J. Blair: The Excalibur Murders

“I advise you to arrest them. All of them. Send troops to Corfe and arrest Leodegrance and his wife. Until we can get to the bottom of this.”

“On what charge?”

“Invent one. Make something up. Sedition. Conspiracy. Conduct unbecoming a Frenchman.”

The king sighed even more deeply. “No. I don’t think that’s the answer. England has never known civil war. Doing that could certainly start one.”

“The army is loyal to you.”

“Stop toying with me, Merlin. You know how they respect Mark. And after all, I became king by defeating all of them. Besides, have you ever met Leonilla? She’s a gorgon-worse even than her daughter. She could probably spew enough acid to melt the walls of any prison I have.”

Merlin shifted his weight uncomfortably. It seemed a good moment for a politic lie. “I’ve been so focused on finding the murderer I haven’t really given this much thought.”

“Do it now, for God’s sake.”

“Suppose the murders and the plot are related, as I’ve been telling you all along?”

Arthur swallowed his pride. “Then you were right and I wasn’t. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I am convinced that Mark killed the twins, or had them killed. I’d wager he did it himself.”

“Why? What could he possibly have had against them?”

“He’s been trying to foment this plot. But no one seems to want to go along. Guenevere because she’s planning her own war, with her father’s help. And Morgan-heaven only knows what Morgan is up to.”

“Maybe she’s loyal to me, or to our family.”

“Don’t be foolish, Arthur. She wants to be queen. She thinks it’s her right.”

“And so it is, I suppose. We have destroyed the old order. Birthing a new one should be easier than this.” He looked at his advisor. “Shouldn’t it?”

“If you say so, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up.”

Over the next two days the snow became heavier. Despite it, people came from all over England for Arthur’s court. Knights, dukes, barons, earls and petty warlords made the trek. And all of them were abuzz with speculative gossip about Merlin’s “miracle.”

The Stone of Bran was legendary. And most of the educated class-of whom there were not many-took the old legends to be just that. The prospect of seeing a miracle, of the kind embodied in the old myths-actually seeing it- was more tantalizing than most of them wanted to admit.

Among them came Morgan and her son, angry like Guenevere to have been brought under guard. She protested that as high priestess she was an officer of the state, or should be regarded as one, and Arthur met her with carefully studied obliviousness, pretending it was all for her own protection. She demanded the best rooms in Camelot, to no avail. Mordred sniveled and wiped his nose on his sleeve a lot.

Then came Mark. Both Arthur and Merlin were expecting him to be raging, but he feigned not to have noticed that his escort was really a guard.

“But, Arthur, there’s something you must consider.”

“And what is that, Mark?”

He lowered his voice. “Something dangerous is afoot.”

“You want to warn me?”

“I do. You must not permit it.”

“What the devil are you talking about, Mark?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I think you know perfectly well.”

Arthur made his face a blank. “No. Honestly. Tell me.”

“You can’t guess what I mean?”

“It isn’t like you to be so cryptic, Mark. If you have a point, make it.”

He whispered heavily, “Merlin.”

“What? What on earth could Merlin be doing that you have to warn me about?”

“This scheme of his, this plan to waken the dead. It is dangerous.”

“He knows what he’s doing, Mark.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Do you?”

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not meddling with dark forces.”

“Aren’t you?”

It caught Mark off guard, and he stammered for a moment, trying to recover his composure. “Arthur, listen to me. Merlin is going to do something momentous. Something that has never been done, not in all recorded history.”

“He’s studied the appropriate texts. He knows what he’s doing.” Offhandedly, he added, “The gods will guide him- and protect the rest of us.”

“Please, Arthur, stop him from doing this. We could all end up in the worst peril.”

“Mark, it’s been announced. I can’t very well disappoint all the nobles in the country, can I?”

Mark was losing his resolve to argue, but it was clear he was nervous, not to say frightened, which struck Arthur as a good thing. “This is perilous, Arthur. You know all the old legends about sorcerers who meddle in things they shouldn’t. When they lose control, everyone suffers.”

“Why, Mark, you sound genuinely afraid.”

“And so I am. You should be, too. You let that old man play with these forces, we’ll all have to pay.”

Arthur thought to himself, good. But all he said was, “I really don’t see how I can stop it. Too many people would be disappointed.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned like an eager schoolboy. “Besides, I want to see it myself.”

“May I have permission not to attend, then?”

Abruptly, Arthur turned king again. “You may not. I want you there.” Then he smiled warmly. “If something awful does happen, I’ll need you.”

Grumping, clearly unhappy, Mark went off to his quarters. And Arthur went straight to Merlin’s tower to tell him about the exchange. “He’s worried about your ‘miracle,’ not about any plots or killers being exposed. That’s good.”

“Mark has always been superstitious. Er, excuse me, prone to believe in things.”

“He’s human, that’s all.”

Merlin ignored this; it was the wrong time to get into a philosophical debate. “So we have all four of our suspects where we want them.”

Arthur gaped. “You want Pellenore in the castle walls, leaping out and terrifying people?”

“At least we know where he is. Besides, he hasn’t actually hurt anyone, has he?”

“Except my boys.”

“You think he slaughtered them but has turned docile and harmless?”

“Yes. That would be odd in an ordinary murderer, Merlin, but hardly in a madman.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Arthur, I have to go take an acting lesson.”

“Act-?”

“Tomorrow night I shall give a performance for the ages. No Greek in the Odeon at Athens portrayed Hercules more convincingly than I shall play the magician.”

“Well, you certainly talk like a Greek. Why don’t you speak plainly, so people know what you’re talking about?”

Merlin smiled and made a slight bow. “The result of years of practice at court.”

And so more and more people flowed into Camelot, all of them in a festive mood. Soon the castle was filled to bursting, more so than it had been when the Stone of Bran was to have been unveiled. Servants were overworked; outriders went to the neighboring towns and villages, recruiting workers for the duration of the seasonal festival and offering generous wages. Food was brought in from every available source, and Mark’s people in Cornwall sent enormous quantities of wine. Knowing the nature of Arthur’s court, it would certainly be needed. Every available space in Camelot was decorated, with holly and other evergreens, with candles or both. No one complained about cramped quarters this time; it was Midwinter, the year’s brightest holiday.

The first night, Arthur summoned everyone to the Great Hall. A platform had been set up against one wall-the same platform that had been erected the night Borolet died and the Stone of Bran and Excalibur were stolen. But this time there was only one throne on it, Arthur’s; the symbolismwas impossible to miss. Scores of torches lit the hall brilliantly; it might almost have been daytime. Musicians played, singers caroled, mummers put on little skits for the amusement of the crowd and servants passed about with trays of meat and cakes.