J. Blair - The Pendragon Murders

Merlin pressed. “How was she involved? What were her instructions to you? Were they given through Lulua? Did she give similar orders to other barons?”

Suddenly Marmaduke let out a roar. He lunged and in an instant his hands were around Merlin’s throat. “I’ll finish it now, Wizard.”

Nimue let out a scream, jumped onto Marmaduke and began trying to pry his fingers loose. But he was much too strong for her. Merlin was gasping for breath. His face turned red.

The guard, hearing her scream, came running. He instantly realized what was happening and joined Nimue’s efforts to pull Marmaduke off his victim. The color in Merlin’s face went from red to purple.

More guards from other parts of the dungeon heard the commotion and came running. In a trice three of them were on Marmaduke. With great difficulty they pulled him off Merlin, forced him back into his cell and slammed and locked the door.

Merlin stood, gasping for breath, one arm on the wall for balance. Slowly his natural coloration returned.

Just then Simon of York entered the dungeon. “Merlin! What on earth happened?”

Nimue explained. Simon took a moment to digest it all. “Are you all right now? Is everything under control?”

Still gasping for breath, Merlin said, “Asked like a true bureaucrat.”

Nimue broke into a grin. “I think he will be all right. He’s well enough for his usual sarcasm.” Suddenly the unexpected oddness of Simon’s presence struck her. “What are you doing down here?”

“I heard someone was strangling Merlin and came to watch the fun.”

Merlin had recovered sufficiently to say, “Nonsense. What do you want here, Simon?”

Simon couldn’t stop smiling. “You are wanted above. In the king’s tower.”

“What is wrong?”

He paused for dramatic effect, then said, “The king is dead.”

The shock of hearing this brought Merlin to himself once and for all. “Arthur, dead? Then why have you been standing here, grinning like an ass?”

Simon grinned even more widely. “Not Arthur. The old king.”

“Pellenore?”

“No, I’m afraid we’re not that fortunate. The king who has died is Uther Pendragon.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Simon smiled. “Oh.”

Merlin turned to Nimue. “Get to Darrowfield. Leave as soon as you can. Examine the lady’s garden. If she is growing belladonna, try and bring me a sample. Leaves, berries and roots. There are different strains of the plant and they produce different effects.”

Nimue repeated her instructions to be sure she understood them.

“I will arrange with Brit for a military escort for you. I think a dozen soldiers should be enough.”

“I can travel faster and less obtrusively alone, Merlin.”

“Did I say that I want you to be unobtrusive?”

“But-”

“Take soldiers. Make a show of yourself.”

“But-Merlin, what are you thinking?”

“I am more and more certain that the solution to this-to all of this-lies there.”

“In Lady Darrowfield’s herb garden?”

“Possibly. Possibly not. At any rate, I do not wish to see a repeat of the mistake Arthur made on the journey to Grosfalcon. There are traitors loose in England-or at least one. I will have you take no needless chances with your safety.” A sudden draft swept through the dungeon. Merlin shuddered. “And make certain to take plenty of blankets and heavy cloaks. I wish I had thought to send you along with Peter.” With emphasis he added, “Bring back that plant.”

“I’ll be fine, Merlin.” Impulsively she hugged him, then turned and left.

Simon was puzzled by the exchange. “What was that about?”

“I am collecting specimens for my botany collection. Let us go and comfort the king on his father’s death.”

“Congratulate him, you mean.”

“Either way, Simon, let us go.”

Arthur was pacing. When Merlin entered the study he stopped and glared at him. Before Merlin could speak, Arthur barked, “Well, what do I do about this?”

Merlin stayed calm despite the king’s obvious agitation. “There is not a great deal that can be done about death.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. I need counsel. Counsel me.”

Merlin arranged his robes and sat. “I am not at all certain I see the problem. Obviously you must attend the funeral. Uther had a great many friends and allies. It would hardly do to offend them. Will he be buried in Cumbria?”

Arthur nodded. “There is a little graveyard near his castle. I always found it appropriate.” He looked Merlin in the eye. “I loathed the old viper. He loathed me. You know that.”

“Still, Arthur, there are certain proprieties to be observed. If you were to let him go to his rest with no family present…” He sniffled. “I had a handkerchief, but I seem to have forgotten it. Send one of the servants for one, will you?”

Arthur ignored this. “Morgan will be there. The two of them were always close. Would you get into bed with a viper just because she happened to share your blood?”

Merlin paused. “Perhaps you should take Mordred with you. Not as a hostage, of course. Nothing official. But the mere show of having him with you may deter her from… from whatever villainy she may be planning. I would suggest taking as large a party as possible. Surround yourself with a great many people. As the Romans used to say, there is safety in numbers.” He lowered his voice a bit. “Do not let her get near you.”

“Pellenore and Uther were friends. He will want to go.” Arthur turned pensive. “And a few of my knights, the older ones, were originally part of his army. And…”

“Do not make the mistake you made on that journey to Wales. Take plenty of people. Knights.” Suddenly, violently, Merlin sneezed.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t coming down with the ague that’s been having its way with our people, are you?”

“No, Arthur. It was nothing more than a sneeze.”

He looked doubtful. “At any rate, the journey to Cumbria will be a lot less eventful. It is a much more civilized part of the country.”

“Yet it comes fully equipped with ‘old vipers.’ ”

The king sighed. “Point taken. I’ll get Simon and Bed to work preparing the party right away. You are coming, of course.”

“Me?! No! I mean, I’ve only just-I-I-Arthur, I need a spell of rest.”

“You can rest in the carriage. The roads are good. The ride will be smooth.” Suddenly something occurred to him. He snapped his fingers. “Old Fedora!”

“I beg your pardon, Arthur?”

“Fedora, the midwife. She was at Uther’s court before she came here. She always says she feels a certain loyalty to me.” He turned shamefaced. “She delivered me, you know.”

“I had always assumed as much. So she oversaw your mother Igraine’s confinement. At Uther’s court.”

Arthur nodded. “Ancient history.”

Again Merlin sniffled. “And was your mother still married to Gorlois, or had she and Uther made their union official by that time?”

“I don’t wish to dig up the past.” Arthur glared. “And so help me, if you say, ‘Like father, like son,’ I’ll toss you down the steps.”

“I do not speak in clichés.” He sighed. “But please, Arthur, do not make me go along on this trip.”

Arthur waited for him to go on.

“The journey to Grosfalcon was hard on me. You know that. And now this spell of frigid weather. Every joint in my body is aching like the devil.”

“But-”

“Another long trip would do me no good at all. Please, Arthur. It is only a funeral. You can hardly need me.”

Arthur scowled. “Very well, I suppose you’re right. There is nothing you can do.” He broke into a grin. “Unless you can work a spell to bring the old reprobate back to life.”