“Do I not always?”
“Those steps are difficult, Merlin. I tend to come up here first thing every morning and then try and stay the whole day. When I’m lucky, Arthur doesn’t have anything for me to do anywhere else in the castle. You should have that boy of yours come along to help you up.”
“Petronus is in the schoolroom. He has lessons to learn. But I am surprised these stairs give you so much trouble. You are a generation younger than me.”
“My parents are both arthritic. As a result, so am I.” He rubbed his back. “I’m moving them here from Yorkshire, into a little room at the back of Camelot. I’m afraid wolves would get them otherwise. You know how bitter Yorkshire winters can get.”
“Indeed, what could be worse than a wolf from York?” The none-too-subtle barb was lost on Simon, but he narrowed his eyes, plainly suspecting he was the butt of Merlin’s sarcasm.
Merlin was slowly getting his wind back. Before Simon could decide how to react, he gestured at the king’s suite of rooms. “How is he today, Simon?”
“Still worried about which profile to use. It’s been a week, Merlin, and that is all he thinks about. We’ve gotten virtually nothing accomplished. Can’t you prod him to make a decision?”
“Just be happy things are so calm for the moment. And that he is not drinking. Is anyone with him?”
Simon shook his head. “Go in. He’s in the study, with those confounded portraits.”
Arthur’s study was large but simply furnished. There was a table and four wooden chairs, a few low stools, tapestries on the walls to kill drafts and enough torches to light the room but not terribly well. On stands were three large portraits of Arthur, one in left profile, one in right and one full face. The king stood before one of them, looking serious, rubbing his chin, when he noticed his advisor. “Merlin. Good morning. I think I like this one the best.”
“You said that yesterday, Arthur. Then five minutes later you preferred another one.” He smiled. “Good morning.”
“This is an important decision. I want to make the right impression.”
“Most of your subjects have never seen you and never will.”
“Exactly the point. I want them to know me, at least to the extent they can through a portrait.”
“A miniature portrait. On a coin.” Merlin sat down and arranged his robes. “I keep trying to learn how the Romans managed such excellent portraiture on their currency, but there is nothing about it in any of the libraries. But why worry about it? You could issue coins with a hunchbacked dwarf on them and it would hardly matter.”
“Now you know that isn’t true. My image must inspire confidence.”
“Then use a portrait of Emperor Justinian.”
Arthur snorted. “You think I’m being vain and foolish. I know that. But a king has a right to a certain amount of vanity.”
“A king has a right to rule, not to dither. Besides, this business of kings having some sort of inherent rights is an idea left over from ancient Egypt -a culture you always scoff at. I am not at all certain it has a place in the modern world. You are king because you made yourself king, because you fought for it. Excalibur gives you such rights as you have.” He sighed. “Simon is complaining. I know you think he is a fussy old woman, and if it comes down to it, I suppose he is, but he says you are neglecting your other duties. The kingdom is grinding to a halt, it seems.”
“We’ve had this kind of discussion too many times. Villains have swords, too. If we are to have order, there must be something higher we’re answerable to. The Christian Church is promoting the idea that kings rule by divine right.”
“Bosh. If you are going to listen to that fool of a bishop, Gildas, I will not be responsible for what happens.”
“Is this Merlin speaking? The architect of our new England, land of justice and equality? Do you really wish all of that to rest on nothing but my sword?”
“This is Merlin the pragmatist. Julius Caesar married Cleopatra because the Egyptian religion said that divinity rested in her. By marrying her, he acquired that divinity, that so-called divine right to rule. And Europe has been saddled with it ever since.” He looked down at the floor. “You married Guenevere.”
“Perhaps he loved her. They say Cleopatra was quite a beauty, Merlin. A fabulous woman. Legendary.”
“Have you ever seen the coins she minted? Some of them still circulate in Egypt, believe it or not. She was plain, even matronly. But her legend trumps that, it seems.”
Arthur grinned. “Then the image on a monarch’s coins does matter after all. Is that what you’re admitting?” He paused. “I’ve asked some of the knights which one to use. Sir Kay prefers the middle one. So does his squire, Jumonet.”
“So you are letting squires advise you now?” Merlin sighed deeply. “I surrender. You are a handsome man, Arthur. Any of those three would make a striking impression on a penny, if that is what you want. For heaven’s sake choose one.”
Arthur walked from one of the portraits to the next. His tone turned unexpectedly somber. “I find myself,” he said heavily, “thinking about my legacy. Do you know what I found last week?” He pointed to his temple. “A gray hair.”
“Shocking. A silver hair among all those bright golden ones. You must be on your last legs.”
“I’m serious, Merlin. How will I be remembered? Who will succeed me?”
“You are still in your thirties, Arthur.”
“My late thirties.”
“Even so. Talk like this is wildly premature.”
He peered at Merlin. “Shall I make you my heir?”
“Horrors, no!”
“You will outlive me, Merlin. Wizards always live to enormous age.”
“Do not be preposterous. Arthur, you are good for years. Decades, most likely.”
“What if my loving wife breaks out of her prison and starts another war against me?”
“You will defeat her. You always have. She never wins.”
“The old Count of Darrowfield never died-until last week.”
“He was eighty-three. And he was one of the dreariest men I have ever known. He may actually have bored himself to death.”
“Even so. His son is succeeding him. His legacy is intact.”
“His son is two decades older than you.” He lowered his voice slightly. “And rumor has always had it he was a bastard.” Suddenly he seemed to realize where the king’s thought was heading. He frowned deeply. “Arthur, what do you have in mind?”
“I must select an heir. England ’s stability depends on it.”
“What a pity you did not marry more wisely. You would have sons now.”
“I have sons. Probably more than I know. But would anyone recognize them as legitimate heirs?”
“Ah yes, the royal prerogative. How many bastards have you fathered?”
“Memory fails. If every country girl or chambermaid who has succumbed to me had given birth, I could be the strongest king in Europe.”
“Or the weakest. Sons have a way of disrespecting their fathers. Look at you and yours.”
“Uther is a foul old bastard. You know perfectly well that he all but disowned me when I was a boy.”
“My point exactly.”
“You think because Uther behaved so horribly toward me, that I would do the same to my boys?”
“It has been known. What about the French knight Accolon? Everyone suspects he is really your son.”
“Accolon is still young. And he is too impulsive to be king, I think.”
“So the rumors are correct? He really is yours? Granted, he is impulsive. But is he ambitious?”
Arthur brushed the question aside. “I want you to give some thought to this idea of succession, Merlin. I’d like to announce that I’m considering it when all the barons gather here for Midwinter Court. There has to be a way of doing it that will not set them at one another’s throats.”
Merlin was wry. “Despite my reputation, I am not really a wizard, remember?”
“Arthur, an heir-”
“And you’ll keep it up for hours on end, if you have to. But this is one time you will not wear me down. Merlin, suppose we build the brilliant new England we both want to see. Suppose we make it as stable as any country in Europe. How long will it last? I have to know who my successor will be. I have to know he will continue our policies. Without that, everything we do is for nothing.”
“Everything, ultimately, is for nothing, Arthur. The philosophers all agree that-”
“Oh dear.” The king put on an air of long-suffering patience. “Not that ‘sad wisdom of the ages’ again. Please, Merlin, anything but that.”
“In the name of everything human, Arthur, think. Suppose you live for another fifty years. Old Darrowfield did. Suppose you choose the wisest, kindest successor in England. Then suppose he goes mad a year after your death. Caligula did. Will you ever know? Will the worms tell you the political gossip?”
“Point taken. But I want to leave a stable England. Guenevere will outlive me, damn her. She’ll do it to spite me, like everything else she does. Can you imagine what this country would be like with a gorgon like her on the throne?” Merlin started to say something but Arthur cut him off, “And don’t remind me that I was the one who chose her.”
“For the sake of your nerves, Arthur, and my sanity, why will you not stop obsessing about Guenevere? She is hardly the only villain in England.”
“She was-is-my wife. Her betrayal never stops hurting. It’s horrible enough when a friend does it. But a wife…”
“It will pass in time, Arthur. Everything does. In the meantime-”
“More philosophy?” Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Yes?”
Merlin took a deep breath. “I would like to leave for a few weeks.”
Suddenly the king broke into a smile. “Leave? To go where?”
“To Dover. My aides want to attend the autumn festival there. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. If you don’t mind making a detour, that is.”
“A detour?” It was Merlin’s turn to be suspicious. “To where?”
“To give our royal condolences to the new Lord Darrowfield.”
“Young Darrowfield?! He’s the biggest bore in England. He makes his father seem charismatic.”
“Even so. Our rulership depends on the goodwill of the barons. He has a great many friends. Tell him we intend to formalize his title at Midwinter Court. Take him presents. A ring or something. Better still, tell him we’ll send him a cohort of servants for his installation feast. He’s invited me, of course, but I have no intention of going. Life is dull enough here at court. But butter him up, and do a good job of it. Another conspiracy is bound to be hatched sooner or later; I want him friendly to us.”
“I was hoping for a vacation, Arthur, not a work outing.”
“And you will have one-as soon as you do this for me.”
Merlin slumped a bit in his chair. “I should have expected something like this. You always smile at me before you unload some nasty obligation on me. Give me two weeks’ holiday, then I’ll take a third for Darrowfield.”
“Do this first. Then go and play for a month, if you like.” He hesitated. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to mention, I’ve decided Camelot should have a court jester. Like every other court in Europe.”
Merlin didn’t blink. “You are promoting one of the knights?”
“For once, Merlin, restrain your sarcastic tongue. He is a young man named John of Paintonbury. I met him on my last tour about the countryside.”
“A bumpkin, Arthur? Do you not think we have enough of those here already?”
“Stop it. He is a bright young man, witty and very verbal. When he gets here, I’d like you to do everything you can to make him comfortable here.”
“A jester. From Paintonbury.” Merlin was deadpan. “As if Darrowfield were not awful enough. Are you certain there is nothing else I can do? Climb to the top of this tower and stand on my head, for instance?”
“It isn’t that bad, Merlin. If nothing else, Darrowfield lays a good table. He has the most skilled chef in the south of England.”
“Really? I’m very fond of good food, and so are Colin and Petronus.”
“I thought you might fancy the idea.”
“Very well, Arthur. Done. But if Darrowfield does not provide some excellent dinners, I will complain to you, not him.”
That was Merlin’s worry. England was at peace. What else did he have to fret about? Yet just over the horizon lurked death.
TWO
There was miscellaneous business for Merlin to finish before they could leave on their trip, minor bits of government business and two seriously ill patients he was reluctant to abandon; but they finally left Camelot on horseback several mornings after Merlin’s interview with Arthur. The autumn weather was bright with sunshine for the first day of the journey. Wildflowers grew everywhere; butterflies flitted cheerfully from plant to plant; young foxes played in the fields. Merlin’s young aides seemed to savor everything in the world. And the festival would be the cream of it all.
Merlin himself did not enjoy the weather. “I should have had Arthur provide us with a coach. My hip is aching quite fiercely.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Britomart wanted to send a military escort with us, ‘for security.’ It was difficult enough to talk the two of them out of that. A carriage would have made us much too obvious a target for unwanted attention. Or for thieves.”
Nimue sounded doubtful. “We’re fairly conspicuous on horseback. But I’m glad you talked them out of that carriage. This weather is too lovely to ride inside.”
Petronus added, “England is mostly peaceful. Why would we need security?”
“I am afraid you will have to ask Britomart about that. She seems to see threats and menace everywhere.”
“It’s her job, Merlin.”
“I suppose so. I wish she would take some time off now and then, that is all. The soldiers of the Dover garrison will almost certainly keep track of us and report our doings to her. We will have to remain on our best behavior every moment. Government. I am not at all certain this will be much of a holiday.”
“Do we have to stay at the garrison?”
“I hope not. But even so…” He made a show of scanning the landscape. “And that is not to mention this visit to Lord Darrowfield. His father did not die for long decades, even though everyone kept expecting him to.”
“Are you saying this one may go soon, to make up for it?” Nimue was wry.
“We are entitled to some good luck sometime, are we not?”
“Don’t be morbid, Merlin.”
“Besides,” Petronus added, “might the king not then send you as his envoy to the funeral? We’d get another trip.” He grinned. “In a carriage.”
“Keep your attention on the road, Petronus, and be quiet.”
Merlin, Nimue and Petronus were accompanied by a pair of armed soldiers. This was at Britomart’s insistence. It was only with difficulty Merlin had talked her out of a full military escort.
“You are important agents of the state,” she had claimed. “You must be protected.”
“So crucial to the national good that Arthur is sending us to Darrowfield to congratulate a new minor lord on his new minor lordship. How could England go on without us?”
“Don’t be difficult, Merlin. I want to send a full squad, but Arthur knew how you’d bristle at that. Be grateful I’m in an accommodating mood.”
“Fine, Brit. We are grateful. Does that make you happy?”
&n
bsp; “There are times I wish you weren’t quite so clever, do you know that?”
He was mordant. “You prefer that ‘important agents of the state’ be dull-witted?”
“Go to Dover.” She turned her back and stomped away.
Happily the soldiers rode unobtrusively behind them. Petronus tried a few times to engage them in conversation, but they seemed as unhappy to be on this journey as Merlin was to have them.
The morning was cool but the sun promised warmth as well as brilliant light. Trees were just beginning to take on their autumn colors. Late wildflowers bloomed everywhere, it seemed; some even grew in the highway itself. Wayfarers on the road all seemed happy and content. Nimue leaned close to Petronus and whispered, “We couldn’t have better weather for this trip. But don’t say so to Merlin. He’d only take it as a challenge and try to find some reason why we’d be better off back at Camelot.”
An hour after they set out a huge black cloud drifted across the face of the sun, plunging the world into a brief twilight. Petronus said it must be a bad omen for their journey.
“A bad omen?” Nimue scolded him. “Haven’t you learned anything at all from Merlin? There is no such thing as an omen. If there are any gods, they are much too kind to grant us a glimpse of what our futures hold.”
Merlin had been riding in silence, apparently lost in thought. Now he spoke up. “Too kind, or much too cruel. That would be much more in character for such gods as may exist.”
Petronus found this thought chilling. “You always paint everything in the darkest tones possible.”
“I have lived a long life in the company of other human beings. The more I see, the darker the world looks to me. Never mind the dark clouds that sometimes hide the sun. It is the dark clouds inside ourselves that should concern you. They are the one great constant in human affairs.”
The boy found this line of talk disquieting and decided not to pursue it any further. “I have never been to Darrowfield. To be honest, I haven’t even heard of it. Where is it?”
The Pendragon Murders Page 2