Petronus’s wounds turned out not to be too serious; they were more bloody than dangerous. But he was badly shaken, too much so to ride a horse. Captain Dalley arranged for a carriage to transport the four of them back to Camelot, and an armed escort to ensure their safety.
Merlin was grateful. “At my age, riding a horse is not fun. My back is still aching from the journey down here.”
Brit oversaw preparations for the trip; Merlin spent time alone, thinking over the events they’d witnessed. Nimue suspected he knew who the killer was, or had a strong suspicion; but when she asked, he put her off. “It’s too early. There is still no proof.”
They traveled swiftly and were careful to avoid London and Caesar’s Bones. Thankfully, there was no more rain or snow, and they made good time. The party arrived at Camelot two nights later; it was nearly midnight and most of the residents were already asleep. They installed Petronus in an unused room in Merlin’s tower, and Nimue offered to check on him periodically. There were candles to light the room. “No smoke. No awful smell. It’s good to be home,” she said.
Arthur was not happy. It was the next morning; he paced his study, trying a new sword. “This is no good. It doesn’t have the right heft or the right balance. I want Excalibur back.” Arthur glared at Merlin then struck at the stone windowsill with his sword. The blade broke neatly in half. “I’ve tried three of these. None is as good as Excalibur. I want you to find it for me.”
“That means finding the killer. You know we’re doing what we can. But we have to be realistic. Excalibur may well have been melted down by now. Or shipped to the mainland and sold on the international market. The same for the stone and the shrine.”
Arthur listened to Merlin’s account of the events at Corfe and frowned ever more deeply. Merlin laid it all out, coolly, dispassionately. Ganelin’s chart was on the table in front of him.
“Our villain would have killed again, Arthur, and the victim would have been Britomart this time.”
“And this boy, this-what is his name?”
“Petronus.”
“Petronus. How is he?
A slight smile crossed Merlin’s lips. “His wounds weren’t terribly deep, despite all the blood. Nothing vital was pierced. But it was quite traumatic for him. He can’t understand why someone would attack him so viciously.”
Arthur slashed the air with the broken sword. “He doesn’t know about the murders, then?”
“No. It was… awkward. I suppose that would be the word. He thinks Camelot is a peaceful, harmonious court. He’ll be over it in a few weeks, possibly less.”
“Splendid. The boy is lucky you were there to tend him.”
“As I said, it looked worse than it actually was. I’m planning to have Colin take care of him while Brit and I are off in the lake country.”
“Well, we have that to be thankful for, at least. There’s been enough death.” For once, Arthur was not drinking. Merlin wondered whether it was a good sign or a bad one. “Colin isn’t going with you?”
Merlin shook his head.
It puzzled Arthur, but he let it pass. “There’s no possibility Petronus was really the intended victim? He was defecting from Guenevere’s court and Lancelot’s service, after all.”
“It’s always a possibility, of course. But he was wrapped in Brit’s cloak.”
The king paced some more. Then abruptly, he stopped and declared, “Lancelot. It must have been Lancelot.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“The boy was his squire. He’d have seen his defection as a personal affront. And you said he had left the Great Hall the night Borolet was killed.”
“That is perfectly possible, of course. And do you think the queen put him up to it?”
“Damn.” It was perfectly obvious to Merlin the king did not really want to think about any of this. “There’s no way of knowing, is there?”
Calmly, Merlin told him, “We’ll know in time. Patience and reason are our allies.”
Arthur tossed what was left of the sword into a corner and walked to the window. “You know what I want.”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
“Do we have your permission to investigate Mark?”
Arthur sighed; Merlin had never heard him sound quite so weary. “Do what you have to.”
“You didn’t send him to Corfe, then.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No. Of course not. Go to Cornwall and see what you can find out.”
“Arthur, you’re going to have to do something about him. Until and unless we can demonstrate clearly that his presence at Corfe was innocent-that he was there looking to gain access to the harbor for his tin shipments or some such-it would be a mistake to keep him in charge of the army.”
Arthur paused. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it isn’t the first thing that occurred to me?”
“Then do it. Come up with some pretext and start easing him out of power.”
He eyed a wineskin on a corner table then seemed to think better of it. “But how? If he is a traitor, I hardly want to put him on his guard before we act. And if he isn’t, I don’t want him to suspect we think he might be.”
“Oh, the problems of being king.” Merlin smiled at him. “You wanted this, remember?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be so complicated.”
“Everything human is. Especially when subtlety is required.”
“Don’t be so smug.” He seemed to be groping for something less highly charged to talk about. “You’ve been training Colin in medical treatment?”
“Some. Happily, not much real knowledge is required here. It’s mostly a matter of bandaging the boy’s wounds and keeping him off his feet till they heal. Of course, keeping a boy that age in bed for several weeks will be an interesting challenge, but I think Colin will be up to it.”
“Several weeks? For minor wounds?”
“I’m not completely sure we can trust him. He is from Guenevere’s court, after all. His defection could be a convenient fiction to cover spying.”
Arthur moved next to him and looked at the chart. “And this thing. Have you made any progress deciphering it?”
"Well…” Merlin was suddenly in his element; he put on his best teacher manner. “These crosses seem to be heading roughly in the direction of the refectory. If we can establish that Lancelot was there with one of the girls, then we’ve eliminated the first set of symbols and the first suspect. And I’m more and more certain the triangles represent Pellenore. They ramble all over the castle.”
“But if Lancelot didn’t kill Borolet and Ganelin, it doesn’t make sense that he’d attack Brit.”
“You said it yourself. The attack may have been unrelated to the earlier killings. It may have been about Petronus. Or maybe Lancelot realized Brit had gotten him drunk and talkative in a way he didn’t like. He confessed to constant infidelity to Guenevere. And of course Guenevere herself may have been behind the attack, if she suspected Britomart was seducing her man.”
“Or her man was the seducer. You think too much, Merlin. ”
“There’s no such thing as thinking too much. It’s what makes me useful to you.”
Arthur resumed his pacing. “Go to Cornwall. Find out why Mark was there.”
“First, Morgan, I think. She and that wizened weasel of a son of hers will be easier to eliminate.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You think Mark is the villain.”
“I think there’s a good chance of it. But I’ve been wrong before.”
“I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Arthur. You must understand what that means. We have a terrible problem. He’s the military commander. A good many of the knights will be loyal to him. Removing him-arresting him-will be tricky. You need hard, absolutely irrefutable proof.”
“Find it. Whether it’s Mark we’re after or not, find it. Do whatever you want. Go to Byzantium and investigate the emperor if you must. But find me the killer.” He glared around the room. “And get me my sword back. And the Stone of Bran.”
Merlin stopped at the door. “Oh, and about that school for the squires and pages?”
“Later, Merlin.”
The mood throughout Camelot was subdued. Brit, Nimue and Merlin were all determined not to let out word that they were on the trail of the twins’ murderer. The official story was that they were simply running some errands for the king. But people knew better, or at least suspected. Maintaining an official silence was becoming difficult. And there was a certain amount of tension: who was suspected? Even the servants were on edge.
Merlin made his way back to his tower, stopping to chat with various people, nearly all of whom tried to find out why he’d gone to Corfe, what he’d found there and why he’d come back with one of the squires from Guenevere’s court. He fielded all the questions quite tactfully, so that no one realized how evasive he’d been till after he’d moved on.
He found Nimue in Petronus’s room, checking bandages. He said good morning to her then asked, “How are you feeling this morning, Pete?”
The boy was smiling. “I’m at Camelot. I’m to be Britomart’s squire. How could I not be happy?”
“Believe me, it could happen. Are your wounds giving you much discomfort?”
“They itch.”
“That’s a good sign. It means they’re healing, and quickly.”
“Good. Can I go out and exercise with the other squires?” He shifted his weight in the bed.
“You are to remain in bed and in this room until I give you permission to do otherwise. We want you well and healthy. Do you understand?”
“But I feel fine.”
“You’re to do as you’re told. We have one rebel to deal with; we don’t need another.”
“Rebel?”
Merlin had let himself forget that the boy knew nothing about the Stone of Bran and the murders, and that he’d decided not to tell him yet. Nimue covered his slip. “I’ll tell you about it later, Pete, all right?”
Merlin asked her to join him in his study, and they climbed the spiral stairs together.
“I’ll prepare a calmative potion for you. Put it in his food or his drink and it will make him less restless.”
She laughed. “And easier to control?”
“To the extent boys that age can be controlled at all, yes. And I’ll prepare a salve to help his wounds heal. Have you had a chance to talk with Greffys?”
“Just for a moment or two. I don’t think he’s found out much.”
“He hasn’t been talking to the servants?”
She nodded. “He has, but he’s out of his depth.”
“Then it’s just as well you’re staying behind. Have him introduce you to the more talkative among them and see what you can learn. But remember, be discreet. Be indirect. We don’t want to put anyone on his or her guard.”
“I know what to do.”
“I want to move quickly. Brit and I will leave to visit Morgan tomorrow morning. If you can find the girl who was with Lancelot, or at least someone who knows definitely that he was with a girl, we will have eliminated one suspect, at least.”
“If. Do you think there is such a girl?”
“I think Lancelot is probably too dim to have invented a story like that. What would be the point?”
“Male boasting. Never underestimate the power of the male ego.”
“See if you can find out, one way or the other.”
"But Merlin… why would a girl from the kitchen…?”
“Don’t be naïve, Nimue. Knights, lords and kings have their way with women of the lower ranks. Remember Anna? It is called privilege. If there is something you should never underestimate, it is the vulnerability of women.”
“Vulnerability? There might be another name for it. But I’m more grateful than ever to be disguised as Colin.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you are, too. You are the most apt pupil I could want.”
“Why, thank you, Merlin.” She blushed.
“Didn’t you know I think so?”
“You’ve never bothered to say it before. Men.”
He crossed to his table and found a sheet of paper. “Here. I want you to try and find the chemicals on this list for me. You should be able to locate them in the armory, I think. Tell the armorers they’re for me.”
She took the list and read it, puzzled. “Acids?”
“I’m no swordsman. And this is getting dangerous. We can’t count on our villain mistaking someone else for one of us a second time. I’ll be in the stables, at the blacksmith’s forge. I have some glass-blowing to do.”
Arthur wanted Merlin and Brit to take an armed escort. He told them so at dinner in the refectory. Merlin insisted that would only attract attention. “We’ll be safer traveling on our own.”
“Nonsense. You’re both ministers of the state. And you’re much too valuable to put yourselves at risk. Suppose someone comes at you with a sword? Look at what happened to Petronus. You’re an able man, Merlin, but you aren’t much good in a fight.”
Brit bristled at this. “And I, of course, am completely useless.”
“Britomart, we are dealing with a cunning villain here. Possibly a mad one. I won’t have you vulnerable when it is avoidable. You will travel by carriage, not by horse, and you will have an escort of soldiers. I’ll have Accolon lead them. This is not debatable.” He turned and walked away from them.
And so the next morning a carriage and driver were provided, along with a detachment of six men on horse-back, including Accolon. Brit and Merlin stepped inside their conveyance unhappily, and with a lurch it began to move. The horses’ hooves clattered loudly on the courtyard stones.
Brit felt her skill as a knight was in question. “I’ve beaten most of the knights here in single combat.” She sulked. “Including Arthur himself. He knows I can take care of myself.”
“You mustn’t take this personally, Brit. He’s underestimating me, too. But it is a matter of public policy. If we bring Mark down, you will be the country’s top military officer. If I were advising the king, I’d tell him to do exactly as he’s doing.”
“How, exactly, is he underestimating you?” She asked the question with a sneer in her voice.
“He is assuming the only way to defend oneself is though main force.”
“Isn’t it? Merlin, you’re well into middle age. And you’ve never been an athlete. How could you possibly defend yourself from an attacker?”
He smiled, reached into his pocket and produced a handful of small glass globes. Each of them contained some clear fluid. “With these.”
“With marbles? Merlin, you’re not serious.”
“These are made from very thin, very fragile glass. And inside each of them is a quantity of aqua regia.”
“Acid? You mean to fight off an insane killer with marbles full of acid?”
“Aqua regia is not simply acid-it is the strongest acid known to science. It can dissolve gold. If someone comes at me with sword drawn, it will stop him, believe me.”
“You’re making a fairly big assumption. Suppose he attacks from a distance? With spears or arrows?”
“No defense is perfect, Brit.”
“I’ll say.” She smirked. “Why don’t you leave your safety in my hands?”
“Yours, or the soldiers accompanying us?”
“Be quiet.”
Their party moved through the moors, not far from the hamlet where Anna had lived. The sky turned dark, and streamers of mist snaked through the air. Trees were stunted and twisted. One of the soldiers in their escort produced a flute and began playing mournful melodies. For a time, the soldiers talked among themselves; then they grew more subdued. At one point an enormous owl swooped down at the carriage as if it might be prey for the bird. One of the soldiers swiped at it with his sword, but it was too quick and too agile.
“I don’t like this,” Brit complained. “This is like a landscape out of a nightmare.”
“Yet you’re certain your sword will be effective here.”
“Stop bickering, Merlin. I’m serious.”
“Have you never traveled through this part of England before?”
“No, of course not. I’m a military commander, and Morgan doesn’t have much of an army.”
“What kind of landscape did you expect?” he asked in a mock-serious tone. “We are visiting the realm of the witches.”
The flutist’s music echoed eerily through the fog. When the party stopped to rest Brit asked him about his instrument. “It has the strangest sound, like nothing I’ve ever heard.”
The man held his flute out to her. “Here you are, my lady. There aren’t many like it left.”
She took it. It was the color of faded ivory, and it had unusual heft. “What is this made of?”
“Bone, my lady. This was carved from the thighbone of some ancient enemy defeated in battle. My father willed it to me.”
“Human bone?”
He nodded. “That is why it sounds so mournful. It has felt everything human.”
Gingerly, she gave it back to him. “Try and play something livelier, will you?”
“The instrument dictates the music, not the musician.”
“Nevertheless, try and play something that might lift our spirits out of this terrible place.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The party traveled on. In time the swamps gave way to little lakes, then to larger ones. But the sky remained dark and the fog never lifted, not even momentarily. They came to a small village that actually had an inn, and Merlin decided they would spend the night there.
Accolon disagreed with this. “I think we should try and make it to Morgan’s castle tonight. We’re being followed.”
Merlin looked down the road behind them. There was no one in sight. “Are you certain?”
“Quite certain. They’ve been there since just after we left Camelot.”
Merlin let out a long, deep sigh. “I’m so weary of this. But we need rest, Accolon. We’ll stop here tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
The innkeeper, happy to have nine paying guests, went out of his way to make them feel comfortable. Supper was surprisingly large; wine flowed freely; beds were ample and soft and warm, and there were cheerful fires in each room.
Brit was not happy as she ate her meal. “This tastes like fog.”
Merlin was amused by her discomfort. “You have eaten fog, then?”
“We’ve been eating it all day. This meat has the same foul taste as the air we’ve been breathing. It has polluted everything.”
“And Morgan has breathed it all her life. Perhaps that accounts for her personality and behavior.”
“Do you really think there’s a chance she’s behind the murders? I thought you had decided someone else was the culprit.”
“Don’t underestimate Morgan, Brit. She has a notorious chest of poisons, and she uses them as instruments of policy in her little queendom. She sits in that hideous castle of hers and casts her spells and charms, and chants her invocations to all her imaginary gods. Then when they fail she resorts to poison or a knife in the dark. And people wonder why I prefer reason and logic to superstition and belief.”
“You’re no one to talk, Merlin. Everyone knows you rigged some kind of trick with that sword of Arthur’s-”
“Excalibur.”
“Yes. Everyone knows you set up some sort of ruse with it to convince people he was destined to be king. So much for logic and reason.”
“What could be more reasonable than using people’s gullibility to one’s own advantage? Or to the advantage of one’s king?”
“Then why convict Morgan of these crimes? Political murder is one thing. Rulers have been doing that since the first people crawled out of caves. But viciously hacking two boys to death-that’s another thing entirely. From what you say, it doesn’t sound like her style at all.”
“Morgan is as murderous as any queen in history. She takes handsome young men as lovers, and-”
“A queen’s right.”
“And she keeps dogs. Large, evil things, white with red ears. When she is finished with her lovers, she kills them and feeds them to the dogs.”
“That’s horrible.” Brit’s eyes widened. “And Arthur wanted to bring civilization to England. He hasn’t been able to civilize his own sister. But…”
“Yes?”
“If she wanted to murder at Camelot, wouldn’t she have used poison, then? That seems more in character, from what you’ve said. A broadsword is not subtle enough.”
“That is what I keep thinking. And hoping.”
“You want Mark to be guilty, then?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be glib. If I’ve ever been wrong about anything, I wish it were this. But I’m afraid I’m not.”
They slept and had a good, hearty breakfast the next morning. Then they set off through the dark, fog-shrouded world as they had the previous day. The mist was even thicker; at times it was difficult to see the road. Accolon and most of his men had drunk too much the night before; they were plainly hungover.
Then at length Morgan’s castle reared up ahead of them through the fog. A massive, black, rambling place, even darker and more ominous than Guenevere’s castle at Corfe. Lights flickered faintly in the windows.
“How can anyone live in a place like this?”
“Perhaps she chose it because it suited her, Brit.”
“Did she choose it? Or did she inherit it?”
“Point taken. This has been the home of the witch queens for centuries. It is not what you would expect the seat of women’s government to be like, is it?”
“Be quiet, Merlin.”
“In Rome you may see the ruins of the house where the college of Vestal Virgins resided. It is the foulest, ugliest building in the city. There is something about women living together, monastically…”
“Shut up.”
“The Vestals were infamous for using poison to further their interests, too.”
“Please, Merlin, this is not something I want to discuss.”
They came to a place where sentries had been posted. The captain of the escort explained that Merlin was here on the king’s business, and after a thorough search, they were permitted to move on. As the castle drew near, it looked more and more ominous, more and more a place of death.
Petronus was feeling restless. And he was bristling at having to obey Colin.
“I’m fine, Colin. Let me get up, and show me the castle.”
“Merlin’s orders were for you to remain in bed till you’re completely healed.”
“I am. I feel fine.”
“Let me see your wounds.”
Reluctantly, he submitted to an examination. And his wounds had in fact healed, for the most part. But Nimue expressed doubt about whether it would be wise for him to leave his bed. “Merlin knows more about healing and medicine than any man in England. You should do as he instructed.”
“Please, Colin. We can have some fun together.”
A moment later Greffys knocked and came in. “Colin, I’ve been looking for you.”
Nimue introduced the two squires. They seemed to bond almost at once. But Greffys had business on his mind. “I’ve been getting to know the servants. Some boys say they remember Lancelot in the scullery that night. Arthur said I should tell either Merlin or Britomart.”
“You can tell me. You know I’m Merlin’s apprentice.”
“That’s what Arthur told me to do.”
Petronus listened to their exchange, puzzled. He asked what was going on, and Nimue finally gave him a brief account of the murders and the theft of the Stone of Bran and Excalibur. “That’s why we were at Corfe-investigating whether Guenevere might be behind it all.”
“And is she?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t think Merlin thinks so.”
He put the pieces together. “But then-whoever attacked me-”
“Exactly. But we don’t know who it was. Or why.”
“So I’m involved in this. I mean, without knowing a thing about it, I’ve become involved. I want to see the man who attacked me brought to justice.”
“With Merlin hunting him, you will. I’m sure of it.”
Greffys became impatient listening to them. “These boys I’ve found, we ought to talk to them now. They don’t much trust anyone above their social station.”
“Then let’s go.”
“And I think they know the girl Lancelot was with.”
Petronus got to his feet; he was slightly unsteady. “I’m coming, too.”
Nimue decided she did not have the energy or will to argue with him; he would be on his feet soon enough, one way or another. “All right. Let’s hurry.”
They made their way through the castle to the Great Hall and beyond it to the kitchen. Two boys were waiting there, seated at one of the tables. They weren’t much older than Greffys, and they looked nervous.
The taller of them stood and looked suspiciously at the three of them. “Who are they?” he asked Greffys.
Greffys introduced them. “Colin here is Merlin’s apprentice. ”
“An apprentice wizard.” The boy didn’t try to hide his distaste. “Poring over books and memorizing spells while we scrape the floors and tables clean.”
“And this is Petronus, Britomart’s squire.” He introduced the kitchen boys as Dennis, the one who had questioned him, and Tom.
Dennis, scowling, said, “You told me there’d only be one.”
“Petronus here was attacked by the same one who killed Borolet and Ganelin.”
“Really?”
Petronus nodded. “I want to find him.”
Nimue decided it was time to take charge. “Greffys tells us you saw Lancelot here that night, Dennis.”
The boy nodded. “He had a girl. All the knights come here when they have girls, or when they’re looking for one.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “To do it in the pantries, where no one can see.”
“Was he here long?”
“Long enough.” Dennis leered.
“And she was with him the whole time?”
He nodded.
“Who is she?”
“Gretchen. Tom’s sister.” Dennis sounded smug.
“We’ll want to talk to her.”
“No one’s supposed to know.” Tom sounded betrayed. “She’ll be mad at me if she knows I told anyone.”
“This is important, Tom. I can promise you each…” She pretended to be doing a sum in her head. “I can promise you each a gold coin when Merlin gets back.”
“A gold coin!” Dennis couldn’t hide his excitement.
“Just persuade Gretchen to talk to us about that night.” Weakly, she added, “There will be a coin in it for her, too.”
Merlin and Britomart were installed in rooms in Morgan’s castle. It seemed to Brit their welcome was rather grudging. Merlin was sanguine. “We did come uninvited, after all.”
“Courtesy to strangers and travelers is the hallmark of civilization, Merlin. Especially travelers on the king’s business. She did have a letter from him.”
“Civilization is a comfortable lie, Brit.”
The women at Morgan’s court all dressed, like her, in billowing black robes with enormous sleeves. Brit tried to force herself not to think of them as witches, but they so self-consciously assumed that image, it wasn’t easy. They all seemed to work at being cold, aloof and distant.
Alone with Merlin, she commented on it. “It’s so strange. They don’t even make noise when they walk or move.”
“That takes years of practice.”
“And how much practice does it take to be rude? You’d think at least a few of them might show signs of friendliness now and then.”
“They are struggling to preserve a matriarchal society that is fast being eclipsed. Not just here, not just by Arthur, but all across Europe. In most places it is dead already. I imagine they must consider friendliness a luxury.”
“Some society. Dull clothes and bad manners.”
“Morgan’s kind of government has always rested on superstitious flummery. ‘We rule because the Goddess says we ought to.’ And how could anyone know the purported Goddess wants Morgan to rule? Because Morgan says so. It has only been a matter of time before a society like that began to come unraveled. All Arthur has done is hurry the process.”
Suddenly, Morgan herself appeared in the doorway. “What my brother has done,” she intoned grandly, “is slaughter thousands of innocent people in his bid for power. He has destroyed a culture so subtle and complex he has never even bothered to try to understand it. And he has sent the two of you here to help the process along.”
“You see hidden motives everywhere, Morgan.” Merlin made himself smile. “But life at court does that to everyone. Arthur has some specific requests for the ceremonies at Midwinter Court, and he asked me to come discuss them with you.”
“Since when does Arthur concern himself with the niceties of ritual?”
“I should think you’d be happy he’s doing it at all.”
“Better late than never, Merlin?” she japed. “The gods and goddesses he has slighted so pointedly may not see things that way.”
“And they will choose to express that through you, of course.”
“Of course. I am their priestess. And they have been… dislodged from their proper place.”
“We expect to have recovered the Stone of Bran by Midwinter. Surely that must be a sign of their favor.”
“Nonsense. Merlin, what are you doing here? What do you really want?”
He sighed an exaggerated sigh. “We are here for the reasons I’ve stated. It isn’t necessary to look for intrigue everywhere, Morgan. That suggests a particularly morbid view of humanity.”
“I see things as they are. You will come to my chambers tomorrow after breakfast, and we shall discuss court ritual.”
“Fine.”
Brit spoke up. “Is there any chance of a late meal? We spent all day on the road.”
“I’ll send someone to the kitchen to see.”
“Thank you.”
Morgan turned grandly in the doorway, letting her robes swirl with an intentional flourish. “Till noon, then. Be prompt.” And she swept off down the hall.
It was late at night. Camelot’s halls were all but deserted. Torches cast stark shadows on the stones. Nimue, Greffys and Petronus made their way to the refectory.
At the entrance, Tom and Dennis were waiting for them. “Hello,” Dennis said. “She’s waiting. She wants her gold coin up front, before she’ll talk.”
“Doesn’t she trust us?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Nimue walked past him into the kitchen and looked around. There were rough-hewn benches in a room made of rough-hewn stones. In one corner, by a large cook fire, stood a young woman apparently in her late teens. Her hair was long and dark, and she wore it in braids. She was dressed in a ragged floor-length skirt of brown homespun or some similar material and a very low-cut top. Her feet were bare.
“Good evening.” Nimue remembered to smile. “You are Gretchen?”
The girl smiled and tossed her hair coquettishly. “Yes. And you are…?”
“Colin. I am Merlin’s apprentice and assistant.”
“The sorcerer’s apprentice. Like the old story.”
“Merlin is not a-” She decided there was no point starting an argument about something so irrelevant. “Dennis and Tom say you have something to tell me.”
“Dennis and Tom,” she said with emphasis, “tell me you have some gold for me.”
“When Merlin returns, you will be amply rewarded.”
“Then when Merlin returns, I’ll tell you what I know.” She heaved her bosom and looked at Colin quite pointedly. “I’ve seen you around the castle. You’re an attractive boy- man.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want to get acquainted?” Sensing she was on shaky ground with him, she added, “Free?”
“No thank you.”
“All the knights want me.”
“And most of them have her.” Tom laughed. “Lancelot wasn’t the first.”
She swiped at him angrily, but he pulled away, laughing at her.
Nimue jumped on the opening he’d given her. “You were with Lancelot?”
“Well.” She pouted. “I guess you could say that.”
Tom tapped Nimue’s shoulder and pointed. “They did it in that little pantry over there. Everybody calls it ‘Gretchen’s Bedroom.’ ”
Nimue refused to be distracted. “And this was on the night of the ceremony with the Stone of Bran? The night Borolet was killed?”
Gretchen reached out and touched Nimue’s arm. “You’re strong for a scholar.”
“Answer my question, please.” She decided to take a softer tone and play up to the girl. “Please.”
“Yes, that was the night. Meet me here later, all right? No one will know.”
“You’re certain it was Lancelot? And it was on that night?”
“Yes, it was him. Tall, blond, with the nicest muscles. And really dumb. He gave me twice what I would have asked for.”
Petronus laughed and said, “No wonder Guenevere is hard up for money.”
“He kept asking me to keep our little affair a secret. Said his girlfriend would get nasty if she even suspected. But I figured he was making that up, to keep me quiet. They all say that. Even the king.”
“Arthur-?!”
“Yes, good, noble King Arthur. He tells me no one understands him, same as they all do. But he’s never given me a thing, the bastard. Not one royal farthing for poor little Gretchen.”
A couple of other kitchen servants walked in, talking. Nimue watched them, made mildly uncomfortable by their presence. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me, Gretchen? Anything about Lancelot, I mean.”
“He talked to me in French. When his passion peaked, he spoke French.”
“About that night-how and where did you meet him?”
“Why don’t you and I discuss that privately?”
“Really, Gretchen, that is not what I’m after.”
“All men are after that. What kind of man are you?”
“A scholar, unraveling a mystery.”
She shrugged. “Call it what you like. It always comes to the same thing with men.”
“And with women. You want your money. Merlin will pay you.”
She moved beside Nimue and rubbed against her. “I’d rather get it from you, Colin.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want.”
“Then leave me alone. Send Merlin to me. With coin.”
Swaying her hips, she walked off into the corridor that led to “Gretchen’s Bedroom.”
Nimue looked at Greffys. “Well. That is that, it seems.”
“You should come back to her. She’s worth it. Believe me.”
“A boy your age, Greffys? Spending good money for women? That doesn’t seem right.”
“How old were you the first time, Colin?”
“Old enough. And there was no cash exchanged. But never mind.” She wanted to change the subject.
Petronus said, “Then the girl must have been homely.”
“I shouldn’t have let you out of your sickbed, Petronus. Behave yourself or I’ll order you back to it. Let’s go.”
As they left the kitchen, Gretchen watched from the dark corridor, wishing Colin was friendlier.
The next morning, after breakfast, Merlin met privately with Morgan.
“You said Arthur has some specific requests for the Midwinter ceremonies. As if he knew a thing about ritual and tradition. What does he want?”
“Well, I’m not certain you’ll like it.”
“Go ahead. I can only imagine the worst. And Arthur isn’t that imaginative.”
He bristled at this but resolved to go on. “He wants prayers to the gods.”
“Naturally. What else?”
“And not the goddesses.”
“Oh.” She stiffened slightly. “The Morrigan, the great Goddess of Death, has always ruled here. It would not be wise to ignore her.”
“I believe he knows you were named for her. Nevertheless…”
“And Danu, her daughter. We are Tuatha du Danu, the People of Danu. Has Arthur forgotten?”
“Arthur is quite keenly aware of how effective religious myth is as propaganda. That is precisely why he wants male deities, not female ones.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I’ve known Arthur all my life. He isn’t that thoughtful. This is your idea.”
“Arthur authorized it.”
“I shall pray to England’s traditional deities. That is not subject to further discussion.”
“I see. That is your final answer?”
She nodded.
Merlin rose to go. “That settles it, then. I’ll carry that news to the king.”
“Do so.”
“Trust me, Morgan, I will.”
“And then?”
“He will have to consider whether to have you officiate.”
She forced a smile. “Who else would have that privilege? ”
“There are other priests. Thank you for clarifying your position, Morgan.”
“I am the high priestess of England, chosen of the gods. Remind Arthur of that. To permit anyone else to officiate at a holiday as important as Midwinter would cause a scandal, to say the least.”
“Of course. I’ll be certain to tell him.” He decided to take a shot in the dark. “Oh-by the way?”
“Yes?”
“What was Mark doing here?”
She showed no reaction. “You know about that?”
So he had been there, as he had been at Corfe. “It is not easy to keep intelligence from Arthur, Morgan. You should know that.”
“Or from you?”
“If you like.”
“Mark wants to be king. You must know that, or suspect. Arthur is a fool to keep him in a position of power.”
“And he wants you to… to do what, exactly?” He smiled a politician’s smile.
“If you are so adept at gaining intelligence, you shouldn’t have to ask. Good day, Merlin. Have a nice journey back to Camelot.” Suddenly she narrowed her eyes. “Where is that woman you came with?”
“Britomart? I imagine she’s exercising with your knights.”
“I hope so. Good day, Merlin.”
Brit had agreed to look for Mordred while Merlin kept the boy’s mother occupied. She found him in the library, reading a book.
“Knowledge, at the court of Morgan le Fay, Mordred? Surely superstition is the thing. Or religion-assuming there’s any difference. I’d be careful. You may be setting a dangerous precedent.”
“It’s only one of Caesar’s war commentaries.”
“You’re a warrior, then?”
“No, a historian.” His guard was up; his tone revealed it.
“Oh. I see.”
“Court life doesn’t really suit me. I’ve always wanted to go to Alexandria, to see the great library there.”
“Merlin’s been there. Did you know that? In fact he lived there for a while.”
“Really? I’ll have to ask him about it.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it.” In a confidential tone, she added, “He likes to talk.”
“So does Mother. There are times when I’d give my entire inheritance for a bit of peace.”
“Tell me, is she really a witch?”
“She really thinks she is,” he whispered. “Doesn’t that come to the same thing?”
“Why hasn’t she married you off yet? You are the royal heir, after all.”
“I was betrothed for a time. But I’m not really interested in women. I think the girl understood that. She ran off.”
“Just between us, I’m not really interested in men.” Her tone was confidential, but she was smiling.
Suddenly Mordred seemed to relax. “Marriage… it seems so unnatural to me.”
“To me, too.”
“I always felt sorry for the poor girl.”
“You have a reputation for being disagreeable.”
Suddenly he put his guard up. “I imagine I am, to most people. I want to be left alone with my books, not bothered with ritual and protocol and backstabbing plots and all the other rubbish that fills Mother’s world.” He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And Uncle Arthur’s. And yours, for that matter.”
But she saw the opening she wanted. “Yet everyone says you and Lancelot were off whoring together the night of that ceremony at Camelot.”
“When that boy was killed?” He seemed to find it odd. “No, I left the Great Hall that night, looking for the privy. And I got lost-Camelot is such a bewildering place. But I did see Lancelot. He said he was going to the kitchen and asked me if I wanted to join him with the girls there.”
“You didn’t, though?”
“I needed the privy.” He sounded mildly embarrassed; then suddenly his tone shifted. “What madman architected Camelot? Even for a castle it’s quite impossible. I mean, no one in his senses would choose to live in a castle. They’re all unbearable. But Camelot-!” He wrinkled his nose, as if that gesture said what needed to be said. “Uncle Arthur must be insane to live there. They say he took the place from mad old Pellenore. That says it all, doesn’t it?”
“I imagine so.” Brit decided that, against all probability, she could learn to like Mordred. Or at least she wanted to. He wiped his nose on his sleeve again, and she remembered who and what he was.
And he seemed to remember to put his guard up. “You aren’t married. Women should be.”
“So should princes.”
“Not scholar-princes.” His tone was defensive but hushed. “I swear, someday I’ll run away to Alexandria.”
“You really should talk to Merlin. I think the two of you might get along, if either of you would give the other a chance.”
“Merlin is my mother’s enemy. And the enemy of religion, or superstition as he calls it. You too.” His habitual suspicion was returning.
“Is it so awful to think human affairs should be governed by reason?”
“Human beings aren’t reasonable creatures. That is why we need the gods. We are capable of reason, but how often do we make our decisions based on it?” He leaned back in his chair and assumed an air of nonchalance. “No, it’s to be Alexandria for me. They say the library’s walls are lined with books thicker than the stone they’re built of.”
“I imagine so.” She stood to go. Mordred’s moods shifted so quickly she didn’t think she’d learn anything else useful from him. “Well, I’m going to get some exercise. Would you like to join me?”
“No thank you.”
“Until later, then.”
“Have a good day, Britomart.” He smiled at her. “Go and bother someone else for whatever it is you want to know.”
There was dense fog the next morning. Merlin suggested delaying their return to Camelot. But Brit for some reason was anxious to leave. “The roads are marked. And we have our escort; they’ll find the way.”
No one saw the party off. Morgan claimed to be occupied with court business, and there was no sign at all of Mordred. So the carriage and its escort set off through the thickest fog any of them could remember. The sound of the horses’ hooves was deadened by it; the entire world was quiet. Accolon and his men talked in muted voices.
Merlin started another of his panegyrics on life in sunny Egypt, and Brit lapsed into daydreams; she had heard him rhapsodize about Alexandria often enough. But he kept up, and she decided to voice her annoyance. “Don’t the Egyptians live among the corpses of their ancestors?”
“They do not forget their past, if that is what you mean.”
“It sounds perfectly morbid. And they believe in magic. You should have picked up a few pointers while you were there.”
“I saw enough charlatans taking in the gullible to have a fair idea how it is done. Is that what you mean?”
“It’s no fun trying to needle you, Merlin. What did you learn from Morgan? Anything useful?”
“She told me Mark had been there. But I couldn’t get her to say why.”
“Mordred admitted he’d left the Great Hall on the night of the first murder. He says he got lost in the halls.”
“I suppose that is plausible. Camelot is a bewildering castle.”
“And he says he met Lancelot, who was on his way to the kitchen for some illicit lovemaking.”
“We’ll have to see if we can find anyone who saw him.”
“Did you know Mordred was betrothed once? He says the girl ran away.”
“Imagine.”
“I asked around and got a good idea when she left. Where did Colin come from, Merlin?”
“Don’t pry, Britomart.”
They came to a place where the ground was soaked and the fog was even more dense than it had been everywhere else. Accolon looked into the carriage and told them they’d be slowing down.
“Not too much, please.” Merlin said he wanted to make Camelot by sunset tomorrow, if possible.
“We’ll do our best. But the ground is treacherous.”
“We’re anxious to get back to Camelot, Accolon.”
“Yes, sir. But-”
“But what?”
“We are being followed again.”
“Splendid.”
A moment later the sounds of scuffling came from outside the carriage. Swords clanged; voices were raised. Accolon shouted orders.
Merlin and Brit looked out to see they were surrounded by a dozen or more armored soldiers. Brit drew her sword and jumped out to join the fight. She, Accolon and their men fought bravely and managed to disable three of the attackers. Slowly, patiently, Merlin stepped outside onto the soft, damp ground and reached into his pocket. When one of the attackers came at Merlin with sword drawn, he produced one of his glass globes and smashed it into the man’s face. The man screamed, covering his face with his hands, and stumbled off into the fog. But his sword had pierced Merlin’s thigh, and some of the acid had burned his hand.
Unruffled by the commotion around him, Merlin walked around the carriage, tossing more globes in the faces of the attacking knights. One by one they screamed, covered their faces and lurched off into the mist. Soon the skirmish was over. One of Accolon’s men was badly wounded; the rest were all right except for minor cuts.
Britomart was quite all right. Out of breath, she joined Merlin. “I’ll never scoff at your little marbles again.”
“Science and reason defeat brute force every time, Brit.” He bent down and washed his burning hand in a puddle.
“Nonsense. It worked for you this time. But if there had been more of them…”
“There weren’t.”
“There might easily have been. We were lucky.”
“You and the others fought bravely, Brit. Bravely and skillfully. We all won this fight. Now let us get moving again before more attackers appear.”
“There won’t be any more. We’ve beaten them. And they have no way of knowing how many acid globes we have.”
“A good deterrent, then.”
“But we’ll have to be watchful until we reach home.”
Slowly, Accolon restored order. The wounded soldier rode in the carriage with Merlin; Brit rode his horse. And despite the fog and the unsteady ground, the party made good time. There were no more attacks.
They arrived at Camelot late the next night. The next morning, well rested, they met in Merlin’s study. He was walking on a cane and seemed unconcerned about it, and the acid burns on his right hand were bandaged. Nimue asked what had happened, and Brit explained.
“Will you be all right, Merlin? I wouldn’t like to see you walking on that stick all the time. Will your hand be scarred?”
“At my age, what difference does it make?”
“That’s an absurd attitude to take.”
Brit couldn’t resist adding, “So much for a life based on reason.”
But Merlin ignored them and unrolled Ganelin’s chart. “Now. Let’s put this together with what we’ve learned and see if we can’t make sense of it.”