The Excalibur Murders (21 page)

"I don't like this," Brit complained. "This is like a landscape out of a nightmare."

"Yet you're certain your sword will be effective here."

"Stop bickering, Merlin. I'm serious."

"Have you never traveled through this part of England before?"

"No, of course not. I'm a military commander, and Morgan doesn't have much of an army."

"What kind of landscape did you expect?" he asked in a mock-serious tone. "We are visiting the realm of the witches."

The flutist's music echoed eerily through the fog. When the party stopped to rest Brit asked him about his instrument. "It has the strangest sound, like nothing I've ever heard."

The man held his flute out to her. "Here you are, my lady. There aren't many like it left."

She took it. It was the color of faded ivory, and it had unusual heft. "What is this made of?"

"Bone, my lady. This was carved from the thighbone of some ancient enemy defeated in battle. My father willed it to me."

"Human bone?"

He nodded. "That is why it sounds so mournful. It has felt everything human."

Gingerly, she gave it back to him. "Try and play something livelier, will you?"

"The instrument dictates the music, not the musician."

"Nevertheless, try and play something that might lift our spirits out of this terrible place."

"Yes, ma'am."

The party traveled on. In time the swamps gave way to little lakes, then to larger ones. But the sky remained dark and the fog never lifted, not even momentarily. They came to a small village that actually had an inn, and Merlin decided they would spend the night there.

Accolon disagreed with this. "I think we should try and make it to Morgan's castle tonight. We're being followed."

Merlin looked down the road behind them. There was no one in sight. "Are you certain?"

"Quite certain. They've been there since just after we left Camelot."

Merlin let out a long, deep sigh. "I'm so weary of this. But we need rest, Accolon. We'll stop here tonight."

"Yes, sir."

The innkeeper, happy to have nine paying guests, went out of his way to make them feel comfortable. Supper was surprisingly large; wine flowed freely; beds were ample and soft and warm, and there were cheerful fires in each room.

Brit was not happy as she ate her meal. "This tastes like fog."

Merlin was amused by her discomfort. "You have eaten fog, then?"

"We've been eating it all day. This meat has the same foul taste as the air we've been breathing. It has polluted everything."

"And Morgan has breathed it all her life. Perhaps that accounts for her personality and behavior."

"Do you really think there's a chance she's behind the murders? I thought you had decided someone else was the culprit."

"Don't underestimate Morgan, Brit. She has a notorious chest of poisons, and she uses them as instruments of policy in her little queendom. She sits in that hideous castle of hers and casts her spells and charms, and chants her invocations to all her imaginary gods. Then when they fail she resorts to poison or a knife in the dark. And people wonder why I prefer reason and logic to superstition and belief."

"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.