J. Blair - The Pendragon Murders

“Merlin!” Arthur tried to make his tone stern, but he couldn’t resist chuckling. “You must be polite to this woman. Even if she does want us dead.”

Merlin chuckled. “You be polite to her, then, Arthur. I do not have enough politeness in me for such copious amounts of flesh.”

Marmaduke ignored this. He told Lulua, “They have brought plague with them. My son Bruce has died of it.”

Slowly, as if thinking was an effort, she responded, “Plague. The Great Queen has sent us word of it in the south. This is the first I’ve heard of it reaching this far into the heartland.”

“Would you care to examine the body?”

She shuddered. Sympathetic vibrations set in, and her entire anatomy became animated. “That is a job for an undertaker, not a priestess. The body must be burned.”

“Yes, Lulua. My men are making the pyre even now. We’re planning to burn him at dawn.”

She narrowed her eyes. She was thinking again, and the struggle showed. Finally she said, “Burn these two on the pyre as well. England will be well off without them.”

“That was our plan.”

“If they carry the plague…” She shrugged. Again thought came with difficulty. “If they carry the plague, they will have to be burned anyway, eventually. The sooner, the better.”

“Yes, Lulua. What about their men? And their servants? There are more than fifty of them.”

She frowned. Once again, thinking seemed to come with difficulty for her. Finally she pronounced, “They must all be killed. See that they are guarded most carefully. If one plague-infected man should escape…”

“Yes, Lulua.”

Arthur had listened to this exchange with mounting alarm. “Obviously, you don’t know who you’re dealing with here.”

Marmaduke laughed. “With two fools in cages. You will be surprised at how quickly the wood burns, and with what heat.”

Arthur was not about to be intimidated, not to let it show. “Do you forget who my companion and advisor is? He is not just any petty courtier. He is Merlin, the greatest sorcerer in Europe.”

“Arthur! I am no-” Merlin began to protest.

But Arthur cut him off. “This is no time for false modesty, Merlin. Be quiet.” He turned back to Marmaduke and Lulua. “You know the stories. You know his reputation. This man, who has permitted himself and me to be made your prisoners, is the man who made the stones march down from Ireland and form themselves into the monument at Stonehenge. The man who brought life back to my dead squire, to unmask the boy’s killer. You are dealing with a greater power than you know.”

Marmaduke seemed taken aback by this. But Lulua only smiled. “Let him make his cage dissolve, then.”

Arthur kept up his bluff. “He will. And your copious flesh along with it.”

“Bid him do it soon, then. Before dawn, if he’s to do it at all.” She laughed. Her body vibrated. “Whatever power he possesses cannot be a match for the power of the Good Goddess.”

She turned and walked off. Marmaduke followed in glum, confused silence. As they were leaving, Merlin heard her say, “I want you to prepare a nice, big breakfast for me. Beef. Eggs.”

Arthur whispered to Merlin, “There cannot be enough hens in Paintonbury.”

Merlin chuckled. “Have you ever seen anyone fatter? But Arthur, did you have to bring up my supposed magical powers? That was foolish.”

“If we can’t prey on their superstition, we are lost, Merlin. What other weapons do we have?”

“It ill becomes me to tell a king ‘I told you so,’ Arthur, but you were warned about the dangers of traveling this way. By Bedivere, by Britomart, by nearly everyone. What would you suggest we do now?”

“Don’t nag, Merlin. You have fooled people with a show of sorcery before. You must do it again.”

“Would you care to suggest how, precisely? When I have done it in the past, it has involved what my old friend, the actor Samuel Gall, calls showmanship. Props. Lighting. Elaborate preparation. There is not much I can do in this cage.”

“You must do what you can.”

“I am not a real magician, Arthur. I cannot make something out of nothing.”

Arthur looked away from him. “If only Bedivere would get here with the army. He could dispatch these bumpkins with no trouble at all.”

Merlin fell silent for a moment. Then he said softly, “Arthur, we may die when the sun rises. I am ready for it. At my age, how could I not be?” He hesitated, then asked, “Are you?”

“Don’t be absurd, Merlin. Bedivere will come.” Arthur’s tone made it clear this was not something he wanted to think about.

“I merely ask the question.”

“You always ask the inconvenient ones. That’s what makes you such a valuable advisor, damn you. But look at me. I have Morgan le Fay for a sister. I have been married to Guenevere for more than a decade. I fought ten years of civil wars, with half the barons in England after my blood. After all that, how could I not be ready for death? I’ve lived with it all my life. Now try and get some sleep, will you? I have to think what we’re going to do to get out of this.”

Merlin leaned back and let his head rest against the bars. “I was not involved much in the wars. Not on the military side, at any rate. You know that. But I do know that you emerged from that horrible period with a reputation as a brilliant military strategist. What has happened? How could you let us end this way?”

“We will not end. Bedivere will get here in time.”

“Of course.”

“Go to sleep, Merlin.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “The fog is thickening. Even if Bedivere is en route, what makes you think he will be able to find us in this?”

“Be quiet.”

They both fell silent. Soon enough, despite everything, they were asleep again. Exhaustion had taken its toll on them.

Morning light woke Merlin-what there was of it. While he and Arthur were sleeping fitfully, uncomfortably in their cages, the fog had built even more thickly than before. It was almost perfectly opaque. Torchlight reflected back from it, as it would from a blank wall. Dawn only brought a kind of half-light; it might almost not have been daybreak. At least the rain had stopped. Fires burned brightly throughout Paintonbury.

Merlin opened his eyes slowly. The damp air, and the fact that he had had to sleep standing upright in his cage, had made his entire body ache. When he realized that, despite the absence of light, it was morning, he whispered softly to himself, “Damn this arthritis. Damn my old age.”

Arthur roused himself. Slowly, groggily, he asked, “What? Did you say something?”

“Nothing that matters. I have been thinking.”

“In your sleep?”

“Our unconscious minds often tell us things that do not occur to our conscious minds.”

Arthur started to yawn, but the cage was too small to permit him to stretch. His body shuddered. “What insight has the god of dreams brought you?”

“My mind,” Merlin said pointedly, “has examined our situation. It occurs to me that if we can sow the seeds of mistrust between Marmaduke and Lulua, set them to doubting one another, it may give us more time to wait for Bedivere.” He smiled a mordant smile. “Assuming that he and his men haven’t perished in a swamp somewhere.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“We read of an entire Persian army that was swallowed by the Sahara Desert. They were-”

“Spare me the pedantry, Merlin. I happily cede the lamp of learning to you. Just tell me what you’ve come up with.”

“Our plump friends think they are on the same side. We must get them to realize they are not.”

It took Arthur an instant to digest this. “I see what you’re suggesting. And how would you propose we do that?”