The Pendragon Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I know I can be of service to you. Especially if all the knights I hit are typical of your forces.”

  Merlin suppressed a chuckle. “You are John’s brother, all right.”

  “Peter, will you take Bruce off to the servants?” Arthur looked mildly nonplussed by the boy’s presence. “And Bruce, I would suggest that you keep a low profile for the night. You will find many of the knights are humorless and less than forgiving.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. And thank you.”

  “Go along now and get scrubbed up.”

  “Can I… May I have my slingshot back”

  “No.”

  “But I-Very well, Your Majesty. But…”

  “Yes?”

  “Might I stay with you? Join you? Return to Camelot with you?”

  Arthur rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. For either of us.”

  “But-”

  “I promise to give it some thought. Now go and sleep.”

  Pouting slightly, the boy left.

  Merlin stared pointedly at Arthur. And Arthur knew immediately what was on his mind. “I told you, Merlin, he is not mine.”

  Merlin was skeptical, and it showed. “His brother, but not him?”

  “You have grasped it.”

  “Arthur-”

  “You remember Marmaduke of Paintonbury, surely.”

  “Well, I recall the name. And of course there was John. But I am afraid the details-”

  “Fat man. Coarse man. During the wars that brought me to the throne, he was one of our bitterest enemies. You must remember that.”

  “Something comes back to me. Not much.”

  “Why do you think he hated me so ferociously?”

  Merlin narrowed his eyes. “His wife?”

  “Exactly. John was the product of our… union. But it only happened the once. Bruce is Marmaduke’s, all Marmaduke’s.”

  Merlin sighed. “If there are any gods, I pray they will rescue England from its noblemen. There can’t be a more irresponsible class of people anywhere.”

  At this, Arthur laughed. “Just point anyplace on the map of Europe. You’ll find them. Nobles are human beings, Merlin.”

  “I wish you would not remind me.”

  “We do what everyone else does. But we do it more… vigorously. Power and wealth make that possible.”

  “Of course.”

  “What concerns me at the moment is that we seem to have drifted into Marmaduke’s territory. All this bloody fog… We must have missed a turning or a fork in the road. We need to move on as quickly as this weather will permit.”

  “Let us hope Marmaduke has learned to show more temperance than you showed him back in the day. You should post guards on the boy.”

  “Why, for heaven’s sake? Now that he knows John is dead, he would have no reason to-”

  “Can we trust him? He is Marmaduke’s son. His story might be…”

  “I see your point.”

  “And of course he will need protecting from our own men.”

  Arthur frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t always take such a dark view of things.”

  Merlin shrugged. “The facts of human nature-”

  “That’s enough. No guards. If only so I can prove you wrong, for once.”

  Late in the night, Merlin was awakened by shouts. A moment later, Arthur woke, too.

  They stared at each other across the tent. Merlin said, “Do you suppose…?”

  Arthur jumped up and began to dress. “Marmaduke’s men. It must be.”

  A moment later, still half undressed, they were outside. There was confusion; knights and servants were running about, carrying torches against the forest blackness, plainly not knowing where the shouts came from. An instant later Accolon’s voice cut through it all. “Here! Over here!”

  They took torches and rushed to see what was happening there.

  Next to his bedroll, Bruce of Paintonbury was lying on the ground, bleeding horribly. “Help! Murder! Help me! Please!” He was sobbing horribly.

  Merlin took charge at once. He ordered men to carry the boy to the king’s tent. Then he rushed to his carriage and got his medical supplies.

  Bruce’s arm was nearly severed. Merlin dressed the wound as well as he could and gave the boy a drink of strong wine to help dull the pain. When he was calmer, Merlin asked him, “Who did this? Tell me.”

  “A knight. It must have been a knight. I couldn’t really see well, what with the night and the fog, but it must have been a knight.”

  Merlin looked skeptical. “Must have been.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Might it not have been one of your father’s men? You are consorting with his enemy, after all.”

  “No, sir. They don’t know I’m here.”

  “They might have some inkling. Your brother-”

  “They don’t know I’m here. Besides, they’re more brutal than that. My head would be lying in the mud. Only Camelot’s knights are so humane as to do this.” With his good arm he gestured at the bandages.

  “You are John’s brother, all right…”

  “You keep saying that.”

  Merlin put a hand on his good arm. “You should try and get some sleep now. That will hurt terribly in the morning.”

  “I’m used to pain, sir. It’s the way we were raised. Father saw to that.”

  “Not like this. Sleep.”

  A few moments later Merlin was alone again with Arthur. “The boy thinks it must have been one of our knights.”

  Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They were furious at his little… should we call them pranks? And they did swear to punish whoever was doing it.”

  “Yes, but Arthur, an attack this brutal… Our men had him. He would be brought to justice by you. They know that. I can’t help but suspect it was one of Marmaduke’s men.”

  “Perhaps they thought I would be too lenient. But why this sudden faith in the integrity of our knights? And would Marmaduke’s men try to kill their own baron’s son?”

  “If I remember the character of these outlying tribes, yes, they would do that in a minute.”

  “Is it possible the boy did this himself? To give us a reason to keep him with us?”

  “Arthur, his arm was nearly off.”

  “Of course.” He frowned. “But our men… I don’t want to believe it.”

  “The knights would be glad to hear you say so.”

  The king sighed. “Stay here with him, will you? Keep an eye on him.” He lowered his voice. “He was my son’s brother, after all. I… I wouldn’t want to see him follow John to the grave.”

  “He’s not as much a brat as John was. There is that, at least.”

  “Stop it, Merlin. Stay with him tonight.”

  In the morning, the forest fog was even more dense. Thick clouds of it surged among the trees. The road, such as it was, was all but invisible. Arthur cursed the autumn weather.

  Merlin, as always, was wry. “This is England. The weather is the same in springtime-miserable.”

  “I know it. I wish we didn’t have to rebury the Stone.” Merlin started to speak, but Arthur cut him off. “And don’t say I told you so. We have a long way to go yet. Clearly, the fog has led us off our course. Let us hope we don’t actually have to deal with Marmaduke.”

  “Marmaduke is hardly the only baron who bristles at your rule.”

  “How is young Bruce this morning?”

  Merlin shrugged. “I wish I could tell. He slept fairly quietly. But this morning he has no appetite. I can’t even persuade him to take a bit of soup. Some blood has seeped through the bandages. And he says he can’t feel his arm at all.”

  “That is not good.”

  “No. It is early yet. The attack only happened last night. But I am afraid the signs are not good.”

  “Keep an eye on him, will you? I don’t want him to-” He cut off whatever he was going to say. “He can ride in your carriage. Will that be all right?”
>
  “Of course, Arthur. I was going to suggest the same thing. The seat opposite mine is wide enough for him to lie and sleep. Peter and I can ride side by side.”

  “That’s good.”

  And so they set forth again. Except for the presence of Bruce, everything was as it had been before. Knights grumbled while their servants did the work. Arthur commanded, breezily ignoring the complaints in the ranks. Merlin chatted with Peter or passed the time by reading.

  The one thing that did change, for the worse, was the weather. There was constant fog, all day long. Dense banks of it clogged the forest. Thicker streamers of it coiled among the trees. It was impossible to see very far along the road in front of them. A constant drizzle began to fall.

  Bruce slept in Merlin’s carriage, but only fitfully. He kept waking every few minutes, complaining of pain in his shoulder. Merlin applied a painkilling salve to his wounds as often as necessary, but it helped only so much. When the carriage hit a bump in the road Bruce would cry out, softly if he was asleep, more loudly if he was awake. His arm was still quite numb.

  Merlin and Peter avoided talking about anything too alarming when the boy could hear. But when he was asleep, or when they thought he was asleep, they let their guard down.

  “How much worse can this get?” Peter asked, staring out the window.

  “This is England, Peter.” Merlin was sanguine. “Our one claim to distinction on the world stage is our atrocious weather.”

  “A fine distinction.”

  “A humble thing, but our own.” Merlin was wry.

  “What worries me most is security. There could be anyone or anything out there in the fog, and we’d never know it till it was too late. Half the Byzantine Empire could be out there, sharpening their spears.”

  “Just for us. But do you really think we have to worry so much about external threats?”

  Peter scowled. “You mean whoever tried to kill our young companion, here.”

  “Precisely. With a murderer-attempted murderer-in our midst, why fret about imaginary armies?”

  “His father’s men-”

  “Do you really think so? Would not Marmaduke’s men be more likely to try and assassinate Arthur? Why would they go after their own leader’s son?”

  “It’s been known to happen, Merlin.”

  Slowly, groggily, Bruce opened his eyes. Weakly he announced, “My father’s men hate me. At least the ones who want to take his place. All of them hate me.”

  Peter, mildly startled at this, asked him, “Why would they hate a boy like you?”

  “I’m next. It’s no more complicated than that.” He closed his eyes again and, to appearances, fell instantly asleep.

  Peter looked at Merlin. “Does he mean next in line for leadership, or next to die, do you think?”

  Merlin shrugged. “I am a scholar, not a mind reader.”

  “To hear people tell it, you’re both.”

  Merlin ignored this and looked out at the fog-shrouded landscape. The world was a blank gray. After a few moments, Peter fell asleep, too, lulled by the motion of the carriage. Merlin became lost in his thoughts.

  Then suddenly, quite abruptly with a jolt, the carriage stopped. Merlin craned his head out the window to see what the holdup might be. But the fog made it impossible for him to see more than a few mounted riders ahead.

  But then a rider appeared out of the fog. It was Sir Kay, driving his horse to gallop back along the line. “Merlin! Merlin, come quickly!”

  Merlin opened the carriage door and began to climb down. “I cannot do much of anything quickly, Kay. Blame this bloody arthritis.”

  “Come! Let me help you up onto my horse.”

  “What is the problem?”

  “My squire, Jumonet. He’s been hit.”

  Merlin let the knight pull him up just behind him on the mount. “Hit? What on earth do you mean?”

  “Hit.” The knight said nothing else but spurred his horse back to a gallop. Merlin held on tightly and watched the puzzled faces as they flew past the rest of the party.

  In a short time they were near the front of the line. Kay slowed the horse and turned to the left, and they headed into the woods.

  “Will you please tell me what happened? And where we are going?”

  “Not far.”

  Through the fog a group of men appeared, clustered around something or someone on the ground. Merlin squinted but could not make out much more than that Arthur and Peter were among them. He sniffed the air. “We must be close to a town or a village. There is smoke mixed with the fog.”

  “That is what we thought. We sent out scouts to see. Jumonet was one of them.”

  They reached the group, and Kay reined the horse to a standstill. “Here we are.”

  “Give me a hand down, will you please?”

  With difficulty, even with Kay’s assistance, Merlin dismounted. He stretched to work kinks out of his back. Then he advanced to where the men were clustered. Peter appeared, on foot and out of breath.

  On the ground in the center of their circle was a young man. Dark hair, pale white skin. His eyes were closed tightly; he was evidently in pain. Arthur was on one knee beside him, cradling his head. Through the boy’s throat was an arrow. Blood cascaded onto the ground. Arthur tried to staunch it with a piece of cloth, but there was too much.

  The king looked up at Merlin helplessly. Weakly he said, “Someone shot him.”

  “So I see.”

  Kay stepped to Merlin’s side. “We think it’s another prankster, like that little fiend in your carriage.”

  Merlin bent down and touched the arrow lightly. “This is hardly what I would call a prank.”

  “Even so.” Kay stamped the ground.

  Suddenly another arrow came out of the fog. This one lodged itself in a tree trunk with an unpleasant thwunk sound. Kay scowled at Merlin as if to say I told you so.

  Jumonet was still bleeding horribly. His body heaved and shuddered, as if the pain was too much to bear. Merlin told Peter to run back to the carriage and get his medical kit. “No-ride. Take one of the horses. And tear up some cloth for bandages.”

  Peter ran off. Merlin looked up at Kay. “I am not sure there is any hope. If we try to pull the arrow out, we may only do more damage. Even to stop the bleeding may be beyond my ability.”

  Kay scowled. “You have to do something. Jumonet is the best squire I’ve ever had. Bright, loyal, attentive…”

  Jumonet opened his eyes and looked up at the knight. “Thank you, Sir Kay. I have always tried to do my best.” The last few words were not much more than a gurgle in his throat.

  “You have, Jumonet.”

  The squire heaved an enormous sigh. “Now all of you, please leave me alone here.”

  “Alone?” Kay’s face registered puzzlement and alarm. “But-”

  “Alone.” The squire said it forcefully. It brought on a fit of coughing and another heave of his body. When it subsided he added, “Please. Merlin understands.”

  Merlin looked up at Kay. “Yes, I think I do. If you give it a moment’s thought, you will, too.”

  But Kay’s expression turned fierce. “No!” He got down on his knees beside his stricken squire. “I’ve always taught you to fight. Don’t give up, boy. Fight. Fight harder than you ever have before.”

  Weakly Jumonet said, “There is no use. Fighting the facts…” His voice trailed off and his eyes closed. Then a moment later he managed to open them again. “Please.” It was no more than a whisper.

  Peter returned with Merlin’s medical things and a handful of strips of white cloth.

  Suddenly Jumonet cried out loudly, “All of you, please go!” He caught hold of Merlin’s arm. “Please, Merlin, make them go away.”

  Merlin got slowly to his feet, looked around and gestured to everyone, indicating they should move off and leave the young man, as he wished. Arthur had stood silently through all this. He raised a hand, seconding Merlin’s gesture. And slowly everyone began to move off. Me
rlin and Kay stood over the squire for a moment, watching him wordlessly.

  Jumonet whispered faintly, “I can’t see. I’ve lost my sight. Go away from me.”

  Merlin put a hand on Kay’s shoulder and they moved off and joined the others.

  When a few moments later, the two of them went back to the squire, he was dead. Kay was plainly shaken by it. Merlin tried to console him. “He died bravely. He was brave enough to want to die alone and not require any of us to watch it. We should all have such fortitude.”

  But Kay was not consoled. “He was so young. My nephew, you know. I don’t know how I’ll tell my sister.”

  Before Merlin could say anything more, another arrow whizzed by his head, barely missing him, and planted itself in the ground beyond him. It was followed by another, and another, and then even more. They whizzed through the air like large evil insects.

  Kay put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder protectively and steered him toward the main party. By that point arrows were coming in a rain. Arthur and his best knights immediately armed themselves with their own bows and shields and began firing back. But through the fog they could barely see who or what they were shooting at. Dim figures moved through the mist around them, but none was distinct enough to make a good target.

  It became apparent almost at once that they were surrounded. The hail of arrows kept coming, from all directions, and kept growing thicker.

  “What kind of fools would attack with bows and arrows in a fog like this?” Arthur seemed genuinely baffled. “They can’t possibly see what they’re shooting at.”

  Merlin shrugged. “Warriors… With so many of them shooting, some of them are bound to hit… something.”

  “Take cover!” Arthur shouted. “Protect yourselves. Don’t give them good targets to aim at!” He himself ducked under the second carriage, the one that carried the Stone. “But keep fighting!”

  Merlin and Kay joined him there. Merlin said simply, “Marmaduke’s men.”

  “Perhaps.” Arthur sent off another arrow. “Perhaps not. If word has gotten round about the mission we’re on…”

  An arrow landed three feet in front of Merlin. He ignored it. “You are suggesting that someone else may want the Stone of Bran?”