“And Guenevere was plotting her own insurrection with the help of her father. She would never agree to support Mark in his bid for kingship.”
“Ah. So we can count on my wife’s mad self-interest.”
A gentle wind began to blow. Merlin glanced upward and saw that dark clouds were building.
Another mouse scurried across the snow, this one unmolested by predators. Arthur watched it, pleased in a minor way. “Killing two innocent boys was a blow to my prestige, in his mind?”
“Evidently.”
“My poor sons. And their poor mother. But how did he find out they were mine?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Tell me.”
Merlin inhaled deeply. “You told him yourself.”
“I never did any such thing.”
“One night when you’d had too much to drink, you burbled it to him. Told him what fine sons they were and how they would make splendid heirs.”
“Oh.” Softly he repeated, “Oh. Good God. I killed them.”
“No, Arthur. You did no such thing. It was Mark.”
“I sealed their fate.”
“When Mark went to steal the stone, Borolet was there, so Mark disposed of the witness to his crime and his rival to the throne in one stroke. And when Ganelin began to guess that he was the killer… that only gave him one more reason to eliminate the boy.”
“All for a chunk of crystal.”
“For a kingdom, Arthur. After all, you killed to get where you are.”
“Those were wars, not a knife in the dark.”
“Even so.”
“I was hoping you would tell me something to brighten my mood.”
“I’m sorry, Arthur.”
“Tell me about Mark’s death.” The king had been avoiding the subject for days. “What happened?”
Merlin brushed the snow from a nearby grave marker and sat on it. “I had been questioning him all morning. He was exhausted and becoming less responsive. I decided to get myself something to eat and to send him something, hoping that a break and a hot meal would make him more cooperative. So I went to the refectory where, naturally enough, everyone plied me with questions about him. A few of the knights were upset that he had been arrested.”
“He is a murderer. And he tried to kill again-in front of an audience, no less. They’ll realize that imprisoning him was the only possibility when they’ve had time to think.”
“Knights-not exactly known for thoughtfulness, are they?”
“Go on with the story and stop trying to get a rise out of me.”
“When I went back to his cell to carry on the interrogation, he was missing. I realized at once that he must have found one of Pellenore’s secret passages. In fact the entrance to one of them was open a few inches. I called for one of the guards, we took torches and we swung it wide open and went in.
“But it was a blind alley. Ten yards in front of us we saw Mark, lit by his own torch, clawing at the wall frantically, trying to find the way to open it. ’Mark,’ I told him, ‘it’s no use. Only Pellenore knows these corridors.’
“He turned on us with a near-savage snarl. ‘You can’t keep me here. I am King Mark of Cornwall, not a common criminal.’
“Saying nothing, I stared at him.
“ ‘I will not be held!’ he bellowed. And he came running at me, snarling. My guard drew his sword, and Mark hesitated but kept coming.
“Suddenly, a door hidden in the wall sprung open. Pellenore leaped out, sword in hand, and struck Mark down. His arm and his head were nearly severed. Pellenore turned to us, wide-eyed, and said, ‘The beasts. They are one fewer now.’
“Then he stepped back into the wall and it closed. We rushed to the spot, but there was absolutely no sign of the smallest crack, even. An awful gurgling sound came from Mark, the kind you must have heard on the battlefield often enough, and he was dead.” He looked at Arthur and spread his hands apart, letting the empty air between them express what he was feeling.
Arthur remained perfectly still for a long moment. “And so justice has been done.”
“Justice? You call death at the hands of a madman justice? ”
“Mark would happily have let Pellenore be blamed for his crimes. So it is a kind of justice, I suppose. The evil has been rooted out. By you, Merlin. And I owe you a great deal. England can return to normal now, to harmony and the kind of society I want. There will be no more crime, except perhaps of the common, obvious sort. It is over.”
Slowly, Merlin stood up. The cold stone had made his back stiff. “Do you really believe that?”
“I have to. I am the king. England is mine.”
There was more wind, stiffer than before, and snow started falling. Merlin stretched, trying to work the stiffness out of his back. “Do you ever read Sappho, Arthur?”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No, it was a foolish question. But she was a wonderful poet with a stark, dark vision. She once observed that the gods believe death to be the greatest evil.”
“She had a point.”
“But she added that the only reason they think death evil is because they themselves don’t die.”
“There are times, wizard, when I worry about you. Let’s get back to the castle. I’m cold.”
Merlin hooked his arm through Arthur’s, and the two men walked slowly in the direction of Camelot. Merlin said softly, “Now, Your Majesty, about that school for the squires and the pages…”
***
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The Excalibur Murders Page 27
