The Excalibur Murders (9 page)

One of her servants rummaged through one of the packs in the corner. Merlin watched as the young man took out a piece of cheese and ate it happily. "Arthur, look."

Taking in the scene, Arthur turned on Guenevere and bellowed, "Food?! This is your idea of roughing it? Guenevere, you are the most staggeringly dishonest human being I have ever known. It's no wonder you shattered your wedding vows."

"Lower your voice, husband. Remember your royal dignity, will you?"

"I want to talk to Lancelot."

She was offhand. "I'm afraid I don't know where he is."

"Guenevere, I am warning you. Do not attempt to leave Camelot again until I give permission. I plan to double the guard at the gates. There is no way you'll get out."

"You are holding me prisoner?"

"If you want to think of it that way. I have more--and more important--things to deal with than your comfort and convenience. If you wanted everything to revolve around you, you should have stayed in Corfe."

Slowly, she put her letter aside and stood up. Even more slowly, she walked to a little table and picked up some knitting. She took one of the needles and pointed at her husband with it. "Do not threaten me, Arthur. Do not even think you have the power to frighten me. I shall leave when I choose to leave, and neither you nor your men nor this would-be wizard will stop me. Understand that."

For the first time, Merlin got between them. "Guenevere, this is for your own safety. You saw what happened when you tried to leave a while ago. It is treacherous out there."

"We can calculate our own risks."

"Then think of it this way. A crime has been committed. At least one of your men is under suspicion. It is to your benefit to remain till we can clear his name."

"No clearing is needed, as I see it." She looked to the king. "Arthur, you know you can't keep me here against my will. Do you think my army would stay at Corfe then? We will leave when we choose. If you expect otherwise you are a bigger fool than I thought."

"You think your knights would go to war over a suspected murderer?"

She bristled. "So it is that. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing."

"And Lancelot?" Merlin asked.

"And Lancelot, and his squire Petronus, and my maid, and the assistant pastry chef." She paused then said emphatically, "We were not involved."

Arthur sighed loudly. "A young man is dead, Guenevere. We will find the killer. And your behavior here has only made me more suspicious that you and your lover may be involved." He put on a sarcastic grin. "Understand that."

He and Merlin turned and stormed out of the room before she could respond.

The snow and ice stopped, but the weather remained cold. Arthur sent a male servant out to try to reach a nearby village for food; the man never came back. No one knew what to make of it.

But as Merlin had said, the snowy weather gave him and the others in his investigative group the chance to learn what they could. He and Nimue stalked their suspects relentlessly, seeking them out on various pretexts, making casual conversation, dropping subtle references to the crime to see what reaction they got.

There were several more encounters with Guenevere, who grew colder and more distant each time. Pellenore proved as unstable as ever; none of his reactions made a bit of sense.

Then finally, they managed to corner Lancelot. He was exercising in one of the unused dungeons, repeatedly lifting over his head a heavy stone he'd found. A torch he'd wedged into a crack in the wall gave the only light. Nimue, holding another torch, whispered to Merlin that the dungeon might be a harbinger of things to come for Lancelot.

"Why, Lancelot. How interesting to find you here."

He put down his rock. "Hello, wizard."

There was no use arguing the point. "Do you know your way around here? Arthur asked me to find a manuscript in the palace archives, but I'm afraid we're quite lost."

"You should see the lower levels of Corfe."

"Will you walk with us for a while? Just to be sure we don't get lost? These passageways can be so confusing."

The knight looked at his stone as if he might miss it. "Well . . . all right. But I really need to get back to my work-out. "

"We wouldn't dream of keeping you a moment longer than we need to."

So the three of them took their torches, left that dungeon and walked the dark, musty corridors of Camelot's basement. Merlin made a show of opening one door after another, pretending he really was searching for something there. All the while he made offhand conversation, trying to get a rise out of Lancelot.

"There's not much traffic down here since Arthur abandoned torture."

"Arthur is a fool."

"You think extracting false confessions from innocent people is a desirable thing?"

"I think it works. Criminals confess."

"Under torture, everyone confesses. Besides, you should be glad we don't do that here, if only for Guenevere's sake."

"Guenevere is the queen."

"Even so."

"What crime could she be suspected of?"

Instead of answering, Merlin paused, pushed open a door, looked inside then closed it again. "A broom closet."

Lancelot answered his own question. "That boy. That squire." He said the word with faint distaste, as if squires were beneath his notice.

Merlin tried another door, but it was stuck.

"Guenevere couldn't have killed him. She was with Arthur in the Great Hall the whole time. You know that."

"Oh yes, that's right." Merlin looked thoughtful for Lancelot's sake. "But what about her servants?"

"They're servants. Who knows what they do?"

"And--and--" He convincingly acted as if he were having a new thought. "Where were you during the ceremony? "

Lancelot narrowed his eyes. "I was there."

"Someone saw you leaving the hall. I was only wondering where you went, that's all."

"That's none of your business."

"Of course not. I was only making conversation, nothing more."

Lancelot didn't know whether to believe him, and it showed.

"Well, there don't seem to be any archives down here. Arthur must have been mistaken. We'll leave you to your exercise, then. We've never really talked before, Lancelot. This has been nice."

The knight looked around. "Where are we? I've lost my bearings."

"I told you, it can be terribly confusing down here." He smiled a benign smile. "Just head back that way. And have a good workout."

They left him standing in the passageway, looking bewildered. Whether he was baffled by the castle's layout or the encounter he'd just had--or both--was impossible to say.

But as they were climbing the stairs back to ground level, Nimue whispered, "You're right. Guenevere has two apes."

For all this time, Mark was conducting his "show investigation, " asking pointless questions, bothering everyone he could, in hopes of diverting attention from the ones who were really probing the crime. Merlin, Nimue and Britomart were prying as subtly as they could, asking a pointed question here and there then backing away from it, trying to get some idea who might have killed the squire. But they had no more success than Mark, who wanted none.

Meantime Ganelin was making his inquiries among the castle servants. He followed Merlin's suggestion and never asked too directly. And he trusted Mark's show investigation to provide cover and keep people from getting suspicious. But by making conversation with select maids, grooms, valets, pages and suchlike, he began to piece together a tentative picture of the situation in Camelot on the night of the ceremony. Not only had a lot of the servants seen one suspect or another, but the ones who hadn't had heard gossip from the ones who had. So it wasn't too difficult to learn what he wanted to.

Among the people who would normally have been expected to attend the gathering but didn't, there was only Percival, and he had the alibi of illness. Ganelin went to visit him on the pretext of checking on his condition for Arthur. He found the knight coughing uncontrollably.

"Can I get you anything, sir? Or can I summon the court physician?"

"That charlatan?" He hacked. "He claims to be a magician, but have you ever seen him work any wonders?"

"Pardon me, sir, but I think he claims
not
to be a sorcerer. "

"Nonsense. He's seen more, done more, learned more than one man could do in a normal lifetime. He has sold his soul, and everyone knows it."

There was no point bickering. "I see. Well, if you don't need anything, I'll leave you to your phlegm."

"Please do."

As for the people who had gone to the Great Hall that night then left again, Ganelin was able to confirm the ones that were already known--Lancelot, Mordred, Pellenore-- and he was able to add several of the knights to the list. Then one by one he began making oblique queries about where they went and what they did.

It would have been odd indeed for someone to move about the castle unnoticed by any of the servants. And in fact he was able to construct tentative accounts for each of the guests--except four.

He made careful notes on everything he'd learned about the various suspects' movements that night. Then he reported to Merlin. "I think I know who might have done it, sir. There are four whose activities I haven't been able to verify."

"Excellent work, Ganelin. Tell me, then."

"I'd like a few more days, if it's possible. I haven't quite tracked every possible source of information. I want to be as certain as possible before I name names."

Merlin smiled. "Said like a scholar, not a knight."

"There's no need to be rude, sir."

"It's just my sense of humor. How much more time will you need?"

"As I said, a few days."

"No more than that? Are you sure? Arthur wants the assassin brought to justice before Midwinter Court, remember. "

"I'm sure I'll know much sooner than that."

In the following days the weather began to warm. Snow and ice melted; roads turned to mud and were nearly as impassable as when they were frozen. But people started to leave Camelot nonetheless.

Guenevere, Lancelot and their party were first to announce. Lancelot said arrogantly that he'd dealt with worse than mud before this, and the queen was anxious to return to Corfe.

Then Morgan and Mordred announced they would be leaving the next day. Soon Sagramore, Bors, Gawain and Accolon said they'd be going, too. Arthur sent parties out to the surrounding towns to buy provisions for the ones who would be remaining longer.

Merlin watched most of the preparations from his tower. By this time tomorrow the castle would be livable again. His ravens were happy of the warmer weather.

Some scrolls he had sent to Antioch for, months before, finally arrived. He unpacked them, unrolled them on his table and began to inspect them. A large cup rested on the edge of the table; he accidentally knocked it off, and it clattered loudly on the floor.

Nimue knocked and entered. "Merlin, there's trouble."

"Look at this. An eyewitness account of the Trojan War by a Phrygian named Dares. There are copies all over the Mediterranean, but I think this one may be Dares's original."

"Merlin, will you listen to me. Something has happened. "

He forced himself to focus on her, not the scrolls. "Yes?"

"Ganelin is dead."

THREE

ANNA

Stone steps spiraled upward along the inner wall of Merlin's tower. Halfway up sprawled Ganelin's body. Britomart waited to guard it while Nimue fetched Merlin. The squire had been stabbed through the heart with a sword, and his right arm and leg had been slashed. She was thankful that, at least, the body was nowhere near as badly mutilated as his brother's had been. But that was not much to be thankful for.

The steps had been worn down in the center from years of traffic; blood trickled from one down to the next; before long it would reach the main floor of the castle, and people would know something had happened. Brit watched its downward flow, wishing there was some way to stop it. But she had nothing that might be of help; it would take mops or swabs or, at the very least, a great deal of cloth.

She could not resist the impulse to bend down and touch the boy's body, hoping for signs of life even though she knew there would be none. Ganelin's cheek was still warm; the flesh was tender and resilient.

Just at that moment Merlin and Nimue came down from above. Merlin said nothing; he glanced at Brit then bent down to examine the corpse. "What happened?"

Brit answered, "As you can see . . . We only just found him a few moments ago."

"Thank goodness," Nimue said softly, "he isn't cut to pieces the way his brother was."

"I think he would have been." Merlin got up and reached around to rub his back. "It looks like the killer started to but was interrupted."

"There's no place he could hide, Merlin," Brit said. "If he fled when he heard us approaching, the only way he could have gone is up to your rooms."

He looked at her then turned his attention back to the body. "That's a good observation. But something must have interrupted him."

"Did you make any sounds up there? Sounds that might have scared him off, I mean?"

"I dropped a goblet. I'm not certain that would have been loud enough to panic the killer, though."

"It must have been."

"Poor Ganelin." Nimue's face was blank. "I always liked him. Poor Ganelin . . ." she repeated. "I never knew how passionate he was till after Borolet died."

"We must have some servants take him and place him by his brother." Suddenly Merlin sounded very sad; the reality of what had happened was sinking in. "I suppose we'll bury them together. Let us hope the cold earth will permit that sometime soon."

It was Brit who brought up practical matters. "We'll have to ask Arthur to delay all the departures. We can't have the suspects leaving now."

"I'll talk to him. But I'm not certain how wise that would be. We know now the lengths this fiend will go to. I had let myself hope privately that Borolet's death was a singular event. But now . . . The rest of us are vulnerable. Do we really want this killer at large in Camelot any longer?"