“No. I think…” Merlin suddenly seemed lost in thought. “I think we have to believe that, at least provisionally. Pellenore is a more viable suspect than any of us believed. ”
“Slightly more viable, anyway.” Brit sipped her beer, made a sour face and put it aside. “Even if he wanted to kill Arthur however many years ago, does that necessarily mean he still does? And how does that translate into killing his squires?”
“If he’s mad it might.” Nimue avoided looking at her.
Merlin stood. “I’m spent. Let’s get to sleep. There’s no way to answer these questions. All we know for certain is that we’ll have to watch Pellenore carefully from now on.”
“Arthur won’t like it.”
“Arthur can’t very well tell us who to watch, can he?”
They said their good nights and went to their respective rooms.
There was a large, lively fire in the one Merlin and Nimue were to share. She told him to take the bed; she’d be happy curled up by the hearth. Just before he nodded off, she asked him, “Merlin?”
“Hm?”
“What if Arthur won’t go along with us?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, suppose we learn who did the killings-I mean really learn, beyond any reasonable doubt-and he won’t believe us?”
He sat up in the bed and stared at her. “You have no faith in the king’s wisdom and justice?”
“He’s already expressed skepticism about all of our suspects. ”
“I can’t think about that now. I’m too tired. Tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time to talk it through on the road to Corfe and Guenevere.”
FIVE. THE SPIDER’S HOUSE
The next morning there was brilliant sunlight. The three of them had more of Robert’s bad food for breakfast. Britomart wondered aloud whether their meal actually included Caesar’s bones. Merlin settled with Robert and made certain of the directions to Corfe.
Robert’s stable had a leaky roof. The horses were wet and irritable. Brit and Nimue spent some time drying them with cloths and currying them before they set off. While they were at it, Merlin wandered off on his own.
The town was more awake today. People came and went, on this bit of business or that. He tried to engage a few people in conversation, but they were unpleasantly taciturn. What was Londinium’s chief industry? The ground did not seen right for farming. The river might provide transport for trade, but there wasn’t much traffic on it. He wondered why England was so full of mysteries.
When he got back to the inn, Brit and Nimue had saddled and loaded the horses and were waiting for him. They set off on the same road they’d used the day before, the one past the old sacred precinct. In the sunlight the temples appeared even gloomier. There was no sign of Byrrhus.
The packhorses were carrying supplies Robert had procured for them. Brit complained about it. “So we eat still more of that man’s dry meat and sour beer. Why not just dine at the next swamp we come to?”
By noon the sky began to cloud up again, and it gave her still more to complain about. “English winters. I’d love to know who first decided this island was a good place to live.”
“For once I agree with you, Brit.” Merlin had been nodding off in the saddle. “Humanity should confine itself to the warm, pleasant parts of the earth.”
“How many of those are there?”
“There are enough. I’ve seen them. North Africa, that’s the place.”
“Whatever brought you back to England, then?”
“Don’t ask.”
She looked back the way they’d come. “One thing’s for certain. Londinium is dying and will die. Twenty years from now it will be deserted.”
“Good.”
The road south to the coast was better than the one they’d taken to Londinium. Wider, smoother. And there was more traffic. Despite his antisocial nature, Merlin was happy to see more people. If nothing else, it indicated healthier weather. They came to a town called Greenwich and found an inn called the Tusk and Claw where the food was delicious. The landlord and his wife were plump and cordial; she told her guests they’d bought the place from an old Italian who had originally called it the Tuscan Law. Brit immediately ordered more supplies there and dumped in the river the ones they’d bought from Robert.
Nimue watched her, amused. “You shouldn’t do that. The Thames is dirty enough already. That beer might kill the fish.”
“The fish can fend for themselves. I never want to taste anything that foul again.”
Merlin stretched out on the riverbank and chimed in, “Wait till we get to Corfe. Have you ever had French cooking? ”
“Will we be staying at the castle, then?” Brit seemed surprised. “I took it for granted we’d be quartered with the soldiers there.”
“If we’re invited, we should definitely stay with Guenevere, don’t you think? After all, we’re going there to pry into her affairs. And Lancelot’s.”
Nimue listened to the exchange. “I’ve never been to Corfe. I don’t think I knew there was a garrison there.”
“A fine one. It’s one of our most important ports.” Brit was in her element. “We could hardly leave it unguarded.”
“It doesn’t make sense that Guenevere would have settled there, then. I mean, why would she want to be where Arthur’s men could keep an eye on her?”
“It’s never made sense to anyone, Colin. I mean, it is one of the best ports in England, so if the French wanted to invade, it would make a logical landing place for them. But the landing force would have to be enormous to overcome our men. Leodegrance doesn’t have anywhere near that many men.”
“Leode-who?”
“Guenevere’s father,” Merlin explained.
“Oh. But-but I still don’t understand why Guenevere chose to live at Corfe Castle of all the places in England.”
Merlin and Britomart looked at one another and shrugged. He said, “I’ve often wondered if Guenevere is as crafty as she likes to think.”
Brit finished her dumping, they took a short walk around the town to help digest their food, and then full and satisfied, they resumed their journey to the south coast. The horses settled into a comfortable pace, and the three travelers settled into a comfortable silence. There were still plenty of other people on the road.
“We should have Arthur designate this a king’s highway or something.” Nimue was enjoying the trip. “And that inn, the Tusk and Claw-he should buy all his provisions there. It’s better food than I ever tasted at Camelot.”
Merlin enjoyed her enthusiasm. “Maybe we can simply kidnap the cook.”
“I’m serious, Merlin.”
“You don’t find the name of the place ominous?”
“Never mind.”
At dinnertime they stopped to eat in Bournemouth then moved on. They reached the coast road to Corfe just at twilight.
A long, sloping grade went down to the ocean, where the town sat. One ship was anchored in the harbor. Merlin was surprised; he said there was normally more traffic.
Above the town, secure between two hills, was the castle. It was large and dark, more enormous than any building Nimue had seen. Brit told her it had originally been a Romanfortress. “This is one of the best natural ports in the country. No one could miss its strategic importance.”
It was not at all a typical castle. There was no curtain wall surrounding it, and not even a moat. To all appearances it was quite open and vulnerable. But on closer inspection its unusual design became evident. There was a central keep, octagonal in shape, rising some eighty feet. From it, eight wings extended. And each of them was topped with heavy fortifications. Anyone trying to attack the castle would have met with a rain of arrows from several directions.
“And the Romans built all this?”
“No, I think they only built the central keep.”
Merlin told her, “The castle goes back centuries. Some people think it must be the oldest in England. It’s so ancient no one remembers who added all t
hose arms. But they certainly date from before the rise of modern castle construction. ”
“Arms? Is that a formal architectural term, Merlin?” Brit asked.
He smiled. “No, but arms they are. Eight of them. The townspeople whose lives are dominated by it call it the Spider’s House. I’ve never been certain whether that refers to the castle itself or to its chief occupant.”
Clouds had built up steadily all afternoon. At least the temperature had remained on the mild side; there wouldn’t be snow. But a stiff wind roiled the Atlantic; huge waves were breaking all around. The ship in Corfe’s harbor rocked wildly.
The town was smaller than Nimue expected, but it was full of people, all of them evidently busy. And prosperous. A good harbor draws trade, and trade draws wealth. There were even women who were brazenly open about being streetwalkers.
The roar of the waves was clearly audible from every spot they passed. They found a little inn and had some spiced wine. Then Brit led them to the garrison and identified them to one of the guards on duty. Another one went off to find the commander. The three of them waited just inside the walls.
“You’re one of Arthur’s military commanders, Brit.” Merlin was annoyed to be kept waiting. “Don’t they know you?”
“I haven’t been here in years. But the commandant is an old friend.”
A moment later a man wearing chain mail for no apparent reason came and greeted them. He and Brit embraced warmly, and she introduced him to Merlin as Captain John Dalley, the garrison commander. He shook their hands vigorously and led them through the courtyard and Common Room to his office, where they had more wine.
“I thought someone from Camelot might come, once word of that ship spread. But how did you manage to get here so fast?”
“What about the ship?” He had caught Brit off guard.
“Didn’t you get a look at it? It’s French.” He lowered his voice and looked around conspiratorially. “Guenevere’s father. ”
“Leodegrance, here? Why haven’t you notified the king?”
“The ship put in late this afternoon. You should have seen all the fanfare and fuss when she turned out to welcome him. I was just drafting a letter to Camelot now.”
“I see. Do you have any idea what he’s doing here?”
Dalley shrugged. “It could be anything from visiting his daughter to planning a war to welcoming a new addition to the family tree.”
Merlin spoke up. “Guenevere is pregnant?”
“Not that I know of. I was only speculating. But she bellies with Lancelot often enough.”
“Has she… how shall I say? Has she been behaving herself lately?”
“As much as she ever does. She’s always trying to recruit my men away from Arthur’s service.”
“You must get that letter to Arthur right away. And we’ll be drafting one, too. You can send it along with yours.”
“Is something wrong?” He obviously suspected they might be there to check on him.
“No, John.” Brit was reassuring. “We’re doing some… er… fact-finding for him. We just want to apprise him of our progress.”
Relief showed. “I see.”
“You have room to quarter us?”
“Yes, of course.” He turned to Nimue. “And you-why is a fine young man like you not in the military? Aren’t you training to be a knight?”
“No, sir. Just a humble scholar.”
“Oh.” He didn’t try to hide his distaste. “Let me have someone prepare quarters for you. It will be a few minutes, I’m afraid.”
“That’s perfectly fine, John.” Brit smiled. “I’m sure Merlin and Colin would like to see the town. When should we be back?”
“I wouldn’t stay out too late. This is a port town. It can be rough after dark. And it’s full of French sailors, which makes it even worse than usual.”
“Oh. Well, we’ll be careful. And I’ll wear my sword.”
“Even so. You have no idea what they can get up to.”
They thanked him again, promised not to stay out too late and left the fort.
Nimue was spent from the day’s travel. “Why are we going out? I’m tired.”
“I want to get a look at that ship,” Brit said.
Merlin added, “And if we keep our eyes and ears open, we may get some hint what’s afoot. Leodegrance shouldn’t have come without notifying Arthur.”
“Maybe it really is just a family visit,” Nimue said.
“Don’t be foolish. These are politicians. They never do anything for simple reasons,” Merlin said.
“Should Captain Dalley have let them land?” Brit asked.
“How, exactly, could he have stopped them? No, he’s doing the right thing, writing to Arthur. Diplomacy is the king’s province.”
They walked along the widest street in town, heading for the harbor. No one paid them much notice. But Nimue kept studying everyone she saw. “The people here-they’re all plump.”
“It’s a prosperous town,” Merlin told her.
“If the French actually were to invade, how much help could they be?”
“Not much,” said Brit, who clearly didn’t want to think about it.
The wind from the Atlantic was getting stronger; occasional gusts were so strong the three of them had to lean into the wind to keep their balance. Merlin’s hat blew off and Nimue ran to fetch it. Overhead the clouds were thick and black; there was one brighter spot in them, all that could be seen of the moon.
The waterfront was lined with little taverns, most of them crowded. Yellow lanterns hung outside them; a long row of them provided the sole illumination. Cats scurried along the road, avoiding everything human. A dog dashed out of an alley and chased one of them, but it was faster. At one of the taverns people were singing a particularly obscene song about the French king.
“Why are all harbor towns alike?” Merlin asked no one in particular.
“I’ve never been in one before.” Nimue was taking it all in quite eagerly.
But Brit paused and said, “All places are alike. Every earth is fit for burial. There’s the French ship up ahead. Let’s go and see what we can see.”
The ship was called the Vienne. It was riding high in the water, which struck Brit as odd. “We’ll have to ask Dalley if they unloaded any supplies. If not-let’s get closer. I want to see if there are soldiers.”
But before they could approach any nearer, there was a flurry of activity behind them. A man in armor with a plumed helmet led a dozen soldiers directly up to them.
“You are Merlin, the king’s counselor? And Britomart?”
“We are.” Brit took charge; she kept her hand on the hilt of her sword. “And this is Colin, Merlin’s assistant.”
“You are to come with me.”
“I beg your pardon? We are here on the king’s business.”
“Queen Guenevere requests your presence.” He was not smiling. “You will come.”
Merlin spoke up. “How did the queen know we are here?”
“You may ask her that. Let us go.”
“Are we being taken prisoner? King Arthur will hardly be pleased. There isn’t a warlord in England who hasn’t felt his wrath. I hardly think he’d hesitate to invade Corfe.”
The man with the plume stepped closer to Merlin. “Queen Guenevere requests your presence at Corfe Castle. You are to be her guests.”
“Whether we like it or not?”
Brit stepped pointedly between them. “Captain Dalley of the king’s garrison is expecting us back. You’d best let us send him word where we’ll be.”
Plume man smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write him a note from the castle. The queen is nothing if not a gracious hostess.”
Brit looked around. They were plainly outnumbered, and she knew she was the only one with real fighting experience. Resigned, she said, “Very well, then. Let’s go.”
Plume showed his relief. He gave the order, and his men formed two columns, one on each side of their “guests,”
and they headed off toward the hills and the castle.
People in the street looked more than slightly alarmed at the little parade; they crossed to the far side, all the while pretending not to have noticed. But at one corner a pair of soldiers from the garrison were negotiating with a pair of women. When they saw Merlin, Colin and Brit leaving under escort by Guenevere’s soldiers, their eyes widened and they left off what they were doing to head back to Captain Dalley.
The party proceeded to the edge of Corfe and began to ascend the hill to the castle. It loomed ahead of them, black and enormous, looking indeed like a huge spider. Nimue noticed that two of the “arms” that were visible were crumbling and apparently deserted. Guenevere must not be as prosperous or secure as she liked to pretend. But the rest of the Spider’s House was lit brightly with dozens of torches.
On either side of it to the east and west were hills. She asked Merlin what they were called.
“East Hill and West Hill.”
“Oh.”
“This is a port, not a university.”
They reached the castle and proceeded to the main gate, between two of the arms. Guards were posted, and a dozen torches burned brightly there. Plume exchanged a few words with the sentries then turned to Brit. “You will please follow me.” Since they didn’t have much choice, they did so. Six of the soldiers stayed at the gate; the rest moved on.
The interior of the castle was made of that same dark stone. Torches burned every six feet along the hallways. They smoked and sputtered; the place smelled of bitter fumes and ash. At least the corridor was straight; the place’s plan was much simpler and more straightforward than Camelot. Nimue commented on it.
“Simpler?” Merlin seemed surprised at the observation. “The whole place is monotonously rectilinear. I suppose that must be desirable for some people.”
At the end of the hallway-arm there was an abrupt change to a lighter stone, medium grey instead of dark grey. They had reached the keep, the oldest part of the castle.
Plume had not spoken a word as he and his men ushered them along. Now he said, “Her Majesty is in the throne room. Protocol is to be observed.”
“What is the protocol for a prisoner?” Merlin sounded more amused than anything else.
The Excalibur Murders Page 13
