Untitled (16 page)

   "Before I quite realized it was happening, he had drawn his dagger and—" She buried her face in her hands.

   "There, there." Arthur tried to be consoling. "We know what you saw must have been awful."

   "Quite terrible, in fact," Merlin added. "But are you cer­ tain you were the only ones there? Might someone else have—?"

   She looked up, and her face was covered in tears. "I saw him stab the king. Kill him. I saw the blood, all the blood. What more can I say?" Her crying became nearly uncon­ trollable.

   Arthur handed her a kerchief. "Please, Petronilla, try to stay calm."

   She looked from one of them to the other, as if it were the strangest thing she'd ever heard.

   But Merlin pressed ahead. "You recognized the knife he used?"

   She tried to focus her thoughts. The effort seemed to calm her more than all the reassuring words. "It was—it was the golden knife Guenevere had given him on the day they went through their marriage ceremony. They are quite distinctive, with beautiful ivory handles. The ivory is carved into spirals, and their initials, G and L, are cut into the blades."

   "I see. There is no doubt, then, that it was Lancelot's knife."

   "No, sir."

   "And can you remember anything else we should know?"

   "Well . . ."

   "Yes?"

   "Leodegrance and Lancelot had never liked one another. It was part of a larger tension at court. I mean . . . you know that Leodegrance had designs on English territory."

   "Yes, of course. Everyone knows that."

   "Well, there were always discussions about how to ac­ complish that. Leodegrance wanted Guenevere to act as a covert agent, subverting the English government from within, weakening it. He always said it was a slow strategy but it was certain to work.

   "But Leonilla pushed Guenevere to be as confronta­ tional as possible, to provoke the king, to stir up trouble every way she could. This marriage was part of that. Leonilla always argued that if King Arthur was provoked enough, he would make a blunder and England would fall into the lap of the French." She made a slight bow to the king and lowered her eyes. "Sorry, Your Majesty."

   "It is quite all right, Petronilla. I have always been aware of Leonilla's attitude toward me."

   "Most of the court disagreed, Your Majesty. If that matters."

   He smiled. "It is nice to hear, I suppose."

   Merlin asked her, "What was the attitude of the French court toward Lancelot?"

   "They found him . . . useful. He was a good knight, a first-rate athlete. I suppose, if it comes to it, that he was not the most thoughtful man at court, but as I said, he was an athlete. And Leonilla was always aware that Guenevere found him attractive. She encouraged that. So he became a pawn in the struggle between the countries."

   "Were they lovers before she came to England?" The king looked away from her as he asked it.

   "I don't know, Your Majesty. That was before my time. But for as long as I can remember, they were . . . were . . ."

   "Yes. They were."

   Merlin looked quickly through his notes. "I think that is all we need from you for now. Thank you very much, Petronilla. You will of course repeat all this at trial?"

   "I . . . I . . . Yes, of course."

   "And you need not worry. Leonilla and Guenevere will be furious at your testimony, but we will give you ample protection from them and their agents. They have tried to assassinate Arthur, with no success. Your things will be moved to another wing promptly."

   "Assassinate?" Alarm showed in her face. "They have agents here?" She said it as if it were a new realization, though she must have known it before.

   But Arthur reassured her. "Every court has agents in every other court. It is a game monarchs play."

   They made a few more minutes of casual chat, and when she was calm they gave Petronilla leave to go.

   Then Merlin turned to Arthur. "It all seems simple enough. There had been long-standing hostility between Lancelot and Leodegrance. What else should we need to know?"

   "There doesn't seem to be another thing, Merlin. We could have no better evidence than the eyewitness account of one of our own agents. Which is just as well. At dinner tonight we can announce that the killer has definitely been caught and will be tried and executed in short order. The assorted dignitaries, though they have scant dignity, will be reassured, the damage will be repaired and with luck we can get this damn fool conference back on track and maybe even get some good out of it. We were better off when we were a diplomatic backwater."

   "Aren't we still?"

"Be quiet."

"One question occurs to me, though."

"And that is . . . ? Trust you to complicate matters."

   "Why would Lancelot be walking around with a cere­ monial dagger? And one that was a wedding gift, at that."

   "He was escaping. He needed a knife. Perhaps it was the only one at hand."

   "Perhaps. I wish it did not keep nagging at me."

"Merlin. Thank you so much for coming."

   It was mid-morning. The rain pounded the castle relent­ lessly. It was no simple rainstorm; it was an early winter storm. Wind rattled the windowpanes in Guenevere's sitting room.

   The bigamous queen sat on a small chair fashioned like a miniature throne. Apparently she had not slept. She looked drawn; her eyes were sunken and her skin unhealth­ ily pale. She glanced at the rattling windows then looked back at her visitor. Weakly, Guenevere smiled.

   Merlin found her manner as odd as her appearance. To see her, he would never have guessed that her lover had murdered her father. "Good morning, Guenevere. It seems we're to be visited with awful weather."

   "We already have been." There was no trace of irony in her voice.

   Merlin stood at the far side of the room from her. "Are you speaking in metaphors? It is not at all like you. The one thing I can usually count on with you is your literal­ mindedness."

   Her eyelid fluttered; she showed no other reaction. "Please, sit. I can have the servants bring you cushions if you like."

   "Thank you, no. I prefer to stand. Arthur has asked me to keep an eye on the storm."

   "I see. And how is my—how is Arthur today?"

"Still alive. It seems mildly miraculous, doesn't it?"

   "Please, Merlin, I didn't ask you here to spar with you. Far from it."

   "They say a two-headed calf was born in Kent last week. The world is full of novelties." He glanced at an ottoman near where he was standing, paused for a moment to con­ sider, then sat down.

   "I deserve your sarcasm, for once." She exhaled slowly and deeply; it was the saddest sound Merlin had heard in a long time. If it had been anyone but Guenevere he would have been moved.

   "First metaphors, now humility. Guenevere, you are a changed woman."

   A goblet rested on a table beside her. She picked it up, started to drink, then thought better of it and returned it to its place. "I hope I
have
changed, at least enough to touch you."

   He narrowed his eyes. "Touch me how? With what?"

   "Merlin, I must ask a favor of you. A large one."

   "If you are attempting to be comical, Guenevere, I'm afraid the humor is lost on me."

   "I am asking seriously."

   "Fine, I shall try to restrain my penchant for being a smart aleck. Tell me what you want."

   "I want . . ." Something seemed to choke her. "I want to ask . . ."

   "Yes?"

   "Merlin, I love Lancelot."

   "I should hope so. Two loveless marriages, both deliber­ ate, would be rather a lot, don't you think?"

   She brushed this aside. "I love him. And he is innocent."

   For a long moment the words hung between them. Mer­ lin blinked, not certain he was hearing correctly. "Your loy­ alty to him is touching, if misplaced. He was found over the body. The murder weapon was his. You should know; you gave it to him. An eyewitness—your own secretary—saw the crime. What more could anyone need to know?"

   "He is innocent." She said it with such serene selfassurance that Merlin was a bit unsettled. It was like hear­ ing a madwoman deny gravity.

   "He is? Then how do you account for—?"

   "That was not his knife. It was mine. I kept it in a silklined casket on my dressing table. Someone took it."

   "And you are going to ask me to examine the empty casket, correct? All that would prove is that you've hidden your knife in a desperate attempt to confuse the plain facts."

   "The two knives were marked distinctively by the jew­ eler.
G to L
and
L to G
, etched in very small letters on the blade just below the haft. Use one of your famous magnify­ ing lenses, Merlin. You will see that the knife you have is not marked
G to L bu
t rather the reverse. Father was killed with my knife, not Lancelot's, and it was stolen from me. The girl is lying."

   "Petronilla? She is— I have made inquiries. She has a good reputation for honesty and reliability. Why would you have made her your secretary if you did not know it?"

   "I needed a secretary. She was the daughter of my mother's old friend, she could read and write and she was there."

   "Nevertheless, she has no motive for lying."

   "Everyone has a motive for lying." She was beginning to lose her composure; he could hear it in her voice.

   "Perhaps in your court. Really, Guenevere, if this is all you want, I will be going. You will be permitted to tell your story at Lancelot's trial, if you so choose. But you should not permit yourself to hope anyone will believe it."

   She stood and rushed across the room to him. She caught him by the sleeve and said, "Please, Merlin. Tell me what you want. Name the act—I'll do it. But you must prove that Lancelot is innocent. He did not kill my father."

   He glared at her and she removed her hand. "All this would be easier for me to believe, Guenevere, if not for the inconvenient fact that Lancelot tried to kill Arthur, too, mere days ago. Regicide appears to be second nature to him."

   "That was an accident and you know it. Investigate for me. For him. For
us
."

   "This is perfectly grotesque, Guenevere. You and Lance­ lot have done everything you could, for years, to bring down Arthur and his court. Evidence aside, do you honestly think I would help you go on with your assorted treasons?"

   "Is that it, then? I can promise you there will be no more."

   "The serpent promises not to bite. Do not be absurd, Guenevere."

   "I swear it. I give you my solemn vow, Lancelot and I will never plot against you and Arthur again. Prove his in­ nocence."

   Slowly he stood and walked to the nearest window. Heavy rain was falling; streams were cascading from the roof; wind was bending the trees. "Once in the stoa at Ath­ ens I listened to a clever philosopher prove that black was white. Like everyone else in the crowd, I was dazzled by his sophistry. But when he finished I still knew the obvious difference between the two. Now you want me to play that same kind of mental game, expecting it to change . . . what, precisely?"

   "Please, Merlin. Do I have to beg the man who claims to love justice? Shall I get on my knees? My knife was stolen. Find who did it. The girl is lying. Discover why. Free Lan­ celot and anything you want will be yours."

   Softly he chuckled. "Suppose what I want is you and your lover in chains? I already have half of that. Will you give me the other half?"

"I'll do anything. Write a confession; I'll sign it."

   "And then tear it up at the first chance you have. Hon­ estly, do you think you are dealing with a gullible Corfe fishmonger?"

   "I'll sign it in my blood."

   "I am afraid the paper would rot."

   "For God's sake, Merlin, do you want to see an innocent man punished for someone else's crime?"

   "Lancelot is an innocent man? Perhaps that Greek was right after all and black really is the color of snow."

   "A treaty. A concordat. An act of submission. I'll sign anything, do anything. But you must help me."

   He could not resist grinning at her. "I am afraid I am en­ joying this much too much. Would Bishop Gildas tell me it is a sin?"

   "Punishing Lancelot for someone else's crime would be a sin."

   "Well, I will promise you this. I will discuss the matter with Arthur. If he thinks your signature has any worth, I will proceed."

   She had been tense; her body now loosened up quite visibly. "Thank you. Thank you, Merlin."

   "It will be Arthur you must thank."

   She clenched her jaw. "If it comes to that, I will do it. On my knees or prostrate before him, if need be."

   "There, there, Guenevere. It won't hurt too much."

   "You will talk to Arthur, then?" She let a hopeful note creep into her voice.

   "For what it may be worth, I will. But you must not ex­ pect too much. A wronged husband can hardly be blamed for—"

   "Go to him now. Please."

   He took a step toward the door. "I must confess, you have managed to surprise me. I was expecting more grief. I thought you might want me to arrange a meeting with your mother."

   "Mother does not need my sympathy. Besides, she has already been here."

   He raised an eyebrow.

   "She goes walking about the castle, late at night. She is half-senile, you know."

   "Ah, a daughter's love."

   She ignored this. "You will keep your word? You will talk with Arthur for me?"

   He nodded. "As I promised."

   They exchanged a bit of small talk and he left.

"She wants
what
? You must be joking." Arthur strode about his study like a caged animal trying to decide if it was hun­ gry or furious.