“But won’t you be cold?”
“At my age cold is a constant. I need this time alone.”
Petronus fell silent for a few moments. Then as they walked to the stable he said, “It sounds as if you are going there to pray, sir.”
“Don’t be preposterous. Stonehenge is a gift of the ancients, who could not possibly have envisioned the circumstances that take me there. It is a place of harmony and proportion, of intellectual peace. In a snowfall it is even more so. I need to experience that just now, before the guests arrive for court. There may be danger here; I need to think and prepare myself mentally for what I have to do.”
“And what is that?”
“You will see soon enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
Just as they reached the stable, the doors flew wide open and two small donkey carts and a large horse-drawn carriage drove in. Merlin glared at them; people were arriving early, and he might not be able to get away after all.
Then he stopped to wonder who the conveyances belonged to. “Hold off for a moment, Pete.”
He watched as the passengers began to alight. Recognizing the leader, he crossed the stable to him and threw his arms around him. “Samuel! I had no idea you would arrive early. I knew Arthur had invited you, but…”
Samuel was a man of Merlin’s age, clean-shaven, fit. “The king summoned us. And performing at these courts is always a good source of income for us. If nothing else, other nobles will see us and want us to appear at their own courts. You know the artist’s life.”
More men descended from the carriage. Most of them were young; among them there was one boy, younger than Petronus, with bright red hair. They set about taking trunks and boxes off the carriage’s roof. Samuel pointed to one after another and told Merlin their names. “Robert, Pierre, Wolf, Francis. And this boy with the flame-red hair is Watson, our leading lady. He plays tragic heroines so convincingly audiences are moved to tears. He will break hearts.”
Petronus had been listening without saying anything. Finally, it made sense to him. “What play are you acting out?”
“Bringing to life.” Samuel was emphatic. “We are the best in England. Artists, not common play-actors.”
“I love plays.”
“When we perform, young man, everyone loves plays.” He turned back to Merlin. “The king has requested our Fall of Troy. Just wait till you see Watson, here, play Hecuba. You’re in for a real treat, Merlin.”
“I’m sure of it. But-”
“We’ve been making a hit in the provinces with the Assassination of Julius Caesar, but Arthur has forbidden us to play it here.”
“Wise man.”
“Is he nervous, then?”
“You haven’t heard?” Merlin explained about the killing of the squires, the escape of Pellenore and the rest of it. “So you haven’t come to a happy court. And a play about assassinating Caesar would hardly be the thing. But listen, I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to be staging some theatrics of my own. Perhaps you can give me some instruction in stagecraft.” He lowered his voice and looked around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “To be specific, in conjuring. This has to be terribly effective. A great deal depends on it.”
Mildly puzzled, Samuel told him, “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can. But what on earth-?”
“I’ll explain later, when we’re alone. You remember where my rooms are?”
“Are you still living in that drafty tower?”
“Yes. Come in an hour or so.” He looked at Petronus. “We won’t be making our outing after all, I’m afraid. But thank you for offering to drive me.”
Puzzled and disappointed, Petronus left. A moment later Merlin followed, leaving the actors to deal with their props and costumes.
Like almost everyone else, Nimue was getting into a holiday mood. She found Merlin in his study, preoccupied, sulking, stroking the head of one of his ravens and studying Ganelin’s chart still another time. His fingertip traced the paths of symbols, and he seemed quite lost in thought. At the bottom of his breath he was muttering, “It must be. It must be.”
“You work too hard, Merlin.” She decided to try and cheer him up. “The snow won’t stop falling. If I were still a kid I’d be riding my sled. Kids must be doing that all over the country.”
“Go and join them, then.”
“It’s the best time of the year, Merlin, and the world has turned perfectly gorgeous. You should be happy.”
“You know what I’m dealing with, Nimue. What we are dealing with. This may be our one last chance to flush out the killer.”
“Even the king is cheerful.”
“If he was less so, he would have taken my advice and had Mark arrested. Cheerfulness never accomplishes anything permanent.”
“Really, Merlin, I know you’re going to tell me I’m too young to understand, but I hope I never come to understand seeing the world that way. Look-your pets are back. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Yes, of course it is. They love me and I love them. But Nimue, optimism is not useful if it blinds us to the facts.”
“We don’t actually have facts, remember? Only symbols on a chart and conjecture about what they mean.”
“Even so.”
“Suppose it isn’t Mark who’s flushed out by this charade? ”
“Then we will apprehend the culprit, imprison him-or her-and Mark will go back to his treasonous plot, whatever it is. He may bring Arthur down. He may bring the whole country down, for that matter. Does that really strike you as cause for optimism?”
“You’re impossible.”
“If you were a true scholar, you would know that nothing is impossible. I find myself thinking about Morgan. She wants her son to be king. If she had learned somehow that the twins were Arthur’s sons, it would have given her more than enough motive to-I wish things weren’t so complicated. ”
Greffys knocked and opened the door. “Excuse me, sir. Arthur wants you.”
“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“He asks that you come now, sir. The queen is here.”
“Guenevere?”
“And Lancelot.”
“They would be the first to arrive. Tell him I’ll be along shortly.”
“Yes, sir. She, uh… the guards who brought her say her parents were with her at Corfe.”
“Leodegrance and Leonilla? Splendid. There’s nothing suspicious about that, is there?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.” He left.
Merlin turned back to Nimue. “I know you think me a worrisome old man, but-”
“Let’s say overly anxious.”
“Fine, anxious then.”
“Overly.”
“Please, Nimue, not now. I don’t know what to expect over the next few days. When the killer realizes he is trapped-whoever he may be-he is apt to do almost anything. People will be hurt, possibly killed, and we have had more than enough of that already. And you and I will be in peril. Are you certain you want to do this?”
For the first time her mood turned serious. “Quite certain. ”
“He will lash out.”
“Even so.”
“I could get Greffys to do it. Or even one of the young actors. It isn’t absolutely essential that Mark recognize you.”
“There are actors? Are we going to have plays?” Her mood brightened again instantly.
“Yes. Apparently Troy is to fall again, within the walls of Camelot.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Arthur loves plays. We get them every Midwinter, every May Day…”
“He’s a good king.”
“Let us go and attend Her Majesty and her lover.”
In the courtyard, Arthur was greeting his wife and Lancelot when Merlin and Nimue arrived. Just as they stepped into the yard he was helping Guenevere down from her carriage. The soldiers he’d sent to escort her were milling about, evidently glad to be home.
“Merlin! Colin!” Arthur called to them heartily. “Look who’s come to visit for the holiday!”
Guenevere scowled. “Is that what you call people who have come here under armed guard? Visitors?”