“Yes. Please relax, all of you. I hope your time at Darrowfield Castle was not unpleasant-given the awful events there, I mean.”
“It was fine, sir.” She was plainly nervous. “There never was a party or celebration, as you might guess. But Lady Darrowfield wanted us to stay and help provide for the mourners at the funeral. There were not many of them, sir.” She looked uncomfortable saying it. “I don’t think he was well liked.”
Marian’s twin sons were seated just behind her, side by side, quite close to each other. Their expressions were completely vacant; they stared at Merlin without any evident interest or engagement. He found them slightly disconcerting.
He forced a smile. “Well, we are all quite happy to have you back here.” The smile grew even wider. “And to have your cakes again. They have been missed by so many people. The ones we had while you were gone were nowhere near so good. Only this morning Sir Bors was saying-”
“The Sheriff of Darrowfield questioned us, sir. As if we might be criminals.”
“Sheriff Peter? I’m sure he was only doing his duty, Marian. He had to gather as much information as he could. I would not be concerned.”
“How can we not be concerned, sir? A lord was killed, and the sheriff questioned us.”
“Please, do not give it another thought. I will write to Peter myself, vouching for you.”
“Thank you, sir.” She relaxed a bit.
He took a seat and stretched his legs out. “I would like to ask you about your experience there. Nothing deep-please believe that I do not suspect you of any villainy.”
She thanked him for saying so; her sons shifted uncomfortably.
“Now.” He paused slightly, then decided that being direct with her would be the most effective way to proceed. “What was the atmosphere like at Darrowfield? After I left, I mean.”
She looked directly at him. “Tense, sir. You saw how they fought.”
“The lord and lady, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“And what about Morgan le Fay? And her son Mordred? And Uther?”
“They were there, too, sir.”
“Yes, I know it. How did they cope with the tense atmosphere?”
“They-they-I’m not at all certain I should say, sir.”
“Say it.” He realized he had been acting the professional interrogator and made his tone softer. A reassuring smile crept across his lips. “You understand, this is not an official inquiry into the murders. That was Peter’s job, and he seems to have done it well enough. My interest is-well, more personal. You know how we politicians love gossip.”
“Yes, and the more malicious, the better.” For the first time one of Marian’s sons spoke up; he was not certain which it was, Robert or Wayne.
Merlin stiffened slightly. “Not necessarily. But the Prussians have a term, schadenfreude. It means a delight at the misfortunes and suffering of others. I am afraid too many of us are guilty of it. But I do not mind telling you, I felt supremely uncomfortable in Lord Darrowfield’s house. I would enjoy hearing the worst.”
The other son laughed. “You never stop assassinating one another, do you? Sometimes literally, sometimes not. But I mean-”
This was not going at all the way Merlin wanted. He interrupted forcefully. “I would appreciate it if you would not-”
The first son got to his feet. “What do you want to know? We don’t know who killed the old bastard, any more than you do.”
“I am not suggesting that you-”
An instant later the second son was on his feet. “You will not find a way to make us responsible for what happened.”
“But I only-”
Finally Marian spoke up. “Boys! Stop this at once! Merlin is a friend. This is Camelot, not Darrowfield. We are home now.”
The twins calmed down and resumed their seats. Sulking, one of them said, “Sorry, sir.” The tone of his apology was not convincing, to Merlin’s ear.
“It is quite all right. I know how stressful it was, having been in that castle for a day or two myself. Being there for an extended period, as you were, must have been unpleasant in the extreme.
“But we are avoiding the real issue. What I want to talk to you about is what you may have seen and heard while you were there. From the other servants. You know very well that they have a different reaction to persons and events than those of us who are higher up.”
“We saw nothing,” said one of the twins. “We heard even less.”
“Come now.” Merlin did his best to sound cordial and conciliatory. “Lord Darrowfield’s staff must at least have expressed sympathy for either him or his wife.”
“We don’t know a thing about that.”
The interview was not going at all the way Merlin had hoped. He found the boys’ attitude difficult to comprehend. He made a mental note to discuss it with Nimue; she so often had an insight into people that was beyond him, especially when it came to the lower orders. And she was a shrewd judge of character.
Suddenly Simon of York rushed into the room. “Merlin! So this is where you’ve been.” His tone was vaguely accu satory. “We’ve scoured the castle looking for you.”
Mildly baffled by Simon’s urgent tone, Merlin told him, “The four of us have been getting better acquainted, that is all. Is something wrong?”
“There is an emergency. A medical emergency. Fedora wants you.”
It caught him quite off guard. He got to his feet. “Fedora, the old midwife? She must be ninety-a walking medical emergency herself. What on earth can she want me for?”
An expression of concern crossed Marian’s face. “Fedora the midwife?”
Simon ignored her. “Come along. Hurry. Sir Dinadan’s wife is giving birth. It is not going well.”
“Oh. I see.” To Marian and the boys he said, “Thank you for meeting with me. We must continue this at a more opportune moment.”
One of the twins smiled; the other did not. Marian stood and caught at Merlin’s sleeve. “You will not forget to write to the sheriff about us?”
“I will do it the moment I am free. You have my word.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Merlin followed Simon to the wing of the castle where most of the knights resided. Before very long they had reached Sir Dinadan’s rooms. The knight was standing in the hallway, pacing, looking more than mildly alarmed. “Merlin. Thank God you’ve come.”
“What is happening?”
“They are inside.”
“I would have assumed. But what-”
Suddenly the air was cut by a low, piercing wail. A woman, presumably Lady Dinadan, was in severe pain. The sound actually made Merlin shudder.
Dinadan grabbed him by the arm. “For God’s sake, you have to save my son. And my wife.”
“Son? How do you know it is a boy?”
“My family always produces boys. I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”
“Of course.”
Simon interrupted this. “Perhaps you should step inside, Merlin, to evaluate the situation for yourself.”
“Yes, you are right. There may be little time to spare. Step in with me; I will need an assistant.”
“Me? Merlin. This is childbirth.” Simon was flabbergasted at the suggestion. “I don’t know a thing about women. Or about delivering babies. I would be worse than useless.”
Merlin glared at him, snorted and rushed inside the chamber.
Lady Dinadan was on her bed, undressed. Her body was shuddering; it was clear she was in pain. The top of the infant’s head showed. The woman moaned again; she seemed not to recognize Merlin.
Bending over her was an elderly woman, stoop-backed, dressed in black, incredibly wrinkled. She was telling the lady, “Push. Push. You must keep pushing.”
“Fedora.” Merlin kept his voice hushed. “What is the problem?”
The old woman looked up at him. “Thank the goddess you’ve come, sir. The baby’s head is too large for the birth canal. It is stuck there and won’t come out.”
“I see.” He bent down to examine the woman on the bed. Softly he said to her, “Do not keep pushing. It will not come out, and you will only cause yourself more suffering. The infant, too, most likely.”