“Preliminaries?”
“Necessary steps. These things cannot be done haphazardly, you know. Everything must be arranged properly.”
Lancelot joined them. “What things? Who were those men?”
“Why, I thought you would recognize them. You’ve seen them before. And you’ve given them enough work.”
Guenevere snapped, “Don’t be coy with us, Merlin. Who were they?”
He smiled. “Why, the royal gravediggers, of course.”
“The-!”
“I don’t believe I’m hungry, after all.” He smiled at them. “I’ll just be going. Enjoy your meal, Guenevere.” Walking away, he added, as if it were an afterthought, “You too, Lancelot.”
For the rest of the day the castle was abuzz with gossip about Merlin, Arthur, the gravediggers and anything else that could support more than cursory speculation. Everywhere either Merlin or Nimue went, people plied them with questions, all of which went tactfully unanswered.
Merlin noticed that Morgan and Mordred remained in their rooms all day, having meals brought to them instead of dining with everyone else. “I don’t know whether to find it suspicious.”
He decided to pay them a visit. Beaming, overflowing with hearty good will, he went to Morgan’s chambers.
She was in a foul mood. “These rooms are drafty. I’m freezing.”
“This is a castle, Morgan. What do you expect?”
“If you’re going to work miracles with that damned crystal skull, why don’t you bring on spring?”
He was smug. “In time, Morgan.”
“In time spring will arrive on its own.”
“Such skepticism from the high priestess. I am shocked.”
“What do you want here, Merlin?”
“Why, no one’s seen you all day. I only wanted to make certain you are all right. And where is that handsome son of yours?”
“Mordred is reading. He has a new copy of Lucretius.” She added pointedly, “A distinguished skeptic from the ancient world.”
“I am perfectly aware of who he was, thank you. But- should you encourage your son to doubt? He might get into the habit.”
She had had enough of this. “I want to know what you’re up to, Merlin. I’m told you were conspiring with the royal gravediggers this morning,”
“Up to? Conspiring?” He was all sweet innocence. “Why, I am simply doing the king’s bidding. He wants a spectacular miracle to impress everyone with his power. The Stone of Bran will make that possible.”
“Nonsense. Arthur wants to use the religious impulses of his people to strengthen his position in the country. But neither he nor you is used to doing that. You may find you’re getting into more trouble than you realize.”
“Is that a threat, Morgan?”
“Let us call it a friendly admonition. I hardly have to threaten you. Neither of you understands what you’re doing. ” Her voice turned hard. “Abandon this foolishness. Do a few conjurer’s tricks and send them all home. There will be no resurrection.”
“Will there not?”
“No.” She was quite serene in her confidence.
“But, Morgan, the people have been promised a miracle.”
Mordred came in; he had clearly been eavesdropping. “A miracle? There is no such thing, Merlin, and you know it perfectly well. The idea that a bit of polished rock might restore life to the dead…”
“Not might-will.”
Morgan stood. Tall and imperious, she pointed a finger directly at Merlin’s head. “Stop this charade. Announce the truth.”
“The truth? You mean the ‘truth’ that only a priestess can work wonders? Really, Morgan, your threats are so toothless. ”
“They are not. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
He got wearily to his feet. “Have you brought your chest of poisons, then?”
“Chest of-” She batted her eyelashes like a demure girl. “Why, sir, I possess no such thing. But if I did…”
“Yes?”
“I would make certain I knew what I was meddling with.” Her voice took on a hard edge.
“I see. Yes, I suppose you would.” He started to go then turned back to her, grinning. “Have a pleasant day. And you too, Mordred. If the cold becomes too much for you, let me know. There are shawls and blankets I can send. Older women are so frail.”
“Get out of here, you horrible fraud.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at court tonight.”
That evening there was a huge feast in the dining hall, which was decked out with evergreens and hung about with large colorful banners and tapestries. Musicians played, mimes performed, jugglers juggled. Roast beef, goose, mutton and veal were served in huge quantities. More to the point, wine, mead and ale flowed like water. This was standard at the Midwinter feast, but Merlin suggested that keeping everyone well lubricated would be an advantage.
There was a small head table at which Arthur and Merlin sat. It was on a dais, high enough for Merlin to watch everyone but not so high as to be intimidating. Guenevere, Morgan and Mark and their people were seated at tables just below Arthur’s. Arthur was dressed in his best finery and wore Excalibur at his side; it was the tangible sign of his kingship and had been polished to a shimmering brilliance.
Merlin noted with satisfaction that Mark was drinking heavily. So was Lancelot; and Guenevere downed more than her share of mead. Only Morgan seemed to be abstaining. She sat beside her son, eating fastidiously, not talking, not looking around the hall even occasionally.
Merlin commented on it. “Such self-possession doesn’t seem quite human.”
“That is my sister you’re talking about.” Arthur bit into a flank of beef. Then glumly, he added, “Well, half sister. She’s always been that way. I think if she smiled or showed pleasure she’d vanish in a puff of smoke.”
For an instant Merlin was tempted to ask Arthur about the incest rumors about him and Morgan, but he decided not to do anything that might disrupt the king’s mood.
At one far corner of the refectory, the two gravediggers sat, eating and drinking heartily like everyone else. Noticing them, Arthur nudged Merlin with an elbow. “Look. They’re getting drunk.”
“Like everyone else in Camelot.”
“Except you and my sister. Have they done what they should have?”
“Everything is in readiness, Arthur, yes.”
“People have been coming to me about this all day long. Mark approached me three times, begging me not to let you do this.”
“Mark is a superstitious gull. Which is exactly what I want.”
“So three of your suspects will be in the Great Hall. But what about the fourth?”
“Pellenore? He will be there, too, only not in plain sight.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You know where he is.”
“No. I wish I did. I’d give anything to know the hidden parts of Camelot the way he does.”
“I keep expecting him to pop out of a wall and hack someone’s head off.”
“He’s harmless, Arthur.”
“No one human is harmless.” Saying this, Arthur startled himself. “Good heavens, I’m starting to sound like you.”
“You could do worse.”
“Eat your goose and be quiet. You’re lucky I find this miracle of yours useful and desirable. Otherwise I’d never let you toy with three people I know to be innocent.”
“Of course, Arthur.”
When everyone had finished eating-and had had time to drink still more-Arthur announced that the evening’s entertainment and ceremony would begin shortly in the Great Hall. He urged them to bring whatever was left of their dinners, and their drinks, and adjourn there.
Humming with anticipation, they did so. People filed through Camelot’s halls in small groups or singly; pages lit the way with blazing torches. The musicians led the way, still playing lively music, though the tone grew successively more somber as everyone reached the hall.
The hall itself was lit brillian
tly, more so than anyone could remember seeing before. Hundreds of torches and candles glowed fiercely; it seemed there was one in every possible space along the walls.
A platform-the same one that had been used on the night of the first murder-had been erected, and a row of more torches glared along its perimeter. Merlin had instructed several of the servants to sprinkle lime into the flames to make them burn even more brightly. But there was only one throne on the platform this night, Arthur’s, and it was set off to one side. Clearly he considered what was to come sufficiently important to remove himself from the center of things.
As the crowd filled the room, more servants with still more beverages entered and began to circulate, followed by more with generous supplies of Arthur’s honey cakes. It was all terribly festive; everyone seemed in a jovial mood, except Morgan and her son; they stood against the wall opposite the stage and watched everything and everyone with plain disapproval.
On a signal from Arthur, the servants extinguished all the lights in the room but the ones lighting the stage. It was time for the promised spectacle to begin.
First came the play. Arthur introduced Samuel, who in turn announced that his company would play The Fall of Troy, a stunning new drama by Dares the Phrygian and Dictys of Crete based on the eyewitness accounts of the fabled city’s fall. “We have performed this to acclaim in all the important courts of Europe. And we are privileged to present it here for you tonight.”
Merlin and Nimue took places not far from Morgan and Mordred, hoping to overhear whatever they might say. But the crowd was too loud, too boisterous for any individual voice to carry very far.
The actors took their places, and, lit harshly by the torches around the stage, Samuel recited the prologue. “And we shall see, both man and wife / the city’s fall, the end of life.”
Merlin leaned close to Nimue and whispered, “Let us hope we don’t see the end of Camelot, too.”
“Be quiet, Merlin. I want to hear the actors.”
The audience was predictably rowdy and ill-behaved, talking and laughing loudly as the performance progressed. But as it went on and got darker and more serious, they began to pay attention. In particular, the boy actor Watson, playing the tragic Trojan queen Hecuba, caught their attention. When he recited his speech mourning the deaths of his children, his husband and his city, there were even people weeping.
“You see the power of dressing as the opposite sex?” Nimue whispered to Merlin.
“Nonsense. They are drunk, that’s all.”
“Piffle.”
Throughout, Merlin kept a careful eye on the suspects. Guenevere and Lancelot were seated at a special table close to the stage. She was not happy, and not paying much attention to Watson and the others. She was, after all, the queen, and she was seated among lesser persons. Lancelot was drunk and kept nodding off, which seemed to annoy her even more.
Mordred and Morgan stayed near the farthest wall from the stage. It was clear they saw themselves apart from the rest. Or at any rate Morgan saw herself that way and Mordred went along. She was not a mother to upset.
And Mark, also drunk, kept lurching through the audience, muttering to one person or group after another. Wrapped up in the play, they shushed him. The expression on his face was not happy.
Britomart joined Merlin and Nimue.
“Have you seen anything, Brit?”
“Yes, a boy pretending to be a sad woman.”
“You know what I mean-anything suspicious. What is Mark saying?”
“He is complaining about your mystical show. He thinks something dire will happen, and he wants to find a way to stop it.”
“And what did you say to him?”
“I told him to relax, that religious displays of the supernatural are simply more theater.”
“Cynic.”
“That is exactly what he said.”
“I haven’t seen Petronus,” Brit commented.
“He is making himself scarce,” Merlin told her. “The last thing he wants is an encounter with Lancelot. He will be here when he’s needed.”
“Needed?”
“He is practicing with the lenses for tonight.”
“Lenses? Merlin, this sounds sillier and more desperate the more I learn about it.”
When finally the play concluded, the audience applauded and cheered wildly. Samuel took center stage for a bow, but the crowd wanted young Watson. Glumly, grudgingly, Samuel let the boy take the glory.
Meanwhile, Merlin moved through the audience in the direction of the offstage space where the actors were. His turn in the limelight would be next.
When the applause for the boy finally died down, Arthur took the stage again and thanked the company for their splendid performance. “What we saw tonight redounded to the glory of England, the fairest country on the face of the earth.” He went on at length about the flower of England and the coming period of prestige and leadership on the stage of Europe.
Offstage, two of the young men in Samuel’s company helped Merlin into a sorcerer’s robe, embroidered with stars and mystical symbols, and a conical wizard’s hat. Samuel watched, beaming; if things went well, his company would soon have a patron at court. To one of his dressers, Merlin whispered, “It is terribly lucky you have this costume.”
“We use it in one of our comedies, sir.”
“Oh. Well, let us hope tonight’s events do not play that way.”
Onstage, Arthur concluded his speech by talking about the Stone of Bran and the might and the glory it would soon bring to “our fair island.” He acknowledged Percival, who was in the audience, and gave him full credit for finding the sacred relic. Then he intoned, “It is time for us to witness its power.”
The musicians struck up a somber march, a nearly hymnlike melody. Almost involuntarily the crowd parted and Greffys entered, accompanied by a dozen of Arthur’s most trusted guards; Arthur was taking no chances with the safety of his squire this time. On a red velvet cushion embroidered with gold, Greffys carried the Stone of Bran before him. Their little procession made a circuit of the hall, permitting everyone to see the stone close-to. Then they advanced to the foot of the stage.
During this, Petronus had entered the hall and made his way unobtrusively to the side of the stage. As Greffys and the guards climbed to the platform, Petronus produced a pair of large lenses Merlin and Samuel had given him. He held them carefully before two of the torches, and the lenses focused their light and directed it to the stone. Suddenly, it seemed to everyone watching, the Stone of Bran began to glow brightly, almost ethereally. As Greffys moved across the stage to Arthur, Petronus changed the angle of the lenses so that the light followed and the crystal skull seemed to burn with a supernatural light.
When Greffys was beside him, Arthur took the stone in the fingertips of both hands and held it aloft. “Behold the Stone of Bran, the gift of the gods!” The crowd gasped and applauded vigorously.
Then Merlin, in his magician’s robes, slowly, solemnly mounted the platform and crossed to Arthur. He made a slight bow, first to the king then to the skull. Then he turned and faced the audience. “Let the wonders begin,” he intoned, and the audience fell into a hushed silence.
Petronus adjusted his lenses so that the beams shone on both Merlin and on the stone. Merlin made a slow, deliberate, majestic bow to the audience. Then, with equally deliberate slowness, he removed his pointed hat. With a flourish he showed it to the audience so that they could see that it was empty. Then he took the stone and touched it to the hat, held the hat in one hand and from it produced a live rabbit. The animal struggled to escape his grip. He let it drop to the stage and it scampered away, frightened and confused. It ran, improbably, in the direction where Morgan and Mordred were standing. Mordred caught it and handed it to his mother, who cradled it in her arms till it calmed down.
In the wings, Samuel beamed. Merlin had worked the trick he’d taught him perfectly. Someone in the audience shouted, “That’s it, Merlin? That is the great wond
er we’ve been promised?”
Instead of answering, Merlin raised a finger to his lips and gestured to the door nearest the stage.
A young woman with blond hair, wearing a low-cut snow-white gown, entered the hall, eyes lowered, and walked to the stage. Behind her came Greffys, carrying a large saw. Finally, the two gravediggers entered, carrying a large wooden coffin. This was all so unexpected, the crowd fell silent again.
The girl in white climbed to the stage, followed by the others. The gravediggers let their coffin rest on two wooden trestles and made a quick exit. Merlin assisted the woman into the coffin, where she lay down, and he closed the lid.
In the audience, Mark gaped at her. Was she the same woman who’d come to him that night at his own castle? Could Merlin have been behind her presence there, then? Drunk almost to a stupor, he tried to think clearly and make sense of it, but it was no use.
From a corner of his eye, Merlin watched Mark. The show seemed to be having the desired effect on him. Once again he took the Stone of Bran and with a flourish passed it over the coffin three times; then another three times he tapped the lid with it. And he took the saw and began to cut it in half, and the woman with it. People in the crowd gasped; Mark gaped.
When the coffin was cut clear through, Merlin and Greffys moved the two halves apart, then slid them back together again. Waving the stone above it one more time, he opened the lid, and out stepped the young woman in white. The audience cheered and applauded. Mark blinked and tried to focus, uncertain whether to believe what he was seeing.
Morgan, standing at the back of the audience, was bored. She leaned against the wall and yawned. She handed the rabbit to her son and whispered something to him; he also yawned.
On his throne at the side of the stage Arthur watched alternately his minister/magician and the audience, and he smiled serenely, pleased that Merlin’s worst expectations had not come to pass. No one was reacting adversely to the show; the killer was not a member of his court.
But there was something else happening in the audience; and Merlin was so focused on Mark he didn’t notice. Lancelot slowly, gradually began to shake off his alcoholic haze. And as his senses returned, or began to, he glared at the boy holding the lenses. It was his former squire, the one who’d deserted him without permission, without even saying a word.
The Excalibur Murders Page 25