J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

Of course the ceremony was called off. How could it not be? Arthur, trying not to look ill, mounted the dais in the Great Hall and moved to the front of it. He ignored both Morgan and Guenevere. The crowd, noticing something odd in his manner, quieted without him asking them to. He announced softly that the ritual would be postponed, perhaps indefinitely. “Please, all of you, return to your rooms.”

And slowly the audience dispersed. Only Arthur and his close advisors remained.

Merlin approached him and put a hand on his arm. “Arthur, you should have asked them to stay here.”

Seemingly dazed, Arthur gaped at him. “Why, Merlin? Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“Until we could take account of who’s here and who isn’t. Now there’s no way we’ll ever know for certain.”

“Does it matter?”

“There’s been a murder, Arthur. We have to find who did it.”

Sadly, the king said, “I suppose you’re right. That poor boy. He was an excellent young man, Merlin. He and his brother. The best, the most promising I have. Had.”

Ganelin had been listening; he looked even more stunned than the king. “Thank you for saying so, Your Majesty. That would have meant a lot to him.”

They were now nearly alone in the hall, Arthur, Merlin, Mark, Britomart, Nimue and Ganelin. Nimue stood back from the others, not knowing what to say or do. All of them watched Arthur, waiting for some indication of what he was thinking and feeling.

Mark moved close to the king, looking grave. “We’ll find him. We’ll find the assassin.”

“Will we?” Arthur muttered. It was not so much a question as a resigned statement.

Merlin had never seen his king look so lost. “Arthur, I-”

“I want to be alone. All of you, please leave me. I want to take a walk and think.”

Britomart spoke for the first time. “Are you certain that’s a wise idea, Arthur? There’s a killer loose in Camelot.”

“He got what he wanted. He got the shrine and the sword and the crystal skull. He killed the boy with my sword. What more could he want?”

“We don’t know why the killer did what he did. He could have had any motive at all.”

“Brit is right, Arthur.” Merlin forced himself to keep his voice calm and steady. “There are a dozen reasons why this might have been done. Out of greed, for political advantage, out of hatred or jealousy of you…Stay inside. Stay in your rooms, guarded.”

Mark added, “I can have guards posted immediately. We have to keep you safe. If we should lose you…” He let the thought trail off unfinished.

Arthur looked from one of them to the next. “Come walk with me, then. I need fresh air. I need the night.”

“It’s getting cold outside, Arthur.” Brit took a step toward him then seemed to think better of it. “Stay here where it’s warm.”

“Do you suppose it’s warm where Borolet is?”

“Let us get swords, then.” Mark spoke forcefully. “Let me call guards. I won’t have you wandering around alone.”

“All right. Get them.” He looked to the rest of them as Mark went. “I never thought I’d need guards in my own castle. In my wildest imaginings I never thought such a thing.”

Britomart and Ganelin said they were going to their rooms to get weapons, leaving Merlin and Nimue with the king.

Suddenly, Arthur turned animated. He rushed to the nearest wall, took a torch and began going about the room, lighting the ones that had been extinguished. “We want light. What happened, happened in darkness. With more light the boy would be alive.”

“Arthur, stop it!” Merlin caught him by the arm. “That isn’t so and you know it.”

He pulled free violently. “Let me go! I want light in here!”

Merlin stood back, alarmed, and let the king go on lighting the room. By the time the others got back it was ablaze with torchlight. Lit, it seemed vast and much more empty than it did in near-darkness.

Mark returned with a dozen soldiers; he left them by the door and rejoined Merlin.

“I’m worried, Mark.” He kept his voice low. “This isn’t at all like Arthur. We’ve seen him in crisis before. He’s lost battles, lost whole regiments and not acted like this.”

“That was out in the world.” Mark studied the king. “Not in his home. The dead were anonymous, not his squire.”

Suddenly Arthur turned to them. “Let’s go.”

Six of the soldiers took the lead. Arthur, Merlin and the others followed, trailed by the remaining guards. The party moved quickly through Camelot’s winding corridors. There was no talking.

The halls were filled with people. Somehow news of the murder had leaked out; presumably, one of the guards had said something. Everyone was buzzing about it, speculating, gossiping. They stood, some in small groups, some in larger ones, watching the king’s progress. No one seemed to take it as reassuring.

From nowhere Pellenore came galloping down a hallway, directly at the king. “Beware, Arthur, beware!”

Arthur’s party stopped and waited for him to reach them. He had, to appearances, been running all over Camelot; there was sweat on his forehead, and his clothes were soaked with it. Arthur caught him by the shoulder and made him stand still. “What the devil is wrong with you? For once, Pellenore, try and act like a normal man.”

“Normal?” The old man staggered a bit and Arthur steadied him. “How can anyone behave normally? Don’t you know what’s happened?”

“I know only too well. I-”

“The beasts, Arthur, the beasts. They’ve begun to kill. If we don’t vanquish them, we’ll all be dead before long.”

Merlin planted himself in front of the mad old man. “We’ll all be dead eventually anyway, Pellenore. Let the beasts do what they will.”

“No! I have to stop them. No one else can. And no one will believe me.” With that he drew his sword and sped off down the corridor.

For a moment everyone stood looking at one another, unsure what to say or how to react. Finally Nimue spoke up. “Poor old man.”

“Poor old man, nothing,” Mark said. “I often think he’s only pretending to be mad, and now I’m sure of it. How else could he know about the death tonight?”

“Everyone knows.” Merlin sounded tired; he wanted all this to end.

Arthur got between them. “Come. We’re on our way outside, remember?”

At the main entrance two other guards stood on duty. Mark had a quick word with them and left two more of the cohort with them for extra security.

The courtyard, unlike the castle, was quite empty. The night was cold, unseasonably so, and no one had thought to bring winter clothing. There were heavy clouds; the moon was a bright pale patch through them. Merlin felt a drop of rain and looked up; the sky was ominous. “Winter weather,” he muttered. “Too soon.”

One of the guards from the front gate said to Mark, “She hasn’t left yet, sir, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

“She?”

“The queen. Her party is assembling at the back of the castle, by the stables.”

“The queen?!” Merlin shouted. “We mustn’t let her leave.”

Sparked into action, Mark took two men and went to look. He came back quickly and walked straight to the king. “She’s leaving, Arthur. She, Lancelot, all their servants. The horses are being loaded now.”

Loudly, Merlin said again, “She mustn’t. Arthur, you can’t allow her to go. Not till I’ve had time to question her and her people about the killing.”

“Guenevere is a vindictive, loveless woman, Merlin. But I wouldn’t like to think she’s behind this.”

“Don’t be naïve, Arthur. She-” He was going to remind the king how much his wife hated him, but he caught himself. “If not she herself, then Lancelot or one of her servants. Any of them could have a hand in this.”