“You will of course remain in your rooms unless you have permission to do otherwise.” He was all heartiness.
Both of them froze. Slowly, venomously, Guenevere intoned, “That will not be agreeable, no.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. Again, it is for your protection. There is an escaped killer, a madman, loose in the secret passages that riddle Camelot.”
“Then your penal system is as defective as your highways, ” Lancelot snorted.
“Regrettably so. Still, I must insist you not go wandering about the castle. We wouldn’t want to see either of you come to harm.”
They bristled and protested, but Arthur was clearly within his rights. He had them escorted-“for their own protection”-to a suite in the drafty north tower of Camelot, which was the oldest part of the castle. It was cold and not in good repair, and it was seldom used except for storage.
Guenevere made a pro forma complaint, demanding that she and Lancelot be installed in her old quarters. But Arthur explained patiently that Merlin occupied those rooms now, and Guenevere couldn’t possibly want to inconvenience him, could she? Then she demanded that they be moved to a warmer, more up-to-date part of the castle, but Arthur told her that his was likely to be the largest Midwinter Court in years; every bit of space in Camelot would be occupied. “You’ll have more privacy there.”
Steaming, seething with anger, Guenevere and her man settled into their apartments. As a parting shot she told her husband, “If Merlin really can resurrect the dead, perhaps you can have him start by reviving your monarchy.”
Then Arthur and Merlin left, pleased at how plainly upset she was. “Come,” Arthur whispered. “I want to talk.”
Merlin followed the king to his tower. “You’re in a good mood.”
“My wife has come to visit. How could I not be?”
“As long as you have her securely under lock and key. Did you know before today that Leodegrance and Leonilla were in England?”
“No. I should never have let Guenevere settle at a port city. I know, I know, you warned me. I thought our marriage vows might count for something, however minimal. They’re up to something.”
Merlin feigned sorrow. “And no one’s ever warned you.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Merlin. Has it occurred to you that this insurrection-or whatever is being planned-may be their idea, not Mark’s?”
“He appears to be going along with it cheerfully enough.”
“Don’t remind me.” He sat down heavily and sighed. “You’ve been right about this all along. Learning the French king and his wife are here drives the point home. If there’s anything a king shouldn’t be, it’s trusting.”
“And your point?”
“Don’t make this harder for me than it already is, Merlin. I’ve been naive, maybe even foolish. I admit it. Now advise me.”
“I advise you to arrest them. All of them. Send troops to Corfe and arrest Leodegrance and his wife. Until we can get to the bottom of this.”
“On what charge?”
“Invent one. Make something up. Sedition. Conspiracy. Conduct unbecoming a Frenchman.”
The king sighed even more deeply. “No. I don’t think that’s the answer. England has never known civil war. Doing that could certainly start one.”
“The army is loyal to you.”
“Stop toying with me, Merlin. You know how they respect Mark. And after all, I became king by defeating all of them. Besides, have you ever met Leonilla? She’s a gorgon-worse even than her daughter. She could probably spew enough acid to melt the walls of any prison I have.”
Merlin shifted his weight uncomfortably. It seemed a good moment for a politic lie. “I’ve been so focused on finding the murderer I haven’t really given this much thought.”
“Do it now, for God’s sake.”
“Suppose the murders and the plot are related, as I’ve been telling you all along?”
Arthur swallowed his pride. “Then you were right and I wasn’t. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I am convinced that Mark killed the twins, or had them killed. I’d wager he did it himself.”
“Why? What could he possibly have had against them?”
“He’s been trying to foment this plot. But no one seems to want to go along. Guenevere because she’s planning her own war, with her father’s help. And Morgan-heaven only knows what Morgan is up to.”
“Maybe she’s loyal to me, or to our family.”
“Don’t be foolish, Arthur. She wants to be queen. She thinks it’s her right.”
“And so it is, I suppose. We have destroyed the old order. Birthing a new one should be easier than this.” He looked at his advisor. “Shouldn’t it?”
“If you say so, Your Majesty.”
“Shut up.”
Over the next two days the snow became heavier. Despite it, people came from all over England for Arthur’s court. Knights, dukes, barons, earls and petty warlords made the trek. And all of them were abuzz with speculative gossip about Merlin’s “miracle.”
The Stone of Bran was legendary. And most of the educated class-of whom there were not many-took the old legends to be just that. The prospect of seeing a miracle, of the kind embodied in the old myths-actually seeing it- was more tantalizing than most of them wanted to admit.
Among them came Morgan and her son, angry like Guenevere to have been brought under guard. She protested that as high priestess she was an officer of the state, or should be regarded as one, and Arthur met her with carefully studied obliviousness, pretending it was all for her own protection. She demanded the best rooms in Camelot, to no avail. Mordred sniveled and wiped his nose on his sleeve a lot.
Then came Mark. Both Arthur and Merlin were expecting him to be raging, but he feigned not to have noticed that his escort was really a guard.
“But, Arthur, there’s something you must consider.”
“And what is that, Mark?”
He lowered his voice. “Something dangerous is afoot.”
“You want to warn me?”
“I do. You must not permit it.”
“What the devil are you talking about, Mark?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I think you know perfectly well.”
Arthur made his face a blank. “No. Honestly. Tell me.”
“You can’t guess what I mean?”
“It isn’t like you to be so cryptic, Mark. If you have a point, make it.”
He whispered heavily, “Merlin.”
“What? What on earth could Merlin be doing that you have to warn me about?”
“This scheme of his, this plan to waken the dead. It is dangerous.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Mark.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Do you?”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not meddling with dark forces.”
“Aren’t you?”
It caught Mark off guard, and he stammered for a moment, trying to recover his composure. “Arthur, listen to me. Merlin is going to do something momentous. Something that has never been done, not in all recorded history.”
“He’s studied the appropriate texts. He knows what he’s doing.” Offhandedly, he added, “The gods will guide him- and protect the rest of us.”
“Please, Arthur, stop him from doing this. We could all end up in the worst peril.”
“Mark, it’s been announced. I can’t very well disappoint all the nobles in the country, can I?”
Mark was losing his resolve to argue, but it was clear he was nervous, not to say frightened, which struck Arthur as a good thing. “This is perilous, Arthur. You know all the old legends about sorcerers who meddle in things they shouldn’t. When they lose control, everyone suffers.”
“Why, Mark, you sound genuinely afraid.”
“And so I am. You should be, too. You let that old man play with these forces, we’ll all have to pay.”
Arthur thought to himself, good. But all he said was, “I really don’t see how I can stop it. Too many people would be disappointed.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned like an eager schoolboy. “Besides, I want to see it myself.”
“May I have permission not to attend, then?”
Abruptly, Arthur turned king again. “You may not. I want you there.” Then he smiled warmly. “If something awful does happen, I’ll need you.”
Grumping, clearly unhappy, Mark went off to his quarters. And Arthur went straight to Merlin’s tower to tell him about the exchange. “He’s worried about your ‘miracle,’ not about any plots or killers being exposed. That’s good.”
“Mark has always been superstitious. Er, excuse me, prone to believe in things.”
“He’s human, that’s all.”
Merlin ignored this; it was the wrong time to get into a philosophical debate. “So we have all four of our suspects where we want them.”
Arthur gaped. “You want Pellenore in the castle walls, leaping out and terrifying people?”
“At least we know where he is. Besides, he hasn’t actually hurt anyone, has he?”
“Except my boys.”
“You think he slaughtered them but has turned docile and harmless?”
“Yes. That would be odd in an ordinary murderer, Merlin, but hardly in a madman.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Arthur, I have to go take an acting lesson.”
“Act-?”
“Tomorrow night I shall give a performance for the ages. No Greek in the Odeon at Athens portrayed Hercules more convincingly than I shall play the magician.”
“Well, you certainly talk like a Greek. Why don’t you speak plainly, so people know what you’re talking about?”
Merlin smiled and made a slight bow. “The result of years of practice at court.”
And so more and more people flowed into Camelot, all of them in a festive mood. Soon the castle was filled to bursting, more so than it had been when the Stone of Bran was to have been unveiled. Servants were overworked; outriders went to the neighboring towns and villages, recruiting workers for the duration of the seasonal festival and offering generous wages. Food was brought