The Pendragon Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  “If the barons stop giving you tribute and begin donating it to Gildas…” He grinned at her, and she glared. “Christianity has stabilized half of Europe, Morgan. The tatters of the Roman Empire are beginning to coalesce in a coherent way. Such a vast historical process can hardly be stopped-not even if it were desirable. Progress, or at any rate movement, cannot be stopped. I doubt it can even be slowed by much.”

  She was stiff. “You will not assist me, then, in preserving sacred England?”

  “I am afraid I am powerless.”

  “If you can persuade Arthur-”

  “Morgan, this is out of my hands. I doubt I could even get Darrowfield to listen to me, much less Arthur.”

  She got to her feet and struck an imperious pose. “Very well, then. Saving England falls to me. As it has fallen to many a high priestess in the past. Good night, Merlin.”

  “We are fortunate to have had you. All of you.” He smiled what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.

  Then he stood and escorted her to the door. Darrowfield Castle had proved a much more interesting place than he had expected, and a much more turbulent one.

  Late that night Lady Darrowfield came to Merlin’s rooms. She had evidently been crying, and she was still trying to regain her composure. In her hand she clutched a kerchief.

  “Lady Darrowfield.” He yawned and frowned at her; the last thing he wanted was to become entangled in his host’s domestic affairs. But she seemed not to notice. “What brings you to my chambers at this awful hour?”

  “I wanted-I wanted to apologize for my unseemly behavior at dinner. I am so ashamed. I had liked to think I outgrew that sort of tantrum when I was still a girl.”

  “Everyone suffers weak moments, milady.”

  “It is not simply a matter of weakness. You have no idea what it’s like, living with someone who says he loves only you, but in fact distributes his love freely, far and wide. Belief-trust becomes impossible.”

  “I can only imagine.” He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to sound as sad and concerned as he could. “But it is not uncommon.”

  “I mean, I know that copulating with women far and wide is what lords do. All of them, or nearly so. What is the polite term they use? ‘Baronial privilege,’ I believe.” She glanced at him with some mixture of hope and fear in her eyes. “But Merlin, he has been threatening to disinherit my sons and bring some of his bastards to live here as his heirs.” She looked away from him, clearly abashed. “Might you-is there any chance you might ask King Arthur to intervene?”

  “Arthur?”

  “Yes. Surely it must be of interest to the crown to see that England’s noble bloodlines are kept as pure as can be.”

  He wanted to ask her Why? What makes you think they are pure at all? Instead he said softly, “I will mention the matter to him.”

  “Do I have your promise?”

  “You do.” The situation was making him increasingly uncomfortable. He yawned an exaggerated yawn, hoping she would take the hint and leave.

  But she seemed unable to move. “I may consider you a friend, then?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “My boys are good boys. I mean, they are boys, they get into mischief. But they deserve their birthright.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “Will you call me Miriam, please? ‘Lady Darrowfield’-that is hardly the way friends address one another.”

  “Of course. Miriam.” He wanted her gone. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in the domestic troubles of a minor lord. Not able to think of anything else, he yawned again.

  This time she took the hint. Impulsively she threw her arms around him, squeezed him tightly, then kissed him hard on the cheek. “Good night, Merlin.”

  “Sleep well, Miriam.” But please go, he thought.

  “I will, knowing that you will have Arthur bring my errant husband into line.”

  She walked off down the corridor quickly, made a wrong turn, stopped and waved to Merlin, then hastened down the correct hallway. Merlin sighed heavily, glad she was gone, and went into his room and crawled into bed. He realized he had forgotten to extinguish the candles and decided not to. Let them burn themselves out.

  In the morning he told Nimue about the nocturnal visit of Miriam Darrowfield. Petronus was still at his morning bath, which was just as well; a boy that young would be unlikely to grasp the implications of the situation or have anything useful to contribute.

  Nimue was unsurprised at his account. “You’re right, Merlin. All the barons do it. And every woman in England knows it. Our ‘lords and masters’ expect us to let them have their way with us, then leave. Pity the woman who makes any fuss. And the woman unfortunate enough to conceive a child is left quite on her own. It is understood she is not ever to name the father.”

  Merlin listened and furrowed his brow. “And so she has had a night of pleasure, same as the man, and it has ended. What has changed for her?”

  “You assume that the men trouble to give the women full pleasure.”

  “Full or partial-does it matter?”

  “Perhaps to the woman. And if she is left with child? No man would marry a woman in such a plight, or at least very few would. Have you never suspected that your and Arthur’s ‘new’ England must look quite different to a woman than it does to a knight, say, or a lord?”

  “Nature has decreed that-”

  “That men take vows and then shatter them? That men use women the way they use their horses or their hunting dogs?” Her tone was growing heated.

  Merlin tried to calm her down. “You must not take this so personally. I told you, Darrowfield is renowned for his dullness. It is hardly fair to judge all men by that uninspiring standard.”

  “Hogwash. Other men may not be quite as callous to their wives as Darrowfield, but they all behave like him. I never realized how crass the average lord is till I started living among them as a man myself. You should hear the knights sometime. You and Pellenore are the only male members of the ruling order who don’t regard women as chattel. Or so I thought.”

  He hesitated. “Thank you for exempting me.”

  “I exempt you, personally. I indict your sex.”

  “Sex?” Petronus breezed into the room, toweling his hair. “Did someone mention sex?”

  “There-you see?” Nimue was exultant. “That completes the indictment, milord.” She stuck her tongue out at Merlin and walked jauntily out of the room.

  “What on earth was that about?” Petronus scratched his head.

  “You would never understand, you man, you.”

  “But-I-”

  “Never mind, Petronus. Do you know how soon breakfast will be served?”

  The boy shook his head. “But there are some people to see you.”

  “People? What people?”

  “From Camelot.”

  Merlin was bewildered.

  “The servants,” Petronus prompted. “The ones Arthur promised to send.”

  “Oh. But what do they want with me? They should be reporting to Lady Darrowfield for their instructions. She runs the household.”

  At a loss, Petronus shrugged. “Shall I show them in?”

  “I suppose. Slowly, though. I am not awake yet. And the morning has already been too eventful.”

  Petronus left and Merlin pulled up a chair. Servants. He would tell them to report to the lady of the castle and get rid of them. He was finding Darrowfield Castle and its inhabitants more and more tedious.

  When Petronus returned, he was followed by a woman who looked to be in her late thirties and two teenage boys who looked startlingly alike. He had seen them around Camelot; he was certain of it. But he could not place them.

  The woman curtsied to him and introduced herself as Marian of Bath. The boys, she explained, were her twin sons, Robert and Wayne.

  Merlin smiled and made himself cordial. “And what can I do for you?”

  “The king told us to report to you,” one of the twins explained.<
br />
  “He wanted you to know we’ve arrived,” said the other. “Actually we arrived last night, but we were told you were engaged.”

  “Engaged? Who told you that?”

  The boy shrugged. “One of the people here.”

  “But you were here last night?”

  Both boys nodded.

  For a moment there was an awkward silence, as if they were expecting someone to add something to what they’d said. Finally their mother added, “The king’s instructions were rather vague, I’m afraid. What exactly are we to do here?”

  “Lord Darrowfield has only recently been elevated to that rank, by the unfortunate death of his father, the old lord. He will shortly host a feast here for a number of his peers, in celebration of his new status. You are to assist the household staff, then return to Camelot. It is as uncomplicated as that.” He narrowed his eyes and peered at the woman. “You work in the kitchen, do you not? I believe you are the cook who makes those heavenly honey cakes Arthur is so fond of.”

  She giggled with pleasure at his recognition. “Yes, sir. The king has shown me his favor from time to time.”

  “And you boys-you wait tables for us, do you not?”

  They nodded but did not smile or give any indication of the kind of enjoyment their mother had displayed.

  “Well, all of you, off to Lady Darrowfield now. I haven’t time for any more small talk.”

  The boys turned and left quickly, leaving their mother to thank Merlin for his attention. “And… do you know if Lady Darrowfield has an herb garden I may have access to? The secret of my baking is in the herbs.” She wrinkled her nose. “Camelot’s herb garden is so large, so marvelous. I can always find anything I need there. But here…”

  “I am sure there must be one. But you will have to ask someone who knows better than I.” It was time to dismiss her. “But I am certain Lord Darrowfield’s feast will be more successful for the contribution you can make.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. Sir.” She followed her sons in an uncertain way, as if she was not certain where she was or what to expect.

  “And be careful of this castle,” Merlin called after her. “The corridors can be quite tricky. I have seen Lord Darrowfield himself become disoriented. Have one of his servants show you the way.”

  The Darrowfields showed no sign of having reconciled overnight. They studiously avoided looking at or speaking to each other. When on occasion at breakfast their arms brushed against each other, they stiffened like dictators expecting an assassin. The atmosphere in the dining hall was palpably uncomfortable, not to say hostile. Marian of Bath’s sons, who helped serve the meal, seemed baffled by it, and no one bothered to explain.

  This continued all day long. Merlin confronted each of the Darrowfields and hinted that it might be wise for them to make up their differences before the other peers arrived; neither would countenance the idea. After a time, he stopped trying. “The king would wish me to make an attempt at bringing harmony,” he told Nimue. “I have made it. They want no part of it.”

  “How long do we have to stay here?”

  “No longer. I intend to thank Darrowfield for his hospitality, such as it has been, and inform him we will be leaving tomorrow morning. However unpleasant Dover might be, I will find it quite cordial after this place.”

  She laughed. “I always enjoy it when your expectations are confounded.”

  “I had no expectations, except that this would not be a pleasant place to visit. It is worse than that. Will you find our soldiers and tell them to be ready to leave in the morning?”

  “Yes. I think they’re looking forward to Dover, too. It will be a holiday for them.”

  “Excellent. I will tell Petronus myself.”

  Over dinner that night the lord and lady of the castle threw all discretion to the winds and fought openly, about the same thing as before. Their sons shifted awkwardly and finally made excuses to leave the room. The twins from Camelot, who were again serving the meal, worked quickly and kept as much distance as possible between themselves and their temporary masters. Their mother kept to the kitchen; Merlin wondered whether it was by design.

  During a lull in the combat Merlin announced his party’s imminent departure. Darrowfield glared at him. “Why? Do you not like it here?”

  “We are on holiday, Lord Darrowfield. All of us are anxious to reach Dover and the festival there.”

  Darrowfield frowned and continued questioning them, even turning on Nimue and Petronus. “You told me you weren’t going there.”

  “It was your suggestion that gave us the idea.” Merlin lied freely, like the courtier he was.

  Darrowfield seemed determined to find some cause to take offense. But Merlin was a more skillful conversational ist, or debater, than that; he salved every objection Darrowfield had.

  At one point Lady Darrowfield asked him, “You will not forget your promise to me?”

  “Promise?” Darrowfield roared. “What promise? Who do you think you are, making promises to a woman-and another man’s wife?”

  “If promises to wives were of any moment to you, husband,” she scolded him, “we would hardly be at this impasse.”

  He raised a hand to strike her; the elder of their sons jumped to his feet and caught his arm. Darrowfield stomped angrily out of the room, muttering about “enemies everywhere-even in my own house.”

  When the rest of the party finally broke up, no one was in good spirits. But Merlin had his host’s leave to depart.

  “I hear you’re leaving.” Mordred encountered Nimue at the entrance to the dining hall, just before breakfast.

  “I’m afraid we have to. We’re expected at Dover.” She told the convenient lie easily. “The king sent us as his representatives to their festival.”

  “I envy you. We’ll be here till the equinox, so Mother can preside at the rituals at Stonehenge.”

  “I imagine I’ll see you there, then. Our companion Petronus wants to see the monument. I can’t imagine why.” She wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated way. “He’s French.”

  “Listening to our host and hostess fight all the time will be so unpleasant. And there are no signs of them being reconciled-or wanting to.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “Mother wouldn’t approve. She can be so demanding. And she’s angry at Darrowfield. He’s flirting with Christianity, like half the nobles in England. She means to dissuade him. I want to try and maintain the peace, to the extent I can.”

  “And from what I hear, your mother can be so very vindictive when her demands are ignored. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I pity Darrowfield if he defies her. But at least you’ll survive, Mordred. You’re young.”

  “So are you. So is Petro-Pet-What is his name again?”

  “Petronus.”

  “Well, we should go in and have breakfast.” He smiled a sardonic smile. “The condemned man ate a hearty meal.”

  “Cheer up. Arthur sent his pastry chef. You’ll have the most wonderful cakes while you’re here.”

  “If Mother doesn’t poison them.”

  Breakfast was made into an ordeal by the Darrowfields’ stony disagreements. When Merlin began saying his farewells, they both reacted unhappily. Then, when each of them realized the other wanted him to stay, they both made a show of bidding their guests good-bye.

  Through it all, Morgan sat without saying much; Uther slept at the table; and Mordred sulked. Peter of Darrowfield came to table late and kept yawning. When everyone was finished with breakfast, Merlin, his aides and their soldier-escorts went directly to the stables, saddled their horses and made ready to leave.

  At the last moment Lord Darrowfield approached Merlin. “I have changed my mind. I should like you to stay.”

  Merlin forced himself to smile. “May I ask why you have had such a dramatic change of heart?”

  “Someone has been following me. Like a shadow. I can never see who it is-these damned winding corridors make it impossible. But som
eone is always there. You are famous for exposing villains. I-”

  “I am certain it is nothing to be concerned about. Your castle is so easy to become lost in. It could be anyone, for any reason. Just because someone is behind you does not mean you are being threatened. Besides, your new sheriff seems a capable man. I expect he can give you any protection you might need.”

  “But-”

  “We must be off to Dover. The king’s business, you know.”

  Plainly unhappy, Darrowfield bid them good-bye once again.

  When they finally departed, just after the morning meal, their going seemed to come as a relief to everyone involved, except Lord Darrowfield himself. As he watched them go, a look of increasing concern crossed his features.

  On the road, Merlin was lost in thought. When Nimue asked what was bothering him, he told her, “There is a line in the Christian holy book which I cannot get out of my mind. ‘A man’s enemies are the men of his own house.’ ”

  “You mean Lord Darrowfield, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.” Ruefully he added, “But Darrowfield seems to have enemies enough for three houses. It has all left me so uneasy.”

  THREE

  The weather was good for traveling, though clouds loomed in the west. Petronus commented, hoping they would make it to Dover before any storms might strike.

  “This is England, Petronus,” Merlin lectured softly. “There are always storms coming. If they do not strike now, they will hit us in Dover.”

  On the road from Darrowfield, heading for the main highway, they passed Stonehenge once again; they saw it in the distance to their left. It was still early morning; the monoliths cast long, strange shadows across the fields. Petronus asked if they might make at least a brief stop to inspect the monument.

  “On our way home, Petronus.” Merlin wanted no part of the suggestion. He hardly needed to explain that the place’s association with religion, or superstition as he called it, was the reason why. “The celebration of the autumn equinox will be occurring. Even with Morgan there, doing her high priestess act and wielding her battery of poisons, it should be an entertaining festival.”