J. Blair - The Pendragon Murders

Simon of York was there, fussily overseeing last-minute preparations, dressed in his finest clothing as if he thought it might impress someone. He went from person to person and from group to group issuing orders, which they promptly ignored.

Bedivere and Britomart, neither of whom was leaving on the journey with Arthur, emerged from the castle and approached him. The king greeted them with robust heartiness. “Do you have it clear what I want you to do, Bed?”

“Yes, Arthur, but-”

“Do it, then, and don’t bicker. You are to follow us one day later. If we have any trouble, you will come along and fix it.”

“If it is still fixable. I hardly have to tell you how much can go wrong in a day. This idea of you making your progress with only forty armed men-”

“How many times do we have to go over this? We were up half the night, arguing about it. The country is in turmoil. If I travel with a sizeable force, it will give the appearance of tyranny or, worse, that I want to start the civil wars again. I will not try and explain to you still again how catastrophic that could be. If we-”

“Would you rather have them think the king who was victorious in those wars is a fool?” Bedivere was offhand.

Arthur worked to maintain patience. “Look, you know how tenuous our position is. Half the barons in England would start fighting again on the least pretext. More than half. Look at John’s father, Marmaduke of Paintonbury. He’d go back to war against us gleefully. We can’t afford-I can’t afford-to give him that pretext.”

“That does not make what you want to do sensible, Arthur,” Brit protested. “I beg you to reconsider this foolish plan. Or at least take more knights with you now. We have no idea what dangers may-”

“That is quite enough, both of you. I have decided on this, and that’s that. It is the royal will.”

“But strategically this is-”

“Enough, Brit! I have decided, and that’s that.”

She glared at him. “This is what comes of listening to Merlin on military matters instead of your military staff.”

“Merlin does not enter into it. You know I never consult him on things touching the army.”

“Be serious, Arthur. You can’t expect us to believe that.”

Arthur made a quick survey to see that the preparations were proceeding. Then, still talking, still bickering, the three of them went back inside the castle.

A large carriage had been readied for Merlin; he had made it clear to Arthur and to Simon that he had no intention of suffering a journey of this length on horseback. And there was also a second carriage, solely to carry the Stone of Bran in its silver shrine, along with two guards.

Robert met Merlin beside the carriages. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Robert.”

“This is all rather exciting, isn’t it?”

“That is not the adjective I would use.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Nonsensical would be the correct word.”

“I don’t follow you, sir.”

“Never mind. You have packed all my things, as I instructed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“My medical kit?”

The boy nodded. “It is all in the carriage. I was up before dawn getting it all ready.” He grinned, pleased with himself. “Are we-is there really any chance we’ll encounter the plague, sir?”

A squire pushed past them, nearly knocking Merlin off balance. He glared at the young man. “I certainly hope so. If there is any justice in England.”

“You shouldn’t joke about a thing like that.”

“What makes you think I am joking?”

Nimue joined them. Merlin went over last-minute instructions with her. “I shall want daily reports on the disease’s progress. Send the most reliable riders you can find. Someone’s been interfering with communications between Camelot and Darrowfield. We can’t let that happen to us. Write more often than daily, if you think it warranted.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

“And you must keep in careful contact with the mayors of all the important cities. Tell them what you must, to avoid panic. Invent, if need be.”

“We’ve been over all this, Merlin. Three times.”

“This is not a situation we can take chances with,” he grumped. “Have you met Robert?”

She smiled at the valet. “Yes, of course. At Darrowfield.”

“Of course. I had forgotten. As I told you last evening, Robert is to be my new valet. Oh-and do not let Petronus fall behind in his lessons. You know how lazy he can be.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

“I wish the king did not want me on this foolish trip.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do I detect a note of patient condescension?”

“Yes, Merlin.” She turned to Robert. “How long do you think it will take you to get used to this?”

“Believe me, compared to my mother, Merlin is the soul of calm reason.” He smiled, first at Nimue, then at Merlin.

Simon came past again, consulting a sheaf of papers in his hand and barking orders at everyone, quite ineffectually. Merlin could not resist goading him. “And do you have any instructions for the plague dead, Simon?”

Simon glared at him and kept moving.

“Don’t go.” Merlin didn’t want to give up his little game so easily. Simon turned and faced him again, not trying to disguise how unhappy he was.

“What do you want, Merlin?”

“Do you know what the king was talking to Brit and Bed about? It seemed like a tense little conference.”

Simon shrugged. “They are worried about the king’s safety.”

“And well they should be. This plan of his-”

“He has gone back inside. He said he wanted to fetch that supercilious jester of his. No one has seen the boy all morning.” He looked around impatiently. “Arthur should be out here, helping to impose some order on all this. But you know how he likes to make a dramatic entrance.”

“Honestly, Simon. You act as if he has never traveled before. How much order is needed? How many of these journeys has he made?”

Simon shrugged. “The king loves his country.” He glanced up at the sky. “He should be joining us shortly. Along with that rude young man of his.”

“John.”

“Precisely. Oh dear, some of the knights are squabbling.” He rushed off to try to calm them.

A group of musicians emerged from the castle, playing a fanfare. Merlin turned in their direction, expecting to see Arthur. But instead, Morgan le Fay swept out into the courtyard, her black robes swirling magnificently. A few paces behind her was her son Mordred, looking even paler and more sickly than usual in the morning light.

Simon crossed to her, rather anxiously it appeared. They exchanged a few words; before long, neither of them looked happy. Merlin decided it would be wise to get between them.

Approaching them with a smile, he asked, “Is there some problem? Good morning, Morgan, Mordred.”

“There is a problem indeed. This fool”-she indicated Simon-“refuses to obey my instructions.”

Simon stiffened. “I am the majordomo of Camelot. I answer to no one but the king.”

“Now, now, Simon.” Merlin was all conciliatory unction. He turned to Morgan and asked her what she required.

“A carriage. I have no intention of letting this expedition proceed without me.”

“I see.” Merlin made a show of rubbing his chin pensively. “I was not aware you were planning to come along. Did Arthur not order you to remain here?”

“Of course I will come. If only to make certain that fool Gildas remembers his place.”

“I see.” Scanning the crowd, he asked Simon, “Where is Gildas, anyway? The good bishop does not seem to be in evidence.”

Simon shrugged. “The king only mentioned two carriages, one for the Stone and its shrine, one for yourself and your new valet.” He wrinkled his nose at Robert.