The next day Merlin went to Arthur and explained what he thought Ganelin’s chart represented. They were in his study, the room where Borolet had been killed. “So you see, by learning what we can from the servants and putting it together with what we learn from the suspects, we may be able to discover the killer’s identity. I think we have a very good chance.”
“Suppose these symbols mean something else?”
“They may. There’s no way of knowing till we investigate. ”
The king listened patiently, frowning occasionally, examining the chart, trying to follow it all. “How long will this take?”
Merlin smiled. “How can I know that? Weeks. Possibly longer. If you want prophecy, consult Morgan.”
“Her prophecies are always wrong. Well, nearly always.”
“Heavens, I can’t imagine why.”
Arthur bristled. “You’re not going to make any friends being skeptical of religion, Merlin.”
“This isn’t a matter for Morgan’s hokum. If we’re going to find the killer we must rely on reason. The more so since Morgan is under suspicion herself.”
“You cannot go around accusing the nation’s chief priestess of murder. Not without firm evidence. Irrefutable evidence.”
“If you want the murderer unmasked, it hardly seems wise to place one of the prime suspects off-limits to the investigation, Arthur.”
He sighed. “I’m not placing anyone off-limits. And you have every right to be as skeptical of the gods and their priests as you please. But you have to understand, it’s not a prejudice most people are likely to share.”
“Fine. Point taken. But I need you to promise me your full support if I’m to go ahead with this. As you’ve pointed out yourself, the queen and the chief priestess-the king’s wife and sister-are under suspicion. This will take some delicacy.”
“Delicacy? Is that really the word you mean?” Arthur suddenly turned to the door and cried out, “Greffys!”
The squire came running. “Sir?”
“There’s no more wine. Rush and get me some, will you?”
He went.
Merlin brought him back to the subject at hand. “Perhaps you should do the investigation yourself, Arthur. No one could question its ‘delicacy’ then.”
“Don’t be foolish. You’re the wisest man here.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to deal with this.”
“Of course I don’t.” Uncharacteristically, Arthur explodedin anger, pounded the table and began to shout. “My boys are dead-horribly so. Their mother is dead. And every time we talk about it you tell me either my wife or my sister is probably behind it.”
“You can always tell me to abandon the investigation completely.”
“I wish I could. But… but… I don’t know what to do.” Deflated, he picked up the diagram, glared at it then put it back on the table. “You’re my chief advisor. Tell me what to do.”
“You know what I think is necessary for finding the assassin. Let me do it.”
Arthur stared at him without saying anything.
“And then,” Merlin went on, “there is the bigger question of what might be done to prevent this kind of thing from happening again.”
Arthur sat again. This was obviously a new thought to him. “Yes?”
Softly, Merlin said, “Education.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Education. Schools.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Education always pays off-always enriches a society. It makes things run more smoothly.”
“You have a way of making me feel dense, Merlin. I’m not following you at all.”
“If Ganelin had simply noted the names of the suspects, we’d have the killer already. Instead he used these little symbols.”
“What of it?”
“Arthur, the boy couldn’t read and write. This cryptic chart is the best he could come up with. We should be glad we have it at all, but even so…”
“Guenevere can read. Morgan and Mordred can read. Yet you suspect them of villainy.”
“Learning increases the potential for crime, yes. But it also increases the odds of solving the crime. Arthur, teach your pages and your squires. Establish a school here. Teach them about Rome and Athens, about the magnificent things mankind can accomplish. If nothing else, learning about government-about the benefits it brings us, the order, the stability-will make it less likely anyone will strike at your kingship in this way again.”
“You’ve been trying to get me to do that for years. You know the risk-the knights wouldn’t like it. Focus on finding the one who killed my sons. We don’t even know that these killings were an attempt to ‘strike at my kingship.’ It may have been simply theft. We’ll talk about schools later.”
Greffys came back with a skin of wine and poured a cup for Arthur. The king drank, satisfied, thanked him and told him to go. Then to Merlin, he said, “Have you tried this? Mark’s people have taken to cultivating vines in Cornwall. He says it’s the only part of the country suitable for wine-making. It’s pretty good. With luck we won’t have to import our wine from France much longer. Guenevere’s father will be most unhappy.” He grinned like an impish boy. “You are going to have Mark work with you on this investigation, aren’t you?”
He’d been hoping it wouldn’t come up. “Not right away, no.”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Once we’ve cleared him-”
“Cleared him?” Arthur bellowed it. “Do you mean to say he’s under suspicion, too? My military commander? Is there anyone near me you don’t suspect of murder?”
“He was seen leaving the Great Hall at the start of the ceremony, Arthur. He’s even admitted it himself. And he was not seen to return.”
Arthur got up and started pacing. “What will you need? And who? I want this ended as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll have to visit the various suspects on their home ground. I’ll need plausible reasons for that. With Mark, we can come up with some reason for me to inspect the tin mines. Perhaps we can concoct some story for Morgan about wanting to go over the ceremonies for Midwinter Court. For Guenevere-I don’t know. Nothing convenient occurs to me. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Not offhand. She’s likely to be suspicious of any story, anyway.”
“A fine wife.”
“What do you think wives do? She has her fortieth birthday coming up next winter. Perhaps we can tell her we want to make it a national feast or something, and you’re going to visit her for preliminary discussions.”
“Do you want to make her birthday a national feast?”
“Don’t be absurd, Merlin. But I’d be surprised if the idea hasn’t occurred to her already. So there’s nothing to lose. Maybe we can invite her father and then imprison him.”
“Provoke an international incident?”
“He’s as minor a king as you could find in Europe. I doubt if anyone would mind. And it would give Guenevere a reason to start behaving herself.” He drank. “For once.”
“Well, fine, then. Let’s give all of this some more thought, though, shall we? There’s no sense stirring things up more than we have to.”
“I thought you liked stirring things up.”
“Don’t you be foolish, Arthur.” He stared at the chart. “There has to be a way to decipher this.” Then he looked at Arthur again. “I want Britomart. I know her and trust her. And I know she can’t be the killer. She was with me in the Great Hall the whole time. Can you do without her for a time?”
“Fine, yes, take her. Who else?”
“My apprentice, Colin. I know I can rely on him.”
“Fine. And who else?”
“I may need Greffys. Or at any rate someone who’s on good terms with the servants. I suppose any of the pages would do. But since Greffys is already involved in this, I think…”
“Fine. Anyone more?”
“No, I don’t think so. We’ll need horses for ourselves, and a few more to carry luggage and supplies. And I think that should be all. For the time being, at least. I don’t think we should travel with an armed escort. It will be better to keep a low profile.”
“Good. Go and get started. Remember, Merlin, I want the killer exposed by Midwinter Court.”
“I’ll do my best, Arthur.”
“Good.” His cup was empty. He picked up the wineskin and took a long drink from it. “I don’t mean to roar at you. But this situation… it’s so horrible. Who else do you suspect? ”
“Well… Pellenore.”
Arthur snorted derisively.
“I know how unlikely it is, but we can’t afford to overlook any possibility, can we?”
“I suppose not. And who else?”
“Those are the most important suspects. Everyone else who left the hall that night seems to have come back fairly quickly. It’s unlikely any of them did the murder. Oh, and it might be useful for you to write Morgan, Mark and Guenevere to let them know I’ll be visiting them on your business.”
“Draft the letters. I’ll sign them and send them.”
“You’ll have them by morning.”
“They may be suspicious. Especially Guenevere. The notion I want to honor her on her birthday will put her on her guard at once. You’ll never get her to talk. And Morgan won’t be any easier.”
“I plan to be subtle. You’re a warrior. You wouldn’t understand. Besides, it’s primarily Lancelot and Mordred I plan to cross-examine. Neither of them is exactly… well, you know.”
For a moment Arthur fell silent. When he spoke again he avoided looking at Merlin. “You know me. I’m not a thinker. I like to believe I’m an able administrator, a competent general, an honorable man-but I don’t think a great deal. But Merlin,” he turned his head to face him, “I honestly can’t think of anything that’s getting better.”
“Middle-age weariness, that’s all. When you reach a certain age, nothing in the world looks good anymore.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I remember what it was like when I first became king. When I first conquered all of England. You knew me then, you were there. I had such hopes. Such dreams for the kind of land I wanted to build.” He picked up the wineskin and poured more. “I’m so afraid this isn’t it.”
“Nothing human is perfect, Arthur.”
“I’m not talking about perfection. I’m talking about simple peace. Find the killer for me, Merlin. Find him. And while you’re at it, find my crystal skull and its shrine. And Excalibur. I feel naked without it.”
On the way back to his tower, Merlin encountered Pellenore. The man was galloping as usual along a winding corridor, astride an imaginary horse, shouting, “Giddyup, boy! Faster! Faster!”
Merlin stepped back into a recess, hoping the mad fallen king wouldn’t see him. And for a moment it seemed that he wouldn’t. He came careering along, directly toward Merlin, and seemed about to keep going. But then he pulled up his steed and stared straight at him. “Have you seen them?”
“Your dragons?” He was not in a mood to humor the man. “No, Pellenore, I haven’t seen them, no more than anyone else has.”
“See how cunning they are? They need to be rooted out and killed.”
“Of course.” He stepped out of his recess and started to walk away. “Pellenore, I wish I didn’t find you so alarming. ”
He ignored this. “I was a king, you know. I deserve a bit of respect. I never get it.”
“No, I suppose you don’t. You’re not a king any longer, after all. Arthur is the one.”
“For now.”
Merlin looked around. “There are people who would consider a statement like that treasonous. There have been murders. You might want to be a bit more discreet.”
“The beasts kill everyone they can. You’ve seen it. First Arthur’s squires. Next…” He looked away from Merlin and smiled shyly. “I’m the only one who understands. If they kill Arthur, I’ll be king again.”
“Naturally. And that would be so good for all of us.” But it occurred to Merlin this was an opening not to be missed. He switched seamlessly to a friendly tone. “Why don’t you come walking with me for a while? We never talk.”
“Well, all right, for a few minutes at least. But I have dragons to hunt.”
“Yes, of course.”
He took Pellenore by the arm, and they ambled along the hall together. “What do you know about the death of the squires?”
“What squires?”
Knowing it was probably pointless, Merlin said, “Ganelin and Borolet. You’ve only just mentioned them.”
“They were killed by a beast.”
“Did you see it? Were you there?”
“It isn’t just dragons, you know. There are griffins, manticores, ogres. A malevolent gnome lives directly underneath Camelot. And there is a sphinx. She sharpens her claws on the castle’s stones. She is vicious. Arthur must beware. ”
Merlin smiled, wondering if someday madness might take him himself. Certainly most of the knights thought him… eccentric. “I’ll be sure to tell him when I see him.”
“Don’t humor me, Merlin. I’m only mad in one direction. ”
What on earth could he mean? Or was this simply more madness? “Suppose the one who killed the twins is a human monster, not the kind you’re hunting?”
“Do you know the answer to the riddle of the sphinx, Merlin? What walks on four legs in youth, on two in maturity and on three in old age? Answer: man. We humans are the worst, monstrous or not.”
“I never knew you had such a dark view of humanity.”
“I’m a deposed king. First there were flatterers and hypocrites at court. Now there are all the ones who pretend pity and compassion. Who could see humanity more clearly?”
Mad in only one direction. Indeed. “I’ve never gotten to know you, Pellenore. I think I’d like to.”
“Be careful. The dragons devour everyone who gets near me.”
“Should I wear armor?”
“Should Arthur?”
“There have been times, now and then, Pellenore, when people have suggested you’re not as unhinged as most of us like to imagine. I’ve had that thought myself. I wish I knew.”
“The ogres plant those thoughts. I’m mad as a rabbit in March. What do you know about Rome?”
“Rome?” He wished the old man’s conversation was easier to follow. “It is the capital of Italy. But not the glorious place it once was. The Goths have overrun it and destroyed most of what was beautiful. Pellenore, you’re a classicist, like me.”
“I’m not anything like you, and you are not like me. People distrust you, Merlin. If you go around saying things like that, it will only get worse. Most people find knowledge suspect. People think you’re in league with the dark powers. They merely think me insane.”
“Perhaps I should chase a few beasts myself.”
“Perhaps you should. Good-bye.”
He whipped his imaginary horse and sped off down the hall.
Merlin watched him go, thinking that there must be some way of discovering exactly how addled the man was. And whether he was capable of murder. And, if he was, whether his mind was sound enough for him to be held accountable for it.
Certainly he seemed, in his peculiar way, to have a sensible,coherent view of the world. It simply didn’t correspond to anyone else’s. Is that what madness is?
He felt hungry and went to the refectory. There wasn’t normally much activity there except at mealtimes, but he thought he should be able to scrape up a snack. The place was empty except for Nimue, who was eating a large bowl of soup and a small loaf of bread. She smiled and waved at him.
“Colin. I didn’t think I’d find anyone here but the kitchen servants, if them. It isn’t lunchtime.”
“You’d be lucky to find them. There are so many little pantries and hidey-holes. It took me ten minutes to find someone to heat up my soup.” She ate. “What did Arthur say?”
“About…?”
“Don’t be foxy. I know you were going to talk to him about Ganelin’s chart. And about the status of the investigation. ” Some soup dribbled down her chin; not having a napkin, she wiped it with her sleeve. “Such as it is. If you catch sight of one of the maids or the kitchen boys, flag her or him down for me, will you?”
Merlin sat beside her and tore a piece of her bread for himself. “He wants us to go ahead with it.”
“Us?”
“Us. You’re to assist me. And Brit is to work with us.”
“The three of us. If we were all women, we’d be like the Fates, closing in on a guilty man.”
“You’ve been reading Greek tragedy. You’re learning.”
“I have to please a stern old teacher.”
He laughed. “This bread is dry. Don’t they have anything fresher? And I think Greffys may be joining our little party, too.”
"Greffys? You’re joking. Even for a squire, he’s… well, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But we’re going to need someone who’s on good terms with the cooks and valets and maids and so on, and that pretty much means one of the squires.”
“I know some of the servants. And I think Brit does, too.”
“It’s not the same thing. The squires are half servants themselves. But believe me, if we don’t need Greffys, I certainly won’t use him.”
“I mean, not to speak ill of the dead, but Ganelin wasn’t exactly an intellectual. But he was Aristotle compared to Greffys.”
“He’s a boy, Colin.”
“So am I.” She sneered sarcastically.
“I think we’re definitely going to be traveling. Give some thought to what you want to take.”
“To Corfe, to corner Guenevere?”
He nodded. “Or Lancelot, or whichever one of her minions looks to be guilty.”
“Do I have to go to Morgan’s realm, too? I’d rather not.”
“I hadn’t thought of it, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to take you there. No sense taking the chance someone might recognize you.”
“Thanks.” She was plainly relieved. “When do we get started?”
“First thing tomorrow, if Brit is free then. Or now, if you’d rather.” He unrolled the chart on the dining table. “I keep looking for a pattern in this.”
“Maybe there is none.”
“That would be our luck. One thing stands out, though. The crosses, Xs and stars are all on one side of the Great Hall.”
“If it is the Great Hall, Merlin. I mean, I know it looks like it, but I knew Ganelin better than you did. That could just as easily be a diagram of some damn fool sports thing he was thinking about.”
“That’s exactly what we need. A positive attitude.”
She shrugged. “I’m only trying to be helpful.”
He focused on the chart. “But these triangles-they’re spread out all around. See?”
She studied it. “You’re right. On both sides of the hall and in every corridor.”
“Only one creature goes gadding about the castle that way. I think the triangles must represent Pellenore.”
Her soup was getting cold. She picked up her bowl and drank it off. “That makes sense. As much sense as anything about Pellenore can. I’m still hungry.”
“You’re a growing boy.” He smiled a sweetly sardonic smile. “I just ran into Pellenore in the hall, on my way here. We had the oddest exchange. His lunacy has always struck me as lightweight. But he was saying the strangest things. He’s smarter than I ever thought, and better educated, and even more perceptive, in his way.”
“So how do we verify that the triangles are his? I mean, a crazy old man…And he’s been here for a thousand years, hasn’t he? Who would remember him from before?”
“I knew him then, slightly. But he went mad almost at once after Arthur defeated him and took everything away from him. There was never much chance to decide what I thought of him before-before he-” He made a twisting gesture.
“It’s all ancient history to me. Where were his lands?”
Merlin looked surprised. “You don’t know? They were here.” He pointed downward, emphatically. “Camelot was his castle, and the shires around it were his domain.”
Nimue whistled. “I had no idea.”
“No one your age ever understands anyone older. The world began when you were born, didn’t it?”
“Don’t be condescending, Merlin. But then, there must still be-”
“Exactly what I was thinking. There must still be people here who served in his household. People who knew him then and know him now and understand what happened to his mind.”
“Were any of Arthur’s knights his?”
He wrinkled his brow. “I’ve never followed the knights’ dongs all that closely. It’s possible. Brit will know, or Arthur will. But there must be someone here.”
“Who knows him now? Who does he confide in?”
“Heaven knows.” He took the last of the bread and bit into it. “The dragons, I suppose.”
“I’m still hungry. Where are the bloody servants?”
“Off in those pantries you mentioned, sleeping.”
“Damn. I want more soup.”
“Do we need servants for that? There’s a fire in the hearth. I could use some, too.”
And so the next morning Britomart met the two of them in Merlin’s study. She was half-asleep and kept yawning then excusing herself.
“Bad night, Brit?” Nimue was full of energy. “You should be wide awake and ready for work, like me.”
“Be quiet. If there’s anything worse than a morning person, it’s a self-righteous morning person.”
Merlin got between then and recapped for Brit what they had deduced about Ganelin’s chart. “If we can match our four suspects to the four kinds of symbols…” He smiled and let the thought finish itself.
Brit yawned again, more widely than before, and picked up the map and inspected it closely. “If this really is a diagram of the castle, then…” She wrinkled her brow. “Let’s see. This is the Great Hall, at the center. And this shows only part of the rest of the castle. It leaves off ten yards or so in any direction. But…” She looked around, as if something she saw might correspond to something Ganelin had sketched. “The servants’ quarters, the storerooms and the stables are off to the right of the hall. There are triangles in every hallway.”
“Very Pellenore-like, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded. “Or at least, not very Mordred-like or Lancelot-like. Do you have any food around here? I need something to wake me up.”
“Sorry. I can send a page to the refectory for you, if you like.”
“No.” She was becoming absorbed with the chart. “I’ll cope till I can get there myself. And on the other side of the hall are the corridors leading to Arthur’s tower and yours, the rooms where the knights live and the refectory. Crosses, Xs, stars.” She looked up at him. “They radiate from the Great Hall. It might almost be possible to connect them into direct lines.”
Merlin looked over her shoulder. “That’s true for the crosses and Xs. The stars seem to wander a bit.”
She traced them with a fingertip. “Who could have been wandering about like that? And why? It seems so aimless.”
There was a tapping at the window. Merlin’s raven Roc was there. He opened the window to let him in, and the bird flew onto his shoulder. Merlin reached up and stroked its head. “I think we can only get so far using the chart alone. There are other ways to proceed. If we can start eliminating the suspects, one by one, then the one left must be the killer. If the chart backs up what we suspect, that’s one more level of certainty.”
“Makes sense, I suppose.” Brit yawned still again.
“You suppose?”
“I’ve never been involved in anything like this before.”
“None of us has, Brit.”
Nimue shivered in the cold air from the window. She got up and pulled it shut. “I think we all agree that Pellenore is the most unlikely suspect, don’t we? So he should be the easiest to eliminate.”
“Exactly.” Merlin rubbed his hands together like a man about to cut into a succulent steak. “What do you remember about Pellenore from the time when Arthur defeated him, Brit?”
“It’s been years. More than a decade.”
“I know. Try and remember. I was busy trying to get the country functional again, or I’d remember myself. I’d like to find some people who knew Pellenore then. And some who are close to him now, if there are any.”
She concentrated. “I don’t remember a lot. But after the battle, a lot of his knights defected to Guenevere or headed to the Continent to go off on their own quests or whatever. A good knight can find service at just about any court in Europe.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why some of us are still here…”
“Hmm. It sounds vaguely ominous. But are any of them still here?”
“I think most of them are dead, or gone.”
“His servants, then? Did any of them stay with him?” She shook her head as if she was trying to clear it. “I don’t think so. Why would anyone stay with a losing king? There’s no advancement in that.”
The raven fluttered its wings and squawked, and he reached up to quiet it. “Damn. I wonder if Arthur remembers anyone.”
“It can’t hurt to ask.”
And Arthur did.
There was one knight in particular, he recalled, named Byrrhus. He had been among the oldest of Pellenore’s company, and he had signed on to Arthur’s service after the climactic battle. But he had retired and left Camelot soon after that. “He sends me odd notes now and then. Half of them make no sense at all. But he’s alive. Can you imagine it? A knight moving into a quiet, peaceful existence still alive and with all his limbs and both eyes intact.”
Britomart didn’t like the sound of that and said so.
Merlin enjoyed her discomfort. “Face facts, Brit. You’ve chosen a dangerous line of work.” He turned to Arthur. “I don’t suppose you know where he retired to?”
He rubbed his chin. “Londinium, I think. Or London, as the residents call it now. Yes, I’m sure of it. I remember he had opened an inn. It was called… let me think… it was called Nero’s Nose or something of the sort.”
“Fine.” Merlin rubbed his hands together like an eager child smelling cake. “Then to London we go.”
“Are you serious?” Brit sounded extremely unhappy. “Have you ever been there? It’s the dreariest town in England. It only flourished when the Romans made it their headquarters. Once we drove them out of the country…”
“We’re not going for a holiday, Brit. We have a job to do.”
“Suppose he’s dead? Or senile?”
“We’ll know that soon enough.”
London was a small, sleepy town on the banks of the Thames River. It consisted of a few score houses, a shaky wooden bridge spanning the river and a few decrepit shrines to the Roman gods, some of them still in use. The place was dominated by the ruins of a Roman garrison where children played at being soldiers.
When Merlin, Brit and Nimue arrived there after half a day’s travel, it was raining. Brit got a bright red cloak out of her luggage and wrapped herself in it. Merlin told her it made her look like a fallen woman.
“Be quiet.”
The river ran swift and muddy. Overlooking everything were the remains of a Roman fort built of large, dark stones. The long outer wall was dotted with watchtowers. Despite the rain there were children playing atop them. But only the front wall was intact; as they moved past, they could see that the others had huge gaps in them.
They stopped on the hill overlooking the town and took it all in, and Brit voiced her disdain for the place again. “Look at it. What a dump. There isn’t even a decent pub, just a few inns where you can buy gritty beer and sour wine.”
“You know this place. And not just casually.” Nimue’s tone was accusatory. “Why haven’t you said so?”
“There are some things I don’t like to remember.”
Merlin was suspicious, too. “Where are you from originally, Brit?”
She frowned and gestured at the place before them. “From that.”
“Oh.”
They spurred their horses. None of them could wait to find an inn with a good fire and to dry off. To their surprise, the streets were paved with large stones. “The Romans,” Brit said with a snort.
“I’ve heard about Roman roads crisscrossing all of Europe. ” Nimue had a touch of awe in her voice. “Paved like this and still in use. What wonders they must have accomplished. They say that Rome will last forever. If it was all like this, I can believe it.”
“Arthur is right.” There was genuine sadness in Merlin’s voice. “Nothing in the world is getting better.”
“You both spend too much time reading books.” Brit was not disguising how unhappy she was to be there. “Where are the Romans now? Where is Cleopatra? Where is Augustus? ”
“They left us this.” Nimue gestured at the fort and the stones beneath their horses’ hooves. “What will we leave? Beer mugs.”
“Arthur is holding the country together, Merlin.” Brit’s tone was oddly vehement. “That’s more than the Romans were ever able to do. On the far side of town there are temples to their gods. Mars, Venus, Hephaestus, Vesta. Mostly ruins now, but when I was a girl a few crackpots still prayed in them. A lot of good it’s done them.”
Just at the outskirts of the town, Merlin asked a passerby carrying a sack of something for directions to Nero’s Nose.
The man was baffled. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s an inn. Possibly run by an old knight.”
“Oh, you mean Caesar’s Bones, then.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“It’s right on the main street.” He pointed vaguely in the direction he’d come from. “Right in the middle of town. You’ll see it. And they’ll be glad you’ve come. Not many people do.”
There was not much traffic in London’s streets. A number of buildings were made from the same dark stone as the abandoned fort. It occurred to Nimue that they had been built with stones from its damaged walls. A few others were made of limestone. But most were wooden, and ramshackle.
Such people as there were in the streets tended to keep their eyes lowered; no one seemed at all social. Brit muttered, "You see what I mean? The people here… they don’t seem to have personalities. Or minds.”
“You’re too harsh, Brit.” Merlin, oddly, seemed to be enjoying it. “People who know how to mind their own business, and who don’t feel the need to prattle every little thing that occurs to them-that’s a breath of fresh air.”
“Ask another one for directions and see how fresh you find them.”
“There’s no need. Look, here is Caesar’s Bones now.”
The inn was small and unprepossessing. One tiny window, streaked with mud or something like it, looked out onto the street. A sign with a crudely painted skeleton and a Roman eagle announced the inn’s name, a dim recollection of the defeat and expulsion of the Romans centuries before. The three travelers looked at one another, not certain what to expect, and dismounted.
There was no hitching post, so they tethered their horses to a stunted bush nearby. “Nothing here grows well. This is not a healthy place.”
“You grew well, Brit.” Nimue couldn’t resist pricking her mood.
“Be quiet, ’Colin.’ ” She said the name lightly but pointedly, to remind Nimue that she knew something, or thought she did.
Merlin pushed open the door of the inn and they stepped inside. As they’d been hoping, a large fire burned energetically in the hearth. They made straight for it and pulled up a table and chairs.
A thin, wizened old man emerged from a back room. “Good afternoon.” He didn’t sound as if he meant it. And he certainly did not look as if he might ever have been a knight.
“Afternoon.” Merlin smiled at the man. “We’ve been on the road all day. We need wine and some nice hot beef.”
“You’ll get beer and rabbit. No one here eats beef.”
Oh. “Uh… fine. I’m sure it’s excellent fare.”
“It’s the best you’ll find in London.”
Brit snapped, “Is that saying much?”
The man ignored her. “Beer and rabbit for three, then. Will there be anything else?”
“A bit of information, if you please.” Merlin was working at cordiality, hoping it would offset Brit’s rudeness. “Would you be Byrrhus, by chance?”
“I would not.”
“Is he on the premises?”
“No.”
He was not to be put off. “But this is his inn, isn’t it? People talk about Caesar’s Bones all over the country.”
The man gave out a short, derisive laugh. “They don’t, and there’s no use saying they do.” Without another word he turned and went back to the rear of the building.
The three of them fell silent, not at all certain how to react. Finally Brit said, “And the man on the road said they’d be happy to see us.”
“They’ll be happy enough to see our money, when the time comes.”
The publican came back with three large goblets of beer. He scowled at them and said, “Drink hearty.”
“Uh, thank you.”
He turned and left again.
Merlin looked himself up and down. “Maybe we look like we carry some disease.”
“We do.” Brit smelled her beer and pushed the goblet away. “It’s called civilization. It’s complete anathema here.”
Nimue sipped her beer and made a sour face. “This is awful.”
“The meat will be worse.”
“I can see why you don’t like to tell anyone this is where you’re from.”
Brit put on a wide smile. “We all have things we want to hide, don’t we, Colin?”
Nimue froze, uncertain how to react. Merlin made a show of drinking his beer then wiping his lips with a broad gesture. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had.”
“At least Morgan hasn’t had a chance to poison it.” Brit was not drinking, quite pointedly.
“Oh?” Nimue grimaced at her. “You haven’t tasted it.”
The owner came back with three plates of meat and bread. “Here you are.”
“I don’t believe,” Merlin smiled as wide a smile as he could manage, “we caught your name.”
“Robert.” The man frowned.
“Well, Robert, we are from Camelot. I am Merlin, this is Britomart, one of the king’s premiere knights, and this young man is my apprentice, Colin.”
He stared at them. “Yes?”
Undaunted, Merlin pressed on. “We are on a mission from King Arthur, looking for a man named Byrrhus. He used to be a knight in the king’s service, and we’re told he used to own this inn.”
“Will you be needing rooms?”
He looked to his companions. “For tonight, yes. One for Colin and me, and one for Britomart.”
“Two rooms, then.”
Brit laughed at him. “Yes, you’ve got it.”
“And we’d appreciate some assistance.” Merlin took out his purse and made a show of the gold coins in it.
Robert’s eyes widened. Suddenly he was the most gracious host. “Anything you need, sir.”
“Well, as I told you, we’re looking for Byrrhus. Do you know where we can find him? Or do you know someone who might?”
Robert hadn’t taken his eyes off the purse. “He’s mad. He went mad years ago. He lives in the ruins of the old Roman temple on the hill.”
“Which one? Where?”
He pointed vaguely. “Follow that road out of town. The hill’s steep; you’ll know it. Ruins on top.”
Merlin handed him a coin. “I hope that’s enough for our rooms and your trouble.”
“More than enough, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Not now, thank you. You have stables?”
“Yes, sir, out back. Eat well, sir.”
They ate. No one bothered to comment on how bad the food was; it would have been belaboring the obvious. When they were finished, Merlin went off to find Robert and tell him they’d be back by nightfall. Then they departed in hopes of meeting the man they’d come to see.
It was raining more heavily. Their poor horses were miserable. They mounted and set off slowly. “Which way, Brit?”
She pointed, and they began to move.
The streets were quite empty now, so there was no one for Brit to make snide comments about. She seemed unhappy about it. Close to the edge of town the buildings thinned out and the road started to rise. Quite abruptly, the rain stopped, and ahead of them up the hill, through a light mist, they could see a cluster of old, ruined buildings. Rows of columns fronted them; one of them still had part of a dome standing atop it.
It took a few minutes to reach them; the horses had trouble getting their footing on the muddy grade. Finally, they were at the center of what must have been a sizable sacred precinct in its day. Ten temples of various sizes, built in various styles, loomed around them. The smallest of them wasn’t much more than a shrine; the largest would have made a secure little fortress. Rainwater dripped from what was left of the roofs. Toppled statues, most of them missing arms, heads or both, littered the ground.
“Well.” Merlin dismounted, looked around and rubbed his hands together. “At least everything will dry out now. Where do you suppose we’ll find him?”
They stared at one another and shrugged. Brit said, “I think that one over there is the temple of Mars. That might be the logical place.”
For want of a better suggestion they went and looked. Three Ionic columns stood, supporting nothing at all. A fragment of the pediment lay in the mud; carved into it was the name of the god. The walls and roof were mostly gone. An altar where a statue of the god must have stood once was covered with dead leaves and twigs. Nimue had a thought. “Those limestone buildings in town-this is where they got the stone.”
“Should we have let it go to waste?” Brit sounded defensive.
“We? I didn’t think you identified with these people.”
Merlin interrupted the little spat before it could escalate. “Let’s separate and check the other temples.”
They did so. Most of the others were in even worse shape than that first one. Merlin and Nimue found it dispiriting; Brit was businesslike.
Finally, Nimue stepped into what seemed to be the largest and best preserved of them. There was no indication which god it had been sacred to. It was no cleaner than the others. But under a part of the roof that was still intact a fire was burning.
“Hello?” She raised her voice so much it sounded like a girl’s; she quickly lowered it and repeated, “Hello? Is anyone here? Byrrhus?”
Seemingly from nowhere came on old man’s voice. “Who are you? And how did you know my name?” It thundered through the ruins.
“I’m Colin, apprentice to Merlin, King Arthur’s chief advisor.” She ran back to the entrance and shouted, “Some-one’s here!”
In a moment Brit and Merlin joined her.
Merlin looked inside. “Where is he?”
“I heard his voice, but he’s hiding somewhere.”
Brit crossed the floor to where the fire was burning. “Byrrhus? Byrrhus, it’s me, Britomart.”
Startled, Merlin caught her by the shoulder. “You know him?”
“Knew him. When I was a girl. Where do you think I got the idea I could be a knight?”
“Why the devil didn’t you say so?”
She whispered, “He was half-crazy even then. I don’t know if he’ll remember me.”
“He remembers you.” The oldest man Nimue had ever seen stepped out from behind the altar stone. His hair was grey as steel; his face was severely wrinkled; his body was that of an athlete grown old. “You were a tomboy and a brat.”
“Byrrhus!” Suddenly excited, Brit ran and threw her arms around him. “You’re still alive!”
“More or less, yes. Get your hands off me. Knights should be more dignified.”
“Our innkeeper told us you’d gone completely insane.”
“By his lights, I suppose I am. I prefer living in the temple of Venus among squirrels and mice to keeping company with other human beings.”
Merlin stepped forward. “Your view of humanity is so sensible. I am Merlin. This is Colin.”
“I was about to roast some beef. Would you like some? And some wine?”
“We’ve just eaten some foul rabbit at Caesar’s Bones.” Brit hadn’t stopped smiling. It was the first real emotion Merlin had ever seen in her. “None of us ate very much. And a cup of wine would take the taste away wonderfully.”
Nimue banked the fire high with twigs and branches, and Byrrhus cooked meat for them. Merlin and Nimue stayed mostly silent, letting Byrrhus and Brit reminisce about old times.
“The stories you used to tell me about serving at Pellenore’s court.” She was uncommonly wistful. “Nothing in the world could have been more romantic.”
“Poor old Pellenore. Is he still alive?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “And he’s quite insane.”
Byrrhus narrowed his eyes. “So are foxes.”
Nimue asked him why he preferred to live in the temple’s ruins. “I mean, the town isn’t much, but at least the houses must be warm and dry.”
“Warm and dry and full of people. I’ve had enough of them. At first I thought it was just court life I’d had my fill of, so I came back here. But everyplace is as foul as court. Bickering, arguing, lying, cheating… the court is the world in small. A sane man can stand only so much.”
When the meat was finished roasting on its spit, they ate, and it was delicious. Byrrhus poured large cups of red wine. At one point a squirrel scampered in and went directly to Byrrhus. He stroked its head and it nestled beside him, quite improbably. But when Nimue reached out to pet it, it ran off in alarm. “You have the taint of human society,” Byrrhus said.
After Byrrhus and Brit had had time to reminisce, Merlin turned the conversation to Pellenore. “None of us knew him back in his good days. What was he like?”
“He was a good king. He believed in justice and fairness and equality. He built a court based on them, and it was quite wonderful till Arthur came along and destroyed it.”
“But-but-” Nimue couldn’t grasp this. “But Arthur is dedicated to those same ideals. We all know it. Camelot is the best place to be.”
“Then why didn’t he simply join himself to Pellenore? Why squash him?”
There was no answer. Merlin interjected, “Was he mad back then, too? You should see him now, galloping about Camelot, chasing phantoms.”
Byrrhus bit pointedly into a cut of beef. “There are monsters at Camelot. And they are real.”
“Nonsense. Arthur is a good king.” Merlin was testy.
“Pellenore…” Byrrhus lapsed into silence for a moment. Then he seemed to find himself. “Losing his lands and his castle-losing everything he had worked so patiently to build-devastated him. That was what unhinged him, if anything really did. He used to talk about killing Arthur and reclaiming it all. He promised that some day he would.”
Merlin exchanged glances with Brit, then with Nimue. “Did you believe him capable of it, Byrrhus? Really capable of it?”
“He lost his bearings, moral, intellectual, political, social… It was so sad to watch.” He looked from one of them to the next. “I don’t know what he was capable of. And I didn’t want to know. That is why I left.”
None of this was what Merlin wanted to hear. In the space of a brief, odd conversation Pellenore went from being an unlikely suspect to a likely one. “What precisely unhinged him? Was it the loss of his lands or the fact that he became a mere vassal of the king?”
“Does it make a difference? None of you is drinking your wine.”
“We had some terrible beer at the inn. The wine wouldn’t go well with it.” Nimue was not at all certain what to believe about Pellenore now. “You know what they say-never mix the grape and the grain.”
From nowhere a strong gust of wind blew through the temple. “The gods.” Byrrhus smiled. “They don’t like me living in their houses and desecrating them with cook fires. I use the temple of Mercury for a privy. Someday they’ll take their revenge on me.”
Brit got to her feet. “You seem to be surviving them well enough.”
“They’ll get me someday. There’s a boy in the village who is a werewolf. They’ll send him for me.”
Like Brit, Merlin and Nimue stood. They thanked him for his hospitality and made excuses about having to go. Brit hugged him and told him, “You’re as strong as Stonehenge.No mere werewolf could hurt you. Be well, Byrrhus.”
A few minutes later they were on their horses and heading back down to London. None of them said much.
But later, by the fire at the inn with more of Robert’s bad beer, they went over their encounter.
“I don’t see any room to doubt that he’s mad.” Merlin sounded glum. “We didn’t learn a thing that’s helpful.”
“I don’t know.” Brit swirled the beer in her cup. “Just because he prefers rodents to human beings… I mean, who wouldn’t?”
“And belief in Mars and Mercury? He’s quite daft, Brit.”
“Byrrhus seemed the most wonderful man possible when I was a girl. Now… But does that mean everything he said must be mad?” Brit avoided looking at Merlin, not wanting to see the answer in his eyes.
Nimue pushed her cup away. “I mean, yes, he believes the Roman gods hate him. But does that necessarily mean what he says about Pellenore is nonsense, too?”
“No. I think…” Merlin suddenly seemed lost in thought. “I think we have to believe that, at least provisionally. Pellenore is a more viable suspect than any of us believed. ”
“Slightly more viable, anyway.” Brit sipped her beer, made a sour face and put it aside. “Even if he wanted to kill Arthur however many years ago, does that necessarily mean he still does? And how does that translate into killing his squires?”
“If he’s mad it might.” Nimue avoided looking at her.
Merlin stood. “I’m spent. Let’s get to sleep. There’s no way to answer these questions. All we know for certain is that we’ll have to watch Pellenore carefully from now on.”
“Arthur won’t like it.”
“Arthur can’t very well tell us who to watch, can he?”
They said their good nights and went to their respective rooms.
There was a large, lively fire in the one Merlin and Nimue were to share. She told him to take the bed; she’d be happy curled up by the hearth. Just before he nodded off, she asked him, “Merlin?”
“Hm?”
“What if Arthur won’t go along with us?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, suppose we learn who did the killings-I mean really learn, beyond any reasonable doubt-and he won’t believe us?”
He sat up in the bed and stared at her. “You have no faith in the king’s wisdom and justice?”
“He’s already expressed skepticism about all of our suspects. ”
“I can’t think about that now. I’m too tired. Tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time to talk it through on the road to Corfe and Guenevere.”