Marmaduke seemed taken aback by this. But Lulua only smiled. “Let him make his cage dissolve, then.”
Arthur kept up his bluff. “He will. And your copious flesh along with it.”
“Bid him do it soon, then. Before dawn, if he’s to do it at all.” She laughed. Her body vibrated. “Whatever power he possesses cannot be a match for the power of the Good Goddess.”
She turned and walked off. Marmaduke followed in glum, confused silence. As they were leaving, Merlin heard her say, “I want you to prepare a nice, big breakfast for me. Beef. Eggs.”
Arthur whispered to Merlin, “There cannot be enough hens in Paintonbury.”
Merlin chuckled. “Have you ever seen anyone fatter? But Arthur, did you have to bring up my supposed magical powers? That was foolish.”
“If we can’t prey on their superstition, we are lost, Merlin. What other weapons do we have?”
“It ill becomes me to tell a king ‘I told you so,’ Arthur, but you were warned about the dangers of traveling this way. By Bedivere, by Britomart, by nearly everyone. What would you suggest we do now?”
“Don’t nag, Merlin. You have fooled people with a show of sorcery before. You must do it again.”
“Would you care to suggest how, precisely? When I have done it in the past, it has involved what my old friend, the actor Samuel Gall, calls showmanship. Props. Lighting. Elaborate preparation. There is not much I can do in this cage.”
“You must do what you can.”
“I am not a real magician, Arthur. I cannot make something out of nothing.”
Arthur looked away from him. “If only Bedivere would get here with the army. He could dispatch these bumpkins with no trouble at all.”
Merlin fell silent for a moment. Then he said softly, “Arthur, we may die when the sun rises. I am ready for it. At my age, how could I not be?” He hesitated, then asked, “Are you?”
“Don’t be absurd, Merlin. Bedivere will come.” Arthur’s tone made it clear this was not something he wanted to think about.
“I merely ask the question.”
“You always ask the inconvenient ones. That’s what makes you such a valuable advisor, damn you. But look at me. I have Morgan le Fay for a sister. I have been married to Guenevere for more than a decade. I fought ten years of civil wars, with half the barons in England after my blood. After all that, how could I not be ready for death? I’ve lived with it all my life. Now try and get some sleep, will you? I have to think what we’re going to do to get out of this.”
Merlin leaned back and let his head rest against the bars. “I was not involved much in the wars. Not on the military side, at any rate. You know that. But I do know that you emerged from that horrible period with a reputation as a brilliant military strategist. What has happened? How could you let us end this way?”
“We will not end. Bedivere will get here in time.”
“Of course.”
“Go to sleep, Merlin.”
Merlin closed his eyes. “The fog is thickening. Even if Bedivere is en route, what makes you think he will be able to find us in this?”
“Be quiet.”
They both fell silent. Soon enough, despite everything, they were asleep again. Exhaustion had taken its toll on them.
Morning light woke Merlin-what there was of it. While he and Arthur were sleeping fitfully, uncomfortably in their cages, the fog had built even more thickly than before. It was almost perfectly opaque. Torchlight reflected back from it, as it would from a blank wall. Dawn only brought a kind of half-light; it might almost not have been daybreak. At least the rain had stopped. Fires burned brightly throughout Paintonbury.
Merlin opened his eyes slowly. The damp air, and the fact that he had had to sleep standing upright in his cage, had made his entire body ache. When he realized that, despite the absence of light, it was morning, he whispered softly to himself, “Damn this arthritis. Damn my old age.”
Arthur roused himself. Slowly, groggily, he asked, “What? Did you say something?”
“Nothing that matters. I have been thinking.”
“In your sleep?”
“Our unconscious minds often tell us things that do not occur to our conscious minds.”
Arthur started to yawn, but the cage was too small to permit him to stretch. His body shuddered. “What insight has the god of dreams brought you?”
“My mind,” Merlin said pointedly, “has examined our situation. It occurs to me that if we can sow the seeds of mistrust between Marmaduke and Lulua, set them to doubting one another, it may give us more time to wait for Bedivere.” He smiled a mordant smile. “Assuming that he and his men haven’t perished in a swamp somewhere.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“We read of an entire Persian army that was swallowed by the Sahara Desert. They were-”
“Spare me the pedantry, Merlin. I happily cede the lamp of learning to you. Just tell me what you’ve come up with.”
“Our plump friends think they are on the same side. We must get them to realize they are not.”
It took Arthur an instant to digest this. “I see what you’re suggesting. And how would you propose we do that?”
“They will be coming for us soon. Just follow my lead.”
“Yes, Merlin. You are the strategist now. Dazzle me.”
“You are in your late thirties, Arthur. Too old to be a brat. You should have more kingly dignity.”
Arthur shrugged. “What can I say? I had a good teacher.” He glanced up at the sky. It was slowly lightening but not by much. “If something doesn’t happen soon, we’ll all be dead of the plague.”
“You still think the plague is what did those boys in? What kind of plague is it that only attacks individuals, not populations? And very specific individuals, at that?”
“I’ve never heard a corpse ask how it got that way.”
“No, of course not, Arthur. It is for us, the living, to ask that question. And to find the answer.”
“If you have to ask questions, Merlin, ask into the deaths of Lord Darrowfield and his sons. Those killings were-”
Merlin cut him off impatiently. “I have a growing suspicion those murders were related to these. Somehow, I don’t know how. Not yet.”
Dawn was showing itself more and more, or what passed for dawn in those conditions. The world was still dark, but the first faint traces of morning light were beginning to show. Banks of fog kept rolling in, thicker and thicker. Daylight illuminated them; the whole world seemed bathed in a dull gray, opalescent light. Scattered fires throughout the hamlet provided the only real contrast; everything else was matted to the same dull, dark, but brightening gray. And the fog was so thick Merlin and Arthur could hardly see a thing. Merlin kept scanning the landscape.
Through the blinding fog, he noticed that more and more torches were being lit in the town. No people were visible through the pervasive fog, only their lights. Softly he said, “They will be coming for us anytime now.”
He had hardly finished the sentence when the various torches and the men carrying them formed into a procession and headed in the direction of the caged prisoners. But also through the fog he thought he saw another light, a more distant one. It flared into existence, then vanished, presumably quickly extinguished. Were Bedivere and his soldiers here at last, then?
The marchers and their lights approached. Slowly the forms of Marmaduke, Lulua and Robin became visible through the mist, more and more distinctly as they came nearer and nearer. They were walking with unnatural rapidity. Marmaduke led them all, and he was grinning like a naughty schoolboy who had just pulled a prank. Lulua was plainly struggling to keep up with the others. She puffed, and her breath added a bit to the mist in the air.
Marmaduke stopped six feet in front of the cages, and a moment later Lulua took her place at his right side. “Well,” he said heartily, “good morning. I am sorry there is no sun for you. This would have been the last sunrise you’ll ever know.”
Arthur gla
red and said nothing. Merlin, seemingly at ease with himself and the situation, smiled and said, “We have had our last midnight. That is enough.”
Marmaduke laughed more loudly than seemed appropriate. “You’re in a pleasant mood, Wizard, for a man facing his end.”
Merlin shrugged. “Philosophy teaches us nothing if not how to face death. I am facing the two of you. Socrates himself would envy me.”
Marmaduke was unsure whether he was being ridiculed, and it showed. His grin vanished and he stopped laughing. “Arthur, do you have nothing to say?”
Before Arthur could respond, Lulua spoke up. She pointed a finger at Merlin. “Some sorcerer you are. Spending the night trapped in a cage. Hah!”
It was the opening Merlin had been waiting for. He ignored her and faced the warlord. “You want to be King of all England, not just Paintonbury, Marmaduke, to take Arthur’s place. Do you really think killing us this way will accomplish that?”
Marmaduke seemed taken aback, not by the question itself, but by the fact it was being asked. “When you are out of the way,” he said slowly, as if he was thinking at the same time and it was an effort, “when all of this nonsense about peace and love and brotherhood is gone, too, then England can get back to warfare. That is the way it’s always been. It’s what we know. All we have ever known. I was a man then, a true warrior, a leader. I was respected and feared. Those were better times.”
Suddenly, loudly, Lulua belched. Her chins quivered.
Merlin looked to her. “And you. You have promised Marmaduke your support, of course?”
She held a fingertip up to her mouth and pressed it to her lips. “The blood of kings carries special properties. Magical ones. When Arthur is dead, we will know if he truly was a king, and meant to rule.”
“And what about Marmaduke’s blood? When will you test that-after Morgan le Fay is on the throne of England?”
Marmaduke glanced at her. Plain suspicion showed in his face. But Arthur had caught Merlin’s drift, and before either the witch or the warlord could answer, he spoke up. “If you want the throne, Marmaduke, handing it to this woman is an odd way of getting it.”
Marmaduke’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Arthur smiled an indulgent smile, like a schoolteacher lecturing a slow pupil. “Think, for goodness’ sake. Why would you assume her loyalty is to you?”
He was wrestling with the thought. It showed. “She’s the witch of Paintonbury. Who else would she be loyal to?”
Slowly, still smiling serenely, Arthur intoned, “To my sister.”
And Merlin added quickly, “Yes, to Morgan le Fay.”
Marmaduke glared at Lulua. Suspicion was growing, and that was what the prisoners wanted. “You told me-”
“It’s a lie!” Lulua screeched the words. “Can’t you see what they’re trying to do? Think.”
“These women,” Merlin went on quite calmly, “these witches, used to reign virtually supreme in England by claiming they had the ear of the gods. Their word was law, their will went unchallenged. By anyone, not the strongest baron. The civil wars and Arthur’s ascent put an end to that.”
Lulua started to object, but Arthur took up the game. “My sister has hardly made it a secret that she wants the throne. As high priestess of the witches and their religion-as the ‘Great Queen,’ as she styles herself-she thinks it is her right. But men rule here now. If you kill us-if you kill us at the behest of this woman”-he snarled the word-“you will be handing it back to them.”
“No!” Lulua’s alarm was growing. Her face, like Marmaduke’s, was a book where all her thoughts could be read. “I serve Paintonbury. I serve you, Marmaduke!”
But the seeds of doubt had been planted. Marmaduke furrowed his brow, like a slow dog trying to figure out how to get a bone. “Lulua, we have to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about. They are lying, trying to set us against each other. Can’t you see that?”
“Follow me. We have to talk.” He turned on his heel and began to stalk away. Lulua glared at the prisoners, then started to follow.
Arthur called after them. “I’d talk quickly, if I were you. With the light of dawn, Merlin’s power increases.”
Over his shoulder Marmaduke said, “Power? What power? He can’t get out of a wooden cage.”
“You’ll see, Marmaduke.”
The warlord and the witch kept walking. After a moment they were far enough away for a private conversation. Each in turn gesticulated wildly and raised his voice, obviously threatening, however mildly. Watching them, Merlin said to Arthur, “Playing for time is never very hard with these types. I wonder England has lasted as long as it has, with people like these running things. But I thought I had dissuaded you from dredging up this wizard nonsense.”
“It’s useful.” Arthur was sanguine. “Have you not seen what is growing around us, out there in the fog?”
“I have. What is the point of-”
“Be quiet. They’re coming back.”
“But Arthur, you can’t see any more through this fog than I can. Suppose these aren’t our men. Suppose they are more of Marmaduke’s? Or a raiding party from some other warlord?”
“Be quiet, I said.”
The sky was lightening more and more. The world was still that dull gray, not light yet but not exactly dark. Merlin watched the surrounding fog and saw more and more glints of armor and weaponry. Then he glanced at the nearby mud where Bruce’s body was slumped.
Marmaduke stopped ten feet away. “This,” he said firmly, indicating the poor object that had been his son, “will be burned. My men have nearly finished building the pyre. You,” he added, pointing from Arthur to Merlin, “will be burned with it.”
Arthur, keeping a close watch on the surrounding fog, intoned loudly, “You are making a great mistake, Marmaduke. Merlin is the greatest wizard in the world. He can summon armies out of the air,” Arthur threatened. “All the forces known to the wisest philosophers are at his command.”
Marmaduke spat. “Let him get out of his cage, then.”
Lulua added, “All the most powerful magicians are women. Witches. Merlin does not qualify.”
Marmaduke laughed, more heartily than seemed appropriate. “If he’s going to summon an army, he’d better do it quickly.” He gestured to a few of his men, who surrounded the cages, poised to open them and pull the prisoners out. Two more of them lifted Bruce’s body.
Merlin watched them. “If he really did die of the plague, your men would be most unwise to handle his body.”
“Why?” Marmaduke narrowed his eyes. “He’s dead. What harm can be done?”
“In the name of everything human, it is the plague. Plagues spread. It is what they do. That is what makes them plagues and not ordinary diseases. You must let me examine Bruce’s body.”
Marmaduke thought for a moment, then brushed this aside. “Nonsense. My men are strong and vigorous.”
“Good for them. But-”
“I’d concentrate on making that army appear, if I were you.”
Marmaduke raised his hand, and at that signal the group of his men surrounding the two cages drew their swords. One of them unlatched the cages, then stepped back and drew his own sword. With it he gestured that Merlin and Arthur were to step out.
The king and the pseudo-wizard exchanged resigned glances and started slowly to march toward the village center. As they did so, Marmaduke told them, “Be happy I didn’t leave you to die in those. The carrion birds around here are having a lean season.”
“Again, you should tread carefully, Marmaduke.” Arthur spoke the words solemnly. “Merlin speaks the language of birds.”
Marmaduke laughed. “Let him tweet up a few thousand of them to rescue you, then.” He nodded to his men.
Soldiers prodded the prisoners with their sword tips, two of them carried Bruce’s body, and the entire party continued to move in the direction of the town’s center. Merlin looked around furtively; yes, there were dim f
igures moving in the fog.
At the center of town a wooden funeral pyre had been erected. Four torches burned brightly at its corners. Other lights in the town were being extinguished gradually, one by one, as the morning light grew.
The pyre was a good ten feet tall. Two boys were atop it, pouring oil over it. When the party reached it, the men carrying Bruce’s body took it to where a pair of wooden ladders rested side by side against it and slowly, awkwardly, carried the corpse to its resting place on top. The two oil boys, their task finished, jumped down to the ground.
Arthur whispered to Merlin, “Now is the time. Summon your army.”
Merlin shot him a disapproving glance. “My feet hurt. This bloody arthritis-”
“Do it!”
The two soldiers climbed down from the pyre and took places at Marmaduke’s side. Lulua, at a signal from Marmaduke, raised her hands high over her head. “O Bran,” she intoned, “mightiest of the gods of England-”
But Merlin interrupted her. He raised his hands even higher in the air and chanted in Latin. “Caveat emptor. Cum grano salis. Et tu Brute. Omnes Gallia in tres partes divisa est. E pluribus unum.”
“Stop that!” Lulua barked.
But Merlin chanted on, intoning over and over, “Caveat emptor. Cum grano salis…”
Arthur pointed a finger at Lulua. “Do not interrupt, woman. He is summoning all the dark forces of the universe.”
Marmaduke, visibly unhappy, told the men at his sides, “Light it. Now!”
The two men took up two of the torches and lit the pyre. Thanks to the oil, it took fire quickly; the flames burned bright and hot, and they spread quickly. In a matter of moments the entire thing would be consumed.
“Omnes Gallia in tres partes divisa est.”
Marmaduke snapped his fingers at the two pyre men. “Get them up there. At once.”
The men drew their swords and began prodding Arthur and Merlin toward the ladders. Merlin, still chanting his Latin, stumbled, and a soldier prodded him with his sword point. Merlin drew himself up to his full height and shouted, “Nunc, Bediverus!”
The Pendragon Murders Page 18