The Excalibur Murders (29 page)

"And what is that?"

"You will see soon enough."

"Yes, sir."

Just as they reached the stable, the doors flew wide open and two small donkey carts and a large horse-drawn carriage drove in. Merlin glared at them; people were arriving early, and he might not be able to get away after all.

Then he stopped to wonder who the conveyances belonged to. "Hold off for a moment, Pete."

He watched as the passengers began to alight. Recognizing the leader, he crossed the stable to him and threw his arms around him. "Samuel! I had no idea you would arrive early. I knew Arthur had invited you, but . . ."

Samuel was a man of Merlin's age, clean-shaven, fit. "The king summoned us. And performing at these courts is always a good source of income for us. If nothing else, other nobles will see us and want us to appear at their own courts. You know the artist's life."

More men descended from the carriage. Most of them were young; among them there was one boy, younger than Petronus, with bright red hair. They set about taking trunks and boxes off the carriage's roof. Samuel pointed to one after another and told Merlin their names. "Robert, Pierre, Wolf, Francis. And this boy with the flame-red hair is Watson, our leading lady. He plays tragic heroines so convincingly audiences are moved to tears. He will break hearts."

Petronus had been listening without saying anything. Finally, it made sense to him. "What play are you acting out?"

"Bringing to life." Samuel was emphatic. "We are the best in England. Artists, not common play-actors."

"I love plays."

"When we perform, young man, everyone loves plays." He turned back to Merlin. "The king has requested our
Fall of Troy
. Just wait till you see Watson, here, play Hecuba. You're in for a real treat, Merlin."

"I'm sure of it. But--"

"We've been making a hit in the provinces with the
Assassination of Julius Caesar
, but Arthur has forbidden us to play it here."

"Wise man."

"Is he nervous, then?"

"You haven't heard?" Merlin explained about the killing of the squires, the escape of Pellenore and the rest of it. "So you haven't come to a happy court. And a play about assassinating Caesar would hardly be the thing. But listen, I'm glad you're here. I'm going to be staging some theatrics of my own. Perhaps you can give me some instruction in stagecraft." He lowered his voice and looked around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. "To be specific, in conjuring. This has to be terribly effective. A great deal depends on it."

Mildly puzzled, Samuel told him, "I'll be happy to help in any way I can. But what on earth--?"

"I'll explain later, when we're alone. You remember where my rooms are?"

"Are you still living in that drafty tower?"

"Yes. Come in an hour or so." He looked at Petronus. "We won't be making our outing after all, I'm afraid. But thank you for offering to drive me."

Puzzled and disappointed, Petronus left. A moment later Merlin followed, leaving the actors to deal with their props and costumes.

Like almost everyone else, Nimue was getting into a holiday mood. She found Merlin in his study, preoccupied, sulking, stroking the head of one of his ravens and studying Ganelin's chart still another time. His fingertip traced the paths of symbols, and he seemed quite lost in thought. At the bottom of his breath he was muttering, "It must be. It must be."

"You work too hard, Merlin." She decided to try and cheer him up. "The snow won't stop falling. If I were still a kid I'd be riding my sled. Kids must be doing that all over the country."

"Go and join them, then."

"It's the best time of the year, Merlin, and the world has turned perfectly gorgeous. You should be happy."

"You know what I'm dealing with, Nimue. What
we
are dealing with. This may be our one last chance to flush out the killer."

"Even the king is cheerful."

"If he was less so, he would have taken my advice and had Mark arrested. Cheerfulness never accomplishes anything permanent."

"Really, Merlin, I know you're going to tell me I'm too young to understand, but I hope I never come to understand seeing the world that way. Look--your pets are back. Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yes, of course it is. They love me and I love them. But Nimue, optimism is not useful if it blinds us to the facts."

"We don't actually have facts, remember? Only symbols on a chart and conjecture about what they mean."

"Even so."

"Suppose it isn't Mark who's flushed out by this charade? "

"Then we will apprehend the culprit, imprison him--or her--and Mark will go back to his treasonous plot, whatever it is. He may bring Arthur down. He may bring the whole country down, for that matter. Does that really strike you as cause for optimism?"

"You're impossible."

"If you were a true scholar, you would know that nothing is impossible. I find myself thinking about Morgan. She wants her son to be king. If she had learned somehow that the twins were Arthur's sons, it would have given her more than enough motive to--I wish things weren't so complicated. "

Greffys knocked and opened the door. "Excuse me, sir. Arthur wants you."

"Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can."

"He asks that you come now, sir. The queen is here."

"Guenevere?"

"And Lancelot."

"They would be the first to arrive. Tell him I'll be along shortly."

"Yes, sir. She, uh . . . the guards who brought her say her parents were with her at Corfe."

"Leodegrance and Leonilla? Splendid. There's nothing suspicious about that, is there?"

"I couldn't say, sir." He left.

Merlin turned back to Nimue. "I know you think me a worrisome old man, but--"

"Let's say overly anxious."

"Fine, anxious then."

"Overly."

"Please, Nimue, not now. I don't know what to expect over the next few days. When the killer realizes he is trapped--whoever he may be--he is apt to do almost anything. People will be hurt, possibly killed, and we have had more than enough of that already. And you and I will be in peril. Are you certain you want to do this?"

For the first time her mood turned serious. "Quite certain. "

"He will lash out."

"Even so."

"I could get Greffys to do it. Or even one of the young actors. It isn't absolutely essential that Mark recognize you."

"There are actors? Are we going to have plays?" Her mood brightened again instantly.

"Yes. Apparently Troy is to fall again, within the walls of Camelot."

"I hadn't heard."

"Arthur loves plays. We get them every Midwinter, every May Day . . ."

"He's a good king."

"Let us go and attend Her Majesty and her lover."

In the courtyard, Arthur was greeting his wife and Lancelot when Merlin and Nimue arrived. Just as they stepped into the yard he was helping Guenevere down from her carriage. The soldiers he'd sent to escort her were milling about, evidently glad to be home.

"Merlin! Colin!" Arthur called to them heartily. "Look who's come to visit for the holiday!"

Guenevere scowled. "Is that what you call people who have come here under armed guard? Visitors?"

"Why, Guenevere, you make it sound as if you were brought under duress."

"I can't think what gave me that idea. Could it have been a detachment of your soldiers?"

"Oh dear. You have me wrong. I was only concerned about your safety. The countryside is fraught with marauders. "

Lancelot stepped out of the carriage and leaped to the ground. "Our own soldiers could have protected us equally well, I should think."

Arthur ignored him. "But, Guenevere, you are my vassal--my wife. Your soldiers
are
mine."

"That is rubbish, Arthur, and you know it perfectly well."

He put on an enormous grin. "I'm told your parents are holed up in your castle at Corfe."

"Cannot a woman's parents visit her without you suspecting the worst?"

He played dumb. "Why, whatever do you mean? What is the worst?"

"They've come to visit me, that is all."

"There might possibly be people who would find their presence in England odd, not to say suspicious."

"Or wise." She smiled and nodded in Merlin's direction. "If you should decide to detain me, they would know at once."

"Guenevere, darling. What suspicious minds you all have."

"We have a great deal to be suspicious of."

The captain crossed to Arthur, whispered something in his ear then went back to his men. "My captain tells me he made certain the shades in your carriage were kept drawn. For your own protection of course--to make certain no one could suspect you both of conducting reconnaissance. I hope it wasn't a problem for you."

Guenevere was arch, distant. "Why should anyone want to inspect your snow?"

"Queens have been known to have sinister motives." He smiled even more widely than Guenevere. "But let me have you shown to your suite of rooms."

Lancelot reached around and rubbed his back in a quite pointed way. "Thank you. The journey over these dreadful English roads was agonizing."

"You will of course remain in your rooms unless you have permission to do otherwise." He was all heartiness.

Both of them froze. Slowly, venomously, Guenevere intoned, "That will not be agreeable, no."

"I'm afraid I must insist. Again, it is for your protection. There is an escaped killer, a madman, loose in the secret passages that riddle Camelot."

"Then your penal system is as defective as your highways, " Lancelot snorted.

"Regrettably so. Still, I must insist you not go wandering about the castle. We wouldn't want to see either of you come to harm."

They bristled and protested, but Arthur was clearly within his rights. He had them escorted--"for their own protection"--to a suite in the drafty north tower of Camelot, which was the oldest part of the castle. It was cold and not in good repair, and it was seldom used except for storage.

Guenevere made a pro forma complaint, demanding that she and Lancelot be installed in her old quarters. But Arthur explained patiently that Merlin occupied those rooms now, and Guenevere couldn't possibly want to inconvenience him, could she? Then she demanded that they be moved to a warmer, more up-to-date part of the castle, but Arthur told her that his was likely to be the largest Midwinter Court in years; every bit of space in Camelot would be occupied. "You'll have more privacy there."

Steaming, seething with anger, Guenevere and her man settled into their apartments. As a parting shot she told her husband, "If Merlin really can resurrect the dead, perhaps you can have him start by reviving your monarchy."

Then Arthur and Merlin left, pleased at how plainly upset she was. "Come," Arthur whispered. "I want to talk."

Merlin followed the king to his tower. "You're in a good mood."

"My wife has come to visit. How could I not be?"

"As long as you have her securely under lock and key. Did you know before today that Leodegrance and Leonilla were in England?"

"No. I should never have let Guenevere settle at a port city. I know, I know, you warned me. I thought our marriage vows might count for something, however minimal. They're up to something."

Merlin feigned sorrow. "And no one's ever warned you."

"Don't be sarcastic, Merlin. Has it occurred to you that this insurrection--or whatever is being planned--may be their idea, not Mark's?"

"He appears to be going along with it cheerfully enough."

"Don't remind me." He sat down heavily and sighed. "You've been right about this all along. Learning the French king and his wife are here drives the point home. If there's anything a king shouldn't be, it's trusting."

"And your point?"

"Don't make this harder for me than it already is, Merlin. I've been naive, maybe even foolish. I admit it. Now advise me."

"I advise you to arrest them. All of them. Send troops to Corfe and arrest Leodegrance and his wife. Until we can get to the bottom of this."

"On what charge?"

"Invent one. Make something up. Sedition. Conspiracy. Conduct unbecoming a Frenchman."

The king sighed even more deeply. "No. I don't think that's the answer. England has never known civil war. Doing that could certainly start one."

"The army is loyal to you."

"Stop toying with me, Merlin. You know how they respect Mark. And after all, I became king by defeating all of them. Besides, have you ever met Leonilla? She's a gorgon--worse even than her daughter. She could probably spew enough acid to melt the walls of any prison I have."

Merlin shifted his weight uncomfortably. It seemed a good moment for a politic lie. "I've been so focused on finding the murderer I haven't really given this much thought."

"Do it now, for God's sake."

"Suppose the murders and the plot are related, as I've been telling you all along?"

Arthur swallowed his pride. "Then you were right and I wasn't. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I am convinced that Mark killed the twins, or had them killed. I'd wager he did it himself."

"Why? What could he possibly have had against them?"

"He's been trying to foment this plot. But no one seems to want to go along. Guenevere because she's planning her own war, with her father's help. And Morgan--heaven only knows what Morgan is up to."

"Maybe she's loyal to me, or to our family."

"Don't be foolish, Arthur. She wants to be queen. She thinks it's her right."

"And so it is, I suppose. We have destroyed the old order. Birthing a new one should be easier than this." He looked at his advisor. "Shouldn't it?"

"If you say so, Your Majesty."

"Shut up."

Over the next two days the snow became heavier. Despite it, people came from all over England for Arthur's court. Knights, dukes, barons, earls and petty warlords made the trek. And all of them were abuzz with speculative gossip about Merlin's "miracle."

The Stone of Bran was legendary. And most of the educated class--of whom there were not many--took the old legends to be just that. The prospect of seeing a miracle, of the kind embodied in the old myths--actually seeing it-- was more tantalizing than most of them wanted to admit.