J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

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.

“Good evening.” Nimue remembered to smile. “You are Gretchen?”

The girl smiled and tossed her hair coquettishly. “Yes. And you are…?”

“Colin. I am Merlin’s apprentice and assistant.”

“The sorcerer’s apprentice. Like the old story.”

“Merlin is not a-” She decided there was no point starting an argument about something so irrelevant. “Dennis and Tom say you have something to tell me.”

“Dennis and Tom,” she said with emphasis, “tell me you have some gold for me.”

“When Merlin returns, you will be amply rewarded.”

“Then when Merlin returns, I’ll tell you what I know.” She heaved her bosom and looked at Colin quite pointedly. “I’ve seen you around the castle. You’re an attractive boy- man.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to get acquainted?” Sensing she was on shaky ground with him, she added, “Free?”

“No thank you.”

“All the knights want me.”

“And most of them have her.” Tom laughed. “Lancelot wasn’t the first.”

She swiped at him angrily, but he pulled away, laughing at her.

Nimue jumped on the opening he’d given her. “You were with Lancelot?”

“Well.” She pouted. “I guess you could say that.”

Tom tapped Nimue’s shoulder and pointed. “They did it in that little pantry over there. Everybody calls it ‘Gretchen’s Bedroom.’ ”

Nimue refused to be distracted. “And this was on the night of the ceremony with the Stone of Bran? The night Borolet was killed?”

Gretchen reached out and touched Nimue’s arm. “You’re strong for a scholar.”

“Answer my question, please.” She decided to take a softer tone and play up to the girl. “Please.”

“Yes, that was the night. Meet me here later, all right? No one will know.”

“You’re certain it was Lancelot? And it was on that night?”

“Yes, it was him. Tall, blond, with the nicest muscles. And really dumb. He gave me twice what I would have asked for.”

Petronus laughed and said, “No wonder Guenevere is hard up for money.”

“He kept asking me to keep our little affair a secret. Said his girlfriend would get nasty if she even suspected. But I figured he was making that up, to keep me quiet. They all say that. Even the king.”

“Arthur-?!”

“Yes, good, noble King Arthur. He tells me no one understands him, same as they all do. But he’s never given me a thing, the bastard. Not one royal farthing for poor little Gretchen.”

A couple of other kitchen servants walked in, talking. Nimue watched them, made mildly uncomfortable by their presence. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me, Gretchen? Anything about Lancelot, I mean.”

“He talked to me in French. When his passion peaked, he spoke French.”

“About that night-how and where did you meet him?”

“Why don’t you and I discuss that privately?”

“Really, Gretchen, that is not what I’m after.”

“All men are after that. What kind of man are you?”

“A scholar, unraveling a mystery.”

She shrugged. “Call it what you like. It always comes to the same thing with men.”

“And with women. You want your money. Merlin will pay you.”

She moved beside Nimue and rubbed against her. “I’d rather get it from you, Colin.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want.”

“Then leave me alone. Send Merlin to me. With coin.”

Swaying her hips, she walked off into the corridor that led to “Gretchen’s Bedroom.”

Nimue looked at Greffys. “Well. That is that, it seems.”

“You should come back to her. She’s worth it. Believe me.”

“A boy your age, Greffys? Spending good money for women? That doesn’t seem right.”

“How old were you the first time, Colin?”

“Old enough. And there was no cash exchanged. But never mind.” She wanted to change the subject.