“The wound is shallow.” He paused, then said, “Almost as if it had been struck by a woman.”
“A woman? But we-”
“Where is Morgan?”
More lights were being lit, but the cavernous interior of the barn was still only dimly lit. Bedivere glanced around. “Morgan! Morgan le Fay!”
There was no reply. The other men looked around. There was no sign of her.
Bedivere returned to Merlin’s side. “Is he all right? Will he recover?”
“He will have to rest for a few days. He will have to ride in a carriage on our return journey. Thankfully the one that brought the Stone is empty now. Bring me Morgan. I want to question her.”
“Merlin…” He hesitated and looked around the barn one more time. “Merlin, she is gone.”
TEN
Camelot came into view just after dawn on the first sunny morning Merlin had seen in weeks. It stood on its hilltop, its stones gleaming in the early light. Its windows beamed with lights that had not yet been extinguished; but they were blinking out one by one.
Arthur’s wounds had been healing well but slowly. Merlin, backed up by Bedivere, insisted that Arthur ride in a carriage instead of on horseback at the head of the column. Merlin, seeing the beautiful prospect before them, woke him gently. “Arthur, wake up. This is something you ought to see.”
Groggily the king asked, “What? What could there possibly be?”
“Home. Camelot. I have never seen it look so beautiful.”
Arthur sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve seen Camelot before, thank you. Why don’t you let me sleep?”
“Don’t be difficult. Just look.”
He looked. There was the castle, its two great towers soaring into the sky, its stones illuminated brilliantly by the sun.
“Look at it, Arthur. After all the horrors on our journey, we are home. And it must be the most welcoming place in the world.”
“Are you turning into a poet? You certainly don’t sound like the cold-eyed scholar you always pretend to be.”
“Even a cold-eyed scholar can be glad of hearth and home. Paintonbury and Grosfalcon are behind us. I have hope that we have seen the last of the killings.”
“And now you’ve become an optimist.” Arthur smirked at him. “And they say old people lose the ability to grow.”
“Go ahead, Arthur. Enjoy yourself. You are king and you have the right. Spoil this beautiful moment for me.”
Arthur fell silent and looked out at the castle again. “We’ll be there in another hour. You’re right, Merlin. It is a beautiful place. A fitting symbol of everything we’ve tried to accomplish in England, you and I.”
“And we will have our first good, full English breakfast since we left on this fool’s errand.”
Arthur’s face lit up. “With honey cakes.”
Merlin was not certain whether to say it; he did not want to dampen Arthur’s mood. But he could not restrain himself. “You forget, Arthur. The woman who bakes those cakes is in jail now, along with her sons.”
“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?” His smile vanished. “Now that is the voice of the Merlin I know.”
“I am not a poet after all?”
“Don’t be absurd. But… but surely we can release Marian and her boys now. We know that Morgan was behind it all.”
“Do we?”
Arthur rubbed the bandage on his chest. “Is this my imagination, then?”
“You have always been so reluctant to confront Morgan. What will you do now? Send out parties of knights to find and arrest her?”
“It’s too early to think. I need that good breakfast you mentioned.”
When the party moved through the gate and into Camelot’s courtyard, Simon of York was waiting to greet them with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Behind him stood Petronus, holding still more paperwork. Various other functionaries were scattered about the yard waiting to press their business with the returning monarch and his chief advisor. Merlin stared at the scene and muttered, “Home. So much for that.”
Bedivere dismounted and approached the carriage to help Arthur out.
And Arthur grumped. “I wish you’d all stop fussing over me. I’m over the damage Morgan did to me.”
“You are our king. The nation’s welfare depends on you.”
Arthur took a few steps and brushed some dust off himself. “The nation runs itself. Crops grow or fail, the weather turns fair or foul, people get on with their lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Even the government goes on its merry way without me.” He took a deep breath, seeming to relish the cold morning air. “It’s good to be home.”
Simon had listened to his little speech with mild alarm. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
“Good day, Simon. How is the bureaucracy this morning?”
“Everything is functioning well.”
Arthur turned to Bedivere. “See what I mean? I could spend a month by the sea at Brighton and it would hardly make a difference.”
Merlin stepped down from the carriage. His hip ached and he stumbled. Petronus rushed to his side to steady him. “Welcome back, sir.”
“It is good to be home, Petronus, and it is good to see you. But tell me, how is Colin?”
“Quite well, sir, and getting better every day.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “She’ll be so happy to see you.”
“That is good. When I got your message, I was so concerned. You see-” He realized what the boy had said. “What was that?”
“She’ll be happy to see you, sir.”
“She?” He put on his best neutral manner. “I am asking about Colin.”
“Nimue, sir. She raved in her fever. I know the truth about ‘him’ now.”
Merlin sighed. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “We will discuss it later. But when I learned that Marian and Wayne were tending her, I-”
“Why did you have them arrested, sir? They were taking such good care of her.”
“Later, Petronus.”
Britomart strode out of the castle, beaming. “Arthur!”
“Good morning, Brit.”
She glanced at his bandages. “Still smarting from your brilliant military strategy, are you?”
Arthur scowled at her but said nothing.
Merlin, hearing this, crossed to join them. “Arthur’s wounds are from another war entirely. We will tell you all about it over breakfast.”
“Good. Shall I assemble all our advisors, then? And Prince Mordred?”
Merlin reached out and caught her arm. “Mordred is here?”
Confused by his reaction, Brit nodded. She looked at Arthur. “You did tell him to stay here, remember?”
“I told his mother to remain, too. But she left almost as soon as we did. How did she get away?”
Brit smirked. “ ‘As rare and lovely things oft do, she vanished in the night.’ ”
Merlin interjected, “You might have sent us word.”
“Why?” Brit seemed genuinely puzzled. “She is the king’s sister. Arthur always says he trusts her. Is there a problem about her?” She looked to Arthur.
“Over breakfast, Brit. I’m famished.”
Everyone moved toward the castle. But Merlin and Petronus lingered slightly behind. “Go and fire up the boiler for my lifting mechanism, Petronus. I do not feel well enough to tackle the steps to my tower.”
“Yes, Merlin.”
“Then come and join us for breakfast.”
The boy grinned. “With pleasure.”
The meal was huge and sumptuous, a fitting welcome home for the king. He took his place at the head table in the hall, surrounded by his advisors. Knights crowded the other tables. Mordred, apparently unaware that he and his mother were under clouds, took a seat close to Merlin. Peter took an unobtrusive seat at one end of the table and kept silent and listened to the conversation with careful attention. Petronus, having started the fire for Merlin’s lifting device, arrived late and sat at a rear table with the squires.
Merlin took the conversational lead. “So, how are our prisoners?”
Brit smiled. “They are still imprisoned. What else do you need to know?”
“It might be helpful if one of them confessed.”
“Confessed to what, Merlin? To starting the plague? Most of Europe thinks the Byzantines spread it deliberately. I’ll show you the intelligence reports after breakfast.”
“But I am not at all certain that-never mind. Have Marmaduke and Lulua said anything?”
“About-”
“About anything at all related to their attempt to do Arthur and me in. About who might have been behind it.”
Brit was lost. “Do you think creatures like them need to be urged to commit evil?”
Arthur spoke up. “What Merlin wants to know, Brit, is whether they have given any indication that my sister might have been behind their treason.”
Mordred exclaimed, “My mother?! Why would she-? I mean, why wouldn’t she, but really, why would she? Eliminating Uncle Arthur would undermine her own position in England. The barons would never-”
“Let us say,” Merlin interrupted, “that there are grounds for suspicion if nothing more.”
“But-”
