Untitled (27 page)

   "Good. Now if only the rain itself would stop. Half the country is flooded. We're getting reports from farther and farther north and west."

   "Of course, that is not to say they are all happy, or even content." Arthur took a deep drink. "They never seem to stop squabbling, like a pack of old widows."

   "You wanted England to be a player in Europe, not me. Left alone on our tight little island with its dreadful weather, we could have finished building the society we want."

"Don't start."

   Merlin told him about Guenevere's attempt to meet with Podarthes. "She says they're old friends from Constantin­ ople. She wants to catch up on his life, nothing more. She says."

   "Good God, and she expected you to believe that?" Ar­ thur put his cup down loudly, eyed it, then picked it up again. "She hasn't been there since she was sixteen, two or three thousand years ago. And even then, she was as unim­ portant as any of Justinian's 'guests.' Did you know, by the way, he's just issued an edict officially closing all the Athe­ nian schools of philosophy?"

   Merlin fell silent for a moment; distress showed in his face. "I hadn't heard, no. He is remaking the world as he wants it, and that is not good for the world. As long as sur­ faces are gilded, why worry that the wood underneath is rotting? But the Byzantines have always preferred style to substance. Court ceremonial matters to them more than political philosophy ever could. But suppose she was not?"

   Arthur blinked. "Suppose who was not what?"

   "Guenevere. Unimportant."

   "What do you mean? A pubescent girl from a backward French province? It must have taken them months to get the mud off her, Merlin."

   "No wonder you fell in love with her."

   "If you have a point, Merlin, make it."

   He took a deep draft of his wine. "Listen, we know well enough how the Byzantines operate. They spin webs—the more elaborate the better—and they wait. Like venomous spiders, they wait. Suppose they have always had their eye on France, or England. When this green princess fell into their lap, it was too good to be true. They nurtured her, coddled her, planned ways to use her. It occurs to me that your marriage may even have been their idea."

   "No, alas, that was my own work."

   "But you see what I am suggesting. Perhaps all these

years she has been their agent, waiting, plotting, hoping to deliver France or England—or both—into their hands. It would explain her secret correspondence with them, and their eagerness to recognize her as ruler of England, and if she knew or believed she had their backing, it would ex­ plain all the treasonous plots she has hatched."

   Arthur leaned forward and peered at him. "And would it explain why she killed her father? You saw what he was like, Merlin. He would have been dead soon enough any­ way."

   "That is a problem for the theory, granted. We have other suspects, but none of them seems as likely as Guenevere. I want her to be the culprit—along with her pet knight."

   Arthur slouched back and closed his eyes. "The webs are all around us. Keep working, keep untangling them. It would be nice to have something to announce to the delegates at the plenary meeting tonight. And you know tomorrow is the final session of our little diplomatic gathering. I don't suppose you could promise me to have the killer by then?"

   "I wish it were possible."

   "It is. It must be."

   "You know I will do my best, Arthur."

   "Of course. But try to do a little better than that, will you?"

Late afternoon. Nimue, in her guise as Colin, had just fin­ ished pouring water on another minor diplomatic fire. As she walked past the entrance to the refectory, she decided something sweet would make a nice little reward.

   She caught the eye of a serving girl. "Are there any of those honey cakes Arthur always has you make for him?"

   "Yes, sir. Shall I fetch some?"

   "Please."

   Waiting for the girl to return from the kitchen, she spot­

ted Jean-Michel sitting alone in a corner, eating a bowl of soup. She put on a wide smile and crossed to him. "Hello. It's a bit early for dinner, isn't it?"

   He looked up; the expression on his face and his body language both said he was tired. "Oh. It's—Colin, isn't it?"

   She nodded. "You look like you haven't been getting much sleep. You could almost be one of my staff."

   He yawned. "Sorry. I'm afraid the queen has been keep­ ing me busy."

   She narrowed her eyes. "So what they say about you and your . . . duties . . . is all true?"

   "Leonilla is a queen. Rulers have favorites. I am hers."

   "There are times I wish the world I move in was not quite so devoted to euphemism."

   Jean-Michel laughed at this. Nimue found it odd; she hadn't meant it as a joke. "At least you only have one per­ son to keep happy," Nimue said. "I've spent the last hour mediating a dispute between Morgan le Fay and Bishop Gildas. Neither of them is exactly filled with the milk of human kindness."

   "They are rivals. If I were more cynical I would say business rivals."

   "For the moment, Morgan holds the franchise. But the thought of a new religion taking root here clearly has her worried."

   "As well she might be. But really, you would all be so much better off under the Christian Church. Have you looked into it?"

   "I'm afraid I haven't." She resisted the temptation to make a wisecrack. "It hardly seems to have improved the morals of Guenevere."

   "Love is love, Colin. She loves Lancelot."

   "And an oath is an oath. She swore to love and obey Ar­ thur. But her damned schemes never end. Even now, under heavy guard, she is trying to nurture her plots. Frankly I'm surprised she hasn't tried to meet with Leonilla."

He blinked. "You think she would do that?"

   "If it were to her advantage, I think she would cut off her own leg."

   "No, but I mean . . . You don't know about her and her mother? They are not exactly close."

   "What do you mean? Leonilla has been behind most of her treachery since she came to England and married the king."

   Jean-Michel sipped his soup. "They are rival queens, Colin. There is no love lost between them, none at all."

   "They are rival
French
queens. It has never been much of a secret that they wanted to extend France's territory across the Channel, into the British Isles."

   "That was the original plan, yes. But ever since Leonilla realized that would make her daughter more powerful than she is herself . . ." Suddenly he stammered and blushed. "I mean . . . I imagine . . . I mean . . . I'm sorry . . . I'm tired."

   "I understand perfectly what you mean." She bit into her honey cake. "They're not making these as sweet as they used to. Honey is scarce this season."

   "Nothing is as sweet as it used to be."

   She laughed. "You sound like Merlin."

   "I don't mean to. He was questioning me today and trying to sound like he wasn't. I hope I never become so obvious."

   She refrained from commenting on this. "Merlin is quite a brilliant man in many ways. He has found some old plans drawn up by Hero of Alexandria. He thinks he may actually be able to build working models of his steam engines."

   "Steam engines?" He made a sour face. "What on earth for?"

   "Spoken like a member of the French court. Do you have any idea what will happen to Leonilla now? Does she still have enough influence to keep her throne?"

   He smiled a wide smile. "I certainly hope so. Whatever would become of me if the nobles depose her?"

   "There's always Guenevere." She said it without thinking.

   "Guenevere is spoken for."

   "Twice over." She grinned back at him. "If you get my drift."

   Suddenly his own smile vanished. "When will Lancelot go to trial?"

   "As quickly as possible. A matter of weeks, probably. It will involve assembling a jury of his peers. We are sum­ moning a party of Arthur's knights from Camelot."

   "Ah, the famous Knights of the Round Table."

   "Yes, exactly. And preparing the case against him will take time. Merlin is to prosecute, and he won't be able to give it his full attention till the last of the delegates is gone."

   "I should have thought the case was open-and-shut."

   "There is some doubt whether Lancelot is the actual kil­ ler, it seems. Merlin wants an airtight case. But I shouldn't be talking about it."

   "It is quite all right, Colin, You can trust me. So there are other suspects in the murder?"

   "As I said, it isn't something I should discuss. Eat too much of that soup and you won't be hungry for supper."

   "I'll eat light. I usually do. The queen likes me to stay trim."

   "Oh, to have the problems of a queen."

   "My queen, at least." He stood to go. "It would hardly be pleasant having Guenevere's problems, would it?"

   Just as he reached the door she had a flash of insight. She asked him, "What exactly is your position at Leonilla's court, Jean-Michel?"

   "I'm an ordinary courtier, nothing more. As lowly as they come."

   She decided to take a chance and repeat one of the bits of gossip she's heard from the servants. "That's funny. I heard a rumor you were the court jeweler."

   An expression of alarm crossed his face; he worked to conceal it. "Jeweler? Whoever could have told you such a thing?"

   "I'm not sure I remember. It was just a shred of idle gos­ sip, that's all. I'll see you tonight."

   Looking concerned, he told her he'd make a point of looking for her.

Nimue brought Merlin and the king up to date on what she'd learned from Jean-Michel as the king was dressing for dinner. Greffys helped him into his ceremonial robes.

   "We've always assumed Guenevere and Leonilla were working together. He says they're not, at least not re­ cently."

   Arthur gaped at her. "My lady wife is not the brightest of women. It's difficult to believe she has hatched all these plots on her own."

   "She is an extraordinarily cunning woman, Arthur." Merlin, like the king, was puzzled by the news.

   "Yes, Merlin, but cunning is not quite the same thing as intelligence, is it? A bigamous marriage to Lancelot was hardly a clever move."

   "As you have pointed out yourself often enough, Arthur, Lancelot is not exactly an intellectual. He is handsome, to be sure, and he is a superb athlete, but that handsome face has never been clouded by thought."

   Arthur was finished dressing. He sent Greffys away, then turned back to Merlin. "Can you imagine Guenevere conducting serious diplomatic relations with Justinian? It's not as if he needs her. He has inscrutable Lithuanians."

   Merlin laughed and said, "I suppose you are right, Ar­ thur. You usually are, when it comes to Guenevere."

   "Besides, most of the evidence still points to Lancelot as the killer of Leodegrance."

   Merlin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "It keeps coming back to the murder weapon, in my mind. It was not Lancelot's knife. But does that really mean so much? His knife and Guenevere's are identical but for tiny inscriptions. They could easily have switched them without realizing it. I had to use one of my lenses to be certain what the inscription said. Then there is our witness—if we can believe her."

   Nimue looked at him and smiled. "By the way, I think— and this is only a guess—but I suspect Jean-Michel might be Leonilla's court jeweler."

   Arthur grumped. "What of that?"

   But Merlin caught her drift. "Do you suppose he might have made those knives?"

   Arthur's shoulders slumped. "Fine. Another complica­ tion." He looked at Nimue. "How certain are you of this?"

   "Not at all certain. But when I asked him he looked mildly frightened, as if some secret had gotten out, and he left at once."

   "That's wonderful," Merlin said. "Just what I need is another wrinkle in this matter."

   "You sound as if you want a simple case. It's too late for that."

   "I suppose I do. There is too much evidence against Lancelot. Even without Petronilla's testimony. He was the only one there. It comes down to that simple fact, really— that and the knife." He shifted his weight and yawned. "I need to get more sleep."

   "One more day of these people, then we can all get a good rest." Arthur put an ermine-trimmed cape around his shoulders.

   "Let us hope the rain does not keep them here."

   "All this polite diplomacy is wearing me down. Oh— I've canceled most of the formal agenda for tonight, all the speechmaking and such. There will be music, dancing, a little play and very little else. I'll announce it at dinner. We could all use a break from this damnable intrigue."

   "Excellent idea, Arthur. Let us hope they all get good and drunk. Have you been outside lately?"

   Arthur stared at him and blinked. "Of course not. I'm not an otter."

   "The rain is slowing. If it keeps tailing off, it will be fin­ ished by morning."

   "Excellent. These people can leave for sure, then."

   "Once all these bloody flash floods subside. And we'll have to send someone down to the harbor to take toll of the damage done there. Let us hope all their ships are sea­ worthy."

   Nimue said, "One sank, remember?"

   Suddenly a guard entered. He was obviously nervous. He quickly saluted the king. "Your Majesty."

   Arthur fussed with Excalibur. "What is it?"

   "I regret to inform you, sire . . ."

   "Yes? Out with it. Has one of the cooks stolen some eggs? Has my prize cow's milk gone dry?"

   "None of that, Your Majesty."

   "Get to the damned point, man."