J. Blair - The Pendragon Murders

“I hear you’re leaving.” Mordred encountered Nimue at the entrance to the dining hall, just before breakfast.

“I’m afraid we have to. We’re expected at Dover.” She told the convenient lie easily. “The king sent us as his representatives to their festival.”

“I envy you. We’ll be here till the equinox, so Mother can preside at the rituals at Stonehenge.”

“I imagine I’ll see you there, then. Our companion Petronus wants to see the monument. I can’t imagine why.” She wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated way. “He’s French.”

“Listening to our host and hostess fight all the time will be so unpleasant. And there are no signs of them being reconciled-or wanting to.”

“Why don’t you come with us?”

“Mother wouldn’t approve. She can be so demanding. And she’s angry at Darrowfield. He’s flirting with Christianity, like half the nobles in England. She means to dissuade him. I want to try and maintain the peace, to the extent I can.”

“And from what I hear, your mother can be so very vindictive when her demands are ignored. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I pity Darrowfield if he defies her. But at least you’ll survive, Mordred. You’re young.”

“So are you. So is Petro-Pet-What is his name again?”

“Petronus.”

“Well, we should go in and have breakfast.” He smiled a sardonic smile. “The condemned man ate a hearty meal.”

“Cheer up. Arthur sent his pastry chef. You’ll have the most wonderful cakes while you’re here.”

“If Mother doesn’t poison them.”

Breakfast was made into an ordeal by the Darrowfields’ stony disagreements. When Merlin began saying his farewells, they both reacted unhappily. Then, when each of them realized the other wanted him to stay, they both made a show of bidding their guests good-bye.

Through it all, Morgan sat without saying much; Uther slept at the table; and Mordred sulked. Peter of Darrowfield came to table late and kept yawning. When everyone was finished with breakfast, Merlin, his aides and their soldier-escorts went directly to the stables, saddled their horses and made ready to leave.

At the last moment Lord Darrowfield approached Merlin. “I have changed my mind. I should like you to stay.”

Merlin forced himself to smile. “May I ask why you have had such a dramatic change of heart?”

“Someone has been following me. Like a shadow. I can never see who it is-these damned winding corridors make it impossible. But someone is always there. You are famous for exposing villains. I-”

“I am certain it is nothing to be concerned about. Your castle is so easy to become lost in. It could be anyone, for any reason. Just because someone is behind you does not mean you are being threatened. Besides, your new sheriff seems a capable man. I expect he can give you any protection you might need.”

“But-”

“We must be off to Dover. The king’s business, you know.”

Plainly unhappy, Darrowfield bid them good-bye once again.

When they finally departed, just after the morning meal, their going seemed to come as a relief to everyone involved, except Lord Darrowfield himself. As he watched them go, a look of increasing concern crossed his features.

On the road, Merlin was lost in thought. When Nimue asked what was bothering him, he told her, “There is a line in the Christian holy book which I cannot get out of my mind. ‘A man’s enemies are the men of his own house.’ ”

“You mean Lord Darrowfield, don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Ruefully he added, “But Darrowfield seems to have enemies enough for three houses. It has all left me so uneasy.”

The weather was good for traveling, though clouds loomed in the west. Petronus commented, hoping they would make it to Dover before any storms might strike.

“This is England, Petronus,” Merlin lectured softly. “There are always storms coming. If they do not strike now, they will hit us in Dover.”

On the road from Darrowfield, heading for the main highway, they passed Stonehenge once again; they saw it in the distance to their left. It was still early morning; the monoliths cast long, strange shadows across the fields. Petronus asked if they might make at least a brief stop to inspect the monument.

“On our way home, Petronus.” Merlin wanted no part of the suggestion. He hardly needed to explain that the place’s association with religion, or superstition as he called it, was the reason why. “The celebration of the autumn equinox will be occurring. Even with Morgan there, doing her high priestess act and wielding her battery of poisons, it should be an entertaining festival.”

“She seems so different from the king. How can they be brother and sister?”

Merlin lowered his voice. “They did not have the same mother. That accounts for so much in our so-called nobles. Have you not been paying attention these last few days?”

“I thought you like Arthur.”

“So I do. He is one of my very few true friends.”

For the first time Nimue spoke up. “If that is true of the nobles, how much more so must it be true of the common people? We are a mongrel nation, Merlin. Can such a race really engender the shining society-the peace and truth and justice-you envision?”

“Englishmen are human beings, Nimue, no more or less. You know I am not a religious man, but every religion I know of teaches that human nature is corrupt. It is precisely that corruptness that we must overcome. They also preach that we can attain the sublime.”

He spurred his horse ahead, as if the conversation or perhaps the sight of the ancient stones in the distance unsettled him. The others spurred their mounts to keep up with him.

Dover was bustling with people when their party arrived, in late afternoon. The autumn fair was already getting under way. They reined their horses at the top of a hill, where the road began to wind down to the town, the harbor, the beach and the famous chalk cliffs. The harbor was crowded with ships from all parts of the Mediterranean, even as far away as Egypt and Palestine; a surprising number of them had painted sails.

From his pack Merlin produced a set of his “viewing lenses” and they all took turns inspecting the scene that spread before them. Petronus tried to count off as many national flags as he could recognize on the ships’ masts, and he counted more than thirty. There were still others unknown to him.

“The Hebrew holy books tell of an attempt to build a tower to the sun.” Merlin slipped into his best schoolteacher mode. “But the effort was undone and thrown into chaos by the huge confusion of languages. Dover must be like that now.”

“Trust you to find some dark old myth for every situation.” Nimue was in no mood for his cynicism. She held the lenses to her eye again. “Look at it all. I find it very exciting. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many people gathered in one place.”

From their position at the top of the hill, she scanned Dover and beamed at it all. “We are making progress, Merlin. The rest of the world is beginning to recognize England as a valuable venue for trade. Perhaps even a vital one.” She was careful to add, “You and Arthur have a great deal to be proud of.”

Merlin’s mood changed quickly as they descended the road to Dover. Slowly a smile crept across his face. All the people and activity were affecting him despite himself. Nimue enjoyed his mood; it was rare for him to relax and enjoy himself.

“And a lot of the ships down there look prosperous,” she added. “Look at how low they are riding in the water. They are heavy with goods. The Mediterranean economy must be strong.”

Merlin smiled a satisfied smile. “We should all be proud, Nimue. Someday-soon, I hope-this country will be of international importance. I would like to think my life will last at least long enough to see that. We have spent far too long in the shadow of the European powers. The only time the historians ever even mention us is to note that the Romans invaded us.”