Untitled (14 page)

   "The Pillars of Hercules," Merlin corrected him, pleased with the chance to inject the classics into the morning's affairs.

   "Be quiet, Merlin. Save your academic quibbling for some other time." Brit turned to the soldier. "Go ahead, Stephen."

   "Well, Your Majesty, no Byzantine ships have passed through the—" He glanced warily at Merlin. "—through the Pillars. There has been no sign of Podarthes."

   "Perhaps," Arthur mused, "he traveled overland. Or hired a ship from another country. The Byzantines have enough vassal states—er, excuse me, allies."

   Merlin added, "Perhaps he has been captured by Italian banditti and is being held for ransom."

   "Merlin," Brit scolded, "he is too important for that atti­ tude. If he doesn't come, half of the point of this affair will be lost."

   "We have people on the Continent. Send to see if any of them has news of him traveling overland. And tell them he travels swiftly; he may have been detained. I hear there were heavy storms in the Balkans. Someone somewhere must know something."

   "Will they be back before the conference ends?"

   "No, of course not. But we will
know
."

   Arthur invited Britomart and the soldier Stephen to eat with them. They finished the meal, avoiding anything like official conversation. Gossip and chitchat seemed more in order. Brit and her soldier chatted about mutual acquaintan­ ces in the army.

   After a few minutes Simon of York came rushing into the dining hall and went straight to the king. In a loud whisper, he said, "Your Majesty, Lancelot has shaken his guards."

   "No!"

   Brit had overheard. "It's not likely he escaped from the castle. We have too many sentries posted outside."

   "Double the ones on duty indoors." Arthur's fist was clenched. "Scour the castle. Find him."

   Merlin had listened to all this. "How did he escape the guards?"

   "It isn't clear, sir. There hasn't really been time to ques­ tion anyone."

   "I see. Well, all of us must smile and pretend there is nothing wrong. We have a refectory full of guests we must play happy hosts for."

   Arthur whispered a few more orders to Simon, who bowed and left. Then, following Merlin's lead, they all smiled and acted as affable as they could.

   At length the meal ended and all the delegates left the dining hall and headed their various ways. In a startlingly short time the hall was empty of breakfasters except for Arthur, Merlin, Brit and Stephen. Servants cleared the ta­ bles, swept the floor, sneaked leftovers into their pockets.

   "Brit, I want you to go and take charge of the search. I want him found."

   "Captain Dalley is overseeing everything. He is—"

   "Do it."

   "Yes, Arthur." She left hurriedly.

   After a few minutes had passed, quite suddenly, from somewhere indeterminate, an ear-piercing scream shattered the peace. It was a male voice, and it seemed to echo through the castle's hallways forever. An instant later came a woman's voice, screaming even more loudly and more hysterically.

   The three of them—Arthur, Stephen and Merlin, with Merlin lagging behind on his cane—rushed out to the main corridor and looked around, trying to see where the noise had come from. Other people in the hallway also stopped. By the time Merlin caught up, it was clear that no one knew where the scream had originated.

   Britomart and two soldiers came rushing around the corner and straight to the king. "You heard it?"

   Arthur nodded. "I wish sound didn't travel so efficiently in these damn buildings."

   "I think it came from someplace near Guenevere's rooms. Come on."

   They all followed Britomart. She led them back the way she had come, then at the end of the corridor turned in the opposite direction from the one she had come from. A fair number of people—legates, soldiers, servants—followed along.

   They turned another corner, into the hallway that led to the queen's rooms. And there, lying on the floor with an ivory-handled dagger plunged into his throat, lay King Leodegrance. Blood spurted from the wound, covering the floor.

   Standing over the fallen king's body, gaping down at it but doing nothing to help the man, stood Lancelot. Just behind him was Petronilla, crying, sobbing hysterically.

"Guenevere is behind it. She must be."

   It was late, past midnight. Throughout the castle eve­ ryone was asleep but the guards, Arthur and Merlin. The festivities were to have begun that night, but Arthur had seen that every delegate present got word that because of the day's tragedy, everything on the agenda would be postponed by one day. A few protested, claiming they were on tight schedules, but there was nothing to be done. The rain that had begun earlier had worsened; it was now a thundering downpour and showed no sign of letting up.

   The two of them were in Arthur's study, talking over the day's events, trying to make sense of it all. The king had been drinking, but he was not really drunk. He had had just enough to be morose.

   Merlin watched Arthur. "How can you be so certain it was Guenevere? We're in a house with dozens of politicians and their minions. And all of them have knives."

   "I've been married to her for ten years. Well, more or less married."

   "You think she plotted the death of her own father? Why would she—even she—do such a thing?"

   "Merlin, she would cut out her own liver if she thought it would hurt me. What is the life of one old man to a crea­ ture like her? You saw her at dinner tonight. Smiling, chat­ ting, laughing. She could barely contain the glee. Arthur's big diplomatic moment, his entrance onto the stage of in­ ternational politics, has fallen apart. Half the delegates want to leave; the rest are insisting on armed guards round the clock."

   "Give them guards. It won't make them any safer, not from a really determined assassin, but it cannot hurt."

   Arthur looked into his cup. "And if another of them is killed? What on earth would we tell his king?"

   "That, Arthur, is quite simple. Hand over the assassin to his justice. That would satisfy any monarch alive."

   He swirled the drink in his cup. "I don't like mead. So help me, I don't. But until the Cornish started making wine it was the only beverage we English were any good at. Even our beer tastes like vinegar. So I drink. I am the ulti­ mate civic booster."

   "Arthur, will you try to stick to the subject at hand?"

   "Why? Honestly, Merlin, I don't even remember why I wanted . . . this. Any of it. When I was a boy, ignored by my father and with no prospects at all, and you found me and took me under your wing and promised to engineer a throne for me, it sounded like the most wonderful thing imaginable. I think I thought I wanted it. But I was a fool. I'd have been happier growing beans or herding sheep."

   "Of course, of course. How many times have you cried on my shoulder this way?"

   "I mean it, Merlin. I can't tell you how tempted I am to give the whole bloody mess to Guenevere. She deserves it."

   "You would never do such a thing."

   "Would I not? She deserves these headaches, not me. In ancient Judea there was a king named Herod. He had eight wives— Or was it nine? Memory fails. And he had them all killed. Each in turn. One by one they went to meet the gods. Wise king. Beside him I look like a fool. I'm only grateful we have no sons. If she had a son to scheme for, and not just herself . . ."

   Merlin had had enough of the king's self-pity. "You asked me to come here and tell you what we've learned, remember?"

   "It makes no difference to me. I want to go and raise beans."

   "Arthur."

   Suddenly the king was deflated. He put on a sardonic grin. "Oh, all right. Tell me. But make it good, will you? And make my wife the villain."

   "One way or another, she is involved, if only by being the victim's daughter. Isn't that enough?"

   Wider grin. "You said you have information."

   "Honestly, Arthur. If you don't like mead, why not stop drinking now?"

   Arthur slammed his cup onto the table. Mead splashed over everything on it. "There. Is that what you want?"

   "I'm not going to argue with you, Arthur. I only want to tell you what we—"

   "Tell me, then."

   He sighed. "First, per your instructions, Britomart has had her soldiers establish a tight, secure cordon around the castle, and Captain Dalley's men have tightened security inside. No one may enter or leave without permission from you. The delegates do not seem to have realized this yet, but they will. When one or more of them tries to leave to­ morrow, they will realize, and they will raise the devil."

   "Let them."

   "Next, I examined Leodegrance's body. He was stabbed not once but a great many times. The killer must have stood over him and quite deliberately plunged the knife into his throat more than enough times to do him in. Quite horribly cold-blooded. The right side of his neck was cut through altogether. I think it must have been someone he knew, otherwise he would not have let the killer get so close with­ out crying out. And there were no signs that he fought—no cuts on his arms or hands. It was someone he knew, I am certain of it."

   "Like a daughter?"

   "Possibly, but—"

   "Guenevere killed him. She evaded her guards some­ how. She closed her eyes and imagined he was me, and the knife went in."

   "You have evidence of this, of course."

   "The feeling in my gut is evidence enough for me. I'm the king, damn it!" He pounded the table and his cup fell over, spilling the rest of its contents.

   Merlin scrambled to gather up his papers. "The world will be watching us, Arthur. They may not find your gut sufficient evidence of a capital crime."

   "The world will be impressed by the swiftness and se­ verity of my justice."

   "And if Guenevere is not the killer? And if we cannot even prove that she was the one behind Lancelot? There may be someone else. Do you want a vicious killer running loose among the delegates?"

   "Stop it, will you, Merlin? I'm going to the privy."

   Merlin paused and leaned back in his chair. "Alone?"

   "Why? What did you have in mind?"

   "Stop it, Arthur, for god's sake. There is a killer on the loose. Whether today's villain is the same one who attacked you before, we do not know. But you mustn't go walking about on your own after dark."

   "I'm only going to empty my bladder. Don't you trust the king's security?"

   "I'll walk along with you just the same."

   As they were leaving Arthur's rooms something stirred in a dark corner. Someone dashed out from behind a tapes­ try and away into the darkened hallway. It was the figure of a small man dressed in dark clothing. Merlin cried out for the guards and they appeared almost at once. But when they started to search, it became clear that whoever it was had gotten away. Merlin looked at Arthur and cooed, "The king's security."

   "He's gone." Arthur growled. "How does he keep get­ ting away?"

   "Obviously one of our own people has changed his—or her—allegiance."

   "Why would anyone do that?" He sounded genuinely puzzled.

   Merlin shrugged. "Money. Blackmail. Sheer inexplica­ ble madness. I can think of a dozen reasons without really trying. How much do we know about the private lives of the people here? Colin even suggested the villain might be Petronus."

   "That's not possible. He's a good boy. I know him."

   "So do I. And I don't think he is the culprit. But, Arthur, anything is possible. And nothing human is reliable or cal­ culable. We must never forget that."

   When the tension had died down and the soldiers fin­ ished their search, Arthur said, "Come on. I really have to take a leak,"

   "We're bringing the guards.."

   The king sighed. "If we must. But now. And quickly, or I'll do it here."

   At the privy Merlin insisted the guards go in first to make certain there was no one there. Then Arthur finally got to relieve himself.

   But it did not seem to improve his humor. When he came out again his manner was brusque. "Merlin, I want you to find me the proof that Guenevere is behind her fa­ ther's murder. Do it."

"But, Arthur—"

"Do it, will you?"

   "I will investigate. I will follow the trail—wherever it leads."

   "Good. It will lead to my wife. There is no doubt in my mind."

   "Well, that makes one of us. Colin retrieved that knife from the murder scene. It matches the description of the ones Lancelot and Guenevere exchanged at their 'wedding.' I have not had the chance yet to verify that, but Petronilla will know."

   "There, you see? Guenevere's knife. She is the villain."

   "More likely it is Lancelot's. He is the obvious suspect. After all, he was found standing over the body. Once again, when I interview Petronilla tomorrow—"