamous marriage to Lancelot was hardly a clever move."
"As you have pointed out yourself often enough, Arthur, Lancelot is not exactly an intellectual. He is handsome, to be sure, and he is a superb athlete, but that handsome face has never been clouded by thought."
Arthur was finished dressing. He sent Greffys away, then turned back to Merlin. "Can you imagine Guenevere conducting serious diplomatic relations with Justinian? It's not as if he needs her. He has inscrutable Lithuanians."
Merlin laughed and said, "I suppose you are right, Ar thur. You usually are, when it comes to Guenevere."
"Besides, most of the evidence still points to Lancelot as the killer of Leodegrance."
Merlin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "It keeps coming back to the murder weapon, in my mind. It was not Lancelot's knife. But does that really mean so much? His knife and Guenevere's are identical but for tiny inscriptions. They could easily have switched them without realizing it. I had to use one of my lenses to be certain what the inscription said. Then there is our witness—if we can believe her."
Nimue looked at him and smiled. "By the way, I think— and this is only a guess—but I suspect Jean-Michel might be Leonilla's court jeweler."
Arthur grumped. "What of that?"
But Merlin caught her drift. "Do you suppose he might have made those knives?"
Arthur's shoulders slumped. "Fine. Another complica tion." He looked at Nimue. "How certain are you of this?"
"Not at all certain. But when I asked him he looked mildly frightened, as if some secret had gotten out, and he left at once."
"That's wonderful," Merlin said. "Just what I need is another wrinkle in this matter."
"You sound as if you want a simple case. It's too late for that."
"I suppose I do. There is too much evidence against Lancelot. Even without Petronilla's testimony. He was the only one there. It comes down to that simple fact, really— that and the knife." He shifted his weight and yawned. "I need to get more sleep."
"One more day of these people, then we can all get a good rest." Arthur put an ermine-trimmed cape around his shoulders.
"Let us hope the rain does not keep them here."
"All this polite diplomacy is wearing me down. Oh— I've canceled most of the formal agenda for tonight, all the speechmaking and such. There will be music, dancing, a little play and very little else. I'll announce it at dinner. We could all use a break from this damnable intrigue."
"Excellent idea, Arthur. Let us hope they all get good and drunk. Have you been outside lately?"
Arthur stared at him and blinked. "Of course not. I'm not an otter."
"The rain is slowing. If it keeps tailing off, it will be fin ished by morning."
"Excellent. These people can leave for sure, then."
"Once all these bloody flash floods subside. And we'll have to send someone down to the harbor to take toll of the damage done there. Let us hope all their ships are sea worthy."
Nimue said, "One sank, remember?"
Suddenly a guard entered. He was obviously nervous. He quickly saluted the king. "Your Majesty."
Arthur fussed with Excalibur. "What is it?"
"I regret to inform you, sire . . ."
"Yes? Out with it. Has one of the cooks stolen some eggs? Has my prize cow's milk gone dry?"
"None of that, Your Majesty."
"Get to the damned point, man."
The guard swallowed nervously. "It's . . . it's . . . Lance lot, Your Majesty. He has escaped."
Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him vio lently. "What?"
"Somehow—we don't know how—he got away from his guards."
Arthur let go of the guard and closed his eyes, obviously trying to contain his anger. "Guenevere bribed them some how. Or he did himself. Or—"
Merlin got to his feet. "We must mobilize every guard in the castle. And I will have Brit tighten security outside. If there should be another incident . . ."
"Incident?" Arthur glared at him. "Is that really the word you want? Shouldn't you say murder?"
"Call it what you will, we cannot afford it." He took a step toward the door.
"And while you're at it have Captain Dalley double the guard on Guenevere. No, triple it. And make certain they're guards we can trust. If both of them should escape . . ."
"Not a pleasant prospect. I will see to it at once."
"And, for God's sake, make sure no one tells any of the delegates. I don't want them nervous. And I don't want them thinking we're so careless."
"Yes, Arthur."
Merlin left. After a moment Arthur asked the man, "How on earth did it happen?"
The guard shrugged. "Someone must have helped him, obviously."
"Obviously. But who? And how?"
"Should I investigate, sir?"
"No. Britomart will want to do that herself." He dis missed the guard and looked around for Greffys. Remem bering he had sent the squire away, he found a wineskin and poured himself a large cup. The wine was sour; he made a face and spit it out.
The dining hall was crowded. A few of the delegates had noticed the rain easing off, and word spread among the rest of them quickly. As a result, spirits were sufficiently high enough that no one noticed or paid attention to the extra, eavesdropping servants circulating with more wine, ale and mead than usual.
Arthur entered and took his seat at the head table, flanked by Merlin and Britomart. At once the staff began to serve dinner—more roast beef, and it was particularly suc culent that evening. After a few moments of waiting for what Brit described as "softening them up with food and drink," Arthur stood, the musicians played a fanfare and he began a short speech.
First he confirmed what they already knew, that the rain storm was finally ending. He assured them that, as of the next morning, they would be more than welcome to come and go as they pleased, the only proviso being that there might still be minor flash floods in the region and that his soldiers would do reconnaissance before any of the visiting delegates would be permitted to travel anywhere but to the harbor.
Next he announced with apparent pleasure that there would be no formal agenda for that night's plenary meet ing. "Minstrels and troubadors will entertain you, there will be more food and more wine, and you will experience Brit ish hospitality at its best."
Of Lancelot's escape he said nothing. There seemed no point alarming the assembled diplomats, and as he had noted, he wanted them to take home with them the most favorable impression of England possible.
While he was speaking Merlin surveyed the audience for reaction. He leaned behind Arthur and whispered to Brit, "Would you like to bet that Podarthes will not have any thing favorable to report to his emperor? Look, he hasn't even bothered to come to dinner."
"He's a Byzantine, Merlin. English cooking is probably too simple for him."
Just at that moment one of Britomart's lieutenants en tered the hall and hurried to her side. He whispered some thing in her ear, and her face turned to stone. She stood as unobtrusively as she could and moved to Merlin's side, where she repeated what her man had told her. A look of deep concern crossed his face, and he got to his feet, too.
A moment later they were outside in the main corridor, rushing to the wing where the Byzantines were quartered.
Podarthes's men were gathered in the hallway around the door to his suite. None of them seemed to be talking; the ones at the rear of the crowd were craning their necks to see inside. Merlin noticed Leonilla's maid, Marthe, among them.
Brit rushed ahead of Merlin and pushed through them. At once she turned and shouted, "Merlin—quickly!" The men in the hall parted to let him through.
He was not prepared for what he saw. On the floor, in formal court dress, evidently ready to go to dine, lay Po darthes. Blood covered his body and the floor around him. And plunged into his throat was a golden dagger with an ivory handle, identical to the one that had been used to as sassinate Leodegrance.
"Three," Merlin whispered to Brit. "We now have three of these knives. Of which there should only be two."
Nine
Over the next day the rain stopped almost completely, though there were still occasional showers. But the cloud cover did not break up; it seemed to everyone it actually got thicker and heavier. The day never grew brighter than twi light.
Across the countryside the floods began to subside. Riv ers and streams began slowly to return to their accustomed levels. But the ground was soaked; more rain would inevi tably lead to more flooding. Towns and villages were mired in thick mud. Animals drowned in it or were so deeply en trapped it was impossible to rescue them. And there were people lost to it, too.
At Camelot, on its prominent hilltop, everyone and eve rything was safe. But the old castle leaked water; servants were busy trying to swab it up. But it seemed to leak in faster than the household staff could cope. Sir Sagramore and Sir Accolon, who had been left in charge in the absence of Arthur and his chief advisors, gamely pitched in to help with the clean-up efforts. Only mad old King Pellenore seemed unaffected by the disastrous storm and its after math; he went on as usual, chasing phantom monsters and imaginary demons, cheerfully ignoring every suggestion that there might be a more immediate danger to be dealt with.
But even though the storm appeared to have passed, the countryside surrounding Camelot was quite effectively flooded. Huge pools of water covered the landscape. Roads were washed out; to travel any distance from the capital became virtually impossible. Sagramore sent word to Arthur at Corfe that a group of knights would join him there for the trial as soon as the roads were comfortably passable, but he did not hold out hope that it would hap pen in less than a week, and most probably longer. No one could imagine how long it would take the messenger to reach Corfe.
In the town of Corfe, in the shadow of Guenevere's cas tle, recovery efforts began almost as soon as the weather permitted, under the direction of Captain Dalley. Soldiers from the garrison helped clear the streets; thick inches of mud had accumulated. And a special team of military engi neers worked to assess the damage to the harbor and plan ways to correct it.
The ship that had sunk and blocked off the harbor mouth was of course still there. Divers—men able to hold their breath for long periods without losing consciousness or experiencing vertigo—swam down to the wreck and in spected it. It turned out to be an Italian ship, the one that had brought Andrea of Salesi. Crews dove down to it with chains and hooks to attempt to secure it so that crews on shore could haul it out of the way of commerce.
Britomart came down from the castle on the day they did their work. Captain Dalley walked with her to a hill that overlooked the harbor's entrance, where they watched the progress through a pair of Merlin's "viewing lenses," and he explained the procedure. "If we had more time, we'd actually send men down to cut the ship to pieces. Dragging the parts out would be easier than moving the whole ship. But it would take time to prepare for that; the engineers work slowly and methodically. And you want this done as speedily as possible."
Brit watched the harbor and the men working. The ship's upper mast was protruding from the water; otherwise it was quite submerged. "The sooner we clear the harbor, the sooner we can send these damned diplomats on their way. Can't we dismantle the ship later?"
"They have been that much of a problem?"
"I would call two murders a problem, yes. Not to men tion all the nonstop bickering and infighting. When I was a young girl in London I once saw a pack of widows ransack a dead man's house. They stole everything they could move—and some of them brought their daughters along to help. It was as ugly a spectacle as I've ever seen. And these diplomats were worse than that." She sighed and looked at Dalley. "How long will it take you to pull the ship far enough aside to permit commerce again?"
"Well, it's a question of main force. It will depend on how badly it is mired in the muck. And of course it would be almost impossible to pull it completely out of the water. Our best bet is simply to pull it as far to one side as we can, as you say, enough to open the harbor to its regular flow of traffic—or nearly so. It may be too much to hope that we can open it completely. If everything goes well, your dip lomatic visitors should be able to start leaving within four or five days.."
"Good. Now I have to get back to the castle to give An drea of Salesi the news that he'll have to swim home."
"Better you than me, Brit."
And so she gave the Salesian the news, and to her relief he was not very upset by it. "Well, then, I can send word to Salesi with one of the other delegates when they leave. Several of them pass through the Strait of Messina. In the meantime, I am afraid I shall have to remain your guest."
"You'll have to discuss that with Merlin."
"Of course."
Still, though the country was soaked in muck and mire, though harbors were blocked and trade at a standstill, to most people the end of the rainstorm seemed like the dawn of a new day,
To all except Merlin that is. He had the murders of a king and an ambassador to unravel.
He was in an
ill humor when Brit explained the situation to him. He listened patiently, then harrumphed. "Let us hope Andrea is the only one who wants to remain here. I can't tell you how deeply sick I am of them all."
"You're a minister of the crown, Merlin. You are not permitted to be sick of official visitors."
"That is what you think."
On the next afternoon sunlight finally broke through the clouds. The clouds did not dissipate; they only thinned. The sun's disc shone like a ghost of itself. Shafts of brilliant silver light poured down, not quite reaching the earth, it seemed, not illuminating it in any but a transitory way, but it was sunlight. To everyone who saw it, it seemed mildly miraculous.
The Lancelot Murders Page 22
