Untitled (33 page)

When they left the inn next morning there were signs that the sun was trying to penetrate the cloud cover. But the wind remained cold and damp. They could not have reached Camelliard too soon to please them.

   On the road they passed more people who, like Marie, seemed to be leaving the region "while they could." It was not a promising sign. One young woman fleeing could be put down to fear or distrust. A mass exodus indicated there was something to be afraid of.

   They were in the foothills of the Pyrenees now. The road topped a low hill. Then it descended gradually into a valley and then, in the far distance, rose again. At the top of that rise sat Camelliard Castle. Petronus made a point of telling everyone, and Merlin shushed him. "We must be extra care­ ful not to give away our cover from now on. Remember, Petronus, you have taken a vow of silence."

   "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered. "But it is home, and I haven't seen it since I left for England."

   Instead of answering Merlin held a finger to his lips and made a show of crossing himself in mock-piety.

The English countryside was drying out, slowly and gradu­ ally. And Corfe harbor had been sufficiently cleared to permit about half of the legates—the ones with smaller ships—to leave. Andrea of Salesi was still in residence at the castle, as were the Byzantines, Merlin's friend Ger­ manicus and assorted others. Morgan and Gildas had never stopped their bickering, most recently about who was to officiate at the funerals for Leodegrance and Podarthes, which were to take place as soon as the earth was suffi­ ciently dry to permit the digging of proper graves.

   Leonilla was of course still in residence, and her behav­ ior was growing more and more strange. Her mad walk­ abouts were becoming increasingly frequent. Delegates, members of Arthur's staff, even servants would waken in the middle of the night to find her at their bedsides, talking incoherently or going through their things. Jean-Michel and the rest of her servants tried valiantly to control her, but a lifetime of cunning had taught her to elude them easily. People found her behavior and even her mere presence more and more alarming.

   But the fact that guests remained did not make them any easier to deal with. Their unwillingly prolonged residence in England was making them more and more testy, more and more impatient. They seemed to have the attitude that they should be treated with all the honor and deference they would have received in their courts at home. Eudathius was growing especially demanding and arrogant.

   Nimue had to deal with it all, backed by Arthur and sup­ ported by Simon. But she was finding it more and more wearisome. "I wish Merlin had not gone to France," she complained to Simon, "or that he'd get back soon. I can't tell you how happily I would be relieved of these duties. If that Eudathius makes one more demand—for snow with syrup, for candied hummingbird tongues or whatever—I swear I'll toss him into the harbor."

   "I wouldn't do that. It is polluted enough already. You are not cut out for diplomacy, Colin."

   "You're telling me?"

   "And you are starting to sound like Merlin. He grumbles so memorably."

   "Don't be rude."

   Simon remained calm and cool through even the worst of the crises brought on by their guests' prolonged pres­ ence. "They are living here on our hospitality, not by their own choice. We invited them, remember? It is incumbent on us to do all we can to keep them happy."

   "You're probably right, Simon. But I say the hell with them. And it won't take much more for me to say it to their faces."

   "And how much of our work would that undermine?"

   "Do you know I haven't read a book in weeks? Too many duties, too many people."

   Simon smiled at her. "We have had no word yet from Merlin?"

   Colin shook her head. "Nothing."

   "He will be home soon enough."

   "If he isn't in a dungeon or a torture chamber some­ where." She grinned. "The French know how to treat un­ welcome guests."

   On the day when the sun finally broke through the clouds and stayed out for the afternoon, a sentry went to Colin's office. "There are riders on the Camelot Road, sir."

   "Our men?"

   "They are still quite a way off. Even with Merlin's lenses we can't—"

   "Keep a close eye out. If they are our knights, send out riders with wine and mead. If not . . . I don't know, kill them or ambush them or something. Check with Britomart. The last thing we need is more unwelcome visitors."

   "Yes, sir."

   "Let's hope they are knights from Camelot. Arthur sent word he needs two dozen of them to form the jury for Lan­ celot's trial."

   Two hours later Sir Sagramore arrived with a contingent of knights. They had ridden long and hard, and they were in an unpleasant mood. Colin met them in the courtyard. "Welcome. You made good time getting here. We didn't think the roads would all be passable yet."

   "They aren't." Sagramore snorted and looked around at the castle. "This place is hideous."

   "The castle isn't half as ugly as what's gone on inside, believe me."

   "Take me to Arthur. How is he, by the way? And where is Merlin? I expected him to greet us."

   She explained about Merlin's trip to France. "You've heard about the two murders, I assume?"

   "Two? We knew that Leodegrance was killed. Arthur wants us to form the jury for the trial. Is Lancelot still the only suspect?"

   "More or less. There are other possibilities. But in Mer­ lin's absence I'm preparing the prosecution—as if I didn't have enough to trouble me—so we probably shouldn't dis­ cuss it. I wouldn't want to influence you."

   "Believe me, Colin, the day a bookish boy like you can influence the Knights of the Round Table is the day hell turns to ice." He made a sour face. "Scholars. Real men
act
."

   She couldn't resist. "You'd rather deal with an actor?"

   "Don't be sarcastic." He turned his back on her and ad­ justed his horse's bridle. "Where are the stables?"

   "I'll have one of the pages show you."

   With a cohort of his knights in residence, Arthur's mood

brightened for the first time since he'd arrived at Corfe. He exercised with them, wrestled with them, ate and drank with them. "This is the proper element for a king," he told Colin. "Action, not all this damned diplomatic palaver." He wrinkled his nose. "Talk, talk, talk. The politicians never do anything, and they never shut up about it."

   "They keep the world functioning, Arthur."

   "Poor world."

"You are not from Mendola?"

   Pierre of Autun was every inch the careworn court official—pale, craggy, angular, with steel-gray hair. He stared at Merlin and his "monks" with undisguised suspi­ cion. So far, Merlin had been unable to dispel it.

   Merlin had introduced himself as Anselm of York, and no one had questioned his identity. He smiled like—he hoped—a benevolent abbot. "No. England, England. As I told you. We are from an abbey founded by Bishop Gildas in Londinium, or London, as the British are beginning to call it. We came originally from an abbey in Brittany and moved to England at Gildas's behest."

   "Then what are you doing here?" Pierre scowled.

   Merlin was the soul of clerical patience. "As I explained, Bishop Gildas gave us permission to return to the Conti­ nent, to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James, at Compostela." He added helpfully, "It is just across the Pyrenees from here. There is a pass through the mountains that we—"

   "I am quite familiar with Compostela," Pierre grumbled. "It is in Spain. Why are you in France?"

   "We had planned to make landfall on the south coast of Spain. But the storm—"

   "I see. Tell me something."

   "Anything you need to know." He radiated goodwill and friendliness. "Only ask."

   "A nephew of mine is in service at the court of King Ar­ thur. Do you know him, by chance?"

   "A nephew?" Merlin feigned ignorance. "What would his name be? There are so many Frenchmen at Arthur's court. I myself prefer to remain at the abbey in Londinium, but—"

   "Petronus. He is a boy of about fourteen."

   "Petronus?" Merlin played mock-surprise perfectly. "Why, I know him very well. He is one of our novices. He is traveling in our group, in fact."

   "I see. Has he taken his vows yet?"

   "Yes. Petronus is a splendid young man. He—"

   "That is too bad. I would like to interview him, but if he is already pledged to a life of silence . . ." He left the thought unfinished. "Still, I think I would enjoy seeing him. Having one of my relatives silent will be more pleasant than you can imagine. We have scouts checking the condi­ tion of the mountain pass even as we speak. It is prone to flash floods. A great many people make the pilgrimage to Compostela, and most of them want to stay here with us before crossing the mountains. We have to turn most of them away. But you and your party may stay until out scouts return."

   "Thank you very much. We—"

   "You would be surprised at the number of travelers who make this journey, and as I said, they all seem to want to shelter here. We send most of them to inns. But of course, the clergy . . ." He waved a hand vaguely instead of finish­ ing his sentence. "I'll have one of the servants show you to your rooms."

   "We could not be more appreciative, believe me. But if I might ask one further indulgence, a small one."

   Pierre turned suspicious again instantly. "Yes?"

   "Petronus has a friend here. Or rather, a mentor. A jew­ eler named Reynaud de Beliveau. He would like to see the man once again. Might that be possible?"

   "On theory, yes, of course." Pierre looked concerned. "But you will have to do it quickly. Reynaud is quite old, and I fear he is not in the best of health."

   "I see. When may we see him, then?"

   "Soon. Tomorrow. You will be accompanying Pet­ ronus?"

   "I am afraid so, yes. As the only member of our party permitted to speak—"

   "Of course. And I will want to interview Petronus my­ self. Will you be along as interlocutor?"

   "It is quite necessary, I fear. Petronus, like all our clerics, has vowed never to speak, so that he may turn all his thoughts to the Lord, and so I—"

   "I understand perfectly. Shall we plan to meet after the evening meal, then?"

   "That would be most agreeable." Merlin made a slight bow.

   "And needless to say, I will want whatever news you can provide about our queen."

   Merlin nodded. "Naturally. Until then."

The castle showed signs of being fairly new but with a few wings that were clearly older; a great deal of it had been erected since Merlin's last visit, a decade earler. It was all in poor repair. Walls were cracked; water dripped from ceil­ ings and walls; mold grew. Leodegrance and Leonilla's ambitions had outstripped their treasury; they must have been more hard-up for money than they ever let on; it made their various attempts to seize land in England that much more explicable.

   "Anselm" and his monks were led through halls strewn with litter. Dogs ran wild in the castle, apparently underfed and ungroomed; hallways smelled of them.

   As they neared the place Merlin had warned everyone that they would most likely be spied on; it was important that they all remember to maintain silence. If anything im­ portant came to light, they were to pass the information to Merlin in a note. As they moved through the castle halls, they got suspicious glances and even glares from nearly everyone who saw them.

   Merlin and Petronus shared a room; Martin and his knights had three others. Once they were in their cham­ bers, left to their own devices and untended by the French, he circulated a note reminding them of the importance of keeping under cover, which meant in essence maintaining silence and not prying too openly. Wi
th so many suspi­
cious eyes and ears,
he wrote,
our every move will be
watched and probably reported. Remember that if we are
taken to be spies, we will most likely be executed forth­
with.

   Once they had stowed their packs in their room, Merlin found a servant to lead them to the chapel, where they made a show of praying in silence for an hour. At dinner they ate frugally. There was every reason for onlookers to believe that they were a poor religious order, humbly de­ voted to God's service.

   When the prayers were done and the meal over, Petronus had his meeting with his uncle, chaperoned by Merlin. As they talked it became more and more apparent that Pierre was more concerned with chasing legacies than with security. Everything seemed to be to his satisfaction, which only served to convince Merlin more fully that they would be spied on.

   Merlin told Pierre about the state of Leonilla's health and mental faculties, and Pierre's reaction to the news was impossible to gauge. Was he pleased or alarmed? Court official that he was, he gave nothing away.

   Then, late at night by candlelight, Merlin conversed by note with Petronus.
I have seen no sign of Beliveau. I have
not even heard anyone mention his name. I wish I could see
him—at least catch a glimpse of him—before tomorrow.

   
He is old. Very old. Older than you, even.
Merlin scowled as he read it.
He usually keeps to his rooms.

   
Where is his workshop?

   
On the top floor. It is usually guarded because of the
gold, silver and gems kept there.

   
In the morning I will want you to take me there. I have
told Pierre you and the man were friendly, so with luck no
one will be suspicious.

   
What about the guards?

   
I shall have to play the gentle shepherd for their sake,
benevolently concerned for his flock. That has not failed us
yet.