Mark said, “Let us hope their ghosts rest as soundly as their bodies.”
“Ghosts?” Merlin couldn’t believe he was hearing it. Not knowing what to say, he turned to Brit. “Will you please stay here with him till we can have him moved? And make certain he’s handled properly, with respect. I don’t want the servants-”
“The servants liked him, remember?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, well…”
Slowly he descended to the ground floor. Occasional servants passed, going here or there, some apparently busy, some not. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to any of them. He had made a terrible mistake, a terrible misjudgment, and Ganelin had paid for it. How could he tell Arthur?
The king was going over an old map, in his study. He was too caught up in it to notice Merlin’s mood. “I’m glad you came, Merlin. I was about to send for you. I’ve had a few thoughts about our hunt for the killer.”
“Arthur, something awful has happened.”
“I don’t want to hear bad news just now, Merlin. I just came from Guenevere. That was unpleasant enough.” Finally he noticed the pain in his counselor’s face.
“There’s no way to avoid it, I’m afraid. Arthur-”
“Don’t, Merlin. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, it can’t. Arthur, Ganelin has been killed.”
There was a long silence. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh. The poor… How did it happen?”
“He was on the steps going up to my room. I think he was on his way to tell me who he thought the killer was. He had said-”
“How was he killed?”
“Like Borolet. Stabbed, hacked. Not so badly as his brother. But he-”
Arthur put his map aside, got up and walked to a window. “Look out there. I own it all. It’s mine. You helped me take it. Remember all the dreams I had about a place of goodness and light? Remember how naïve I was?” He looked at Merlin then quickly turned away again. “Merlin, what’s wrong with us? This isn’t the kind of country we wanted to build.”
“England is a good place, Arthur. Strong and getting stronger. These murders-”
“These murders give the lie to what you just said.”
“Human nature doesn’t change, Arthur. We’re a race capable of goodness. We are even more capable of evil, and much of the time many of us embrace it. You are a good king and your England is a good place.”
“No!” He pounded a fist into the wall. “This is not what I meant. I wanted a land where things like this don’t happen. Those poor boys.”
“I know how fond of them you were. They were good young men. But, Arthur, you can’t let grief run away with you like this. You’re the king. You have duties. One of them is to remain in charge, of yourself and of the government, of public affairs. You’ve always understood that. I taught it to you at a young enough age.”
Arthur turned to face him. “They were mine, Merlin. They were my sons.”
Merlin fell silent. After a long interval he said, “Oh. I see.”
“Do you? Do you know what they meant to me? Guenevere has never given me children. I daresay she never will. And I don’t want her to anymore, now that I know what she is. But Borolet and Ganelin…” He looked away again. “I met their mother on a progress through the fen country. Beautiful young woman. When she came to me later and told me we’d made twin sons, I actually remembered her. Of all the women I had in those days, she was the one I remembered. I told her to bring them to me when they were ten, that I’d raise them and teach them and make them worthy of their heritage.”
Softly, Merlin asked, “Did they know?”
“No. Never. I think they must have suspected now and then, but they never asked and I never told them. But I think they knew they were being raised for some special destiny. And now…” There were tears in his eyes.
“Arthur, I’m sorry.”
“I know. I know. We should have done better by them, Merlin. I should have. When I lost Borolet, I told myself, at least I still have his brother. I will raise him up, make him a good, worthy man-a good, worthy heir. Now… what do I have of them? What?” He sat down again. “Bring me a cup of wine, will you, please? And the bottle.”
“This is no time for drinking.”
“I have never known a better one.”
Merlin filled a cup for him, and Arthur drank it quickly. Then he took hold of Merlin’s arm and squeezed tightly. “I want you to find him. The killer. Merlin, these deaths have diminished all of us, all England, even though no one knows that but you and I.”
“Arthur, you’re hurting me.”
He let go. “I’m sorry. But you must promise me, Merlin, that you will do everything in your power to find whoever slaughtered my sons.”
“You know I will.”
Arthur got up, crossed to the table that held the wine bottle and poured himself another cup. “Burial. We must see that they’re buried with all proper dignity.”
“They were squires. People might find it odd.”
“Do you think I give a damn?”
Merlin said nothing.
“And their mother. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I want to find out.”
“She is. Ganelin talked about her.” He hesitated. “Shall I have Mark make the preparations for the burials?”
“Yes, he’ll do a good job. I think he even suspected the truth about the boys. He asked me once or twice, but I always avoided answering. Now he’ll understand. And I’ll have to ask Morgan to officiate at the funeral.”
“You want her in this?”
“They were her nephews, even if she didn’t know it.”
“Of course. Will you tell her? Do you think she might have guessed?”
“I don’t know. I need to think. And drink more. Will you set everything in motion?”
“Certainly, Arthur. I’ll get to work right now.”
“Good.” He paused, then looked Merlin directly in the eye. “And thank you. Even though this place is defective, even though it is tainted with human evil in a way I never imagined, I could never have begun to build it without you. And I want you with me now.”
“I’m not certain what you mean, Arthur.”
“Tomorrow.”
The next morning Camelot’s courtyard was filled with activity. Morgan’s party, and Guenevere’s, and several less illustrious, were packing their animals, checking their weapons, making certain they had provisions enough for the trips to their various homes. Merlin had pressed Arthur to detain them, but the king was reluctant. “There are no grounds. And I want them gone. I want them out of my house.”
“It may make finding the killer more difficult.”
“Merlin, I want them gone.”
It was just warm enough for a thaw. The landscape was dotted with puddles of water and thick mud, and a steady drip fell from the top of the castle. Now and then chunks of ice peeled off the roof and battlements fell to the ground below, alarming the horses, even occasionally striking someone. Outriders had been sent to make certain the roads were passable and came back to report that they were, but barely so.
Arthur walked among them, enjoying the chaos, and happy of the departures, with Merlin at his side. Camelot would be their home again, not the mass hostel it had been.
Nimue followed them, making note of everything she saw, bidding farewell to acquaintances. Arthur had asked her to keep an eye out for petty theft. “It’s to be expected. They will take anything they think we won’t miss.”
Unlike the king and her teacher, she was slightly intimidated by all the people and the hustle. “Do you think it’s advisable to let them all go, Your Majesty?” She lowered her voice. “We may never have all the suspects together again. Solving the mystery will be that much more of a challenge.”
“I don’t see that we have any choice, Colin. Camelot can’t support this many people. You’ve seen how scarce food became, and how quickly. Besides, I don’t really have the authority or the pr
etext to hold them all here. I want our society to be based on laws, not force.
“They’ll all be back for Midwinter Court. It’s the time for them to renew their vows of fealty to me. Anyone who doesn’t come will be counted a traitor.” He shrugged. “More or less.”
“I see. But still-”
“For goodness sake, Colin.” Merlin was impatient with her for questioning the king. “We’re getting rid of them. That’s a blessing in more ways than one. Do you want a mad killer on the loose here permanently?”
“But-”
“We’ll get to the bottom of the killings. And we’ll do it by Midwinter Court. Just be patient.”
She resigned herself to it, glumly.
Arthur made a show of saying good-bye to the most important people, particularly Morgan and Guenevere. Guenevere actually seemed in a pleasant mood for once, and Arthur commented on it.
“And why shouldn’t I be? I’m leaving my husband’s house. What wife wouldn’t be overjoyed?”
“You are the picture of domestic bliss, aren’t you?” He kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, not the lips, and moved on.
To Morgan, he made a special request. “We’ll be burying Ganelin and Borolet within a few days.”
“Highly advisable. They won’t keep long, even in winter. ”
He ignored this. “Morgan, I’d like you to preside at the funeral.”
“For a pair of squires? Your sense of humor can be so alarming, Arthur.”
He leaned close and whispered something to her; Merlin thought he knew what. Then he pulled away and added, “Please, Morgan.”
Reluctantly she agreed, but she added that she was doing Arthur an enormous favor and he owed her for it.
Then, after all the official and unofficial business was out of the way, Arthur led Merlin and Nimue to a small gate at the rear of Camelot. Britomart was waiting there with horses and a cohort of six guards. Arthur asked a waiting servant, “Do you have it?”
“Yes, sir.” He handed Arthur what looked like a sable cloak, carefully folded. Arthur took it, placed it in his saddlebag and quickly climbed onto his steed. “Come on, all of you. Let’s get moving.”
Nimue looked to Merlin and Brit. “Where are we going? ”
It was Merlin who answered her. “You’re not going anywhere. You have some Homer to translate, remember?”
“But-”
“You’re not dressed warmly enough to travel on a morning like this. Go and do your Greek. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Glum and puzzled, she went inside.
Brit jumped onto her horse. “Nine of us? Arthur, you said you wanted this to be inconspicuous.”
“Would you rather we travel without guards?”
“Of course not, but-”
“It’s unlikely anyone will see us leave, Brit. There’s too much activity out front for that.”
The others mounted their horses, two more guards opened the rear gate and the party left. Arthur rode at the head of the column, flanked by two of his men. None of the three talked very much except for occasional orders or directions.Brit and Merlin followed with the rest of the guards. Arthur had ordered them to bring an extra horse; no one seemed to know why.
The morning was uncomfortably damp. Wisps and streamers of mist floated in the air. The sun shone, a pale ghost of itself, through heavy clouds above. After a few minutes the entire party fell silent.
The landscape changed from low hills to flat, featureless terrain. Merlin looked back over his shoulder to see Camelot on its hilltop retreating into the distance more quickly than seemed quite right.
Brit reined her mount next to his and whispered, “Do you have any idea where we’re going? He told me to arrange the party but nothing more.”
“I can guess, but I don’t know for certain.”
“What’s your guess, then?”
He looked thoughtful. Arthur had not told anyone else but Morgan that the dead young men were his sons. It seemed advisable not to spread it. “In time, Brit.”
An hour later the land had turned to moor. Sprigs of heather grew here and there, but not much else. Toads and snakes slithered out of their way. A guide was waiting to steer them through it; how Arthur had arranged for him, Brit could not fathom. One of the guards’ horses slid into some quicksand, and they all had to work to pull it and its rider out. The man was shaken; Arthur sent him back to Camelot with a companion to take care of him.
Another hour passed. Brit found herself growing impatient, but she knew there was no point trying to get information out of either Arthur or Merlin if they didn’t want to share it. For nearly the entire trip Arthur had said virtually nothing.
Then ahead of them there was a small village, not much more than a hamlet-ten or a dozen tiny shacks on either side of the track, most of them made of mud and twigs. Arthur raised his hand and the party stopped. The guide pointed to one particular hut. Arthur dismounted, walked to its door and knocked.
A woman opened it a crack and looked out. She was in early middle age, and her features reflected her hard life. It was immediately clear she recognized the king. She pulled the door open wide, Arthur went in and she closed it behind him.
The rest of the party dismounted. The guard in charge told them to make themselves comfortable; there was no way of knowing how long the king would be. They had brought food, which he passed around. The guide walked a few paces away from the rest of them and watched them without eating or talking to any of them.
“Merlin, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Brit tore a piece of bread and bit into it aggressively.
“You know as much as I do.”
“Nonsense. I want to know. Please.”
He took a deep breath, seemed to consider the possibilities then sat down on a relatively dry patch of earth. “She was their mother.”
“Oh. And Arthur-?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I see. I’ve wondered about that. He always seemed so attached to them.”
“The attachment has been severed.”
They ate without saying much more. Finally, Brit said, “So it’s that much more important that we find the killer, then.”
“Yes, Brit.”
“If the killer knew about his sons, somehow… these may have been dynastic murders, intended to do more harm than most people realize.”
“I don’t see how anyone could have known. I didn’t know myself until Arthur told me yesterday. He said Mark had guessed, but Mark and he are close friends.”
“But-but if these killings were a strike at the royal house… I wish we had something definite to go on. No one who might have done it has a verifiable alibi. Mordred told me he went to use the privy then got lost in the unfamiliar corridors. I have no idea whether to believe him. And Lancelot says pretty much the same thing. Pellenore… well, you know, he was being Pellenore, charging around the castle chasing phantoms. I wish I could trust him as much as you seem to. We need to know more.”
“I know it, Brit. But how?” He looked to the woman’s hut; there was still no sign of Arthur. “If only Ganelin had told me what he’d learned from the servants. Or some of it, at least.”
“We’ll have to question them ourselves. There’s no other way.”
“Ganelin had a point. They won’t open up to us the way they did to him.”
“Then we’ll have to force it out of them.”
“No.” His voice took on an uncharacteristically hard edge. “No torture. That is not the kind of land Arthur wants to make.”
“Then how do we-”
“We’ll find a way.”
The hut’s door opened. Arthur came out, followed closely by the woman, who was crying. Her dark features were made worse by grief. He took her by the hand and led her to where the others were waiting. From his saddlebag he got the sable cloak and placed it around her shoulders.
“No, Arthur, please. It doesn’t matter. I’m numb anyway. ”
He wrapped it more tightly a
round her. “Don’t be foolish. It’s a cold, wet day.” He looked to Merlin and Britomart. “This is Anna, who might have been the mother of kings.”
They said soft hellos to her. She averted her eyes.
“Come, Anna. I chose this horse for you myself. She’s the sweetest, gentlest in my stable.”
“Like me?” Her voice was bitter with her sorrow.
“Please don’t talk like that.” Then he turned to the others. “Anna, this is Merlin, my most trusted advisor, and Britomart, one of my senior military aides.”
It was all so completely unexpected. Uncertain what to say, they made simple greetings to her, trying, not very successfully, to sound friendly and pleased she was with them.
He helped her up then mounted his own horse. “Come on, everyone, let’s get home.”
And so the party returned the way it had come. There was not much more talk on the return trip than there had been on the ride out. At one point Britomart reined her mount next to Anna’s. Anna gaped at her, not seeming to remember their introduction.
“Hello. I’m Brit. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you.” She avoided looking at her.
“You’ve been to Camelot before?”
“No. Never. Arthur wanted to take me. But I don’t belong in a place like that.”
“Just between us,” she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper, “no one does.”
Anna smiled shyly. “I want to see the funeral. I want to see my boys buried. I told him I’m coming home after that.”
There was an awkward silence. Then, “Do you love him?”
“I don’t know. It’s been so many years. He told me he loved me when we first knew each other. He says that he’s never stopped. But he’s the king and I’m a woman from the midland swamps.”
Brit tried to make more conversation, but Anna was badly out of her element and shaken by her grief. Brit determined to make the woman feel as much at home as she could, once they reached Camelot.
At one point on the long ride to the castle, she noticed that Anna had begun to cry again. Was it for her boys, or for what might have been with Arthur, or some combination of the two? There didn’t seem much point in asking.
The Excalibur Murders Page 8
