It snowed for three days. The world was soft, white and frigid. On the second morning Merlin was in his tower reading, with Roc on his shoulder, when he heard a scratching at the window. The other two ravens, the ones that had been missing, were there, trying desperately to get inside.
He opened the shutter and let them in. They flew directly to the hearth, not too close, and warmed themselves. Then a moment later they flapped their wings and went to his shoulders and nuzzled him.
“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “But you’ve come back. Is that a sign?”
Roc, standing at the edge of the table, squawked shrilly as if to say, “The world does not send us signs.”
Merlin named the other two birds Phoenix and Osiris, after two mythological figures who had conquered death. They began responding to their names almost at once.
By the third morning, Merlin was feeling restless. He headed to the stables and asked one of the grooms to prepare a horse cart for him.
Camelot was full of activity as the household staff decorated for Midwinter Court. Every available space was hung with holly and evergreen branches, to signify the triumph of life over death on this feast when the sun reached its lowest point and began to climb in the sky again. Hundreds- thousands-of candles were set about; the castle would be ablaze with light as, at least in theory, the heavens were. Singers and musicians and handbell ringers rehearsed, loudly, songs celebrating the season. And great stores of provisions were being brought in from surrounding farms and villages so that Arthur’s guests would want for nothing.
Arthur circulated through the castle, overseeing it all and beaming at the work, and even helping to arrange the holly now and then. When he encountered Merlin he greeted him heartily. “They’re doing a wonderful job, aren’t they? I love holidays. The lights, the colors… and we’re having plays. One of the heralds found your friend Samuel Gall.”
"Fine, Arthur.” He adopted his patient teacher manner.
Arthur blinked and gaped at him. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t like the Midwinter feasting?”
“I do not mean to tell you anything at all about it. But since you ask…”
“Merlin, how on earth can you not enjoy this? The lights, the colors, the music… I’ve loved Midwinter since I was a boy.”
“You are still a boy, Arthur, in more ways than you realize. ”
The king looked at him suspiciously. “Explain yourself, killjoy.”
“I have never understood the concept of happiness by the calendar. ‘Oh, goodness, it is such and such a date. That means I’m going to feel good and find life wonderful. Never mind that there are assassins on the loose.’ ”
“Go and have a drink, Merlin. You need it.”
“As it happens, I’m heading to the kitchen, for some breakfast.”
“Even that will help.”
So Merlin left Arthur happily hanging holly and humming hymns to the newborn sun. In the refectory he encountered Petronus who, always anxious to make himself useful, offered to be his driver.
They finished eating and walked to the stable together. “But, sir, where are we going?”
“A great deal is going to happen here in the coming days, Petronus. I need to be alone, to think and to meditate, at least for a few hours. There is one place in the world where I have always been able to do that.”
“And where is that, sir?”
“Stonehenge.”
“But… but that is in Salisbury, sir.”
“I know it. If the roads are passable we can get there in two hours or so. Let us hope. You may go to the local inn to keep warm while I spend contemplative time at the monument. ”
“But won’t you be cold?”
“At my age cold is a constant. I need this time alone.”
Petronus fell silent for a few moments. Then as they walked to the stable he said, “It sounds as if you are going there to pray, sir.”
“Don’t be preposterous. Stonehenge is a gift of the ancients, who could not possibly have envisioned the circumstances that take me there. It is a place of harmony and proportion, of intellectual peace. In a snowfall it is even more so. I need to experience that just now, before the guests arrive for court. There may be danger here; I need to think and prepare myself mentally for what I have to do.”
“And what is that?”
“You will see soon enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
Just as they reached the stable, the doors flew wide open and two small donkey carts and a large horse-drawn carriage drove in. Merlin glared at them; people were arriving early, and he might not be able to get away after all.
Then he stopped to wonder who the conveyances belonged to. “Hold off for a moment, Pete.”
He watched as the passengers began to alight. Recognizing the leader, he crossed the stable to him and threw his arms around him. “Samuel! I had no idea you would arrive early. I knew Arthur had invited you, but…”
Samuel was a man of Merlin’s age, clean-shaven, fit. “The king summoned us. And performing at these courts is always a good source of income for us. If nothing else, other nobles will see us and want us to appear at their own courts. You know the artist’s life.”
More men descended from the carriage. Most of them were young; among them there was one boy, younger than Petronus, with bright red hair. They set about taking trunks and boxes off the carriage’s roof. Samuel pointed to one after another and told Merlin their names. “Robert, Pierre, Wolf, Francis. And this boy with the flame-red hair is Watson, our leading lady. He plays tragic heroines so convincingly audiences are moved to tears. He will break hearts.”
Petronus had been listening without saying anything. Finally, it made sense to him. “What play are you acting out?”
“Bringing to life.” Samuel was emphatic. “We are the best in England. Artists, not common play-actors.”
“I love plays.”
“When we perform, young man, everyone loves plays.” He turned back to Merlin. “The king has requested our Fall of Troy. Just wait till you see Watson, here, play Hecuba. You’re in for a real treat, Merlin.”
“I’m sure of it. But-”
“We’ve been making a hit in the provinces with the Assassination of Julius Caesar, but Arthur has forbidden us to play it here.”
“Wise man.”
“Is he nervous, then?”
“You haven’t heard?” Merlin explained about the killing of the squires, the escape of Pellenore and the rest of it. “So you haven’t come to a happy court. And a play about assassinating Caesar would hardly be the thing. But listen, I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to be staging some theatrics of my own. Perhaps you can give me some instruction in stagecraft.” He lowered his voice and looked around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “To be specific, in conjuring. This has to be terribly effective. A great deal depends on it.”
Mildly puzzled, Samuel told him, “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can. But what on earth-?”
“I’ll explain later, when we’re alone. You remember where my rooms are?”
“Are you still living in that drafty tower?”
“Yes. Come in an hour or so.” He looked at Petronus. “We won’t be making our outing after all, I’m afraid. But thank you for offering to drive me.”
Puzzled and disappointed, Petronus left. A moment later Merlin followed, leaving the actors to deal with their props and costumes.
Like almost everyone else, Nimue was getting into a holiday mood. She found Merlin in his study, preoccupied, sulking, stroking the head of one of his ravens and studying Ganelin’s chart still another time. His fingertip traced the paths of symbols, and he seemed quite lost in thought. At the bottom of his breath he was muttering, “It must be. It must be.”
“You work too hard, Merlin.” She decided to try and cheer him up. “The snow won’t stop falling. If I were still a kid I’d be riding my sled. Kids must be doing that all over the country.”
“Go and join them, then.”
“It’s the best time of the year, Merlin, and the world has turned perfectly gorgeous. You should be happy.”
“You know what I’m dealing with, Nimue. What we are dealing with. This may be our one last chance to flush out the killer.”
“Even the king is cheerful.”
“If he was less so, he would have taken my advice and had Mark arrested. Cheerfulness never accomplishes anything permanent.”
“Really, Merlin, I know you’re going to tell me I’m too young to understand, but I hope I never come to understand seeing the world that way. Look-your pets are back. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Yes, of course it is. They love me and I love them. But Nimue, optimism is not useful if it blinds us to the facts.”
“We don’t actually have facts, remember? Only symbols on a chart and conjecture about what they mean.”
“Even so.”
“Suppose it isn’t Mark who’s flushed out by this charade? ”
“Then we will apprehend the culprit, imprison him-or her-and Mark will go back to his treasonous plot, whatever it is. He may bring Arthur down. He may bring the whole country down, for that matter. Does that really strike you as cause for optimism?”
“You’re impossible.”
“If you were a true scholar, you would know that nothing is impossible. I find myself thinking about Morgan. She wants her son to be king. If she had learned somehow that the twins were Arthur’s sons, it would have given her more than enough motive to-I wish things weren’t so complicated. ”
Greffys knocked and opened the door. “Excuse me, sir. Arthur wants you.”
“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“He asks that you come now, sir. The queen is here.”
“Guenevere?”
“And Lancelot.”
“They would be the first to arrive. Tell him I’ll be along shortly.”
“Yes, sir. She, uh… the guards who brought her say her parents were with her at Corfe.”
“Leodegrance and Leonilla? Splendid. There’s nothing suspicious about that, is there?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.” He left.
Merlin turned back to Nimue. “I know you think me a worrisome old man, but-”
“Let’s say overly anxious.”
“Fine, anxious then.”
“Overly.”
“Please, Nimue, not now. I don’t know what to expect over the next few days. When the killer realizes he is trapped-whoever he may be-he is apt to do almost anything. People will be hurt, possibly killed, and we have had more than enough of that already. And you and I will be in peril. Are you certain you want to do this?”
For the first time her mood turned serious. “Quite certain. ”
“He will lash out.”
“Even so.”
“I could get Greffys to do it. Or even one of the young actors. It isn’t absolutely essential that Mark recognize you.”
“There are actors? Are we going to have plays?” Her mood brightened again instantly.
“Yes. Apparently Troy is to fall again, within the walls of Camelot.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Arthur loves plays. We get them every Midwinter, every May Day…”
“He’s a good king.”
“Let us go and attend Her Majesty and her lover.”
In the courtyard, Arthur was greeting his wife and Lancelot when Merlin and Nimue arrived. Just as they stepped into the yard he was helping Guenevere down from her carriage. The soldiers he’d sent to escort her were milling about, evidently glad to be home.
“Merlin! Colin!” Arthur called to them heartily. “Look who’s come to visit for the holiday!”
Guenevere scowled. “Is that what you call people who have come here under armed guard? Visitors?”
“Why, Guenevere, you make it sound as if you were brought under duress.”
“I can’t think what gave me that idea. Could it have been a detachment of your soldiers?”
“Oh dear. You have me wrong. I was only concerned about your safety. The countryside is fraught with marauders. ”
Lancelot stepped out of the carriage and leaped to the ground. “Our own soldiers could have protected us equally well, I should think.”
Arthur ignored him. “But, Guenevere, you are my vassal-my wife. Your soldiers are mine.”
“That is rubbish, Arthur, and you know it perfectly well.”
He put on an enormous grin. “I’m told your parents are holed up in your castle at Corfe.”
“Cannot a woman’s parents visit her without you suspecting the worst?”
He played dumb. “Why, whatever do you mean? What is the worst?”
“They’ve come to visit me, that is all.”
“There might possibly be people who would find their presence in England odd, not to say suspicious.”
“Or wise.” She smiled and nodded in Merlin’s direction. “If you should decide to detain me, they would know at once.”
“Guenevere, darling. What suspicious minds you all have.”
“We have a great deal to be suspicious of.”
The captain crossed to Arthur, whispered something in his ear then went back to his men. “My captain tells me he made certain the shades in your carriage were kept drawn. For your own protection of course-to make certain no one could suspect you both of conducting reconnaissance. I hope it wasn’t a problem for you.”
Guenevere was arch, distant. “Why should anyone want to inspect your snow?”
“Queens have been known to have sinister motives.” He smiled even more widely than Guenevere. “But let me have you shown to your suite of rooms.”
Lancelot reached around and rubbed his back in a quite pointed way. “Thank you. The journey over these dreadful English roads was agonizing.”
“You will of course remain in your rooms unless you have permission to do otherwise.” He was all heartiness.
Both of them froze. Slowly, venomously, Guenevere intoned, “That will not be agreeable, no.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. Again, it is for your protection. There is an escaped killer, a madman, loose in the secret passages that riddle Camelot.”
“Then your penal system is as defective as your highways, ” Lancelot snorted.
“Regrettably so. Still, I must insist you not go wandering about the castle. We wouldn’t want to see either of you come to harm.”
They bristled and protested, but Arthur was clearly within his rights. He had them escorted-“for their own protection”-to a suite in the drafty north tower of Camelot, which was the oldest part of the castle. It was cold and not in good repair, and it was seldom used except for storage.
Guenevere made a pro forma complaint, demanding that she and Lancelot be installed in her old quarters. But Arthur explained patiently that Merlin occupied those rooms now, and Guenevere couldn’t possibly want to inconvenience him, could she? Then she demanded that they be moved to a warmer, more up-to-date part of the castle, but Arthur told her that his was likely to be the largest Midwinter Court in years; every bit of space in Camelot would be occupied. “You’ll have more privacy there.”
Steaming, seething with anger, Guenevere and her man settled into their apartments. As a parting shot she told her husband, “If Merlin really can resurrect the dead, perhaps you can have him start by reviving your monarchy.”
Then Arthur and Merlin left, pleased at how plainly upset she was. “Come,” Arthur whispered. “I want to talk.”
Merlin followed the king to his tower. “You’re in a good mood.”
“My wife has come to visit. How could I not be?”
“As long as you have her securely under lock and key. Did you know before today that Leodegrance and Leonilla were in England?”
“No. I should never have let Guenevere settle at a port city. I know, I know, you warned me. I thought our marriage vows might count for something, however minimal. They’re up to something.”
Merlin feigned sorrow. “And no one’s ever warned you.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Merlin. Has it occurred to you that this insurrection-or whatever is being planned-may be their idea, not Mark’s?”
“He appears to be going along with it cheerfully enough.”
“Don’t remind me.” He sat down heavily and sighed. “You’ve been right about this all along. Learning the French king and his wife are here drives the point home. If there’s anything a king shouldn’t be, it’s trusting.”
“And your point?”
“Don’t make this harder for me than it already is, Merlin. I’ve been naïve, maybe even foolish. I admit it. Now advise me.”
“I advise you to arrest them. All of them. Send troops to Corfe and arrest Leodegrance and his wife. Until we can get to the bottom of this.”
“On what charge?”
“Invent one. Make something up. Sedition. Conspiracy. Conduct unbecoming a Frenchman.”
The king sighed even more deeply. “No. I don’t think that’s the answer. England has never known civil war. Doing that could certainly start one.”
“The army is loyal to you.”
“Stop toying with me, Merlin. You know how they respect Mark. And after all, I became king by defeating all of them. Besides, have you ever met Leonilla? She’s a gorgon-worse even than her daughter. She could probably spew enough acid to melt the walls of any prison I have.”
Merlin shifted his weight uncomfortably. It seemed a good moment for a politic lie. “I’ve been so focused on finding the murderer I haven’t really given this much thought.”
“Do it now, for God’s sake.”
“Suppose the murders and the plot are related, as I’ve been telling you all along?”
Arthur swallowed his pride. “Then you were right and I wasn’t. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I am convinced that Mark killed the twins, or had them killed. I’d wager he did it himself.”
“Why? What could he possibly have had against them?”
“He’s been trying to foment this plot. But no one seems to want to go along. Guenevere because she’s planning her own war, with her father’s help. And Morgan-heaven only knows what Morgan is up to.”
“Maybe she’s loyal to me, or to our family.”
“Don’t be foolish, Arthur. She wants to be queen. She thinks it’s her right.”
“And so it is, I suppose. We have destroyed the old order. Birthing a new one should be easier than this.” He looked at his advisor. “Shouldn’t it?”
“If you say so, Your Majesty.”
“Shut up.”
Over the next two days the snow became heavier. Despite it, people came from all over England for Arthur’s court. Knights, dukes, barons, earls and petty warlords made the trek. And all of them were abuzz with speculative gossip about Merlin’s “miracle.”
The Stone of Bran was legendary. And most of the educated class-of whom there were not many-took the old legends to be just that. The prospect of seeing a miracle, of the kind embodied in the old myths-actually seeing it- was more tantalizing than most of them wanted to admit.
Among them came Morgan and her son, angry like Guenevere to have been brought under guard. She protested that as high priestess she was an officer of the state, or should be regarded as one, and Arthur met her with carefully studied obliviousness, pretending it was all for her own protection. She demanded the best rooms in Camelot, to no avail. Mordred sniveled and wiped his nose on his sleeve a lot.
Then came Mark. Both Arthur and Merlin were expecting him to be raging, but he feigned not to have noticed that his escort was really a guard.
“But, Arthur, there’s something you must consider.”
“And what is that, Mark?”
He lowered his voice. “Something dangerous is afoot.”
“You want to warn me?”
“I do. You must not permit it.”
“What the devil are you talking about, Mark?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I think you know perfectly well.”
Arthur made his face a blank. “No. Honestly. Tell me.”
“You can’t guess what I mean?”
“It isn’t like you to be so cryptic, Mark. If you have a point, make it.”
He whispered heavily, “Merlin.”
“What? What on earth could Merlin be doing that you have to warn me about?”
“This scheme of his, this plan to waken the dead. It is dangerous.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Mark.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Do you?”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not meddling with dark forces.”
“Aren’t you?”
It caught Mark off guard, and he stammered for a moment, trying to recover his composure. “Arthur, listen to me. Merlin is going to do something momentous. Something that has never been done, not in all recorded history.”
“He’s studied the appropriate texts. He knows what he’s doing.” Offhandedly, he added, “The gods will guide him- and protect the rest of us.”
“Please, Arthur, stop him from doing this. We could all end up in the worst peril.”
“Mark, it’s been announced. I can’t very well disappoint all the nobles in the country, can I?”
Mark was losing his resolve to argue, but it was clear he was nervous, not to say frightened, which struck Arthur as a good thing. “This is perilous, Arthur. You know all the old legends about sorcerers who meddle in things they shouldn’t. When they lose control, everyone suffers.”
“Why, Mark, you sound genuinely afraid.”
“And so I am. You should be, too. You let that old man play with these forces, we’ll all have to pay.”
Arthur thought to himself, good. But all he said was, “I really don’t see how I can stop it. Too many people would be disappointed.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned like an eager schoolboy. “Besides, I want to see it myself.”
“May I have permission not to attend, then?”
Abruptly, Arthur turned king again. “You may not. I want you there.” Then he smiled warmly. “If something awful does happen, I’ll need you.”
Grumping, clearly unhappy, Mark went off to his quarters. And Arthur went straight to Merlin’s tower to tell him about the exchange. “He’s worried about your ‘miracle,’ not about any plots or killers being exposed. That’s good.”
“Mark has always been superstitious. Er, excuse me, prone to believe in things.”
“He’s human, that’s all.”
Merlin ignored this; it was the wrong time to get into a philosophical debate. “So we have all four of our suspects where we want them.”
Arthur gaped. “You want Pellenore in the castle walls, leaping out and terrifying people?”
“At least we know where he is. Besides, he hasn’t actually hurt anyone, has he?”
“Except my boys.”
“You think he slaughtered them but has turned docile and harmless?”
“Yes. That would be odd in an ordinary murderer, Merlin, but hardly in a madman.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Arthur, I have to go take an acting lesson.”
“Act-?”
“Tomorrow night I shall give a performance for the ages. No Greek in the Odeon at Athens portrayed Hercules more convincingly than I shall play the magician.”
“Well, you certainly talk like a Greek. Why don’t you speak plainly, so people know what you’re talking about?”
Merlin smiled and made a slight bow. “The result of years of practice at court.”
And so more and more people flowed into Camelot, all of them in a festive mood. Soon the castle was filled to bursting, more so than it had been when the Stone of Bran was to have been unveiled. Servants were overworked; outriders went to the neighboring towns and villages, recruiting workers for the duration of the seasonal festival and offering generous wages. Food was brought in from every available source, and Mark’s people in Cornwall sent enormous quantities of wine. Knowing the nature of Arthur’s court, it would certainly be needed. Every available space in Camelot was decorated, with holly and other evergreens, with candles or both. No one complained about cramped quarters this time; it was Midwinter, the year’s brightest holiday.
The first night, Arthur summoned everyone to the Great Hall. A platform had been set up against one wall-the same platform that had been erected the night Borolet died and the Stone of Bran and Excalibur were stolen. But this time there was only one throne on it, Arthur’s; the symbolismwas impossible to miss. Scores of torches lit the hall brilliantly; it might almost have been daytime. Musicians played, singers caroled, mummers put on little skits for the amusement of the crowd and servants passed about with trays of meat and cakes.
Then, to a loud brass fanfare, Arthur entered, wearing Excalibur around his waist. He made a speech welcoming everyone to Camelot for the festivities. “Let us rejoice,” he concluded, “that this gathering will end on a happier note than our last one.”
The assembled knights and lords drank a toast to him, a second to his health, a third to his reign… Before long the customary court drunkenness was evident to everyone.
People were buzzing with speculation about Merlin’s purported “miracle”; no one seemed to be talking about anything else. And through it all, Merlin and Nimue, who abstained from drinking, circulated among the crowd, keeping a careful eye on their suspects.
Then it was time for business. Arthur sat in majesty on his throne, brilliantly lit by torchlight, and summoned his most important vassals to himself, Morgan, Mark and Guenevere among them. He required each of them in turn to recite the oath of fealty to him, while kissing Excalibur’s blade, and swear their oath by the gods. Morgan did so casually, almost offhandedly, as if such an oath hardly mattered. Mark grunted and did it perfunctorily. Guenevere did it slowly, with ill grace, and so softly as to be barely audible. But each time the oath mentioned allegiance to Arthur, she added, “And due caution regarding his armed guards.”
Then all the other assembled vassals recited the oath en masse, while Arthur scanned the audience carefully to make sure they were all doing it.
Business ended, Arthur clapped his hands for more wine, and servants with trays of goblets and wineskins appeared. More came with cakes and tarts. The musicians struck up a lively dance. The formal part of the evening was over, and everyone enjoyed the revel. Before long people were pairing off, and couples slipped out of the hall, either furtively or openly, depending on their inclinations.
By an hour past midnight the hall was empty except for the musicians, packing up their instruments. The floor and tables were littered with scraps of food, empty cups and the like, which would be cleaned up in the morning. Once the players left, two servants went about the hall, extinguishing torches one by one. Merlin stood against the wall watching. He had noticed nothing in the behavior of the suspects that told him anything at all. But tomorrow would be the night.
Then he noticed a slight, almost imperceptible movement of a section of wall not far from where he was standing. He waited quietly, patiently, till the last of the torches and candles were put out. The only light came from the adjoining hallways. One of the servants approached him, a puzzled look on his face. Merlin held a finger to his lips and gestured to him that he should leave. Clearly puzzled, the man went. Merlin was alone in the darkened Great Hall. He pressed himself flat against the wall and waited.
Again the wall moved; he could barely see it in the near-complete darkness, but the sound of stone scraping on stone came to him clearly. Someone stepped out of the wall into the hall.
“Pellenore. Hello, Pellenore.”
The old king jumped, startled. “Merlin?”
“Yes, of course. You’ve been leading the king’s men on a merry chase.”
“No one could know Camelot as well as I do. There are blind alleys, dead ends, even pitfalls… I hope no one has been hurt.”
Even though they were speaking softly, their voices echoed faintly in the hall. Merlin took a few steps forward, cautiously. “Everyone keeps forgetting this was once your castle. You oversaw the construction, didn’t you?”
“Mm-hmm. Arthur will never make this place completely his.”
“I think he’s beginning to understand that, though not in the way you mean.”
“I hate it when you’re smug, Merlin.”
“I know, I know. Everyone does. What can I say?”
“Is there any food left?”
“I imagine so. If you scavenge about the hall I’m sure you’ll find some good meat and some of those honey cakes Arthur can’t resist.”
Pellenore began moving from table to table, piling plates with what he could find and munching as he went. Merlin watched him, outlined dimly in the light from the corridors. “Sooner or later he’ll catch you, you know. You can’t live in the walls forever.”
“I can until he realizes I’m not the one who killed his sons.”
“You know they were his sons?”
“You’d be amazed how well voices carry here. I’ve been eavesdropping on him every chance I get. You’re a fool to think you can trap anyone with this stunt you’re going to pull.”
“Let me worry about that, will you? What else have you heard? Has Mark said anything incriminating? Or Morgan, or Guenevere?”
“They’re royals-they’re politicians. Scheming is what they do. Everything they say is incriminating.” He bit into a joint of beef he’d found. “I’m happier living in the walls than I ever was outside.”
“Will you stay there, then? Even after we’ve found out the culprit? Will you live in the walls of the castle like a phantom?”
“I’ve been a phantom ever since Arthur took it from me, Merlin. And you know it.”
“I could sound the alarm. Call the guards. End this now.”
“Where do you think you could imprison me that I couldn’t escape from?”
Merlin shrugged. “Arthur has other castles.”
“Leave me to my own devices, will you, Merlin? I’m happier.”
“Tomorrow night. I shall unmask the twins’ killer tomorrow night. After that, you will have no reason to remain in hiding.”
“Suppose I tell you the beasts can’t find me when I’m behind the walls?”
“Suppose I remind you that you told me once you are only mad in one direction? And that direction is not into the walls.”
“Besides, Merlin, I prefer dragons to Arthur and his family and his courtiers. I could kill them all, you know. I could emerge from the castle walls while they’re asleep and do them in.”
“You make my mouth water, Pellenore. But you mustn’t do that. It’s taken all my powers of persuasion to keep them from tearing open the walls to find you as things stand. If you were to do a thing like that…” He spread his hands wide apart in a gesture of helplessness.
Arms laden with plates of food, Pellenore moved back to the door he’d entered through. “I could do it. You know it. I could kill them all and never be caught.”
“Them? If you’re going to kill anyone at all, why not go for the ones who’ve been plotting treason?”
“Good night, Merlin.”
“Good night. Sleep well, Pellenore, if you can. And drop any idea you may have of regicide, will you?”
The old king pulled the door shut behind him.
Merlin moved to the spot and ran his fingers along the wall. There was nothing detectable, not the least seam or crack. A moment later, from behind the wall, he heard the sound of stumbling and plates clattering to the floor, and Pellenore’s voice cursing.
First thing in the morning, Merlin was up and about. Nimue joined him. “I’m nervous, Merlin. The more I think about this, the more dangerous it seems.”
“It is dangerous for both of us. But I can’t see that we have any choice, not if we want to restore order here.”
“Even so. I’m having second thoughts, more and more of them.”
“Everything will be all right. Arthur will be armed, and he will have guards posted. We’ll be safe.”
“How many guards?”
“As many as can be, without arousing suspicion.”
“Suppose that isn’t enough?”
“Suppose fire rains down from the sky and kills us all?”
“Point taken. But Merlin-”
“Come on. The refectory should be crowded enough. Let us begin.”
Glumly, reluctantly, she followed him to the dining hall. It was full of people, many of them plainly feeling the effects of the previous night’s drinking. Merlin was pleased at this. “We don’t want anyone too terribly attentive or thoughtful-certainly not any of our suspects.”
Off in a corner of the refectory were two men, dressed in dingy clothes, clearly not nobles or even servants; these were laborers and it was unmistakable. Merlin approached them and shook their hands, and they all sat down together.
Their conversation was loud, uncharacteristically so, and people all around eavesdropped, most of them not trying to hide the fact.
“You understand what you’re to do?”
“Yes, sir,” said one of the men. “But-”
“Good. And you know which one I want, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. The other one was mutilated beyond hope. He would hardly be an apt subject.”
“But, sir, we’ve never done this before. It’s ugly; it’s not right.”
“It is for a good purpose. You may rest assured of that.”
“No good can come of a thing like this.”
“It will.”
This exchange had piqued the curiosity of everyone within easy earshot, which was precisely what Merlin wanted. “Have you had a good breakfast?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then go, now,” he told them. “The ground is frozen. It will be hard work, and it may take a good part of the day. I will see that the king rewards you amply.”
“Thank you, sir.” The two men rose and left.
Guenevere and Lancelot had been eating a few tables away. The queen could not restrain her curiosity. She got up and crossed to Merlin. “Fraternizing with the lower orders, Merlin?”
“They are good men, and I am no snob.”
She bristled at the implied criticism. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing, Guenevere. I was just taking care of some preliminaries for tonight.”
“Preliminaries?”
“Necessary steps. These things cannot be done haphazardly, you know. Everything must be arranged properly.”
Lancelot joined them. “What things? Who were those men?”
“Why, I thought you would recognize them. You’ve seen them before. And you’ve given them enough work.”
Guenevere snapped, “Don’t be coy with us, Merlin. Who were they?”
He smiled. “Why, the royal gravediggers, of course.”
“The-!”
“I don’t believe I’m hungry, after all.” He smiled at them. “I’ll just be going. Enjoy your meal, Guenevere.” Walking away, he added, as if it were an afterthought, “You too, Lancelot.”
For the rest of the day the castle was abuzz with gossip about Merlin, Arthur, the gravediggers and anything else that could support more than cursory speculation. Everywhere either Merlin or Nimue went, people plied them with questions, all of which went tactfully unanswered.
Merlin noticed that Morgan and Mordred remained in their rooms all day, having meals brought to them instead of dining with everyone else. “I don’t know whether to find it suspicious.”
He decided to pay them a visit. Beaming, overflowing with hearty good will, he went to Morgan’s chambers.
She was in a foul mood. “These rooms are drafty. I’m freezing.”
“This is a castle, Morgan. What do you expect?”
“If you’re going to work miracles with that damned crystal skull, why don’t you bring on spring?”
He was smug. “In time, Morgan.”
“In time spring will arrive on its own.”
“Such skepticism from the high priestess. I am shocked.”
“What do you want here, Merlin?”
“Why, no one’s seen you all day. I only wanted to make certain you are all right. And where is that handsome son of yours?”
“Mordred is reading. He has a new copy of Lucretius.” She added pointedly, “A distinguished skeptic from the ancient world.”
“I am perfectly aware of who he was, thank you. But- should you encourage your son to doubt? He might get into the habit.”
She had had enough of this. “I want to know what you’re up to, Merlin. I’m told you were conspiring with the royal gravediggers this morning,”
“Up to? Conspiring?” He was all sweet innocence. “Why, I am simply doing the king’s bidding. He wants a spectacular miracle to impress everyone with his power. The Stone of Bran will make that possible.”
“Nonsense. Arthur wants to use the religious impulses of his people to strengthen his position in the country. But neither he nor you is used to doing that. You may find you’re getting into more trouble than you realize.”
“Is that a threat, Morgan?”
“Let us call it a friendly admonition. I hardly have to threaten you. Neither of you understands what you’re doing. ” Her voice turned hard. “Abandon this foolishness. Do a few conjurer’s tricks and send them all home. There will be no resurrection.”
“Will there not?”
“No.” She was quite serene in her confidence.
“But, Morgan, the people have been promised a miracle.”
Mordred came in; he had clearly been eavesdropping. “A miracle? There is no such thing, Merlin, and you know it perfectly well. The idea that a bit of polished rock might restore life to the dead…”
“Not might-will.”
Morgan stood. Tall and imperious, she pointed a finger directly at Merlin’s head. “Stop this charade. Announce the truth.”
“The truth? You mean the ‘truth’ that only a priestess can work wonders? Really, Morgan, your threats are so toothless. ”
“They are not. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
He got wearily to his feet. “Have you brought your chest of poisons, then?”
“Chest of-” She batted her eyelashes like a demure girl. “Why, sir, I possess no such thing. But if I did…”
“Yes?”
“I would make certain I knew what I was meddling with.” Her voice took on a hard edge.
“I see. Yes, I suppose you would.” He started to go then turned back to her, grinning. “Have a pleasant day. And you too, Mordred. If the cold becomes too much for you, let me know. There are shawls and blankets I can send. Older women are so frail.”
“Get out of here, you horrible fraud.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at court tonight.”
That evening there was a huge feast in the dining hall, which was decked out with evergreens and hung about with large colorful banners and tapestries. Musicians played, mimes performed, jugglers juggled. Roast beef, goose, mutton and veal were served in huge quantities. More to the point, wine, mead and ale flowed like water. This was standard at the Midwinter feast, but Merlin suggested that keeping everyone well lubricated would be an advantage.
There was a small head table at which Arthur and Merlin sat. It was on a dais, high enough for Merlin to watch everyone but not so high as to be intimidating. Guenevere, Morgan and Mark and their people were seated at tables just below Arthur’s. Arthur was dressed in his best finery and wore Excalibur at his side; it was the tangible sign of his kingship and had been polished to a shimmering brilliance.
Merlin noted with satisfaction that Mark was drinking heavily. So was Lancelot; and Guenevere downed more than her share of mead. Only Morgan seemed to be abstaining. She sat beside her son, eating fastidiously, not talking, not looking around the hall even occasionally.
Merlin commented on it. “Such self-possession doesn’t seem quite human.”
“That is my sister you’re talking about.” Arthur bit into a flank of beef. Then glumly, he added, “Well, half sister. She’s always been that way. I think if she smiled or showed pleasure she’d vanish in a puff of smoke.”
For an instant Merlin was tempted to ask Arthur about the incest rumors about him and Morgan, but he decided not to do anything that might disrupt the king’s mood.
At one far corner of the refectory, the two gravediggers sat, eating and drinking heartily like everyone else. Noticing them, Arthur nudged Merlin with an elbow. “Look. They’re getting drunk.”
“Like everyone else in Camelot.”
“Except you and my sister. Have they done what they should have?”
“Everything is in readiness, Arthur, yes.”
“People have been coming to me about this all day long. Mark approached me three times, begging me not to let you do this.”
“Mark is a superstitious gull. Which is exactly what I want.”
“So three of your suspects will be in the Great Hall. But what about the fourth?”
“Pellenore? He will be there, too, only not in plain sight.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You know where he is.”
“No. I wish I did. I’d give anything to know the hidden parts of Camelot the way he does.”
“I keep expecting him to pop out of a wall and hack someone’s head off.”
“He’s harmless, Arthur.”
“No one human is harmless.” Saying this, Arthur startled himself. “Good heavens, I’m starting to sound like you.”
“You could do worse.”
“Eat your goose and be quiet. You’re lucky I find this miracle of yours useful and desirable. Otherwise I’d never let you toy with three people I know to be innocent.”
“Of course, Arthur.”
When everyone had finished eating-and had had time to drink still more-Arthur announced that the evening’s entertainment and ceremony would begin shortly in the Great Hall. He urged them to bring whatever was left of their dinners, and their drinks, and adjourn there.
Humming with anticipation, they did so. People filed through Camelot’s halls in small groups or singly; pages lit the way with blazing torches. The musicians led the way, still playing lively music, though the tone grew successively more somber as everyone reached the hall.
The hall itself was lit brilliantly, more so than anyone could remember seeing before. Hundreds of torches and candles glowed fiercely; it seemed there was one in every possible space along the walls.
A platform-the same one that had been used on the night of the first murder-had been erected, and a row of more torches glared along its perimeter. Merlin had instructed several of the servants to sprinkle lime into the flames to make them burn even more brightly. But there was only one throne on the platform this night, Arthur’s, and it was set off to one side. Clearly he considered what was to come sufficiently important to remove himself from the center of things.
As the crowd filled the room, more servants with still more beverages entered and began to circulate, followed by more with generous supplies of Arthur’s honey cakes. It was all terribly festive; everyone seemed in a jovial mood, except Morgan and her son; they stood against the wall opposite the stage and watched everything and everyone with plain disapproval.
On a signal from Arthur, the servants extinguished all the lights in the room but the ones lighting the stage. It was time for the promised spectacle to begin.
First came the play. Arthur introduced Samuel, who in turn announced that his company would play The Fall of Troy, a stunning new drama by Dares the Phrygian and Dictys of Crete based on the eyewitness accounts of the fabled city’s fall. “We have performed this to acclaim in all the important courts of Europe. And we are privileged to present it here for you tonight.”
Merlin and Nimue took places not far from Morgan and Mordred, hoping to overhear whatever they might say. But the crowd was too loud, too boisterous for any individual voice to carry very far.
The actors took their places, and, lit harshly by the torches around the stage, Samuel recited the prologue. “And we shall see, both man and wife / the city’s fall, the end of life.”
Merlin leaned close to Nimue and whispered, “Let us hope we don’t see the end of Camelot, too.”
“Be quiet, Merlin. I want to hear the actors.”
The audience was predictably rowdy and ill-behaved, talking and laughing loudly as the performance progressed. But as it went on and got darker and more serious, they began to pay attention. In particular, the boy actor Watson, playing the tragic Trojan queen Hecuba, caught their attention. When he recited his speech mourning the deaths of his children, his husband and his city, there were even people weeping.
“You see the power of dressing as the opposite sex?” Nimue whispered to Merlin.
“Nonsense. They are drunk, that’s all.”
“Piffle.”
Throughout, Merlin kept a careful eye on the suspects. Guenevere and Lancelot were seated at a special table close to the stage. She was not happy, and not paying much attention to Watson and the others. She was, after all, the queen, and she was seated among lesser persons. Lancelot was drunk and kept nodding off, which seemed to annoy her even more.
Mordred and Morgan stayed near the farthest wall from the stage. It was clear they saw themselves apart from the rest. Or at any rate Morgan saw herself that way and Mordred went along. She was not a mother to upset.
And Mark, also drunk, kept lurching through the audience, muttering to one person or group after another. Wrapped up in the play, they shushed him. The expression on his face was not happy.
Britomart joined Merlin and Nimue.
“Have you seen anything, Brit?”
“Yes, a boy pretending to be a sad woman.”
“You know what I mean-anything suspicious. What is Mark saying?”
“He is complaining about your mystical show. He thinks something dire will happen, and he wants to find a way to stop it.”
“And what did you say to him?”
“I told him to relax, that religious displays of the supernatural are simply more theater.”
“Cynic.”
“That is exactly what he said.”
“I haven’t seen Petronus,” Brit commented.
“He is making himself scarce,” Merlin told her. “The last thing he wants is an encounter with Lancelot. He will be here when he’s needed.”
“Needed?”
“He is practicing with the lenses for tonight.”
“Lenses? Merlin, this sounds sillier and more desperate the more I learn about it.”
When finally the play concluded, the audience applauded and cheered wildly. Samuel took center stage for a bow, but the crowd wanted young Watson. Glumly, grudgingly, Samuel let the boy take the glory.
Meanwhile, Merlin moved through the audience in the direction of the offstage space where the actors were. His turn in the limelight would be next.
When the applause for the boy finally died down, Arthur took the stage again and thanked the company for their splendid performance. “What we saw tonight redounded to the glory of England, the fairest country on the face of the earth.” He went on at length about the flower of England and the coming period of prestige and leadership on the stage of Europe.
Offstage, two of the young men in Samuel’s company helped Merlin into a sorcerer’s robe, embroidered with stars and mystical symbols, and a conical wizard’s hat. Samuel watched, beaming; if things went well, his company would soon have a patron at court. To one of his dressers, Merlin whispered, “It is terribly lucky you have this costume.”
“We use it in one of our comedies, sir.”
“Oh. Well, let us hope tonight’s events do not play that way.”
Onstage, Arthur concluded his speech by talking about the Stone of Bran and the might and the glory it would soon bring to “our fair island.” He acknowledged Percival, who was in the audience, and gave him full credit for finding the sacred relic. Then he intoned, “It is time for us to witness its power.”
The musicians struck up a somber march, a nearly hymnlike melody. Almost involuntarily the crowd parted and Greffys entered, accompanied by a dozen of Arthur’s most trusted guards; Arthur was taking no chances with the safety of his squire this time. On a red velvet cushion embroidered with gold, Greffys carried the Stone of Bran before him. Their little procession made a circuit of the hall, permitting everyone to see the stone close-to. Then they advanced to the foot of the stage.
During this, Petronus had entered the hall and made his way unobtrusively to the side of the stage. As Greffys and the guards climbed to the platform, Petronus produced a pair of large lenses Merlin and Samuel had given him. He held them carefully before two of the torches, and the lenses focused their light and directed it to the stone. Suddenly, it seemed to everyone watching, the Stone of Bran began to glow brightly, almost ethereally. As Greffys moved across the stage to Arthur, Petronus changed the angle of the lenses so that the light followed and the crystal skull seemed to burn with a supernatural light.
When Greffys was beside him, Arthur took the stone in the fingertips of both hands and held it aloft. “Behold the Stone of Bran, the gift of the gods!” The crowd gasped and applauded vigorously.
Then Merlin, in his magician’s robes, slowly, solemnly mounted the platform and crossed to Arthur. He made a slight bow, first to the king then to the skull. Then he turned and faced the audience. “Let the wonders begin,” he intoned, and the audience fell into a hushed silence.
Petronus adjusted his lenses so that the beams shone on both Merlin and on the stone. Merlin made a slow, deliberate, majestic bow to the audience. Then, with equally deliberate slowness, he removed his pointed hat. With a flourish he showed it to the audience so that they could see that it was empty. Then he took the stone and touched it to the hat, held the hat in one hand and from it produced a live rabbit. The animal struggled to escape his grip. He let it drop to the stage and it scampered away, frightened and confused. It ran, improbably, in the direction where Morgan and Mordred were standing. Mordred caught it and handed it to his mother, who cradled it in her arms till it calmed down.
In the wings, Samuel beamed. Merlin had worked the trick he’d taught him perfectly. Someone in the audience shouted, “That’s it, Merlin? That is the great wonder we’ve been promised?”
Instead of answering, Merlin raised a finger to his lips and gestured to the door nearest the stage.
A young woman with blond hair, wearing a low-cut snow-white gown, entered the hall, eyes lowered, and walked to the stage. Behind her came Greffys, carrying a large saw. Finally, the two gravediggers entered, carrying a large wooden coffin. This was all so unexpected, the crowd fell silent again.
The girl in white climbed to the stage, followed by the others. The gravediggers let their coffin rest on two wooden trestles and made a quick exit. Merlin assisted the woman into the coffin, where she lay down, and he closed the lid.
In the audience, Mark gaped at her. Was she the same woman who’d come to him that night at his own castle? Could Merlin have been behind her presence there, then? Drunk almost to a stupor, he tried to think clearly and make sense of it, but it was no use.
From a corner of his eye, Merlin watched Mark. The show seemed to be having the desired effect on him. Once again he took the Stone of Bran and with a flourish passed it over the coffin three times; then another three times he tapped the lid with it. And he took the saw and began to cut it in half, and the woman with it. People in the crowd gasped; Mark gaped.
When the coffin was cut clear through, Merlin and Greffys moved the two halves apart, then slid them back together again. Waving the stone above it one more time, he opened the lid, and out stepped the young woman in white. The audience cheered and applauded. Mark blinked and tried to focus, uncertain whether to believe what he was seeing.
Morgan, standing at the back of the audience, was bored. She leaned against the wall and yawned. She handed the rabbit to her son and whispered something to him; he also yawned.
On his throne at the side of the stage Arthur watched alternately his minister/magician and the audience, and he smiled serenely, pleased that Merlin’s worst expectations had not come to pass. No one was reacting adversely to the show; the killer was not a member of his court.
But there was something else happening in the audience; and Merlin was so focused on Mark he didn’t notice. Lancelot slowly, gradually began to shake off his alcoholic haze. And as his senses returned, or began to, he glared at the boy holding the lenses. It was his former squire, the one who’d deserted him without permission, without even saying a word.
Unsteadily, he got to his feet, pushed the people around him away and drew his sword. “Traitor!” he bellowed. “Turncoat!” And he began to lunge at Petronus through the crowd. “I’ll kill you! You’ll join the other two in the underworld! ” The boy, terrified, dropped his lenses to the stage and scrambled underneath the platform. Nimue left the stage quickly and joined the actors in their waiting area.
Guenevere shouted in alarm, “Stop! Lancelot, stop this!”
Half a dozen knights caught hold of Lancelot and restrained him. But he fought them, shouting at the boy, strugglingagainst their hold and still trying to brandish his sword. Finally, one of them wrenched it free of his grasp and it clattered loudly onto the stone floor.
Arthur stood. “Hold that man! Do not let him go!”
At the rear of the hall Morgan stirred for the first time. She stood erect, watching what was happening, and she smiled slightly and whispered something to Mordred.
Finally, Lancelot seemed to lose energy. He became quiet and permitted the knights to place him in his chair once again. Guenevere placed a hand on his arm and murmured something to him, and it quieted him even more.
From the stage Arthur said, “You six-place him in his seat and see that he stays there. Keep him there forcibly if you must. Let us hope this was the final outburst. This is a solemn occasion. I will not have it disrupted. All of you, be calm. Remember the dignity of our court.” And he resumed his throne.
Merlin had watched all of this carefully. That it was Lancelot not Mark who had exploded surprised him. But despite the mention of “the other two,” Lancelot’s anger was at the squire who’d left him and seemed unrelated to the murders. But the evening’s signal event was still to come. Or so he hoped.
Gradually, the crowd quieted. Lancelot sat glumly, showing no sign he would make more commotion. Merlin stepped to the floor, bent to look under the stage and gestured to Petronus to come out. “It is over, Pete. Come out now.”
Warily, the boy did so. When he was out from under, he looked at Lancelot and was somewhat reassured to see him quiet. With Petronus back in place, the performance could resume. Merlin remounted the stage.
“And now,” he announced, “for the greatest wonder of all. You have seen a woman torn in two and restored to life. Now you shall witness something even greater.”
He clapped his hands loudly three times. The musicians struck up a low, sad melody like a funeral march. Two of the young actors in Samuel’s company entered the hall again, this time carrying a pallet between them. On the pallet was what seemed to be a body, over which was stretched a linen shroud or winding-sheet. Petronus focused light on it and made it seem to glow softly. Behind the actors the two gravediggers followed.
Slowly, solemnly, the two actors carried their burden to the stage. Merlin gestured to them to rest it on the trestles; they did so, bowed to him and left.
The air in the hall was tense with anticipation. No one talked or made a sound. Virtually no one moved. All eyes were on Merlin and the shrouded-what?
“I believe you all recognize these two men,” he said to the audience. “They have been the gravediggers at Camelot’s cemetery for years.” The two men, apparently abashed at becoming the center of attention, shifted their weight awkwardly and uneasily.
“Gentlemen,” Merlin addressed them, “you have this day performed an extraordinary task at the behest of King Arthur and myself.”
They lowered their eyes and muttered, “Yes, sir.”
“The king has asked to you perform the reverse of your usual function and to exhume a body which you buried some time ago.”
“Yes.”
“The earth is frozen and this has been difficult work. But you have accomplished it. And you will be properly rewarded. ”
The younger of the two said, “Thank you, sir.”
His companion added, “It was hard work, sir. Every muscle in our bodies is aching.”
“I am certain the king appreciates your labors. But now it is time to explain to the assembled court precisely what your task has been. Could you please say whose body it is that you have been required to exhume?”
No one in the Great Hall moved. People leaned forward to hear more clearly. Lancelot squirmed in his seat. But Merlin kept a careful eye on Mark, who was looking increasingly upset.
On the stage the elder gravedigger shuffled his feet and said, “It was the squire, sir. The king’s late squire.”
“Which one? Could you please tell us which it was?”
“We don’t ever know their names, sir. We just dig the holes and fill them in afterward.”
A few people in the audience laughed nervously. Mark inched forward in his seat.
Merlin went on. “But there were two of them. Both of the king’s squires were killed, one after the other. And- you placed them in the same grave?”
“Yes, sir. One of them was horribly mangled, sir-cut to pieces. That’s the one that’s still at rest in the graveyard. This is the other one.”
“This is the body of poor murdered Ganelin, then?”
“Like I said, sir, we never know their names.”
“I see. No, I suppose there is no reason why you should. And has the frozen earth preserved the body?”
“Yes, sir. He looks the way he did the day we buried him.”
“I see. Thank you very much.”
Looking at each other, puzzled by what was going on and why they’d had to speak before the audience, the two men climbed down from the stage and left.
Merlin took up the Stone of Bran, which was still brightly lit. He held it high above him then slowly lowered it and touched the head of the shrouded body with it. Three times he passed it over the length of the boy then he touched it to the head once again.
Slightly, almost imperceptibly, the body twitched.
In the audience some people gasped; most were transfixed by what they were seeing and fell perfectly silent. At the side of the stage Arthur sat and watched, mesmerized.
They watched as the body moved again, first the arms, then the legs, stretching slowly as if waking from a long, deep sleep. Petronus pointed his lenses at it, and the shroud caught the light and glowed ghostly pale.
An arm, caked with dirt and blood, reached out from beneath the shroud. Merlin stepped forward and took the hand in his, and the corpse sat up, still wrapped in its shroud.
“Please,” Merlin said gravely, “tell us who you are.”
And a voice came clearly through the cloth. “I am Ganelin, squire to King Arthur of Camelot. I am cold.”
“Ganelin, do you understand what has happened to you?”
“Yes.” The word’s final s was long and drawn out, almost a hiss. “I have been foully murdered. I have lain in the earth these many weeks, in the icy, frozen earth.”
Merlin helped the boy to his feet, the winding-sheet still wrapped around him. And Merlin kept a careful eye on the audience, to gauge reactions. Morgan was watching the stage carefully, studying it as a conjurer might study a rival’s tricks. Mordred stood at her side, wide-eyed, not moving. Mark was glowering and trembling in his seat, whether with rage or fear or some combination of the two, Merlin could not tell. Guenevere held Lancelot’s hand tightly.
“Tell us, Ganelin,” Merlin intoned. “Did you see the face of the the one who killed you?”
“Yesss.”
There was not a sound in the Great Hall. Not the least movement, except for Mark, leaning forward in his seat, fingering the hilt of his sword, and Lancelot pulling free of Guenevere’s hand and inching forward in his chair like a man preparing to bolt and run.
“Name him. Tell us, Ganelin, who it was. Who killed you and your brother?”
“Ohhh.” The corpse groaned. “I cannot. It is too painful.”
“I have restored your life. Now I command you, by the Stone of Bran. Name your murderer!”
Suddenly with a loud roar Mark pushed through the audience and leaped onto the stage, brandishing his sword. “No! You are dead. Do not speak my name. Do not profane it with your moldering lips!”
He lunged at the boy, and Merlin pulled him out of harm’s way to the side of the stage. Mark swung his sword at Merlin and he ducked.
Arthur jumped to his feet and drew Excalibur. Instantly, the two men, Arthur and Mark, were locked in a duel. They circled one another, they threatened, they slashed. Mark lunged and his sword hit home in Arthur’s left arm. Blood flowed, but Arthur recovered himself quickly. He rushed at Mark and knocked him to the stage, then stood over him with Excalibur poised directly above his throat.
More knights rushed the stage, surrounded the prostrate Mark and caught him. He struggled, shouting, “No! This is unholy! The dead cannot speak to the living. The dead cannot indict the living. This is blasphemy!”
“Take him away,” Arthur said quietly. “To the dungeon. Lock him away.” With Mark still struggling fiercely against their hold, they did so.
Away from this action, Merlin placed an arm around the boy in the shroud. And slowly the shroud fell away, revealing him to be the young actor Watson.
The audience, still in shock from Mark’s attack and capture, took a moment to react to this. Then, as they gradually realized who the “dead” boy really was, soft, nervous laughter began to spread through the hall. Merlin made a gesture to wave everyone out of the hall, and slowly, by twos, threes and fours, they began to leave.
Nimue, dressed again as Colin, climbed to the stage and put her own arm around the boy. “Go ahead, Merlin. I’ll take care of him.”
Merlin crossed to Arthur. The king was still excited, still breathing heavily and plainly tense in every muscle. “Arthur, it is over. You can relax now.”
“It is not over. I want to know why he did it. Find out for me.”
“Calm yourself. We have him. Everything will come out in time.”
“Merlin, this is not what I wanted. Not what I tried to build.”
“You’ve said that before. Let me look at that wound. Can you make it up the steps to my tower? I have a salve that will help, and bandages.”
“It isn’t bad. A lot of blood but not much pain.” He took a deep breath and looked into Merlin’s eyes. “I’m the king. Why can’t things be as I want them to be?”
“Perhaps because kings are only human beings with circles of metal on their heads.”
Arthur finally let himself relax. All the energy seemed to leave him, and he slumped. “Nothing that glib and cynical could be true.”
“Do you want me to lecture you on the nature of truth?”
“For God’s sake, Merlin, no.”
“Then come with me and let me see to your arm.”