J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

Merlin and Nimue had a good dinner together then headed to the hall. Nimue decided to stay at the rear near one of the entrances just in case either Morgan or Mordred seemed suspicious of her. Merlin, too late to get a seat, circulated among the crowd, much more interested in seeing the people and their reactions than in the relic.

People stood talking in small groups, wondering loudly just what they were going to see. Arthur had shown the stone and its shrine to only a handful of people, and there were all sorts of rumors about its precise nature. It was a skull made of solid gold, or silver, or the alloy of both called electrum. Or it was made from wood from an ancient prophetic oak. Or it was an actual skull, encrusted with jewels and somehow endowed with miraculous powers by the god. There were skeptics, though not many, who argued that it was all hokum. Wagers were being made.

Pellenore was there, warning people, more or less at random, not about his usual dragon but about a malevolent water sprite. Merlin avoided him quite carefully and ambled about the hall, eavesdropping, pleased that not everyone had been taken in.

When he found Nimue, he told her so. “All this flummery… I can’t tell you how it disgusts me.”

“Yes, you can.” Nimue was wry. “And you have, several dozen times.”

“You have an annoying habit of being contrary, Colin.”

She smiled sweetly. “I can’t imagine who I got it from.”

Just at that moment Mordred walked by and nodded at the two of them. For an instant he seemed to recognize Nimue; then he seemed to think better of it, shrugged and kept moving.

“He’s going to realize who I am sooner or later. He has to.”

“Do you think so? I don’t have the impression he’s any brighter than he needs to be.”

“All he’d have to do is drop a suggestion to his mother, and…”

“I’d worry about her, not him.” Merlin looked to the entrance where Morgan and Arthur would be coming in. There was no sign of them. “Morgan and her boy don’t come here often. After this nonsense is over, I’m sure they’ll be going back to their own castle.”

She glanced around nervously. “I hope you’re right.”

Mark of Cornwall joined them, in a festive mood. “Have you tried the honey cakes? They’re wonderful.”

“I’m dieting,” Merlin said irritably. “How is Percival? He should be here.”

“His pneumonia is getting worse.”

“I’ll go and see him after the ceremony. I am the court physician, after all.”

“He asked for a doctor who believes in the gods. He says someone like you could never cure him.”

“Some things,” Merlin said dryly, “aren’t curable.”

Nimue smiled. “Merlin has an annoying habit of being contrary. Have you ever noticed, Mark?”

“Everyone has.” He scanned the crowd. “There’s Britomart. I have to talk to her about a new drill I want to introduce. ”

“I’m going to get as close to the dais as I can, Mark. Why don’t you join me there?”

Mark nodded, then shouted, “Brit!” and disappeared quickly into the crowd.

A moment later the musicians played a fanfare and then a slow, solemn march. Servants extinguished some of the lights, as they had at the council. The crowd fell nearly silent. Then slowly, majestically, Arthur and his sister came in.

They were dressed in their best court finery, Arthur in white robes trimmed with gold and Morgan in black ones with silver trim. They climbed slowly to the dais and stood in front of their respective thrones.

Ganelin and Borolet stood at attention just beside the platform. Arthur nodded to Borolet, and the squire left quickly, presumably to fetch the shrine. Merlin elbowed his way through the crowd, trying to get closer, without much success. He found himself standing next to Britomart. “Mark is looking for you.”

“I know. I’m avoiding him.”

Suddenly Guenevere swept into the hall, followed closely by Lancelot and several lesser retainers. She went directly to the dais and began to climb the steps to it, clearly expecting to have a place there. Ganelin blocked her way. There was an exchange of words; Merlin couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but it was fairly plain she wanted to take her place on the second throne. At least she had decorum enough not to raise her voice.

Lancelot, who was built like an athlete, slender and fit, ten years younger than the queen, moved past her to confront the squire.

Arthur got quickly to his feet to join his squire and his wife. Morgan did not budge. There were more words. Then Arthur signaled that a third chair should be brought for the queen. A servant brought one, and Ganelin placed it carefully on the other side of Arthur’s throne from Morgan. The queen, trying without success to not look slighted, walked slowly to her makeshift throne and sat. Lancelot turned, descended the steps and disappeared into the audience.

Pellenore, evidently in a great hurry, pushed his way past Merlin and Britomart and disappeared into the crowd as well. Merlin looked around for Mark, but there was no sign of him.

Several moments passed. Arthur bent down and whispered something to Ganelin, who looked around the hall, evidently worried. Morgan sat perfectly still, staring directly ahead. The crowd began to grow restless; they started to talk and move about. When the noise level began to be quite noticeable, Morgan frowned; this was not seemly behavior at a sacred rite. Where was Borolet? Merlin wondered why, with all her careful preparations, Morgan hadn’t made provision for the shrine to be brought more quickly, or better yet to have it brought before the ceremony began.

More time passed. More people ignored the royals on the dais and talked, drank, ate or whatever. Merlin and Brit made their way to the platform. Arthur bent down and told Ganelin, “Go and see what’s holding him up.”

Merlin was enjoying it all. He whispered to Britomart, “Maybe it will transport itself here miraculously.”

“Something’s wrong, Merlin. For once why don’t you keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Borolet’s delay was now quite pointed, quite unmistakable. No one could have failed to realize things were not going as planned. The assembled audience was getting more and more restless. Several people took extinguished torches and relit them from the ones that were still burning. A servant came and told Arthur the cakes were almost gone.

Then Ganelin rushed back into the hall and climbed to the dais. He was pale and agitated. He whispered something to Arthur, who turned pale as well. The king looked around the hall and called out, “Mark? Where is Mark of Cornwall? ”

There was no response. Arthur looked uncharacteristically grave. He gestured to Merlin and said, “Come with us.” The three men left the Great Hall quickly.

Camelot’s halls were nearly deserted; only servants came and went, each bowing deferentially as the king passed. In a matter of moments the little party reached the foot of the stairs to Arthur’s chambers.

The guard who had been stationed there lay on the floor. Merlin rushed to him and did a quick examination. “He’s unconscious, not dead.”

They climbed quickly. The guard at the top, outside the king’s rooms, had been knocked unconscious, too.

“In here,” said Ganelin, his voice shaking. He led them quickly through the outer chambers.

Blood covered the floor in the study. In the center of a large pool of it lay Borolet’s body. He had been hacked to pieces, evidently with a broadsword. The silver shrine was gone. The Stone of Bran was gone. And so was Excalibur.

They identified the body from the hair color and the shreds of clothing.