Merlin took a step slowly, carefully, away from his body. “So much for that hope.”
Nimue impulsively moved to the corpse, plainly wanting to do something to help.
“Do not touch him. He is dead, Colin. Nothing will do any good. We must keep our wits about us. How long were you with him?”
She explained.
“And this struck so quickly? It has all the symptoms of plague, but I have never heard of symptoms developing so rapidly. If plague is what we are actually facing-if he did not have some odd form of the pox or whatever-this may turn into a major crisis.” They both stood over the body, to warn passersby not to touch it and risk contagion. Fortunately, no one seemed to want to. There were a few curious glances, and one woman suggested consulting the local priestess of Bran, “for your sick friend.”
Petronus returned with Sergeant Ewan. Merlin explained what had happened, and what he suspected was the cause. “Have some men come and take the body away and burn it. Caution them not to touch it.”
“Should they wear armor, sir?”
“No, I do not think that will be necessary. But have them wear gloves, and warn them not to come into contact with any exposed skin. Most physicians who have known the plague think it is probably airborne, but precautions will not hurt.”
“Yes, sir. And I will send more men into town to warn everyone that there may be plague here. We cannot keep the populace in ignorance of the danger they may be facing.”
“They will panic, Ewan. That will not be good.”
“Let them. If nothing else, it will clear them all out of Dover.”
“But if some of them are already infected with plague, they will spread it to every corner of southern England. No, it would be better to cordon off the town and quarantine everyone here.”
“That would take more men than I have. There are seven major roads out of town, and any number of small footpaths.”
“You will have to find the men to staff inspection points on all of them. Erect roadblocks.”
“And you think that will not cause a panic?”
Merlin sighed. “We must take the chance, I suppose. We have never had to deal with a thing like this before. Every precaution must be taken.”
Merlin looked at the dead sailor, then back at Ewan. “We cannot be certain this is plague until… well, until it becomes a plague. But we can hardly afford to take any risks. We do not want the whole country infected. I will write a message to the king. You must send one of your men to Camelot to deliver it to him. He will instruct Britomart that we need more soldiers here.”
“And if my men panic?”
“We will have to hope they do not. England’s future may depend on what we do here. Enforce whatever discipline is necessary. Colin, here, has some experience at planning large-scale operations. He will give you whatever assistance he can.” Merlin nodded to Nimue, indicating that she should go with Ewan.
“Will you be staying to direct all our operations, sir?”
“I must return to Camelot as quickly as possible. If plague actually does break out, Arthur will need my counsel.” Again he looked at the body. “More than ever.”
Ewan and Nimue prepared plans for the soldiers of the garrison to place a cordon around the town and not permit anyone to leave. It was a larger operation than either of them had anticipated. The roadblocks required would be substantial-otherwise people could simply either walk or ride around them-and the manpower daunting. They planned shifts of men to rotate at the checkpoints. The garrison was stretched very thin. With luck, all plans would be in place by sunrise; with more luck, Britomart would post more men to Dover quickly.
A small group of men was attached to Merlin who, assisted by Petronus, monitored news from the town. The least indication of unusual illness, or of civil unrest fueled by alarming rumor, was to be reported to them. Merlin instructed them to ask discreet questions to try to determine what other ports the French ship had visited before coming to Dover. These soldiers were also to work in shifts. A small detachment of men was assigned to build a pyre and burn Jean-Gaston’s body.
Then that night another sailor from the Mal de Mer died, in exactly the same way as Jean-Gaston. Not much later a third man died, this one from a Greek ship, the Sophia, that had come to Dover after a trading stop in North Africa.
Rumor spread quickly among all the festival-goers in the town. The word plague was bandied about freely, and the town and its visitors were palpably edgy. Then, when a fourth sailor, from still another ship, took ill, complete hysteria erupted. Foreign visitors flocked back to their ships. English visitors hastened to pack and leave for their home-towns; residents of Dover took to the countryside. Merlin and Ewan scarcely had time to react; in a startlingly short time-before midnight struck-Dover was nearly deserted. The roadblocks did little good to halt the exodus or even to slow it. And the plague, if plague it really was, was loose in England.
Next afternoon, with Dover quite empty of people, Merlin decided he would be of most use back at Camelot.
Ewan was alarmed. “You can’t leave me, sir, not with all this happening. Remember, I am only a sergeant.”
“With the people gone, there is not much for you to do. Is Captain Larkin not due back shortly?”
“On the day of the equinox, sir. Tomorrow.”
“There should be no problem, then. You have done a first-class job, Sergeant, and I will make certain to tell Britomart and the king. Do you have a carriage you could spare for us?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make the arrangements. When do you wish to leave? First thing in the morning?”
“No, now, I think. There is no time to be lost. We must travel all night to reach Camelot, if need be.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send a spare driver along, then, so you will lose as little time as possible.”
“Excellent. We will leave our two soldiers with you. And you will of course brief Captain Larkin on all that has happened in Dover?”
“Naturally, sir.”
“Splendid. We will get our things together and leave as soon as possible, then. Our two soldiers will remain here, to replace them and give what help they can.
“Please instruct Captain Larkin that we will expect daily communications from Dover, advising us on the situation here. The residents will have to return, eventually. There may be further outbreaks of illness or, worse, riots. We will need to know what is happening here. And of course you must include any news you may hear of things in the surrounding countryside.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
It took little over an hour for Merlin and his aides to pack for the journey back to Camelot. By that time, Ewan had their carriage prepared. The three of them climbed in and braced themselves for the long ride home.
Nimue was in a glum mood. “I’ve never lived through anything like this.”
“No one has. No one here, at any rate.”
“It’s going to rain.”
“This is England. It is always going to rain.”
No one laughed at Merlin’s little joke, not even Merlin himself. The carriage moved forward with a considerable jolt, and they were off. Petronus asked still again if they could stop at Stonehenge to witness sunrise on the morning of the equinox. “I think we should get there just about at the right time.”
“We are facing a national emergency, Petronus.” Merlin looked out the window, not at the boy. “There is hardly time for sightseeing. Besides, see those clouds building up? I doubt there will be a sunrise for anyone to see.”
“The ceremony, then? Surely a few minutes cannot make such a big difference?”
“When this is all behind us, I will bring you to Stonehenge myself and give you a tour.”
Nimue could not resist. “And what better tour guide than the wizard who built it with his magical powers?”
Merlin snorted and shifted so his back was to them.
The first leg of their route took them directly through the heart of Dover. Streets were deserted; abandon
ed animals looked in vain for their owners; one lone ship remained in the harbor, its crew seemingly frozen into immobility; it all had the eeriest air. Nimue said she had never seen a place so melancholy.
“Hell may be coming to England, Colin. It may already have arrived. None of us will survive if we do not learn to love one another. Willful cruelty is the usual pastime of the human race. Let us hope this will change that. Arthur and I want to make a world where-” Unexpectedly he broke off. “No, this is no time for a speech. I am the greatest fool the world has known.”
She put her hand on top of his, hoping the gesture reassured him, and they rode on in silence. Before long the rhythmic motion of the carriage and the clatter of the horses’ hooves had lulled them all into a gentle sleep.
Not long after dark the rain began, a fierce, driving downpour. The noise of it woke the passengers. They shuttered the windows and rode on, quite safely encapsulated, without much conversation. Nimue offered blankets to the drivers, to help keep them dry, but it was useless. The blankets were soaked through in no time at all.
After a time, they slept again, all but Merlin, who was preoccupied wondering if the natural calamity he feared would be the undoing of the England he and Arthur had made. In time, he slept, too.
Early the next morning, well before dawn, the carriage’s pace slowed almost to a stop. It woke Merlin and Petronus. The others slept on.
“What’s wrong?” Petronus asked softly.
Merlin held a finger to his lips and said quietly, “There is no sense disturbing Colin.” Then he leaned out the window and called softly to the driver, “What is happening? Why have we slowed?”
The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle that showed no signs of letting up. The sky was still overcast, almost black, though occasional breaks in the cloud cover could be seen. The driver, himself drowsing, did not hear him. On the seat beside him the second man, his relief, was fast asleep. “How they can sleep in this rain-” Merlin muttered.
He repeated his question a bit more loudly, and this time the man responded. “The rain, sir, has turned the road to mud. We can only go so fast. On top of that, the road is clogged with travelers. Most of them are on foot.”
Merlin squinted and looked up the road ahead of them. Through the rain and the darkness he could see that there were enormous numbers of people on the road. They progressed in silence and in darkness; the rain had extinguished whatever lights they might have had. “Travelers? In such huge numbers? Who on earth can they be?”
The man shrugged. “People fleeing from Dover. We’ve finally caught up with them.”
“Has everyone from Dover taken the same road, then?”
“And I think a lot of them must be pilgrims, heading to the shrine.”
“Shrine? Oh. Stonehenge.”
“Yes, sir. It’s too bad. They won’t see the sunrise.”
“They will face worse disappointments soon enough.”
Before long the press of people forced the carriage to slow to the pace of a man walking. Merlin suggested trying to find a way around the crowd.
“Look at them, sir. They are all around us. Everywhere.”
And so they were. Hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands, as far as Merlin could see. They crossed the plain, clogged the road, made further progress excruciatingly slow. Soon enough, Merlin realized, it might be necessary to stop altogether. He said so to Petronus, who did not try to disguise his delight. “Then I will be able to see the monument after all!”
“Yes, I suppose so. Assuming the plague is not spreading through this crowd even as we speak.”
The carriage inched forward. The driver woke his companion, and they tried shouting, “Make way for the king’s advisor!” It had no effect.
“Tell me what it’s like, sir. What should I expect?” Anticipation showed in Petronus’s face.
But Merlin’s mood was growing darker by the minute. “Expect a crowd of superstitious fools.”
“But-”
“You have seen sketches of Stonehenge, surely.”
“Yes, sir, but-”
“Expect to be disappointed, then. For all its reputation, Stonehenge is not all that large or imposing. People always expect something on a titanic scale, like the Pyramids or the Colosseum in Rome. This is nowhere near so massive. There is a stone circle, uprights with stone lintels connecting them. Inside, there are five more of these ‘trilithons’ as they are called, uprights and lintels, forming a rough horseshoe. Then near the center is a huge stone used as an altar. And there are a few other bits of debris; they have been given fanciful names like the Heel Stone and the Slaughter Stone. But for all the whimsy, they are only rock. It is nothing to be excited about.”
“I’m excited, sir.”
“Don’t be.”
“I can’t help it. Wouldn’t you have been, when you were my age?”
“I was never your age. And even when I was, I would never have admitted it.”
In the distance ahead Stonehenge appeared, lit by scores of torches. The great stone circle glowed eerily, almost pre ternaturally. Merlin wondered why the rain did not put them out.
But the rain was easing; within a few moments it almost stopped. It had done its job; the plain was a sea of mud. They would be lucky if the carriage wheels did not become mired in it.
Then there was the sound of another carriage behind them. Merlin leaned out the window to look. It was an enormous thing, painted jet-black, drawn by a team of six black horses. On either side of the driver torches burned brilliantly. “Morgan,” he whispered softly to himself. Then to Petronus he said, “Apparently the high priestess of England is not daunted by terrible weather.”
“They say she can control it, sir. Maybe that’s why the rain is stopping now.”
“Do not be preposterous.” To the driver Merlin suggested, “The crowd will part for Morgan. Follow her carriage and we will make quick progress as far as the monument, at least.”
And the crowd did indeed part for their priestess. Merlin’s driver steered their coach behind hers. The quick forward jolt woke Nimue. She rubbed her eyes and asked what was happening.
Petronus excitedly told her, “We’re going to see Stonehenge and the equinox rites.”
Merlin grumped and kept his gaze outside.
Hordes of people surrounded the great stone monument, all of them seemingly with torches; they passed the fire one to another. The great stones glowed and shimmered in the predawn. They might have been fired by lightning. But he noticed that all the torches were outside the stone circle. Presumably the worshippers were waiting outside, away from the altar stone, in deference to their priestess.
Morgan’s coach drew to a halt just at the paved pathway that led into the heart of Stonehenge. Merlin’s stopped just behind it.
The crowd fell silent with anticipation. Slowly the door of Morgan’s carriage opened and she descended. She was dressed magnificently, in voluminous black robes embroidered with silver. Just behind her, her son Mordred emerged from the carriage, looking self-conscious, dressed like her in black and silver.
When she saw Merlin and the others get out of their carriage, she crossed to him. “What are you doing here?”
Merlin resented her tone. He put on a sarcastic grin and said, “Why, Morgan. How nice to see you.”
“I asked you what you are doing here. I can’t recall a time when you were not disdainful of the ancient, solemn rites that made England what she is.”
He was all sweet innocence. “We’ve come to see the monument. My assistant never has, you know. Surely you do not object to our visiting this sacred place?” He did not mean a word of it, and they both knew it.
“You are a sacrilegious old fool, Merlin. I will not have the equinox defiled by your presence. The ritual must be postponed.”
“Postpone the movement of the sun? Really, Morgan, I had no idea even you had that kind of power.”
“Do not be sarcastic, Merlin. You said yourself this is a holy place.”
“Congregation,” she corrected him.
“Congregation, then. These people have come from all over England to hear you invoke the sun god. My assistant Petronus is especially eager to witness the rites. It would be terrible of you to disappoint them all.”
She stiffened and said nothing; she was obviously turning over the options in her mind. After a moment she turned to Mordred and told him, “Signal the celebrants that we are about to begin.”
“Yes, Mother.” In a flash he disappeared into the crowd.
She clapped her hands, and from her carriage an attendant produced a high stool. He placed it in front of her. Then she held out a hand and he helped her climb up onto it. Thus towering over the crowd, she intoned, “People of England!”
Her voice thundered, quite uncharacteristically. Merlin wondered who had coached her in the way to project it.
From seemingly nowhere, a band of musicians appeared out of the throng and played a low, mournful fanfare. And the vast crowd fell silent.
“The sun is dying.” Morgan intoned the words solemnly, and they echoed across the plain.
To Nimue, Merlin whispered, “It is doing no such thing. It is merely following a course lower in the sky. It does so every year.”
“Soon enough,” Morgan went on, “it will be gone from us, only to be gloriously resurrected come springtime.” Her voice echoed across the plain. The people were rapt.
Merlin glanced at Petronus. The boy was quite caught up in the moment. He watched Morgan wide-eyed, as if her flummery made any sense. Merlin shook his head and whispered to Nimue, “I really must teach the boy more firmly.”
“And while you’re at it, why don’t you teach all the rest of them? You will never cure humanity of this, Merlin. It means too much to them.”
Morgan went on and on about the sun, the gods, the promise of a resurrected life after death, as demonstrated each year by the sun itself. Merlin wanted her to get on with it; she showed no inclination to do so.
The Pendragon Murders Page 7