As Merlin expected, the storm got bad. Waves of ice fell, coating everything. Soon all of Camelot was encased in it. When he looked out his window, Merlin could see it glistening; it was almost blinding in the early light. Then came snow, more and more of it. At times it fell so quickly it was not possible to see more than a few feet ahead. Within two days there was nearly a foot of it. The world was soft, white and horribly cold.
It was sufficiently early in the season that the servants had only just begun to prepare the castle for winter. They went to work energetically, hanging tapestries, distributing extra firewood and blankets, plugging up the sources of the worst drafts.
Because of the ice and the frozen ground it was not possible to bury Borolet. Merlin saw that his remains were placed in the deepest, coldest storeroom in the castle basement, not far from some unoccupied dungeons. With luck they would keep there till the ground thawed.
By evening of the third day Arthur and Merlin began to realize that food was running low. Winter supplies had not yet been laid in. Arthur ordered rationing, which of course made the castle’s occupants even edgier than they’d been.
Just before dusk that day Guenevere tried to leave again.
Merlin warned her she wouldn’t get far, but she was determined.
“Arthur won’t permit it, Guenevere. The gates are locked.”
“My men will deal with the guards.”
“There is no point.”
“I am the queen. That gives it point.”
Her people met in the stables, saddled the horses and loaded the pack animals with what provisions they could collect.
But the party was not halfway across the courtyard when the horses began to lose their footing and panicked. One of them slipped, fell and broke its leg. It whinnied horribly with the pain, trying to get up; but the more it struggled, the greater its agony. Finally, Lancelot got a large knife, stood over it and cut its throat. The animal’s blood steamed in the cold air and turned the snow on the ground bright red. It kicked fiercely, but its energy soon drained away and it was still.
Merlin watched it all from his window. And it seemed to him that Lancelot had taken unnatural relish in what he’d done. The knights were all trained to kill, and they all seemed to enjoy it, or rather the prospect of it. Lancelot seemed born to it.
A while later Arthur asked Merlin to join him as he visited the queen in her chambers. She had had a suite of three rooms assigned to her. Blankets were spread on the floor for servants; two young men snoozed, undisturbed by the people around them. In one corner several packs were stacked, apparently unopened.
She was dictating a letter as they arrived. Arthur asked who she was writing to and what about. She was cold. “Private correspondence is exactly that-private.”
Arthur looked around. “Privacy? You’re joking.”
Her face was stone. She said nothing but took the letter and waved her secretary away.
“Guenevere, I must ask that you not try to leave again until weather conditions improve. My knights and the castle staff are busy enough dealing with all this. There’s no reason they should have to enforce common sense.”
Her ape scampered into the room and jumped to her lap. Then it turned to Arthur and Merlin and let out a sinister hiss.
“How can you keep a creature as disagreeable as that? It’s a little fiend.”
“That is no way to talk about my pet, Arthur.” She stroked the ape’s head and it nuzzled her.
“A fine pet. Why not simply get a cobra?”
“We tried to leave because we are miserable. Sleeping on floors, rationing food… A fit ruler would have planned for this.”
“You think it’s possible to control the weather?”
“No, as I said I think you should plan for it.”
One of her servants rummaged through one of the packs in the corner. Merlin watched as the young man took out a piece of cheese and ate it happily. “Arthur, look.”
Taking in the scene, Arthur turned on Guenevere and bellowed, “Food?! This is your idea of roughing it? Guenevere, you are the most staggeringly dishonest human being I have ever known. It’s no wonder you shattered your wedding vows.”
“Lower your voice, husband. Remember your royal dignity, will you?”
“I want to talk to Lancelot.”
She was offhand. “I’m afraid I don’t know where he is.”
“Guenevere, I am warning you. Do not attempt to leave Camelot again until I give permission. I plan to double the guard at the gates. There is no way you’ll get out.”
“You are holding me prisoner?”
“If you want to think of it that way. I have more-and more important-things to deal with than your comfort and convenience. If you wanted everything to revolve around you, you should have stayed in Corfe.”
Slowly, she put her letter aside and stood up. Even more slowly, she walked to a little table and picked up some knitting. She took one of the needles and pointed at her husband with it. “Do not threaten me, Arthur. Do not even think you have the power to frighten me. I shall leave when I choose to leave, and neither you nor your men nor this would-be wizard will stop me. Understand that.”
For the first time, Merlin got between them. “Guenevere, this is for your own safety. You saw what happened when you tried to leave a while ago. It is treacherous out there.”
“We can calculate our own risks.”
“Then think of it this way. A crime has been committed. At least one of your men is under suspicion. It is to your benefit to remain till we can clear his name.”
“No clearing is needed, as I see it.” She looked to the king. “Arthur, you know you can’t keep me here against my will. Do you think my army would stay at Corfe then? We will leave when we choose. If you expect otherwise you are a bigger fool than I thought.”
“You think your knights would go to war over a suspected murderer?”
She bristled. “So it is that. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
“And Lancelot?” Merlin asked.
“And Lancelot, and his squire Petronus, and my maid, and the assistant pastry chef.” She paused then said emphatically, “We were not involved.”
Arthur sighed loudly. “A young man is dead, Guenevere. We will find the killer. And your behavior here has only made me more suspicious that you and your lover may be involved.” He put on a sarcastic grin. “Understand that.”
He and Merlin turned and stormed out of the room before she could respond.
The snow and ice stopped, but the weather remained cold. Arthur sent a male servant out to try to reach a nearby village for food; the man never came back. No one knew what to make of it.
But as Merlin had said, the snowy weather gave him and the others in his investigative group the chance to learn what they could. He and Nimue stalked their suspects relentlessly, seeking them out on various pretexts, making casual conversation, dropping subtle references to the crime to see what reaction they got.
There were several more encounters with Guenevere, who grew colder and more distant each time. Pellenore proved as unstable as ever; none of his reactions made a bit of sense.
Then finally, they managed to corner Lancelot. He was exercising in one of the unused dungeons, repeatedly lifting over his head a heavy stone he’d found. A torch he’d wedged into a crack in the wall gave the only light. Nimue, holding another torch, whispered to Merlin that the dungeon might be a harbinger of things to come for Lancelot.
“Why, Lancelot. How interesting to find you here.”
He put down his rock. “Hello, wizard.”
There was no use arguing the point. “Do you know your way around here? Arthur asked me to find a manuscript in the palace archives, but I’m afraid we’re quite lost.”
“You should see the lower levels of Corfe.”
“Will you walk with us for a while? Just to be sure we don’t get lost? These passageways can be so confusing.”
The knight looked at his stone as if he might miss it. “Well… all right. But I really need to get back to my work-out. ”
“We wouldn’t dream of keeping you a moment longer than we need to.”
So the three of them took their torches, left that dungeon and walked the dark, musty corridors of Camelot’s basement. Merlin made a show of opening one door after another, pretending he really was searching for something there. All the while he made offhand conversation, trying to get a rise out of Lancelot.
“There’s not much traffic down here since Arthur abandoned torture.”
“Arthur is a fool.”
“You think extracting false confessions from innocent people is a desirable thing?”
“I think it works. Criminals confess.”
“Under torture, everyone confesses. Besides, you should be glad we don’t do that here, if only for Guenevere’s sake.”
“Guenevere is the queen.”
“Even so.”
“What crime could she be suspected of?”
Instead of answering, Merlin paused, pushed open a door, looked inside then closed it again. “A broom closet.”
Lancelot answered his own question. “That boy. That squire.” He said the word with faint distaste, as if squires were beneath his notice.
Merlin tried another door, but it was stuck.
“Guenevere couldn’t have killed him. She was with Arthur in the Great Hall the whole time. You know that.”
“Oh yes, that’s right.” Merlin looked thoughtful for Lancelot’s sake. “But what about her servants?”
“They’re servants. Who knows what they do?”
“And-and-” He convincingly acted as if he were having a new thought. “Where were you during the ceremony? ”
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. “I was there.”
“Someone saw you leaving the hall. I was only wondering where you went, that’s all.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Of course not. I was only making conversation, nothing more.”
Lancelot didn’t know whether to believe him, and it showed.
“Well, there don’t seem to be any archives down here. Arthur must have been mistaken. We’ll leave you to your exercise, then. We’ve never really talked before, Lancelot. This has been nice.”
The knight looked around. “Where are we? I’ve lost my bearings.”
