“I suppose I must have. Memory fails.”
Camelot’s burial ground was an eighth of a mile behind the castle, beyond a stand of blackthorn trees, distant enough to be out of sight, close enough to be nearby when necessary. The gravediggers kept trying to dig a hole for the dead squires, but the walls kept collapsing; even when they didn’t, the graves filled with water. With winter approaching, no one was certain when or even if the young men would get a proper burial.
Their mother, Anna, had become a disconcerting presence in the castle. She wandered the halls, distracted, distraught,holding imaginary conversations with her dead sons and, to appearances, hearing them answer. Now and then she would go down to the basement room where their remains lay and would stroke what was left of their bodies. Arthur ordered the room to be locked.
But she kept up her long, mad walks and the fancied conversations with her boys. No one seemed able to make her see what she was doing. Even Pellenore found her alarming. And Mark was more shaken than most. “It’s what I told you. Their spirits are uneasy. I’m glad I’m leaving for home.” He departed the next day.
Arthur asked Merlin to talk with Anna, to counsel her in her grief. “Understand, Merlin, the life she’s had. Her boys were everything to her. She lived in mud. In filth. But knowing her boys were here gave her hope. That is gone now.”
“You could have brought her here before now, Arthur.”
“She wouldn’t come. It was all for Ganelin and Borolet.”
So Merlin tried talking to her, tried to make her understand how erratic her behavior had become. But it was no use. “Honestly,” he told Brit, “I’m at a loss. How can I know what to say to her? I don’t know her, don’t know anything about her. For all any of us knows she’s been half-mad her entire life.”
“Isn’t there something you can give her? Some drug to calm her?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had the servants put a small dose of valerian in her food. It has no effect at all.”
“Poor woman.”
On the fourth day the rain stopped, but the clouds persisted and the world remained a bright, cold grey. If the rain didn’t begin again, a funeral should be possible soon. Arthur sent word to Morgan. “Come in a fortnight.” He voiced his hope repeatedly that the weather would hold- no more rain, no more freezing till after the boys were laid to rest. Merlin’s ravens were happy to be able to get outside again.
No one had inspected the bodies in the basement to make sure of their condition. No one much wanted to. Finally, Merlin offered to take some servants to prepare them. They took soap and water to clean them and winding sheets of the purest white linen from the king’s own stores. Fortunately, the cold had preserved the corpses fairly well. Even so, it was an unpleasant duty.
Woodworkers fashioned two caskets from birch wood. Both were intricately, elaborately carved; at Arthur’s insistence, both bore his own royal crest. A summons was sent to Pastorini in Cornwall to come and make bronze handles for them. Oddly, Mark sent word that the metalsmith was unable to come, but he made handles there and sent them.
A few days after that, Morgan arrived for the funeral, attended by her son and a dozen servants. They took over most of a wing of the castle. The first night they were there, as Morgan was going to the refectory for her dinner, she encountered Anna in the hallway. The two women, twenty feet apart, stared at one another for a long, silent moment. Then Anna moved on, looking presumably for what had always mattered in her life-her boys. Her melancholy affected Morgan, who did not say much during her meal.
Then the morning for the burial finally arrived. Well before dawn, Merlin was wakened by a persistent knocking at his door. He climbed out of bed, wrapped himself in a blanket and walked to open the door. “Yes?”
It was a boy, fourteen, maybe fifteen, with black hair, olive skin and large dark eyes. “Merlin?”
“Yes. Who the devil are you?”
“I’m Greffys, sir. The king’s new squire.”
“You are.” His voice was neutral.
“Yes, sir. He sent me to make sure you’re ready for the funeral.”
“It isn’t even sunrise.”
The boy’s face was blank. “I know that.”
Merlin looked him up and down. “Why did Arthur choose you?”
“He says I’m the best athlete among the squires.” The kid smiled with pride.
“It wouldn’t have occurred to him to choose the best scholar, would it?”
“Uh… I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“No. Of course not. Go and tell him I’ll be ready.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy rushed down the stairs without bothering to close the door behind him.
A few minutes later Nimue arrived. “You’re up.”
“Arthur sent his new squire to rouse me.” He smiled sarcastically. “Kings.”
“I’ve brought some hot soup. Here, you’ll need it.”
“I’m dreading this. I wish I had a plausible reason to stay in bed all day.”
“At the very least,” she said, pouring the soup from a pot to a large bowl, “we’ll have a chance to observe Morgan and Mordred. We were so focused on Guenevere before, we more or less ignored them.”
“Stop talking sense. This is going to be a terrible day.”
By the time Merlin had eaten, washed and dressed, Britomart had come to his rooms as well. He found her warming herself by the fire in the study. “You’re coming to the funeral?”
“Of course. Arthur should be surrounded by his friends, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But who are they, Brit? I wish I knew.”
“You’re in a dark mood.”
He shrugged. “Funerals do that to me. Let’s go.”
They assembled at the rear of Camelot. Arthur was there, and Greffys, and Anna, Morgan, Mordred. Sagramore, Gawain, Bors, Accolon and the rest of the knights attended. Gossip had spread about the dead squires’ connection to the king; the royal crest on the coffins seemed to cinch it in most people’s minds. Pellenore was noticeably missing, but no one had expected him anyway. Twelve pages served as pallbearers, carrying the two coffins on catafalques. The court musicians were there, playing mournful tunes. The music echoed loudly and clearly through the morning air and mist.
The party left the castle by the same rear gate Arthur had used when he set out to find Anna. They walked slowly, solemnly, accompanied by more dirges by the musicians, who brought up the rear. Fog swirled among the trees. At times the light was so dim Arthur called for torches. Pages ran back to Camelot while the procession waited. The torches, when they arrived, showed brilliant yellow-orange among the mist and trees.
At the burial ground the two royal gravediggers were still at work, shoring up the sides of the hole and bailing out water. Arthur went to them. “I thought the ground was dry enough.”
“So did we, sir. But it’s saturated much more than we thought.”
“Do what you have to do quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Everyone formed a circle around the coffins. Morgan raised her arms in supplication and voiced a prayer to the goddess Arianrhod, begging that she guide and protect the souls of these two valiant young men. Merlin found himself looking around at the assembled mourners. Someone was missing.
Then he saw him, standing off among the trees, watching it all the way a naturalist might watch wild animals. It was Mordred. He was only half-visible through the mist. But at one point, when the air cleared momentarily, it seemed that he was smiling.
Merlin nudged Brit, gestured toward Mordred and whispered, “He seems to be enjoying this much too much.”
“We always knew what a morbid little creature he is.”
“I wonder if it’s only that.”
Morgan finished her prayers. The coffins were laid in the grave side by side. One by one the mourners lined up to sprinkle handfuls of earth on them. But the soil was too damp; it formed muddy clumps and thumped unpleasantly on the caskets.
Through it all, Anna had managed to maintain her composure. Now she began crying uncontrollably. Arthur put an arm around her to try and comfort her, but it did no good. Merlin looked to see what Mordred was doing, and the boy was smiling even more widely than before.
Two days later the weather broke. For the first time in days the sun was shining and the air was warm, or at least warmer than it had been. Knights wrestled and exercised. Everyone from the castle tried to spend time outdoors, walking, running or just enjoying the bright day.
Merlin climbed to the roof and walked the perimeter, chatting with the sentries he knew. The countryside was still dotted with patches of snow and ice. Winter would be settling in in a serious way soon. At the far end of the roof, Arthur and Greffys wrestled playfully. Arthur let the boy get an arm lock on him, then pulled free. The funereal mood had evaporated.
The forest around Camelot was black, nothing but bare branches, and the landscape was still dotted with patches of white. The migratory birds had long since gone, and there seemed to be fewer of the ones who stayed year-round. A few sparrows and cardinals scratched at the roof stones, looking for food. Two of Merlin’s ravens followed him about; the third one had disappeared.
Find the assassin by Midwinter Court: the charge had been repeated more times than Merlin cared to remember. But there was so little to go on-practically nothing but suspicions and obvious motives for too many suspects. Not that Arthur’s wish was a command; he was not that kind of monarch. But there were good reasons for finding the killer as soon as possible. The idea of order must be maintained.
A cloud covered the sun briefly; then it emerged again. Merlin shaded his eyes.
Then from behind him he heard a voice.
“Where are my sons?”
With a start he turned to find Anna just in back of him.
He said hello. “How are you today?”
There were tears streaking her cheeks. “Do you know where my sons are?”
Uncertain what to say, he pretended to study something in the distance. “The air is still a bit chilly, Anna. Shouldn’t you be wearing a cloak?”
“I’ve been cold all my life.” She peered at him. “Where is Arthur?”
He pointed.
“I have to find Borolet and Ganelin. I have something for them. He’ll know where they are.”
It was so awkward. What would be best, to let her delusion continue, or to try and bring her back to reality? To let her disturb the king with this, or to find some way to keep her away from him? He found his resolve and said, “They are not here, Anna. You saw where we took them, remember? ”
She looked confused; her eyes darted about as if trying to focus on something but she was unsure what. “They are here. I sent them to be with the king.”
“No.” He said it gently. “They are gone. Anna, you must remember.”
