J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

“They’re for grapevines. Mark’s people have figured out how to cultivate them. It’s the first time anyone’s done it in England. I assume the wine we had at that last inn was made here.”

“They always say vines can’t grow in England.”

“Look at the soil. It’s black and rich, like the soil at Mount Vesuvius in Italy.”

Nimue was puzzled. “There are no volcanoes here.”

“Brilliant observation.”

Then odd buildings began to appear here and there across the landscape. Again she asked Brit. “They’re so tall and thin. What can they be for?”

“They house the equipment for the mines. Enormous air pumps powered by bellows, and huge wheels wound with cable to lower the miners down to the lower depths.”

“It sounds dangerous.”

“It is. There are accidents all the time. You’ve seen all the cripples on the road. Arthur pays the widows a bounty.”

“Big of him.”

“Cornwall is the most prosperous place in England, and the mines are what makes it so. Bronze can’t be made without tin, and Cornwall produces the only tin in Europe. Arthur might well be bankrupt without it.”

“I see.”

Then in the distance, at the head of the Cornish peninsula, loomed Mark’s castle. It was not especially large by the standards of castle architecture, and Mark had had the exterior whitewashed and the towers painted bright red and blue, very un-castle-like; it gleamed, even in the weak winter sunshine.

As the party approached it they came to another of the mine-head buildings at the side of the road. Nimue heard machinery creaking inside, and there was a smell of chemicals in the air. Men, covered in dirt, came and went. And there was a guard post, and a barrier blocking the road.

Amid some noise and confusion-roads in Arthur’s England were not barricaded and travel was supposed to be free-the travelers came to a halt and Accolon exchanged words with one of the guards. Brit put her head out one of the windows and watched to try to make out what they were saying. There were at least a dozen guards on duty, more than seemed necessary or even reasonable. “Military men,” she muttered to Nimue. “Security becomes an obsession.”

Just as Nimue looked out, too, Accolon rode his horse up beside the carriage. “I’m afraid there’s a problem.”

“What problem could there be?”

“The say they didn’t know we were coming.”

“Even if that is true, what does it have to do with anything? This is a free nation; citizens are allowed to travel about unhampered by this kind of thing.”

She stepped out of the carriage and strode ahead to the checkpoint. “I am Britomart, King Arthur’s military advisor. ”

The guard in charge was a young blond man. He looked nervous. “Yes, ma’am, I recognize you from Camelot. Do you have orders from the king?”

“We do.”

“May I see them?”

For a instant it occurred to her that the man almost certainly could not read, and she could have shown him anything. But why risk it? “Our orders are not in writing. But we are here on official business. The king wishes me to go over plans for spring maneuvers with Mark.”

“ ‘We’?”

“Myself, my assistant Colin and our escort.”

He looked doubtful. “No one is permitted to cross into Cornwall without some legitimate reason, properly documented. I’ll have to send to King Mark. Please wait.” He conferred with one of his men, who mounted a horse and headed off toward the castle.

Brit scowled as pointedly as she could manage to show how unhappy she was then went back to the carriage, explained to Nimue what was happening and settled in to wait. “Listen, Colin. I don’t like the look of this. Blocked roads, a lot of guards where a few would suffice… It makes me suspect Merlin may be right about Mark. At the very least, this makes it more certain than ever that he’s up to something he shouldn’t be. We’re both going to have to be alert.”

“Merlin gave me some of his acid globes before I left.”

“Fine. But that isn’t what I mean. Keep your eyes and ears open. We must learn what’s going on here.”

“Merlin gave me some very specific instructions.”

“That’s good. We may have to rely on one another.”

“And our guards?” She was pleased that Brit seemed to be opening up to her but somewhat alarmed at the circumstances.

“I’m guessing Mark will put them up in barracks, with his men, while we’re quartered in the castle. Stay alert and cautious, Colin.”

“You too. Do you… do you think we can actually pull this off?”

“If we can pry Mark away from his wine and wenches, we can.”

“Don’t hope for that too hard. His women and his drink are what we’re counting on.”

“We’re crazy. This will be dangerous. If Mark even suspects…”

“Yes?”

“We could end up with our heads on poles.”

Nimue fingered the acid globes in her pocket and hoped everything would go smoothly.

More than two hours passed. Brit, Nimue and their soldiers were bored. Some of the soldiers played dice to pass the time. Nimue ambled about, talking to Mark’s men. None of them was friendly or communicative. But she noticed that one of them had a badly scarred face-scarred by acid.

Then the rider returned and conferred hastily with his commander, who then approached the carriage. “King Mark says you are welcome to join him at his castle. But he requests that you leave your weapons here.”

Brit registered shock. “I am one of the king’s ministers. Surely Mark isn’t suggesting I abandon all security.”

“King Mark-” he said the word king with special emphasis-“guarantees your safety while you are in his domain.”

“Excuse me for saying so, but that isn’t the issue.”

“Nevertheless, if you wish to remain in Cornwall, you are to surrender your weapons.”

Brit conferred hastily with Accolon and the most experienced of his men. None of them was happy with Mark’s demand, but Brit had a job to do, so there seemed little choice. Unhappily, they all surrendered their swords. The guards made a quick search of their things; happily, they didn’t recognize the acid globes as dangerous. Then, late in the afternoon, led by a detachment of Mark’s men, they headed to the castle.

Mark was waiting for them in the courtyard when they arrived. He was wearing animal skins; he might have been one of the barbarians who sacked Rome. And he was half-drunk; he held a huge flagon of mead or wine or some other intoxicant. He wasn’t wearing a sword, which Nimue took as a positive sign. “Maybe swords are banned here completely. ”

“Don’t be naïve.”

Mark greeted them heartily and claimed he was especially happy to see his second-in-command. “And how is our beloved king?”

“He is fine, Mark, and he sends his regards. And a request. I’m afraid our visit is official; we have military matters to discuss.”

“Tonight, after dinner.” He let out a loud laugh, quite uncharacteristic of him; Brit assumed it was from whatever he was drinking. Then he ordered some servants to take them to their rooms and make them comfortable. “Supper is at seven. You’ll hear the gong summoning everyone. I like big parties.”

“No wonder Arthur likes you.”

“Just ask anyone for directions to the dining hall. I’ll see you then.”

Brit’s and Nimue’s rooms were in different wings of the castle. After getting settled in, Nimue found her way to Brit’s suite. No one she met along the way would talk to her in any but the most perfunctory way. “I’m nervous, Brit. The atmosphere here is so… so…”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you notice that soldier with the disfigured face? I think the scars are from acid. He was one of the ones who attacked you and Merlin.”