J. Blair - The Pendragon Murders

Merlin ordered him removed to Marmaduke’s house. “All this cold dampness cannot be good for him. Carry him gently.”

The servants he gave these orders to balked at them. “He has the plague!” one of them cried out. “We’ll catch it and die.”

“Nonsense. You must be careful not to touch him, that is all. The contagion may be spread through bodily contact.”

“And it may not be,” said another of them. “Plagues are divine visitations.”

“Divine or not, if Accolon was spreading disease, we would all be ill by now. Take him, and be careful.”

The servants were plainly unhappy. They sulked and appealed to other leaders, ultimately even to the king himself. And at every stage they were told to do as Merlin ordered. Finally, glumly, and facing the threat of a whipping for disobedience, they wrapped Accolon in sheets of coarse fabric and carried him off to the little wooden building Marmaduke had called his palace.

Merlin had not eaten since the battle and his capture. Once he had seen to all the wounded, he made his way to Bedivere’s command station. Three cook-fires were blazing. Knights, squires, servants huddled round them. Arthur was there.

“Merlin.” Arthur was having a goblet of wine. “Is everything ready? All the men treated who need it?”

Merlin nodded. “I smell meat. I have had nothing since we were captured. I am hungry enough to eat Lulua.”

“I thought you said you want meat. Lulua is pure fat.”

Bedivere offered him a plate loaded with meat and fruit. “Here. Eat your fill-there’s plenty more. One thing Marmaduke did was to keep plenty of good food on hand. This roast beef is the best I’ve had in ages.”

Merlin gaped at the plate. “So much. Not even I could finish it all.”

“A minute ago you were famished.” Arthur laughed. “Eat up. Our host is gone, but we can still enjoy his hospitality. I had forgotten how pleasant warfare can be.”

“Not to mention gluttony. Go easy on that wine, Arthur.”

“Nonsense. We have a victory to celebrate. You should have some yourself.”

Merlin ate pensively. “I need sleep. I got none in that bloody cage. When I’m finished eating, I mean to take a good nap. Have someone wake me in an hour. I want to keep an eye on Accolon.”

Arthur took a long swallow of wine. “How bad is he?” “I do not know yet. If he has the plague-”

“He has. What else could it be?”

“If he has the plague,” Merlin repeated with emphasis, “he should be watched carefully. This will be my first opportunity to study the disease’s progress.”

“He will die. Another one.”

Merlin looked into his eyes. There was no need for him to speak. They both knew what the king was thinking, and there was nothing he could say.

Bedivere asked Merlin if he wanted more venison.

“No. No, thank you, Bed. Just find me a nice, warm blanket so I can curl up somewhere and get some rest.”

“We’re building fresh fires. All of Marmaduke’s have burned too low to be of any use.”

“Good. We will need them.” He looked up at the deepening cloud cover. “At least this cold will staunch the plague.” He added, “If plague this is.”

Merlin napped, and an hour later he woke to Bedivere shaking him. The air had grown still colder; a stiff breeze blew from the north. Merlin had wrapped himself in a blanket, but he had kicked it off in his sleep. He was shivering with the cold.

“What on earth-?”

“You wanted to be wakened, remember?”

“Since when do you care what I want?”

“Don’t be disagreeable, Merlin. You have to check on Accolon. Have a cup of wine and go see to him.”

Slowly, stiffly, Merlin got to his feet. “Oh, this bloody arthritis. If there are any gods, they must hate humanity or they would never have devised winter.”

“You complain like a soldier.”

“Do not be rude, Bedivere.”

He spent a few minutes warming himself by the largest of the cook-fires with a cup of spiced wine. Then, accompanied by a servant and leaning heavily on his cane, he headed off to the “palace.”

As Bedivere had predicted, the muddy ground was freezing. The morning’s battle had left it rough, uneven. Merlin found the footing difficult. The roads in the heart of Paintonbury were not quite frozen yet; the mud was thick and viscous. He found it even more unpleasant. Most of the residents had fled. Only the elderly and a few children were left. Small as it was, the village had the saddest appearance.

Two torches blazed brilliantly at either side of the entrance to the “palace.” One was too close to the wall; the wood was charring. As Merlin approached, an elderly man came out of the building and bowed to him. “Ralph of Paintonbury, at your service, sir.”

Merlin pointed to the charring wood. “You had better do something about that. This place will go up in smoke.”

“Would that matter, sir?”

“Possibly to the people inside.” He introduced himself. “You were in service to Marmaduke?”

“Yes, sir. I am his majordomo.”

Merlin laughed. “A majordomo, here. This is not much of a domo to be major of, is it?”

“When I was a young man, I was a warrior, in service to Marmaduke’s father.”

Merlin ignored this. “I sent a sick man to be tended here. Where is he? Take me to him.”

Ralph made a slight bow. “This way, sir. One of your men is with him, sir.”

“Peter, yes. But what is that awful smell?”

Just at that moment, Peter appeared in the doorway. “Merlin. I was just coming to look for you. I need fresh air. I’m not certain keeping Accolon here is a good idea.”

Merlin waved Ralph away and began to walk past Peter into the building. “Why not? We have to keep him warm and dry if he is to-”

“The poor man has to breathe. Can you not smell the awful odor?”

Merlin stopped in his tracks. “Good heavens. What an awful stench. It smells like-”

“I’m afraid that is exactly what it is. Rotting garbage mixed with-well. Let’s just say that Marmaduke was an even worse pig than we thought. Are you certain you want to come in?”

“I have to check on Accolon, stench or no stench.”

The interior of the palace, such as it was, was lit by torches. They were set too far apart to do much good against the gloom. But more than the darkness, Merlin was struck by an increasingly strong, increasingly unpleasant odor.

“It’s over there,” Peter indicated. “There is an entire room full of it. Apparently the concept of sanitation had not penetrated with Marmaduke. There are open pits dug in the floor where they-well, you understand.”

“A full room? You are joking.”

“I’m afraid not, Merlin. Would you care to see it? Aside from the foul stuff itself, there are worms, centipedes, rats… I’ve seen to it that Accolon is as far away from it as possible.”

“Very wise.” He sighed. “At least Marmaduke confined it to only one room. Which way?” He held up his fingers and pinched his nose. “You are right. Marmaduke is a pig in more ways than we realized.”

Peter led him along a hall to the rear of the palace. Torches flickered; room after room opened up as they passed along the corridor. The awful odor abated somewhat, but it was always there.

In a room with no windows, lit by three torches, lay Accolon. Merlin did a quick examination. “He seems no worse than before. But we must move him. Find a room with windows, take him there and let him get fresh air.”

“Windows? As far as I’ve found, there are none. The entire building is as close as this room.”

Again Merlin heaved a sigh. “Let us get him out of here. Breathing air this foul cannot be good for him. Find servants to carry him.”