“You should never have used a room this large for your infirmary. It’s so cold in here.” He looked around. “Let me put more logs on the fire.”
“Do it quickly. Then get lamps.”
From the shadows near the millstones came another groan.
“George?”
No answer.
To Peter, Merlin said, “Get your lamp close to the stones. Something is wrong. I feel it.”
Peter finished arranging the logs in the hearth and took his lamp to the stones.
And there was George. He was between the stones, and they were turning inexorably. The entire left side of his body was crushed and bleeding. The stones moved on in their circular path. George was barely conscious. He turned his head feebly, looked to Merlin and moaned again. Softly, almost inaudibly, he mouthed the words, Help me.
“In the name of everything human!” Merlin jumped to his feet and rushed to the boy. “George, how did this happen? Who did this?” He took George’s good hand.
“Help me, sir. Please.” It was not much more than a whisper.
“Lift him out, Peter. Quickly!”
Peter handed the lamp to Merlin and slid his arms carefully under the boy’s crushed body. George cried, “No! It hurts!”
“Pull him out, Peter. We can’t leave him there. Quick, before the stones come around again.”
Peter pulled George out from the stones’ path. George screamed quite horribly.
Robert appeared in the doorway, carrying two more lamps.
George’s cries had wakened the other patients, all but Accolon, who was still seemingly asleep. Merlin took a few steps toward them and had to steady himself against a table. From behind him, from George’s side, Peter said, “This boy is dead.”
Merlin closed his eyes. It was as if he was still dreaming, still in that nameless, featureless place ruled by monsters. Still feeling off balance, he gripped the edge of a table and told Peter, “Leave him there, then, and check the others.”
Peter took his lamp to the patients and inspected them one by one. The pupils of their eyes were dilated, and they said they were feeling vertigo. But they seemed to be all right otherwise, wounds still healing, no new complaints.
“My head is spinning also.” Merlin tried to take a few more steps but had to stop and steady himself once more.
Peter moved to the side of the pallet where Accolon lay. After a quick examination he turned to Merlin. “This man was another of the king’s sons?”
Merlin nodded. “So it has always been whispered.”
“Merlin, he is dead.”
Merlin put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He closed his eyes. “No. That cannot be.”
“Come see for yourself.”
He took a step toward Peter. The room spun around him and he fell to the floor. Peter rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”
Groggily he replied, “Yes.”
“No bones broken?”
“No.”
“No other damage?”
“Peter, just help me to my feet, will you? If the room would stop whirling about me, I would be perfectly fine.”
Peter helped him up. Merlin leaned on him quite heavily. “Let me get you back to your bed, Merlin. You need more rest.”
“With all this death around me? You think I could sleep?”
“You are unsteady. It shows. Just exactly how much did you drink last night?”
“This is not the result of too much wine. I have not felt the aftereffects of too much drink since I was a boy. Help me to Accolon’s pallet. I want to examine him.”
Slowly they made their way to the dead knight’s side. Merlin bent down and examined the body, and it was like the corpses of all the other plague victims.
“Are you satisfied?” Peter took his arm to help him up again. “It is the plague that took him.”
“And was it the plague the killed young George, there? In the name of all that is human, Peter, cover up his body. It is quite indecent to leave him like that.”
After he had Merlin securely back at his own pallet, Peter found a large drop cloth and covered George’s mangled corpse with it. When he returned to Merlin’s side he said, “The boy was drinking last night, like all of us. He must have stumbled and fallen between the stones. A terrible accident, but an accident nonetheless.”
Merlin gaped at him. “I heard him cry out, Peter. He was begging for help. I thought it was a dream.” He glanced at the cloth covering the boy. “Someone did this to him. It was no accident.”
“Of course it was. A boy that age, drinking wine. He could never have handled it.”
Again Merlin closed his eyes. “I cannot seem to wake up.”
“Sleep, then, Merlin. I’ll see to it that the bodies are disposed of properly.”
Groggily Merlin told him, “We have been drugged. All of us in this room. That wine last night…”
“Nonsense. You’ve just let these events overwhelm you, that’s all. Get some sleep. Have you been outside yet?”
“Of course not.” He yawned.
“It’s snowing. The world has turned magically white overnight.”
Merlin’s drowsiness overcame him completely. Again he fell into sleep.
And woke to Peter shaking him. “Merlin, get up. The king is here.”
Slowly he opened his eyes. An enormous yawn overtook him. “What did you say?”
“King Arthur is approaching. With a band of knights.”
Another yawn. “Where is Geo-Never mind. My head is aching quite ferociously.”
“So is mine. So is everyone’s.”
“Our surviving patients, too?”
Peter nodded.
For a moment Merlin fell silent, obviously lost in thought. Then he looked at Peter, filled with sudden resolve. “Help me to my feet. We must go and greet the king.”
“Do you want to check on the other wounded men?”
“Later. They are all doing well enough.” He clasped his hands to his head and glanced at his patients. They were all asleep. “I hope their heads are not ringing the way mine is. Sleep is merciful.” For a third time he yawned, much more widely than before. “The world would be a much finer place if we would all sleep all the time. There would be no crimes then.”
Peter placed a hand under his arm to steady him. “Except the ones in our dreams.”
Merlin looked at him as if the statement startled him. “Yes, there are always those. Come. Arthur will be expecting us to meet him.”
There was very little activity in the mill. A fire roared in the main hearth, and its flames made almost the only motion. Word of the night’s events had spread. The two deaths seemed to cast a pall over everything and everyone.
From the kitchen came aromas of cooking food. Merlin started to react without thinking. “That smells quite wonderful. There is nothing like fresh-baked bread in the morning. Arthur will be pleased. He will want to thank young Geo-” He caught himself. “He will want to thank whoever is doing the baking.”
Outside the world had indeed turned white and the temperature had grown bitterly cold. Snow was falling heavily. Three inches of it covered everything. Trees were lacy white marvels. A strong, steady wind blew; snowflakes danced in it. Patches of ice were forming on the surface of the stream.
Softly, at the bottom of his breath, Merlin muttered, “Winter. And there are people who believe in benevolent gods.”
The king’s party could be seen in the middle distance through the falling snow. They were riding slowly, wrapped in heavy, dull-colored cloaks. Under his, Arthur wore his ceremonial armor, and it gleamed in the white landscape.
“It is too cold, Peter. This wind-Run inside and fetch me a cloak.”
Peter vanished into the mill. Two of the servants emerged and placed themselves just behind Merlin, in case he should need anything else. He leaned on their arms to steady himself.
Arthur’s band arrived. Bedivere and Sagramore were among his companions. The king jumped heartily down
from his horse. “Merlin! I trust everything is well here. How are you? More to the point, how are my knights?”
“Things are not well, Arthur.”
Peter emerged from the mill with a cloak and placed it around Merlin’s shoulders. A sudden, particularly fierce gust of wind blew up, and he pulled the cloak tight around himself. “In the name of all that is human, Arthur, let us go inside before we freeze to death.”
Inside, servants were busily placing more logs on the fires in all the rooms. Merlin, the king and his men arranged themselves around the main fireplace and warmed themselves eagerly. Merlin asked a servant to bring wine. “Not the remnants of the wine from last night. Open new bottles.”
Then he turned to Arthur. “Somewhere in this mill is my valet, Robert. You must send men to find him and arrest him.”
“Good heavens, Merlin, why?”
Merlin told him about the night’s events and the deaths of George and Accolon. “The boy died a horrible death. But none of us could help him. We were all quite insensible. Robert gave us wine laced with some narcotic.”
Two knights got to their feet and made ready to leave.
Merlin told them, “If he is not in the mill, then he has run away. That would not surprise me. You will see his footprints in the snow. Find him if you can.”
He turned to Arthur. “You must send him back to Camelot under heavy guard. And send word to Simon to have his mother and brother arrested as well.”
Bedivere sipped his wine. “Camelot’s jailors will have a busy winter.”
Merlin ignored this. “His mother is one of your cooks, Arthur. She has access to the castle’s herb garden. I can only imagine what she must be growing there. Something to make us sleep. And something that can simulate symptoms of the plague.” A thought struck him. “Belladonna, perhaps.”
“But-but your valet?” Arthur was having trouble digesting it all.
Merlin took a large cup of wine. “Perhaps this will clear my head. My ears are ringing. Robert gave us all drugged wine last night.”
“He tried to kill all of you? Why, for goodness’ sake?”
“At the very least, he wanted to render us unconscious. As to motive, at this point I can only speculate.” He glared at Arthur accusingly. “Perhaps you know better than I could.”
Arthur squirmed. “Enough of that.”
Bedivere, too, seemed to be having trouble understanding. “But-but-a pastry cook and two serving boys. Why would they-?”
“As I said,” Merlin told him, “I can only speculate as to what motivated them. I will know more when I have had the chance to interrogate them. But they have been present so often when death has occurred. Even at Darrowfield Castle. You sent them there, remember, Arthur? The murders at Stonehenge would have been most difficult for one man alone to have committed. One killer, three victims. Most improbable. But three killers, or even merely two, if the boys did it without their mother’s assistance…”
“But-but-why would they have killed Darrowfield and his sons? What possible reason could they have?”
Calmly Merlin pronounced, “We shall know that soon enough.”
A moment later the two knights reappeared, dragging Robert between them. His face showed fear and confusion, and he was struggling, but the knights were much too strong for him.
“No!” he cried. “Why are you doing this?”
The knights ignored his cries and pulled him toward the king and Merlin.
“Merlin, help me!” Robert pled. “Why have they taken me? I haven’t done anything.”
When they reached Merlin and the king, the two of them exchanged glances. Then Merlin turned to the boy. “You know perfectly well.”
“No!”
“What was in the wine you gave us last night?”
“Nothing.” The bewilderment in Robert’s face was plain to see. “Nothing. I swear it.”
Merlin looked to the king again and nodded. Arthur said to the knights, “Get two more knights from our main column. Take him back to Camelot. Guard him carefully. We will want to question him more thoroughly when we get back.”
He went on. “You will almost certainly overtake the party that has Marmaduke and Lulua under guard. I can’t imagine they’re making very good time, not with those lumps. See to it that they’re all placed in very secure cells in the dungeon.”
The knights saluted and turned to go. Robert was still pleading with Merlin, protesting his innocence, as they dragged him off and shackled him. The boy fought, and one of the knights struck him. After that he was quiet.
Only minutes later they were ready to leave on their return to Camelot. Arthur and Merlin watched them depart and quickly disappear behind a curtain of falling snow. Arthur had an air of self-congratulation. “I knew you’d get to the bottom of the killings. You always do. But tell me. Why do you think he did it? What could have possessed him?”
Merlin looked away from him. “Can you really not guess? We have discussed it often enough.”
“Don’t be cryptic, Merlin. I want to know.”
Merlin heaved an enormous sigh. “You want an heir. You have sired a great many potential ones. More, even, than is usual for a nobleman in this country. Does it really surprise you that some of them should resort to murder in hopes of gaining the throne?”
“Heirs? I-no!” Arthur caught him by the arm.
“I make no judgment, Arthur. But it must have occurred to you at some point that so many children, in or out of wedlock, would lead to many problems.”
“That boy is not mine. He cannot be!”
Merlin shrugged. “I cannot imagine you keep track of all the women you have bedded. Robert’s mother, Marian, is one of your servants. You must have had many opportunities to-”
“No! Merlin, I tell you, he is not mine. He and his brother-don’t you think I’d know it if I had fathered twins?”
“Then tell me, Arthur, what other motive could they have had for all this death? Darrowfield and his sons, John and Bruce, Accolon… Even if they were not all your bastards, people thought they were. And what about daughters? How many of them have you sired?”
“Darrowfield was twenty years older than me. There is no way he could possibly be my son. Not even with the help of a sorcerer. No, there must be some other explanation. I want you to find it.”
“I can think of no other. But if Your Majesty wishes it-”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Merlin. Morgan, Marmaduke, Marian and her sons… When I think about it my head spins.”
Merlin turned pensive. “Marmaduke.”
“What about him? You think that he-?”
“No, it is not that, Arthur. There was something he said. Something that resonated with me. But I cannot remember what.”
“You will. You always do.”
“If I could only remember.” He looked at the king. “But for once I think you may be correct about these crimes, Arthur. I fear this is not over yet.”
NINE
The weather grew worse and worse. Waves of snow and wind alternated with driving rain. The air turned warmer, then cold again. Roads froze and thawed. Arthur’s party made slow progress on its way to rebury the Stone, then slower, then a bit more rapid. Cloaks were not sufficient against the cold. Every few hours progress halted completely and the men built fires to warm themselves.
Merlin and Peter rode in their carriage, wrapped in blankets. The other carriage, carrying the Stone of Bran, followed just behind them. Since it was lighter, it gained less traction on muddy or icy roads and frequently had to be pushed or pulled past some difficult patch.
For a time a flock of ravens followed the party. Men took it as a bad omen, but when Arthur reminded them of Merlin’s pets, they relaxed somewhat. When Merlin tried calling to the birds, they did not respond. “These are not my birds,” he told Arthur. “They do not respond to the language I use with Roc and the others.”
“Sorcerer.”
Merlin ignored this. “Ravens are naturally scavengers. They are
following us for the bits of food we leave behind us.” But after two days, the ravens disappeared.
The journey passed through one tiny village after another. The sight of an approaching army, even a small one, invariably alarmed the residents. They expected to be conquered, pillaged, perhaps put to death. Assurances from Arthur and Bedivere helped calm these fears, but the people never really relaxed till the royal party passed on.
None of them seemed to have any clear idea who Arthur was. Bedivere would explain patiently that he was Arthur, King of all England, but the information meant nothing to them. The concept of England as a unified nation was alien. In a few hamlets the elders had heard of Arthur; in most they had not. Bedivere made certain the men in the party behaved decorously, foraged for their own food, left the women and boys alone.
From time to time Arthur joined Merlin in the carriage. Peter would discreetly exit and find a horse for the short time he needed it.
Merlin’s arthritis was, inevitably, bothering him. “We really must talk to our people about installing more comfortable seats in these conveyances, Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyes twinkled. “Would you rather be riding a horse?”
Merlin snorted. “That is hardly the point.” He paused. “How much farther is it to-what is the name of the place? Grosfalcon? I want to see the Stone reburied and get back to Camelot and comfort.”
“Patience is a virtue, Merlin.”
“Do not needle me, Arthur. I am in pain enough.”
“About those coins we’re having minted…”
The sudden shift of subject made Merlin’s ears prick up. “Yes?”
“Do you see, now, why I think they’re so important?
Why they are not simply a product of royal vanity? Most of the people in England seem to have no idea who their king is. Or that they have a king at all. The coins will help change that, build awareness that England is a nation now, not merely a collection of feuding fiefdoms.”
“Yes, fine, Arthur, but-”
“And the people will know who their king is. A unified system of coinage will help us in our work. When we have to deal with other nations-when we treat with the Byzantine Empire, for instance-we will present a strong, united face. And when in time I name an heir, everyone in England will know him.”
The Pendragon Murders Page 22