J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

The corridor sloped downward. In a few moments he was in the dark bowels of the castle, and his light was the only one. Rats, snakes, other creatures less immediately identifiable scuttled out of his way as he progressed. Any one of them could have bitten him, but all he could think was, Poor Pellenore, reduced to these awful surroundings . And the deeper he went, the colder the air grew.

Ahead of him he saw the light from another torch-the guard’s light. The doors of unoccupied dungeons hung open, the interiors gaping at him horribly. He moved more quickly.

The single guard was sitting on a rough wooden stool, nodding off. An empty wine bottle lay on the floor beside him. Arthurian security. Twenty feet away, he cleared his throat loudly to rouse the man.

The soldier stirred and looked around groggily. Merlin recognized him as an old campaigner, one of Arthur’s stalwarts. He was in his fifties, too old for any kind of service but this, now. Merlin groped to remember his name but couldn’t.

For a moment the man registered alarm; then he recognized who was coming. “Merlin, sir.”

“Hello. I would say ‘good evening’ but that hardly seems appropriate down here.”

“No, sir. How long has it been since the king closed the dungeons? I never thought I’d see service down here. You look well.”

“You too. I wish I felt well.”

“Age gets us all, doesn’t it? A few months ago I felt a terrible spasm in my left arm. Since then it hasn’t worked properly, not at all.” Then he realized the oddness of the situation. “What are you doing here, sir?”

“I want to see the prisoner.”

“No one is permitted, sir.”

“Nevertheless, you know me. I am Arthur’s chief advisor. Let me in.”

Doubtfully, the man stood up and took the key from a loop at his waist. “You’re sure you’re permitted, sir?”

“Arthur won’t mind.”

The guard hesitated. “That isn’t an answer.”

“Yes it is. I’ll take responsibility if there should be any awkward questions asked.”

Plainly uncertain, the guard unlocked the door. The lock and the hinges were badly rusted from years of disuse; they creaked quite alarmingly. Merlin took his torch and went inside.

The room seemed smaller than a proper dungeon ought to be; it was not much more than a cell, really. The stone floor was covered with dirt; cobwebs filled the corners. Some living thing scurried away. The air was freezing. In the light from the torch, Merlin could see his breath.

Along one wall, a rough shelf was cut from the bedrock. Pellenore was curled up on it. But he was not asleep. Merlin saw the torchlight glint in his eyes.

“Hello, Pellenore.”

“Merlin. Why have you come here?”

“Why, to visit. Why else?”

“Are you working with them?”

He didn’t have to ask who Pellenore meant. “No, Pellenore. The beasts are all asleep.”

“They’re not. They’ve made themselves small. I can hear them scuttling around in the darkness.”

“Mice. Rats, maybe.”

“They are the beasts. And they are here. This is the very deepest heart of Camelot, and they have found me here.”

Merlin crossed the cell and sat down on the edge of the stone shelf. “Enterprising beasts would find you anywhere, wouldn’t they?”

The old man didn’t like the sound of this. “Hold your torch toward me, will you please? I’m cold.”

“It is icy here, isn’t it? Camelot has an icy heart.” He wedged the torch against the rock shelf and let it stand there.

“But hearts have veins and arteries, don’t they? Besides, Camelot has an icy king now, too.”

“Arthur is not a bad man, Pellenore. He is simply overwhelmed by having gotten what he wanted.”

The old king rubbed his hands over the torch’s flame. “This used to be mine, Merlin, you know that. The entire countryside. I was a good and fair king, or tried to be, and my people were happy, or seemed to be. The land was fruitful and prosperous. Then Arthur came and took it all away.”

“He would not be much of a king without ambition.”

“I had my lands, and then all I had was Camelot to rove around. And now I only have this cold little cell full of hungry little beasts.”

“I’ll have someone bring you a brazier of coals. No one wants you to freeze to death.”

“Merlin, I miss the world. I want my world back.” He beganto cry, and his voice broke. “Nothing has turned out the way I wanted it to.”

“The world never turns out the way anyone wants it to, Pellenore. When I was young and living in Alexandria, anything seemed possible. I believed that with enough knowledge, I could accomplish anything. When I saw the chance to make Arthur king here, I saw my opportunity. Human society, I believed, was perfectible.” He sighed. “At least I try to avoid being too foolish about it all. There is nothing more insufferable than an old fool.”

Pellenore inched closer to the fire. “Everyone thinks I’m a fool, don’t they?”

“You have lost so much more than any of the rest of us have ever gained.”

“Except Arthur. He will lose it, too. But don’t bother to warn him. He is a bigger fool than I ever was.”

Merlin started to agree-started to explain that Arthur was a big enough fool to be blind to evidence he himself had asked for. But what would have been the point? “I only came here to make sure you are all right. A social visit, no more-and just listen to the two of us. A pair of sad old dotards.”

“All hearts have veins and arteries. Otherwise, what good would they be? Thank you for coming, Merlin. Good-bye. ”

Feeling as if he’d been dismissed, and finding it odd, Merlin stood to go. He felt a brief impulse to embrace Pellenore, but he resisted it. “I’ll send those coals.”

“Please don’t bother. Why waste heat on rats?” Oddly, he smiled. “Or on dragons, or on old men, for that matter?”

The cold stone had made Merlin’s bad leg ache even more. Limping and leaning heavily on his cane, he left. Tomorrow he would have to try and make Arthur see the light of reason. He was not at all certain he didn’t prefer the cold darkness and the odd conversation of a mad old man.

The morning was overcast, one of those bright grey winter days. A cold wave had struck, and there were flurries.

Merlin had not slept well. So much depended on his meeting with the king, and he wanted to be as prepared mentally as he could be. Nimue came to his rooms early and found him sitting by the fire. “Are you all right?”

“My leg is bothering me.”

“It will heal. I mean all right about Pellenore’s arrest.”

He exhaled deeply. “No. Of course not. Pellenore is harmless and I know it perfectly well. Arthur should, too.”

“He wants a simple answer and he has it. He wants things to be clear and neat and easily explained. He’s human. ”

“Don’t remind me.” He looked at her. “If there were another race, other than the human race, I’d go join it.”

“You’re tired, that’s all.”

“Look at us. We have achieved such wonders. I have stood at the foot of the Pyramids, looking up in awe. I have beheld the Parthenon and wondered at its harmony and proportion. I have seen the grandeur of the Coliseum. Our race has achieved such magnificent things. And you tell me that being human means wanting things simple.”

“For most of us it is.”

He got to his feet wearily. “My leg is aching. I suppose it is the weather.” He took a step, leaning heavily on his cane. “I have this to look forward to, for all the years remaining to me.”

“I wish you’d say something optimistic.”

“Optimistic meaning simple?”

“If you like, yes.”

“I don’t have time for this, Nimue. I have to go off and deal with the king. I hope he listens.”