“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“It’s right on the main street.” He pointed vaguely in the direction he’d come from. “Right in the middle of town. You’ll see it. And they’ll be glad you’ve come. Not many people do.”
There was not much traffic in London’s streets. A number of buildings were made from the same dark stone as the abandoned fort. It occurred to Nimue that they had been built with stones from its damaged walls. A few others were made of limestone. But most were wooden, and ramshackle.
Such people as there were in the streets tended to keep their eyes lowered; no one seemed at all social. Brit muttered, "You see what I mean? The people here… they don’t seem to have personalities. Or minds.”
“You’re too harsh, Brit.” Merlin, oddly, seemed to be enjoying it. “People who know how to mind their own business, and who don’t feel the need to prattle every little thing that occurs to them-that’s a breath of fresh air.”
“Ask another one for directions and see how fresh you find them.”
“There’s no need. Look, here is Caesar’s Bones now.”
The inn was small and unprepossessing. One tiny window, streaked with mud or something like it, looked out onto the street. A sign with a crudely painted skeleton and a Roman eagle announced the inn’s name, a dim recollection of the defeat and expulsion of the Romans centuries before. The three travelers looked at one another, not certain what to expect, and dismounted.
There was no hitching post, so they tethered their horses to a stunted bush nearby. “Nothing here grows well. This is not a healthy place.”
“You grew well, Brit.” Nimue couldn’t resist pricking her mood.
“Be quiet, ’Colin.’ ” She said the name lightly but pointedly, to remind Nimue that she knew something, or thought she did.
Merlin pushed open the door of the inn and they stepped inside. As they’d been hoping, a large fire burned energetically in the hearth. They made straight for it and pulled up a table and chairs.
A thin, wizened old man emerged from a back room. “Good afternoon.” He didn’t sound as if he meant it. And he certainly did not look as if he might ever have been a knight.
“Afternoon.” Merlin smiled at the man. “We’ve been on the road all day. We need wine and some nice hot beef.”
“You’ll get beer and rabbit. No one here eats beef.”
Oh. “Uh… fine. I’m sure it’s excellent fare.”
“It’s the best you’ll find in London.”
Brit snapped, “Is that saying much?”
The man ignored her. “Beer and rabbit for three, then. Will there be anything else?”
“A bit of information, if you please.” Merlin was working at cordiality, hoping it would offset Brit’s rudeness. “Would you be Byrrhus, by chance?”
“I would not.”
“Is he on the premises?”
“No.”
He was not to be put off. “But this is his inn, isn’t it? People talk about Caesar’s Bones all over the country.”
The man gave out a short, derisive laugh. “They don’t, and there’s no use saying they do.” Without another word he turned and went back to the rear of the building.
The three of them fell silent, not at all certain how to react. Finally Brit said, “And the man on the road said they’d be happy to see us.”
“They’ll be happy enough to see our money, when the time comes.”
The publican came back with three large goblets of beer. He scowled at them and said, “Drink hearty.”
“Uh, thank you.”
He turned and left again.
Merlin looked himself up and down. “Maybe we look like we carry some disease.”
“We do.” Brit smelled her beer and pushed the goblet away. “It’s called civilization. It’s complete anathema here.”
Nimue sipped her beer and made a sour face. “This is awful.”
“The meat will be worse.”
“I can see why you don’t like to tell anyone this is where you’re from.”
Brit put on a wide smile. “We all have things we want to hide, don’t we, Colin?”
Nimue froze, uncertain how to react. Merlin made a show of drinking his beer then wiping his lips with a broad gesture. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had.”
“At least Morgan hasn’t had a chance to poison it.” Brit was not drinking, quite pointedly.
“Oh?” Nimue grimaced at her. “You haven’t tasted it.”
The owner came back with three plates of meat and bread. “Here you are.”
“I don’t believe,” Merlin smiled as wide a smile as he could manage, “we caught your name.”
“Robert.” The man frowned.
“Well, Robert, we are from Camelot. I am Merlin, this is Britomart, one of the king’s premiere knights, and this young man is my apprentice, Colin.”
He stared at them. “Yes?”
Undaunted, Merlin pressed on. “We are on a mission from King Arthur, looking for a man named Byrrhus. He used to be a knight in the king’s service, and we’re told he used to own this inn.”
“Will you be needing rooms?”
He looked to his companions. “For tonight, yes. One for Colin and me, and one for Britomart.”
“Two rooms, then.”
Brit laughed at him. “Yes, you’ve got it.”
“And we’d appreciate some assistance.” Merlin took out his purse and made a show of the gold coins in it.
Robert’s eyes widened. Suddenly he was the most gracious host. “Anything you need, sir.”
“Well, as I told you, we’re looking for Byrrhus. Do you know where we can find him? Or do you know someone who might?”
Robert hadn’t taken his eyes off the purse. “He’s mad. He went mad years ago. He lives in the ruins of the old Roman temple on the hill.”
“Which one? Where?”
He pointed vaguely. “Follow that road out of town. The hill’s steep; you’ll know it. Ruins on top.”
Merlin handed him a coin. “I hope that’s enough for our rooms and your trouble.”
“More than enough, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Not now, thank you. You have stables?”
“Yes, sir, out back. Eat well, sir.”
They ate. No one bothered to comment on how bad the food was; it would have been belaboring the obvious. When they were finished, Merlin went off to find Robert and tell him they’d be back by nightfall. Then they departed in hopes of meeting the man they’d come to see.
It was raining more heavily. Their poor horses were miserable. They mounted and set off slowly. “Which way, Brit?”
She pointed, and they began to move.
The streets were quite empty now, so there was no one for Brit to make snide comments about. She seemed unhappy about it. Close to the edge of town the buildings thinned out and the road started to rise. Quite abruptly, the rain stopped, and ahead of them up the hill, through a light mist, they could see a cluster of old, ruined buildings. Rows of columns fronted them; one of them still had part of a dome standing atop it.
It took a few minutes to reach them; the horses had trouble getting their footing on the muddy grade. Finally, they were at the center of what must have been a sizable sacred precinct in its day. Ten temples of various sizes, built in various styles, loomed around them. The smallest of them wasn’t much more than a shrine; the largest would have made a secure little fortress. Rainwater dripped from what was left of the roofs. Toppled statues, most of them missing arms, heads or both, littered the ground.
“Well.” Merlin dismounted, looked around and rubbed his hands together. “At least everything will dry out now. Where do you suppose we’ll find him?”
They stared at one another and shrugged. Brit said, “I think that one over there is the temple of Mars. That might be the logical place.”
For want of a better suggestion they went and looked. Three Ionic columns stood, supporting nothing at all. A fragment of the pediment lay in the mud; carved into it was the name of the god. The walls and roof were mostly gone. An altar where a statue of the god must have stood once was covered with dead leaves and twigs. Nimue had a thought. “Those limestone buildings in town-this is where they got the stone.”