J. Blair: The Pendragon Murders

“Not at all.” He made himself smile. “I was chatting with our host, that is all.”

“Poor Darrowfield. He is not the first lord to have his wife resent his infidelities.”

“And he certainly will not be the last. Extramarital copulation is what barons do. I have spoken to Arthur several times about regularizing and regulating the institution of marriage, at least for the nobility. But you know Arthur.”

“Yes, believe me, I know him.” She didn’t try to hide her disdain.

“Of course. You know as well as anyone his attitude toward casual liaisons.”

The dart hit home; Morgan stiffened. “That subject is not open to discussion. I am here to talk about Darrowfield.”

Merlin had begun to feel absurd, standing while Morgan sat and acted grand. He found a stool and made himself comfortable. “Darrowfield? There would not seem to be much to say. It is odd, but someone seemed to be following us just now, out in the corridor from the dining hall.”

“Perhaps someone could not sleep and wished to be bored into slumber.”

Merlin chuckled. “The noblemen of England are all wise and magnificent.”

“Of course. About Darrowfield’s religious affiliation.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You speak in riddles, Morgan. I know you are a priestess, and cryptic flummery is your job, but really-”

“It is rumored that he may convert to Christianity. That must not be permitted. We have lost several barons to this upstart faith already.”

“And how would you propose I stop it?”

“England has thrived for thousands of years on the worship of the traditional gods. The true gods. We must stop this erosion now.”

“I am afraid I cannot help you, Morgan. Even Arthur himself is-”

“I am quite aware of it. He has been meeting with that fool Bishop Gildas. It must be stopped.”

“I am Arthur’s advisor, not his nanny.”

“Do you find there is much difference?”

Merlin sighed deeply. “I am so weary of superstition in all its forms. As if it mattered which gods a man sends perfumed smoke to.”

“It does. It matters enormously.”

“If the barons stop giving you tribute and begin donating it to Gildas…” He grinned at her, and she glared. “Christianity has stabilized half of Europe, Morgan. The tatters of the Roman Empire are beginning to coalesce in a coherent way. Such a vast historical process can hardly be stopped-not even if it were desirable. Progress, or at any rate movement, cannot be stopped. I doubt it can even be slowed by much.”

She was stiff. “You will not assist me, then, in preserving sacred England?”

“I am afraid I am powerless.”

“If you can persuade Arthur-”

“Morgan, this is out of my hands. I doubt I could even get Darrowfield to listen to me, much less Arthur.”

She got to her feet and struck an imperious pose. “Very well, then. Saving England falls to me. As it has fallen to many a high priestess in the past. Good night, Merlin.”

“We are fortunate to have had you. All of you.” He smiled what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.

Then he stood and escorted her to the door. Darrowfield Castle had proved a much more interesting place than he had expected, and a much more turbulent one.

Late that night Lady Darrowfield came to Merlin’s rooms. She had evidently been crying, and she was still trying to regain her composure. In her hand she clutched a kerchief.

“Lady Darrowfield.” He yawned and frowned at her; the last thing he wanted was to become entangled in his host’s domestic affairs. But she seemed not to notice. “What brings you to my chambers at this awful hour?”

“I wanted-I wanted to apologize for my unseemly behavior at dinner. I am so ashamed. I had liked to think I outgrew that sort of tantrum when I was still a girl.”

“Everyone suffers weak moments, milady.”

“It is not simply a matter of weakness. You have no idea what it’s like, living with someone who says he loves only you, but in fact distributes his love freely, far and wide. Belief- trust becomes impossible.”

“I can only imagine.” He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to sound as sad and concerned as he could. “But it is not uncommon.”

“I mean, I know that copulating with women far and wide is what lords do. All of them, or nearly so. What is the polite term they use? ‘Baronial privilege,’ I believe.” She glanced at him with some mixture of hope and fear in her eyes. “But Merlin, he has been threatening to disinherit my sons and bring some of his bastards to live here as his heirs.” She looked away from him, clearly abashed. “Might you-is there any chance you might ask King Arthur to intervene?”

“Arthur?”

“Yes. Surely it must be of interest to the crown to see that England’s noble bloodlines are kept as pure as can be.”

He wanted to ask her Why? What makes you think they are pure at all? Instead he said softly, “I will mention the matter to him.”

“Do I have your promise?”

“You do.” The situation was making him increasingly uncomfortable. He yawned an exaggerated yawn, hoping she would take the hint and leave.

But she seemed unable to move. “I may consider you a friend, then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“My boys are good boys. I mean, they are boys, they get into mischief. But they deserve their birthright.”

“Of course they do.”

“Will you call me Miriam, please? ‘Lady Darrowfield’-that is hardly the way friends address one another.”

“Of course. Miriam.” He wanted her gone. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in the domestic troubles of a minor lord. Not able to think of anything else, he yawned again.

This time she took the hint. Impulsively she threw her arms around him, squeezed him tightly, then kissed him hard on the cheek. “Good night, Merlin.”

“Sleep well, Miriam.” But please go, he thought.

“I will, knowing that you will have Arthur bring my errant husband into line.”

She walked off down the corridor quickly, made a wrong turn, stopped and waved to Merlin, then hastened down the correct hallway. Merlin sighed heavily, glad she was gone, and went into his room and crawled into bed. He realized he had forgotten to extinguish the candles and decided not to. Let them burn themselves out.

In the morning he told Nimue about the nocturnal visit of Miriam Darrowfield. Petronus was still at his morning bath, which was just as well; a boy that young would be unlikely to grasp the implications of the situation or have anything useful to contribute.

Nimue was unsurprised at his account. “You’re right, Merlin. All the barons do it. And every woman in England knows it. Our ‘lords and masters’ expect us to let them have their way with us, then leave. Pity the woman who makes any fuss. And the woman unfortunate enough to conceive a child is left quite on her own. It is understood she is not ever to name the father.”

Merlin listened and furrowed his brow. “And so she has had a night of pleasure, same as the man, and it has ended. What has changed for her?”

“You assume that the men trouble to give the women full pleasure.”

“Full or partial-does it matter?”

“Perhaps to the woman. And if she is left with child? No man would marry a woman in such a plight, or at least very few would. Have you never suspected that your and Arthur’s ‘new’ England must look quite different to a woman than it does to a knight, say, or a lord?”

“Nature has decreed that-”

“That men take vows and then shatter them? That men use women the way they use their horses or their hunting dogs?” Her tone was growing heated.

Merlin tried to calm her down. “You must not take this so personally. I told you, Darrowfield is renowned for his dullness. It is hardly fair to judge all men by that uninspiring standard.”