Just as they were going in, Brit glanced down the hall to see if she could tell where their rooms were. And there, in apparently heated discussion with Lancelot and Leodegrance, was Mark of Cornwall. As soon as he realized she’d seen him, he stepped into a doorway.
So two of the suspects were together in the same place, under mysterious circumstances.
Merlin wrote his note to Dalley. He asked that Colin be allowed to deliver it, and to his surprise, it was permitted. Nimue, accompanied by four armed guards, left for the garrison.
“I never thought they’d allow that.” Brit was surprised, not unpleasantly. “Maybe she means it. Are we guests, not prisoners?”
“I doubt if even Guenevere knows. Once she understood that our presence here was known to Arthur’s soldiers… It will take her a while to decide what to do with us.”
Before they could say more, Petronus showed up with two other boys, and Merlin and Brit were ushered to a suite of rooms farther down the corridor. Torches burned and smoked everywhere.
Petronus asked if there was anything they needed.
“Yes. Some candles. These torches give off such a stench,” Merlin said.
The boys looked at one another, and Petronus said, “I guess we’ve gotten used to it.”
“And their light makes too much glare for comfort.”
“Candles are in short supply, sir. But I’ll see if I can find some.”
“Thank you.”
The boys left.
Brit sat in an upholstered chair. “Did you see him?”
“See who?”
“Guenevere’s guest.”
“No. For heaven’s sake, who is it?”
She told him. And he froze. “This was supposed to be simple. Eliminate the wrong suspects and one will be left. But now Pellenore is more actively under suspicion than before. And this. How much more complicated is this going to get?”
Brit grinned. “And how much more ominous? What can he be doing here?”
“I can think of a dozen possibilities, all of them alarming. Arthur can’t possibly know.”
“I’ve always hated politics, Merlin. This is why. War is so clean and simple. Mass slaughter. Bloodletting on a major scale. What could be more pleasant?”
“I’m afraid war and politics get mixed up. Mark is a military leader and a king, remember? I’ll take the bedroom over there. Is that all right?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. So. Guenevere is nearly out of candles. What do we make of that?”
“Money must be tight. Which means she’s not interfering with the revenues from the port-at least not yet. I suppose that’s a sign of loyalty, or what passes for it with her.”
Petronus was back. He presented, ostentatiously, two candles. “One for each bedroom.” His tone suggested this was a real luxury.
“Thank you, Petronus.”
“Please, sir, call me Pete.”
“Pete, then. When is breakfast?”
“Daybreak, sir.”
"Fine. You’ll come and show us to the refectory?”
“Gladly, sir.”
“Excellent. Good night, then.”
“Good night. Uh… sir?” The boy plainly had something on his mind.
“Yes, Pete?”
“You come from King Arthur’s court, don’t you? From Camelot?”
Brit told him, “Yes, we do.”
“Everyone says it’s the most wonderful place in the world. Will you tell me about it?”
They exchanged glances. The boy might be useful. Brit assured him they’d do so if they had time and the opportunity arose. He thanked them effusively, promised to see them in the morning and left.
Merlin chuckled. “Well, I think Colin can work on him while you and I fry the bigger fish.”
She stood and stretched. “It’s like war after all. When you see an opening, you exploit it.”
“Politics,” he said in a mock-confidential whisper, “is precisely the same.”
Next morning the sun was blindingly bright and the air had a tinge of warmth. After weeks of premature winter it seemed odd. Merlin’s room looked out over the town and the harbor. He stood watching them and turning over events in his mind. Nimue was still asleep next to the fire.
Petronus knocked and came in. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”
Merlin held a finger to his lips and pointed at Nimue, still deep in slumber. “Let’s go to the next room,” he whispered to Petronus. “Colin always takes a long time to wake up in the morning.”
Brit was up, dressed and seemingly full of energy. The three of them stood at the window of their suite’s parlor, watching the French ship bob in gentle waves. Another vessel, a small frigate, had docked during the night.
“You promised to tell me about Camelot,” the boy prompted.
“So we did.” Merlin didn’t want him there. “After breakfast, all right?”
“Yes, sir.” He was mildly disappointed; it showed.
A few moments later Nimue joined them, yawning deeply. Petronus, smiling, evidently happy for their company, led them out of their wing and to the refectory. Even in bright daylight the halls were dark; torches burned and smoked.
The room was long and rectangular. Several dozen people ate sausages, eggs and bread. There was a mix of French and native English accents. Portions were small. Merlin noted it; the queen was having money trouble, perhaps enough for her to enter a plot against Arthur. Even if she didn’t become sole monarch, an alliance with a successful usurper would be to her benefit.
Guenevere and Lancelot were at the head table. Once again there was no sign of her father. She smiled when she saw the three of them and pointed to seats at another table to the left of her. They sat, and servants brought them food.
Before they were finished, the queen and her man stood and crossed to them. Guenevere was evidently quite curious about what Arthur had in mind. Lancelot renewed his acquaintance with Brit and suggested they get together and exchange military gossip.
Nimue excused herself from the table and found Petronus at another table in a corner of the hall. Merlin had told her about the boy and suggested she learn what she could from him. “My master says you want to hear about Camelot.”
His face brightened. “Yes! Please.” He looked around self-consciously, but no one was paying any attention to them.
“Why don’t we go off somewhere we can be alone and I’ll tell you all about it.” She gestured toward the door. “And you can tell me all about Corfe. I’ve never been here before, you know.”
The day continued to be sunny; the air warmed up to an autumn-like temperature. Guenevere’s knights exercised and drilled in the courtyard on the north side of the castle. At mid-morning, Brit decided to join four of them who were wrestling and had sarcastically invited this woman knight to participate. Twenty minutes later she had beaten them all. After that, the others gave her more respect but avoided challenging her. She decided to run laps around the yard.
Lancelot had begged off spending time with her, claiming there was some business he had to attend to. But not long after she beat the quartet of wrestlers, he joined her. “Hello, again.”
Brit was out of breath from her run. “You said you’d be tied up all morning.”
“Luck was with me.”
“With us.” She smiled as cordially as she could manage. Merlin had briefed her on how to act with him-and on what she should try to find out.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a minister. But I’m Guenevere’s chief knight and therefore her chief advisor, so I get dragged into all kinds of discussions I can’t contribute a thing to.”
She mopped her brow with a towel. “What was this one?”
“Finance.” He made a sour face. “I’m only good at spending money.”
“How much money can it take to run Corfe Castle?”
He looked around, then lowered his voice slightly. “It isn’t just the castle itself. This is a royal household. There is a certain dignity to be upheld. It is not always easy.”