“Why, Guenevere, you make it sound as if you were brought under duress.”
“I can’t think what gave me that idea. Could it have been a detachment of your soldiers?”
“Oh dear. You have me wrong. I was only concerned about your safety. The countryside is fraught with marauders. ”
Lancelot stepped out of the carriage and leaped to the ground. “Our own soldiers could have protected us equally well, I should think.”
Arthur ignored him. “But, Guenevere, you are my vassal-my wife. Your soldiers are mine.”
“That is rubbish, Arthur, and you know it perfectly well.”
He put on an enormous grin. “I’m told your parents are holed up in your castle at Corfe.”
“Cannot a woman’s parents visit her without you suspecting the worst?”
He played dumb. “Why, whatever do you mean? What is the worst?”
“They’ve come to visit me, that is all.”
“There might possibly be people who would find their presence in England odd, not to say suspicious.”
“Or wise.” She smiled and nodded in Merlin’s direction. “If you should decide to detain me, they would know at once.”
“Guenevere, darling. What suspicious minds you all have.”
“We have a great deal to be suspicious of.”
The captain crossed to Arthur, whispered something in his ear then went back to his men. “My captain tells me he made certain the shades in your carriage were kept drawn. For your own protection of course-to make certain no one could suspect you both of conducting reconnaissance. I hope it wasn’t a problem for you.”
Guenevere was arch, distant. “Why should anyone want to inspect your snow?”
“Queens have been known to have sinister motives.” He smiled even more widely than Guenevere. “But let me have you shown to your suite of rooms.”
Lancelot reached around and rubbed his back in a quite pointed way. “Thank you. The journey over these dreadful English roads was agonizing.”
“You will of course remain in your rooms unless you have permission to do otherwise.” He was all heartiness.
Both of them froze. Slowly, venomously, Guenevere intoned, “That will not be agreeable, no.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. Again, it is for your protection. There is an escaped killer, a madman, loose in the secret passages that riddle Camelot.”
“Then your penal system is as defective as your highways, ” Lancelot snorted.
“Regrettably so. Still, I must insist you not go wandering about the castle. We wouldn’t want to see either of you come to harm.”
They bristled and protested, but Arthur was clearly within his rights. He had them escorted-“for their own protection”-to a suite in the drafty north tower of Camelot, which was the oldest part of the castle. It was cold and not in good repair, and it was seldom used except for storage.
Guenevere made a pro forma complaint, demanding that she and Lancelot be installed in her old quarters. But Arthur explained patiently that Merlin occupied those rooms now, and Guenevere couldn’t possibly want to inconvenience him, could she? Then she demanded that they be moved to a warmer, more up-to-date part of the castle, but Arthur told her that his was likely to be the largest Midwinter Court in years; every bit of space in Camelot would be occupied. “You’ll have more privacy there.”
Steaming, seething with anger, Guenevere and her man settled into their apartments. As a parting shot she told her husband, “If Merlin really can resurrect the dead, perhaps you can have him start by reviving your monarchy.”
Then Arthur and Merlin left, pleased at how plainly upset she was. “Come,” Arthur whispered. “I want to talk.”
Merlin followed the king to his tower. “You’re in a good mood.”
“My wife has come to visit. How could I not be?”
“As long as you have her securely under lock and key. Did you know before today that Leodegrance and Leonilla were in England?”
“No. I should never have let Guenevere settle at a port city. I know, I know, you warned me. I thought our marriage vows might count for something, however minimal. They’re up to something.”
Merlin feigned sorrow. “And no one’s ever warned you.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Merlin. Has it occurred to you that this insurrection-or whatever is being planned-may be their idea, not Mark’s?”
“He appears to be going along with it cheerfully enough.”
“Don’t remind me.” He sat down heavily and sighed. “You’ve been right about this all along. Learning the French king and his wife are here drives the point home. If there’s anything a king shouldn’t be, it’s trusting.”
“And your point?”
“Don’t make this harder for me than it already is, Merlin. I’ve been naïve, maybe even foolish. I admit it. Now advise me.”
“I advise you to arrest them. All of them. Send troops to Corfe and arrest Leodegrance and his wife. Until we can get to the bottom of this.”
“On what charge?”
“Invent one. Make something up. Sedition. Conspiracy. Conduct unbecoming a Frenchman.”
The king sighed even more deeply. “No. I don’t think that’s the answer. England has never known civil war. Doing that could certainly start one.”
“The army is loyal to you.”
“Stop toying with me, Merlin. You know how they respect Mark. And after all, I became king by defeating all of them. Besides, have you ever met Leonilla? She’s a gorgon-worse even than her daughter. She could probably spew enough acid to melt the walls of any prison I have.”
Merlin shifted his weight uncomfortably. It seemed a good moment for a politic lie. “I’ve been so focused on finding the murderer I haven’t really given this much thought.”
“Do it now, for God’s sake.”
“Suppose the murders and the plot are related, as I’ve been telling you all along?”
Arthur swallowed his pride. “Then you were right and I wasn’t. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I am convinced that Mark killed the twins, or had them killed. I’d wager he did it himself.”
“Why? What could he possibly have had against them?”
“He’s been trying to foment this plot. But no one seems to want to go along. Guenevere because she’s planning her own war, with her father’s help. And Morgan-heaven only knows what Morgan is up to.”
“Maybe she’s loyal to me, or to our family.”
“Don’t be foolish, Arthur. She wants to be queen. She thinks it’s her right.”
“And so it is, I suppose. We have destroyed the old order. Birthing a new one should be easier than this.” He looked at his advisor. “Shouldn’t it?”
“If you say so, Your Majesty.”
“Shut up.”
Over the next two days the snow became heavier. Despite it, people came from all over England for Arthur’s court. Knights, dukes, barons, earls and petty warlords made the trek. And all of them were abuzz with speculative gossip about Merlin’s “miracle.”
The Stone of Bran was legendary. And most of the educated class-of whom there were not many-took the old legends to be just that. The prospect of seeing a miracle, of the kind embodied in the old myths-actually seeing it- was more tantalizing than most of them wanted to admit.
Among them came Morgan and her son, angry like Guenevere to have been brought under guard. She protested that as high priestess she was an officer of the state, or should be regarded as one, and Arthur met her with carefully studied obliviousness, pretending it was all for her own protection. She demanded the best rooms in Camelot, to no avail. Mordred sniveled and wiped his nose on his sleeve a lot.
Then came Mark. Both Arthur and Merlin were expecting him to be raging, but he feigned not to have noticed that his escort was really a guard.
“But, Arthur, there’s something you must consider.”
“And what is that, Mark?”
He lowered his voice. “Something dangerous is afoot.”
“You want to warn me?”
“I do. You must not permit it.”