J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

Arthur walked among them, enjoying the chaos, and happy of the departures, with Merlin at his side. Camelot would be their home again, not the mass hostel it had been.

Nimue followed them, making note of everything she saw, bidding farewell to acquaintances. Arthur had asked her to keep an eye out for petty theft. “It’s to be expected. They will take anything they think we won’t miss.”

Unlike the king and her teacher, she was slightly intimidated by all the people and the hustle. “Do you think it’s advisable to let them all go, Your Majesty?” She lowered her voice. “We may never have all the suspects together again. Solving the mystery will be that much more of a challenge.”

“I don’t see that we have any choice, Colin. Camelot can’t support this many people. You’ve seen how scarce food became, and how quickly. Besides, I don’t really have the authority or the pretext to hold them all here. I want our society to be based on laws, not force.

“They’ll all be back for Midwinter Court. It’s the time for them to renew their vows of fealty to me. Anyone who doesn’t come will be counted a traitor.” He shrugged. “More or less.”

“I see. But still-”

“For goodness sake, Colin.” Merlin was impatient with her for questioning the king. “We’re getting rid of them. That’s a blessing in more ways than one. Do you want a mad killer on the loose here permanently?”

“But-”

“We’ll get to the bottom of the killings. And we’ll do it by Midwinter Court. Just be patient.”

She resigned herself to it, glumly.

Arthur made a show of saying good-bye to the most important people, particularly Morgan and Guenevere. Guenevere actually seemed in a pleasant mood for once, and Arthur commented on it.

“And why shouldn’t I be? I’m leaving my husband’s house. What wife wouldn’t be overjoyed?”

“You are the picture of domestic bliss, aren’t you?” He kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, not the lips, and moved on.

To Morgan, he made a special request. “We’ll be burying Ganelin and Borolet within a few days.”

“Highly advisable. They won’t keep long, even in winter. ”

He ignored this. “Morgan, I’d like you to preside at the funeral.”

“For a pair of squires? Your sense of humor can be so alarming, Arthur.”

He leaned close and whispered something to her; Merlin thought he knew what. Then he pulled away and added, “Please, Morgan.”

Reluctantly she agreed, but she added that she was doing Arthur an enormous favor and he owed her for it.

Then, after all the official and unofficial business was out of the way, Arthur led Merlin and Nimue to a small gate at the rear of Camelot. Britomart was waiting there with horses and a cohort of six guards. Arthur asked a waiting servant, “Do you have it?”

“Yes, sir.” He handed Arthur what looked like a sable cloak, carefully folded. Arthur took it, placed it in his saddlebag and quickly climbed onto his steed. “Come on, all of you. Let’s get moving.”

Nimue looked to Merlin and Brit. “Where are we going? ”

It was Merlin who answered her. “You’re not going anywhere. You have some Homer to translate, remember?”

“But-”

“You’re not dressed warmly enough to travel on a morning like this. Go and do your Greek. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Glum and puzzled, she went inside.

Brit jumped onto her horse. “Nine of us? Arthur, you said you wanted this to be inconspicuous.”

“Would you rather we travel without guards?”

“Of course not, but-”

“It’s unlikely anyone will see us leave, Brit. There’s too much activity out front for that.”

The others mounted their horses, two more guards opened the rear gate and the party left. Arthur rode at the head of the column, flanked by two of his men. None of the three talked very much except for occasional orders or directions.Brit and Merlin followed with the rest of the guards. Arthur had ordered them to bring an extra horse; no one seemed to know why.

The morning was uncomfortably damp. Wisps and streamers of mist floated in the air. The sun shone, a pale ghost of itself, through heavy clouds above. After a few minutes the entire party fell silent.

The landscape changed from low hills to flat, featureless terrain. Merlin looked back over his shoulder to see Camelot on its hilltop retreating into the distance more quickly than seemed quite right.

Brit reined her mount next to his and whispered, “Do you have any idea where we’re going? He told me to arrange the party but nothing more.”

“I can guess, but I don’t know for certain.”

“What’s your guess, then?”

He looked thoughtful. Arthur had not told anyone else but Morgan that the dead young men were his sons. It seemed advisable not to spread it. “In time, Brit.”

An hour later the land had turned to moor. Sprigs of heather grew here and there, but not much else. Toads and snakes slithered out of their way. A guide was waiting to steer them through it; how Arthur had arranged for him, Brit could not fathom. One of the guards’ horses slid into some quicksand, and they all had to work to pull it and its rider out. The man was shaken; Arthur sent him back to Camelot with a companion to take care of him.

Another hour passed. Brit found herself growing impatient, but she knew there was no point trying to get information out of either Arthur or Merlin if they didn’t want to share it. For nearly the entire trip Arthur had said virtually nothing.

Then ahead of them there was a small village, not much more than a hamlet-ten or a dozen tiny shacks on either side of the track, most of them made of mud and twigs. Arthur raised his hand and the party stopped. The guide pointed to one particular hut. Arthur dismounted, walked to its door and knocked.

A woman opened it a crack and looked out. She was in early middle age, and her features reflected her hard life. It was immediately clear she recognized the king. She pulled the door open wide, Arthur went in and she closed it behind him.

The rest of the party dismounted. The guard in charge told them to make themselves comfortable; there was no way of knowing how long the king would be. They had brought food, which he passed around. The guide walked a few paces away from the rest of them and watched them without eating or talking to any of them.

“Merlin, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Brit tore a piece of bread and bit into it aggressively.

“You know as much as I do.”

“Nonsense. I want to know. Please.”

He took a deep breath, seemed to consider the possibilities then sat down on a relatively dry patch of earth. “She was their mother.”

“Oh. And Arthur-?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“I see. I’ve wondered about that. He always seemed so attached to them.”

“The attachment has been severed.”

They ate without saying much more. Finally, Brit said, “So it’s that much more important that we find the killer, then.”

“Yes, Brit.”

“If the killer knew about his sons, somehow… these may have been dynastic murders, intended to do more harm than most people realize.”

“I don’t see how anyone could have known. I didn’t know myself until Arthur told me yesterday. He said Mark had guessed, but Mark and he are close friends.”

“But-but if these killings were a strike at the royal house… I wish we had something definite to go on. No one who might have done it has a verifiable alibi. Mordred told me he went to use the privy then got lost in the unfamiliar corridors. I have no idea whether to believe him. And Lancelot says pretty much the same thing. Pellenore… well, you know, he was being Pellenore, charging around the castle chasing phantoms. I wish I could trust him as much as you seem to. We need to know more.”