But there was something else happening in the audience; and Merlin was so focused on Mark he didn’t notice. Lancelot slowly, gradually began to shake off his alcoholic haze. And as his senses returned, or began to, he glared at the boy holding the lenses. It was his former squire, the one who’d deserted him without permission, without even saying a word.
Unsteadily, he got to his feet, pushed the people around him away and drew his sword. “Traitor!” he bellowed. “Turncoat!” And he began to lunge at Petronus through the crowd. “I’ll kill you! You’ll join the other two in the underworld! ” The boy, terrified, dropped his lenses to the stage and scrambled underneath the platform. Nimue left the stage quickly and joined the actors in their waiting area.
Guenevere shouted in alarm, “Stop! Lancelot, stop this!”
Half a dozen knights caught hold of Lancelot and restrained him. But he fought them, shouting at the boy, strugglingagainst their hold and still trying to brandish his sword. Finally, one of them wrenched it free of his grasp and it clattered loudly onto the stone floor.
Arthur stood. “Hold that man! Do not let him go!”
At the rear of the hall Morgan stirred for the first time. She stood erect, watching what was happening, and she smiled slightly and whispered something to Mordred.
Finally, Lancelot seemed to lose energy. He became quiet and permitted the knights to place him in his chair once again. Guenevere placed a hand on his arm and murmured something to him, and it quieted him even more.
From the stage Arthur said, “You six-place him in his seat and see that he stays there. Keep him there forcibly if you must. Let us hope this was the final outburst. This is a solemn occasion. I will not have it disrupted. All of you, be calm. Remember the dignity of our court.” And he resumed his throne.
Merlin had watched all of this carefully. That it was Lancelot not Mark who had exploded surprised him. But despite the mention of “the other two,” Lancelot’s anger was at the squire who’d left him and seemed unrelated to the murders. But the evening’s signal event was still to come. Or so he hoped.
Gradually, the crowd quieted. Lancelot sat glumly, showing no sign he would make more commotion. Merlin stepped to the floor, bent to look under the stage and gestured to Petronus to come out. “It is over, Pete. Come out now.”
Warily, the boy did so. When he was out from under, he looked at Lancelot and was somewhat reassured to see him quiet. With Petronus back in place, the performance could resume. Merlin remounted the stage.
“And now,” he announced, “for the greatest wonder of all. You have seen a woman torn in two and restored to life. Now you shall witness something even greater.”
He clapped his hands loudly three times. The musicians struck up a low, sad melody like a funeral march. Two of the young actors in Samuel’s company entered the hall again, this time carrying a pallet between them. On the pallet was what seemed to be a body, over which was stretched a linen shroud or winding-sheet. Petronus focused light on it and made it seem to glow softly. Behind the actors the two gravediggers followed.
Slowly, solemnly, the two actors carried their burden to the stage. Merlin gestured to them to rest it on the trestles; they did so, bowed to him and left.
The air in the hall was tense with anticipation. No one talked or made a sound. Virtually no one moved. All eyes were on Merlin and the shrouded-what?
“I believe you all recognize these two men,” he said to the audience. “They have been the gravediggers at Camelot’s cemetery for years.” The two men, apparently abashed at becoming the center of attention, shifted their weight awkwardly and uneasily.
“Gentlemen,” Merlin addressed them, “you have this day performed an extraordinary task at the behest of King Arthur and myself.”
They lowered their eyes and muttered, “Yes, sir.”
“The king has asked to you perform the reverse of your usual function and to exhume a body which you buried some time ago.”
“Yes.”
“The earth is frozen and this has been difficult work. But you have accomplished it. And you will be properly rewarded. ”
The younger of the two said, “Thank you, sir.”
His companion added, “It was hard work, sir. Every muscle in our bodies is aching.”
“I am certain the king appreciates your labors. But now it is time to explain to the assembled court precisely what your task has been. Could you please say whose body it is that you have been required to exhume?”
No one in the Great Hall moved. People leaned forward to hear more clearly. Lancelot squirmed in his seat. But Merlin kept a careful eye on Mark, who was looking increasingly upset.
On the stage the elder gravedigger shuffled his feet and said, “It was the squire, sir. The king’s late squire.”
“Which one? Could you please tell us which it was?”
“We don’t ever know their names, sir. We just dig the holes and fill them in afterward.”
A few people in the audience laughed nervously. Mark inched forward in his seat.
Merlin went on. “But there were two of them. Both of the king’s squires were killed, one after the other. And- you placed them in the same grave?”
“Yes, sir. One of them was horribly mangled, sir-cut to pieces. That’s the one that’s still at rest in the graveyard. This is the other one.”
“This is the body of poor murdered Ganelin, then?”
“Like I said, sir, we never know their names.”
“I see. No, I suppose there is no reason why you should. And has the frozen earth preserved the body?”
“Yes, sir. He looks the way he did the day we buried him.”
“I see. Thank you very much.”
Looking at each other, puzzled by what was going on and why they’d had to speak before the audience, the two men climbed down from the stage and left.
Merlin took up the Stone of Bran, which was still brightly lit. He held it high above him then slowly lowered it and touched the head of the shrouded body with it. Three times he passed it over the length of the boy then he touched it to the head once again.
Slightly, almost imperceptibly, the body twitched.
In the audience some people gasped; most were transfixed by what they were seeing and fell perfectly silent. At the side of the stage Arthur sat and watched, mesmerized.
They watched as the body moved again, first the arms, then the legs, stretching slowly as if waking from a long, deep sleep. Petronus pointed his lenses at it, and the shroud caught the light and glowed ghostly pale.
An arm, caked with dirt and blood, reached out from beneath the shroud. Merlin stepped forward and took the hand in his, and the corpse sat up, still wrapped in its shroud.
“Please,” Merlin said gravely, “tell us who you are.”
And a voice came clearly through the cloth. “I am Ganelin, squire to King Arthur of Camelot. I am cold.”
“Ganelin, do you understand what has happened to you?”
“Yes.” The word’s final s was long and drawn out, almost a hiss. “I have been foully murdered. I have lain in the earth these many weeks, in the icy, frozen earth.”
Merlin helped the boy to his feet, the winding-sheet still wrapped around him. And Merlin kept a careful eye on the audience, to gauge reactions. Morgan was watching the stage carefully, studying it as a conjurer might study a rival’s tricks. Mordred stood at her side, wide-eyed, not moving. Mark was glowering and trembling in his seat, whether with rage or fear or some combination of the two, Merlin could not tell. Guenevere held Lancelot’s hand tightly.
“Tell us, Ganelin,” Merlin intoned. “Did you see the face of the the one who killed you?”
“Yesss.”
There was not a sound in the Great Hall. Not the least movement, except for Mark, leaning forward in his seat, fingering the hilt of his sword, and Lancelot pulling free of Guenevere’s hand and inching forward in his chair like a man preparing to bolt and run.