The next morning there was brilliant sunlight. The three of them had more of Robert’s bad food for breakfast. Britomart wondered aloud whether their meal actually included Caesar’s bones. Merlin settled with Robert and made certain of the directions to Corfe.
Robert’s stable had a leaky roof. The horses were wet and irritable. Brit and Nimue spent some time drying them with cloths and currying them before they set off. While they were at it, Merlin wandered off on his own.
The town was more awake today. People came and went, on this bit of business or that. He tried to engage a few people in conversation, but they were unpleasantly taciturn. What was Londinium’s chief industry? The ground did not seen right for farming. The river might provide transport for trade, but there wasn’t much traffic on it. He wondered why England was so full of mysteries.
When he got back to the inn, Brit and Nimue had saddled and loaded the horses and were waiting for him. They set off on the same road they’d used the day before, the one past the old sacred precinct. In the sunlight the temples appeared even gloomier. There was no sign of Byrrhus.
The packhorses were carrying supplies Robert had procured for them. Brit complained about it. “So we eat still more of that man’s dry meat and sour beer. Why not just dine at the next swamp we come to?”
By noon the sky began to cloud up again, and it gave her still more to complain about. “English winters. I’d love to know who first decided this island was a good place to live.”
“For once I agree with you, Brit.” Merlin had been nodding off in the saddle. “Humanity should confine itself to the warm, pleasant parts of the earth.”
“How many of those are there?”
“There are enough. I’ve seen them. North Africa, that’s the place.”
“Whatever brought you back to England, then?”
“Don’t ask.”
She looked back the way they’d come. “One thing’s for certain. Londinium is dying and will die. Twenty years from now it will be deserted.”
“Good.”
The road south to the coast was better than the one they’d taken to Londinium. Wider, smoother. And there was more traffic. Despite his antisocial nature, Merlin was happy to see more people. If nothing else, it indicated healthier weather. They came to a town called Greenwich and found an inn called the Tusk and Claw where the food was delicious. The landlord and his wife were plump and cordial; she told her guests they’d bought the place from an old Italian who had originally called it the Tuscan Law. Brit immediately ordered more supplies there and dumped in the river the ones they’d bought from Robert.
Nimue watched her, amused. “You shouldn’t do that. The Thames is dirty enough already. That beer might kill the fish.”
“The fish can fend for themselves. I never want to taste anything that foul again.”
Merlin stretched out on the riverbank and chimed in, “Wait till we get to Corfe. Have you ever had French cooking? ”
“Will we be staying at the castle, then?” Brit seemed surprised. “I took it for granted we’d be quartered with the soldiers there.”
“If we’re invited, we should definitely stay with Guenevere, don’t you think? After all, we’re going there to pry into her affairs. And Lancelot’s.”
Nimue listened to the exchange. “I’ve never been to Corfe. I don’t think I knew there was a garrison there.”
“A fine one. It’s one of our most important ports.” Brit was in her element. “We could hardly leave it unguarded.”
“It doesn’t make sense that Guenevere would have settled there, then. I mean, why would she want to be where Arthur’s men could keep an eye on her?”
“It’s never made sense to anyone, Colin. I mean, it is one of the best ports in England, so if the French wanted to invade, it would make a logical landing place for them. But the landing force would have to be enormous to overcome our men. Leodegrance doesn’t have anywhere near that many men.”
“Leode-who?”
“Guenevere’s father,” Merlin explained.
“Oh. But-but I still don’t understand why Guenevere chose to live at Corfe Castle of all the places in England.”
Merlin and Britomart looked at one another and shrugged. He said, “I’ve often wondered if Guenevere is as crafty as she likes to think.”
Brit finished her dumping, they took a short walk around the town to help digest their food, and then full and satisfied, they resumed their journey to the south coast. The horses settled into a comfortable pace, and the three travelers settled into a comfortable silence. There were still plenty of other people on the road.
“We should have Arthur designate this a king’s highway or something.” Nimue was enjoying the trip. “And that inn, the Tusk and Claw-he should buy all his provisions there. It’s better food than I ever tasted at Camelot.”
Merlin enjoyed her enthusiasm. “Maybe we can simply kidnap the cook.”
“I’m serious, Merlin.”
“You don’t find the name of the place ominous?”
“Never mind.”
At dinnertime they stopped to eat in Bournemouth then moved on. They reached the coast road to Corfe just at twilight.
A long, sloping grade went down to the ocean, where the town sat. One ship was anchored in the harbor. Merlin was surprised; he said there was normally more traffic.
Above the town, secure between two hills, was the castle. It was large and dark, more enormous than any building Nimue had seen. Brit told her it had originally been a Romanfortress. “This is one of the best natural ports in the country. No one could miss its strategic importance.”
It was not at all a typical castle. There was no curtain wall surrounding it, and not even a moat. To all appearances it was quite open and vulnerable. But on closer inspection its unusual design became evident. There was a central keep, octagonal in shape, rising some eighty feet. From it, eight wings extended. And each of them was topped with heavy fortifications. Anyone trying to attack the castle would have met with a rain of arrows from several directions.
“And the Romans built all this?”
“No, I think they only built the central keep.”
Merlin told her, “The castle goes back centuries. Some people think it must be the oldest in England. It’s so ancient no one remembers who added all those arms. But they certainly date from before the rise of modern castle construction. ”
“Arms? Is that a formal architectural term, Merlin?” Brit asked.
He smiled. “No, but arms they are. Eight of them. The townspeople whose lives are dominated by it call it the Spider’s House. I’ve never been certain whether that refers to the castle itself or to its chief occupant.”
Clouds had built up steadily all afternoon. At least the temperature had remained on the mild side; there wouldn’t be snow. But a stiff wind roiled the Atlantic; huge waves were breaking all around. The ship in Corfe’s harbor rocked wildly.
The town was smaller than Nimue expected, but it was full of people, all of them evidently busy. And prosperous. A good harbor draws trade, and trade draws wealth. There were even women who were brazenly open about being streetwalkers.
The roar of the waves was clearly audible from every spot they passed. They found a little inn and had some spiced wine. Then Brit led them to the garrison and identified them to one of the guards on duty. Another one went off to find the commander. The three of them waited just inside the walls.
“You’re one of Arthur’s military commanders, Brit.” Merlin was annoyed to be kept waiting. “Don’t they know you?”
“I haven’t been here in years. But the commandant is an old friend.”
A moment later a man wearing chain mail for no apparent reason came and greeted them. He and Brit embraced warmly, and she introduced him to Merlin as Captain John Dalley, the garrison commander. He shook their hands vigorously and led them through the courtyard and Common Room to his office, where they had more wine.
“I thought someone from Camelot might come, once word of that ship spread. But how did you manage to get here so fast?”
“What about the ship?” He had caught Brit off guard.
“Didn’t you get a look at it? It’s French.” He lowered his voice and looked around conspiratorially. “Guenevere’s father. ”
“Leodegrance, here? Why haven’t you notified the king?”
“The ship put in late this afternoon. You should have seen all the fanfare and fuss when she turned out to welcome him. I was just drafting a letter to Camelot now.”
“I see. Do you have any idea what he’s doing here?”
Dalley shrugged. “It could be anything from visiting his daughter to planning a war to welcoming a new addition to the family tree.”
Merlin spoke up. “Guenevere is pregnant?”
“Not that I know of. I was only speculating. But she bellies with Lancelot often enough.”
“Has she… how shall I say? Has she been behaving herself lately?”
“As much as she ever does. She’s always trying to recruit my men away from Arthur’s service.”
“You must get that letter to Arthur right away. And we’ll be drafting one, too. You can send it along with yours.”
“Is something wrong?” He obviously suspected they might be there to check on him.
“No, John.” Brit was reassuring. “We’re doing some… er… fact-finding for him. We just want to apprise him of our progress.”
Relief showed. “I see.”
“You have room to quarter us?”
“Yes, of course.” He turned to Nimue. “And you-why is a fine young man like you not in the military? Aren’t you training to be a knight?”
“No, sir. Just a humble scholar.”
“Oh.” He didn’t try to hide his distaste. “Let me have someone prepare quarters for you. It will be a few minutes, I’m afraid.”
“That’s perfectly fine, John.” Brit smiled. “I’m sure Merlin and Colin would like to see the town. When should we be back?”
“I wouldn’t stay out too late. This is a port town. It can be rough after dark. And it’s full of French sailors, which makes it even worse than usual.”
“Oh. Well, we’ll be careful. And I’ll wear my sword.”
“Even so. You have no idea what they can get up to.”
They thanked him again, promised not to stay out too late and left the fort.
Nimue was spent from the day’s travel. “Why are we going out? I’m tired.”
“I want to get a look at that ship,” Brit said.
Merlin added, “And if we keep our eyes and ears open, we may get some hint what’s afoot. Leodegrance shouldn’t have come without notifying Arthur.”
“Maybe it really is just a family visit,” Nimue said.
“Don’t be foolish. These are politicians. They never do anything for simple reasons,” Merlin said.
“Should Captain Dalley have let them land?” Brit asked.
“How, exactly, could he have stopped them? No, he’s doing the right thing, writing to Arthur. Diplomacy is the king’s province.”
They walked along the widest street in town, heading for the harbor. No one paid them much notice. But Nimue kept studying everyone she saw. “The people here-they’re all plump.”
“It’s a prosperous town,” Merlin told her.
“If the French actually were to invade, how much help could they be?”
“Not much,” said Brit, who clearly didn’t want to think about it.
The wind from the Atlantic was getting stronger; occasional gusts were so strong the three of them had to lean into the wind to keep their balance. Merlin’s hat blew off and Nimue ran to fetch it. Overhead the clouds were thick and black; there was one brighter spot in them, all that could be seen of the moon.
The waterfront was lined with little taverns, most of them crowded. Yellow lanterns hung outside them; a long row of them provided the sole illumination. Cats scurried along the road, avoiding everything human. A dog dashed out of an alley and chased one of them, but it was faster. At one of the taverns people were singing a particularly obscene song about the French king.
“Why are all harbor towns alike?” Merlin asked no one in particular.
“I’ve never been in one before.” Nimue was taking it all in quite eagerly.
But Brit paused and said, “All places are alike. Every earth is fit for burial. There’s the French ship up ahead. Let’s go and see what we can see.”
The ship was called the Vienne. It was riding high in the water, which struck Brit as odd. “We’ll have to ask Dalley if they unloaded any supplies. If not-let’s get closer. I want to see if there are soldiers.”
But before they could approach any nearer, there was a flurry of activity behind them. A man in armor with a plumed helmet led a dozen soldiers directly up to them.
“You are Merlin, the king’s counselor? And Britomart?”
“We are.” Brit took charge; she kept her hand on the hilt of her sword. “And this is Colin, Merlin’s assistant.”
“You are to come with me.”
“I beg your pardon? We are here on the king’s business.”
“Queen Guenevere requests your presence.” He was not smiling. “You will come.”
Merlin spoke up. “How did the queen know we are here?”
“You may ask her that. Let us go.”
“Are we being taken prisoner? King Arthur will hardly be pleased. There isn’t a warlord in England who hasn’t felt his wrath. I hardly think he’d hesitate to invade Corfe.”
The man with the plume stepped closer to Merlin. “Queen Guenevere requests your presence at Corfe Castle. You are to be her guests.”
“Whether we like it or not?”
Brit stepped pointedly between them. “Captain Dalley of the king’s garrison is expecting us back. You’d best let us send him word where we’ll be.”
Plume man smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write him a note from the castle. The queen is nothing if not a gracious hostess.”
Brit looked around. They were plainly outnumbered, and she knew she was the only one with real fighting experience. Resigned, she said, “Very well, then. Let’s go.”
Plume showed his relief. He gave the order, and his men formed two columns, one on each side of their “guests,” and they headed off toward the hills and the castle.
People in the street looked more than slightly alarmed at the little parade; they crossed to the far side, all the while pretending not to have noticed. But at one corner a pair of soldiers from the garrison were negotiating with a pair of women. When they saw Merlin, Colin and Brit leaving under escort by Guenevere’s soldiers, their eyes widened and they left off what they were doing to head back to Captain Dalley.
The party proceeded to the edge of Corfe and began to ascend the hill to the castle. It loomed ahead of them, black and enormous, looking indeed like a huge spider. Nimue noticed that two of the “arms” that were visible were crumbling and apparently deserted. Guenevere must not be as prosperous or secure as she liked to pretend. But the rest of the Spider’s House was lit brightly with dozens of torches.
On either side of it to the east and west were hills. She asked Merlin what they were called.
“East Hill and West Hill.”
“Oh.”
“This is a port, not a university.”
They reached the castle and proceeded to the main gate, between two of the arms. Guards were posted, and a dozen torches burned brightly there. Plume exchanged a few words with the sentries then turned to Brit. “You will please follow me.” Since they didn’t have much choice, they did so. Six of the soldiers stayed at the gate; the rest moved on.
The interior of the castle was made of that same dark stone. Torches burned every six feet along the hallways. They smoked and sputtered; the place smelled of bitter fumes and ash. At least the corridor was straight; the place’s plan was much simpler and more straightforward than Camelot. Nimue commented on it.
“Simpler?” Merlin seemed surprised at the observation. “The whole place is monotonously rectilinear. I suppose that must be desirable for some people.”
At the end of the hallway-arm there was an abrupt change to a lighter stone, medium grey instead of dark grey. They had reached the keep, the oldest part of the castle.
Plume had not spoken a word as he and his men ushered them along. Now he said, “Her Majesty is in the throne room. Protocol is to be observed.”
“What is the protocol for a prisoner?” Merlin sounded more amused than anything else.
“As I told you, you are guests, not prisoners.”
“Of course.”
The keep was more convoluted than the outer parts of the castle. Corridors wound; steps ascended and descended. After a few yards they came to a large doorway. Plume stopped and turned to face them. “Go in.”
“Go in?” Merlin seemed surprised. “You and your guards aren’t coming?”
“Go in.” His face was stone.
Again not having a choice, they went in.
The room was octagonal, smaller than the Great Hall at Camelot. Dozens more torches burned, lighting it brilliantly. But there was no circulation; the stench of smoke was almost overpowering.
A dozen people stood around the room, talking, reading official-looking papers or merely contemplating the queen’s serene majesty. It was late, after dark, an odd time for court business to be conducted.
But Guenevere was there, seated in majesty on a gilded throne, much larger than Arthur’s fairly plain one. The throne was elevated above floor level; she looked down on her subjects. Next to it was a second, smaller one, presumably for Lancelot, but it was empty. There was no sign of Leodegrance either. She looked to the door as they entered and put on a diplomatic smile. Her ape rested at her feet and looked up lazily.
“Merlin. Britomart.” Her Majesty was all cordiality. “And who is this young man? We recall seeing him at Camelot, but he was never introduced to us. And events were so hectic there.” She added this last in a tone so sweet it dripped with sarcasm.
“This is my student and assistant, Colin.”
“I see. We welcome you, Colin. As we do your older companions.”
Merlin and Brit exchanged glances. She was playing with them. How long before the boom was lowered?
“We trust you traveled well and happily?”
Merlin had had enough. “What do you mean ‘we,’ Guenevere? You and your ape?”
“Is it possible you do not comprehend the royal plural?”
Brit took a step forward. “Why have we been brought here?”
Guenevere was all innocence. “Did not my men tell you? I wish you to be my guests.”
“They told us, all right-at the point of a sword. An odd kind of hospitality.”
“Oh, dear.” She feigned dismay. “You have mistaken our intentions.”
“Then why don’t you tell us what they are?” Merlin was growing annoyed with her.
“But still, you must admit it is, shall we say, irregular, for you to have intruded on my domain in this way.”
So she was going to play that game.
“I am under the impression,” he said firmly, “that England is Arthur’s domain. And even so, he did write you to inform you we’d be coming-and on his business.”
“England may be Arthur’s. Corfe is mine.”
“Captain Dalley and his men might not see it that way.”
“Irrelevant.” She brushed it aside. “What is this business my husband has sent you here to conduct?” Another sweet smile. “Does he want a divorce?”
“You know perfectly well that if the king wishes to set his consort aside, he hardly needs permission. Especially since she never consorts with him.” Merlin looked around the hall at the various courtiers and functionaries. “The present matter is, I must tell you, quite confidential.”
She stiffened slightly. “I see.”
“A long day’s travel has tired us, Guenevere. We’ll talk business with you in the morning. I believe Captain Dalley is expecting us at the garrison. If you don’t mind, we’ll be going.”
Her manner changed as she realized they weren’t about to be intimidated. “Weren’t you told, Merlin? I want you to be my guests.”
“Is there room in the dungeon for all of us?”
She sighed in an exaggerated way. “You shouldn’t be so suspicious. I want to know what Arthur wants. You, presumably, want to tell me.”
"’Me,’ Guenevere? Shouldn’t that be ‘us’? Or has the royal plural suddenly become obsolete?”
“I thought yours was a diplomatic mission, Merlin. Instead of diplomacy I find directness verging on rudeness.”
“Yes, you’re right.” His manner dripped with irony. “We should never have had you abducted at sword point.”
Unexpectedly, she laughed. “You will stay here at the castle. You may write to the garrison commander and tell him you are doing so. Rooms are being prepared for you. But I’m afraid they won’t be ready for a few minutes. We have another guest who is leaving tonight.”
“You mean your father.”
“My father, King Leodegrance, is in residence here, yes. But he is not the one I mean.”
“Who, then?”
“That is no concern of yours. You may use my library to write your note to the garrison. One of my men will take it. Your rooms will be ready shortly thereafter.”
“Fine.”
Guenevere stood regally and left the throne room. Merlin, Brit and Nimue found themselves alone, ignored by everyone else there. Brit looked around at them suspiciously. “Well, at least we’re not to be tortured.”
“Yet.” Nimue was quite out of her depth.
“Relax, Colin. Guenevere is an ambitious harridan, but she must know she could never survive a war with Arthur. Once she became aware the garrison knows we’re here, there wasn’t much chance she’d do anything to risk that,” Brit stated.
A boy in his mid-teens entered the room and approached them. “I am Petronus. People call me Pete. Will you come with me, please? I’ll show you where there’s paper and ink.” He spoke English with a French accent.
“Might we stop at our rooms first? I’d like to rest for a few moments.” Merlin wanted to try and catch a glimpse of the mysterious other guest.
“The queen’s instructions were to take you to the library. ”
“But I-”
“Please, sir. Besides, it’s in the same wing as your rooms. You won’t have far to go.”
There seemed no point arguing. If their rooms really were close to the library, they might get a look at the mystery visitor.
The boy led them out of the throne room and into another arm of the castle. More dark stone; more torches. Nimue coughed. “Do people ever get used to the stench here?”
The boy ignored this and kept walking.
A few moments later they reached the queen’s library. An armed guard was there, presumably to watch them. The room was lit with candles, refreshingly, and not torches. There were fewer books than in Merlin’s study at Camelot.
Just as they were going in, Brit glanced down the hall to see if she could tell where their rooms were. And there, in apparently heated discussion with Lancelot and Leodegrance, was Mark of Cornwall. As soon as he realized she’d seen him, he stepped into a doorway.
So two of the suspects were together in the same place, under mysterious circumstances.
Merlin wrote his note to Dalley. He asked that Colin be allowed to deliver it, and to his surprise, it was permitted. Nimue, accompanied by four armed guards, left for the garrison.
“I never thought they’d allow that.” Brit was surprised, not unpleasantly. “Maybe she means it. Are we guests, not prisoners?”
“I doubt if even Guenevere knows. Once she understood that our presence here was known to Arthur’s soldiers… It will take her a while to decide what to do with us.”
Before they could say more, Petronus showed up with two other boys, and Merlin and Brit were ushered to a suite of rooms farther down the corridor. Torches burned and smoked everywhere.
Petronus asked if there was anything they needed.
“Yes. Some candles. These torches give off such a stench,” Merlin said.
The boys looked at one another, and Petronus said, “I guess we’ve gotten used to it.”
“And their light makes too much glare for comfort.”
“Candles are in short supply, sir. But I’ll see if I can find some.”
“Thank you.”
The boys left.
Brit sat in an upholstered chair. “Did you see him?”
“See who?”
“Guenevere’s guest.”
“No. For heaven’s sake, who is it?”
She told him. And he froze. “This was supposed to be simple. Eliminate the wrong suspects and one will be left. But now Pellenore is more actively under suspicion than before. And this. How much more complicated is this going to get?”
Brit grinned. “And how much more ominous? What can he be doing here?”
“I can think of a dozen possibilities, all of them alarming. Arthur can’t possibly know.”
“I’ve always hated politics, Merlin. This is why. War is so clean and simple. Mass slaughter. Bloodletting on a major scale. What could be more pleasant?”
“I’m afraid war and politics get mixed up. Mark is a military leader and a king, remember? I’ll take the bedroom over there. Is that all right?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. So. Guenevere is nearly out of candles. What do we make of that?”
“Money must be tight. Which means she’s not interfering with the revenues from the port-at least not yet. I suppose that’s a sign of loyalty, or what passes for it with her.”
Petronus was back. He presented, ostentatiously, two candles. “One for each bedroom.” His tone suggested this was a real luxury.
“Thank you, Petronus.”
“Please, sir, call me Pete.”
“Pete, then. When is breakfast?”
“Daybreak, sir.”
"Fine. You’ll come and show us to the refectory?”
“Gladly, sir.”
“Excellent. Good night, then.”
“Good night. Uh… sir?” The boy plainly had something on his mind.
“Yes, Pete?”
“You come from King Arthur’s court, don’t you? From Camelot?”
Brit told him, “Yes, we do.”
“Everyone says it’s the most wonderful place in the world. Will you tell me about it?”
They exchanged glances. The boy might be useful. Brit assured him they’d do so if they had time and the opportunity arose. He thanked them effusively, promised to see them in the morning and left.
Merlin chuckled. “Well, I think Colin can work on him while you and I fry the bigger fish.”
She stood and stretched. “It’s like war after all. When you see an opening, you exploit it.”
“Politics,” he said in a mock-confidential whisper, “is precisely the same.”
Next morning the sun was blindingly bright and the air had a tinge of warmth. After weeks of premature winter it seemed odd. Merlin’s room looked out over the town and the harbor. He stood watching them and turning over events in his mind. Nimue was still asleep next to the fire.
Petronus knocked and came in. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”
Merlin held a finger to his lips and pointed at Nimue, still deep in slumber. “Let’s go to the next room,” he whispered to Petronus. “Colin always takes a long time to wake up in the morning.”
Brit was up, dressed and seemingly full of energy. The three of them stood at the window of their suite’s parlor, watching the French ship bob in gentle waves. Another vessel, a small frigate, had docked during the night.
“You promised to tell me about Camelot,” the boy prompted.
“So we did.” Merlin didn’t want him there. “After breakfast, all right?”
“Yes, sir.” He was mildly disappointed; it showed.
A few moments later Nimue joined them, yawning deeply. Petronus, smiling, evidently happy for their company, led them out of their wing and to the refectory. Even in bright daylight the halls were dark; torches burned and smoked.
The room was long and rectangular. Several dozen people ate sausages, eggs and bread. There was a mix of French and native English accents. Portions were small. Merlin noted it; the queen was having money trouble, perhaps enough for her to enter a plot against Arthur. Even if she didn’t become sole monarch, an alliance with a successful usurper would be to her benefit.
Guenevere and Lancelot were at the head table. Once again there was no sign of her father. She smiled when she saw the three of them and pointed to seats at another table to the left of her. They sat, and servants brought them food.
Before they were finished, the queen and her man stood and crossed to them. Guenevere was evidently quite curious about what Arthur had in mind. Lancelot renewed his acquaintance with Brit and suggested they get together and exchange military gossip.
Nimue excused herself from the table and found Petronus at another table in a corner of the hall. Merlin had told her about the boy and suggested she learn what she could from him. “My master says you want to hear about Camelot.”
His face brightened. “Yes! Please.” He looked around self-consciously, but no one was paying any attention to them.
“Why don’t we go off somewhere we can be alone and I’ll tell you all about it.” She gestured toward the door. “And you can tell me all about Corfe. I’ve never been here before, you know.”
The day continued to be sunny; the air warmed up to an autumn-like temperature. Guenevere’s knights exercised and drilled in the courtyard on the north side of the castle. At mid-morning, Brit decided to join four of them who were wrestling and had sarcastically invited this woman knight to participate. Twenty minutes later she had beaten them all. After that, the others gave her more respect but avoided challenging her. She decided to run laps around the yard.
Lancelot had begged off spending time with her, claiming there was some business he had to attend to. But not long after she beat the quartet of wrestlers, he joined her. “Hello, again.”
Brit was out of breath from her run. “You said you’d be tied up all morning.”
“Luck was with me.”
“With us.” She smiled as cordially as she could manage. Merlin had briefed her on how to act with him-and on what she should try to find out.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a minister. But I’m Guenevere’s chief knight and therefore her chief advisor, so I get dragged into all kinds of discussions I can’t contribute a thing to.”
She mopped her brow with a towel. “What was this one?”
“Finance.” He made a sour face. “I’m only good at spending money.”
“How much money can it take to run Corfe Castle?”
He looked around, then lowered his voice slightly. “It isn’t just the castle itself. This is a royal household. There is a certain dignity to be upheld. It is not always easy.”
She was going to comment on the meager food portions but decided it might be wiser not to. “Arthur gives her a certain allowance, doesn’t he? Or rather, the nation does. I mean, she is a member of the royal family.”
“Arthur cannot always be relied on to send it when he should.” Again he looked around; no one was paying them much attention. “I miss France. Part of me would like to go back there to live.”
“Being a queen’s-” she groped for a neutral word, “advisor can’t be a terribly hard life. Especially when the queen is so completely separated from the rest of England.”
“Be careful what you say.” His tone was hushed and urgent. “You’d be amazed how many ears she has. Even for me.”
"She doesn’t trust you? I thought the two of you were…” She let the sentence hang unfinished.
“We are.” He said it a bit too quickly to be convincing. “I love her, and she loves me. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?”
She was supposed to love her husband, but it seemed wise not to say so. “You know, I’m still hungry. Breakfast was… frugal, wasn’t it?”
He moved very close to her and spoke softly. “I know a good inn in town. Let me take you there for your noonday meal.”
“Why, Lancelot, I’d love that.”
“And in the meantime, would you like to… wrestle?” His tone made clear that he was not talking about exercise.
“Uh… no thank you. I’m spent.” She forced herself to smile. “But lunch would be lovely.”
“Oh.” He sounded part puzzled, part disappointed. He looked up at the sun. “Two hours. Meet me here, not inside. ”
“Of course.”
Looking around suspiciously, he joined a group of knights who were fencing on the opposite side of the courtyard.
Brit couldn’t help smiling. So there was trouble in Corfe, and it wasn’t just financial. And Lancelot wasn’t exactly being discreet. With luck, this would be easier than she’d expected.
“So Arthur has a proposition for me?”
Guenevere sat in serene majesty at a large wooden table in the library. Once again, Merlin wondered at the relatively few books there. He decided to play with her for a while.
“I went for a walk on the roof earlier this morning. And imagine my surprise-there are ravens living here. They’re almost as tame as the ones I take care of at Camelot. It makes me feel quite at home.”
“The townspeople say they’ve always been here. But I’ve never found them very friendly.”
“One of them came right up to me.”
She was growing testy, which pleased him. “So what does my husband have on his mind? Is he planning to send me the money he promised?”
“I’m afraid I don’t mix in financial affairs, Guenevere. But I’ll ask him, if you like. Are you certain you remember the due date correctly?”
“Quite certain. Merlin, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Why, I came for the view. Corfe has the loveliest harbor in England.”
“View, be damned. You said you’ve brought some kind of scheme from Arthur. I want to know what it is.”
He clucked his tongue. “Really, Guenevere, you haven’t got the hang of diplomacy at all.”
“Nothing connected with Arthur is diplomatic. He is trying to starve me out of the country. I’ve had to ask my father for a loan.”
So that was what he was doing at Corfe-if she was being truthful. “How is your father? I don’t believe I’ve seen him.”
“He is not feeling well. He has gout, and moreover, ocean travel never agrees with him.”
“What a pity. But was that him we saw chatting with Lancelot and Mark last night?”
She glared and refused to rise to it. “What does my husband want? What new plan has he hatched for making me miserable?”
He had strung her out long enough. He leaned back in his chair and turned expansive. “A reconciliation.”
“A-? Are you trying to be funny?”
“I assure you I’m perfectly serious. You have an important birthday next autumn, I believe.”
“I turn forty, yes.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Arthur would like to make it a national holiday.”
For a moment she didn’t seem to know how to react. Then suddenly she burst into laughter. “Of all the grotesque jokes. I’ve only just turned thirty-nine, and he ignored the occasion completely. Really, Merlin.”
“I’m perfectly serious. And so is he.”
“Why would he want to celebrate my birthday? Is it so important to him to announce to the whole country how much younger he is than his wife?”
“I can’t vouch for his motives. But he wants to invite people from every court in Europe. It would boost England’s image internationally. But of course it would require your cooperation.”
She pretended to brush a gnat off her sleeve.
“Guenevere, did you hear me?”
“I did.” She examined her fingernails. “And I am properly impressed at Arthur’s cheek. Was this thing your idea?”
“The king has more than enough ideas of his own.”
She took a deep breath. “So Arthur needs me. And is willing to admit it.”
“For this, at least. What do you say?”
“I’ll have to think. And I’ll have to consult with my own counselors. And my father. It’s so fortunate he’s here just now.”
“And will you ask Mark?”
“Mark is gone.”
Trying to sound casual he asked, “What did he want here?”
“Foolishness.”
“Of what sort?”
“Is it possible Arthur does not know what his military commander gets up to?” She grinned like a predatory wolf in a children’s story. “You may tell Arthur I’ll consider his scheme. But I will need time.”
“We’ll have to start planning soon, you know. The invitations will have to go out by early spring. Arthur would like an answer as soon as possible.” He looked at her, wearing a mask of innocence. “Now, if you can.”
She stood. “I cannot. You may tell him I’ll take it under consideration. No more.”
“That is your final word?”
“For now, yes it is.”
“Very well, then. I’ll tell him. But he won’t be happy.”
She walked to the door then turned and grinned at him again. “If I don’t agree to go along with this-will it hurt him?”
“I expect so. And all of England-including you. You must understand, his ambitions are not for himself but for the country.”
“Yes. Of course they are. But does he really want the crowned heads of Europe to see what bumpkins inhabit this island?”
“That is not a proper sentiment for a queen of England.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.” Her grin grew even wider. “Nevertheless…”
“Needless to say, the main festivities would be held here at Corfe. That means an influx of money. Impressing the rest of Europe would require that we put on the best face possible.”
She tried not to let her reaction show, but her eyes flashed for a second. “Precisely how great an influx?”
“That is open to negotiation.”
“Negotiating with Arthur. He would enjoy placing me in a position where that would be necessary.”
“From what I’ve seen, Guenevere, it may be necessary already.”
She flashed a politician’s smile. “When will you be leaving? ”
“Tomorrow, I imagine.” Quickly, he added, “With Your Majesty’s permission, that is.”
“The sooner, Merlin darling, the better.”
“I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?”
Nimue and Pete ambled about the castle’s perimeter. Merlin had coached her in ways to draw the boy out, as he had Brit. Petronus seemed to enjoy talking; she expected it to be easy.
“I think the refectory’s closed.” He sounded slightly abashed by the fact.
“Really? At Camelot we eat all the time.” Quickly she added, “Eat and exercise. No one wants to grow fat.”
“Is the food good there?” He was a boy in his mid-teens; that much was quite clear.
“It’s quite wonderful. Succulent beef, aromatic breads of all kinds, the most wonderful honey cakes…” She grinned invitingly. “All the time.”
“Colin, I don’t much like it here.”
“Really?” She feigned surprise. “I’ve always thought Guenevere’s court must be wonderful.”
“She’s a tyrant. Or as much of one as she can be with no money. There’s nothing here, nothing interesting. And no room for advancement. My mother is an old friend of hers. She thought sending me here would ensure my future. Instead…” He looked away from her, apparently embarrassed.
“I didn’t get the sense you’re so ambitious, Petronus.”
“Is worrying about my future ambition, then?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’d… I’ve thought about leaving here. More than once.” He still avoided looking at her. “I want to go to Camelot, Colin. That’s where the future lies.”
She pretended this was unexpected. Slowly, deliberately, she said, “I’ll talk to Merlin about it.”
“Will he take me?”
“I think he might be persuaded. But… but you say there’s nothing here. Surely that can’t be true. We saw King Leodegrance last night. And King Mark of Cornwall was here. There must be room for an enterprising young man.”
“Leodegrance is Guenevere’s father. She’s borrowing money from him.”
“Things are that bad?”
He nodded.
“And what about Mark of Cornwall? He’s not in the business of lending money.”
“I don’t know. Whatever he wanted, he didn’t get it. There were arguments. He left angry and disappointed, I think. At least that’s the gossip.”
“Interesting.” She changed the topic. “Maybe we can walk down to the town and get something to eat there.”
“It’s getting late. I have duties. Polishing Lancelot’s armor. ” He sounded embarrassed.
“You work under Lancelot? Are you his squire? I didn’t know.”
“Mm-hmm. I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me. He’s supposed to be training me for knighthood, but he uses me as a servant, nothing more. He likes to look good for his women, so I have to keep his armor gleaming.”
“Women? I thought he and the queen…”
“Yes. She thinks so, too. But he is unfaithful to her every chance he gets. Will you talk to Merlin for me?”
She assured him she would, and he went off to do his polishing.
The sunny day brought a great many people out in Corfe. The streets were crowded, and everyone seemed to be in a pleasant mood. This might be the last sweet day before winter settled in, and winter on the coast was harsh.
Brit and Lancelot strolled the streets, chatting idly. He kept trying to take her hand. She kept pulling away. It was annoying him, and he let it show.
But Brit refused to acknowledge his amorous interests. “It just struck me-the streets here aren’t paved.”
He frowned. “Should they be?”
“I had the impression the Romans paved roads wherever they went. Even a dreary backwater like London has streets paved with stone.”
“The Romans? That might as well have been a thousand years ago.”
The harbor opened up before them. Leodegrance’s ship and the frigate they’d seen earlier had been joined by another, from the looks of it North African, possibly Moroccan. Brit commented on the wide, lively trade that flourished in Corfe. “All Europe must come here, sooner or later.”
“Who knows. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Good. There’s a first-rate inn just up ahead.”
They went inside and found the place crowded with patrons. But the owner recognized Lancelot and found them a table at once. He ordered wine, beef and vegetables for them.
“I hope you like wine, Britomart.”
“I’m from Camelot. We drink it like water.”
“Good. And afterward…” He looked straight into her eyes. “I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I thought we were already doing that.”
A server brought large cups of wine. They drank quickly and Brit asked for more.
“You know what I mean. I’d like to get to know you… intimately.” For an instant he sounded like a shy schoolboy.
"Why, Lancelot, I thought you were the queen’s…what would be the word? Consort?”
“Choose the word you like. We are devoted to each other. But I grew up on a French farm. The example of the rooster is not lost on me.”
She put on a shocked expression and ordered a third round of wine. It was beginning to show on him, though it was not on her.
“So you mean to tell me you cheat on Guenevere?”
“What the queen doesn’t know won’t hurt the knight.”
“But… well, I mean, she is the queen. She does have the power. Crossing her might… well, you know.”
“She trusts me.”
“Women can be such fools. But you seem to have her fooled, all right. I watched you the night of that ceremony at Camelot. You looked at her so adoringly.”
“And then I snuck off.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you… then? I mean, who did you find?”
He shrugged as if to wonder if it made a difference. “Some little girl in the kitchen.”
“You’re joking. So.” She made her voice hard. “You value me at the same price as a kitchen servant.”
He was really feeling the drink, and it showed. “I never said that.”
“You did. Fortunately, I value myself higher than that.”
He sulked. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No, of course not. Men never do.”
“This wine is strong. Aren’t you feeling it?”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m not one of King Arthur’s knights for nothing. The only one I know who can outdrink me,” she told him pointedly, “is Mark of Cornwall.”
“A fool. Why he came here with his damn fool scheme-”
She leaned back casually and put a leg over the edge of the table. “What scheme is that?”
Suddenly, he seemed to realize what was going on. He narrowed his eyes and peered at her. “When are you going back to Camelot?”
“That’s up to Merlin.”
“Go soon. Women should never be knights.”
With that, he got up and stomped out of the inn. A moment later the server came with food for two. Brit ate hers happily, then tucked into his. She was stuck paying for it, but it had been well worth it.
“So. What do we know?”
It was well after dark. Merlin, Nimue and Brit sat by a huge fire in the Common Room at the garrison, drinking mulled wine. After the day’s events, Merlin decided he’d feel more comfortable there. And there was the fact that their horses and luggage were there; they’d be able to make a quicker start in the morning. Besides, he was still not certain where they stood with Guenevere. So just after sunset they made their way to one of the ruined wings of her castle and slipped unobtrusively out and down to the town.
Dalley was relieved to see them. “When you didn’t come back last night I was concerned, even with that note you sent.”
He went off to arrange for sleeping quarters for them- the usual room for Merlin and Colin and a second one for Britomart. They relaxed and took stock of the situation at Corfe.
“First, we know that Guenevere needs money and blames Arthur for it, rightly or wrongly. The situation is so bad, people are leaving her service, or want to.” Merlin ticked off the points on his fingers. “Second, Lancelot claims he was, er, becoming acquainted with a kitchen girl when Borolet was killed. So we need to question the cook staff when we get back. And third, Mark is up to something. No one will say what.”
“Maybe Arthur sent him for some reason.” Nimue was out of her depth and knew it.
“It’s possible, Colin, but I don’t think so. Arthur knew we were coming here. If he was sending Mark, too, he’d have mentioned it.”
Brit looked thoughtful. “That makes sense, but-”
“But?”
“We all know Mark. He’s always been solid and dependable. Why would he be acting like this?”
At that moment Dalley rejoined them. “Your quarters are ready.”
“Excellent. It’s been a long, tiring day.” Merlin started to stand up.
“But before you retire, there’s someone at the gate who wants to see you.”
“Who, for heaven’s sake?”
“Shall I show him in?”
“I suppose so, but-”
“I’ll be right back.”
The three of them looked at each other. Brit said, “If this is another ‘invitation’ to the castle, I don’t want to go.”
“No, Brit, we’re safer here.”
“And better fed.” Nimue laughed.
A moment later Dalley was back. Just behind him was Petronus; he looked anxious. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind my coming here.”
“England is a free country, Petronus.” Merlin tried not to sound too stern. “What can we do for you?”
“I… I want to come with you. I told Colin today.”
“Yes, he told me. I’m afraid we weren’t sure how seriously to take it.”
“You left suddenly. They’re angry about it.” He was only wearing light clothing; evidently he had left in some haste. He moved closer to the fire.
“I’m not at all certain we can simply… take you, Pete. Things are tense enough. We don’t want to cause an incident, even a minor one.”
He looked from one of them to the next. “Please. Please. I hate it here. I want to serve King Arthur at Camelot.”
Merlin sighed deeply then gestured to his two colleagues to join him off in a corner. “What do we do?”
Brit argued for taking him with them. “Guenevere can hardly grow much angrier at Arthur. Besides, he’s only a boy. How much harm can his defection do?”
They huddled for another few moments. Petronus stood very near the fire, trying, without much success, to hear what they were saying; it was a cold night and he wasn’t dressed for it. Finally, they rejoined him, and Merlin told him that, yes, he could accompany them to Camelot. “But this is very unusual. You are pledged to Guenevere’s service. You must give us your word you’ll obey orders and not make any trouble.”
“You have my word, sir.”
Dalley spoke up. “I’m afraid the compound is full. We don’t have another room to spare.”
Petronus offered to sleep next to the fire in the Common Room. “It’s only for one night, after all.”
After another brief huddle Dalley decided that would be all right. Relief showed in the boy’s face.
Soon it was time for everyone to retire for the night. Dalley showed them to their rooms, which were down a hallwayoff the Common Room; Petronus stayed behind. A moment later Brit came back, carrying her red cloak. “Here. You’ll need this.”
“Thank you. I’m freezing.”
“Couldn’t you have gotten a cloak before you left?”
“I left on impulse. I was afraid I’d only have that one chance.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Are you an experienced squire, then?”
“As experienced at Lancelot has let me be.”
“I don’t have a squire. We’ll talk tomorrow, all right? Sleep well.”
“Good night, Britomart.”
He waited till he heard their doors close then lay down beside the hearth and wrapped himself in the cloak.
“Murder! Murder!”
It was the middle of the night. Someone sounded the alarm. Groggily, the three travelers climbed into their clothes and went to the Common Room. Petronus lay beside the fireplace soaked in blood.
Merlin rushed to him. “He’s not dead. I think the wounds aren’t deep.”
But the boy was bleeding heavily. Merlin tore strips of cloth off his own robe and made bandages to staunch the blood.
Dalley rushed in and saw what was happening. “By all the gods! Is he all right?”
“I think so.” Merlin looked up at him. “Do we know what happened? Who did this?”
“Both of the sentries at the gate have been killed. Run through.”
“No!” Brit got down beside Merlin and stroked the boy’s hair. Softly, she asked him, “Did you see who did this?”
“No. I was asleep. I felt a stabbing pain in my side and then… I don’t know.”
“I heard a scream,” Dalley explained. “I came running. A man in a dark cloak was over him, sword raised, about to hack him. When he saw me he turned and ran.”
“You didn’t see his face?” Merlin worked to maintain his composure.
“No. It was too dark. Shadows from the fire-”
“It’s all right. I think the boy will be fine.”
“That’s more than can be said for my sentries. I can see, perhaps, one of them being taken by surprise. But both? It makes no sense.”
Everyone fell silent except Petronus, who groaned softly.
Then with a start Brit exclaimed, “He was wearing my cloak! This was meant for me!”