“You are to come with me.”
“I beg your pardon? We are here on the king’s business.”
“Queen Guenevere requests your presence.” He was not smiling. “You will come.”
Merlin spoke up. “How did the queen know we are here?”
“You may ask her that. Let us go.”
“Are we being taken prisoner? King Arthur will hardly be pleased. There isn’t a warlord in England who hasn’t felt his wrath. I hardly think he’d hesitate to invade Corfe.”
The man with the plume stepped closer to Merlin. “Queen Guenevere requests your presence at Corfe Castle. You are to be her guests.”
“Whether we like it or not?”
Brit stepped pointedly between them. “Captain Dalley of the king’s garrison is expecting us back. You’d best let us send him word where we’ll be.”
Plume man smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write him a note from the castle. The queen is nothing if not a gracious hostess.”
Brit looked around. They were plainly outnumbered, and she knew she was the only one with real fighting experience. Resigned, she said, “Very well, then. Let’s go.”
Plume showed his relief. He gave the order, and his men formed two columns, one on each side of their “guests,” and they headed off toward the hills and the castle.
People in the street looked more than slightly alarmed at the little parade; they crossed to the far side, all the while pretending not to have noticed. But at one corner a pair of soldiers from the garrison were negotiating with a pair of women. When they saw Merlin, Colin and Brit leaving under escort by Guenevere’s soldiers, their eyes widened and they left off what they were doing to head back to Captain Dalley.
The party proceeded to the edge of Corfe and began to ascend the hill to the castle. It loomed ahead of them, black and enormous, looking indeed like a huge spider. Nimue noticed that two of the “arms” that were visible were crumbling and apparently deserted. Guenevere must not be as prosperous or secure as she liked to pretend. But the rest of the Spider’s House was lit brightly with dozens of torches.
On either side of it to the east and west were hills. She asked Merlin what they were called.
“East Hill and West Hill.”
“Oh.”
“This is a port, not a university.”
They reached the castle and proceeded to the main gate, between two of the arms. Guards were posted, and a dozen torches burned brightly there. Plume exchanged a few words with the sentries then turned to Brit. “You will please follow me.” Since they didn’t have much choice, they did so. Six of the soldiers stayed at the gate; the rest moved on.
The interior of the castle was made of that same dark stone. Torches burned every six feet along the hallways. They smoked and sputtered; the place smelled of bitter fumes and ash. At least the corridor was straight; the place’s plan was much simpler and more straightforward than Camelot. Nimue commented on it.
“Simpler?” Merlin seemed surprised at the observation. “The whole place is monotonously rectilinear. I suppose that must be desirable for some people.”
At the end of the hallway-arm there was an abrupt change to a lighter stone, medium grey instead of dark grey. They had reached the keep, the oldest part of the castle.
Plume had not spoken a word as he and his men ushered them along. Now he said, “Her Majesty is in the throne room. Protocol is to be observed.”
“What is the protocol for a prisoner?” Merlin sounded more amused than anything else.
“As I told you, you are guests, not prisoners.”
“Of course.”
The keep was more convoluted than the outer parts of the castle. Corridors wound; steps ascended and descended. After a few yards they came to a large doorway. Plume stopped and turned to face them. “Go in.”
“Go in?” Merlin seemed surprised. “You and your guards aren’t coming?”
“Go in.” His face was stone.
Again not having a choice, they went in.
The room was octagonal, smaller than the Great Hall at Camelot. Dozens more torches burned, lighting it brilliantly. But there was no circulation; the stench of smoke was almost overpowering.
A dozen people stood around the room, talking, reading official-looking papers or merely contemplating the queen’s serene majesty. It was late, after dark, an odd time for court business to be conducted.
But Guenevere was there, seated in majesty on a gilded throne, much larger than Arthur’s fairly plain one. The throne was elevated above floor level; she looked down on her subjects. Next to it was a second, smaller one, presumably for Lancelot, but it was empty. There was no sign of Leodegrance either. She looked to the door as they entered and put on a diplomatic smile. Her ape rested at her feet and looked up lazily.
“Merlin. Britomart.” Her Majesty was all cordiality. “And who is this young man? We recall seeing him at Camelot, but he was never introduced to us. And events were so hectic there.” She added this last in a tone so sweet it dripped with sarcasm.
“This is my student and assistant, Colin.”
“I see. We welcome you, Colin. As we do your older companions.”
Merlin and Brit exchanged glances. She was playing with them. How long before the boom was lowered?
“We trust you traveled well and happily?”
Merlin had had enough. “What do you mean ‘we,’ Guenevere? You and your ape?”
“Is it possible you do not comprehend the royal plural?”
Brit took a step forward. “Why have we been brought here?”
Guenevere was all innocence. “Did not my men tell you? I wish you to be my guests.”
“They told us, all right-at the point of a sword. An odd kind of hospitality.”
“Oh, dear.” She feigned dismay. “You have mistaken our intentions.”
“Then why don’t you tell us what they are?” Merlin was growing annoyed with her.
“But still, you must admit it is, shall we say, irregular, for you to have intruded on my domain in this way.”
So she was going to play that game.
“I am under the impression,” he said firmly, “that England is Arthur’s domain. And even so, he did write you to inform you we’d be coming-and on his business.”
“England may be Arthur’s. Corfe is mine.”
“Captain Dalley and his men might not see it that way.”
“Irrelevant.” She brushed it aside. “What is this business my husband has sent you here to conduct?” Another sweet smile. “Does he want a divorce?”
“You know perfectly well that if the king wishes to set his consort aside, he hardly needs permission. Especially since she never consorts with him.” Merlin looked around the hall at the various courtiers and functionaries. “The present matter is, I must tell you, quite confidential.”
She stiffened slightly. “I see.”
“A long day’s travel has tired us, Guenevere. We’ll talk business with you in the morning. I believe Captain Dalley is expecting us at the garrison. If you don’t mind, we’ll be going.”
Her manner changed as she realized they weren’t about to be intimidated. “Weren’t you told, Merlin? I want you to be my guests.”
“Is there room in the dungeon for all of us?”
She sighed in an exaggerated way. “You shouldn’t be so suspicious. I want to know what Arthur wants. You, presumably, want to tell me.”
'’Me,’ Guenevere? Shouldn’t that be ‘us’? Or has the royal plural suddenly become obsolete?”
“I thought yours was a diplomatic mission, Merlin. Instead of diplomacy I find directness verging on rudeness.”
“Yes, you’re right.” His manner dripped with irony. “We should never have had you abducted at sword point.”
Unexpectedly, she laughed. “You will stay here at the castle. You may write to the garrison commander and tell him you are doing so. Rooms are being prepared for you. But I’m afraid they won’t be ready for a few minutes. We have another guest who is leaving tonight.”
“You mean your father.”
“My father, King Leodegrance, is in residence here, yes. But he is not the one I mean.”
“Who, then?”
“That is no concern of yours. You may use my library to write your note to the garrison. One of my men will take it. Your rooms will be ready shortly thereafter.”
“Fine.”
Guenevere stood regally and left the throne room. Merlin, Brit and Nimue found themselves alone, ignored by everyone else there. Brit looked around at them suspiciously. “Well, at least we’re not to be tortured.”
“Yet.” Nimue was quite out of her depth.
“Relax, Colin. Guenevere is an ambitious harridan, but she must know she could never survive a war with Arthur. Once she became aware the garrison knows we’re here, there wasn’t much chance she’d do anything to risk that,” Brit stated.
A boy in his mid-teens entered the room and approached them. “I am Petronus. People call me Pete. Will you come with me, please? I’ll show you where there’s paper and ink.” He spoke English with a French accent.
“Might we stop at our rooms first? I’d like to rest for a few moments.” Merlin wanted to try and catch a glimpse of the mysterious other guest.
“The queen’s instructions were to take you to the library. ”
“But I-”
“Please, sir. Besides, it’s in the same wing as your rooms. You won’t have far to go.”
There seemed no point arguing. If their rooms really were close to the library, they might get a look at the mystery visitor.
The boy led them out of the throne room and into another arm of the castle. More dark stone; more torches. Nimue coughed. “Do people ever get used to the stench here?”
The boy ignored this and kept walking.
A few moments later they reached the queen’s library. An armed guard was there, presumably to watch them. The room was lit with candles, refreshingly, and not torches. There were fewer books than in Merlin’s study at Camelot.
Just as they were going in, Brit glanced down the hall to see if she could tell where their rooms were. And there, in apparently heated discussion with Lancelot and Leodegrance, was Mark of Cornwall. As soon as he realized she’d seen him, he stepped into a doorway.
So two of the suspects were together in the same place, under mysterious circumstances.
