The Excalibur Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  Mark sprang to his feet. “Not till I get a cupful for myself. ”

  The ravens scuttled away, watching Nimue warily. There was an iron hook at the fireplace. She hung the wine pot then walked to the window. “Look at it out there. The world has turned white and pure.”

  “The world,” Merlin said carefully and pointedly, “has not been pure since Pandora opened her box.”

  “Who?” Mark looked into is cup. “There’s too much cardamom in this. Who on earth is Pandora?”

  “A myth. Never mind.”

  Britomart knocked and came in. “Morning, everyone.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t say good morning,” Merlin grumped.

  “I just met Pellenore in the hall as I was coming here. Even he’s unhappy about the cold. He says his dragons have gone into hibernation, like bears.” She smiled. “So now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Is Ganelin coming? And Arthur?”

  Nimue stirred the pot. “They should be here soon. Would you like some hot wine?”

  “Please. Anything warm.”

  At the window Merlin looked down to the courtyard. There was some activity. It took him a few seconds to realize Morgan and Mordred were there with their servants. Apparently, they were trying to leave, exactly as Guenevere had the night before. But the guards had been doubled and given strict orders. No one, not even the high priestess, was going to get out of Camelot today.

  He turned to the others. “It looks as if another of our suspects is trying to get away.” He explained what was going on below.

  Brit swirled the wine in her cup then tasted it. “Morgan can’t be a suspect, can she? I mean, she was there in plain sight the whole time-on the dais.”

  “But Mordred wasn’t,” Nimue volunteered. “I saw him leave the hall just after his mother took her seat.”

  “Maybe he had to use the privy, Colin.” Mark got up and refilled his cup. “I did.”

  “And did you see him there?” Merlin asked.

  “Don’t be absurd. You know how many loos there are in Camelot.”

  “I’ve never actually counted.”

  Brit took a seat across the table from Mark. “I wish we didn’t have to deal with this. I wish… I don’t know… I guess I wish Borolet was still alive.”

  Merlin crossed to the fireplace and got wine. “He was in training to be a knight. That more or less precludes a natural death for most people.”

  “I’m still here.” She took a long swallow of wine. “There’s not enough cardamom in this.”

  There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Whoever it was was walking slowly and heavily. Then the door opened and Arthur came in. He looked as if he hadn’t slept; he was pale and drawn, and there was nothing like his usual energy. “Morning, everyone. Cold day.”

  “Shrewd observation, Arthur.”

  “Why don’t you save the sarcasm for once, Merlin? I’ve had a terrible night.”

  Merlin and Nimue exchanged glances; it was tempting to comment on what they’d seen at his window, but they both kept tactfully quiet about it. She asked Arthur, “Is Ganelin coming?”

  “Yes. I want him here. But he may be late. I think he had an even worse night than I did. What happened is only beginning to sink in for him.”

  Suddenly, Merlin was in his element. “He has lost not merely his brother but his twin. That must be devastating for him. Philosophers have theorized what accounts for twin births. The usual explanation is that they are halves of a whole, and that neither is ever quite complete without the other. If Ganelin is feeling that-”

  “Whatever he’s feeling can’t be pleasant, Merlin.” Arthur avoided looking at him. “The question is, who could have wanted the shrine and the stone badly enough to kill Borolet so horribly to get them?” He looked around the room hoping someone would answer, but they were all watching him and waiting for him to go on. “Do any of you have any ideas?”

  No one else spoke up, so Nimue did. “I think we all know who the suspects are, sir. At least the obvious ones.”

  “And who are they, Colin?”

  She hesitated. “Well… Guenevere and Morgan.”

  “My wife and my sister.” His voice broke. “No, each is a monster in her way but I can’t believe that of either of them.” Then he brightened slightly. “They were both there in the Great Hall, in front of half the nobles in England. How could either of them-”

  “They weren’t alone, Arthur.” Britomart got to her feet and began pacing. “They have servants. Friends. Devotees. I saw Lancelot leave the hall myself. Other people saw Mordred go.”

  “Mordred? That spindly, watery, spidery bas- nephew of mine? He could barely hold a broadsword like Excalibur let alone wield it properly.”

  “What about Lancelot, then?” Mark looked into his empty cup, thought about getting more wine then put the cup on the table instead. “I mean, he’s dense and everyone knows it. But this was hardly a crime that required much thought.”

  Arthur was looking more and more out of his depth. “I’ll ask Guenevere about it.”

  “She’ll defend him.” Merlin was surpassingly firm. “She’ll never admit her stud knight could have done this. Especially if she told him to.”

  “Even so. I’ll talk to her. What else can I do?”

  “While you’re at it, then, ask her why she tried to sneak away under cover of darkness. Even if she wanted to leave, the sensible thing would have been to go by daylight and in better weather.”

  The king fell silent. After a long pause he said, “I want you to find this killer, this assassin, by Midwinter Court. I want to announce then that he’s been brought to justice. Do what you need to do to find him.”

  “I want to help.” Without anyone noticing, Ganelin had slipped into the room. He stood pressed against the door, looking sad and frightened.

  “Ganelin.” Merlin smiled. “Come in and sit. Let Colin give you some warmed wine.”

  “No thank you, sir. But I heard what you said about my losing not just my brother but my other half, my other self. That is so true. I can’t remember a time when he was not there, beside me. My memories stretch all the way back to the cradle and our mother, Anna, and there was always Borolet next to me, warming me, comforting me with his presence. Last night the world seemed completely empty to me. If King Arthur”-he nodded in his direction-“had not held me and calmed me, I would have gone mad.”

  So it was Ganelin they had seen in Arthur’s window. Nimue and Merlin exchanged glances but kept silent.

  “So you see,” the squire went on, “it’s important to me to help find the one who did this… this awful thing. Please, let me help.”

  Arthur stood up and gestured to his seat; Ganelin obediently sat down.

  “I can help, really I can. I can find out things none of you can.”

  Mark wanted to laugh; it showed in his face. Happily, Ganelin didn’t notice. “You’re a boy. A squire, not even a knight. What can you do that we can’t?”

  “I know people who would never talk to any of you. Not willingly, anyway.”

  “Who?” This time he did laugh. “The other boys who carry our spears?”

  Softly, Ganelin said, “The servants.” He looked around. Now no one was laughing. “We were practically raised by them. Our mother pledged us to the king’s service when we were ten. The servants raised us, taught us court protocol- taught us everything. We learned who matters and who doesn’t. Who to obey promptly and who we could safely ignore. The servants know everything that happens in the castle. If there are alibis, they are the ones who can corroborate them or give them the lie.”

  No one was at all certain how to respond to this. But it made perfect sense.

  Ganelin turned to Merlin. “Please, let me help. They trust me; I’m practically one of them myself. I want to help bring my brother’s killer to justice.”

  Arthur looked at Merlin, who looked back. Neither of them could think of a reason to keep Ganelin out of the investigation. Arthur put a han
d on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, of course we want you to help. But you must remember, Ganelin, you have other duties as well. You are still my squire.”

  “I won’t neglect my duties, sir.”

  “And you must promise to share everything you learn with Merlin, and to do so immediately. He is in charge of this investigation.” He looked around the table. “That goes for the rest of you, too.”

  There was a general murmur, though neither Britomart nor Mark seemed happy about it.

  “Promise me, all of you.”

  They did so, one at a time.

  “I don’t want any of you working alone. Whoever did this is vicious, maybe even mad.”

  “Like Pellenore?” Brit said, voicing her suspicion.

  “Pellenore?” Arthur frowned, obviously not liking the thought. “He’s a harmless old fool.”

  “Is there such a thing as a harmless fool? In the town where I grew up there was a fool, a complete imbecile, who used to go wild when he saw the gleam of precious metal. How do we know Pellenore isn’t the same?”

  “He’s been here for years, Brit. We’d have noticed by now.”

  “There isn’t much point to us investigating if you’re going to reject possibilities out of hand, Arthur.”

  He took a deep breath. “I know it.”

  “Pellenore left the Great Hall before the ceremony got under way. He was galloping about the castle as usual, screaming about bogeymen. And in his day he was a warrior. He knows how to handle a broadsword.”

  “Why not let us investigate,” Merlin interjected, “and bring our results to you? We could spend the whole day spinning theories. But we need facts.”

  Arthur took a deep breath. “I want all of you to be careful. This is a killer, after all, and possibly a madman. Don’t let anyone know you’re investigating.”

  “When we start asking questions,” Brit said, “they’ll know.”

  “We must never ask directly what we want to know.” Merlin was in teacher mode. “We must be clever. Indirect. We must learn what we want slyly, carefully.”

  Arthur turned thoughtful. “Exactly. And-suppose this. Suppose I make an announcement that Mark is conducting an official investigation in my name? He will conduct one for show, and that will leave the rest of you to do the real work.”

  “Am I in, then?” Ganelin sounded quite unsure of himself.

  “Yes, Ganelin. You are one of us.” Merlin smiled. “And I’m certain you’ll be a great help.”

  “Good. I mean, thank you. If I might say something…?”

  “By all means, Ganelin.” One of the ravens flapped to Merlin’s shoulder, and he stroked its head.

  “Well, sir, it seems to me you’re making some assumptions that might not be valid.”

  Mark laughed. “Oh really? What are they?”

  “Be quiet, Mark.” Brit shushed him impatiently.

  “Well…” Ganelin looked uncertainly around the room. “You’re assuming the criminal must have been after the skull and the shrine and the king’s sword out of greed. Is that necessarily so? And you’re assuming it must be someone who left the Great Hall.”

  “He can hardly have committed the crime while he was still there.” Mark laughed again. Merlin crossed the room to him and took the wine cup firmly, pointedly, out of his hand.

  “No, sir,” Ganelin went on. “He-or she-couldn’t. But there were certainly people who simply never went to the hall.”

  Everyone looked at one another, startled and abashed that it hadn’t occurred to them.

  “I mean, unless someone was keeping a roll of who attended, that is.”

  “You’re right, Gan.” Brit seemed pleased he had thought of it. “Everyone who matters-everyone who is anyone- was at the hall. We think. But-”

  “It’s the kind of thing the servants will know, if anyone does. As I said, I can be a help to you all.”

  “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that at all.” Arthur glared at Mark, warning him not to make any sarcastic comments. Then he took another cup of wine and drained it in one swallow. “I have to go. I have to preside at court today. There are sure to be peasants squabbling over livestock. I have such important matters to judge.”

  They all bade him good morning, and he left. Mark took his wine cup again. Everyone in the room turned to Merlin.

  “It seems we have several clear suspects.” Ticking them off on his fingers, he went on. “Morgan and her party, especially Mordred. Guenevere and hers, particularly Lancelot. Pellenore. But there must have been others who left the hall before Borolet was-before the crime happened. And as Ganelin rightly suggested, there may be key people who simply avoided the ceremony. We need to find out who.”

  Nimue had been listening, taking everything in. “I’m fairly certain I saw Gawain heading for an exit.”

  “Good observation. Did anyone else notice anything?”

  “That damned Frenchman, Accolon. He left.” Mark had never trusted him.

  “Good. And anyone else?”

  They stared at one another blankly.

  “I think we have to assume there must be one or two more.” He turned to Ganelin. “Can you ask among the servants, then, and see if they can tell us where any of the suspects were? And whether there are any others?”

  “Of course. I’ll be happy to. Give me a day or two, all right?”

  “That will be fine. Meanwhile, the rest of us can begin to question the various possible culprits. Obliquely, indirectly. We don’t want anyone to know we’re investigating.”

  “People will guess.” Mark sounded impatient with it all. “A crime has been committed at Camelot. At the seat of government. That makes it much more serious than any ordinary murder. Whatever the motive, this strikes at the heart of England’s government and stability. We must find the assassin and bring him to justice as quickly as possible.”

  “Of course, Mark.” Brit was finding him annoying. “I’m sure we all share those concerns. They must have occurred to each of us. Until we find the killer, Arthur himself is in danger, and so is everyone else at court.”

  Mark started to bicker with her, but Merlin got between them and dismissed the little council. “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure Arthur is grateful to have us working together. ” He hoped his point wasn’t lost on Mark. Then he gestured to the window. “We’re lucky in one way, at least. Look-more snow. From the look of the black clouds in the west, another storm is coming, possibly worse than the one last night. If I’m right, no one will be leaving Camelot for at least a few more days.”

  “Splendid.” Mark slammed his cup down on the table and got to his feet. “More of this damned overcrowding. I’m sharing my quarters with two elderly knights from Dover. They smell of flounder.”

  “It is a gift, Mark. Let us take it and use it to our advantage. ”

  Mark scowled and stomped out the door. For the hundredth time Merlin found himself wishing Arthur’s knights wouldn’t drink so heavily. He asked Brit if she had anything more to add, but she said no and left. To Nimue, she said, “Thanks for the wine, Colin.” She said it with a wink, and Nimue looked at Merlin as if to repeat, She knows about me.

  Ganelin lingered by the door. He seemed to be screwing up his courage. “May I ask you something, Merlin?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, why can’t you just use your magic powers to divine who did the-who-who did that to my brother?”

  Merlin rolled his eyes skyward. “I am not a wizard, a magician, a sorcerer, a shaman, a warlock or anything else of that sort. When am I ever going to convince people of that?”

  “All the knights say you are. They say for anyone to be as wise as you-to know as much as you do about so many things-is unnatural. It could only come from something dark, something hidden.”

  “The knights are fools, most of them. And drunken fools at that. What they don’t understand, they make mysterious. But reason-understanding-is the key to every mystery. Even your brother’s death. You’ll se
e.”

  “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t. But the next time the knights start spreading rubbish about me, you tell them the truth, all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir, for letting me join the hunt.” And he left.

  Nimue took a seat at the table and unrolled an old scroll. Merlin turned toward the window. “The snow’s coming down more heavily already. This will get bad. I don’t know whether to be pleased.”

  “Maybe you can use you magic powers to stop it.”

  “Shut up and study your Greek.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Merlin expected, the storm got bad. Waves of ice fell, coating everything. Soon all of Camelot was encased in it. When he looked out his window, Merlin could see it glistening; it was almost blinding in the early light. Then came snow, more and more of it. At times it fell so quickly it was not possible to see more than a few feet ahead. Within two days there was nearly a foot of it. The world was soft, white and horribly cold.

  It was sufficiently early in the season that the servants had only just begun to prepare the castle for winter. They went to work energetically, hanging tapestries, distributing extra firewood and blankets, plugging up the sources of the worst drafts.

  Because of the ice and the frozen ground it was not possible to bury Borolet. Merlin saw that his remains were placed in the deepest, coldest storeroom in the castle basement, not far from some unoccupied dungeons. With luck they would keep there till the ground thawed.

  By evening of the third day Arthur and Merlin began to realize that food was running low. Winter supplies had not yet been laid in. Arthur ordered rationing, which of course made the castle’s occupants even edgier than they’d been.

  Just before dusk that day Guenevere tried to leave again.

  Merlin warned her she wouldn’t get far, but she was determined.

  “Arthur won’t permit it, Guenevere. The gates are locked.”

  “My men will deal with the guards.”

  “There is no point.”

  “I am the queen. That gives it point.”

  Her people met in the stables, saddled the horses and loaded the pack animals with what provisions they could collect.