J. Blair: The Excalibur Murders

“Like everyone else in Camelot.”

“Except you and my sister. Have they done what they should have?”

“Everything is in readiness, Arthur, yes.”

“People have been coming to me about this all day long. Mark approached me three times, begging me not to let you do this.”

“Mark is a superstitious gull. Which is exactly what I want.”

“So three of your suspects will be in the Great Hall. But what about the fourth?”

“Pellenore? He will be there, too, only not in plain sight.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You know where he is.”

“No. I wish I did. I’d give anything to know the hidden parts of Camelot the way he does.”

“I keep expecting him to pop out of a wall and hack someone’s head off.”

“He’s harmless, Arthur.”

“No one human is harmless.” Saying this, Arthur startled himself. “Good heavens, I’m starting to sound like you.”

“You could do worse.”

“Eat your goose and be quiet. You’re lucky I find this miracle of yours useful and desirable. Otherwise I’d never let you toy with three people I know to be innocent.”

“Of course, Arthur.”

When everyone had finished eating-and had had time to drink still more-Arthur announced that the evening’s entertainment and ceremony would begin shortly in the Great Hall. He urged them to bring whatever was left of their dinners, and their drinks, and adjourn there.

Humming with anticipation, they did so. People filed through Camelot’s halls in small groups or singly; pages lit the way with blazing torches. The musicians led the way, still playing lively music, though the tone grew successively more somber as everyone reached the hall.

The hall itself was lit brilliantly, more so than anyone could remember seeing before. Hundreds of torches and candles glowed fiercely; it seemed there was one in every possible space along the walls.

A platform-the same one that had been used on the night of the first murder-had been erected, and a row of more torches glared along its perimeter. Merlin had instructed several of the servants to sprinkle lime into the flames to make them burn even more brightly. But there was only one throne on the platform this night, Arthur’s, and it was set off to one side. Clearly he considered what was to come sufficiently important to remove himself from the center of things.

As the crowd filled the room, more servants with still more beverages entered and began to circulate, followed by more with generous supplies of Arthur’s honey cakes. It was all terribly festive; everyone seemed in a jovial mood, except Morgan and her son; they stood against the wall opposite the stage and watched everything and everyone with plain disapproval.

On a signal from Arthur, the servants extinguished all the lights in the room but the ones lighting the stage. It was time for the promised spectacle to begin.

First came the play. Arthur introduced Samuel, who in turn announced that his company would play The Fall of Troy, a stunning new drama by Dares the Phrygian and Dictys of Crete based on the eyewitness accounts of the fabled city’s fall. “We have performed this to acclaim in all the important courts of Europe. And we are privileged to present it here for you tonight.”

Merlin and Nimue took places not far from Morgan and Mordred, hoping to overhear whatever they might say. But the crowd was too loud, too boisterous for any individual voice to carry very far.

The actors took their places, and, lit harshly by the torches around the stage, Samuel recited the prologue. “And we shall see, both man and wife / the city’s fall, the end of life.”

Merlin leaned close to Nimue and whispered, “Let us hope we don’t see the end of Camelot, too.”

“Be quiet, Merlin. I want to hear the actors.”

The audience was predictably rowdy and ill-behaved, talking and laughing loudly as the performance progressed. But as it went on and got darker and more serious, they began to pay attention. In particular, the boy actor Watson, playing the tragic Trojan queen Hecuba, caught their attention. When he recited his speech mourning the deaths of his children, his husband and his city, there were even people weeping.

“You see the power of dressing as the opposite sex?” Nimue whispered to Merlin.

“Nonsense. They are drunk, that’s all.”

“Piffle.”

Throughout, Merlin kept a careful eye on the suspects. Guenevere and Lancelot were seated at a special table close to the stage. She was not happy, and not paying much attention to Watson and the others. She was, after all, the queen, and she was seated among lesser persons. Lancelot was drunk and kept nodding off, which seemed to annoy her even more.

Mordred and Morgan stayed near the farthest wall from the stage. It was clear they saw themselves apart from the rest. Or at any rate Morgan saw herself that way and Mordred went along. She was not a mother to upset.

And Mark, also drunk, kept lurching through the audience, muttering to one person or group after another. Wrapped up in the play, they shushed him. The expression on his face was not happy.

Britomart joined Merlin and Nimue.

“Have you seen anything, Brit?”

“Yes, a boy pretending to be a sad woman.”

“You know what I mean-anything suspicious. What is Mark saying?”

“He is complaining about your mystical show. He thinks something dire will happen, and he wants to find a way to stop it.”

“And what did you say to him?”

“I told him to relax, that religious displays of the supernatural are simply more theater.”

“Cynic.”

“That is exactly what he said.”

“I haven’t seen Petronus,” Brit commented.

“He is making himself scarce,” Merlin told her. “The last thing he wants is an encounter with Lancelot. He will be here when he’s needed.”

“Needed?”

“He is practicing with the lenses for tonight.”

“Lenses? Merlin, this sounds sillier and more desperate the more I learn about it.”

When finally the play concluded, the audience applauded and cheered wildly. Samuel took center stage for a bow, but the crowd wanted young Watson. Glumly, grudgingly, Samuel let the boy take the glory.

Meanwhile, Merlin moved through the audience in the direction of the offstage space where the actors were. His turn in the limelight would be next.

When the applause for the boy finally died down, Arthur took the stage again and thanked the company for their splendid performance. “What we saw tonight redounded to the glory of England, the fairest country on the face of the earth.” He went on at length about the flower of England and the coming period of prestige and leadership on the stage of Europe.

Offstage, two of the young men in Samuel’s company helped Merlin into a sorcerer’s robe, embroidered with stars and mystical symbols, and a conical wizard’s hat. Samuel watched, beaming; if things went well, his company would soon have a patron at court. To one of his dressers, Merlin whispered, “It is terribly lucky you have this costume.”

“We use it in one of our comedies, sir.”

“Oh. Well, let us hope tonight’s events do not play that way.”

Onstage, Arthur concluded his speech by talking about the Stone of Bran and the might and the glory it would soon bring to “our fair island.” He acknowledged Percival, who was in the audience, and gave him full credit for finding the sacred relic. Then he intoned, “It is time for us to witness its power.”

The musicians struck up a somber march, a nearly hymnlike melody. Almost involuntarily the crowd parted and Greffys entered, accompanied by a dozen of Arthur’s most trusted guards; Arthur was taking no chances with the safety of his squire this time. On a red velvet cushion embroidered with gold, Greffys carried the Stone of Bran before him. Their little procession made a circuit of the hall, permitting everyone to see the stone close-to. Then they advanced to the foot of the stage.