Camelot came into view just after dawn on the first sunny morning Merlin had seen in weeks. It stood on its hilltop, its stones gleaming in the early light. Its windows beamed with lights that had not yet been extinguished; but they were blinking out one by one.
Arthur’s wounds had been healing well but slowly. Merlin, backed up by Bedivere, insisted that Arthur ride in a carriage instead of on horseback at the head of the column. Merlin, seeing the beautiful prospect before them, woke him gently. “Arthur, wake up. This is something you ought to see.”
Groggily the king asked, “What? What could there possibly be?”
“Home. Camelot. I have never seen it look so beautiful.”
Arthur sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve seen Camelot before, thank you. Why don’t you let me sleep?”
“Don’t be difficult. Just look.”
He looked. There was the castle, its two great towers soaring into the sky, its stones illuminated brilliantly by the sun.
“Look at it, Arthur. After all the horrors on our journey, we are home. And it must be the most welcoming place in the world.”
“Are you turning into a poet? You certainly don’t sound like the cold-eyed scholar you always pretend to be.”
“Even a cold-eyed scholar can be glad of hearth and home. Paintonbury and Grosfalcon are behind us. I have hope that we have seen the last of the killings.”
“And now you’ve become an optimist.” Arthur smirked at him. “And they say old people lose the ability to grow.”
“Go ahead, Arthur. Enjoy yourself. You are king and you have the right. Spoil this beautiful moment for me.”
Arthur fell silent and looked out at the castle again. “We’ll be there in another hour. You’re right, Merlin. It is a beautiful place. A fitting symbol of everything we’ve tried to accomplish in England, you and I.”
“And we will have our first good, full English breakfast since we left on this fool’s errand.”
Arthur’s face lit up. “With honey cakes.”
Merlin was not certain whether to say it; he did not want to dampen Arthur’s mood. But he could not restrain himself. “You forget, Arthur. The woman who bakes those cakes is in jail now, along with her sons.”
“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?” His smile vanished. “Now that is the voice of the Merlin I know.”
“I am not a poet after all?”
“Don’t be absurd. But… but surely we can release Marian and her boys now. We know that Morgan was behind it all.”
“Do we?”
Arthur rubbed the bandage on his chest. “Is this my imagination, then?”
“You have always been so reluctant to confront Morgan. What will you do now? Send out parties of knights to find and arrest her?”
“It’s too early to think. I need that good breakfast you mentioned.”
When the party moved through the gate and into Camelot’s courtyard, Simon of York was waiting to greet them with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Behind him stood Petronus, holding still more paperwork. Various other functionaries were scattered about the yard waiting to press their business with the returning monarch and his chief advisor. Merlin stared at the scene and muttered, “Home. So much for that.”
Bedivere dismounted and approached the carriage to help Arthur out.
And Arthur grumped. “I wish you’d all stop fussing over me. I’m over the damage Morgan did to me.”
“You are our king. The nation’s welfare depends on you.”
Arthur took a few steps and brushed some dust off himself. “The nation runs itself. Crops grow or fail, the weather turns fair or foul, people get on with their lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Even the government goes on its merry way without me.” He took a deep breath, seeming to relish the cold morning air. “It’s good to be home.”
Simon had listened to his little speech with mild alarm. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
“Good day, Simon. How is the bureaucracy this morning?”
“Everything is functioning well.”
Arthur turned to Bedivere. “See what I mean? I could spend a month by the sea at Brighton and it would hardly make a difference.”
Merlin stepped down from the carriage. His hip ached and he stumbled. Petronus rushed to his side to steady him. “Welcome back, sir.”
“It is good to be home, Petronus, and it is good to see you. But tell me, how is Colin?”
“Quite well, sir, and getting better every day.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “She’ll be so happy to see you.”
“That is good. When I got your message, I was so concerned. You see-” He realized what the boy had said. “What was that?”
“She’ll be happy to see you, sir.”
“She?” He put on his best neutral manner. “I am asking about Colin.”
“Nimue, sir. She raved in her fever. I know the truth about ‘him’ now.”
Merlin sighed. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “We will discuss it later. But when I learned that Marian and Wayne were tending her, I-”
“Why did you have them arrested, sir? They were taking such good care of her.”
“Later, Petronus.”
Britomart strode out of the castle, beaming. “Arthur!”
“Good morning, Brit.”
She glanced at his bandages. “Still smarting from your brilliant military strategy, are you?”
Arthur scowled at her but said nothing.
Merlin, hearing this, crossed to join them. “Arthur’s wounds are from another war entirely. We will tell you all about it over breakfast.”
“Good. Shall I assemble all our advisors, then? And Prince Mordred?”
Merlin reached out and caught her arm. “Mordred is here?”
Confused by his reaction, Brit nodded. She looked at Arthur. “You did tell him to stay here, remember?”
“I told his mother to remain, too. But she left almost as soon as we did. How did she get away?”
Brit smirked. “ ‘As rare and lovely things oft do, she vanished in the night.’ ”
Merlin interjected, “You might have sent us word.”
“Why?” Brit seemed genuinely puzzled. “She is the king’s sister. Arthur always says he trusts her. Is there a problem about her?” She looked to Arthur.
“Over breakfast, Brit. I’m famished.”
Everyone moved toward the castle. But Merlin and Petronus lingered slightly behind. “Go and fire up the boiler for my lifting mechanism, Petronus. I do not feel well enough to tackle the steps to my tower.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
“Then come and join us for breakfast.”
The boy grinned. “With pleasure.”
The meal was huge and sumptuous, a fitting welcome home for the king. He took his place at the head table in the hall, surrounded by his advisors. Knights crowded the other tables. Mordred, apparently unaware that he and his mother were under clouds, took a seat close to Merlin. Peter took an unobtrusive seat at one end of the table and kept silent and listened to the conversation with careful attention. Petronus, having started the fire for Merlin’s lifting device, arrived late and sat at a rear table with the squires.
Merlin took the conversational lead. “So, how are our prisoners?”
Brit smiled. “They are still imprisoned. What else do you need to know?”
“It might be helpful if one of them confessed.”
“Confessed to what, Merlin? To starting the plague? Most of Europe thinks the Byzantines spread it deliberately. I’ll show you the intelligence reports after breakfast.”
“But I am not at all certain that-never mind. Have Marmaduke and Lulua said anything?”
“About-”
“About anything at all related to their attempt to do Arthur and me in. About who might have been behind it.”
Brit was lost. “Do you think creatures like them need to be urged to commit evil?”
Arthur spoke up. “What Merlin wants to know, Brit, is whether they have given any indication that my sister might have been behind their treason.”
Mordred exclaimed, “My mother?! Why would she-? I mean, why wouldn’t she, but really, why would she? Eliminating Uncle Arthur would undermine her own position in England. The barons would never-”
“Let us say,” Merlin interrupted, “that there are grounds for suspicion if nothing more.”
“But-”
“Later, Mordred.” Arthur smiled a patient smile.
Merlin pressed on. “What about Marian of Bath and her sons? Has any of them said anything?”
“Not a word that might incriminate them, if that’s what you mean. They seem more puzzled and outraged than anything else.” Brit took a long swallow of mead. “This is supposed to be a celebration of your return, Arthur. Do you really want to let Merlin turn it into an inquiry?”
“If Morgan is behind what has been happening, the situation is more serious than I would have believed. Or would have wanted to believe. But she has made a grave tactical blunder.” Bedivere started to say something, but Arthur anticipated him and cut him off. “Almost as grave as the tactical blunder I made when we were planning the journey.”
Everyone looked at Mordred. The young man blushed and tried to go on eating as if he didn’t understand. But it was clear to everyone there: Morgan had left her son and heir in Arthur’s hands-a bad move for a potential traitor.
“But-but-” Mordred felt compelled to say something but wasn’t sure what would be appropriate. “But-would she have done that if she was really a traitor?”
Merlin stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder.”
“But-but you can’t suspect me, Uncle. I’ve never-”
“You are your mother’s son. You must know as much about poisons and such as she does, or nearly so. I must ask that you remain here in, shall we say, protective custody, until this matter is resolved.”
“Yes, Uncle. But I give you my word, I don’t want to leave. You know that Mother and I have never-”
“I am afraid,” Merlin cut him off, “that the word of the son of a suspected traitor carries very little weight.”
Arthur smiled indulgently. “It’s only for a short time, Mordred. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it all fairly soon.”
Peter approached Merlin, smiling. “It is time for me to get back to Darrowfield. I’ve been away much longer than I’d planned. Our journey together was so very… interesting.”
“I will miss you, Peter. Having you along to give me support was quite invaluable. With none of my usual aides to help me…”
“Believe me, Merlin, it was my pleasure. The chance to see you in action, even if that action was inconclusive, meant the world to me.”
“When will you leave?”
“As soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. Before noon, with luck.”
Merlin took his hand. “Until we meet again, then. Be well. And be certain to keep me posted on the murder investigation at Darrowfield. The crown wants to know who murdered our baron.”
“I’ll be sure to do so. And of course I’ll send whatever plague news I can.”
“Let us hope there will be none.”
Peter grinned and shook his hand again. “Well, I’m off to the stables to make my arrangements. As you said, till we meet again.” He made a slight bow and a little salute, then turned and headed off toward the stables.
A sudden surge of bitterly cold air swept across England that morning. There was, thankfully, no more snow or rain, but the temperature turned frigid. In the sunlight particles of ice could be seen dancing in the air, stirred by the slightest breeze.
Merlin began to feel the cold in every joint in his body. His limbs grew stiff and sore, even more than they were usually. Every now and again the pain would become so severe that he would wince and curse the weather and his own body silently.
He sent a messenger to catch Peter in the stables. The note he sent read, “Be certain to take blankets and cloaks. Winter is upon us and shows signs of being merciless.”
Then it was time to return to his tower. Petronus scrambled up the steps to make certain the lift mechanism was operating properly. Then Merlin took his seat in the sling and began his mechanical ascent, more grateful than ever that he had built the thing.
“Merlin!” Nimue jumped up from her sick bed and impulsively threw her arms around him. “It’s so wonderful to have you back! And alive!”
He permitted her embrace for a moment, then pulled free and kissed her cheek lightly. “Alive? Exactly how old do you think I am?”
She laughed. “As old as the stones at Stonehenge, if not older. You look tired. The journey was hard on you.”
“So kind of you to say so.” The raven Roc flew in through the window, perched on Merlin’s shoulder and nuzzled his cheek. He raised a hand to pet it. “But you are right. I have traveled much too much lately. Dover, Darrowfield, Grosfalcon… A true scholar does not need to travel.”
She cocked her head at him, puzzled.
“I mean it. A scholar may just as well stay where the gods put him, and dig.”
Petronus was standing behind him, watching and listening. “You don’t believe in the gods. You say so often enough.”
“Do not be difficult, Petronus.”
“It’s so wonderful to have you back and safe. May I… may I…”
“Yes?”
Instead of finishing his thought the boy rushed forward and threw his arms around Merlin. “The scant reports we had about your journey had us so worried.”
“All this hugging.” Merlin feigned distaste. “It is so unseemly.”
Nimue laughed at him. “You are a fraud, Merlin. You’re as glad to be home as we are to have you here.”
“Perhaps so.” He was giving nothing away. He found his favorite chair and sat. “But tell me about your bout with the plague. What were the symptoms? Why do you think you recovered instead of…?”
“Plague? The report you received must not have been complete.” Nimue glanced at Petronus and scowled. “It was not plague. I had a severe case of the ague. Petronus says the French call it influenza. Fever, chills, stomachache, congestion… Several people in the castle have had it. How did you get the notion it was plague?”
“At first I thought it was only a cold. But then I grew fearful that it might be something far worse. It was foolish of me. I know better than to make unwarranted assumptions. But Marian of Bath and her son Wayne-”
“They were wonderful, Merlin. They fussed over me like anxious nursemaids. They said they wanted to allay your suspicions about them.” She hesitated. “What suspicions? And why? Why on earth did you have them arrested?”
He ignored the question. “They gave you no drugs? Nothing that might have-?”
“Nothing, no. You’re being mysterious.” It was an accusation.
“I am trying to make sense of everything that has happened. Did they ever give you any reason to think they might be loyal to Morgan?”
“Morgan le Fay? No, none. Not for a moment.”
He turned to Petronus. “And you. Did you ever hear either of them say anything of the sort?”
Petronus shook his head. He was plainly lost.
Suddenly Merlin got to his feet. “I think it is time for me to interview them. Which dungeon are they in?”
“The north one. It is rather full down there. You kept sending back prisoners.”
“And one of them, at least, is guilty. But we do not yet know the full extent of the guilt.”
“You mustn’t go till you’ve told us all about the journey. We want to know everything.”
“The fact that I want to know everything is why I must go know. I promise I will give you a full account later.”
“You’re infuriating.”
He smiled beatifically. “It is my job. Till later.” He made a little salute. “Come, Petronus. Operate the lift for me.”
Nimue wanted to go with Merlin. He wanted her to stay in bed till she was fully recovered, but she insisted she felt fine. So while Petronus operated the lift for Merlin, she descended the stairs and met him at the bottom. They headed down to the dungeons.
“So, Petronus has discovered your secret.”
“Yes. I wish he hadn’t.” She shrugged. “But I was sick. He wanted to undress me, to help make me more comfortable. The only way I could think to stop him was to tell him the truth.”
“And what about Marian? And her son? Do they know?” Nimue shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. I don’t see how they could.”
“Petronus…” His tone was offhand.
“No, Petronus is quite thrilled to be in on the secret. He is excited by the thought of a woman dressing as a man.”
Merlin laughed. “Precocious boy. So, at least for the time being, and as far as anyone in Camelot knows, you are still Colin. Excellent.”
“What do you mean, ‘for the time being’?”
“Secrets have a way of leaking out, whether we want them to or not.” They had reached the lowest level of the castle. “As I hope will be the case when we interview our unwilling guests.”
There were guards posted in the dungeon, of course. Nimue asked Merlin if they should perhaps take one with them as they interrogated the prisoners.
“No. I do not think that would be productive.” He smiled. “Besides, the cells are so small, and Marmaduke and Lulua are so large.”
“What about the others?”
“There will be five of us in one cell. That is more than crowded enough.”
Marian had been confined in a little cell in Camelot’s basement. Each of her sons had his own cell as well. Merlin ordered that both of the boys be brought to her cell. As he sat and waited for the jailors to bring them, he questioned Marian.
“You know Colin.”
“Yes, of course.” Marian was made of ice. “He is the rat who gave you some pretext to arrest us.”
“That is not so. Colin is here to make notes, nothing more. I hope you do not mind.”
She laughed at him. “And if I do?”
Merlin brushed that aside. “You were at Darrowfield. Tell me what happened there after my party left.”
“I’ve told everyone who’s asked.” Marian paused to glare at “Colin,” then went on. “Nothing in particular happened there. We helped the lord’s servants make ready for the feast he was planning.” She seemed uncertain whether she should be saying this, or whether Merlin would believe her. Her manner was hesitant. But she went on. “I even gave them the recipe for my honey cakes. Then word came that the lord and his sons had been-had been-”
“Slaughtered.” Merlin smiled faintly. “Like sheep. Where were you and your sons when the murder occurred?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You suspect us? So that explains this imprisonment. But we-”
The guards entered with Robert and Wayne. Merlin gestured that they should take seats beside their mother. “Go on with what you were saying, Marian.”
She ignored this and told her sons, “Merlin appears to think we murdered Lord Darrowfield and his boys.”
“What?!” One of the twins jumped to his feet, plainly angry at this. “Why would we? What was that old fool to us?” The other boy remained seated, his features passive. Merlin was uncertain which of them was which. But he took a guess.
“And you, Robert, you gave us drugged wine that night at Lulua’s mill.”
“No!” The more agitated of the twins began to wave his arms. “I did not! It was Lulua’s wine, the wine that was there.”
“Why would Lulua have drugged wine in her house?”
“How do I know? She was a witch.”
“Point taken. But Robert, who gave you the wine? Who told you to serve that particular wine to everyone?”
The boy paused. “I don’t remember. Someone on your staff, I think it was.”
“One of us asked to be drugged?”
“I told you I don’t remember.”
Merlin changed tack. “Lulua had an herb garden at the mill. You had access to it. What grew there?”
Robert stared at him and said nothing. But his brother spoke up. “So there was a garden. What of that? There are herb gardens everywhere. Lady Darrowfield had one at that castle of theirs. There is a large one here at Camelot.”
Merlin looked at Marian. “You are a cook. You know herbs.”
“Yes.”
“Which ones did Lady Darrowfield grow?”
“I can’t remember that. I never really used the herb garden, just the stores of honey they had. They had spices already stored in the kitchen. There was no need.”
“Were there any poisons?”
“I tell you I don’t know.”
“No. Of course not. But Marian, there is something else I must ask you. Something that may be… awkward. I am not certain it is a thing I should ask you with your sons here. Shall I have them taken back to their cells?”
“You’ve only just had them brought here.”
“Even so. I-”
“I do not keep secrets from my boys. Whatever you want to know, you can ask with them here.”
Her manner was more than slightly assertive, and it caught him off guard. After a moment’s pause he went on. “Very well, then. Marian, I must ask you-”
“Yes?”
“Who is the father of your sons?”
The question seemed to surprise her. “The-? Why would you ask such a thing? What can that possibly have to do with-?”
“I need to know. A great deal depends on your answer.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Perhaps even your lives.”
“Our lives!” Wayne jumped to his feet. “Why are you threatening us? You can’t possibly think we’ve done anything.”
Merlin ignored his outburst. “Marian?”
She remained silent.
“I ask you again: Who is the father of these boys?”
Still she said nothing.
Softly he went on. “Come, now, you can tell me.” Even more softly, almost as an afterthought, he asked her, “Is it the king?”
Marian’s eyes widened. “The king? Is that what this is about? Half the court says you’re a fool, Merlin, and they are right.”
More vehemently he repeated his question. “Is it the king?”
Marian was working to calm herself, and it showed. Finally she uttered one word. “No.”
“Then who-?”
“I was young. I was an attractive young woman, though years of working in Camelot’s kitchen have ended that. I had a great many lovers in those days. Knights, squires, courtiers.” She added with force, “But not Arthur. Not the king. Never him.”
Slowly Merlin got to his feet. “Very well, then. If you are telling me the truth-”
“I am!”
“Then that ends this inquiry.”
The three of them were clearly puzzled by this. Robert asked, “Then you will release us?”
“In time. There are still a great many unanswered questions.”
“When?”
“In time, I said. For the moment you will be returned to your cells. I thank you for answering my questions.”
“But you don’t believe us!” Wayne could not contain his anger.
“I have not said so.”
“We nursed this fool back to health.” He pointed at Nimue. “How much clearer could it be that we’re not villains? Let us loose!”
“In time. That is all I can tell you. In time.”
He left the cell, with Nimue just behind him, gave instructions to the guards and headed for the wing of the dungeon that held Lulua and Marmaduke.
The cot in Lulua’s cell was tiny. As they entered, she was lying on it. Or trying to. Parts of her hung over the edge. Seeing Merlin enter, she sat up, with some difficulty.
“Good morning, Lulua. I trust you slept well.” His manner was magisterial. “You are losing weight. Prison food must agree with you.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Wizard.”
“I am not. I am never sarcastic. I was merely expressing friendly concern. This is my assistant Colin. He will be taking notes on our… conversation.”
Lulua snorted, then laughed out loud. “Conversation.”
But Merlin was not about to be distracted. He sat and said to her offhandedly, “I would like to know what instructions you had from Morgan le Fay pertaining to Arthur and myself.”
Serenely she closed her eyes and said, “None.”
“So your treason was entirely your own.” He smiled. “You were not acting on orders from a superior.”
“I am a priestess. I have no superiors.”
“Interesting viewpoint. But clinging to that argument will hardly benefit you in your trial.”
Lulua struggled to her feet and began pacing. “Try me. Go ahead. What I did I did for England. That is hardly treason.”
“A jury of twelve men may think otherwise.” He turned to Nimue. “Note that she insists she was acting on her own.” Then he looked back to Lulua. “And I suppose Marmaduke was likewise acting solely on his own initiative?”
“Ask him.”
“I intend to, believe me.”
Heavily she sat down again. “Arthur Pendragon seized England by force of arms. His kingship is an outrage to every principle of justice.”
“It is refreshing to hear you speak with such candor. But you must realize that you are not doing yourself any good. That amounts to an admission of treason. English justice-”
Lulua laughed. “Justice? From an ambitious warlord like Arthur? Why don’t you go away and prepare for my execution? I am prepared for the goddess to take me to her bosom.”
“Of course you are.” Merlin nodded to Nimue and they both got to their feet. “As you wish, Lulua. If you decide that you would like to tell me something that might mitigate your offence, have the guards summon me.” He stepped toward the cell door. “Oh-one more thing.”
“What?”
“Why did you keep drugged wine at your mill?”
She laughed. The cot creaked under her. “Are you serious? Why would I do that?”
“Drugged with narcotics from your herb garden.”
“You think I grew belladonna to use on myself?”
“Belladonna.” The clouds in his mind seemed to part.
He froze for an instant.
Nimue asked him what was wrong.
“Nothing.” He recovered himself quickly and smiled a wide smile at her. “What other poisons did you grow, Lulua?”
“Go away. I want to sleep. And have the guards bring me some food.”
“You can eat in your sleep?”
“Go away, Wizard.”
Outside the cell, Merlin paused for a moment, evidently lost in thought.
Nimue asked if anything was wrong.
“No, of course not. But she grew belladonna. In the name of everything human, I wonder if-”
“Belladonna is a poison, Merlin. Why would anyone grow it?”
He shrugged. “Morgan does, I suspect. Are you certain you’ve recovered from your illness?”
The change of topic left her reeling for a moment. “My-Yes, of course. But why do you ask?”
“If you are quite over your ailment-”
“Yes?” She was suspicious. What could be on his mind?
“If you are quite recovered, I will want you to go on a little mission for me.”
“A mission.” She was deadpan.
“Yes. To Darrowfield.”
“To-! Merlin, this doesn’t make any sense. Are we investigating treason, or-?”
“I want you to inspect Lady Darrowfield’s herb garden. I need to know whether she is growing belladonna, like Lulua.”
“Belladonna?” Nimue leaned casually against the wall, grinning. “I thought we were investigating treason, trying to get to the bottom of it. What has belladonna-?”
“Belladonna, as you said, is a poison.” He smiled like a fox.
“I’m quite aware of that, Merlin. But-”
“The symptoms of belladonna poisoning are quite similar to the symptoms of the plague.”
“Oh.” It was almost a whisper. “Oh.” Then the surprise wore off. “But there really is a plague. Or has been. We’re all so grateful it’s ending with the cold weather. But-”
“Let us go and interview Marmaduke.”
“Merlin, will you please tell me what you have on your mind? Are you suggesting that the plague deaths were…? I don’t even know what to ask you. Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”
His smile had not diminished. “The thought is only half formed. I could not articulate it in a coherent manner. Not yet. But I have had a suspicion all along that all the awful things that were happening were somehow related. The murders at Stonehenge. The deaths of John, Bruce and Accolon, and poor George…”
“Then how-?”
“Let us move on. Lord Marmaduke is waiting.”
He moved briskly toward the traitor’s cell, with Nimue just behind. The jailor, seeing their approach, got his keys from his pocket and made ready to unlock the door.
Just as they reached it, Merlin stopped. “I should warn you. Marmaduke… How shall I put it?… The air in his cell is apt not to be fresh.”
“I wish you’d stop talking to me in riddles.”
“You will see, soon enough. Or rather, you will smell.”
The jailor’s key clanked in the lock and the cell door swung open. Instantly Marmaduke’s stench wafted out. Nimue reflexively covered her nose. “Good grief!”
“Exactly. And his entire palace reeks in that way.”
Marmaduke had been resting on the floor, curled into something like a fetal position, or as close to one as a man of his bulk could manage. The sound of the door opening wakened him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Wizard. What the devil do you want?”
Merlin stood at the threshold and made no move to enter the cell. “Your trial will be starting soon.” He smiled and added, “Your trial for treason.”
“I should have killed you both at once, when I had the chance. The mistake I made was waiting.”
“The mistake you made was thinking you could attempt regicide and get away with it.”
Nimue leaned casually against the doorpost. “Regicide and wizard-cide,” she added, grinning.
Marmaduke struggled heavily to his feet and took a step unobtrusively toward the door. “You’re going to put me on trial and kill me. Our positions are reversed. That is war.”
“No, that is justice.” Merlin arranged his robes.
“Justice?” Marmaduke was growing angry and it showed. His eyes widened and his face flushed. “Robbing a man of his territory? Defiling his wife?”
“It is hardly possible to ‘defile’ a woman who is quite willing.”
Marmaduke glared.
“And even if it was possible, it is hardly a crime in the same league as what you planned. But all of this is beside the point. I want to know about Morgan le Fay.”
Puzzlement showed through the anger in Marmaduke’s face.
Merlin pressed. “How was she involved? What were her instructions to you? Were they given through Lulua? Did she give similar orders to other barons?”
Suddenly Marmaduke let out a roar. He lunged and in an instant his hands were around Merlin’s throat. “I’ll finish it now, Wizard.”
Nimue let out a scream, jumped onto Marmaduke and began trying to pry his fingers loose. But he was much too strong for her. Merlin was gasping for breath. His face turned red.
The guard, hearing her scream, came running. He instantly realized what was happening and joined Nimue’s efforts to pull Marmaduke off his victim. The color in Merlin’s face went from red to purple.
More guards from other parts of the dungeon heard the commotion and came running. In a trice three of them were on Marmaduke. With great difficulty they pulled him off Merlin, forced him back into his cell and slammed and locked the door.
Merlin stood, gasping for breath, one arm on the wall for balance. Slowly his natural coloration returned.
Just then Simon of York entered the dungeon. “Merlin! What on earth happened?”
Nimue explained. Simon took a moment to digest it all. “Are you all right now? Is everything under control?”
Still gasping for breath, Merlin said, “Asked like a true bureaucrat.”
Nimue broke into a grin. “I think he will be all right. He’s well enough for his usual sarcasm.” Suddenly the unexpected oddness of Simon’s presence struck her. “What are you doing down here?”
“I heard someone was strangling Merlin and came to watch the fun.”
Merlin had recovered sufficiently to say, “Nonsense. What do you want here, Simon?”
Simon couldn’t stop smiling. “You are wanted above. In the king’s tower.”
“What is wrong?”
He paused for dramatic effect, then said, “The king is dead.”
The shock of hearing this brought Merlin to himself once and for all. “Arthur, dead? Then why have you been standing here, grinning like an ass?”
Simon grinned even more widely. “Not Arthur. The old king.”
“Pellenore?”
“No, I’m afraid we’re not that fortunate. The king who has died is Uther Pendragon.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.” Simon smiled. “Oh.”
Merlin turned to Nimue. “Get to Darrowfield. Leave as soon as you can. Examine the lady’s garden. If she is growing belladonna, try and bring me a sample. Leaves, berries and roots. There are different strains of the plant and they produce different effects.”
Nimue repeated her instructions to be sure she understood them.
“I will arrange with Brit for a military escort for you. I think a dozen soldiers should be enough.”
“I can travel faster and less obtrusively alone, Merlin.”
“Did I say that I want you to be unobtrusive?”
“But-”
“Take soldiers. Make a show of yourself.”
“But-Merlin, what are you thinking?”
“I am more and more certain that the solution to this-to all of this-lies there.”
“In Lady Darrowfield’s herb garden?”
“Possibly. Possibly not. At any rate, I do not wish to see a repeat of the mistake Arthur made on the journey to Grosfalcon. There are traitors loose in England-or at least one. I will have you take no needless chances with your safety.” A sudden draft swept through the dungeon. Merlin shuddered. “And make certain to take plenty of blankets and heavy cloaks. I wish I had thought to send you along with Peter.” With emphasis he added, “Bring back that plant.”
“I’ll be fine, Merlin.” Impulsively she hugged him, then turned and left.
Simon was puzzled by the exchange. “What was that about?”
“I am collecting specimens for my botany collection. Let us go and comfort the king on his father’s death.”
“Congratulate him, you mean.”
“Either way, Simon, let us go.”
Arthur was pacing. When Merlin entered the study he stopped and glared at him. Before Merlin could speak, Arthur barked, “Well, what do I do about this?”
Merlin stayed calm despite the king’s obvious agitation. “There is not a great deal that can be done about death.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I need counsel. Counsel me.”
Merlin arranged his robes and sat. “I am not at all certain I see the problem. Obviously you must attend the funeral. Uther had a great many friends and allies. It would hardly do to offend them. Will he be buried in Cumbria?”
Arthur nodded. “There is a little graveyard near his castle. I always found it appropriate.” He looked Merlin in the eye. “I loathed the old viper. He loathed me. You know that.”
“Still, Arthur, there are certain proprieties to be observed. If you were to let him go to his rest with no family present…” He sniffled. “I had a handkerchief, but I seem to have forgotten it. Send one of the servants for one, will you?”
Arthur ignored this. “Morgan will be there. The two of them were always close. Would you get into bed with a viper just because she happened to share your blood?”
Merlin paused. “Perhaps you should take Mordred with you. Not as a hostage, of course. Nothing official. But the mere show of having him with you may deter her from… from whatever villainy she may be planning. I would suggest taking as large a party as possible. Surround yourself with a great many people. As the Romans used to say, there is safety in numbers.” He lowered his voice a bit. “Do not let her get near you.”
“Pellenore and Uther were friends. He will want to go.” Arthur turned pensive. “And a few of my knights, the older ones, were originally part of his army. And…”
“Do not make the mistake you made on that journey to Wales. Take plenty of people. Knights.” Suddenly, violently, Merlin sneezed.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t coming down with the ague that’s been having its way with our people, are you?”
“No, Arthur. It was nothing more than a sneeze.”
He looked doubtful. “At any rate, the journey to Cumbria will be a lot less eventful. It is a much more civilized part of the country.”
“Yet it comes fully equipped with ‘old vipers.’ ”
The king sighed. “Point taken. I’ll get Simon and Bed to work preparing the party right away. You are coming, of course.”
“Me?! No! I mean, I’ve only just-I-I-Arthur, I need a spell of rest.”
“You can rest in the carriage. The roads are good. The ride will be smooth.” Suddenly something occurred to him. He snapped his fingers. “Old Fedora!”
“I beg your pardon, Arthur?”
“Fedora, the midwife. She was at Uther’s court before she came here. She always says she feels a certain loyalty to me.” He turned shamefaced. “She delivered me, you know.”
“I had always assumed as much. So she oversaw your mother Igraine’s confinement. At Uther’s court.”
Arthur nodded. “Ancient history.”
Again Merlin sniffled. “And was your mother still married to Gorlois, or had she and Uther made their union official by that time?”
“I don’t wish to dig up the past.” Arthur glared. “And so help me, if you say, ‘Like father, like son,’ I’ll toss you down the steps.”
“I do not speak in clichés.” He sighed. “But please, Arthur, do not make me go along on this trip.”
Arthur waited for him to go on.
“The journey to Grosfalcon was hard on me. You know that. And now this spell of frigid weather. Every joint in my body is aching like the devil.”
“But-”
“Another long trip would do me no good at all. Please, Arthur. It is only a funeral. You can hardly need me.”
Arthur scowled. “Very well, I suppose you’re right. There is nothing you can do.” He broke into a grin. “Unless you can work a spell to bring the old reprobate back to life.”
“You have been spending too much time with Bishop Gildas.”
Arthur left the following morning, accompanied by one hundred knights, plus squires and attendants of various kinds. It was a three days’ ride to Cumbria. If the weather stayed dry, they could travel quickly and be back at Camelot within a week.
Merlin went to the courtyard to see them off. His nose was runny and he carried a kerchief, and he had another one in his pocket. He took the king by the sleeve and led him aside. “It occurs to me that there is another good reason why you should attend this funeral.”
Arthur was in a good mood, smiling and energetic. “And what would that be?”
Merlin lowered his voice. “Your patrimony.”
“Are you serious? I have all of England.”
“Even so. Think, Arthur. Uther was widely respected in his day, marital indiscretions or no. You are his heir. Claiming your inheritance rights will only help to bolster your claim to the throne.”
“But I already-”
“Equally to the point, you must make certain that Morgan has no chance to make herself Uther’s heir.”
“I see your point.” He seemed to lose energy. “But-but-”
“Hm?”
“Whatever people may think about the legitimacy of my parents’ marriage, I am the eldest. Morgan is arguably even less legitimate than I am. Her mother was-”
“Do you think the technical points of genealogy will matter if she gets the barons to support her?”
Arthur whistled. “I had best get moving. No use giving her more time to subvert my loyal subjects.”
“I thought you would see it that way. Travel well, Arthur. Send messages as things develop.”
Fifteen minutes later the party left. Merlin remained standing alone in the courtyard, looking after them, not moving. Suddenly he was overcome by a fit of coughing. One of the sentries approached him. “Is anything wrong, sir?”
“I hope not.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I hope not.”
Roc flew down out of the sky and perched on his shoulder. He stroked the bird’s head and went back inside Camelot.
By sundown Merlin was quite ill-feverish, achy, congested. He took to his bed and slept. Roc and the other ravens seemed puzzled. They lingered by his bedside for a few minutes, then when he did not respond they left. Petronus watched over him as best he could with his limited medical knowledge.
Nimue returned from Darrowfield the next day, having made the journey there and back again in very good time. She realized that Merlin had contracted the same influenza she had just recovered from. She brought him soup from the kitchen and kept monitoring his condition carefully. Petronus wanted to help, but she warned him to stay away lest he fall victim to the disease, too.
For days he remained unconscious, waking only to eat and even then not seeming aware of his surroundings. In his sleep he muttered, vague but alarming words about murder near the crown, traitors striking near the very heart of England. At times he raved quite deliriously.
The infection spread in the castle. It struck knights, squires, servants with varying degrees of severity. Even Simon of York fell victim to it. No one was certain what to do, since to nurse the sick could only serve to spread the disease to the ones doing the nursing. The only one in the castle with substantial medical knowledge and experience was Merlin, and he was out of commission. Nimue did her best to present a confident front and to manage all the efforts to contain the disease; but it was only a front, and she felt inadequate.
When she was not tending to the outbreak, she did her best to keep current on all the reports that were coming in from local officials about the plague. Cold weather did indeed seem to be halting its spread. There were still occasional riots, especially for food, but those could be safely left in the hands of local authorities.
Then on the fourth day Merlin’s fever broke. He awoke, sat up in bed, looked around and barked at Nimue, “I’m hungry. Why hasn’t Simon sent my breakfast?”
Nimue watched him with a smile. “So you’re finally up.”
“What do you mean, finally? I’m hungry.”
“You’ve been asleep for four days, Merlin. And it’s nearly sundown, not time for breakfast.” She crossed the room to him and put a hand on his forehead. “Your fever’s finally broken.”
Realization began to dawn. “I have had the influenza?” “You and several dozen others. I’ll send for some porridge.”
“Porridge? I need my strength. Send for some beef.”
“Yes, Merlin.” Amused by his ferocity, she went to the door and called for a servant. When the boy was gone, she turned back to Merlin. “You’ve been missing the fun. Simon has been sick, too. They say he’s been complaining like an old woman.”
“Well, what can you expect? That is what he is.” He sat up. “What word have we had from Arthur?”
“None at all.”
“Blast. And how widespread is this awful infection?” He narrowed his eyes. “You are the one who gave it to me.”
“A few dozen people are ill. The knights are grumbling about a disease that does not respect their rank.”
“They would. How serious do things look?”
“Two people have died. Two elderly servants. So I was worried about you.”
“I am not elderly.”
She laughed at him. “No, only your hips are. Anyway, other than those two, people seem to recover and show no signs of being the worse for wear.”
“That is good. But tell me, what did you find in Darrowfield?”
She shook her head. “Nothing of any real interest. Lady Darrowfield was not cultivating belladonna. Peter helped me inspect her garden. There was nothing suspicious.”
“Peter.” Merlin sat on the edge of his bed. His voice betrayed his misgivings.
“Why that tone? Do you suddenly distrust him? He was a great help to you on the trip to Grosfalcon. You said so yourself.”
“Yes, of course. Only…”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes when we are asleep our minds function with special clarity. Peter was present when each of the murders occurred. John, Bruce, Accolon, little George, even the attempt on Arthur…”
She did not try to hide her skepticism. “You were delirious, Merlin. Can you really make an accusation like that based on fever dreams? Why would he have done all those awful things? What could he have gained?”
“Then it must have been Morgan. Get me my slippers.” He yawned. “I suppose we should be grateful so few have succumbed to this awful disease. No more deaths here, then.”
“Only the very young and the very old seem to be affected in dire ways.” She added pointedly, “The very, very old.”
“Spare me your sarcasm. I am hungry.”
“They say old Fedora is quite unwell. You know-that horrible old midwife. If she goes, I doubt anyone will care much.”
“Fedora!”
“Yes. The most venomous old crone in Camelot.”
“She must not die! I must go to her at once!” He got to his feet and looked around for his cane.
“I thought you were hungry.”
“For the truth, Nimue. Go and fire up my lifting device. I must get to Fedora at once.”
The lift creaked ominously as Merlin descended, and the chains that held his chair swayed. He had to force himself not to look down the full height of the tower.
Nimue, having started the mechanism, raced down the steps to meet him at the bottom. “You’re going to kill yourself on that thing someday. You really ought to have Simon arrange for a suite of rooms down here among the people.”
He got to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “Perish the thought. If I had to live every day surrounded by knights, serving girls and Simon of York, I would certainly go mad.”
“There are people who think that the fact that you trust this absurd mechanism is a sign of madness.”
“Be quiet, Colin. We must get to Fedora as quickly as possible.”
There were three old women sitting in the hallway outside Fedora’s room, praying over candles, wailing like forlorn banshees, apparently mourning the imminent demise of their friend.
Merlin, accompanied by Nimue, made his way slowly along the corridor. None of the women showed the least sign of noticing them. They gazed into the candle flames and wailed their orisons, to all appearances aware of nothing else.
They even seemed quite unaware of an overpowering stench that filled the hallway. Nimue covered her mouth and nose with her hand. “Goodness, can that actually be from Fedora?”
“The dissolution of the human body is never agreeable, Colin.” Merlin paused for a beat, then moved on. To the first of the women he encountered, he said, “You should not have those candles burning unsheltered. There is too much that could take fire. Tapestries, wood…”
The woman interrupted her show of mourning. “Stone does not burn.” She went immediately back into her wail.
“Camelot is more wood than stone. Every castle is. You could start a blaze that would endanger us all.”
She wailed.
Merlin nudged her with the tip of his boot. “What is that awful smell? How can you stand it? How can you leave Fedora here?”
She looked up at him. “We are following her instructions. We have sacrificed nine black puppies to the Good Goddess for her.”
“In the name of everything human, woman, what good can you possibly think that will do?”
“It is standard practice, Merlin,” Nimue whispered in his ear. “Morgan used to do it whenever someone in her household was seriously ill. She bred black dogs against the eventuality.”
“Fools!” He bellowed it. “Superstitious dolts!”
He pushed past them, moving more quickly than before. Fedora’s room was pitch-dark. The awful odor seemed to billow out of it. He stared into the blackness for a moment and listened. Faintly, very faintly, he could hear breathing. Except for that, the room was pervaded with the eerie stillness of death. Then softly came the sound of her coughing.
He went back to the hall, took one of the candles and went back inside. Then quietly came Fedora’s voice. “No, young man, you may not have my hand.”
Gently, almost whispering, he said, “Fedora, it is I, Merlin.”
“All you lovely young men. I know what you want. But you may not have it.”
He moved to the bedside and put a hand on her arm. “Fedora, it is Merlin.”
“Merlin?” His voice seemed to register with her. “No. Not Merlin. Not at all.”
Her mind had regressed to her far-off youth. It took him a moment to realize. “Tell me about your young men, Fedora.”
“No!” It was almost a hiss. The sharpness of the expletive made her cough again.
“Fedora,” he whispered, “I have come to make love to you.”
“No, not you. Not any of you. My love is for the women here.”
“Yes.” He stroked her arm. “Yes, Fedora. I love you.”
He moved the candle close to her. She was soaked in sweat. Her skin was pale as the candle wax, and her breath smelled of imminent decay. There was blood on her lips; she had coughed it up. Merlin took his kerchief and wiped it away.
Like a serpent gifted with speech she hissed, “None of you! Not one of you! I have seen what you do to your women. You will not defile me. It is them I care for, them I tend.” Suddenly, quite abruptly, she shouted, “Uther Pendragon! All your women! All your sons! What will they benefit you now?”
The stench in the room was growing stronger, or Merlin was succumbing to it. It was coming from under the bed. He looked, and by dim candlelight he saw the bodies of the young dogs, arranged in circle, in a basket. The corpses glistened with moisture. Decay was taking them quickly. He called for Nimue.
She stepped into the room and stood just inside the doorway, outlined faintly by light from the hall, and held her hand over her nose. “Merlin, how can you stand this?”
He gestured under the bed. “Remove them.”
She bent and took the basket, then glanced at Fedora. “She isn’t-is she-?”
“Not yet.” He looked at the dying woman and said almost tenderly, “She told me once that she knows secret things. Let us hope she remembers them in her death throes. And will speak them.”
Nimue looked doubtful. She bent and took the basket with the dogs with one hand. Covering her nose with the other, she left quickly.
Merlin lowered his voice. In a whisper he said, “Fedora, it is I, Uther. I need you.”
“Again?” Eyes closed, she chuckled. “Another one? You are insatiable.”
“You know who the woman is. Who the son is. Tell me their names.”
Fedora opened her eyes wide and without warning spit in his face. She coughed up more blood. “Men! Kings! Your women deserve better than you give them.”
“I know it.”
“You treat them like swine.”
“I know it. I know it. But tell me, Fedora, who is this one? What is her name? What is the name of the child?”
Her hand caught his and squeezed. All the life seemed to leave her body.
Agitatedly he shook her. She must not die. She must not, not till she talked. “Fedora! Wake up! Speak to me.”
Feebly, her eyelids parted. The candle flame seemed not to reflect in them. They were black, dying.
“My new son, Fedora.” He shook her. He whispered. “What is his name?”
So faintly it was almost not a sound but a breath she said the word, “Darrowfield.”
“Darrowfield? Old Lord Darrowfield’s son was really Uther’s?”
Her eyes closed. She repeated the word. “Darrowfield.” There was a violent spasm of coughing, and a great deal more blood came up. It soaked her bed gown and the sheets. And she was still.
Merlin sat staring at her for a long moment. From the hallway came the sound of the women mourning, wailing, as if somehow they knew Fedora had passed on.
So young Lord Darrowfield, his father’s heir, was really the son of Uther, as had long been rumored. He was no mere lord. He was Arthur’s brother. Or had been.
But what did that tell about all the deaths, all the killings?
Then it dawned on him.
In the hallway the women were mourning, wailing, crying. Merlin paused to watch and listen. He had intended to tell them to make arrangement for Fedora’s burial. But it was no use, not in their state. He would tend to it himself.
He saw Nimue returning, at the far end of the hall. They met, and he told her, “Let us go to the refectory. I have not eaten a proper meal in days.”
“How can you eat after…?”
“It might have been me, Nimue. Fedora was twenty years older than I, but it might have been me. One day it will be. A full stomach will remind me that I am still alive.”
They walked to the dining hall without saying much more. It was past dinnertime; there were not many other people. Merlin had a plate of beef and vegetables. Nimue had already eaten, but she sat with him and sipped a goblet of wine. “Did she tell you what you needed to know?”
“I believe so.”
“What was it?”
“She talked about Uther’s sons. The late Lord Darrowfield, the one who died so horribly at Stonehenge, was Arthur’s brother.”
She drank her wine. “That has always been rumored. I mean, I had heard he was a bastard. But Uther…!”
“Yes, Uther. I should have realized long ago that Arthur’s pursuit of women was not unique to him. It was Marmaduke, of all people, who reminded me of that.”
Nimue was wry. “It’s nice to realize that Marmaduke knew anything at all.”
“Yes. But I think Fedora was trying to tell me something else. I think I understand what, but I cannot be certain. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Nothing, Nim-Colin. Do you have any idea where Petronus is?”
She finished the wine and put the cup down. “Off at school, I think. The schoolmasters missed several of their classes because of the influenza.”
“We weathered the plague. We can weather this.”
“Yes, but the plague never really struck here, remember.”
“Except for poor John. If it was plague that killed him. Let me have a swallow of your wine.”
She turned the cup upside down to show him it was empty. “I’ll go and get you some.”
“A small cup, please.”
She went. Merlin sat alone, brooding. What he was thinking was too unpleasant to contemplate.
In a moment she was back. Merlin thanked her, and she said she wanted to go back to her room. “It has been a draining time. Worrying about you, I mean. I need some rest.”
“Fine. Go back to our tower. Oh, and start the steam engine for my lift. I certainly do not have the energy for all those stairs.”
“I’ll be sure to.”
Merlin finished his meal and his wine and began making his way back to the Wizard’s Tower. But just after leaving the refectory he encountered Simon. Simon, fussy as usual, was carrying a thick sheaf of papers and having trouble holding on to them. When one dropped, Merlin picked it up and handed it to him. He felt a twinge of pain in his back and rubbed it.
“Thank you, Merlin. I was just coming to find you. I was afraid you might still be under the weather.”
“There is always weather to be under. What is it you want?”
Simon riffled through his papers, dropping several more. “We’ve had a message from the king. I must have left it behind.”
Suddenly Merlin sneezed. More of Simon’s papers scattered and he scrambled to retrieve them.
“Does it not occur to you that you might carry those in a pouch of some sort?”
“In a pouch or out of one, the king’s message is not here.”
“Yes, of course. What does he say?”
“He is en route back to Camelot. The funeral was uneventful. Morgan never showed up.”
“That is hardly surprising, I suppose. Now if you will excuse me, I need to return to my tower and get some rest. Oh-have you heard that old Fedora died a while ago?”
“Fedora?” Simon scowled. “I wish I had visited her. She delivered me, you know.”
“Who among us is without sin?”
Simon made a sour face, commented on Merlin’s sarcasm and left. Merlin went on his way, back to his tower.
His chair lift was waiting for him at the foot of it. He could hear the steam engine chugging steadily far above. Glancing up, he saw small, periodic puffs of steam from it, a hundred feet above. Looking up the tower always made him dizzy. The vast cylindrical shape, the staircase spiraling along the wall… He leaned against the wall momentarily to steady himself.
The seat was swaying slightly, he presumed in a draft. It added a bit more to his vertigo. He reached out and steadied it. Then gingerly he took his place in it, pulled the chain to start the mechanism, and began his ascent up the height of the tower.
It was slow. The lift always took three minutes or more to travel the full height of the tower. He watched as the stones moved downward past his field of vision. The staircase spiraled around him. The slow upward movement, the gentle swaying of the seat, lulled him to a state of complete relaxation. The seat moved twenty feet up, thirty, forty. He closed his eyes.
Then suddenly there was a huge jolt. The seat swung violently, almost striking the wall. Merlin gripped the chain and held tightly. Somehow the chain must have slipped, missed a cog. He leaned back in his seat, holding tight the chain, and glanced up. Everything was as usual. Everything was as it should be. The wild swaying gradually stopped, the gears reengaged and the ascent continued.
He was sixty feet above the ground. He could hear the gears as they turned, the engine as it hummed, the clanking of the chains.
Then there was another violent jolt and the lift swung wildly again. Merlin gripped the chain for dear life and looked up again.
There was someone at the landing on the top level, partway onto the wooden landing stage there. It was a man, and he was holding a long pike. He stretched it out and poked the top of the chain with it, and the lift swung wildly a third time. The man looked down at Merlin and cried, “Fall, damn you!”
Merlin recognized him. “Peter!”
As the seat rose closer to the top, the arc of its swing grew smaller. But Merlin was now eighty feet above the stone floor of Camelot. If he slipped, if the lift jerked too violently, he would fall to a certain death.
Peter stepped farther onto the landing platform and prodded the chain again. “Go on and fall!”
“If I die, Peter, it will be with the knowledge of what you are.”
“When you sent that boy to Darrowfield, I knew that you were onto me.” He pushed the tip of his pike into the gear assembly. With another jolt, the seat stopped its ascent.
Merlin was far above the castle’s floor now. The seat was still swaying. But he realized that if he could keep Peter talking, there would be no opportunity for him to pull his pike out of the gears and start prodding the seat again.
“I sent Colin there to flush you out. You had to realize I suspected you by that time.”
“You are a good actor, Merlin. When did you first suspect? How could you possibly have guessed?” He twisted the tip of his pike and the seat rocked slightly.
Merlin tightened his grip on the chain. He had to force himself not to look down. “I found it odd when you showed up here at Camelot, abandoning your investigation into the murder of Darrowfield and his boys. And gradually it dawned on me that you were present when all of the killings were done. You were the only one. You are quite a good actor yourself, Peter. Or should I say ‘Prince Peter’?”
“I was Father’s favorite. He always hated Arthur. But I… He loved me.”
“And not Darrowfield? Not his eldest son?”
“Darrowfield was a fool. You met him. You must have realized. Uther wanted me on the throne of England, not him.”
“And so that is what he was doing at Darrowfield Castle? Plotting his eldest son’s death with you?” He paused slightly. “With you… and Morgan?”
“Morgan despises Arthur, too. That is no secret.”
“And you let her manipulate you into doing her murders for her. It was you who attacked Arthur at Grosfalcon, not her.”
Peter nodded. “But she was concerned. After I killed Darrowfield and those two clots he called sons, she and Uther persuaded me to use, let us say, less direct methods. The plague was a gift to us. She had her own strain of belladonna. And she mixed it with some other poison from her stockpile. It made the deaths look like plague casualties.”
“Even where there was no plague. That was the other thing that made me suspicious. But then, why not simply poison that poor boy at the mill? Why crush him between the millstones?”
Peter shrugged. “He caught me as I was administering the belladonna to Accolon. What else could I do?”
“You are a fool, Peter. You cannot possibly think Morgan would have let you rule. She is ambitious for herself and for her son.”
“No. She is my sister.”
“Arthur is your brother. Did that stop you from plotting his death? Morgan wants herself on the throne, or her son Mordred, not you.”
Peter hesitated. This was obviously something he had not thought of before.
There was someone else on the landing, moving in the shadows behind him. Merlin realized it must be Nimue. He had to keep Peter talking. “So the three of you met in Darrowfield’s own castle to plot his death. Yes, that sounds callous enough for Morgan, all right.”
“The four of us. Darrowfield was a fool. He was in on our scheme from the beginning. But it never occurred to him that he might be our first victim. Why do you think he let me get close enough to kill him at Stonehenge?”
“This has gone on long enough, Peter. You cannot keep me dangling here forever. Let me finish my ascent. Surrender.”
Peter laughed at him.
“There is no use going on with this, Peter. Do you think I have kept my suspicions to myself? My assistant Colin knows. I had to explain to him when I sent him to Darrowfield. I wanted him on his guard against you.” He told the lie smoothly. Then he raised his voice slightly. “I did not want him to grapple with you. You are the larger man. He would not have had a chance against you.”
“I can keep you dangling there till I get another pike to prod you off of that absurd seat of yours. I have one waiting here for just that purpose.” He twisted the point of the pike farther into the gears, and the seat began rocking again.
“And Arthur knows as well,” he lied. “You will be hunted down, arrested and put to death.”
“Then I will join you in Hades.”
Suddenly Nimue stepped into sight. She was carrying a pike, the second one Peter had brought with him. She prodded Peter with the tip. “I would suggest you surrender now and peacefully.”
Startled, Peter went off balance and staggered to the edge of the platform. He reached out and grasped the end of the pike to steady himself. But Nimue was not about to let him regain his equilibrium. She let the pike go. Peter lost his balance and tumbled off the platform and fell down the hundred feet of the tower. His screams echoed. He hit the floor with a horrible sound.
Nimue stepped onto the platform and pulled the first pike loose from the gears. For a moment nothing happened. Then slowly the lift continued its ascent. When it reached the top she helped Merlin onto the platform. Grateful to be on something solid again, he put an arm around her. “Thank you, Colin. You are a good man.”
The season’s first heavy, sustained snow fell on the English countryside. Trees were airy white lace. Flakes danced in the air.
It was just after sunset, now and then the clouds parted and there was a large moon. Arthur and Merlin strolled side by side on the castle rooftop. The snow was three inches deep but neither of them seemed to mind. Except for the falling snow the world was still, and they walked in silence as if infected by it. At length they came to the rear of the castle and stood looking over the white landscape. In the distance was Camelot’s graveyard. Headstones were capped with snow.
At length Arthur spoke. “I hope Fedora is resting peacefully.”
Merlin kept his eyes on the cemetery, not the king. “There is no other way for mortal remains to rest.”
“Always the romantic, aren’t you? I wish just once you’d let your human side show.”
Merlin paused, uncertain whether to go on. “Self-revelation never comes to me easily, Arthur. You know that. When I found that poor boy crushed to death between the millstones, my feelings were human enough. But it was also human feeling that led me to trust his killer.” He turned to the king. “I was a fool to let my feeling of friendship for him cloud my judgment. He flattered me only too successfully.”
“As always, you are too hard on yourself.”
“I have never apologized for the harsh tone I took with you when we were Marmaduke’s prisoners.”
“We thought we were going to die, Merlin. No apology is necessary.”
“I think one is due. I like to think of myself as a philosopher. At least a minor one. Prepared for death. I acted like a spoiled boy.”
This made Arthur uncomfortable. A snowflake clung to his eyelash and he brushed it off. “We will never know what other secrets Fedora took with her to the grave. I suppose, in a way, we should be grateful for that.”
“Secrets are the essence of humanity, Arthur. Or at any rate of human society, human interaction. What is hidden is what keeps us going.”
“That seems an odd sentiment for a detective.”
“It is the truth. To know, to actually know another human being is impossible, for all that we pretend otherwise. For all you know, I might be planning your assassination right now.”
Arthur laughed. “As always, you are being overdramatic. I have known you since I was a boy, Merlin. Why would you wait till this moment to use the knife in the dark?”
“Ripeness is all, Arthur.” He ran his fingers through the snow on a battlement. “When Peter told me his messages to me were being interfered with, I had no reason to doubt him. Now I understand the lie.
“When he showed up here unbidden, just before John died, I should have realized. He was there when every murder was committed.”
Arthur stared up at the moon. “Are you ready for the trial of Lulua and Marmaduke?”
He nodded. “We have already selected twelve knights to form the jury. I do not think making the case against them will be difficult. There were dozens of witnesses.”
The king kept his eyes on the moon. Merlin had the impression he was trying to read something in its face. Finally he said, “That is all good, Merlin. But…”
“Yes?”
“What do we do about my sister?”
Merlin heaved a deep sigh. “I am not certain there is anything we can do. If we find her and arrest her, we could never put her on trial. The only concrete evidence against her is Peter’s confession, and Peter is… Our England is concerned with justice. We cannot expect a jury to convict her on no evidence.”
“So she remains at large, remains free to keep plotting against me.” He looked directly into Merlin’s eyes. “Against us.”
“I fear so. The best we can do is to watch her very carefully.”
Arthur looked from Merlin back to the moon. “It is too much for me. I need to have some wine and go to bed.”
Softly, “Good night, then, Arthur. Sleep well.”
“Aren’t you coming in? The wind is starting to pick up.”
“No. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.”
The king left. Merlin stood alone on the rooftop. The wind gusted, and clouds filled the sky.
The raven Roc flew to Merlin’s shoulder and nuzzled his ear. He reached up and stroked it. He whispered, “Roc, there is nothing human about you. There is not the least trace of my species.” Lightly he kissed the bird’s head. “That is why I love you.”