“But-”
“We must be off to Dover. The king’s business, you know.”
Plainly unhappy, Darrowfield bid them good-bye once again.
When they finally departed, just after the morning meal, their going seemed to come as a relief to everyone involved, except Lord Darrowfield himself. As he watched them go, a look of increasing concern crossed his features.
On the road, Merlin was lost in thought. When Nimue asked what was bothering him, he told her, “There is a line in the Christian holy book which I cannot get out of my mind. ‘A man’s enemies are the men of his own house.’ ”
“You mean Lord Darrowfield, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” Ruefully he added, “But Darrowfield seems to have enemies enough for three houses. It has all left me so uneasy.”
THREE
The weather was good for traveling, though clouds loomed in the west. Petronus commented, hoping they would make it to Dover before any storms might strike.
“This is England, Petronus,” Merlin lectured softly. “There are always storms coming. If they do not strike now, they will hit us in Dover.”
On the road from Darrowfield, heading for the main highway, they passed Stonehenge once again; they saw it in the distance to their left. It was still early morning; the monoliths cast long, strange shadows across the fields. Petronus asked if they might make at least a brief stop to inspect the monument.
“On our way home, Petronus.” Merlin wanted no part of the suggestion. He hardly needed to explain that the place’s association with religion, or superstition as he called it, was the reason why. “The celebration of the autumn equinox will be occurring. Even with Morgan there, doing her high priestess act and wielding her battery of poisons, it should be an entertaining festival.”
“She seems so different from the king. How can they be brother and sister?”
Merlin lowered his voice. “They did not have the same mother. That accounts for so much in our so-called nobles. Have you not been paying attention these last few days?”
“I thought you like Arthur.”
“So I do. He is one of my very few true friends.”
For the first time Nimue spoke up. “If that is true of the nobles, how much more so must it be true of the common people? We are a mongrel nation, Merlin. Can such a race really engender the shining society-the peace and truth and justice-you envision?”
“Englishmen are human beings, Nimue, no more or less. You know I am not a religious man, but every religion I know of teaches that human nature is corrupt. It is precisely that corruptness that we must overcome. They also preach that we can attain the sublime.”
He spurred his horse ahead, as if the conversation or perhaps the sight of the ancient stones in the distance unsettled him. The others spurred their mounts to keep up with him.
Dover was bustling with people when their party arrived, in late afternoon. The autumn fair was already getting under way. They reined their horses at the top of a hill, where the road began to wind down to the town, the harbor, the beach and the famous chalk cliffs. The harbor was crowded with ships from all parts of the Mediterranean, even as far away as Egypt and Palestine; a surprising number of them had painted sails.
From his pack Merlin produced a set of his “viewing lenses” and they all took turns inspecting the scene that spread before them. Petronus tried to count off as many national flags as he could recognize on the ships’ masts, and he counted more than thirty. There were still others unknown to him.
“The Hebrew holy books tell of an attempt to build a tower to the sun.” Merlin slipped into his best schoolteacher mode. “But the effort was undone and thrown into chaos by the huge confusion of languages. Dover must be like that now.”
“Trust you to find some dark old myth for every situation.” Nimue was in no mood for his cynicism. She held the lenses to her eye again. “Look at it all. I find it very exciting. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many people gathered in one place.”
From their position at the top of the hill, she scanned Dover and beamed at it all. “We are making progress, Merlin. The rest of the world is beginning to recognize England as a valuable venue for trade. Perhaps even a vital one.” She was careful to add, “You and Arthur have a great deal to be proud of.”
Merlin’s mood changed quickly as they descended the road to Dover. Slowly a smile crept across his face. All the people and activity were affecting him despite himself. Nimue enjoyed his mood; it was rare for him to relax and enjoy himself.
“And a lot of the ships down there look prosperous,” she added. “Look at how low they are riding in the water. They are heavy with goods. The Mediterranean economy must be strong.”
Merlin smiled a satisfied smile. “We should all be proud, Nimue. Someday-soon, I hope-this country will be of international importance. I would like to think my life will last at least long enough to see that. We have spent far too long in the shadow of the European powers. The only time the historians ever even mention us is to note that the Romans invaded us.”
“And Hadrian built that wall of his.” Petronus was grateful for the chance to show off his learning.
They spurred their horses to move quickly down the road, and before long they reached the town’s outskirts.
Vendors’ booths began to appear along the road. Nimue bought a little cake from the first baker’s stand they came to, bit into it and made an unpleasant face. “If we do gain international stature, it will not be for our cooking, I presume. How can you ruin something as simple as a poppy seed cake? The reputation of the French as superb pastry chefs is quite secure.”
“It has nothing to do with nationality. The French hold no monopoly on culinary talent.”
“We do.” Petronus sulked defensively. “Everyone knows it.”
“If Arthur is wise in nothing else, he always selects the best cooks. Take Marian of Bath, for example. She could do very well by striking out on her own. Arthur treats her more than well enough to keep her at Camelot.”
Nimue spurred her horse. “Come on. Let’s find our way to the garrison.”
Merlin stiffened. “Garrison? We are on holiday. I want nothing with any scent of government. Let us find a nice warm inn.”
“With the festival in progress, won’t that be expensive?”
He pulled a little purse out of his pocket and jingled it. It was plainly filled with coin. “A gift to us from the king. As I said, he likes to keep his people content. A nice inn with a roaring fire and a good supply of wine will be just the thing.”
Vendors and merchants were in the process of setting up kiosks in every street. Performers-minstrels, troubadours, acrobats, actors-were everywhere. Ordinary people crowded around them and the merchants. Dover was a huge press of people, all of them in a buoyant mood, all of them eating, drinking, singing off-key, applauding the performers… There were visitors who were easily identifiable by their clothing, Turks, Egyptians, North Africans, Byzantines; and others dressed in a more homogeneous European style.
Nimue and Petronus took it all in with relish. They seemed determined to try every kind of food on offer. After a few minutes, the boy disappeared into the crowd. Merlin grumped to Nimue, “Where is he? My hip is beginning to hurt. And the two of you are making yourselves fat. I want to find an inn and rest.”
“This is a festival, Merlin. Eat.”
Petronus rejoined them more exuberant than before. “There are Frenchmen here. I talked with one, and he says this is the liveliest festival he’s ever seen. I am so proud to be an Englishman now.” The boy looked slightly abashed. He lowered his voice. “I am one, am I not?”
A fat merchant pushed his way past them, stepping on Nimue’s foot, and disappeared into the crowd. She glowered after him. “Are you really certain that’s what you want to be?”
“Who do they represent, these Frenchmen you met?” Merlin made his inquiry with a smile. “What part of France do they hail from?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.” Petronus was mildly embarrassed.
“You do not have the makings of an intelligence officer. I wonder if you are really suited to any kind of government service-except possibly the military.”
A look of alarm spread across the boy’s face; he seemed to have no idea he was being kidded. “Please, Merlin, do not give me to the knights. Service with Lancelot was enough to convince me that-”
“I am only joking, Petronus. You have already made yourself so helpful to me.”
Relief showed. “Thank you, sir. Can I buy some more cakes?”
Merlin sighed. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. But I am hungry, too.”
This amused Nimue. “We already have some. Here.” She handed him a bun. “That carefully constructed public image of yours-the wise man impatient with human weakness-always vanishes when your appetites take over, doesn’t it?”
“Be quiet.”
“Look. There’s a nice inn in the next street. Why don’t we try there?”
“Yes. But first I want another cake.”
Nimue was about to make another wisecrack about Merlin’s appetites, but he shot her a warning glance and she kept quiet.
To Merlin’s disappointment, all the inns in Dover were full to capacity. After they tried five of them, he announced, “Not even the king’s gold can open their doors to us. I suppose we will have to stay at the garrison after all.”
Petronus was still eating breads and cakes. “Suppose they’re full up, too?”
“We are high officials of the king. They will have to make room for us. If need be, some of the soldiers can double up.”
“Two soldiers to a bed.” Nimue was wry. “Like ancient Sparta.”
“It may not come to that. There may be sufficient room. Still, I would prefer not to stop there. That will make it too easy for Arthur and Britomart to find me, for whatever crisis may arise this week. But it seems we have no choice.” A passing juggler bumped against him, and he winced in pain, then scowled. “At least the soldiers will be disciplined enough to behave properly.”
“Oh, yes.” She could not hide her amusement. “No place bespeaks manners and decorum like a barracks room.”
“Stop being disagreeable, Colin.”
Petronus was eating his seventh cake. “The commander here is named Captain-Captain-?”
“Commander Larkin. I have met him at court but I do not know him at all well. Colin has corresponded with him a number of times.” He looked at her. “What is your impression of him?”
She shrugged. “Solid. A military officer. A bureaucrat. There has never been the least flash of wit or irony in any of his communiques, and certainly no imagination. So he is either very discreet or very dull.”
“Splendid.” Petronus wrinkled his nose. “The weather is so gorgeous. Why don’t we sleep out of doors?”
“Are you joking?” Merlin was tart. “If I spend the night on the ground and waken wet with dew, I will be so stiff you will have to carry me home on a litter.”
