"I've never been to France before," Martin told him.
"No wonder Britomart chose you."
"She said she thought we'd get along. She always tells me I'm a smartass."
"The pot calling the kettle black."
"I once heard the king complain that if sarcasm were power, England could rule the world."
Petronus was excited by everything about the trip. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you've trusted me to help on a mission this important."
"I need someone who knows Camelliard." Merlin was offhand.
"But . . . I'm still ashamed of the way I let them play me. When I think what might have happened to the king when I . . . when I . . . Thank you for trusting me, Merlin."
"That is all in the past, Let us leave it there."
"This is a chance to redeem myself, isn't it?" The boy looked anxious.
"I suppose that would be a reasonable way to look at it."
"I overheard some of the soldiers say that Britomart spe cially told them to keep a careful watch on me. If I do any thing they find suspicious they will . . ."
"Just keep your wits about you, Petronus. Think before you say or do anything. Better still, say nothing. We're supposed to be an order of silent monks. Of all the squir relly customs . . . But I suppose we can use it to our ad vantage."
"I'll try. Sometimes . . . sometimes I just get carried away."
"Do not let that happen."
They sailed south through the Pillars of Hercules, bound for Marseilles. As they passed Gibraltar a playful ape threw stones at the ship. Merlin commented that he hoped it was not a sign of things to come. One of the soldiers got his longbow and shot the offending ape; it plunged into the cold Mediterranean, struggled briefly, then disappeared under the waves.
"There," Martin said. "Let us hope that is a sign of what's to come."
"I would rather hope for an easy, nonviolent trip."
"If there is to be violence, you should hope it will be ours, Merlin. Otherwise, why bring us?"
The voyage took a day and a half. The port at Marseilles was crowded and busy and alive with activity. Merlin told Martin, "Instruct the men not to talk to anyone, not even to each other. They must leave that to either you or myself. I am the abbot; you are my lieutenant."
Petronus couldn't take his eyes off the city. He told Mer lin, "I've never seen a place as large as this."
"Never? Have you not had the chance to travel?"
"When I came to England, it seemed the most thrilling place to me. But Corfe and Camelot aren't much bigger than Camelliard. And that's as much of the world as I've had the chance to see."
"You will see more, I am quite certain. But for now it is time to get into your monk's habit."
"I'm too young to be a monk."
"Novice, then, as we said before. Do it. I'm told priests are fond of them. But you must wear it. We cannot take the chance that someone might recognize you. This is a secret mission, remember?"
Martin's men rummaged through a pile of clerical robes and found ones that fit them reasonably well. There was a small robe that seemed tailor-made for Petronus. Merlin was the last to find his habit; the second one he examined fit him perfectly.
"Excellent. Let us all put up our hoods, make certain our weapons are well-concealed, and go forward. And we must all remember at all times that we are pious Christian cler ics. Be humble and devout, with everyone, all the time. And keep your eyes and ears open for anyone who might be a Byzantine."
Martin laughed. "We're soldiers, Merlin. Humility does not come naturally to us."
"Nevertheless, our lives may depend on it, and we must all make the effort. We have a long way to go. It is time we enter Marseilles."
"Where is Merlin? I've been asking for him for two days now. One of the servants finally let slip that he's gone off on a trip to somewhere."
Guenevere had sent for Nimue/Colin, who had been ne gotiating her way among all the delegates and all their de mands. So far, only two had left. The rest were waiting for the harbor to be cleared completely, and they were feeling edgy and impatient. Food and other supplies were running lower and lower. The last thing she needed to deal with was Guenevere, who still seemed to think herself in charge.
"Merlin has gone off on a short holiday," she told the queen. "That is as much as I know."
"Rot. I've seen the two of you together. You're like his second self."
"I presume you mean that as a compliment? Thank you."
"Don't patronize me, young man. How can Merlin have gone off in the middle of his investigation?"
"I don't know a thing about his investigation, Your Maj esty." She leaned on the final words ironically. "He said he needed a break. That is as much as I know."
"Break, break, break. If my mother had run Camelliard as loosely as Arthur runs England, it never would have amounted to a thing."
"It seems to be coming to nothing anyway. Or haven't you heard?"
Guenevere narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Hasn't your mother been to see you?"
"Leonilla and I were not close even before she went off her head. Now . . . I want to know what Merlin has discov ered about the murders. And I want to see Lancelot."
Nimue shrugged. "No one can think of a reason why Lancelot should have killed Podarthes. Not that it matters. Convicting him of one killing will be more than sufficient."
"But—but the two must have been committed by the same person."
"How can you know that, unless you had something to do with them?"
"Do not try to be foxy with me, young man. Neither Lancelot nor I had a thing to do with either killing. If Mer lin was half the detective you all seem to think he is, he would know that by now."
"Yet people keep dying, and Lancelot always seems to be on the scene or nearby. Perhaps Merlin is trying to find evi dence that you are involved. Have you thought about that?"
Guenevere glared. "Leave me. Now."
Nimue stood to go. "With pleasure, Your Majesty."
Guenevere turned to her mirror. But Nimue decided not to let her off so easily. "One more thing."
Without turning to look at her, Guenevere said, "Yes?"
"There is a court jeweler at Camelliard. A certain Reynaud de Beliveau. What do you know about him?"
"Beliveau? He is a fool. There were always rumors he had been one of mother's lovers. If that is true, he is the only one who managed to survive. Lucky for him she al ways liked pretty things. He must be the only lover she ever took who was older than herself." She turned suspicious; her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Pretty things? Do you mean him or his jewelry?"
"I told you to leave me. Leave me."
"Yes, of course." Making a showy mock-bow, Nimue turned to go.
"No, wait."
Nimue smiled to herself. "Yes?"
"You said there has been intelligence from France. What is it?"
"You mean your mother's . . . paramour has gotten word and you haven't? How interesting."
"Tell me. Please, young man."
"I have a name, you know. If you'll excuse me, I have duties to attend to."
Guenevere steamed, but Nimue left her and placed a guard prominently in the doorway.
Merlin had instructed her to keep a careful watch on Eu dathius, who she still thought of as "the Lithuanian." So far he had done nothing suspicious. But on one of her mad walkabouts Leonilla had been found in his quarters, sitting on his bed and talking incoherently to herself.
And Andrea of Salesi had become increasingly strident, demanding special attention, demanding extra food for his retinue, demanding all sorts of things Nimue was hardpressed to provide. The last thing she needed was trouble from Guenevere, and she was grateful their audience had gone as well—and as briefly—as it had.
The harbor at Marseilles was crowded with people and bursting with activity. It did not take long for Merlin to learn that the same storm that had crippled England had also ravaged the French p
orts on the Channel and the North Sea. As a result, virtually all marine traffic had to pass through Marseilles; there was no other choice. Merlin had decided to land there because access to Camelliard, to the north, would be easier; and it proved to have been a fortu nate choice. His soldiers tended to stay together, a short distance away from him. Petronus was his company.
The harbor was crowded with ships of every description, from small sloops to galleys to, ominously, the most impos ing Byzantine war craft. There seemed to be ships from every part of the Mediterranean world.
Merlin relished everything he saw. "When I was a younger man I traveled everywhere I could," he told Petronus. "Greece, Egypt, Byzantium, or Constantinople, as they call it now. I went everywhere I could. But I've never seen this city before."
"It must have been wonderful, Merlin. I'm jealous." Petronus talked in a whisper to help maintain the fiction that only Merlin was allowed to speak.
"I almost made the journey to India and Cathay. My wanderlust was that strong. Let us find an inn and eat some thing."
With hand signals he told Martin and his men to follow him. The streets were full of travelers of every kind. Merlin was delighted to notice Egyptians among the crowd. "When I lived there, Egyptians tended not to travel. They thought their country the center of everything. The great god Khnum fashioned mankind on his potter's wheel there, so why go to any other place? I'm pleased to see their world has widened."
"Or ours has."
"Look—those men. They look like Byzantines. Let us listen."
They were speaking Greek with a distinct Constantino politan accent. Merlin tried to pick up the sense of their conversation, but they interrupted it to suggest they take a meal in an inviting inn.
As unobtrusively as possible for a party of fourteen, Merlin and the others followed.
The place was crowded, mostly with more Byzantines. Either traveling to France was the rage among them or Constantine had sent hordes of spies and this inn was their meeting place. The restaurateur seated Merlin's party at a long table against a wall opposite the fireplace.
Merlin ordered roast beef and ale for everyone; when it was served his "monks" ate in silence. They all strained to hear what they could from the other patrons, but their pres ence seemed to inhibit the Byzantines.
The mere number of Greeks revealed a telling story. By the time the Englishmen finished eating, Merlin was quite convinced that Jean-Michel's intelligence had been accu rate, at least the part about increased Byzantine activity in France.
They finished their meal in silence and left. Outside, they sky had become quite cloudy. Merlin paused to hope the last vestiges of the great storm were not about to strike. He got out a map and whispered to Petronus, "What is the quickest way for us to travel? I am quite disoriented, with no sun . . ."
"There is a great road heading along the eastern side of the Pyrenees from Marseilles. I'm not certain how to reach it from here."
"People will always give help and assistance to monks. I am certain we only need to ask."
But no one was as accommodating as he hoped. Every one he stopped seemed to regard the monks and their leader, with his English accent, with considerable suspicion. The party headed away from the waterfront and hoped they would encounter someone more friendly.
After nearly an hour's walk through the city they came to a Christian church. Merlin and Petronus looked at one another as if to ask why not? And so they went inside.
An attendant, to appearances not a priest, was tending a rack of candles. Merlin interrupted him. "Excuse me. I am Father Methodius of the Abbey of St. Dymphna in England. Queen Leonilla has sent us on an errand to Camelliard, but I am afraid we have lost our bearings. Might you please direct us to the Pyrenees Road?"
The man turned to face him, and Merlin saw that he was a hunchback. "She is not queen here." He had a speech defect.
"We were planning to land at Brittany. But the storm— our map—we have quite lost our bearings. So you see, any assistance you can give us will be most helpful."
The hunchback wrinkled his brow, as if thought came hard for him. "You're not Greeks?"
"Good heavens, no."
"You want the Pyrenees Road?"
"Yes. We understand there is a good road along the east ern side of the mountains. If you could direct us there—"
"This is Marseilles."
"We are quite aware of that. We need to reach Camel liard. If you might—"
"That way." The man pointed to the church door.
Merlin looked at the threshold. "Is there someone else here?"
"That way," the hunchback repeated. "Go up that street and keep going. The mountains are that way."
"I see."
"First light a candle. The Virgin will protect you."
Obediently he lit not one but four candles. "For the Vir gin and the Trinity," he explained.
The hunchback smiled, satisfied. A moment later the "monks" were back on the street and heading north. Merlin was pleased that his first attempt at a cover story had gone over fairly well. But not everyone they met would be as compliant as the hunchback in the church.
Outside, there were more clouds in the sky. Martin moved next to Merlin and whispered, "This is all too ominous."
"Do you mean the weather or the Byzantines?"
"Both."
"Relax, Martin. Tell everyone to be alert and to keep their ears open. But relax. We have the perfect cover. We are priests."
"I didn't notice the innkeeper or the hunchback to be very accommodating . . ."
At the northern end of the city, the Pyrenees Road was im possible to miss. It was Roman, one of the scores of ancient roads that crisscrossed Europe. A faded, almost illegible signpost at the entrance, carved into a rock, said it had been built at the behest of the emperor Hadrian. The paving was worn and cracked in places, but it was still quite service able. Despite that, traffic was surprisingly light.
"Perhaps people are staying indoors, sheltering from the approaching storm." Merlin produced one of his viewing devices and scanned the road as far as he could see. "Let us hope they are wrong. I saw enough rain in England to last me for a good, long time."
"My Roman history is not what it should be, Merlin." Martin walked beside him. "Is this the same Hadrian who built the wall between England and Scotland?"
Merlin nodded.
"Resourceful man."
"To say the least, Martin. And he is one of Arthur's per sonal heroes."
"His ambition keeps growing, doesn't it?"
Not in a mood to focus on anything but their journey, Merlin didn't answer. They set out, heading north. The clouds were dark and threatening, and the mountains to the west, on their left, looked equally so. Martin complained that they should find a dry, cozy inn and wait till the weather changed.
"The Pyrenees always look off-putting, Martin, even in bright sunlight." Merlin kept his eyes on the road, scanning the far horizon. "They are the gloomiest range in the world. But if we have trouble, it will more likely be from enemies than from nature."
"I wish I could be so confident."
"The French, the Byzantines, possibly even the Arch duchess of Mendola . . . they are all active here. We have seen enough of the Greeks to know they are a strong pres ence. Treachery is everywhere around us."
A bolt of lightning flashed above the distant mountains. Martin noticed it from the corner of an eye and frowned at Merlin. "And we are sitting ducks for all of them, even Mother Nature."
"I have always thought of Nature as more like a stern, unyielding father than a loving mother."
Martin smiled a deathly smile. "I'd like to be there sometime when you tell Morgan that. Her goddess is loving and benevolent."
"Morgan is not in the government. Do you suppose that might be why?"
Occasionally drops of rain fell, but they always vanished quickly and never turned into actual showers. After two hours of walking the party stopped for a light meal. Martin had taken a few of the men to
a marketplace before they left the city walls, so they had supplies for a long journey. There were large packs of food, skins of water, blankets; everyone but Merlin was burdened.
Petronus's pack was as large as everyone else's; he struggled under it. Merlin asked if he was all right. "Are you certain you can manage all that?"
"Yes, sir."
"You should have something lighter."
The Lancelot Murders Page 25