Stone steps spiraled upward along the inner wall of Merlin’s tower. Halfway up sprawled Ganelin’s body. Britomart waited to guard it while Nimue fetched Merlin. The squire had been stabbed through the heart with a sword, and his right arm and leg had been slashed. She was thankful that, at least, the body was nowhere near as badly mutilated as his brother’s had been. But that was not much to be thankful for.
The steps had been worn down in the center from years of traffic; blood trickled from one down to the next; before long it would reach the main floor of the castle, and people would know something had happened. Brit watched its downward flow, wishing there was some way to stop it. But she had nothing that might be of help; it would take mops or swabs or, at the very least, a great deal of cloth.
She could not resist the impulse to bend down and touch the boy’s body, hoping for signs of life even though she knew there would be none. Ganelin’s cheek was still warm; the flesh was tender and resilient.
Just at that moment Merlin and Nimue came down from above. Merlin said nothing; he glanced at Brit then bent down to examine the corpse. “What happened?”
Brit answered, “As you can see… We only just found him a few moments ago.”
“Thank goodness,” Nimue said softly, “he isn’t cut to pieces the way his brother was.”
“I think he would have been.” Merlin got up and reached around to rub his back. “It looks like the killer started to but was interrupted.”
“There’s no place he could hide, Merlin,” Brit said. “If he fled when he heard us approaching, the only way he could have gone is up to your rooms.”
He looked at her then turned his attention back to the body. “That’s a good observation. But something must have interrupted him.”
“Did you make any sounds up there? Sounds that might have scared him off, I mean?”
“I dropped a goblet. I’m not certain that would have been loud enough to panic the killer, though.”
“It must have been.”
“Poor Ganelin.” Nimue’s face was blank. “I always liked him. Poor Ganelin…” she repeated. “I never knew how passionate he was till after Borolet died.”
“We must have some servants take him and place him by his brother.” Suddenly Merlin sounded very sad; the reality of what had happened was sinking in. “I suppose we’ll bury them together. Let us hope the cold earth will permit that sometime soon.”
It was Brit who brought up practical matters. “We’ll have to ask Arthur to delay all the departures. We can’t have the suspects leaving now.”
“I’ll talk to him. But I’m not certain how wise that would be. We know now the lengths this fiend will go to. I had let myself hope privately that Borolet’s death was a singular event. But now… The rest of us are vulnerable. Do we really want this killer at large in Camelot any longer?”
“But-but we’ll never know who it was if-if-”
"I understand your concern, Brit. But… but I’m just not sure what to do. Arthur will decide. Has anyone been sent to tell him about this?”
No one had.
“He’ll want to know.” He looked down at Ganelin and let out a long, deep sigh. “I’ll go and tell him. You don’t know how badly I want not to, but…”
From below came a shout. “What on earth is going on up there?”
It was Mark. He had been passing below and apparently had noticed the blood seeping down.
“Be quiet, Mark. Come up here.”
Obviously in an unpleasant mood, Mark climbed the steps to them. “What-?” Then he saw. “Oh. Oh, no.”
“We’ve been fools, Mark. We naïvely assumed your sham investigation would provide cover for us. But… but…” Helplessly, he gestured at the body. “We’ve bungled. We’ve been too smug.”
“Arthur will be unhappy.”
“So will everyone. Everyone who knew Ganelin.”
Nimue said, “If only some of the suspects were gone already. At least that would make things easier for us.”
“I don’t know.” Merlin looked down the steps at the still-flowing blood, not at her. “They could have left someone here. Or bribed someone. Or-I don’t know. I can’t think now. I have to find Arthur.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Nimue asked.
“No. No, you go and find someone to move this-him. I’ll be all right in a moment or two.”
Mark said, “Let us hope their ghosts rest as soundly as their bodies.”
“Ghosts?” Merlin couldn’t believe he was hearing it. Not knowing what to say, he turned to Brit. “Will you please stay here with him till we can have him moved? And make certain he’s handled properly, with respect. I don’t want the servants-”
“The servants liked him, remember?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, well…”
Slowly he descended to the ground floor. Occasional servants passed, going here or there, some apparently busy, some not. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to any of them. He had made a terrible mistake, a terrible misjudgment, and Ganelin had paid for it. How could he tell Arthur?
The king was going over an old map, in his study. He was too caught up in it to notice Merlin’s mood. “I’m glad you came, Merlin. I was about to send for you. I’ve had a few thoughts about our hunt for the killer.”
“Arthur, something awful has happened.”
“I don’t want to hear bad news just now, Merlin. I just came from Guenevere. That was unpleasant enough.” Finally he noticed the pain in his counselor’s face.
“There’s no way to avoid it, I’m afraid. Arthur-”
“Don’t, Merlin. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, it can’t. Arthur, Ganelin has been killed.”
There was a long silence. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh. The poor… How did it happen?”
“He was on the steps going up to my room. I think he was on his way to tell me who he thought the killer was. He had said-”
“How was he killed?”
“Like Borolet. Stabbed, hacked. Not so badly as his brother. But he-”
Arthur put his map aside, got up and walked to a window. “Look out there. I own it all. It’s mine. You helped me take it. Remember all the dreams I had about a place of goodness and light? Remember how naïve I was?” He looked at Merlin then quickly turned away again. “Merlin, what’s wrong with us? This isn’t the kind of country we wanted to build.”
“England is a good place, Arthur. Strong and getting stronger. These murders-”
“These murders give the lie to what you just said.”
“Human nature doesn’t change, Arthur. We’re a race capable of goodness. We are even more capable of evil, and much of the time many of us embrace it. You are a good king and your England is a good place.”
“No!” He pounded a fist into the wall. “This is not what I meant. I wanted a land where things like this don’t happen. Those poor boys.”
“I know how fond of them you were. They were good young men. But, Arthur, you can’t let grief run away with you like this. You’re the king. You have duties. One of them is to remain in charge, of yourself and of the government, of public affairs. You’ve always understood that. I taught it to you at a young enough age.”
Arthur turned to face him. “They were mine, Merlin. They were my sons.”
Merlin fell silent. After a long interval he said, “Oh. I see.”
“Do you? Do you know what they meant to me? Guenevere has never given me children. I daresay she never will. And I don’t want her to anymore, now that I know what she is. But Borolet and Ganelin…” He looked away again. “I met their mother on a progress through the fen country. Beautiful young woman. When she came to me later and told me we’d made twin sons, I actually remembered her. Of all the women I had in those days, she was the one I remembered. I told her to bring them to me when they were ten, that I’d raise them and teach them and make them worthy of their heritage.”
Softly, Merlin asked, “Did they know?”
“No. Never. I think they must have suspected now and then, but they never asked and I never told them. But I think they knew they were being raised for some special destiny. And now…” There were tears in his eyes.
“Arthur, I’m sorry.”
“I know. I know. We should have done better by them, Merlin. I should have. When I lost Borolet, I told myself, at least I still have his brother. I will raise him up, make him a good, worthy man-a good, worthy heir. Now… what do I have of them? What?” He sat down again. “Bring me a cup of wine, will you, please? And the bottle.”
“This is no time for drinking.”
“I have never known a better one.”
Merlin filled a cup for him, and Arthur drank it quickly. Then he took hold of Merlin’s arm and squeezed tightly. “I want you to find him. The killer. Merlin, these deaths have diminished all of us, all England, even though no one knows that but you and I.”
“Arthur, you’re hurting me.”
He let go. “I’m sorry. But you must promise me, Merlin, that you will do everything in your power to find whoever slaughtered my sons.”
“You know I will.”
Arthur got up, crossed to the table that held the wine bottle and poured himself another cup. “Burial. We must see that they’re buried with all proper dignity.”
“They were squires. People might find it odd.”
“Do you think I give a damn?”
Merlin said nothing.
“And their mother. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I want to find out.”
“She is. Ganelin talked about her.” He hesitated. “Shall I have Mark make the preparations for the burials?”
“Yes, he’ll do a good job. I think he even suspected the truth about the boys. He asked me once or twice, but I always avoided answering. Now he’ll understand. And I’ll have to ask Morgan to officiate at the funeral.”
“You want her in this?”
“They were her nephews, even if she didn’t know it.”
“Of course. Will you tell her? Do you think she might have guessed?”
“I don’t know. I need to think. And drink more. Will you set everything in motion?”
“Certainly, Arthur. I’ll get to work right now.”
“Good.” He paused, then looked Merlin directly in the eye. “And thank you. Even though this place is defective, even though it is tainted with human evil in a way I never imagined, I could never have begun to build it without you. And I want you with me now.”
“I’m not certain what you mean, Arthur.”
“Tomorrow.”
The next morning Camelot’s courtyard was filled with activity. Morgan’s party, and Guenevere’s, and several less illustrious, were packing their animals, checking their weapons, making certain they had provisions enough for the trips to their various homes. Merlin had pressed Arthur to detain them, but the king was reluctant. “There are no grounds. And I want them gone. I want them out of my house.”
“It may make finding the killer more difficult.”
“Merlin, I want them gone.”
It was just warm enough for a thaw. The landscape was dotted with puddles of water and thick mud, and a steady drip fell from the top of the castle. Now and then chunks of ice peeled off the roof and battlements fell to the ground below, alarming the horses, even occasionally striking someone. Outriders had been sent to make certain the roads were passable and came back to report that they were, but barely so.
Arthur walked among them, enjoying the chaos, and happy of the departures, with Merlin at his side. Camelot would be their home again, not the mass hostel it had been.
Nimue followed them, making note of everything she saw, bidding farewell to acquaintances. Arthur had asked her to keep an eye out for petty theft. “It’s to be expected. They will take anything they think we won’t miss.”
Unlike the king and her teacher, she was slightly intimidated by all the people and the hustle. “Do you think it’s advisable to let them all go, Your Majesty?” She lowered her voice. “We may never have all the suspects together again. Solving the mystery will be that much more of a challenge.”
“I don’t see that we have any choice, Colin. Camelot can’t support this many people. You’ve seen how scarce food became, and how quickly. Besides, I don’t really have the authority or the pretext to hold them all here. I want our society to be based on laws, not force.
“They’ll all be back for Midwinter Court. It’s the time for them to renew their vows of fealty to me. Anyone who doesn’t come will be counted a traitor.” He shrugged. “More or less.”
“I see. But still-”
“For goodness sake, Colin.” Merlin was impatient with her for questioning the king. “We’re getting rid of them. That’s a blessing in more ways than one. Do you want a mad killer on the loose here permanently?”
“But-”
“We’ll get to the bottom of the killings. And we’ll do it by Midwinter Court. Just be patient.”
She resigned herself to it, glumly.
Arthur made a show of saying good-bye to the most important people, particularly Morgan and Guenevere. Guenevere actually seemed in a pleasant mood for once, and Arthur commented on it.
“And why shouldn’t I be? I’m leaving my husband’s house. What wife wouldn’t be overjoyed?”
“You are the picture of domestic bliss, aren’t you?” He kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, not the lips, and moved on.
To Morgan, he made a special request. “We’ll be burying Ganelin and Borolet within a few days.”
“Highly advisable. They won’t keep long, even in winter. ”
He ignored this. “Morgan, I’d like you to preside at the funeral.”
“For a pair of squires? Your sense of humor can be so alarming, Arthur.”
He leaned close and whispered something to her; Merlin thought he knew what. Then he pulled away and added, “Please, Morgan.”
Reluctantly she agreed, but she added that she was doing Arthur an enormous favor and he owed her for it.
Then, after all the official and unofficial business was out of the way, Arthur led Merlin and Nimue to a small gate at the rear of Camelot. Britomart was waiting there with horses and a cohort of six guards. Arthur asked a waiting servant, “Do you have it?”
“Yes, sir.” He handed Arthur what looked like a sable cloak, carefully folded. Arthur took it, placed it in his saddlebag and quickly climbed onto his steed. “Come on, all of you. Let’s get moving.”
Nimue looked to Merlin and Brit. “Where are we going? ”
It was Merlin who answered her. “You’re not going anywhere. You have some Homer to translate, remember?”
“But-”
“You’re not dressed warmly enough to travel on a morning like this. Go and do your Greek. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Glum and puzzled, she went inside.
Brit jumped onto her horse. “Nine of us? Arthur, you said you wanted this to be inconspicuous.”
“Would you rather we travel without guards?”
“Of course not, but-”
“It’s unlikely anyone will see us leave, Brit. There’s too much activity out front for that.”
The others mounted their horses, two more guards opened the rear gate and the party left. Arthur rode at the head of the column, flanked by two of his men. None of the three talked very much except for occasional orders or directions.Brit and Merlin followed with the rest of the guards. Arthur had ordered them to bring an extra horse; no one seemed to know why.
The morning was uncomfortably damp. Wisps and streamers of mist floated in the air. The sun shone, a pale ghost of itself, through heavy clouds above. After a few minutes the entire party fell silent.
The landscape changed from low hills to flat, featureless terrain. Merlin looked back over his shoulder to see Camelot on its hilltop retreating into the distance more quickly than seemed quite right.
Brit reined her mount next to his and whispered, “Do you have any idea where we’re going? He told me to arrange the party but nothing more.”
“I can guess, but I don’t know for certain.”
“What’s your guess, then?”
He looked thoughtful. Arthur had not told anyone else but Morgan that the dead young men were his sons. It seemed advisable not to spread it. “In time, Brit.”
An hour later the land had turned to moor. Sprigs of heather grew here and there, but not much else. Toads and snakes slithered out of their way. A guide was waiting to steer them through it; how Arthur had arranged for him, Brit could not fathom. One of the guards’ horses slid into some quicksand, and they all had to work to pull it and its rider out. The man was shaken; Arthur sent him back to Camelot with a companion to take care of him.
Another hour passed. Brit found herself growing impatient, but she knew there was no point trying to get information out of either Arthur or Merlin if they didn’t want to share it. For nearly the entire trip Arthur had said virtually nothing.
Then ahead of them there was a small village, not much more than a hamlet-ten or a dozen tiny shacks on either side of the track, most of them made of mud and twigs. Arthur raised his hand and the party stopped. The guide pointed to one particular hut. Arthur dismounted, walked to its door and knocked.
A woman opened it a crack and looked out. She was in early middle age, and her features reflected her hard life. It was immediately clear she recognized the king. She pulled the door open wide, Arthur went in and she closed it behind him.
The rest of the party dismounted. The guard in charge told them to make themselves comfortable; there was no way of knowing how long the king would be. They had brought food, which he passed around. The guide walked a few paces away from the rest of them and watched them without eating or talking to any of them.
“Merlin, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Brit tore a piece of bread and bit into it aggressively.
“You know as much as I do.”
“Nonsense. I want to know. Please.”
He took a deep breath, seemed to consider the possibilities then sat down on a relatively dry patch of earth. “She was their mother.”
“Oh. And Arthur-?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I see. I’ve wondered about that. He always seemed so attached to them.”
“The attachment has been severed.”
They ate without saying much more. Finally, Brit said, “So it’s that much more important that we find the killer, then.”
“Yes, Brit.”
“If the killer knew about his sons, somehow… these may have been dynastic murders, intended to do more harm than most people realize.”
“I don’t see how anyone could have known. I didn’t know myself until Arthur told me yesterday. He said Mark had guessed, but Mark and he are close friends.”
“But-but if these killings were a strike at the royal house… I wish we had something definite to go on. No one who might have done it has a verifiable alibi. Mordred told me he went to use the privy then got lost in the unfamiliar corridors. I have no idea whether to believe him. And Lancelot says pretty much the same thing. Pellenore… well, you know, he was being Pellenore, charging around the castle chasing phantoms. I wish I could trust him as much as you seem to. We need to know more.”
“I know it, Brit. But how?” He looked to the woman’s hut; there was still no sign of Arthur. “If only Ganelin had told me what he’d learned from the servants. Or some of it, at least.”
“We’ll have to question them ourselves. There’s no other way.”
“Ganelin had a point. They won’t open up to us the way they did to him.”
“Then we’ll have to force it out of them.”
“No.” His voice took on an uncharacteristically hard edge. “No torture. That is not the kind of land Arthur wants to make.”
“Then how do we-”
“We’ll find a way.”
The hut’s door opened. Arthur came out, followed closely by the woman, who was crying. Her dark features were made worse by grief. He took her by the hand and led her to where the others were waiting. From his saddlebag he got the sable cloak and placed it around her shoulders.
“No, Arthur, please. It doesn’t matter. I’m numb anyway. ”
He wrapped it more tightly around her. “Don’t be foolish. It’s a cold, wet day.” He looked to Merlin and Britomart. “This is Anna, who might have been the mother of kings.”
They said soft hellos to her. She averted her eyes.
“Come, Anna. I chose this horse for you myself. She’s the sweetest, gentlest in my stable.”
“Like me?” Her voice was bitter with her sorrow.
“Please don’t talk like that.” Then he turned to the others. “Anna, this is Merlin, my most trusted advisor, and Britomart, one of my senior military aides.”
It was all so completely unexpected. Uncertain what to say, they made simple greetings to her, trying, not very successfully, to sound friendly and pleased she was with them.
He helped her up then mounted his own horse. “Come on, everyone, let’s get home.”
And so the party returned the way it had come. There was not much more talk on the return trip than there had been on the ride out. At one point Britomart reined her mount next to Anna’s. Anna gaped at her, not seeming to remember their introduction.
“Hello. I’m Brit. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you.” She avoided looking at her.
“You’ve been to Camelot before?”
“No. Never. Arthur wanted to take me. But I don’t belong in a place like that.”
“Just between us,” she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper, “no one does.”
Anna smiled shyly. “I want to see the funeral. I want to see my boys buried. I told him I’m coming home after that.”
There was an awkward silence. Then, “Do you love him?”
“I don’t know. It’s been so many years. He told me he loved me when we first knew each other. He says that he’s never stopped. But he’s the king and I’m a woman from the midland swamps.”
Brit tried to make more conversation, but Anna was badly out of her element and shaken by her grief. Brit determined to make the woman feel as much at home as she could, once they reached Camelot.
At one point on the long ride to the castle, she noticed that Anna had begun to cry again. Was it for her boys, or for what might have been with Arthur, or some combination of the two? There didn’t seem much point in asking.
Late that night, Nimue, Brit and Merlin sat before a roaring fire in his study with more spiced wine. None of them seemed to have any idea how to proceed.
“Where’s Mark? I thought he’d be joining us.” Brit yawned and stretched.
“He’s packing for the journey back to Cornwall.” One of Merlin’s ravens tapped at the window, and Merlin got up to let it in. “He’s done as much as he can here, and he does have his own fiefdom to govern.”
“Does it occur to you,” she asked, “that kingship is now firmly established in England?”
Merlin swirled the wine in his cup. “I’m not certain what you mean.”
“Not so long ago queens ruled here.”
“And you’re saying there are at least two women who would like to see the country revert to that.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Exactly.”
Nimue took a long drink. “But no one likes either Morgan or Guenevere. No one would ever submit to their rule.”
“Suppose they ruled through a puppet at first? A lover or a son?” Brit got up and stretched again. “It’s been a long day. Too long.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me before, Brit.” Nimue looked at Merlin to try and guess what he was thinking. “But you have a good point.”
“We should have thought of it before now. And if one of them learned somehow that the squires were Arthur’s sons and presumptive heirs, it would have given them the motive for… for what happened.”
“I can easily imagine Morgan ruling through Mordred- and Mordred going along. Guenevere and Lancelot-that’s another matter.” Merlin started to drink then seemed to think better of it and put his goblet on the table. “The thought of King Mordred makes my blood run cold. There couldn’t possibly be enough wine to warm it again.” Like Britomart, he yawned. “You’re right, Brit, the day has been too long and too busy. We’ll think more clearly in the morning. But I think we will need to visit our suspects on their home ground. Their guard may be down then.”
He got up and poured his wine into the fireplace. “The king’s wife or his sister. A fine pair of suspects we have.”
They said their good nights and parted company. Merlin sat in his chair, stroking the raven’s head, till he fell asleep.
It rained on and off for three more days, and there was constant fog. Merlin watched from his tower, as always. At times the rain was so heavy his ravens wouldn’t leave the study.
“When I was young, I lived in Egypt for three years,” he told Nimue. “In Alexandria. Studying at the great library, or what is left of it. It hardly ever rained there; the weather was warm and lovely almost all the time. It was the happiest time of my life.” He turned to face her. “I had to come back to dear old England.”
“You love England and you know it.”
“This is not a fit place for someone who likes to think.”
“Is any place?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve romanticized Alexandria. Our memories do that to us. Did you know there are catacombs there? The dead are buried in underground chambers. You should see the catacombs sacred to the goddess Nemesis. It is a vast complex, all carved from the living bedrock. Athletes from the stadium are buried there, and even their horses.”
“Charming.”
He sighed. “Why do the young always sneer at everything they don’t know?”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to resist. It’s hard to imagine that you didn’t do that when you were young.”
“I suppose I must have. Memory fails.”
Camelot’s burial ground was an eighth of a mile behind the castle, beyond a stand of blackthorn trees, distant enough to be out of sight, close enough to be nearby when necessary. The gravediggers kept trying to dig a hole for the dead squires, but the walls kept collapsing; even when they didn’t, the graves filled with water. With winter approaching, no one was certain when or even if the young men would get a proper burial.
Their mother, Anna, had become a disconcerting presence in the castle. She wandered the halls, distracted, distraught,holding imaginary conversations with her dead sons and, to appearances, hearing them answer. Now and then she would go down to the basement room where their remains lay and would stroke what was left of their bodies. Arthur ordered the room to be locked.
But she kept up her long, mad walks and the fancied conversations with her boys. No one seemed able to make her see what she was doing. Even Pellenore found her alarming. And Mark was more shaken than most. “It’s what I told you. Their spirits are uneasy. I’m glad I’m leaving for home.” He departed the next day.
Arthur asked Merlin to talk with Anna, to counsel her in her grief. “Understand, Merlin, the life she’s had. Her boys were everything to her. She lived in mud. In filth. But knowing her boys were here gave her hope. That is gone now.”
“You could have brought her here before now, Arthur.”
“She wouldn’t come. It was all for Ganelin and Borolet.”
So Merlin tried talking to her, tried to make her understand how erratic her behavior had become. But it was no use. “Honestly,” he told Brit, “I’m at a loss. How can I know what to say to her? I don’t know her, don’t know anything about her. For all any of us knows she’s been half-mad her entire life.”
“Isn’t there something you can give her? Some drug to calm her?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had the servants put a small dose of valerian in her food. It has no effect at all.”
“Poor woman.”
On the fourth day the rain stopped, but the clouds persisted and the world remained a bright, cold grey. If the rain didn’t begin again, a funeral should be possible soon. Arthur sent word to Morgan. “Come in a fortnight.” He voiced his hope repeatedly that the weather would hold- no more rain, no more freezing till after the boys were laid to rest. Merlin’s ravens were happy to be able to get outside again.
No one had inspected the bodies in the basement to make sure of their condition. No one much wanted to. Finally, Merlin offered to take some servants to prepare them. They took soap and water to clean them and winding sheets of the purest white linen from the king’s own stores. Fortunately, the cold had preserved the corpses fairly well. Even so, it was an unpleasant duty.
Woodworkers fashioned two caskets from birch wood. Both were intricately, elaborately carved; at Arthur’s insistence, both bore his own royal crest. A summons was sent to Pastorini in Cornwall to come and make bronze handles for them. Oddly, Mark sent word that the metalsmith was unable to come, but he made handles there and sent them.
A few days after that, Morgan arrived for the funeral, attended by her son and a dozen servants. They took over most of a wing of the castle. The first night they were there, as Morgan was going to the refectory for her dinner, she encountered Anna in the hallway. The two women, twenty feet apart, stared at one another for a long, silent moment. Then Anna moved on, looking presumably for what had always mattered in her life-her boys. Her melancholy affected Morgan, who did not say much during her meal.
Then the morning for the burial finally arrived. Well before dawn, Merlin was wakened by a persistent knocking at his door. He climbed out of bed, wrapped himself in a blanket and walked to open the door. “Yes?”
It was a boy, fourteen, maybe fifteen, with black hair, olive skin and large dark eyes. “Merlin?”
“Yes. Who the devil are you?”
“I’m Greffys, sir. The king’s new squire.”
“You are.” His voice was neutral.
“Yes, sir. He sent me to make sure you’re ready for the funeral.”
“It isn’t even sunrise.”
The boy’s face was blank. “I know that.”
Merlin looked him up and down. “Why did Arthur choose you?”
“He says I’m the best athlete among the squires.” The kid smiled with pride.
“It wouldn’t have occurred to him to choose the best scholar, would it?”
“Uh… I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“No. Of course not. Go and tell him I’ll be ready.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy rushed down the stairs without bothering to close the door behind him.
A few minutes later Nimue arrived. “You’re up.”
“Arthur sent his new squire to rouse me.” He smiled sarcastically. “Kings.”
“I’ve brought some hot soup. Here, you’ll need it.”
“I’m dreading this. I wish I had a plausible reason to stay in bed all day.”
“At the very least,” she said, pouring the soup from a pot to a large bowl, “we’ll have a chance to observe Morgan and Mordred. We were so focused on Guenevere before, we more or less ignored them.”
“Stop talking sense. This is going to be a terrible day.”
By the time Merlin had eaten, washed and dressed, Britomart had come to his rooms as well. He found her warming herself by the fire in the study. “You’re coming to the funeral?”
“Of course. Arthur should be surrounded by his friends, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But who are they, Brit? I wish I knew.”
“You’re in a dark mood.”
He shrugged. “Funerals do that to me. Let’s go.”
They assembled at the rear of Camelot. Arthur was there, and Greffys, and Anna, Morgan, Mordred. Sagramore, Gawain, Bors, Accolon and the rest of the knights attended. Gossip had spread about the dead squires’ connection to the king; the royal crest on the coffins seemed to cinch it in most people’s minds. Pellenore was noticeably missing, but no one had expected him anyway. Twelve pages served as pallbearers, carrying the two coffins on catafalques. The court musicians were there, playing mournful tunes. The music echoed loudly and clearly through the morning air and mist.
The party left the castle by the same rear gate Arthur had used when he set out to find Anna. They walked slowly, solemnly, accompanied by more dirges by the musicians, who brought up the rear. Fog swirled among the trees. At times the light was so dim Arthur called for torches. Pages ran back to Camelot while the procession waited. The torches, when they arrived, showed brilliant yellow-orange among the mist and trees.
At the burial ground the two royal gravediggers were still at work, shoring up the sides of the hole and bailing out water. Arthur went to them. “I thought the ground was dry enough.”
“So did we, sir. But it’s saturated much more than we thought.”
“Do what you have to do quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Everyone formed a circle around the coffins. Morgan raised her arms in supplication and voiced a prayer to the goddess Arianrhod, begging that she guide and protect the souls of these two valiant young men. Merlin found himself looking around at the assembled mourners. Someone was missing.
Then he saw him, standing off among the trees, watching it all the way a naturalist might watch wild animals. It was Mordred. He was only half-visible through the mist. But at one point, when the air cleared momentarily, it seemed that he was smiling.
Merlin nudged Brit, gestured toward Mordred and whispered, “He seems to be enjoying this much too much.”
“We always knew what a morbid little creature he is.”
“I wonder if it’s only that.”
Morgan finished her prayers. The coffins were laid in the grave side by side. One by one the mourners lined up to sprinkle handfuls of earth on them. But the soil was too damp; it formed muddy clumps and thumped unpleasantly on the caskets.
Through it all, Anna had managed to maintain her composure. Now she began crying uncontrollably. Arthur put an arm around her to try and comfort her, but it did no good. Merlin looked to see what Mordred was doing, and the boy was smiling even more widely than before.
Two days later the weather broke. For the first time in days the sun was shining and the air was warm, or at least warmer than it had been. Knights wrestled and exercised. Everyone from the castle tried to spend time outdoors, walking, running or just enjoying the bright day.
Merlin climbed to the roof and walked the perimeter, chatting with the sentries he knew. The countryside was still dotted with patches of snow and ice. Winter would be settling in in a serious way soon. At the far end of the roof, Arthur and Greffys wrestled playfully. Arthur let the boy get an arm lock on him, then pulled free. The funereal mood had evaporated.
The forest around Camelot was black, nothing but bare branches, and the landscape was still dotted with patches of white. The migratory birds had long since gone, and there seemed to be fewer of the ones who stayed year-round. A few sparrows and cardinals scratched at the roof stones, looking for food. Two of Merlin’s ravens followed him about; the third one had disappeared.
Find the assassin by Midwinter Court: the charge had been repeated more times than Merlin cared to remember. But there was so little to go on-practically nothing but suspicions and obvious motives for too many suspects. Not that Arthur’s wish was a command; he was not that kind of monarch. But there were good reasons for finding the killer as soon as possible. The idea of order must be maintained.
A cloud covered the sun briefly; then it emerged again. Merlin shaded his eyes.
Then from behind him he heard a voice.
“Where are my sons?”
With a start he turned to find Anna just in back of him.
He said hello. “How are you today?”
There were tears streaking her cheeks. “Do you know where my sons are?”
Uncertain what to say, he pretended to study something in the distance. “The air is still a bit chilly, Anna. Shouldn’t you be wearing a cloak?”
“I’ve been cold all my life.” She peered at him. “Where is Arthur?”
He pointed.
“I have to find Borolet and Ganelin. I have something for them. He’ll know where they are.”
It was so awkward. What would be best, to let her delusion continue, or to try and bring her back to reality? To let her disturb the king with this, or to find some way to keep her away from him? He found his resolve and said, “They are not here, Anna. You saw where we took them, remember? ”
She looked confused; her eyes darted about as if trying to focus on something but she was unsure what. “They are here. I sent them to be with the king.”
“No.” He said it gently. “They are gone. Anna, you must remember.”
“The night he made love to me I knew I’d bear him sons. I never told them who their father was, but they guessed.”
“Anna, please.”
“Arthur will take care of them. He is their father, you know. He won’t let any harm come to them.”
It was so futile. And he felt so sorry for her. He wished Brit or Nimue were there; women were so much better at handling these things.
“They will be kings one day themselves, you know. He promised to make them his heirs. But they haven’t been home for so long…” She was fighting back tears; it was plain to see.
“Anna, they were good boys. Bright, helpful, energetic. They were the best; Arthur said so often enough. But they are gone.” One of the ravens flapped onto his shoulder; he brushed it aside and it quickly flew away. He watched it go. “I sometimes envy my birds, do you know that? Their lives are so simple yet so full.”
Arthur broke off wrestling with his squire and moved to join them, with Greffys following behind. From ten yards away he called, “Merlin! Anna! How good to see you both out here on this gorgeous day.”
"Hello, Arthur.” Merlin was grateful for the interruption. “You don’t seem to have worked up much of a sweat.”
“It was only horseplay, not a workout.” He turned to Anna. “Good afternoon, Anna. Are you feeling any better today?”
“No.” The word seemed to weigh a ton. “I’m looking for Ganelin and Borolet. Do you know where they are?” Instead of Arthur, she peered directly at Greffys.
“No, ma’am.” Mildly alarmed, the boy took a few steps backward and pressed himself against the battlement.
“Where are my sons?!” She shrieked it and rushed toward Arthur.
He caught her wrists and steadied her. “Please, Anna. Try and remember what happened, and why I brought you here.”
She pulled free and turned to Merlin. “Where are my boys?” she wailed.
Then suddenly she lunged toward Greffys. “What have you done with them? Where are they hidden?”
He barely managed to step aside, and the madwoman plunged over the edge of the castle roof to the ground below. Her impact made a terrible sound. As she had rushed past him, Greffys was knocked off balance and nearly fell himself, but Arthur caught him by the arm and steadied him. The boy clung to Arthur frantically; it was clear Anna had been trying to push him.
Merlin and Arthur moved quickly to the edge and looked to the courtyard below. Anna was lying in a pool of blood, not moving. People were beginning to gather round her. Gawain looked up and saw the king; then he spread his arms wide apart and shook his head. The woman was dead. It was over that abruptly.
Arthur turned his back on the scene. “Good God, Merlin. Not another one.”
Merlin watched the activity below, hoping she might show some sign of movement, but there was none.
“Three. Three deaths now, Merlin. The man who killed her sons killed her, too.”
“She was out of her mind, Arthur.” He spoke softly. “Something would have-she would have-”
“She was always a bit mad. But not like this. The killer pushed her to it. Three deaths are on his head now. Find him, Merlin. Find him and deliver him to my justice.”
The next day, the second of Merlin’s ravens disappeared. It flew off in the morning, seemingly healthy and happy, then… simply didn’t return. The third and last of them perched on his shoulder that night as Merlin sat in front of the fire, thinking about the killings again and again.
Anna’s death had unsettled him. Not that he hadn’t seen death before; Arthur had fought too many battles for that to be possible. But the conviction that it was self-willed and not an accident-that madness could lead to a yearning for release from life-that bothered Merlin. Even if she had managed to push Greffys, she would have gone with him.
He reached up and idly stroked the bird on his shoulder. Unexpectedly, it nuzzled him and rubbed his cheek with the top of its head. It was the first time any of his pets had ever shown him special affection beyond the mere fact of staying with him when there were other choices.
“There, there,” he whispered. “We’re not alone. We have each other, sweet thing.”
Someone knocked at the door. He wanted not to be bothered that night, but he got up, crossed to the door and opened it. “Greffys.”
The squire looked tired. He was wearing a shoulder bag. “Good evening, sir. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“I’m not busy at all. My little bird and I were just sitting and thinking.”
“Oh. Should I-?”
“No, come in. How are you feeling?”
“Still shaken, I’m afraid.” Suddenly he seemed self-conscious. “Oh-don’t tell anyone I said that, will you, please? I’m training to be a knight. We’re not supposed to-”
“Don’t give it another thought. What can I do for you?”
He shuffled his feet, still feeling awkward. “The king asked me to come.”
“I see. Is there some message?”
“Not exactly, sir. I have this-”
“Sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some wine?”
“Thank you, no. I just ate.”
Merlin resumed his seat. The raven had not left his shoulder all this time. “I was just thinking that I really ought to give my pet a name. Do you have any ideas?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid not. Everyone says I never have any ideas.”
“Do you?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what it would feel like to have one.”
“Not very pleasant, to tell you the truth. There are times when I wish…” He looked away; it was his turn to feel self-conscious.
“Oh. Then I guess I must have a lot of them.”
Merlin leaned his head toward the raven and it nuzzled him again. “Hmm… what about ‘Roc’?”
“Roc, sir?”
“It’s the name of a fabulous bird. Probably a myth, but… I heard about it when I lived in Egypt.”
“Egypt?” Greffys face was blank. “Where is that?”
“It’s a magnificent land at the far end of the Mediterranean. Colossal ruins. Strange, wonderful art.”
“The-?”
“The Mediterranean.” He had to remind himself to be patient; Greffys was only a boy. “The great sea that separates Europe from Africa.”
“Africa?”
“Never mind. Why did Arthur send you here?”
The boy seemed relieved at the change of topic. “Well, I’ve found something.”
Roc flapped from Merlin’s shoulder to the window and pecked at it. Merlin got up and opened it, and the bird flew off into the night. He turned to face Greffys. “They come and go in the most incalculable way. I keep studying them, trying to find some pattern, but I’m not sure there is one.”
The boy was completely lost. He reverted to the comfortable topic. “I’m moving my things into Ganelin’s room. You know, just below the king’s chambers in the tower?”
“Yes?”
“I felt something odd in the bed. And there it was.”
“It?”
He opened his shoulder bag and produced a large scroll. “Here. I showed it to the king, and he said to bring it to you.”
Merlin unrolled it on the table then lit a large candle. It was a roughly drawn, barely decipherable diagram. Merlin studied it for a moment and decided it must be a sketch of the castle. At the center was a large circle; a square had been drawn inside it, against one edge, with three smaller squares inside it. Various lines branched off the large circle; along them were strings of odd symbols: +, X, ★, and ▼.
“You found this in Ganelin’s bed?”
“Yes, sir. His majesty said he couldn’t guess what it might be. Can you?”
“I think so.” Merlin went to the window and took a deep breath. “Were you at the Great Hall the night Borolet was killed?”
“Yes, sir, I was. With the other pages.”
“What do you remember?”
He thought for a moment, pretty obviously trying to guess what Merlin was after. “A long wait, then confusion.”
Brit knocked at the door and came in. Merlin was glad to see her. “Brit, look at this. Greffys found it in Ganelin’s room.”
She inspected it, lit two more candles then inspected it again. “The Great Hall and the corridors around it.”
“Exactly.”
“And this square with the little squares inside it-it must represent the dais and the three thrones.”
“Certainly. And all the little symbols in the halls?”
She looked it over again. “They could mean anything. This could be some game he was playing with his brother, or-”
“I don’t think so. I think this is a diagram he made to keep track of what he learned about the movements of our various suspects that night.”
“A cross, an X, a little star and a triangle? Why would he-I mean, why wouldn’t he use their initials or something obvious? These things could represent anyone.”
“Point taken. But how well did you know him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do either of you have any idea if he could read and write?”
Greffys and Brit looked at one another. Greffys was plainly lost. Brit said, “Probably not. He was training to be a knight, not a poet.”
“You’re a knight, Britomart, and you’re one of the best-educated people in the country.”
“I’m the odd one, remember? The woman? Learning to read couldn’t diminish my status the way it would a man. Reading is for clerks.” There was a slightly bitter edge to her voice.
Merlin turned his attention back to Ganelin’s diagram. “There were four people Ganelin suspected-four people he learned enough about to make their movements worth noting.”
“Excuse me, sir.” Greffys was quite out of his element. “I really don’t know what you mean. Or who.”
“No, of course you don’t. I was forgetting. Why don’t you get back to your room and to bed. Brit and I have a lot to talk about.”
Not certain whether to be offended, the boy said good night and left.
“Well, Brit. Look at the way the symbols are arranged. They run in lines down various corridors, leading away from the Great Hall.”
“If we’re right and this is the Great Hall.”
“We have to assume it is. How else can we proceed? I think the little symbols must trace the movements of our suspects.”
“That could be. Or they could be arranged according to some other pattern that isn’t occurring to you.”
"Possibly, but…” He rubbed his chin, furrowed his brow and went over the diagram still again. “I think we have to assumethis charts their movements until that assumption becomes untenable or something stronger occurs to us. There are four symbols. That means four suspects he learned enough about to think they were worth concentrating on.”
“Four.” She leaned next to him and studied the scroll. “Mordred and Lancelot. Those are the obvious ones. And… Pellenore?”
“Maybe.”
“And then… who is the fourth?”
He stood up and exhaled deeply. “How well do you know the servants?”
“Better than most of the knights, I think, but not really well.”
“Will they talk to you? Open up to you the way they did to Ganelin, I mean?”
“I don’t know. I can try.” She hesitated. “We can always force them to talk.”
“No, Brit. Arthur has banned that. It is out of the question. ”
“And if there’s no other way?”
“There is. And we have to start confronting the suspects. Gently. Obliquely. We don’t want anyone panicking, and we certainly don’t want any more murders. But if we can put what the servants know together with what we learn from the suspects themselves, we should be able to match each symbol to the right person. Once we’ve eliminated the ones we can account for, the one left is the killer.”
“It’s cold in here.” She walked to the window and started to close it.
“Don’t. My raven will come back soon.”
“Raven? One? What happened to the other two?”
“A hawk got them. Or they got sick or had an accident. I don’t really know.”
“Merlin, we can’t assume Ganelin identified every possible suspect.” She crossed the room and stood by the fire.
“We can’t assume anything else, not till there’s a reason to.”
“People left the hall for the privy. Even Mark told us he did that.”
He rolled up the scroll. “This is all we have to go on, Brit. At least for now. If we work slowly, steadily and carefully we can solve this.”
"A star, an X, a triangle… It’s like some mystical code.”
“It is a code, but there’s nothing mystical about this. With thought and reason and careful analysis we can unmask the truth.”
“Does truth need unmasking?”
“It rarely needs anything else.”