frozen yet; the mud was thick and viscous. He found it even more unpleasant. Most of the residents had fled. Only the elderly and a few children were left. Small as it was, the village had the saddest appearance.
Two torches blazed brilliantly at either side of the entrance to the “palace.” One was too close to the wall; the wood was charring. As Merlin approached, an elderly man came out of the building and bowed to him. “Ralph of Paintonbury, at your service, sir.”
Merlin pointed to the charring wood. “You had better do something about that. This place will go up in smoke.”
“Would that matter, sir?”
“Possibly to the people inside.” He introduced himself. “You were in service to Marmaduke?”
“Yes, sir. I am his majordomo.”
Merlin laughed. “A majordomo, here. This is not much of a domo to be major of, is it?”
“When I was a young man, I was a warrior, in service to Marmaduke’s father.”
Merlin ignored this. “I sent a sick man to be tended here. Where is he? Take me to him.”
Ralph made a slight bow. “This way, sir. One of your men is with him, sir.”
“Peter, yes. But what is that awful smell?”
Just at that moment, Peter appeared in the doorway. “Merlin. I was just coming to look for you. I need fresh air. I’m not certain keeping Accolon here is a good idea.”
Merlin waved Ralph away and began to walk past Peter into the building. “Why not? We have to keep him warm and dry if he is to-”
“The poor man has to breathe. Can you not smell the awful odor?”
Merlin stopped in his tracks. “Good heavens. What an awful stench. It smells like-”
“I’m afraid that is exactly what it is. Rotting garbage mixed with-well. Let’s just say that Marmaduke was an even worse pig than we thought. Are you certain you want to come in?”
“I have to check on Accolon, stench or no stench.”
The interior of the palace, such as it was, was lit by torches. They were set too far apart to do much good against the gloom. But more than the darkness, Merlin was struck by an increasingly strong, increasingly unpleasant odor.
“It’s over there,” Peter indicated. “There is an entire room full of it. Apparently the concept of sanitation had not penetrated with Marmaduke. There are open pits dug in the floor where they-well, you understand.”
“A full room? You are joking.”
“I’m afraid not, Merlin. Would you care to see it? Aside from the foul stuff itself, there are worms, centipedes, rats… I’ve seen to it that Accolon is as far away from it as possible.”
“Very wise.” He sighed. “At least Marmaduke confined it to only one room. Which way?” He held up his fingers and pinched his nose. “You are right. Marmaduke is a pig in more ways than we realized.”
Peter led him along a hall to the rear of the palace. Torches flickered; room after room opened up as they passed along the corridor. The awful odor abated somewhat, but it was always there.
In a room with no windows, lit by three torches, lay Accolon. Merlin did a quick examination. “He seems no worse than before. But we must move him. Find a room with windows, take him there and let him get fresh air.”
“Windows? As far as I’ve found, there are none. The entire building is as close as this room.”
Again Merlin heaved a sigh. “Let us get him out of here. Breathing air this foul cannot be good for him. Find servants to carry him.”
Peter went; Merlin followed him to the entrance. Old Ralph was waiting there, leaning casually against the front of the building.
“What a horrible man your master was. Did he ever bathe or clean himself? Did anyone, at his court?”
Ralph ignored the question and spat on the ground.
“Answer me, old man.”
Ralph laughed. “Who are you to make sneering references to anyone’s age?”
Merlin took him by the collar. “We have a seriously ill man inside.”
Unruffled, Ralph spit again. “I thought it was odd, you bringing him here.”
“We did not know what a sty your overlord occupied. There must be other buildings here. Cleaner ones.”
“If there are, I’ve never noticed them.”
Merlin released him. “An entire village of swine. What about the fat witch, Lulua? She did not live in this foul hamlet. Where was her residence?”
Ralph reached up and removed Merlin’s hand from his collar. “Lulua occupied a big old mill a mile and a half from here.” He smiled and pointed to the muddy rivulet. “Downstream.”
“Where? Which way is it?”
Ralph pointed casually to the muddy brook. “Just follow that stream.”
“That… that tiny trickle of mud?”
Ralph leaned back against the lintel of the palace door. “That rivulet floods every time it rains. You’d be surprised how much fury it can unleash. I’m surprised it hasn’t left its banks already, with all the rain we’ve had. Besides, it joins a larger stream.”
Just then a servant approached with a message from Arthur. “A messenger from Camelot has finally made it to us. There is a letter for you.”
Merlin focused on Ralph. “Two miles downstream, you say?”
Ralph spit again, then nodded. Merlin turned to the servant. “Let us get back to the king.”
There was indeed a courier from Camelot. Arthur was walking briskly about the camp, overseeing everything. Bedivere was at his side. Most of the wounded were fit for travel; a few required more time for healing and rest. Everyone had been fed amply. A crew of servants was digging trenches for latrines.
Arthur scratched his head. “No one can seem to find any sanitary facilities, so we have to make our own. What did the residents do, I wonder.”
“Trust me, Arthur,” Merlin said in a low voice. “It is not something you want to inquire into.”
“Tell me, what have you learned?”
“No, Arthur, I really-”
“Tell me!”
So Merlin described the interior of Marmaduke’s palace. “I have had Accolon taken there. He needs to be kept out of the elements. But that place cannot be healthy. I am told Lulua occupied a large old mill a few miles upriver. We should take him there, along with any other wounded men who may need more care.”
“Excellent. Before you go, though, there is this.” He produced a letter. “From Colin at Camelot.”
Merlin took the letter and unsealed it. It was in Nimue’s hand and was headed Confidential.
Merlin,
Reports from around the country have slowed due to these awful autumn rains. But the state of affairs, as near as I can determine, is this:
Cooler weather seems to have slowed the plague’s progress, as you expected it would. The area around Dover has been hardest hit, naturally, and the nearby towns have all reported outbreaks. There have been a few cases reported as far west as London. We have received no news of plague farther west than that.
Camelot, except for the death of John, has been spared. Not one more case has erupted here. Perhaps that is because we were quite prompt and diligent in cremating John’s body and having the ashes buried, not scattered.
There are reports that in some sections of the country social standards are breaking down. Large numbers of people are drinking much more heavily than is usual, and even larger numbers are engaging in orgiastic sexual abandon. (We have had tentative news that the same thing is happening across Europe, wherever this plague has erupted.) But with the plague on the wane, that will stop in time. And if it does not, it will be a problem for local authorities. In due course order will return, as it has already begun to do.
It may be premature to be optimistic, but it appears that the worst of this crisis is behind us.
Nimue
Merlin folded the letter carefully and placed it in his pocket. When he was finished reading he noticed that Perceval had joined Arthur and Bedivere. The three were conferring, presumably about how best to reach the spot where the Stone of Bran had been buried.
Perceval was saying, “I’m not certain how we should proceed. We were more lost in that bloody fog than we realized.”
Arthur told him, “We have maps with us. It should not be too difficult to find our bearings and decide how to proceed.”
Merlin interrupted their discussion. “Let me see who else should be removed to Lulua’s mill. There should not be many, I do not imagine. Marmaduke’s warriors were… less than skillful. Thankfully.”
“I think we should spend a day or two here before we move on.” Arthur told Perceval to go and check the maps, then turned back to Merlin. “A good rest will do us all good. Can’t you treat Accolon and the others here?”
“They should be kept warm, indoors. And the buildings in this awful hamlet are pigsties. It will be easier to keep them warm and tend to their needs in the mill. Assuming Lulua was more fastidious than Marmaduke, that is.”
“She would almost have to be, from what you’ve told me. I want to go and inspect Marmaduke’s little castle myself.”
Merlin looked at him inquiringly.
“Call it morbid curiosity.”
“Of course. But before you do it, Arthur, might I suggest that you get out of those tattered clothes? You look a good deal less than kingly.”
Arthur grinned. “There were times during the civil wars when I looked considerably less kingly than this. But you’re right, Merlin. I need to bathe and change. I don’t suppose you saw anything resembling a bathtub in the palace?”
“Hardly. A bathtub for a man as fat as Marmaduke would be the size of a small pond.”
“I’ll look around. There must be something I can use. Meanwhile, go and tend to the wounded and make whatever arrangements you need for their transport.”
“I’ll see to it right away, Arthur. Oh, and I’m told this foul little stream we are using joins a larger, cleaner one not far from here.”
“Good.”
Arthur began pulling his tunic off. Merlin saw that there was a huge gash in his left side. “In the name of everything human, Arthur. That wound!”
“It isn’t very painful. Marmaduke himself struck the blow.”
