The Pendragon Murders

“It is a simple matter, then, Gildas. All you have to do is roar a few orders at the citizens and they will stop.” Merlin paused to give Gildas an opening, but the bishop grumped and stayed silent. Merlin turned to Arthur. “In the name of everything human, Arthur, let us get the bloody Stone buried and get back to Camelot before winter descends on us with its full force.”

Arthur brushed a snowflake from his eyelash. “Gildas does have a point, Merlin. We do have to restore order.”

“It might be more useful for you to restore clothing.”

Arthur ignored the comment. “Look around. You can hardly deny it. The question is how to do it.”

Merlin sighed. “Arthur, think. For once, winter will be a blessing. Cold weather is already ending the plague in the southwest. It will put an end to this revelry soon enough, as well. Nature will correct itself. The natural order will reassert itself. You will see.

“When we return to Camelot, you must send heralds to every corner of the country with the news that the plague has died. It is fear of the plague that engenders this kind of ribaldry. The end of the disease will bring an end to this, too. When the people realize that death is not at hand-that they must scramble to keep themselves and their families alive, just as they always have…” He left the thought unfinished.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Arthur turned pensive, at the same time eyeing an attractive young woman.

“Arthur!” Merlin was shocked to see it. “Have you forgotten everything we’ve talked about?”

“No, of course not. But-”

“Remember what happened to Ulysses’ men in the land of the lotus-eaters.”

Gildas snorted at this. “Pagan rot.”

“You think there is only one ancient book that contains any wisdom?”

But Arthur had listened to enough. “Stop it, both of you. I need to think. Let us ride on. We still have a way to go before we reach that barn of Perceval’s. By the way, where is Perceval?”

He looked around. Perceval, along with half a dozen other knights, had dismounted and was talking to a young woman. Some of the lesser knights were already locked in embrace with locals. Several were kissing and fondling.

Arthur was shocked at the lack of modesty-and discipline. “Bed, get them back into line. We have a mission to complete.”

Bedivere and a few of the older knights bellowed orders and managed, slowly, to restore order and discipline. Arthur muttered, “Lotus-eaters, indeed.” After a few minutes the column was ready to move on.

Arthur was expecting Grosfalcon to be abandoned. But the town was populated, albeit sparsely. Children played in the streets, unattended. Some were crying, looking about fu tilely, even desperately, for their parents. Elderly citizens shuffled about, evidently trying to maintain some semblance of life as usual. A few parties in the prime of life reeled drunkenly, oblivious to what was happening around them, or perhaps merely ignoring it.

Merlin joined the king and Bedivere as they surveyed still another part of the realm that had seemingly abandoned any sense of order. Seeing the concern in Arthur’s face, he tried to be reassuring. “Winter will do its work, Arthur.”

“I don’t want winter, I want England.”

“Unfortunately that isn’t your choice.”

Arthur ignored this and stopped an old woman. “Who are you?” he asked.

She glared. “Who are you?”

Bedivere explained who Arthur was, but the woman seemed unimpressed. “King of the Britons? Don’t make me laugh. You think anyone here cares about a king? Especially one who lives at the far end of the country?”

“Arthur is king. He rules here.”

The woman spat. “Let’s see him stop this plague, then.”

Merlin started explaining in his best teacherly voice that the cold weather would bring an end to the plague. But Arthur interrupted this. “Who rules here, woman? Who represents order? Where is the local baron?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” She glared at him, then at Merlin. “And who are you?”

Merlin introduced himself.

And unexpectedly the woman smiled. “The wizard? I’ve heard of you.”

“I assure you, I am not a-”

Another woman, slightly younger, joined her. “You are looking for Lord Tambour?”

“Tambour?” Bedivere consulted one of his maps. “As near as I can recall, the warlord here was named Timothy.” He lowered his voice and told Arthur, “You remember him, Arthur? He fought side by side with Marmaduke.” He made a sour face. “He was never much of a warrior, as I recall.”

“No, I don’t remember him at all.”

“He was that kind of baron. I suspect he gained power here because no one else could be bothered. Look at this place. It’s almost as forlorn as Paintonbury.”

The younger woman said loudly, “Tambour seized power three years ago.”

“Why was Camelot not informed?”

Her older companion laughed. “You are trying to be funny.”

Arthur ignored this. “Where is Tambour now?”

“Who knows?” The younger of the two shrugged. “He ran off with the group of catamites who have always surrounded him. The plague-”

“The plague is dying. No one here is threatened. The world will soon be itself again.”

“So the men here can start drinking and fighting among themselves for power? Now all they do is drink. My husband ran off with Tambour. Honestly, death by plague would be a blessing.”

Bedivere nudged Arthur. “Look.”

At the far end of the street stood a figure in swirling black robes. A woman. She slowly raised her arms as if she was trying to cast a spell, or at least as if she wanted to appear so.

Softly Arthur whispered, “Morgan.” Then, in his best command voice, he called, “Sister!”

Morgan nodded slightly but said nothing in response.

Arthur thanked the two women for their information and spurred his horse to meet Morgan. The rest of the column followed.

“Morgan. How interesting to find you here. What the devil do you want?”

She was serene. “I am the high priestess of England, remember? I have business everywhere in the realm.”

Gildas left his place in the column and moved to a spot just behind the king. In a whisper he said, “Ask her about Marmaduke and Lulua. She must have been a party to their treason.”

But before Arthur could say anything, Morgan intoned, “I am seeking my disciple in these parts. A fine priestess called Lulua. But she seems to have vanished. I don’t suppose you’ve had any intelligence of her, Brother?”

Gildas could not restrain himself. “Your disciple is under arrest for treason.” He smiled a smug little smile. “Along with your minion Marmaduke.”

Morgan frowned deeply. Ignoring Gildas she asked, “Is this true, Brother?”

Arthur shrugged. “They tried to have me killed. I hope you don’t mind that I survived them.”

“Lulua is a good woman, a loyal servant of the crown of England.”

“Perhaps so, Morgan, but she hardly seems to know who wears that crown.”

Merlin joined the conversation. “How peculiar that you have shown up here, in the midst of their treachery. You are not a part of it, by any chance?”

Morgan glared. “Are you going to permit your servants to continue addressing me in this churlish manner, Arthur? Respect for the royal bloodline would dictate-”

“Respect for the royal bloodline would dictate that subjects not plot against their king, Morgan. Or do you suppose that yours is the only royal blood that matters?”

“How did you get here ahead of us?” Merlin asked her.

Serenely she replied, “I control the elements. The gods-”

“It is not possible that other rebel barons and their, er, priestesses provided you with safe passage, is it?”

She stiffened. “You are here to rebury the most sacred object in the kingdom. As high priestess, it is most fitting that I be here. It was most impious of you to leave me behind.” A faint smile appeared. “Or to try to.”

Arthur sighed. “Then let us get on with the burying. But I warn you, Morgan, I am going to get to the bottom of all this. If I find evidence that you were complicit with Lulua and Marmaduke-”

“You will not.”

He put on a tight grin. “Time will tell, I suppose. I recall instructing you to remain at Camelot. Yet you are here.”

Morgan shrugged.

“We will take that up later. Meanwhile, let’s find this barn and bury the bloody Stone. I can’t tell you how sorry I am I ever set my knights to find the damned thing.”

Gildas sensed an opening. “The plague, Your Majesty, is-”

“In the name of everything human, Gildas, not now.” Merlin was tired and impatient. He turned to the king. “Another cold wind is kicking up, Arthur. Let us get this done with and get back to Camelot.”

The citizens of Grosfalcon displayed little curiosity as the column proceeded through their village. They went on about their own business, which in most cases appeared to be pleasure. Drinking, gorging themselves with food, lovemaking… Nothing the knights might have done, short of actual violence, could have distracted them from their hedonistic pursuits.

The sight of it made Arthur glum. “So this is what plague does to society. We have never experienced one before, not in my lifetime. There are histories of course, but-”

“Be grateful they aren’t offering any resistance to us.” Bedivere spoke like a military man.

“Seeing any semblance of social-order breakdown is hardly a thing to be grateful for, Bed.”

“Not meeting hostility is.”

A black stallion had been found for Morgan. It was grazing in a field just outside the town, and it had apparently been broken. Or nearly so. Every now and then it snorted and bolted. Morgan, unruffled, manage to calm the animal every time. Arthur had the impression she was whispering something to it. A sidesaddle was found and the mount prepared for her.

But she was unhappy at having to ride. “I am a member of the royal house. I merit a carriage.”

Arthur was sanguine. “When the king himself is riding horseback, it ill becomes his sister to demand any more than that.”

“That fool advisor of yours is in a carriage. I deserve no less.”

“Merlin is old and infirm, Morgan. You know that. Don’t be disagreeable.”

“You should tell that to him. He is not too ‘old and infirm’ to make snide comments.” She scowled and mounted her horse.