"No. I am afraid not." Merlin looked from the king to Britomart. "It seems incredible, given her general heart lessness, but I think she may actually be in love."
"With that lump Lancelot." Brit was deadpan.
"Yes."
"Well, there are women who keep goats." She was wry. "I suppose this isn't all that different."
Arthur went on pacing. "You realize what this means? She's exposed her weak spot to us. Shown her underside, like a pig wallowing on its back in the mud. Which is what you will be doing, more or less, if I permit you to help her."
"I daresay she is pretty well finished one way or the other." Merlin smiled at the king's metaphor. "You won't let her loose again, will you? She'd be at work raising an army in a matter of weeks."
Brit snickered. "Let's hope for her sake it's better than the last one she raised. Boys, old men and dozens of priests each claming his own god could bring victory. I think the Christians may have the right idea. With only one god, when things go wrong . . ." She shrugged. ". . . they know exactly who to blame."
"It isn't the gods I'm worried about, Brit. It's the French." Arthur sat and put a boot up on the conference table. "If Guenevere can do what her father never managed to accomplish—unite all those damn French kingdoms and provinces into a coherent force—we could never hope to win a war against them. With Leodegrance out of the way, it might actually be possible.
"She could sign a hundred acts of submission, and none of them would be worth the parchment it's scrawled on. And besides, even if Lancelot really is innocent of killing Leodegrance, he is guilty of so many other crimes. And any number of those were capital offenses. Executing him now would be justice delayed, but I can't imagine he'd complain about the extra time he's been given. I say we let Guene vere stew for a few days, then hand her a resounding
no
to her request."
Merlin turned thoughtful. "But suppose she is right? Suppose her paramour really is a poor innocent, unjustly accused? We want a just England. And then . . ."
The king took his foot down and sat bolt upright. "What are you getting at?"
"Well, for one thing, there is no real evidence of anything Guenevere suggested, except for one thing. I have examined the murder weapon, and it is indeed her knife, not Lance lot's. The inscription
L to G
is quite clear under a magnify ing lens, etched into the blade just below the handle. And I have had Lancelot's rooms searched, and there is no sign of his own dagger—which likely means that he, or she, or one of their people threw it down a well or some such.
"Nevertheless, an investigation should hardly take very long. And if he is innocent and we are the ones to prove it, well . . . freeing your wife's lover in the name of justice is precisely the kind of thing that could give your reputation a huge boost across Europe. Your justice will be known to everyone here. And that is exactly what we were hoping to achieve with this conference."
"Believe me, Merlin, rendering any assistance at all to my wife is the last thing I was hoping to achieve. Besides, it might enhance my reputation for justice, yes—but it might equally well make me a laughingstock."
Brit was catching Merlin's drift. "No, Arthur, think. How many treaties has Guenevere broken? Suppose we take a page from her book."
"I don't follow."
"And you haven't even been drinking." Merlin folded his hands in a gesture of complete serenity. With Brit's back ing, he thought he could persuade Arthur to a course of action that would benefit England enormously.
"Be quiet, Merlin. What are you suggesting, Brit?"
"Simply this. Suppose you accept Guenevere's act of submission or whatever she wants to call it—and publicize it to everyone here. Have her swear it in front of all the delegates. And assume Merlin can actually prove Lance lot's innocence. Who's to say you really have to free him? Keep him in a nice, cool dungeon for a few years, on some other charge; there are enough for us to choose from. Hell, he tried to kill
you
two days ago. After all, you would only have promised Guenevere you would let Merlin investi gate; no one has said a word about releasing him. And if she complains, you still have both her written oath of alle giance
and
her boyfriend. That would give you leverage if she ever tries another double-cross. Or should I say
when
?"
"I like the sound of this."
"The diplomatic end of it will have to be handled deli cately, and with discretion." Merlin yawned. "I mean, if it looks like we're actually setting her up—"
"But we are, Merlin."
"Of course we are. That is what diplomacy is: maneu vering the other fellow into an untenable position, then striking. Everyone will realize that is what we are doing. But if you advertise the fact, you give away the game. In Asia it is considered a sign of intelligence never to be forth right about one's motives, and never to answer any question directly. Let us become more Asian."
Arthur spent a long, silent moment considering all this. Then, unexpectedly, he broke into laughter. "I like it. And I love you, Merlin. For all your talk about honesty, truth and justice, you're as devious as anyone on earth."
"I choose to take that as a compliment."
"Do. It is."
Suddenly, Simon of York entered in an unaccustomed rush. "Excuse me, Your Majesty. My apologies for inter rupting, but I'm afraid we have trouble brewing."
"Par for the course, Simon. What is it now?"
"It's the delegates, sir. They are beginning to realize there is a security cordon around the castle, and they are unhappy about it. In fact, some of them are perfectly furi ous."
"Damn. They know there was a regicide yesterday. Would it make them feel better if I let everyone move about freely?"
"They seem to think their diplomatic status should ex empt them from any security measures. They have selected a committee of three to make a formal protest."
Merlin asked, "Which three?"
"Bishop Gildas, Count Andrea of Salesi and that man from Flausenthurm or whoever he is."
"Him? He can't speak an intelligible word."
Arthur and Britomart watched Merlin for a reaction. Re alizing it, he explained, "You both know Gildas. Since he claims to be the Bishop of England, I can't imagine why he would bristle at having to stay here. Andrea of Salesi is something of a question mark. In fact, I am not quite cer tain why we even invited him, except that we wanted a good turnout so we cast our nets wide. Our agents have no intelligence on him. I think we somehow got the idea that he is more important than he has turned out to be." He looked from one of them to the other. "To be quite truthful, I am not even certain where Salesi is."
"I believe," Brit interrupted him, "it's a minor Italian city-state. Down near the toe of the boot, across the strait from Sicily. They have a small army and a large treasury. Rumor has it they found the hidden treasure Spartacus was going to use to finance his fanciful revolt."
"Thank you. But that does not explain what he is doing here. I have checked with Colin, and we have absolutely no memory of why we invited him."
"Diplomacy." Arthur snorted. "And what about this Lithuanian?"
"An enigma wrapped in a mystery. You've seen him, surely. Short, plump, alarmingly pale and fair-haired, excit able. He seems to speak no known language. He is not even making the effort. Latin is the language of diplomacy, but when I speak Latin to him he looks baffled and jabbers on in whatever tongue he speaks."
"Why on earth did we invite him? Or did we?"
"We sent pro forma letters to the states around the Bal tic. Who could have guessed they would come? The Finns and Estonians had sense enough to realize they would be out of their league and stayed home. Then again, he was overheard mentioning Albania, or something that sounds like it, so he may actually be from somewhere in the Bal kans. It is anyone's guess."
"But why one earth would they have chosen him to rep resent their grievance?"
"Perhaps they thought it would rattle us."
Arthur turned to Simon. "Is this committee of three here now?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"How undiplomatic. But I suppose we ought to see them. It appears we have the chance to be more Asiatic already. Usher them in." Simon turned to go.
"No, wait." Merlin help up a hand. "Give us a few mo ments to go over the intelligence reports on them. Such as they are."
"Yes, sir."
"And have three stools arranged here. Put plush cushions on them."
"Yes, sir."
Brit sent for the files; a clerk hurried to fetch them.
As it turned out, there was nothing much in them they did not already know. After twenty minutes Simon came back in. "Your Majesty, they are fuming. Gildas says it is unheard of for men of their stature to be kept waiting."
"It is standard practice to keep diplomats cooling their heels. They showed up with no appointment, after all. If they are angry, it gives us an edge."
Arthur handed the intelligence reports to Brit, who folded them and put them where they couldn't be seen. Then he told Simon to arrange the three stools and show the gentlemen in. And, plainly peeved and not trying to disguise it, they entered. Gildas appeared even taller, thin ner and more emaciated than he had on his arrival at Corfe. He glared at Arthur, Merlin and Brit in turn and sat grandly down on the center stool.
The Lithuanian—no one in the castle seemed to know his name; Brit wondered if people even had names in his country—entered second. Everything about him was in constant motion, his limbs, his facial features, his eyes. He walked to the stool on Gildas's right and made to sit down. But he almost missed. Gildas caught him by the arm and steadied him.
"Garjentamius,"
said the man from Lithuania.
Andrea of Salesi entered last. He was young for a dip lomat, and darkly handsome, as the expression has it. He was also obviously fit; it was possible to see how muscular he was through his clothing.
The three of them made an odd trio: thin, fat and in the middle. If Andrea had not been so good-looking the scene would have been quite comic.
"Welcome. You know my advisors, Merlin and Bri tomart." Arthur played the hearty ruler. "We understand you have a grievance. I hope your accommodations are satisfac tory."
Andrea started to speak but Gildas cut him off. "They are quite satisfactory, King Arthur. But they could not pos sibly be satisfactory enough. We appear to be confined to them."
"Surely not." Arthur pretended surprise and turned to Merlin. "Can this be true, Merlin?"
"Certainly not, Your Majesty." Merlin arranged his robes. "We have taken certain security measures, in light of yesterday's tragic occurrence. And of course there is this storm. There have been reports of flash floods. We could hardly permit our guests to put themselves in danger by wandering about the countryside." He turned to the three. "You must all understand that we have to be certain of the castle's security—your security and that of your col leagues."
The Lithuanian began to babble something rapidly. An drea interrupted. "One of my men wished to go into town earlier, to buy some provisions."
"Provisions?" Brit interrupted him. "What could you possibly need that we cannot supply? Besides, as Merlin has noted, it's pouring down rain."
But Andrea ignored her and went on. "He was stopped by your soldiers. Forced to return. Are we to be your pris oners, then? Is that England's idea of diplomacy? Hostage taking?"
"No one is a hostage." Arthur spoke firmly. "You are our honored guests. You would not wish for the assassin of Leodegrance to escape and run free?"
"Of course not. But—"
"Or to strike again?"
Gildas jumped to his feet. "Given a preference we would rather have him outside of the castle. That, apparently, is not to be permitted." He smiled sarcastically. "Besides, do you not already have him in custody?"
"He will not escape," Arthur said firmly. "But we do not know that he acted alone. We must maintain security until we are certain everyone—including all of you—is perfectly safe."
"But, Your Majesty. The killer is Sir Lancelot. Everyone knows it. Most of us witnessed his apprehension. What need could there be for further security?"
The Flausenthurmian stood up and began shouting in comprehensibly and waving his arms wildly.
"Gedjia dee
bok Lithuania!"
Gildas put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him firmly back to his seat. From between them, a knife clattered to the floor. Gildas jumped back and away from it, then looked at the king, plainly abashed, and bent to pick it up. But Brit lunged for it and took the weapon before he could.
Arthur put on a wicked grin. "You see, Bishop? Knives appear out of thin air and nearly injure you. And you thought we should relax our security."
They bickered for several minutes more, with Gildas and Andrea insisting security be relaxed and Arthur hold ing his ground. Finally Merlin took the king aside and whispered something in his ear. Arthur smiled, nodded and returned to his seat. "I am afraid it is not possible for us to relax our security measures. But we are most sensitive to your needs and requirements. Therefore we will assign a member of our household staff to each of you, personally, to see that all your needs are met. There should be no more necessity to leave Corfe Castle for provisions of any kind." He smiled at them in what he hoped was a conciliatory way.
They grumbled; they protested about constraints on their movements; they asked whether these "members of the household staff" would be in fact anything but spies. But Arthur refused to be moved. "You are guests in our country and in our castle. We must do what we feel is right to pro tect you. We regret that you mistrust our motives, but we simply must do what seems right and proper to us."