“If he’s mad it might.” Nimue avoided looking at her.
Merlin stood. “I’m spent. Let’s get to sleep. There’s no way to answer these questions. All we know for certain is that we’ll have to watch Pellenore carefully from now on.”
“Arthur won’t like it.”
“Arthur can’t very well tell us who to watch, can he?”
They said their good nights and went to their respective rooms.
There was a large, lively fire in the one Merlin and Nimue were to share. She told him to take the bed; she’d be happy curled up by the hearth. Just before he nodded off, she asked him, “Merlin?”
“Hm?”
“What if Arthur won’t go along with us?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, suppose we learn who did the killings-I mean really learn, beyond any reasonable doubt-and he won’t believe us?”
He sat up in the bed and stared at her. “You have no faith in the king’s wisdom and justice?”
“He’s already expressed skepticism about all of our suspects. ”
“I can’t think about that now. I’m too tired. Tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time to talk it through on the road to Corfe and Guenevere.”
FIVE. THE SPIDER’S HOUSE
The next morning there was brilliant sunlight. The three of them had more of Robert’s bad food for breakfast. Britomart wondered aloud whether their meal actually included Caesar’s bones. Merlin settled with Robert and made certain of the directions to Corfe.
Robert’s stable had a leaky roof. The horses were wet and irritable. Brit and Nimue spent some time drying them with cloths and currying them before they set off. While they were at it, Merlin wandered off on his own.
The town was more awake today. People came and went, on this bit of business or that. He tried to engage a few people in conversation, but they were unpleasantly taciturn. What was Londinium’s chief industry? The ground did not seen right for farming. The river might provide transport for trade, but there wasn’t much traffic on it. He wondered why England was so full of mysteries.
When he got back to the inn, Brit and Nimue had saddled and loaded the horses and were waiting for him. They set off on the same road they’d used the day before, the one past the old sacred precinct. In the sunlight the temples appeared even gloomier. There was no sign of Byrrhus.
The packhorses were carrying supplies Robert had procured for them. Brit complained about it. “So we eat still more of that man’s dry meat and sour beer. Why not just dine at the next swamp we come to?”
By noon the sky began to cloud up again, and it gave her still more to complain about. “English winters. I’d love to know who first decided this island was a good place to live.”
“For once I agree with you, Brit.” Merlin had been nodding off in the saddle. “Humanity should confine itself to the warm, pleasant parts of the earth.”
“How many of those are there?”
“There are enough. I’ve seen them. North Africa, that’s the place.”
“Whatever brought you back to England, then?”
“Don’t ask.”
She looked back the way they’d come. “One thing’s for certain. Londinium is dying and will die. Twenty years from now it will be deserted.”
“Good.”
The road south to the coast was better than the one they’d taken to Londinium. Wider, smoother. And there was more traffic. Despite his antisocial nature, Merlin was happy to see more people. If nothing else, it indicated healthier weather. They came to a town called Greenwich and found an inn called the Tusk and Claw where the food was delicious. The landlord and his wife were plump and cordial; she told her guests they’d bought the place from an old Italian who had originally called it the Tuscan Law. Brit immediately ordered more supplies there and dumped in the river the ones they’d bought from Robert.
Nimue watched her, amused. “You shouldn’t do that. The Thames is dirty enough already. That beer might kill the fish.”
“The fish can fend for themselves. I never want to taste anything that foul again.”
Merlin stretched out on the riverbank and chimed in, “Wait till we get to Corfe. Have you ever had French cooking? ”
“Will we be staying at the castle, then?” Brit seemed surprised. “I took it for granted we’d be quartered with the soldiers there.”
“If we’re invited, we should definitely stay with Guenevere, don’t you think? After all, we’re going there to pry into her affairs. And Lancelot’s.”
Nimue listened to the exchange. “I’ve never been to Corfe. I don’t think I knew there was a garrison there.”
“A fine one. It’s one of our most important ports.” Brit was in her element. “We could hardly leave it unguarded.”
“It doesn’t make sense that Guenevere would have settled there, then. I mean, why would she want to be where Arthur’s men could keep an eye on her?”
“It’s never made sense to anyone, Colin. I mean, it is one of the best ports in England, so if the French wanted to invade, it would make a logical landing place for them. But the landing force would have to be enormous to overcome our men. Leodegrance doesn’t have anywhere near that many men.”
“Leode-who?”
“Guenevere’s father,” Merlin explained.
“Oh. But-but I still don’t understand why Guenevere chose to live at Corfe Castle of all the places in England.”
Merlin and Britomart looked at one another and shrugged. He said, “I’ve often wondered if Guenevere is as crafty as she likes to think.”
Brit finished her dumping, they took a short walk around the town to help digest their food, and then full and satisfied, they resumed their journey to the south coast. The horses settled into a comfortable pace, and the three travelers settled into a comfortable silence. There were still plenty of other people on the road.
“We should have Arthur designate this a king’s highway or something.” Nimue was enjoying the trip. “And that inn, the Tusk and Claw-he should buy all his provisions there. It’s better food than I ever tasted at Camelot.”
Merlin enjoyed her enthusiasm. “Maybe we can simply kidnap the cook.”
“I’m serious, Merlin.”
“You don’t find the name of the place ominous?”
“Never mind.”
At dinnertime they stopped to eat in Bournemouth then moved on. They reached the coast road to Corfe just at twilight.
A long, sloping grade went down to the ocean, where the town sat. One ship was anchored in the harbor. Merlin was surprised; he said there was normally more traffic.
Above the town, secure between two hills, was the castle. It was large and dark, more enormous than any building Nimue had seen. Brit told her it had originally been a Romanfortress. “This is one of the best natural ports in the country. No one could miss its strategic importance.”
It was not at all a typical castle. There was no curtain wall surrounding it, and not even a moat. To all appearances it was quite open and vulnerable. But on closer inspection its unusual design became evident. There was a central keep, octagonal in shape, rising some eighty feet. From it, eight wings extended. And each of them was topped with heavy fortifications. Anyone trying to attack the castle would have met with a rain of arrows from several directions.
“And the Romans built all this?”
“No, I think they only built the central keep.”
Merlin told her, “The castle goes back centuries. Some people think it must be the oldest in England. It’s so ancient no one remembers who added all those arms. But they certainly date from before the rise of modern castle construction. ”
“Arms? Is that a formal architectural term, Merlin?” Brit asked.
He smiled. “No, but arms they are. Eight of them. The townspeople whose lives are dominated by it call it the Spider’s House. I’ve never been certain whether that refers to the castle itself or to its chief occupant.”