“You’re no one to talk, Merlin. Everyone knows you rigged some kind of trick with that sword of Arthur’s-”
“Excalibur.”
“Yes. Everyone knows you set up some sort of ruse with it to convince people he was destined to be king. So much for logic and reason.”
“What could be more reasonable than using people’s gullibility to one’s own advantage? Or to the advantage of one’s king?”
“Then why convict Morgan of these crimes? Political murder is one thing. Rulers have been doing that since the first people crawled out of caves. But viciously hacking two boys to death-that’s another thing entirely. From what you say, it doesn’t sound like her style at all.”
“Morgan is as murderous as any queen in history. She takes handsome young men as lovers, and-”
“A queen’s right.”
“And she keeps dogs. Large, evil things, white with red ears. When she is finished with her lovers, she kills them and feeds them to the dogs.”
“That’s horrible.” Brit’s eyes widened. “And Arthur wanted to bring civilization to England. He hasn’t been able to civilize his own sister. But…”
“Yes?”
“If she wanted to murder at Camelot, wouldn’t she have used poison, then? That seems more in character, from what you’ve said. A broadsword is not subtle enough.”
“That is what I keep thinking. And hoping.”
“You want Mark to be guilty, then?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be glib. If I’ve ever been wrong about anything, I wish it were this. But I’m afraid I’m not.”
They slept and had a good, hearty breakfast the next morning. Then they set off through the dark, fog-shrouded world as they had the previous day. The mist was even thicker; at times it was difficult to see the road. Accolon and most of his men had drunk too much the night before; they were plainly hungover.
Then at length Morgan’s castle reared up ahead of them through the fog. A massive, black, rambling place, even darker and more ominous than Guenevere’s castle at Corfe. Lights flickered faintly in the windows.
“How can anyone live in a place like this?”
“Perhaps she chose it because it suited her, Brit.”
“Did she choose it? Or did she inherit it?”
“Point taken. This has been the home of the witch queens for centuries. It is not what you would expect the seat of women’s government to be like, is it?”
“Be quiet, Merlin.”
“In Rome you may see the ruins of the house where the college of Vestal Virgins resided. It is the foulest, ugliest building in the city. There is something about women living together, monastically…”
“Shut up.”
“The Vestals were infamous for using poison to further their interests, too.”
“Please, Merlin, this is not something I want to discuss.”
They came to a place where sentries had been posted. The captain of the escort explained that Merlin was here on the king’s business, and after a thorough search, they were permitted to move on. As the castle drew near, it looked more and more ominous, more and more a place of death.
Petronus was feeling restless. And he was bristling at having to obey Colin.
“I’m fine, Colin. Let me get up, and show me the castle.”
“Merlin’s orders were for you to remain in bed till you’re completely healed.”
“I am. I feel fine.”
“Let me see your wounds.”
Reluctantly, he submitted to an examination. And his wounds had in fact healed, for the most part. But Nimue expressed doubt about whether it would be wise for him to leave his bed. “Merlin knows more about healing and medicine than any man in England. You should do as he instructed.”
“Please, Colin. We can have some fun together.”
A moment later Greffys knocked and came in. “Colin, I’ve been looking for you.”
Nimue introduced the two squires. They seemed to bond almost at once. But Greffys had business on his mind. “I’ve been getting to know the servants. Some boys say they remember Lancelot in the scullery that night. Arthur said I should tell either Merlin or Britomart.”
“You can tell me. You know I’m Merlin’s apprentice.”
“That’s what Arthur told me to do.”
Petronus listened to their exchange, puzzled. He asked what was going on, and Nimue finally gave him a brief account of the murders and the theft of the Stone of Bran and Excalibur. “That’s why we were at Corfe-investigating whether Guenevere might be behind it all.”
“And is she?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t think Merlin thinks so.”
He put the pieces together. “But then-whoever attacked me-”
“Exactly. But we don’t know who it was. Or why.”
“So I’m involved in this. I mean, without knowing a thing about it, I’ve become involved. I want to see the man who attacked me brought to justice.”
“With Merlin hunting him, you will. I’m sure of it.”
Greffys became impatient listening to them. “These boys I’ve found, we ought to talk to them now. They don’t much trust anyone above their social station.”
“Then let’s go.”
“And I think they know the girl Lancelot was with.”
Petronus got to his feet; he was slightly unsteady. “I’m coming, too.”
Nimue decided she did not have the energy or will to argue with him; he would be on his feet soon enough, one way or another. “All right. Let’s hurry.”
They made their way through the castle to the Great Hall and beyond it to the kitchen. Two boys were waiting there, seated at one of the tables. They weren’t much older than Greffys, and they looked nervous.
The taller of them stood and looked suspiciously at the three of them. “Who are they?” he asked Greffys.
Greffys introduced them. “Colin here is Merlin’s apprentice. ”
“An apprentice wizard.” The boy didn’t try to hide his distaste. “Poring over books and memorizing spells while we scrape the floors and tables clean.”
“And this is Petronus, Britomart’s squire.” He introduced the kitchen boys as Dennis, the one who had questioned him, and Tom.
Dennis, scowling, said, “You told me there’d only be one.”
“Petronus here was attacked by the same one who killed Borolet and Ganelin.”
“Really?”
Petronus nodded. “I want to find him.”
Nimue decided it was time to take charge. “Greffys tells us you saw Lancelot here that night, Dennis.”
The boy nodded. “He had a girl. All the knights come here when they have girls, or when they’re looking for one.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “To do it in the pantries, where no one can see.”
“Was he here long?”
“Long enough.” Dennis leered.
“And she was with him the whole time?”
He nodded.
“Who is she?”
“Gretchen. Tom’s sister.” Dennis sounded smug.
“We’ll want to talk to her.”
“No one’s supposed to know.” Tom sounded betrayed. “She’ll be mad at me if she knows I told anyone.”
“This is important, Tom. I can promise you each…” She pretended to be doing a sum in her head. “I can promise you each a gold coin when Merlin gets back.”
“A gold coin!” Dennis couldn’t hide his excitement.
“Just persuade Gretchen to talk to us about that night.” Weakly, she added, “There will be a coin in it for her, too.”
Merlin and Britomart were installed in rooms in Morgan’s castle. It seemed to Brit their welcome was rather grudging. Merlin was sanguine. “We did come uninvited, after all.”
“Courtesy to strangers and travelers is the hallmark of civilization, Merlin. Especially travelers on the king’s business. She did have a letter from him.”
“Civilization is a comfortable lie, Brit.”
The women at Morgan’s court all dressed, like her, in billowing black robes with enormous sleeves. Brit tried to force herself not to think of them as witches, but they so self-consciously assumed that image, it wasn’t easy. They all seemed to work at being cold, aloof and distant.
Alone with Merlin, she commented on it. “It’s so strange. They don’t even make noise when they walk or move.”
“That takes years of practice.”
“And how much practice does it take to be rude? You’d think at least a few of them might show signs of friendliness now and then.”
“They are struggling to preserve a matriarchal society that is fast being eclipsed. Not just here, not just by Arthur, but all across Europe. In most places it is dead already. I imagine they must consider friendliness a luxury.”
“Some society. Dull clothes and bad manners.”
“Morgan’s kind of government has always rested on superstitious flummery. ‘We rule because the Goddess says we ought to.’ And how could anyone know the purported Goddess wants Morgan to rule? Because Morgan says so. It has only been a matter of time before a society like that began to come unraveled. All Arthur has done is hurry the process.”
Suddenly, Morgan herself appeared in the doorway. “What my brother has done,” she intoned grandly, “is slaughter thousands of innocent people in his bid for power. He has destroyed a culture so subtle and complex he has never even bothered to try to understand it. And he has sent the two of you here to help the process along.”
“You see hidden motives everywhere, Morgan.” Merlin made himself smile. “But life at court does that to everyone. Arthur has some specific requests for the ceremonies at Midwinter Court, and he asked me to come discuss them with you.”
“Since when does Arthur concern himself with the niceties of ritual?”
“I should think you’d be happy he’s doing it at all.”
“Better late than never, Merlin?” she japed. “The gods and goddesses he has slighted so pointedly may not see things that way.”
“And they will choose to express that through you, of course.”
“Of course. I am their priestess. And they have been… dislodged from their proper place.”
“We expect to have recovered the Stone of Bran by Midwinter. Surely that must be a sign of their favor.”
“Nonsense. Merlin, what are you doing here? What do you really want?”
He sighed an exaggerated sigh. “We are here for the reasons I’ve stated. It isn’t necessary to look for intrigue everywhere, Morgan. That suggests a particularly morbid view of humanity.”
“I see things as they are. You will come to my chambers tomorrow after breakfast, and we shall discuss court ritual.”
“Fine.”
Brit spoke up. “Is there any chance of a late meal? We spent all day on the road.”
“I’ll send someone to the kitchen to see.”
“Thank you.”
Morgan turned grandly in the doorway, letting her robes swirl with an intentional flourish. “Till noon, then. Be prompt.” And she swept off down the hall.
It was late at night. Camelot’s halls were all but deserted. Torches cast stark shadows on the stones. Nimue, Greffys and Petronus made their way to the refectory.
At the entrance, Tom and Dennis were waiting for them. “Hello,” Dennis said. “She’s waiting. She wants her gold coin up front, before she’ll talk.”
“Doesn’t she trust us?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Nimue walked past him into the kitchen and looked around. There were rough-hewn benches in a room made of rough-hewn stones. In one corner, by a large cook fire, stood a young woman apparently in her late teens. Her hair was long and dark, and she wore it in braids. She was dressed in a ragged floor-length skirt of brown homespun or some similar material and a very low-cut top. Her feet were bare.
“Good evening.” Nimue remembered to smile. “You are Gretchen?”
The girl smiled and tossed her hair coquettishly. “Yes. And you are…?”
“Colin. I am Merlin’s apprentice and assistant.”
“The sorcerer’s apprentice. Like the old story.”
“Merlin is not a-” She decided there was no point starting an argument about something so irrelevant. “Dennis and Tom say you have something to tell me.”
“Dennis and Tom,” she said with emphasis, “tell me you have some gold for me.”
“When Merlin returns, you will be amply rewarded.”
“Then when Merlin returns, I’ll tell you what I know.” She heaved her bosom and looked at Colin quite pointedly. “I’ve seen you around the castle. You’re an attractive boy- man.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want to get acquainted?” Sensing she was on shaky ground with him, she added, “Free?”
“No thank you.”
“All the knights want me.”
“And most of them have her.” Tom laughed. “Lancelot wasn’t the first.”
She swiped at him angrily, but he pulled away, laughing at her.
Nimue jumped on the opening he’d given her. “You were with Lancelot?”
“Well.” She pouted. “I guess you could say that.”
Tom tapped Nimue’s shoulder and pointed. “They did it in that little pantry over there. Everybody calls it ‘Gretchen’s Bedroom.’ ”
Nimue refused to be distracted. “And this was on the night of the ceremony with the Stone of Bran? The night Borolet was killed?”
Gretchen reached out and touched Nimue’s arm. “You’re strong for a scholar.”
“Answer my question, please.” She decided to take a softer tone and play up to the girl. “Please.”
“Yes, that was the night. Meet me here later, all right? No one will know.”
“You’re certain it was Lancelot? And it was on that night?”
“Yes, it was him. Tall, blond, with the nicest muscles. And really dumb. He gave me twice what I would have asked for.”
Petronus laughed and said, “No wonder Guenevere is hard up for money.”
“He kept asking me to keep our little affair a secret. Said his girlfriend would get nasty if she even suspected. But I figured he was making that up, to keep me quiet. They all say that. Even the king.”
“Arthur-?!”
“Yes, good, noble King Arthur. He tells me no one understands him, same as they all do. But he’s never given me a thing, the bastard. Not one royal farthing for poor little Gretchen.”
A couple of other kitchen servants walked in, talking. Nimue watched them, made mildly uncomfortable by their presence. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me, Gretchen? Anything about Lancelot, I mean.”
“He talked to me in French. When his passion peaked, he spoke French.”
“About that night-how and where did you meet him?”
“Why don’t you and I discuss that privately?”
“Really, Gretchen, that is not what I’m after.”
“All men are after that. What kind of man are you?”
“A scholar, unraveling a mystery.”
She shrugged. “Call it what you like. It always comes to the same thing with men.”
“And with women. You want your money. Merlin will pay you.”
She moved beside Nimue and rubbed against her. “I’d rather get it from you, Colin.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want.”
“Then leave me alone. Send Merlin to me. With coin.”
Swaying her hips, she walked off into the corridor that led to “Gretchen’s Bedroom.”
Nimue looked at Greffys. “Well. That is that, it seems.”
“You should come back to her. She’s worth it. Believe me.”
“A boy your age, Greffys? Spending good money for women? That doesn’t seem right.”
“How old were you the first time, Colin?”
“Old enough. And there was no cash exchanged. But
never mind.” She wanted to change the subject.
Petronus said, “Then the girl must have been homely.”
“I shouldn’t have let you out of your sickbed, Petronus. Behave yourself or I’ll order you back to it. Let’s go.”
As they left the kitchen, Gretchen watched from the dark corridor, wishing Colin was friendlier.
The next morning, after breakfast, Merlin met privately with Morgan.
“You said Arthur has some specific requests for the Midwinter ceremonies. As if he knew a thing about ritual and tradition. What does he want?”
“Well, I’m not certain you’ll like it.”
“Go ahead. I can only imagine the worst. And Arthur isn’t that imaginative.”
He bristled at this but resolved to go on. “He wants prayers to the gods.”
“Naturally. What else?”
“And not the goddesses.”
“Oh.” She stiffened slightly. “The Morrigan, the great Goddess of Death, has always ruled here. It would not be wise to ignore her.”
“I believe he knows you were named for her. Nevertheless…”
“And Danu, her daughter. We are Tuatha du Danu, the People of Danu. Has Arthur forgotten?”
“Arthur is quite keenly aware of how effective religious myth is as propaganda. That is precisely why he wants male deities, not female ones.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I’ve known Arthur all my life. He isn’t that thoughtful. This is your idea.”
“Arthur authorized it.”
“I shall pray to England’s traditional deities. That is not subject to further discussion.”
“I see. That is your final answer?”
She nodded.
Merlin rose to go. “That settles it, then. I’ll carry that news to the king.”
“Do so.”
“Trust me, Morgan, I will.”
“And then?”
“He will have to consider whether to have you officiate.”
She forced a smile. “Who else would have that privilege? ”
“There are other priests. Thank you for clarifying your position, Morgan.”
The Excalibur Murders Page 17