The Lancelot Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  In his cell Lancelot paced constantly, thinking—or try ing to think—about the awful fact that he had been arrested for a second murder, of which he protested he was quite innocent, to no effect whatsoever. Then he saw the light coming from outside.

  The only window in his cell, a narrow one, was high in the wall facing south, He scrambled to pile the room's scant furniture and climbed. He pressed his face to the barred window and watched the sky. The sun, in its weak ened state, gave no warmth, only wan light. Before many minutes passed, the clouds closed again and the light was gone.

  But he had seen a trace of the heavens' warmth, and it gave him hope. Somehow, someone would find the evi dence needed to prove his innocence and free him. He and Guenevere would be king and queen one day; England would be theirs.

  Like Lancelot, Petronus paced in his room. From the boy's perspective, the guards at his door seemed to have been there forever. But when he saw the sky lighten, weak as the light was, he became excited. He ran out of his room and shouted, "The sun is out! Quick, let's run and see it." But the soldiers pushed him back inside, and that was that.

  His sister, Petronilla, sat by her window and studied that portrait of Lancelot. Candles burned. When the sunlight came, she did not bother to extinguish them. The daylight would be gone again soon enough.

  Throughout the castle the various delegates and their at tendants realized there was sunlight outside. They stopped what they were doing and moved to the windows like bees to clover. They would be out of this place yet. They would be home well before the midwinter holidays.

  Guenevere's rooms faced north, so she did not see the sunlight, what there was of it. But from her windows she saw the sky lighten briefly. It was a sign; she told herself that. A new day. A new future, nowhere near as bleak as the one she had faced through the awful recent weeks.

  And in her bedroom, alone among the castle's inhabi tants and guests, Leonilla slept, lovingly watched over by Jean-Michel. She had become increasingly distracted and her behavior more and more erratic—aimlessly walking about the castle at all hours, muttering loudly to herself, seeming to recognize no one but her young man. It was more and more difficult for him and her other retainers to take care of her.

  Britomart and her men found a place where the castle ground was firmer, less yielding, less pervious to the rain water; it was possible for them to exercise there. She joined the knights at their drill, and to work out seemed the most liberating thing she could imagine. When the sun came, that only made it better. For the first time since the confer ence began, her mood was buoyant.

  Even Arthur, anxious for his numerous guests to leave, eager to return to Camelot, keen to find a village girl along the way and make love to her, saw the sun as giving prom ise. So when Merlin came to his rooms in his usual dark mood, the king did not want to hear him.

  "Arthur, we are facing a difficult situation. All these days of darkness have depleted our supply of candles and oil."

  "Look outside, for heaven's sake. That bright object in the sky is the sun. Don't you recognize it?"

  "Even the sun will go down. Another few days—and nights—and Corfe Castle will be dark. And that's not to mention that food is running low. If these bloody delegates do not leave soon, we will be in real trouble. And I do not see how they can leave soon. The harbor—"

  "Why are you bothering me with this? Tell Simon. He'll know what to do."

  "Simon is the one who told me."

  "Then what's the problem? I can't pull candles out of my crown."

  "Arthur, I—"

  "The delegates can't leave. Fine. Much as I'd like to see the back of them, you have the opportunity to ask questions about this latest murder. Let Simon worry about oil for the torches; I want you to draft a letter to Justinian informing him of Podarthes's death, apologizing and promising to bring the assassin to justice. If he decides we are somehow at fault, we could face an invasion come springtime."

  "So much for the sun's promise."

  "Stop it, will you, Merlin? The last thing I need now is one more person picking at me."

  "One more, Arthur?"

  "Morgan is whining about Gildas. Brit wants more men to help move that damned ship in the harbor, and I don't have any to give her. That squirrelly Lithuanian is complaining about—well, the gods only know what he's complaining about. But he's been showing up here every hour or two. And I've got the Byzantines to worry about. Just—just—just draft that letter, will you? Come up with something to mollify them, or at least stall them. You know perfectly well we could never stand up to their army for long."

  "You know I will do what I can, Arthur. But—"

  "Then do it. And don't give me any of your usual grief. The last thing I need now is someone else— I told you that already."

  So Merlin left him and returned to his own study, grate ful that at least Arthur was not drinking again.

  One by one the delegates lined up for audiences with Ar thur, Merlin or both. When would the harbor be open? When could they leave? Why were the portions at meals growing smaller? Bishop Gildas complained about drafts in his bedroom and announced that he wanted the cracks in the walls stopped up since he would be residing there per manently.

  Merlin smiled. "Surely our 'bishop' should reside at Camelot, at the seat of power."

  "I prefer Corfe."

  "Nevertheless, this is Guenevere's castle, at least for the time being. Where she will reside in future has yet to be determined. We would not want you quartered here in a way that would be against your own best interest. No, if you are to remain in England, residence at Camelot is the thing."

  Gildas bristled, and Merlin enjoyed it. He knew that Gildas was likely to side with Guenevere, given the oppor tunity, and Gildas knew that he knew it. "But King Arthur is not a Christian. I would hardly wish to embarrass him with my presence."

  "No one in England is a Christian, with the exception of Guenevere and a few of her followers."

  "Then I should reside with them, to minister to their spiritual needs."

  "Gildas, you are here on King Arthur's sufferance. It would not be wise for you to cross his wishes. Not if you want to remain 'Bishop of England.' As I understand the protocols of the Christian Church, he should have been consulted before you were even sent here."

  "We consulted with the queen."

  "Precisely. You see the problem?"

  Unsatisfied, Gildas left. But he made a point of promis ing further discussion on the matter.

  A few hours later Merlin was in conference with Arthur when, amid a great deal of perplexing babble, the Lithua nian strode past Simon of York and into the king's cham bers. Grandly he sat his squat body down and smiled; his reason was not clear.

  Then, slowly, and in perfect, unaccented English, he said, "This chair is not comfortable at all, Your Majesty. You should have a better one for visitors."

  Arthur registered surprise; Merlin did not. While the king collected himself, Merlin took charge of the exchange. "You speak English." It was an accusation.

  "Yes, I'm afraid I do." The man looked vaguely shame faced. "Since I am now in charge of the Byzantine delega tion, due to the unfortunate demise of my colleague Podarthes, it seemed advisable to abandon my cover."

  Merlin lowered his voice. "You realize this is tanta mount to an admission that you are a spy."

  "Have been. I have been a spy. Now I am the acting Ambassador Plenipotentiary of His Serene Majesty Justinian."

  Arthur turned to a servant and asked for wine—for him self, not for his councilor or his guest. Then he turned to the Lithuanian. "So you admit it. We would be fully within our rights to arrest you on a charge of espionage."

  "And face the wrath of my emperor? Belisarius and the army are on the border of France even as we speak. They could be here in a matter of days."

  "International law—"

  "With respect, Your Majesty, there is no such thing. International law corresponds to the will of the strongest nation."

 
; There was a long moment of silence. Then Merlin asked, "May we know the name of the new ambassador, then?"

  He made a slight bow to the king and then to Merlin. "My name is Eudathius of Ephesus."

  "I believe I have heard of you." Merlin did not try to disguise his irritation. "An astrologer, are you not?"

  "Among other things. At any rate, with the political situation in Europe changed as it has been by the deaths of Leodegrance and Podarthes—"

  "Changed? Changed how?" Merlin was letting his an noyance show more and more clearly.

  "With Leodegrance out of the picture, the political struc ture in France is, shall we say, in a state of flux. I mean, yes, it usually is, but even more so than usual now. I am afraid his grieving widow will soon find herself out of power."

  It took a moment for the implications to register. "And Podarthes?"

  "The late ambassador was to have cemented a relation ship among King Leodegrance, Queen Guenevere and Byzantium. Obviously that is not longer feasible."

  "Obviously."

  "We wish to negotiate with . . ." He smiled like a shy schoolgirl. ". . . with you."

  "With your army threatening us from across the chan nel." Arthur was deadpan.

  Eudathius shrugged. "Diplomatic insurance."

  The king leaned forward. "So the death of Podarthes has served to advance your own career."

  "That would be a cynical way of looking at the matter, Your Majesty."

  "Then tell us, is there some reason why we should not suspect you of his murder?"

  It seemed to catch him off guard. "You are joking. Are you not?"

  "You would hardly be the first Byzantine court official to advance his career by such means."

  "But—but surely you have the culprit in custody. Lance lot did the murder and we all know it."

  Merlin followed Arthur's lead. "The evidence, I am afraid, is inconclusive. Lancelot had no conceivable motive for killing Podarthes. You, on the other hand . . . How gen erous of you to explain your own motive to us just now."

  Eudathius tried to sound forbidding. "I remind you, both of you, that you should not act rashly. You are dealing with Byzantium, not some minor French province. We are not so easily intimidated. Justinian would be most displeased to learn that his representative is being treated in this insolent way. And I urge you to remember that Belisarius is not far away."

  "You may have an army in France," Arthur said in equally ominous tones, "but we most certainly have you. Call your army. Do you think they will hear you? Will they come? We could have you tried and executed for espionage before Belisarius could launch a single ship.

  "I would advise you to return to your quarters. Merlin is investigating this second murder as well as the first one. You are hereby advised that you are under suspicion."

  Incensed, his dignity affronted, muttering vague threats, Eudathius stood to go.

  But Merlin could not resist a parting jab. "For a Byzan tine 'ambassador plenipotentiary,' even an acting one, you are not very good at this, Eudathius. Justinian would be mortified."

  Without a word Eudathius stomped out of the room.

  Arthur turned to Merlin. "Well, well. What on earth are we to make of that?"

  "So these murders may lead to war." Merlin frowned. "Guenevere may end up in charge here after all. May the gods help England."

  "Not to mention us, ourselves, Merlin. If there should be a war, we would certainly be defeated. How could we with stand a force like the army of Byzantium under the most formidable general in Europe? A victorious Eudathius would surely want our heads."

  "He can have mine. Death would be more of a relief than I can say."

  "Provocative as philosophy. Worthless as a strategy. How certain are you that Lancelot killed Podarthes?"

  Merlin shrugged. "He escaped his confinement. Po darthes was killed with his knife. I have inspected the mur der weapon, and it is inscribed quite clearly G to L; it is Lancelot's. Until a few moments ago there was no reason to suspect anyone else. And I am still not certain . . . I mean, would even a Byzantine be quite so obvious about murder as career advancement?"

  "The Byzantines and the French are in league in some way, or have been. I wish we could pin it down more pre cisely."

  Merlin looked at him suspiciously. "You are suggesting that the French may have provided Eudathius with another of those knives?"

  "We have three of the damned things already. Who knows how many more might exist?"

  Deeply Merlin sighed. "Why is murder never simple and clear cut?"

  "Why isn't diplomacy, for that matter? But it isn't. Find out what you can about those knives, will you? And ask Germanicus what he knows about Eudathius. They have obviously never met, but . . . our hope of untangling even the first assassination before the delegates leave is vanish ing before our eyes. I still want everything solved, no mat ter now messy it becomes, and no matter how much time it takes."

  "Yes, Arthur."

  "Maybe you could use your magical powers."

  "That is not funny."

  "Smile, Merlin. You are always the one to be a wise-ass. Give me a turn, will you?"

  "I suppose I deserve that. But what on earth are we to make of what we have just heard? How much of it can we believe?"

  "As little as possible, without independent confirma tion."

  "One thing seems certain: His position among our Byz antine guests is not as secure as he would like us to believe. Otherwise, why would it have taken him two days before he revealed himself and came to us?"

  Arthur leaned back and stretched. "I am not made for all this intrigue. I'm a soldier, a warrior."

  "Unfortunately you may have to put those skills to the test before long."

  A moment later Simon of York put his head in the doorway. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, but the French gentleman is requesting a moment of your time. Yours and Merlin's."

  "French gentleman?" Arthur laughed. "Is there such a creature?"

  Jean-Michel appeared in the doorway behind Simon. "Your Majesty, please. It is most important."

  Arthur glanced at Merlin, who gave a slight nod. "Very well. Come in. But I'm afraid we can't give you more than a few minutes. Merlin here has important work to do."

  Jean-Michel stepped in, and Arthur gestured to a seat.

  "Thank you, Your Majesty. I . . . I must ask a favor on behalf of the queen."

  "You do mean Leonilla, don't you? Because if you're looking for a 'favor' for my wife, you can—"

  Merlin, afraid Arthur might say too much, decided to in terrupt. "What exactly does Her Majesty require, JeanLuc?"

  "Jean-Michel. Well, we have had . . . There has been news from France, and the situation there is not good."

  "So it is good news for England, then?"

  The young man seemed puzzled by this. "No, not at all. It appears the Byzantine army has crossed the border into France. Their advance agents are everywhere. They are threatening—"

  Arthur leaned forward. "Where in France? Which part? After all, Gaul is divided into three parts." He turned slightly to Merlin. "You see? I have not completely ignored classical learning."

  Merlin kept his attention on the young Frenchman. "Where are they?"

  "Reports indicate Belisarius has entered the country through Alsace, sir."

  "They are not really close to Camelliard, then."

  "Not yet, sir, but they appear to be moving that way. Our intelligence was dated a week ago. And it seems they have been in secret contact with one of the queen's most bitter rivals, the Archduchess of Mendola."

  "The—? I've not heard of her before. What do you know about her?"

  "She is young, comparatively, only in her forties. And she is the most treacherous woman in France, if not in Europe."

  Merlin wrinkled his nose. "What is more poisonous than a French queen? But can she really be worse than Leonilla?"

  Jean-Michel ignored the dig. "She has poisoned three of her own children who were gaining power and influence. She has
been envious of Queen Leonilla for years. And our intelligence indicates the Byzantines plan to put her on the throne of Camelliard. With our province as well as her own, she would threaten the balance of power in all of Western Europe."

  Merlin wrinkled his brow and said softly, "Interesting." Then he leaned close to Arthur and they had quick, whis pered exchange. "But, Jean-Paul."

  The young man rolled his eyes but said only, "Yes, Merlin?"