Unsteadily, he got to his feet, pushed the people around him away and drew his sword. “Traitor!” he bellowed. “Turncoat!” And he began to lunge at Petronus through the crowd. “I’ll kill you! You’ll join the other two in the underworld! ” The boy, terrified, dropped his lenses to the stage and scrambled underneath the platform. Nimue left the stage quickly and joined the actors in their waiting area.
Guenevere shouted in alarm, “Stop! Lancelot, stop this!”
Half a dozen knights caught hold of Lancelot and restrained him. But he fought them, shouting at the boy, strugglingagainst their hold and still trying to brandish his sword. Finally, one of them wrenched it free of his grasp and it clattered loudly onto the stone floor.
Arthur stood. “Hold that man! Do not let him go!”
At the rear of the hall Morgan stirred for the first time. She stood erect, watching what was happening, and she smiled slightly and whispered something to Mordred.
Finally, Lancelot seemed to lose energy. He became quiet and permitted the knights to place him in his chair once again. Guenevere placed a hand on his arm and murmured something to him, and it quieted him even more.
From the stage Arthur said, “You six-place him in his seat and see that he stays there. Keep him there forcibly if you must. Let us hope this was the final outburst. This is a solemn occasion. I will not have it disrupted. All of you, be calm. Remember the dignity of our court.” And he resumed his throne.
Merlin had watched all of this carefully. That it was Lancelot not Mark who had exploded surprised him. But despite the mention of “the other two,” Lancelot’s anger was at the squire who’d left him and seemed unrelated to the murders. But the evening’s signal event was still to come. Or so he hoped.
Gradually, the crowd quieted. Lancelot sat glumly, showing no sign he would make more commotion. Merlin stepped to the floor, bent to look under the stage and gestured to Petronus to come out. “It is over, Pete. Come out now.”
Warily, the boy did so. When he was out from under, he looked at Lancelot and was somewhat reassured to see him quiet. With Petronus back in place, the performance could resume. Merlin remounted the stage.
“And now,” he announced, “for the greatest wonder of all. You have seen a woman torn in two and restored to life. Now you shall witness something even greater.”
He clapped his hands loudly three times. The musicians struck up a low, sad melody like a funeral march. Two of the young actors in Samuel’s company entered the hall again, this time carrying a pallet between them. On the pallet was what seemed to be a body, over which was stretched a linen shroud or winding-sheet. Petronus focused light on it and made it seem to glow softly. Behind the actors the two gravediggers followed.
Slowly, solemnly, the two actors carried their burden to the stage. Merlin gestured to them to rest it on the trestles; they did so, bowed to him and left.
The air in the hall was tense with anticipation. No one talked or made a sound. Virtually no one moved. All eyes were on Merlin and the shrouded-what?
“I believe you all recognize these two men,” he said to the audience. “They have been the gravediggers at Camelot’s cemetery for years.” The two men, apparently abashed at becoming the center of attention, shifted their weight awkwardly and uneasily.
“Gentlemen,” Merlin addressed them, “you have this day performed an extraordinary task at the behest of King Arthur and myself.”
They lowered their eyes and muttered, “Yes, sir.”
“The king has asked to you perform the reverse of your usual function and to exhume a body which you buried some time ago.”
“Yes.”
“The earth is frozen and this has been difficult work. But you have accomplished it. And you will be properly rewarded. ”
The younger of the two said, “Thank you, sir.”
His companion added, “It was hard work, sir. Every muscle in our bodies is aching.”
“I am certain the king appreciates your labors. But now it is time to explain to the assembled court precisely what your task has been. Could you please say whose body it is that you have been required to exhume?”
No one in the Great Hall moved. People leaned forward to hear more clearly. Lancelot squirmed in his seat. But Merlin kept a careful eye on Mark, who was looking increasingly upset.
On the stage the elder gravedigger shuffled his feet and said, “It was the squire, sir. The king’s late squire.”
“Which one? Could you please tell us which it was?”
“We don’t ever know their names, sir. We just dig the holes and fill them in afterward.”
A few people in the audience laughed nervously. Mark inched forward in his seat.
Merlin went on. “But there were two of them. Both of the king’s squires were killed, one after the other. And- you placed them in the same grave?”
“Yes, sir. One of them was horribly mangled, sir-cut to pieces. That’s the one that’s still at rest in the graveyard. This is the other one.”
“This is the body of poor murdered Ganelin, then?”
“Like I said, sir, we never know their names.”
“I see. No, I suppose there is no reason why you should. And has the frozen earth preserved the body?”
“Yes, sir. He looks the way he did the day we buried him.”
“I see. Thank you very much.”
Looking at each other, puzzled by what was going on and why they’d had to speak before the audience, the two men climbed down from the stage and left.
Merlin took up the Stone of Bran, which was still brightly lit. He held it high above him then slowly lowered it and touched the head of the shrouded body with it. Three times he passed it over the length of the boy then he touched it to the head once again.
Slightly, almost imperceptibly, the body twitched.
In the audience some people gasped; most were transfixed by what they were seeing and fell perfectly silent. At the side of the stage Arthur sat and watched, mesmerized.
They watched as the body moved again, first the arms, then the legs, stretching slowly as if waking from a long, deep sleep. Petronus pointed his lenses at it, and the shroud caught the light and glowed ghostly pale.
An arm, caked with dirt and blood, reached out from beneath the shroud. Merlin stepped forward and took the hand in his, and the corpse sat up, still wrapped in its shroud.
“Please,” Merlin said gravely, “tell us who you are.”
And a voice came clearly through the cloth. “I am Ganelin, squire to King Arthur of Camelot. I am cold.”
“Ganelin, do you understand what has happened to you?”
“Yes.” The word’s final s was long and drawn out, almost a hiss. “I have been foully murdered. I have lain in the earth these many weeks, in the icy, frozen earth.”
Merlin helped the boy to his feet, the winding-sheet still wrapped around him. And Merlin kept a careful eye on the audience, to gauge reactions. Morgan was watching the stage carefully, studying it as a conjurer might study a rival’s tricks. Mordred stood at her side, wide-eyed, not moving. Mark was glowering and trembling in his seat, whether with rage or fear or some combination of the two, Merlin could not tell. Guenevere held Lancelot’s hand tightly.
“Tell us, Ganelin,” Merlin intoned. “Did you see the face of the the one who killed you?”
“Yesss.”
There was not a sound in the Great Hall. Not the least movement, except for Mark, leaning forward in his seat, fingering the hilt of his sword, and Lancelot pulling free of Guenevere’s hand and inching forward in his chair like a man preparing to bolt and run.
“Name him. Tell us, Ganelin, who it was. Who killed you and your brother?”
“Ohhh.” The corpse groaned. “I cannot. It is too painful.”
“I have restored your life. Now I command you, by the Stone of Bran. Name your murderer!”
Suddenly with a loud roar Mark pushed through the audience and leaped onto the stage, brandishing his sword. “N
o! You are dead. Do not speak my name. Do not profane it with your moldering lips!”
He lunged at the boy, and Merlin pulled him out of harm’s way to the side of the stage. Mark swung his sword at Merlin and he ducked.
Arthur jumped to his feet and drew Excalibur. Instantly, the two men, Arthur and Mark, were locked in a duel. They circled one another, they threatened, they slashed. Mark lunged and his sword hit home in Arthur’s left arm. Blood flowed, but Arthur recovered himself quickly. He rushed at Mark and knocked him to the stage, then stood over him with Excalibur poised directly above his throat.
More knights rushed the stage, surrounded the prostrate Mark and caught him. He struggled, shouting, “No! This is unholy! The dead cannot speak to the living. The dead cannot indict the living. This is blasphemy!”
“Take him away,” Arthur said quietly. “To the dungeon. Lock him away.” With Mark still struggling fiercely against their hold, they did so.
Away from this action, Merlin placed an arm around the boy in the shroud. And slowly the shroud fell away, revealing him to be the young actor Watson.
The audience, still in shock from Mark’s attack and capture, took a moment to react to this. Then, as they gradually realized who the “dead” boy really was, soft, nervous laughter began to spread through the hall. Merlin made a gesture to wave everyone out of the hall, and slowly, by twos, threes and fours, they began to leave.
Nimue, dressed again as Colin, climbed to the stage and put her own arm around the boy. “Go ahead, Merlin. I’ll take care of him.”
Merlin crossed to Arthur. The king was still excited, still breathing heavily and plainly tense in every muscle. “Arthur, it is over. You can relax now.”
“It is not over. I want to know why he did it. Find out for me.”
“Calm yourself. We have him. Everything will come out in time.”
“Merlin, this is not what I wanted. Not what I tried to build.”
“You’ve said that before. Let me look at that wound. Can you make it up the steps to my tower? I have a salve that will help, and bandages.”
“It isn’t bad. A lot of blood but not much pain.” He took a deep breath and looked into Merlin’s eyes. “I’m the king. Why can’t things be as I want them to be?”
“Perhaps because kings are only human beings with circles of metal on their heads.”
Arthur finally let himself relax. All the energy seemed to leave him, and he slumped. “Nothing that glib and cynical could be true.”
“Do you want me to lecture you on the nature of truth?”
“For God’s sake, Merlin, no.”
“Then come with me and let me see to your arm.”
TEN. KING AND COUNSELOR
Merlin had slept late this morning. After Mark was arrested, Arthur had ordered even more feasting than usual for the rest of the Midwinter Court, and Merlin, in a jubilant mood, had quite uncharacteristically drunk two cups of wine-not much by Camelot’s standards, but more than he was used to.
So he woke to find Nimue standing over him, shaking him. “It’s nearly noon. Don’t you think you should get up?”
“My head is going to explode. Go away and leave me to die.”
“No one can find the king.”
“Arthur?”
“He’s the only one we have.”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Blast whatever demon first fermented wine.” He looked at her suspiciously. “Why aren’t you hungover?”
“I only had one goblet of hock. I know my limits.” She put on her best sarcastic grin. “I live a life ruled by reason.”
“Be quiet.” Roc and the other ravens were scratching for food on the stone floor. “Go and get them some bread crumbs or something, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
She started to go.
“Wait. You said Arthur is missing.”
“Yes. We’ve looked everywhere. No one can find him at all.”
“I can’t tell you how much I hate court life.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be, Merlin?”
“I think I might. I’ll have to go and see.”
“I’d brace myself if I were you.” She reached for the door.
“Stop. What are you talking about?”
“Your reputation. Bye, now.”
“Stop. Damn it, who taught you to be so smug and sarcastic? ”
She stared at him. “Heavens, I have no idea.”
“What are you talking about? What about my reputation? ”
“Your reputation as a wizard. After last night, people are more convinced than ever that you have mystical powers. Everyone’s saying so.”
“That isn’t possible, Nimue. They saw that the living corpse was really an actor. I demonstrated the foolishness of believing in superstitious nonsense. It was Mark’s downfall. ”
“You also sawed a woman in half and reassembled her, remember?”
“A conjurer’s trick, no more.” He stood up and stretched. “Wine never used to make me stiff and sore. It must be something Mark’s vintners did.”
“It couldn’t possibly be old age encroaching, could it?”
“Haven’t you ruined my day enough already? If you keep needling me, I may saw you in half for real.”
“I’ll see you later, wizard.”
“Wait. Are they really saying that about me?”
She nodded.
“Damn. Do you… do you still want to study with me, then?”
“Of course I do. You’re the only one I know who’s more disagreeable than myself. Besides, I’ve told you a dozen times, I like being Colin. Do you still want me for a student? ”
“Yes, naturally.”
“I guess I’ll stick around then. Try not to limp too badly, will you?”
Before he could say anything she was out the door.
Eight inches of snow blanketed the countryside. But thankfully it had stopped falling. Yet there was an icy chill and a bitter wind. In moments when the clouds parted and sunshine broke through it was possible to see ice crystals swirling in the air.
Arthur stood in the snow at the burial ground, perfectly still, staring at the graves of Anna and the twins. In the whole landscape as far as he could see, there was no movement. Then a field mouse scampered across the surface of the snow, and an owl swooped down from a nearby tree, fell on it and killed it. Its blood stained the snow. The bird took it and flapped away.
Merlin came up behind the king, leaning heavily on his cane. Arthur heard his footsteps crunching in the snow. “Merlin. I didn’t know you came here.”
“I don’t. I’ve been looking for you. So has everyone. You should let people know where you will be.”
“Is something wrong? Something else?”
“No, of course not. But you are the king, after all. People grow uneasy when you can’t be found. We’ve been looking everywhere. Some people are quite certain you’ve disappeared into another of those damn hidden passages of Pellenore’s. At least it has distracted them from chattering about my supposed magical powers. I seem to be the only one who thought to look here.”
“Clever man. You know me. No one else does.”
Merlin shrugged. “Isn’t it my job?”
“Is that all? Is that the only reason? Don’t be glib. Please. I need a little quiet support. So they all think you’re a genuine wizard now.”
“I don’t understand it. My fraud was so obvious. It was supposed to accomplish two things-to entrap Mark and to show the rest of them how foolish superstitious belief is.”
“My friend the magician.”
“I’ve taught you better than that. Kings don’t have friends, only courtiers.”
“Your cynicism is never quite convincing, Merlin. Why is that?”
Uncomfortable with this line of talk, Merlin switched subjects. “The actors have left. There is a festival in Bath they hope to make.”
“You paid them?”
“Quite generously. They put a great deal on the line for u
s.”
“Yes.”
“As they were leaving, the boy Watson threw his arms around me and said, ‘You are the best not-a-wizard I’ve ever known.’ I didn’t know how to take it. Was he being sarcastic, do you think?”
“With his arms around you? No, Merlin, sarcasm is your department. It’s so natural to you, you become puzzled when there is none.”
“Everything human is a puzzle, Arthur. At least he knows sham when he sees it. Everyone else has convinced themselves I’m a powerful sorcerer.” For an awkward moment he fell silent, then he said, “Mark is dead.”
Quietly the king responded, “Oh.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“My kingdom is the kingdom of death. Haven’t you noticed? ”
“Everyplace human is the kingdom of death. England is no place special.”
Arthur glanced at him then turned his gaze back to his sons’ graves. He and Merlin fell into a long silence. At length, the king said, “You have such a dark view of mankind. I don’t think I envy it.”
“The result of knowing too many people. I sometimes think it was a mistake to spend all those years traveling the world.” He put on a tight smile. “But I’m sure it has made me a better minister for you. I would be doing you a disservice if I told you people are all to be trusted.”
“Tell me what happened to Mark.”
Merlin bent down and ran his fingers through the top of a snowdrift. “This is half ice.”
“I know it. Did he commit suicide?”
“Fall on his sword like a good Roman? No, nothing so noble. I had been interrogating him. Why did he do it? What impulse could have moved him to do such awful things? He said he wanted his kingdom back-and more. He wanted England.”
“I wish he had taken it.”
“Stop it, Arthur. You’d be dead now. Executed. He said he had been trying to foment a rebellion but no one would support him. They all had their own agendas. Morgan told him she hoped you would make Mordred your heir.”
Faintly, Arthur registered surprise. “There was never any chance of that. The boy has good in him, I suppose, but he’s no king. Whatever was good has been curdled by his mother, or would have been eventually.”
The Excalibur Murders Page 26