For the first time she moved, inclining her head slightly toward him. The gesture seemed, odd, disjointed, unnatural, like a movement by a marionette. "I remember your imper tinence from our meetings a decade ago. I should have had you murdered then. It would have saved so much trouble with my idiot son-in-law. I had a first-rate strangler in my employ, one of the hashishin from Aleppo."
"Had? What happened to him?"
"Someone strangled him."
He paused; he could not let her take control of their con versation. "You are sitting on Guenevere's throne."
"Your jailers have confined her to her rooms. The throne was not being used. It seemed a waste."
"You always were ambitious. It is a pity you did not marry better."
"Leodegrance has been a disappointment, yes. But he has had his uses and will again."
"They say you were a great beauty when you were young. You still are, of course. But you could have had any throne you wanted. Alexandria, Rome, Byzantium even— they were yours for the asking. Yet you chose Leodegrance, the ruler of a backward French province. What could have possessed you?"
Softly she laughed. "Love, shall we say?"
"If Your Majesty chooses." Merlin made himself smile. "But love is no rival for ambition. You had most of France and all of England in your sights."
"You are suggesting that I have political designs? A simple woman like me? I weave homespun and do embroi dery. I cook and bake and polish my husband's silver. I am the picture of a dutiful wife."
Merlin laughed. "And how is King Leodegrance?"
"Asleep. Nursing his royal arthritis. He is aging badly."
He had to work not to smile at the irony of this. "I trust your crossing was good?"
"As well as can be expected, given the Channel's treacherous winds and currents. We used a Byzantine ship." She smiled faintly to make certain the point wasn't lost on him.
But he refused to be intimidated. "Your own navy is in such disrepair?"
"Surely you know better than that. The dimmest spy in Europe could have told you otherwise. Do you remember our meetings ten years ago?"
"With the greatest pleasure, Leonilla."
"You recall that one of your servants had an accident in our stables?"
"He was kicked by a poorly trained horse, as I remem ber."
Leonilla did not speak for a long moment, did not even move. "It was a warning to you. After all this time you have still not taken it."
"You are confessing?"
"Can you believe it?" She looked slightly away from him. "All these years I have maintained my reputation chaste, intact. I have been suspected of this and that, but there has never been any proof. Suddenly I feel as if I've disrobed."
Grateful she had done no such thing, and hoping to see something like life in her from a better angle, he took a step to one side. "I am an old man, Leonilla. And you have a generation on me. Surely it is time for you to stop this kind of scheming. It seems so . . ."
"Unqueenly?"
"Let us say unseemly. Undignified. One reaches a sta tion in life where all the games that mattered in youth seem foolish, to say the least."
"You think power is a game? You think the will to rule is foolish, as if it were better to be ruled? That is dangerously close to blasphemy."
"Then call me infidel."
"My royal husband has never been—how would you say?—never been much of a husband to me. But I have had my crown for comfort. If it is not as great as the one I might have had . . . well, what is size?"
Merlin glanced at the servant who stood behind her on the right. For a startled moment he thought it was Nimue, dressed in a gleaming suite of ceremonial armor. Then he realized it was a strikingly handsome young man. Despite himself, Merlin found himself wondering . . . But no, surely even Leonilla must be past that.
"That is my servant, Jean-Michel." Oddly, she grinned. "Also lurking back there is my maid, Marthe. You may ig nore them both."
"I fully plan to do so. But you . . . Are you planning to sit here in the dark all day long?"
"It is the only throne in the castle. And I am the only queen."
"Guenevere might not agree."
"My daughter, like her father, has been a disappointment to me in so many ways."
"As I'm sure you have been to her. You promised her England, and look what she has come to. None of your promises to her were worth the air it took to speak them." He made a sweeping gesture that seemed to emphasize the room's gloom and emptiness. "We have dinner at six. I will see you then."
"I have not dismissed you."
"And I have not asked you to. The birthday celebration
does not begin for two and a half weeks. It is unfortunate that you chose to arrive so early. But I hope you enjoy your stay, Leonilla."
"Leave my presence."
Not hiding his amusement, he went.
From behind him, he heard her voice. "Jean-Michel. My shoulders are sore. Rub them for me."
Just as he left the Great Hall, Merlin spotted an old man coming down the corridor toward him. For a moment he thought it must be a stranger, perhaps one of the townsmen hired for the celebration. Then with a start he realized who it was. "King Leodegrance—Your Majesty."
The man was alone and unattended. He shuffled toward Merlin as rapidly as his apparent infirmity would allow. Merlin made a slight bow; Leodegrance was the true power, after all, at least officially.
"I imagined you would be here, Merlin."
Uncertain what to say to the old man, Merlin repeated, "Leodegrance."
The king narrowed his eyes. "You didn't recognize me. It's all right, Merlin. Time has not been kind. I know that. Would you believe I'm six years younger than my wife?"
"Leonilla is not exactly ripe for plucking, herself." Mer lin looked back over his shoulder into the Great Hall, hop ing she hadn't heard.
"Except perhaps by the Grim Reaper. Be grateful you don't have to see her in her bath." The king paused and looked into the dark hall. "She is in there?"
Merlin nodded. "Seated on her daughter's throne."
"My poor wife. The trappings of power are all that is left to her."
"And to you, Leodegrance? You keep letting her concoct these absurd plots against Arthur."
"They are my plots as well, but never mind. Plotting is what kings do. Arthur should expect it. In Persia they play a game called chess, in which little imitation knights and no bles try to topple the opposing king. We play the same game, only for real. My wife sent for me. She wants to see me."
"She told me she had one of my grooms murdered ten years ago."
"Grooms?"
"When I was at your court, making plans for the royal wedding."
"Grooms? What do I know about grooms? They hardly matter."
"This one was a fine young man, tall, handsome and strong. I have always heard that Leonilla had a habit of killing her lovers, tossing them away like leftover scraps of food. Do you suppose that was the motive here?"
The king hardened. "I'm afraid I have no such recollec tion, Merlin."
"I see. Perhaps you should go in and attend your lady wife."
"Yes. She wants me. She sent for me."
"You said. Go, then."
And so they parted ways. Merlin told Nimue about his encounters later, over dinner. "And soon enough the entire castle will be filled with people like them. It is going to be such an interesting birthday party."
"Appropriate for Guenevere, would you say?"
"Appropriate for the Spider's House, at any rate."
Three days later Arthur arrived, attended by his squire Gref fys, Britomart, Petronus and Simon of York. They all had a quick meal, and Merlin made it a point to sit with Brit. In a low voice he asked, "How is he?"
"Sober, thank god. He says he knows it is time for him to act responsibly. But he is still melancholy. Sometimes his mood is so dark it frightens me."
"I'll find some pretext to talk with him and see if I can not help, somehow."<
br />
Later they all gathered around a table in Arthur's quarters for a conference. Merlin brought them all up to date on de velopments at the Spider's House, as he insisted on calling it.
Then Brit explained to him and "Colin" what had been happening at Camelot. "There have been a few more letters from the various courts. Routine things. We handled them ourselves—there didn't seem to be a need to consult with you."
"Everything is happening as it should, then?" Merlin asked.
"The Armenian legate wants rose water for his bath. Your friend Germanicus requested that books from the royal library be made available to him. And there's more in that vein. Easy requests—nothing of any moment. But—" She paused dramatically and took a deep breath. "There has been another incident. Another bloody dagger found on Arthur's pillow."
"Are my ravens all right? What was killed this time?" Merlin didn't try to hide his alarm.
"As near as we can tell, nothing and no one. We haven't been able to find out where the blood came from."
Nimue asked, "You're certain it was blood, then, and not—I don't know—cider or something?"
"It looked and smelled like blood. That's as much as we know."
"And when did this happen, Brit?"
"Two nights ago."
Merlin said, "I wish I had been there. I might have no ticed something no one else did."
Arthur hadn't said a word, just listened and frowned at it all. But now for the first time he showed signs of animation. "Merlin, the great detective."
"This is not a thing to joke about, Arthur. Your life is be ing threatened, quite clearly. Someone who could sneak a bloodstained knife into your bed could just as easily use it on you."
"I'm not worried, Merlin. Don't you be, either. If the vil lain wanted to hurt me, he would have done so by now."
"He has, once. Have you forgotten?"
Nimue leaned forward. "Has it occurred to anyone but me that these incidents—call them threats or whatever— must have been done by someone in the inner circle at Camelot? Someone with easy access to the King's Tower?" She glanced quite pointedly at Petronus. And the boy slumped down in his chair and looked away.
Just then there was a knock at the door and a young woman came in. Seeing her, Petronus's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. "Petronilla!"
She smiled at everyone around the table. "Good after noon, everyone. For those of you who don't know me, I am, as my brother so abruptly announced, Petronilla, secre tary to Queen Guenevere."
Petronus could not hide his astonishment. "Her secretary?"
"You must all excuse my younger brother. He has al ways been slow to pick up on obvious points."
"But—but—" the boy sputtered. "You're all right. I mean, what are you doing here?"
"Later, brother." To the rest of them, she said, "The queen welcomes you to Corfe Castle and hopes that your stay here, in observance of her birthday, will be pleasant."
Arthur sat up. "You may tell the queen that we are pleased that she seems to be content at our generosity in providing her this castle."
"Might I suggest, with respect, Your Majesty, that you have one of your own people convey that message to her?"
"Are you afraid of her, then?"
"Let us say that I know her moods. And I am not a brave woman."
At this Petronus laughed out loud. "No, not brave, only brazen."
Merlin interrupted this. "You may tell Guenevere that we are all here, safe and sound. No more."
Petronilla smiled. "I will certainly do so, sir. Is there anything else any of you require for the moment?"
They looked at one another and said nothing. Merlin told her, "I think we are all quite fine, thank you."
Petronilla made a slight bow, turned and left. Everyone in the room turned to Petronus.
"I—I didn't know she was here, like this" he stammered. "Honestly."
"We believe you." Merlin made his voice reassuring, glanced quickly at Nimue and said, "But we could not es cape the conviction that you are not exactly close. Would you prefer to return to Camelot?"
"N-no, sir. I don't want to miss all the grand delegates and all the ceremonies. And the performers. Please let me stay."
Softly and gravely Arthur asked, "What kind of woman is your sister? What should we know about her?"
"Well, sir . . ."
"Yes?"
"She's . . . she's a bitch. From my earliest memories she has hated me. I've never understood why."
"I see. We shall have to keep you away from her then."
"But . . . but can I stay?"
"Yes, I think so. But stay out of trouble. And stay out of Petronilla's way."
"Yes, sir. You can count on it."
Simon of York busied himself training all the new staff that had been hired from Corfe, in their duties and, more impor tantly, in protocol. They were instructed when to speak, when not to, when to bow, how to enter and leave a room properly, which title to use with which diplomat, and on and on. To his dismay, most of them seemed not to take it very seriously.
Two weeks later the delegates began to arrive. Some came singly; some had traveled together. Most brought aides and attendants. The Armenian was a short, plump man who wore bright red silk trousers and wore them os tentatiously. His name was Phenobarbus. There were leg ates from Spain, Morocco, Libya, Sweden, Castile, Salesi, from every conceivable quarter of the Mediterranean world, even a place called Flausenthurm, a region Nimue could not find on any map. Merlin's friend Germanicus Genentius arrived with four young boys as his body servants. Even though most of these people were technically vassals of Justinian, they presented themselves as representative of sovereign, independent courts. Of Podarthes there was no sign as of yet.
Merlin and Germanicus got reacquainted over a noon day meal. "I hope you traveled well."
"The sea was most cooperative."
Germanicus could not hide his interest in the castle's curious architectural plan. Merlin explained the building's history. "As far as I am aware, neither the Romans nor any one else ever repeated the experiment."
"Our Roman forebears were not always as wise as we like to imagine."
"They were geniuses, Germanicus. Their aqueducts still water a great many of our cities. Their roads cover Europe and are still in use."
"And so are the tortures they devised. There's no need to lecture me, Merlin. I know all that. But have you ever seen the ruins of Nero's Golden House? The word folly hardly seems adequate."
"Nero was mad."
"Can you think of an emperor who wasn't?"
Merlin laughed. "Be grateful Podarthes is not here yet."
"I know him. I am."
The delegates' self-importance was a source of constant
amusement to the Englishmen. The Roman pope sent a priest named Gildas, who announced to a startled court that he had been appointed Bishop of England. He was tall, parched, unnaturally thin; he looked as if he hadn't enjoyed anything since before puberty. "It is the will of Honorius," he proclaimed serenely, "that I serve here."
"Do you mean to say you will be staying?" Merlin didn't try to hide his shock at this arrogant breach of proto col. "Remind me—when did we request a bishop of our very own? There are no Christians here for you to preside over."
"That unfortunate fact will be corrected in good time. I intend to prepare you all for your meeting with the Al mighty in Paradise in the next life."
"Excellent," Nimue told him. "Now may we move your luggage out of the hallway?"
All in all, and given their pretensions, they were not a promising lot. Merlin complained about it to Germanicus, who was unmoved. "What did you expect? You've visited most of these courts and you must have at least secondhand knowledge of the rest. Petty nabobs and ambitious nobod ies, starting wars for their own personal gain or amusement, jockeying for position with Justinian . . . You know interna tional diplomacy well enough to have known it all and ex pected it."
"I often accuse Arthur of naïveté. I supp
ose I am guilty of the same thing myself, in my old-fashioned way. And yet Arthur thinks me a cynic."
"You are a cynic, Merlin. In the high old sense, in the sense the Greeks meant. 'The Cynic questions everything in order to learn what is true.'"
"And what did Zeno's cynicism get him? He is quite as dead as the Epicureans and the Stoics."
The Lancelot Murders Page 9