Peter watched the industrious shepherd. “What has that to do with Gildas and that sheep-loving fool out there?”
“There have been whispers that the Byzantines may have sent this plague to decimate us. It seems unlikely to me, but they have been known to spread disease among their enemies in the past.” He was rueful. “And for better or worse, they seem to count us among their enemies. Or at least as a people to be conquered.”
The carriage had moved on past the little meadow. “But a man with a sheep, Merlin!”
“Do you not know the stories they tell about Justinian’s wife, the Most Christian Empress Theodora?”
“No, I suppose I don’t. What about her?”
“She came from lowly origins. She was a slave. And she used to perform in the arena.” Merlin gazed directly at him. “Doing things with wild beasts. Donkeys, oxen, sheep. Even apes and worse.”
“But that was in the past, before Justinian fell in love with her and elevated her to the throne.”
“Nevertheless. The Byzantines were Christians even then. The fact that they would countenance that kind of entertainment, much less revere a woman who took part in it…” He shrugged, then peered at Peter. “You are not a Christian, are you?”
“No, of course not. But-”
“There are more ways to be human than Gildas’s world-view could ever permit.”
“I know that, Merlin. But-”
“We must never be too hasty to condemn other people for their humanity. Your energy would be better channeled into finding Lord Darrowfield’s killer.”
“Was the killer not ‘being human,’ too?”
“He-or she-took a life. No society can countenance such a thing.”
“Of course not, Merlin. But if you know how much like Gildas you sound-”
“Rubbish.”
“You both want moral strictures. You simply disagree about where the boundary should be set.”
“No, we disagree about why the boundary is necessary at all. If I ever become as prudish as Gildas, you may call me on it.”
Peter laughed at him. “Bishop Merlin.”
“Stop it.”
It took a moment for Peter’s laughter to die down. Then he rode in silence, leaving Merlin to his thoughts. But Merlin found himself wondering, for the first time, about Peter’s soundness.
Just before dusk the party approached Grosfalcon. The wind had calmed, but a light, gentle snow was falling. The terrain was more and more hilly; in the far distance, the Welsh mountains could be glimpsed through the snow. In the middle distance the village itself loomed. And it was ablaze with light.
Arthur commented on it to Bedivere. “It looks as if they’re having a festival. They must have a thousand torches burning.”
“It is winter.” Bed shrugged. “People need light and heat.”
“At my father’s court, we used to celebrate Bran’s birthday with lights and music. And at my mother’s court we celebrated feasts in honor of the Morrigan, the goddess of death. But I can’t recall either place being lit up as brightly as this little backwater village. What do you suppose can be behind it?”
Again Bedivere shrugged. “Bumpkins.”
But it soon became apparent that the lights were spreading out from Grosfalcon into the surrounding forest. Before long, torchbearers reached Arthur’s column. There were dozens of people, waving torches about wildly, reveling, singing, dancing, making love. Some were dressed, some not, some only partially. Musicians played loud, frolicsome airs. Boys carrying wineskins accompanied them, pouring libations for any and all who wanted to drink. Dogs followed them all, happily snapping up scraps of food that they dropped. Some of the torches set fire to low-hanging tree branches. A group of merrymakers, most of them only partly dressed, set fire to a thick bush, then danced around it in a circle, as if it was a perverse kind of maypole. The falling snow, plus the snow already lying on the trees, made the fires sputter out quickly.
Arthur summoned Perceval to his side. “Well, we’re here. Now, where is this barn where you found the Stone?”
Perceval held up a hand to shield his eyes. “There is a hill just east of the village, a little one but steep. The barn is on the far side of it.”
Gildas followed Perceval to the front of the column. “Arthur, look at all this glee. You must order these people to stop at once.”
“You think,” Arthur said with amusement, “the most powerful king on earth could order a stop to all this? Honestly, Gildas, there are times when I think Merlin is right-your view of the world is so terribly naïve.”
“The social order is breaking down, Arthur. Look at them. Morality itself is breaking down. Order must be restored.”
The king chuckled. “What would you suggest?”
“Arrest them. Use the whip and the sword.”
Bedivere spoke up. “Small as this village is, there are more people here than we have knights. Arresting them all is a practical impossibility.”
“One of them, then. Is it beyond your power to make an example of one of them?”
Arthur heaved a deep sigh. “For heaven’s sake, Gildas, look around you. It’s not as if this was only a matter of a few intransigents. It’s the entire countryside. We’ve been seeing this for miles. We’ll be lucky to keep our own men under control, much less the general population. Bed, go and fetch Merlin. I want to hear what he makes of all this.”
Bedivere spurred his horse and rode back to the carriage. Gildas snorted.
A band of young women approached and began flirting outrageously with the knights. Arthur shouted an order to maintain discipline. But it was apparent the knights were tempted. They would not maintain their self-control very long.
Bedivere returned a moment later with Merlin. Arthur briefly explained the situation. “Gildas here wants me to arrest everyone in sight. What do you think?”
Gildas glared at Merlin as if daring him to disagree. But Merlin was not about to be cowed. “The snow is beginning to fall more heavily. It will put an end to all this… what would you call it? Celebration?”
“Order must be restored!” The bishop bellowed it.
“It is a simple matter, then, Gildas. All you have to do is roar a few orders at the citizens and they will stop.” Merlin paused to give Gildas an opening, but the bishop grumped and stayed silent. Merlin turned to Arthur. “In the name of everything human, Arthur, let us get the bloody Stone buried and get back to Camelot before winter descends on us with its full force.”
Arthur brushed a snowflake from his eyelash. “Gildas does have a point, Merlin. We do have to restore order.”
“It might be more useful for you to restore clothing.”
Arthur ignored the comment. “Look around. You can hardly deny it. The question is how to do it.”
Merlin sighed. “Arthur, think. For once, winter will be a blessing. Cold weather is already ending the plague in the southwest. It will put an end to this revelry soon enough, as well. Nature will correct itself. The natural order will reassert itself. You will see.
“When we return to Camelot, you must send heralds to every corner of the country with the news that the plague has died. It is fear of the plague that engenders this kind of ribaldry. The end of the disease will bring an end to this, too. When the people realize that death is not at hand-that they must scramble to keep themselves and their families alive, just as they always have…” He left the thought unfinished.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Arthur turned pensive, at the same time eyeing an attractive young woman.
“Arthur!” Merlin was shocked to see it. “Have you forgotten everything we’ve talked about?”
“No, of course not. But-”
“Remember what happened to Ulysses’ men in the land of the lotus-eaters.”
Gildas snorted at this. “Pagan rot.”
“You think there is only one ancient book that contains any wisdom?”
But Arthur had listened to enough. “Stop it, both of you. I need to think.
Let us ride on. We still have a way to go before we reach that barn of Perceval’s. By the way, where is Perceval?”
He looked around. Perceval, along with half a dozen other knights, had dismounted and was talking to a young woman. Some of the lesser knights were already locked in embrace with locals. Several were kissing and fondling.
Arthur was shocked at the lack of modesty-and discipline. “Bed, get them back into line. We have a mission to complete.”
Bedivere and a few of the older knights bellowed orders and managed, slowly, to restore order and discipline. Arthur muttered, “Lotus-eaters, indeed.” After a few minutes the column was ready to move on.
Arthur was expecting Grosfalcon to be abandoned. But the town was populated, albeit sparsely. Children played in the streets, unattended. Some were crying, looking about fu tilely, even desperately, for their parents. Elderly citizens shuffled about, evidently trying to maintain some semblance of life as usual. A few parties in the prime of life reeled drunkenly, oblivious to what was happening around them, or perhaps merely ignoring it.
Merlin joined the king and Bedivere as they surveyed still another part of the realm that had seemingly abandoned any sense of order. Seeing the concern in Arthur’s face, he tried to be reassuring. “Winter will do its work, Arthur.”
“I don’t want winter, I want England.”
“Unfortunately that isn’t your choice.”
Arthur ignored this and stopped an old woman. “Who are you?” he asked.
She glared. “Who are you?”
Bedivere explained who Arthur was, but the woman seemed unimpressed. “King of the Britons? Don’t make me laugh. You think anyone here cares about a king? Especially one who lives at the far end of the country?”
“Arthur is king. He rules here.”
The woman spat. “Let’s see him stop this plague, then.”
Merlin started explaining in his best teacherly voice that the cold weather would bring an end to the plague. But Arthur interrupted this. “Who rules here, woman? Who represents order? Where is the local baron?”
“Are you trying to be funny?” She glared at him, then at Merlin. “And who are you?”
Merlin introduced himself.
And unexpectedly the woman smiled. “The wizard? I’ve heard of you.”
“I assure you, I am not a-”
Another woman, slightly younger, joined her. “You are looking for Lord Tambour?”
“Tambour?” Bedivere consulted one of his maps. “As near as I can recall, the warlord here was named Timothy.” He lowered his voice and told Arthur, “You remember him, Arthur? He fought side by side with Marmaduke.” He made a sour face. “He was never much of a warrior, as I recall.”
“No, I don’t remember him at all.”
“He was that kind of baron. I suspect he gained power here because no one else could be bothered. Look at this place. It’s almost as forlorn as Paintonbury.”
The younger woman said loudly, “Tambour seized power three years ago.”
“Why was Camelot not informed?”
Her older companion laughed. “You are trying to be funny.”
Arthur ignored this. “Where is Tambour now?”
“Who knows?” The younger of the two shrugged. “He ran off with the group of catamites who have always surrounded him. The plague-”
“The plague is dying. No one here is threatened. The world will soon be itself again.”
“So the men here can start drinking and fighting among themselves for power? Now all they do is drink. My husband ran off with Tambour. Honestly, death by plague would be a blessing.”
Bedivere nudged Arthur. “Look.”
At the far end of the street stood a figure in swirling black robes. A woman. She slowly raised her arms as if she was trying to cast a spell, or at least as if she wanted to appear so.
Softly Arthur whispered, “Morgan.” Then, in his best command voice, he called, “Sister!”
Morgan nodded slightly but said nothing in response.
Arthur thanked the two women for their information and spurred his horse to meet Morgan. The rest of the column followed.
“Morgan. How interesting to find you here. What the devil do you want?”
She was serene. “I am the high priestess of England, remember? I have business everywhere in the realm.”
Gildas left his place in the column and moved to a spot just behind the king. In a whisper he said, “Ask her about Marmaduke and Lulua. She must have been a party to their treason.”
But before Arthur could say anything, Morgan intoned, “I am seeking my disciple in these parts. A fine priestess called Lulua. But she seems to have vanished. I don’t suppose you’ve had any intelligence of her, Brother?”
Gildas could not restrain himself. “Your disciple is under arrest for treason.” He smiled a smug little smile. “Along with your minion Marmaduke.”
Morgan frowned deeply. Ignoring Gildas she asked, “Is this true, Brother?”
Arthur shrugged. “They tried to have me killed. I hope you don’t mind that I survived them.”
“Lulua is a good woman, a loyal servant of the crown of England.”
“Perhaps so, Morgan, but she hardly seems to know who wears that crown.”
Merlin joined the conversation. “How peculiar that you have shown up here, in the midst of their treachery. You are not a part of it, by any chance?”
Morgan glared. “Are you going to permit your servants to continue addressing me in this churlish manner, Arthur? Respect for the royal bloodline would dictate-”
“Respect for the royal bloodline would dictate that subjects not plot against their king, Morgan. Or do you suppose that yours is the only royal blood that matters?”
“How did you get here ahead of us?” Merlin asked her.
Serenely she replied, “I control the elements. The gods-”
“It is not possible that other rebel barons and their, er, priestesses provided you with safe passage, is it?”
She stiffened. “You are here to rebury the most sacred object in the kingdom. As high priestess, it is most fitting that I be here. It was most impious of you to leave me behind.” A faint smile appeared. “Or to try to.”
Arthur sighed. “Then let us get on with the burying. But I warn you, Morgan, I am going to get to the bottom of all this. If I find evidence that you were complicit with Lulua and Marmaduke-”
“You will not.”
He put on a tight grin. “Time will tell, I suppose. I recall instructing you to remain at Camelot. Yet you are here.”
Morgan shrugged.
“We will take that up later. Meanwhile, let’s find this barn and bury the bloody Stone. I can’t tell you how sorry I am I ever set my knights to find the damned thing.”
Gildas sensed an opening. “The plague, Your Majesty, is-”
“In the name of everything human, Gildas, not now.” Merlin was tired and impatient. He turned to the king. “Another cold wind is kicking up, Arthur. Let us get this done with and get back to Camelot.”
The citizens of Grosfalcon displayed little curiosity as the column proceeded through their village. They went on about their own business, which in most cases appeared to be pleasure. Drinking, gorging themselves with food, lovemaking… Nothing the knights might have done, short of actual violence, could have distracted them from their hedonistic pursuits.
The sight of it made Arthur glum. “So this is what plague does to society. We have never experienced one before, not in my lifetime. There are histories of course, but-”
“Be grateful they aren’t offering any resistance to us.” Bedivere spoke like a military man.
“Seeing any semblance of social-order breakdown is hardly a thing to be grateful for, Bed.”
“Not meeting hostility is.”
A black stallion had been found for Morgan. It was grazing in a field just outside the town, and it had apparently been broken. Or nearly so. Every now and then it snorted and bolted. Morgan,
unruffled, manage to calm the animal every time. Arthur had the impression she was whispering something to it. A sidesaddle was found and the mount prepared for her.
But she was unhappy at having to ride. “I am a member of the royal house. I merit a carriage.”
Arthur was sanguine. “When the king himself is riding horseback, it ill becomes his sister to demand any more than that.”
“That fool advisor of yours is in a carriage. I deserve no less.”
“Merlin is old and infirm, Morgan. You know that. Don’t be disagreeable.”
“You should tell that to him. He is not too ‘old and infirm’ to make snide comments.” She scowled and mounted her horse.
In his carriage, Merlin was restless. He complained to Peter. “What on earth is she doing here? How did she get here so rapidly?”
Peter made a slight shrug. “Perhaps she really is a witch.”
Merlin ignored this. “She has a larger network of supporters than we ever realized. Or at any rate a more efficient one.”
“More and more of her people seem to be defecting to this new religion.” Peter seemed amused by it. “I mean, Gildas does seem an improbable leader, but he is making headway in England. Even Lord Darrowfield-”
“Gildas is hardly alone. More and more of his ‘monks,’ as they call themselves, keep showing up in various parts of the country. But the Christians are Morgan’s problem.”
“Then-?”
“I am concerned about Morgan’s connection to Lulua and Marmaduke. If she has been complicit in their treason… If her whole vast network is treasonous…”
“I see what you mean.”
“Arthur’s… what shall I call them?… potential heirs are being eliminated, one by one. Morgan has every reason in the world to want to see that happen. She wants the throne herself, after all. Having Marmaduke and Lulua eliminate her brother for her would have…” He made a vague gesture. “I am getting old, Peter. This is too much for my poor old mind. Lord Darrowfield…”
The Pendragon Murders Page 24