They identified the body from the hair color and the shreds of clothing.
Of course the ceremony was called off. How could it not be? Arthur, trying not to look ill, mounted the dais in the Great Hall and moved to the front of it. He ignored both Morgan and Guenevere. The crowd, noticing something odd in his manner, quieted without him asking them to. He announced softly that the ritual would be postponed, perhaps indefinitely. “Please, all of you, return to your rooms.”
And slowly the audience dispersed. Only Arthur and his close advisors remained.
Merlin approached him and put a hand on his arm. “Arthur, you should have asked them to stay here.”
Seemingly dazed, Arthur gaped at him. “Why, Merlin? Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“Until we could take account of who’s here and who isn’t. Now there’s no way we’ll ever know for certain.”
“Does it matter?”
“There’s been a murder, Arthur. We have to find who did it.”
Sadly, the king said, “I suppose you’re right. That poor boy. He was an excellent young man, Merlin. He and his brother. The best, the most promising I have. Had.”
Ganelin had been listening; he looked even more stunned than the king. “Thank you for saying so, Your Majesty. That would have meant a lot to him.”
They were now nearly alone in the hall, Arthur, Merlin, Mark, Britomart, Nimue and Ganelin. Nimue stood back from the others, not knowing what to say or do. All of them watched Arthur, waiting for some indication of what he was thinking and feeling.
Mark moved close to the king, looking grave. “We’ll find him. We’ll find the assassin.”
“Will we?” Arthur muttered. It was not so much a question as a resigned statement.
Merlin had never seen his king look so lost. “Arthur, I-”
“I want to be alone. All of you, please leave me. I want to take a walk and think.”
Britomart spoke for the first time. “Are you certain that’s a wise idea, Arthur? There’s a killer loose in Camelot.”
“He got what he wanted. He got the shrine and the sword and the crystal skull. He killed the boy with my sword. What more could he want?”
“We don’t know why the killer did what he did. He could have had any motive at all.”
“Brit is right, Arthur.” Merlin forced himself to keep his voice calm and steady. “There are a dozen reasons why this might have been done. Out of greed, for political advantage, out of hatred or jealousy of you…Stay inside. Stay in your rooms, guarded.”
Mark added, “I can have guards posted immediately. We have to keep you safe. If we should lose you…” He let the thought trail off unfinished.
Arthur looked from one of them to the next. “Come walk with me, then. I need fresh air. I need the night.”
“It’s getting cold outside, Arthur.” Brit took a step toward him then seemed to think better of it. “Stay here where it’s warm.”
“Do you suppose it’s warm where Borolet is?”
“Let us get swords, then.” Mark spoke forcefully. “Let me call guards. I won’t have you wandering around alone.”
“All right. Get them.” He looked to the rest of them as Mark went. “I never thought I’d need guards in my own castle. In my wildest imaginings I never thought such a thing.”
Britomart and Ganelin said they were going to their rooms to get weapons, leaving Merlin and Nimue with the king.
Suddenly, Arthur turned animated. He rushed to the nearest wall, took a torch and began going about the room, lighting the ones that had been extinguished. “We want light. What happened, happened in darkness. With more light the boy would be alive.”
“Arthur, stop it!” Merlin caught him by the arm. “That isn’t so and you know it.”
He pulled free violently. “Let me go! I want light in here!”
Merlin stood back, alarmed, and let the king go on lighting the room. By the time the others got back it was ablaze with torchlight. Lit, it seemed vast and much more empty than it did in near-darkness.
Mark returned with a dozen soldiers; he left them by the door and rejoined Merlin.
“I’m worried, Mark.” He kept his voice low. “This isn’t at all like Arthur. We’ve seen him in crisis before. He’s lost battles, lost whole regiments and not acted like this.”
“That was out in the world.” Mark studied the king. “Not in his home. The dead were anonymous, not his squire.”
Suddenly Arthur turned to them. “Let’s go.”
Six of the soldiers took the lead. Arthur, Merlin and the others followed, trailed by the remaining guards. The party moved quickly through Camelot’s winding corridors. There was no talking.
The halls were filled with people. Somehow news of the murder had leaked out; presumably, one of the guards had said something. Everyone was buzzing about it, speculating, gossiping. They stood, some in small groups, some in larger ones, watching the king’s progress. No one seemed to take it as reassuring.
From nowhere Pellenore came galloping down a hallway, directly at the king. “Beware, Arthur, beware!”
Arthur’s party stopped and waited for him to reach them. He had, to appearances, been running all over Camelot; there was sweat on his forehead, and his clothes were soaked with it. Arthur caught him by the shoulder and made him stand still. “What the devil is wrong with you? For once, Pellenore, try and act like a normal man.”
“Normal?” The old man staggered a bit and Arthur steadied him. “How can anyone behave normally? Don’t you know what’s happened?”
“I know only too well. I-”
“The beasts, Arthur, the beasts. They’ve begun to kill. If we don’t vanquish them, we’ll all be dead before long.”
Merlin planted himself in front of the mad old man. “We’ll all be dead eventually anyway, Pellenore. Let the beasts do what they will.”
“No! I have to stop them. No one else can. And no one will believe me.” With that he drew his sword and sped off down the corridor.
For a moment everyone stood looking at one another, unsure what to say or how to react. Finally Nimue spoke up. “Poor old man.”
“Poor old man, nothing,” Mark said. “I often think he’s only pretending to be mad, and now I’m sure of it. How else could he know about the death tonight?”
“Everyone knows.” Merlin sounded tired; he wanted all this to end.
Arthur got between them. “Come. We’re on our way outside, remember?”
At the main entrance two other guards stood on duty. Mark had a quick word with them and left two more of the cohort with them for extra security.
The courtyard, unlike the castle, was quite empty. The night was cold, unseasonably so, and no one had thought to bring winter clothing. There were heavy clouds; the moon was a bright pale patch through them. Merlin felt a drop of rain and looked up; the sky was ominous. “Winter weather,” he muttered. “Too soon.”
One of the guards from the front gate said to Mark, “She hasn’t left yet, sir, if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“She?”
“The queen. Her party is assembling at the back of the castle, by the stables.”
“The queen?!” Merlin shouted. “We mustn’t let her leave.”
Sparked into action, Mark took two men and went to look. He came back quickly and walked straight to the king. “She’s leaving, Arthur. She, Lancelot, all their servants. The horses are being loaded now.”
Loudly, Merlin said again, “She mustn’t. Arthur, you can’t allow her to go. Not till I’ve had time to question her and her people about the killing.”
“Guenevere is a vindictive, loveless woman, Merlin. But I wouldn’t like to think she’s behind this.”
“Don’t be naïve, Arthur. She-” He was going to remind the king how much his wife hated him, but he caught himself. “If not she herself, then Lancelot or one of her servants. Any of them could have a hand in this.”
Sounding even more sad than before, Arthur told him, “You’re right, I suppose. Let’s go and talk to her.”
Mark spoke up. “I’ll have the guards close all the gates. They won’t get out.”
At the rear of Camelot, Guenevere was overseeing preparations for the journey home. Her carriage, small but ornate, was harnessed to four black horses. Packhorses were being loaded. Two dozen servants worked busily. One carried an unfurled banner bearing the queen’s arms.
She herself stood on the carriage’s step, watching, giving orders, making certain everything was done to her satisfaction. Her ape perched on her shoulder and cried, apparently unhappy to be in the cold. There were torches; the rest of the courtyard was in darkness made deeper by the clouds.
“James,” she said loudly to one of the servants, “get me another cloak.”
Lancelot, ever the chivalrous gallant, took his own off and wrapped it around her shoulders. The ape jumped onto his back.
“Guenevere!” Arthur tried to resume a tone of command, not quite convincingly. “I must ask you to remain here for the time being.”
“Why, Arthur! How nice of you to come see me off.” She was the picture of sweet composure.
A sprinkle of large, heavy drops of rain came and went quickly. Merlin looked to the sky again. There would be a storm. Guenevere looked skyward as well. “I wish I had time to talk, but we really must be on the road before the rain comes.”
“Did you hear me? You are not to leave.”
She let out a girlish laugh. “Is that authority you’re trying to convey? You lost the right to talk to me that way years ago. Arthur, I have to return to Corfe. I have a castle of my own to tend to, remember?”
“The guards will not let you out of the courtyard, Guenevere. Send your people back to their rooms.”
“But, Arthur.” She feigned innocence well; she was every inch the French coquette. “Camelot is so crowded.”
“Even so.”
Mark took a step forward. “Your Majesty must know how unwise it is to travel by night. There are bandits- cutthroats.”
“Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to provide me with guards.” She lowered her eyes. “My poor throat is so delicate.”
Before Mark could respond to her irony, Lancelot stepped forward from among the servants where he’d been seeing to his horse’s saddle. “We can handle any brigands who might dare attack the queen’s party.”
Then for the first time Arthur spoke like a king, with a sense of command in his voice. “Your swordsmanship is precisely the issue, Lancelot. Guenevere, you are not to leave. This is an order.” He smiled. “Departure will not be permitted.”
“Don’t be a fool, Arthur. There are three times more people than the castle can hold. Food is running out already.”
He turned to Mark and ordered him pointedly to post more soldiers. Then to the queen he said, “Go back to your rooms, Guenevere. If you don’t go now, and voluntarily, you will do it under guard.”
Lancelot stepped toward him, his hand on his sword, obviously angry. Two of Arthur’s men drew their own swords, as did Mark, Britomart and Ganelin.
Guenevere stepped serenely between them and put a hand on Lancelot’s arm. Servants scrambled to get behind one another. “You would never dare hold us prisoner, Arthur,” Lancelot snarled.
“Do you think I’m afraid of the scandal? If I can weather the gossip about you bellying the queen, I can certainly weather this.”
Looking more than mildly alarmed, Lancelot and Guenevere stepped into the carriage and talked hastily. A moment later she emerged, smiling lightly, and told her husband she would remain for another day, no more. “But I warn you, Arthur, we are to be treated as guests, not prisoners. ”
“Is that a threat?”
“Let us say it is a request. A firm request.”
Arthur turned to Britomart. “Take two of the men. Go and spread word that the queen will remain in residence.”
Smirking, Britomart asked him, “As a guest?”
“As a guest.” Glancing at the queen he added, “A royal guest.”
Merlin leaned close to Nimue and whispered, “A royal pain would be more like it.”
The rain began to come down steadily. Mixed with it were occasional particles of ice. It stung faces and hands.
Arthur watched as his wife, her lover and their servants were herded back into the castle by his soldiers. To Mark he said, “I should have let her go. This storm will get bad. She’d never have gotten far in it, and I’d have had the pleasure of hearing her ask for shelter.”
“Would you have given it?”
“Not until she begged or became waterlogged.”
A moment later everyone went back inside. Arthur asked them all to meet in Merlin’s rooms the next morning, to discuss what had happened that night and plan how to find the assassin. “I won’t rest till we find him. Borolet must be avenged.”
“Suppose it was the assassin who you just sent back into your castle?” Merlin asked.
It caught Arthur off guard. In fact it seemed an impossible thought for him to confront. “Would that be worse than letting her go free?”
“She was trying to leave for a reason. To leave by dark of night,” he added emphatically. “And without saying a word to you or anyone else. Is it wrong of me to find that suspicious? ”
“You find everything Guenevere does suspicious.”
“Only because it is.”
“I’m going to bed, Merlin. I need a good night’s rest. We all do.” To everyone he announced, “We’ll meet after breakfast. In Merlin’s quarters.”
After midnight the rain became heavy. Then a cold wave blew down from the north and turned it to ice and snow.
Like all castles Camelot was full of drafts. Cold air rushed through the halls and chambers, wailing mournfully like an invasion of ghosts. Tapestries blew in it; rickety old furniture wobbled noisily.
In his bedchamber Merlin woke, freezing. He got up, threw four logs on the fire, which gave the only light in the room, then opened a huge old wooden chest and rummaged about till he found a coverlet made of wolf hides. It was thick and warm, and he wrapped it around himself as he walked back to the bed.
But the wind was howling too loudly for him to get back to sleep easily. He got up again, went and stood by the fire, rubbed his hands together and wondered aloud why people ever chose to live in places where the weather got this unpleasant.
There came a soft knock at the door. He opened it to find Nimue, wrapped in a blanket and shivering. “I’m sorry to wake you, Merlin.”
“You didn’t.”
“The fire in my room went out and I don’t have any tinder to relight it.”
“Come in. Mine is burning high and hot.”
“Thanks.” She entered hurriedly. “Say what you will about Morgan, she always keeps her castle warm.”
“That’s a good trick. How does she manage it?”
“Only she and the gods know.”
“Let me get us some wine.” He opened a cabinet and took out a bottle and two cups. “Fire only warms the outside. ”
Nimue took the wine gratefully. “I hate winter.”
“And it’s not even here yet. This is only a foretaste. I hope it doesn’t mean winter itself, when it gets here, will be worse.”
“What an awful thought.” She drank deeply.
“It must be my age, but every year I have a harder time believing spring will actually come.”
Nimue drained her cup then walked to the window. “Where would you live, given the choice?”
“I don’t know. Alexandria is warm but noisy. There’s something wrong with every place, I suppose.”
“I hate winter.” She looked outside.
“You might stop saying so.”
Camelot sat atop the highest hill for miles around. There was a wide, wonderful view of the surrounding hills and forests, all white from the weather. And there were breaks in the clouds though it was still snowing. The moonlit world was ghostly.
Then something caught her eye. “Merlin, look.”
Fifty feet away from them rose Camelot’s tallest tower, the one where the king resided. Two windows looked from his bedchamber out over the castle and beyond. And both windows were lit brightly. The figure of the king was unmistakable in one of them.
The sight startled Merlin. But he told her, “He’s restless, that’s all. You saw how the murder affected him.”
“Yes.”
Then another figure appeared beside him, male, shorter than he. For a moment they stood side by side. Then they embraced.
Seeing it made Merlin uncomfortable. “I have a flint and some wood shavings. Let’s see if we can’t get your fire relit. ”
Nimue lingered at the window for a moment, fascinated. She watched as the two figures pulled apart and the light went out. Then she went with Merlin. Her room was just below his in the tower, but her windows faced the opposite direction. He was glad of that. When he managed to reignite the fire, he said good night and went back up to his own chambers.
The room was warmer now. He put another log on the fire, hoping the warmth would last, got into bed and wrapped himself in wolf fur. But sleep would not come. Too much was happening. Too much that was unexpected and made no sense.
Early the next morning they began to arrive at Merlin’s chambers.
The snow had stopped, but occasional flakes still danced in the air, glinting in the grey diffuse light from a heavy cloud deck.
Most of the windows in Camelot were either unglazed or permanently sealed shut with glass. The glass was crude, not at all smooth or clear, which made windows inconvenient. But Merlin had contrived to have the window in his study hinged, for the ravens. They would come and peck at it to be let in or out. Sometimes the hinge would stick and the window would have to be forced, and sometimes as a result the glass would crack and need replacing. But in weather like this he was glad he’d installed the hinge.
First thing that morning all three of the birds were outside the window, tapping earnestly. He let them in and fed them some stale bread crumbs. Then they gathered near the fireplace, though not too close.
Mark arrived first. He gave every indication of having slept well and soundly despite the night’s events and the pervasive chill. “Good morning, Merlin.”
“It is not a good morning. This is only the beginning of November. It’s way too early in the season for this kind of weather.”
Mark beamed. “I love the cold.”
“You’re a dangerously unbalanced man.”
“Relax, Merlin. It’ll warm up again.”
“Maybe the weather will. I’m not at all certain that I will myself. Cold has a way of settling deep in my bones. When that happens nothing warms me up but soaking in a hot tub of water for a long time, which I find equally unpleasant.”
Mark pulled up a stool and sat with his legs up on the table. “You’re getting old.”
“Arthur always tells me I was born old.”
“He has a point.” For the first time he noticed the ravens, huddled a few feet from the fire. “You’re still keeping those damned birds.”
Merlin scowled. “Colin is supposed to bring some warm spiced wine. That’ll help warm us up.”
“Wine always helps everything.”
“You’re one of Arthur’s men, all right.”
As if on cue the door opened and Nimue came in, carrying a large pot of steaming spiced wine. “Good morning. Let’s put this near the fire before it gets cold.”
Mark sprang to his feet. “Not till I get a cupful for myself. ”
The ravens scuttled away, watching Nimue warily. There was an iron hook at the fireplace. She hung the wine pot then walked to the window. “Look at it out there. The world has turned white and pure.”
“The world,” Merlin said carefully and pointedly, “has not been pure since Pandora opened her box.”
“Who?” Mark looked into is cup. “There’s too much cardamom in this. Who on earth is Pandora?”
“A myth. Never mind.”
Britomart knocked and came in. “Morning, everyone.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say good morning,” Merlin grumped.
“I just met Pellenore in the hall as I was coming here. Even he’s unhappy about the cold. He says his dragons have gone into hibernation, like bears.” She smiled. “So now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Is Ganelin coming? And Arthur?”
Nimue stirred the pot. “They should be here soon. Would you like some hot wine?”
“Please. Anything warm.”
At the window Merlin looked down to the courtyard. There was some activity. It took him a few seconds to realize Morgan and Mordred were there with their servants. Apparently, they were trying to leave, exactly as Guenevere had the night before. But the guards had been doubled and given strict orders. No one, not even the high priestess, was going to get out of Camelot today.
He turned to the others. “It looks as if another of our suspects is trying to get away.” He explained what was going on below.
Brit swirled the wine in her cup then tasted it. “Morgan can’t be a suspect, can she? I mean, she was there in plain sight the whole time-on the dais.”
“But Mordred wasn’t,” Nimue volunteered. “I saw him leave the hall just after his mother took her seat.”
“Maybe he had to use the privy, Colin.” Mark got up and refilled his cup. “I did.”
“And did you see him there?” Merlin asked.
“Don’t be absurd. You know how many loos there are in Camelot.”
“I’ve never actually counted.”
Brit took a seat across the table from Mark. “I wish we didn’t have to deal with this. I wish… I don’t know… I guess I wish Borolet was still alive.”
Merlin crossed to the fireplace and got wine. “He was in training to be a knight. That more or less precludes a natural death for most people.”
“I’m still here.” She took a long swallow of wine. “There’s not enough cardamom in this.”
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Whoever it was was walking slowly and heavily. Then the door opened and Arthur came in. He looked as if he hadn’t slept; he was pale and drawn, and there was nothing like his usual energy. “Morning, everyone. Cold day.”
“Shrewd observation, Arthur.”
“Why don’t you save the sarcasm for once, Merlin? I’ve had a terrible night.”
Merlin and Nimue exchanged glances; it was tempting to comment on what they’d seen at his window, but they both kept tactfully quiet about it. She asked Arthur, “Is Ganelin coming?”
“Yes. I want him here. But he may be late. I think he had an even worse night than I did. What happened is only beginning to sink in for him.”
Suddenly, Merlin was in his element. “He has lost not merely his brother but his twin. That must be devastating for him. Philosophers have theorized what accounts for twin births. The usual explanation is that they are halves of a whole, and that neither is ever quite complete without the other. If Ganelin is feeling that-”
“Whatever he’s feeling can’t be pleasant, Merlin.” Arthur avoided looking at him. “The question is, who could have wanted the shrine and the stone badly enough to kill Borolet so horribly to get them?” He looked around the room hoping someone would answer, but they were all watching him and waiting for him to go on. “Do any of you have any ideas?”
No one else spoke up, so Nimue did. “I think we all know who the suspects are, sir. At least the obvious ones.”
“And who are they, Colin?”
She hesitated. “Well… Guenevere and Morgan.”
“My wife and my sister.” His voice broke. “No, each is a monster in her way but I can’t believe that of either of them.” Then he brightened slightly. “They were both there in the Great Hall, in front of half the nobles in England. How could either of them-”
“They weren’t alone, Arthur.” Britomart got to her feet and began pacing. “They have servants. Friends. Devotees. I saw Lancelot leave the hall myself. Other people saw Mordred go.”
“Mordred? That spindly, watery, spidery bas- nephew of mine? He could barely hold a broadsword like Excalibur let alone wield it properly.”
“What about Lancelot, then?” Mark looked into his empty cup, thought about getting more wine then put the cup on the table instead. “I mean, he’s dense and everyone knows it. But this was hardly a crime that required much thought.”
Arthur was looking more and more out of his depth. “I’ll ask Guenevere about it.”
“She’ll defend him.” Merlin was surpassingly firm. “She’ll never admit her stud knight could have done this. Especially if she told him to.”
“Even so. I’ll talk to her. What else can I do?”
“While you’re at it, then, ask her why she tried to sneak away under cover of darkness. Even if she wanted to leave, the sensible thing would have been to go by daylight and in better weather.”
The king fell silent. After a long pause he said, “I want you to find this killer, this assassin, by Midwinter Court. I want to announce then that he’s been brought to justice. Do what you need to do to find him.”
“I want to help.” Without anyone noticing, Ganelin had slipped into the room. He stood pressed against the door, looking sad and frightened.
“Ganelin.” Merlin smiled. “Come in and sit. Let Colin give you some warmed wine.”
“No thank you, sir. But I heard what you said about my losing not just my brother but my other half, my other self. That is so true. I can’t remember a time when he was not there, beside me. My memories stretch all the way back to the cradle and our mother, Anna, and there was always Borolet next to me, warming me, comforting me with his presence. Last night the world seemed completely empty to me. If King Arthur”-he nodded in his direction-“had not held me and calmed me, I would have gone mad.”
So it was Ganelin they had seen in Arthur’s window. Nimue and Merlin exchanged glances but kept silent.
“So you see,” the squire went on, “it’s important to me to help find the one who did this… this awful thing. Please, let me help.”
Arthur stood up and gestured to his seat; Ganelin obediently sat down.
“I can help, really I can. I can find out things none of you can.”
Mark wanted to laugh; it showed in his face. Happily, Ganelin didn’t notice. “You’re a boy. A squire, not even a knight. What can you do that we can’t?”
“I know people who would never talk to any of you. Not willingly, anyway.”
“Who?” This time he did laugh. “The other boys who carry our spears?”
Softly, Ganelin said, “The servants.” He looked around. Now no one was laughing. “We were practically raised by them. Our mother pledged us to the king’s service when we were ten. The servants raised us, taught us court protocol- taught us everything. We learned who matters and who doesn’t. Who to obey promptly and who we could safely ignore. The servants know everything that happens in the castle. If there are alibis, they are the ones who can corroborate them or give them the lie.”
No one was at all certain how to respond to this. But it made perfect sense.
Ganelin turned to Merlin. “Please, let me help. They trust me; I’m practically one of them myself. I want to help bring my brother’s killer to justice.”
Arthur looked at Merlin, who looked back. Neither of them could think of a reason to keep Ganelin out of the investigation. Arthur put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, of course we want you to help. But you must remember, Ganelin, you have other duties as well. You are still my squire.”
“I won’t neglect my duties, sir.”
“And you must promise to share everything you learn with Merlin, and to do so immediately. He is in charge of this investigation.” He looked around the table. “That goes for the rest of you, too.”
There was a general murmur, though neither Britomart nor Mark seemed happy about it.
“Promise me, all of you.”
They did so, one at a time.
“I don’t want any of you working alone. Whoever did this is vicious, maybe even mad.”
“Like Pellenore?” Brit said, voicing her suspicion.
“Pellenore?” Arthur frowned, obviously not liking the thought. “He’s a harmless old fool.”
“Is there such a thing as a harmless fool? In the town where I grew up there was a fool, a complete imbecile, who used to go wild when he saw the gleam of precious metal. How do we know Pellenore isn’t the same?”
“He’s been here for years, Brit. We’d have noticed by now.”
“There isn’t much point to us investigating if you’re going to reject possibilities out of hand, Arthur.”
He took a deep breath. “I know it.”
“Pellenore left the Great Hall before the ceremony got under way. He was galloping about the castle as usual, screaming about bogeymen. And in his day he was a warrior. He knows how to handle a broadsword.”
“Why not let us investigate,” Merlin interjected, “and bring our results to you? We could spend the whole day spinning theories. But we need facts.”
Arthur took a deep breath. “I want all of you to be careful. This is a killer, after all, and possibly a madman. Don’t let anyone know you’re investigating.”
“When we start asking questions,” Brit said, “they’ll know.”
“We must never ask directly what we want to know.” Merlin was in teacher mode. “We must be clever. Indirect. We must learn what we want slyly, carefully.”
Arthur turned thoughtful. “Exactly. And-suppose this. Suppose I make an announcement that Mark is conducting an official investigation in my name? He will conduct one for show, and that will leave the rest of you to do the real work.”
“Am I in, then?” Ganelin sounded quite unsure of himself.
“Yes, Ganelin. You are one of us.” Merlin smiled. “And I’m certain you’ll be a great help.”
“Good. I mean, thank you. If I might say something…?”
“By all means, Ganelin.” One of the ravens flapped to Merlin’s shoulder, and he stroked its head.
“Well, sir, it seems to me you’re making some assumptions that might not be valid.”
Mark laughed. “Oh really? What are they?”
“Be quiet, Mark.” Brit shushed him impatiently.
“Well…” Ganelin looked uncertainly around the room. “You’re assuming the criminal must have been after the skull and the shrine and the king’s sword out of greed. Is that necessarily so? And you’re assuming it must be someone who left the Great Hall.”
“He can hardly have committed the crime while he was still there.” Mark laughed again. Merlin crossed the room to him and took the wine cup firmly, pointedly, out of his hand.
“No, sir,” Ganelin went on. “He-or she-couldn’t. But there were certainly people who simply never went to the hall.”
Everyone looked at one another, startled and abashed that it hadn’t occurred to them.
“I mean, unless someone was keeping a roll of who attended, that is.”
“You’re right, Gan.” Brit seemed pleased he had thought of it. “Everyone who matters-everyone who is anyone- was at the hall. We think. But-”
“It’s the kind of thing the servants will know, if anyone does. As I said, I can be a help to you all.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt about that at all.” Arthur glared at Mark, warning him not to make any sarcastic comments. Then he took another cup of wine and drained it in one swallow. “I have to go. I have to preside at court today. There are sure to be peasants squabbling over livestock. I have such important matters to judge.”
They all bade him good morning, and he left. Mark took his wine cup again. Everyone in the room turned to Merlin.
“It seems we have several clear suspects.” Ticking them off on his fingers, he went on. “Morgan and her party, especially Mordred. Guenevere and hers, particularly Lancelot. Pellenore. But there must have been others who left the hall before Borolet was-before the crime happened. And as Ganelin rightly suggested, there may be key people who simply avoided the ceremony. We need to find out who.”
Nimue had been listening, taking everything in. “I’m fairly certain I saw Gawain heading for an exit.”
“Good observation. Did anyone else notice anything?”
“That damned Frenchman, Accolon. He left.” Mark had never trusted him.
“Good. And anyone else?”
They stared at one another blankly.
“I think we have to assume there must be one or two more.” He turned to Ganelin. “Can you ask among the servants, then, and see if they can tell us where any of the suspects were? And whether there are any others?”
“Of course. I’ll be happy to. Give me a day or two, all right?”
“That will be fine. Meanwhile, the rest of us can begin to question the various possible culprits. Obliquely, indirectly. We don’t want anyone to know we’re investigating.”
“People will guess.” Mark sounded impatient with it all. “A crime has been committed at Camelot. At the seat of government. That makes it much more serious than any ordinary murder. Whatever the motive, this strikes at the heart of England’s government and stability. We must find the assassin and bring him to justice as quickly as possible.”
“Of course, Mark.” Brit was finding him annoying. “I’m sure we all share those concerns. They must have occurred to each of us. Until we find the killer, Arthur himself is in danger, and so is everyone else at court.”
Mark started to bicker with her, but Merlin got between them and dismissed the little council. “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure Arthur is grateful to have us working together. ” He hoped his point wasn’t lost on Mark. Then he gestured to the window. “We’re lucky in one way, at least. Look-more snow. From the look of the black clouds in the west, another storm is coming, possibly worse than the one last night. If I’m right, no one will be leaving Camelot for at least a few more days.”
“Splendid.” Mark slammed his cup down on the table and got to his feet. “More of this damned overcrowding. I’m sharing my quarters with two elderly knights from Dover. They smell of flounder.”
“It is a gift, Mark. Let us take it and use it to our advantage. ”
Mark scowled and stomped out the door. For the hundredth time Merlin found himself wishing Arthur’s knights wouldn’t drink so heavily. He asked Brit if she had anything more to add, but she said no and left. To Nimue, she said, “Thanks for the wine, Colin.” She said it with a wink, and Nimue looked at Merlin as if to repeat, She knows about me.
Ganelin lingered by the door. He seemed to be screwing up his courage. “May I ask you something, Merlin?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, why can’t you just use your magic powers to divine who did the-who-who did that to my brother?”
Merlin rolled his eyes skyward. “I am not a wizard, a magician, a sorcerer, a shaman, a warlock or anything else of that sort. When am I ever going to convince people of that?”
“All the knights say you are. They say for anyone to be as wise as you-to know as much as you do about so many things-is unnatural. It could only come from something dark, something hidden.”
“The knights are fools, most of them. And drunken fools at that. What they don’t understand, they make mysterious. But reason-understanding-is the key to every mystery. Even your brother’s death. You’ll see.”
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t. But the next time the knights start spreading rubbish about me, you tell them the truth, all right?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir, for letting me join the hunt.” And he left.
Nimue took a seat at the table and unrolled an old scroll. Merlin turned toward the window. “The snow’s coming down more heavily already. This will get bad. I don’t know whether to be pleased.”
“Maybe you can use you magic powers to stop it.”
“Shut up and study your Greek.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Merlin expected, the storm got bad. Waves of ice fell, coating everything. Soon all of Camelot was encased in it. When he looked out his window, Merlin could see it glistening; it was almost blinding in the early light. Then came snow, more and more of it. At times it fell so quickly it was not possible to see more than a few feet ahead. Within two days there was nearly a foot of it. The world was soft, white and horribly cold.
It was sufficiently early in the season that the servants had only just begun to prepare the castle for winter. They went to work energetically, hanging tapestries, distributing extra firewood and blankets, plugging up the sources of the worst drafts.
Because of the ice and the frozen ground it was not possible to bury Borolet. Merlin saw that his remains were placed in the deepest, coldest storeroom in the castle basement, not far from some unoccupied dungeons. With luck they would keep there till the ground thawed.
By evening of the third day Arthur and Merlin began to realize that food was running low. Winter supplies had not yet been laid in. Arthur ordered rationing, which of course made the castle’s occupants even edgier than they’d been.
Just before dusk that day Guenevere tried to leave again.
Merlin warned her she wouldn’t get far, but she was determined.
“Arthur won’t permit it, Guenevere. The gates are locked.”
“My men will deal with the guards.”
“There is no point.”
“I am the queen. That gives it point.”
Her people met in the stables, saddled the horses and loaded the pack animals with what provisions they could collect.
But the party was not halfway across the courtyard when the horses began to lose their footing and panicked. One of them slipped, fell and broke its leg. It whinnied horribly with the pain, trying to get up; but the more it struggled, the greater its agony. Finally, Lancelot got a large knife, stood over it and cut its throat. The animal’s blood steamed in the cold air and turned the snow on the ground bright red. It kicked fiercely, but its energy soon drained away and it was still.
Merlin watched it all from his window. And it seemed to him that Lancelot had taken unnatural relish in what he’d done. The knights were all trained to kill, and they all seemed to enjoy it, or rather the prospect of it. Lancelot seemed born to it.
A while later Arthur asked Merlin to join him as he visited the queen in her chambers. She had had a suite of three rooms assigned to her. Blankets were spread on the floor for servants; two young men snoozed, undisturbed by the people around them. In one corner several packs were stacked, apparently unopened.
She was dictating a letter as they arrived. Arthur asked who she was writing to and what about. She was cold. “Private correspondence is exactly that-private.”
Arthur looked around. “Privacy? You’re joking.”
Her face was stone. She said nothing but took the letter and waved her secretary away.
“Guenevere, I must ask that you not try to leave again until weather conditions improve. My knights and the castle staff are busy enough dealing with all this. There’s no reason they should have to enforce common sense.”
Her ape scampered into the room and jumped to her lap. Then it turned to Arthur and Merlin and let out a sinister hiss.
“How can you keep a creature as disagreeable as that? It’s a little fiend.”
“That is no way to talk about my pet, Arthur.” She stroked the ape’s head and it nuzzled her.
“A fine pet. Why not simply get a cobra?”
“We tried to leave because we are miserable. Sleeping on floors, rationing food… A fit ruler would have planned for this.”
“You think it’s possible to control the weather?”
“No, as I said I think you should plan for it.”
One of her servants rummaged through one of the packs in the corner. Merlin watched as the young man took out a piece of cheese and ate it happily. “Arthur, look.”
Taking in the scene, Arthur turned on Guenevere and bellowed, “Food?! This is your idea of roughing it? Guenevere, you are the most staggeringly dishonest human being I have ever known. It’s no wonder you shattered your wedding vows.”
“Lower your voice, husband. Remember your royal dignity, will you?”
“I want to talk to Lancelot.”
She was offhand. “I’m afraid I don’t know where he is.”
“Guenevere, I am warning you. Do not attempt to leave Camelot again until I give permission. I plan to double the guard at the gates. There is no way you’ll get out.”
“You are holding me prisoner?”
“If you want to think of it that way. I have more-and more important-things to deal with than your comfort and convenience. If you wanted everything to revolve around you, you should have stayed in Corfe.”
Slowly, she put her letter aside and stood up. Even more slowly, she walked to a little table and picked up some knitting. She took one of the needles and pointed at her husband with it. “Do not threaten me, Arthur. Do not even think you have the power to frighten me. I shall leave when I choose to leave, and neither you nor your men nor this would-be wizard will stop me. Understand that.”
For the first time, Merlin got between them. “Guenevere, this is for your own safety. You saw what happened when you tried to leave a while ago. It is treacherous out there.”
“We can calculate our own risks.”
“Then think of it this way. A crime has been committed. At least one of your men is under suspicion. It is to your benefit to remain till we can clear his name.”
“No clearing is needed, as I see it.” She looked to the king. “Arthur, you know you can’t keep me here against my will. Do you think my army would stay at Corfe then? We will leave when we choose. If you expect otherwise you are a bigger fool than I thought.”
“You think your knights would go to war over a suspected murderer?”
She bristled. “So it is that. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
“And Lancelot?” Merlin asked.
“And Lancelot, and his squire Petronus, and my maid, and the assistant pastry chef.” She paused then said emphatically, “We were not involved.”
Arthur sighed loudly. “A young man is dead, Guenevere. We will find the killer. And your behavior here has only made me more suspicious that you and your lover may be involved.” He put on a sarcastic grin. “Understand that.”
He and Merlin turned and stormed out of the room before she could respond.
The snow and ice stopped, but the weather remained cold. Arthur sent a male servant out to try to reach a nearby village for food; the man never came back. No one knew what to make of it.
But as Merlin had said, the snowy weather gave him and the others in his investigative group the chance to learn what they could. He and Nimue stalked their suspects relentlessly, seeking them out on various pretexts, making casual conversation, dropping subtle references to the crime to see what reaction they got.
There were several more encounters with Guenevere, who grew colder and more distant each time. Pellenore proved as unstable as ever; none of his reactions made a bit of sense.
Then finally, they managed to corner Lancelot. He was exercising in one of the unused dungeons, repeatedly lifting over his head a heavy stone he’d found. A torch he’d wedged into a crack in the wall gave the only light. Nimue, holding another torch, whispered to Merlin that the dungeon might be a harbinger of things to come for Lancelot.
“Why, Lancelot. How interesting to find you here.”
He put down his rock. “Hello, wizard.”
There was no use arguing the point. “Do you know your way around here? Arthur asked me to find a manuscript in the palace archives, but I’m afraid we’re quite lost.”
“You should see the lower levels of Corfe.”
“Will you walk with us for a while? Just to be sure we don’t get lost? These passageways can be so confusing.”
The knight looked at his stone as if he might miss it. “Well… all right. But I really need to get back to my work-out. ”
“We wouldn’t dream of keeping you a moment longer than we need to.”
So the three of them took their torches, left that dungeon and walked the dark, musty corridors of Camelot’s basement. Merlin made a show of opening one door after another, pretending he really was searching for something there. All the while he made offhand conversation, trying to get a rise out of Lancelot.
“There’s not much traffic down here since Arthur abandoned torture.”
“Arthur is a fool.”
“You think extracting false confessions from innocent people is a desirable thing?”
“I think it works. Criminals confess.”
“Under torture, everyone confesses. Besides, you should be glad we don’t do that here, if only for Guenevere’s sake.”
“Guenevere is the queen.”
“Even so.”
“What crime could she be suspected of?”
Instead of answering, Merlin paused, pushed open a door, looked inside then closed it again. “A broom closet.”
Lancelot answered his own question. “That boy. That squire.” He said the word with faint distaste, as if squires were beneath his notice.
Merlin tried another door, but it was stuck.
“Guenevere couldn’t have killed him. She was with Arthur in the Great Hall the whole time. You know that.”
“Oh yes, that’s right.” Merlin looked thoughtful for Lancelot’s sake. “But what about her servants?”
“They’re servants. Who knows what they do?”
“And-and-” He convincingly acted as if he were having a new thought. “Where were you during the ceremony? ”
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. “I was there.”
“Someone saw you leaving the hall. I was only wondering where you went, that’s all.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Of course not. I was only making conversation, nothing more.”
Lancelot didn’t know whether to believe him, and it showed.
“Well, there don’t seem to be any archives down here. Arthur must have been mistaken. We’ll leave you to your exercise, then. We’ve never really talked before, Lancelot. This has been nice.”
The knight looked around. “Where are we? I’ve lost my bearings.”
“I told you, it can be terribly confusing down here.” He smiled a benign smile. “Just head back that way. And have a good workout.”
They left him standing in the passageway, looking bewildered. Whether he was baffled by the castle’s layout or the encounter he’d just had-or both-was impossible to say.
But as they were climbing the stairs back to ground level, Nimue whispered, “You’re right. Guenevere has two apes.”
For all this time, Mark was conducting his “show investigation, ” asking pointless questions, bothering everyone he could, in hopes of diverting attention from the ones who were really probing the crime. Merlin, Nimue and Britomart were prying as subtly as they could, asking a pointed question here and there then backing away from it, trying to get some idea who might have killed the squire. But they had no more success than Mark, who wanted none.
Meantime Ganelin was making his inquiries among the castle servants. He followed Merlin’s suggestion and never asked too directly. And he trusted Mark’s show investigation to provide cover and keep people from getting suspicious. But by making conversation with select maids, grooms, valets, pages and suchlike, he began to piece together a tentative picture of the situation in Camelot on the night of the ceremony. Not only had a lot of the servants seen one suspect or another, but the ones who hadn’t had heard gossip from the ones who had. So it wasn’t too difficult to learn what he wanted to.
Among the people who would normally have been expected to attend the gathering but didn’t, there was only Percival, and he had the alibi of illness. Ganelin went to visit him on the pretext of checking on his condition for Arthur. He found the knight coughing uncontrollably.
“Can I get you anything, sir? Or can I summon the court physician?”
“That charlatan?” He hacked. “He claims to be a magician, but have you ever seen him work any wonders?”
“Pardon me, sir, but I think he claims not to be a sorcerer. ”
“Nonsense. He’s seen more, done more, learned more than one man could do in a normal lifetime. He has sold his soul, and everyone knows it.”
There was no point bickering. “I see. Well, if you don’t need anything, I’ll leave you to your phlegm.”
“Please do.”
As for the people who had gone to the Great Hall that night then left again, Ganelin was able to confirm the ones that were already known-Lancelot, Mordred, Pellenore- and he was able to add several of the knights to the list. Then one by one he began making oblique queries about where they went and what they did.
It would have been odd indeed for someone to move about the castle unnoticed by any of the servants. And in fact he was able to construct tentative accounts for each of the guests-except four.
He made careful notes on everything he’d learned about the various suspects’ movements that night. Then he reported to Merlin. “I think I know who might have done it, sir. There are four whose activities I haven’t been able to verify.”
“Excellent work, Ganelin. Tell me, then.”
“I’d like a few more days, if it’s possible. I haven’t quite tracked every possible source of information. I want to be as certain as possible before I name names.”
Merlin smiled. “Said like a scholar, not a knight.”
“There’s no need to be rude, sir.”
“It’s just my sense of humor. How much more time will you need?”
“As I said, a few days.”
“No more than that? Are you sure? Arthur wants the assassin brought to justice before Midwinter Court, remember. ”
“I’m sure I’ll know much sooner than that.”
In the following days the weather began to warm. Snow and ice melted; roads turned to mud and were nearly as impassable as when they were frozen. But people started to leave Camelot nonetheless.
Guenevere, Lancelot and their party were first to announce. Lancelot said arrogantly that he’d dealt with worse than mud before this, and the queen was anxious to return to Corfe.
Then Morgan and Mordred announced they would be leaving the next day. Soon Sagramore, Bors, Gawain and Accolon said they’d be going, too. Arthur sent parties out to the surrounding towns to buy provisions for the ones who would be remaining longer.
Merlin watched most of the preparations from his tower. By this time tomorrow the castle would be livable again. His ravens were happy of the warmer weather.
Some scrolls he had sent to Antioch for, months before, finally arrived. He unpacked them, unrolled them on his table and began to inspect them. A large cup rested on the edge of the table; he accidentally knocked it off, and it clattered loudly on the floor.
Nimue knocked and entered. “Merlin, there’s trouble.”
“Look at this. An eyewitness account of the Trojan War by a Phrygian named Dares. There are copies all over the Mediterranean, but I think this one may be Dares’s original.”
“Merlin, will you listen to me. Something has happened. ”
He forced himself to focus on her, not the scrolls. “Yes?”
“Ganelin is dead.”