The Excalibur Murders (19 page)

"From what I've seen, Guenevere, it may be necessary already."

She flashed a politician's smile. "When will you be leaving? "

"Tomorrow, I imagine." Quickly, he added, "With Your Majesty's permission, that is."

"The sooner, Merlin darling, the better."

"I'm hungry. Can we get something to eat?"

Nimue and Pete ambled about the castle's perimeter. Merlin had coached her in ways to draw the boy out, as he had Brit. Petronus seemed to enjoy talking; she expected it to be easy.

"I think the refectory's closed." He sounded slightly abashed by the fact.

"Really? At Camelot we eat all the time." Quickly she added, "Eat and exercise. No one wants to grow fat."

"Is the food good there?" He was a boy in his mid-teens; that much was quite clear.

"It's quite wonderful. Succulent beef, aromatic breads of all kinds, the most wonderful honey cakes . . ." She grinned invitingly. "All the time."

"Colin, I don't much like it here."

"Really?" She feigned surprise. "I've always thought Guenevere's court must be wonderful."

"She's a tyrant. Or as much of one as she can be with no money. There's nothing here, nothing interesting. And no room for advancement. My mother is an old friend of hers. She thought sending me here would ensure my future. Instead . . ." He looked away from her, apparently embarrassed.

"I didn't get the sense you're so ambitious, Petronus."

"Is worrying about my future ambition, then?"

"No, of course not."

"I'd . . . I've thought about leaving here. More than once." He still avoided looking at her. "I want to go to Camelot, Colin. That's where the future lies."

She pretended this was unexpected. Slowly, deliberately, she said, "I'll talk to Merlin about it."

"Will he take me?"

"I think he might be persuaded. But . . . but you say there's nothing here. Surely that can't be true. We saw King Leodegrance last night. And King Mark of Cornwall was here. There must be room for an enterprising young man."

"Leodegrance is Guenevere's father. She's borrowing money from him."

"Things are that bad?"

He nodded.

"And what about Mark of Cornwall? He's not in the business of lending money."

"I don't know. Whatever he wanted, he didn't get it. There were arguments. He left angry and disappointed, I think. At least that's the gossip."

"Interesting." She changed the topic. "Maybe we can walk down to the town and get something to eat there."

"It's getting late. I have duties. Polishing Lancelot's armor. " He sounded embarrassed.

"You work under Lancelot? Are you his squire? I didn't know."

"Mm-hmm. I don't like him. He doesn't like me. He's supposed to be training me for knighthood, but he uses me as a servant, nothing more. He likes to look good for his women, so I have to keep his armor gleaming."

"Women? I thought he and the queen . . ."

"Yes. She thinks so, too. But he is unfaithful to her every chance he gets. Will you talk to Merlin for me?"

She assured him she would, and he went off to do his polishing.

The sunny day brought a great many people out in Corfe. The streets were crowded, and everyone seemed to be in a pleasant mood. This might be the last sweet day before winter settled in, and winter on the coast was harsh.

Brit and Lancelot strolled the streets, chatting idly. He kept trying to take her hand. She kept pulling away. It was annoying him, and he let it show.

But Brit refused to acknowledge his amorous interests. "It just struck me--the streets here aren't paved."

He frowned. "Should they be?"

"I had the impression the Romans paved roads wherever they went. Even a dreary backwater like London has streets paved with stone."

"The Romans? That might as well have been a thousand years ago."

The harbor opened up before them. Leodegrance's ship and the frigate they'd seen earlier had been joined by another, from the looks of it North African, possibly Moroccan. Brit commented on the wide, lively trade that flourished in Corfe. "All Europe must come here, sooner or later."

"Who knows. Are you hungry?"

"Famished."

"Good. There's a first-rate inn just up ahead."

They went inside and found the place crowded with patrons. But the owner recognized Lancelot and found them a table at once. He ordered wine, beef and vegetables for them.

"I hope you like wine, Britomart."

"I'm from Camelot. We drink it like water."

"Good. And afterward . . ." He looked straight into her eyes. "I'd like to get to know you better."

"I thought we were already doing that."

A server brought large cups of wine. They drank quickly and Brit asked for more.

"You know what I mean. I'd like to get to know you . . . intimately." For an instant he sounded like a shy schoolboy.

"Why, Lancelot, I thought you were the queen's . . .what would be the word? Consort?"

"Choose the word you like. We are devoted to each other. But I grew up on a French farm. The example of the rooster is not lost on me."

She put on a shocked expression and ordered a third round of wine. It was beginning to show on him, though it was not on her.

"So you mean to tell me you cheat on Guenevere?"

"What the queen doesn't know won't hurt the knight."

"But . . . well, I mean, she is the queen. She does have the power. Crossing her might . . . well, you know."

"She trusts me."

"Women can be such fools. But you seem to have her fooled, all right. I watched you the night of that ceremony at Camelot. You looked at her so adoringly."

"And then I snuck off."

"You don't mean to tell me you . . .
then
? I mean, who did you find?"

He shrugged as if to wonder if it made a difference. "Some little girl in the kitchen."

"You're joking. So." She made her voice hard. "You value me at the same price as a kitchen servant."

He was really feeling the drink, and it showed. "I never said that."

"You did. Fortunately, I value myself higher than that."

He sulked. "I didn't mean it that way."

"No, of course not. Men never do."

"This wine is strong. Aren't you feeling it?"

She smiled sweetly. "I'm not one of King Arthur's knights for nothing. The only one I know who can outdrink me," she told him pointedly, "is Mark of Cornwall."

"A fool. Why he came here with his damn fool scheme--"

She leaned back casually and put a leg over the edge of the table. "What scheme is that?"

Suddenly, he seemed to realize what was going on. He narrowed his eyes and peered at her. "When are you going back to Camelot?"

"That's up to Merlin."

"Go soon. Women should never be knights."

With that, he got up and stomped out of the inn. A moment later the server came with food for two. Brit ate hers happily, then tucked into his. She was stuck paying for it, but it had been well worth it.

"So. What do we know?"

It was well after dark. Merlin, Nimue and Brit sat by a huge fire in the Common Room at the garrison, drinking mulled wine. After the day's events, Merlin decided he'd feel more comfortable there. And there was the fact that their horses and luggage were there; they'd be able to make a quicker start in the morning. Besides, he was still not certain where they stood with Guenevere. So just after sunset they made their way to one of the ruined wings of her castle and slipped unobtrusively out and down to the town.

Dalley was relieved to see them. "When you didn't come back last night I was concerned, even with that note you sent."

He went off to arrange for sleeping quarters for them-- the usual room for Merlin and Colin and a second one for Britomart. They relaxed and took stock of the situation at Corfe.

"First, we know that Guenevere needs money and blames Arthur for it, rightly or wrongly. The situation is so bad, people are leaving her service, or want to." Merlin ticked off the points on his fingers. "Second, Lancelot claims he was, er, becoming acquainted with a kitchen girl when Borolet was killed. So we need to question the cook staff when we get back. And third, Mark is up to something. No one will say what."

"Maybe Arthur sent him for some reason." Nimue was out of her depth and knew it.

"It's possible, Colin, but I don't think so. Arthur knew we were coming here. If he was sending Mark, too, he'd have mentioned it."

Brit looked thoughtful. "That makes sense, but--"

"But?"

"We all know Mark. He's always been solid and dependable. Why would he be acting like this?"

At that moment Dalley rejoined them. "Your quarters are ready."

"Excellent. It's been a long, tiring day." Merlin started to stand up.

"But before you retire, there's someone at the gate who wants to see you."

"Who, for heaven's sake?"

"Shall I show him in?"

"I suppose so, but--"

"I'll be right back."

The three of them looked at each other. Brit said, "If this is another 'invitation' to the castle, I don't want to go."

"No, Brit, we're safer here."

"And better fed." Nimue laughed.

A moment later Dalley was back. Just behind him was Petronus; he looked anxious. "Hello. I hope you don't mind my coming here."

"England is a free country, Petronus." Merlin tried not to sound too stern. "What can we do for you?"

"I . . . I want to come with you. I told Colin today."

"Yes, he told me. I'm afraid we weren't sure how seriously to take it."

"You left suddenly. They're angry about it." He was only wearing light clothing; evidently he had left in some haste. He moved closer to the fire.

"I'm not at all certain we can simply . . . take you, Pete. Things are tense enough. We don't want to cause an incident, even a minor one."

He looked from one of them to the next. "Please.
Please
. I hate it here. I want to serve King Arthur at Camelot."

Merlin sighed deeply then gestured to his two colleagues to join him off in a corner. "What do we do?"

Brit argued for taking him with them. "Guenevere can hardly grow much angrier at Arthur. Besides, he's only a boy. How much harm can his defection do?"

They huddled for another few moments. Petronus stood very near the fire, trying, without much success, to hear what they were saying; it was a cold night and he wasn't dressed for it. Finally, they rejoined him, and Merlin told him that, yes, he could accompany them to Camelot. "But this is very unusual. You are pledged to Guenevere's service. You must give us your word you'll obey orders and not make any trouble."

"You have my word, sir."

Dalley spoke up. "I'm afraid the compound is full. We don't have another room to spare."

Petronus offered to sleep next to the fire in the Common Room. "It's only for one night, after all."

After another brief huddle Dalley decided that would be all right. Relief showed in the boy's face.

Soon it was time for everyone to retire for the night. Dalley showed them to their rooms, which were down a hallwayoff the Common Room; Petronus stayed behind. A moment later Brit came back, carrying her red cloak. "Here. You'll need this."

"Thank you. I'm freezing."

"Couldn't you have gotten a cloak before you left?"

"I left on impulse. I was afraid I'd only have that one chance."

She wrinkled her nose. "Are you an experienced squire, then?"

"As experienced at Lancelot has let me be."

"I don't have a squire. We'll talk tomorrow, all right? Sleep well."

"Good night, Britomart."

He waited till he heard their doors close then lay down beside the hearth and wrapped himself in the cloak.

"Murder! Murder!"

It was the middle of the night. Someone sounded the alarm. Groggily, the three travelers climbed into their clothes and went to the Common Room. Petronus lay beside the fireplace soaked in blood.

Merlin rushed to him. "He's not dead. I think the wounds aren't deep."

But the boy was bleeding heavily. Merlin tore strips of cloth off his own robe and made bandages to staunch the blood.

Dalley rushed in and saw what was happening. "By all the gods! Is he all right?"

"I think so." Merlin looked up at him. "Do we know what happened? Who did this?"

"Both of the sentries at the gate have been killed. Run through."

"No!" Brit got down beside Merlin and stroked the boy's hair. Softly, she asked him, "Did you see who did this?"

"No. I was asleep. I felt a stabbing pain in my side and then . . . I don't know."

"I heard a scream," Dalley explained. "I came running. A man in a dark cloak was over him, sword raised, about to hack him. When he saw me he turned and ran."

"You didn't see his face?" Merlin worked to maintain his composure.

"No. It was too dark. Shadows from the fire--"

"It's all right. I think the boy will be fine."

"That's more than can be said for my sentries. I can see, perhaps, one of them being taken by surprise. But both? It makes no sense."

Everyone fell silent except Petronus, who groaned softly.

Then with a start Brit exclaimed, "He was wearing my cloak! This was meant for me!"

SIX

THE LAND OF WOULD-BE WITCHES

Petronus's wounds turned out not to be too serious; they were more bloody than dangerous. But he was badly shaken, too much so to ride a horse. Captain Dalley arranged for a carriage to transport the four of them back to Camelot, and an armed escort to ensure their safety.

Merlin was grateful. "At my age, riding a horse is not fun. My back is still aching from the journey down here."

Brit oversaw preparations for the trip; Merlin spent time alone, thinking over the events they'd witnessed. Nimue suspected he knew who the killer was, or had a strong suspicion; but when she asked, he put her off. "It's too early. There is still no proof."

They traveled swiftly and were careful to avoid London and Caesar's Bones. Thankfully, there was no more rain or snow, and they made good time. The party arrived at Camelot two nights later; it was nearly midnight and most of the residents were already asleep. They installed Petronus in an unused room in Merlin's tower, and Nimue offered to check on him periodically. There were candles to light the room. "No smoke. No awful smell. It's good to be home," she said.