Arthur bent and picked it up. “I take it that is the fearsome weapon with which you’ve been harassing my knights?”
Merlin approached, followed by Peter of Darrowfield. Peter stepped discreetly aside. Merlin, seeing the slingshot in Arthur’s hand, glared at the boy. “Oh, this bloody arthritis.”
The boy said, “Sorry, sir. It’s only a toy.”
Arthur advanced on the boy. “Never mind that. Tell us who you are and why you’ve been hectoring my men.”
“Bruce, my lord. I’m called Bruce.”
“Address the king,” Merlin told the boy, “as Your Majesty, not your lord.”
“Sorry, sir. Your Majesty.”
The king glanced at Merlin, indicating he should go on with the questioning. Merlin wasn’t sure what would work best, authoritative menace or kindly, grandfatherly understanding. The boy didn’t seem especially dangerous, so he decided on the latter. “Now, then, Bruce. His Majesty wants to know what you have been up to, and why.”
“I said, sir. I’m looking for my brother.”
“Of course.” Merlin glanced at Arthur, but the king’s face was impassive. “And you are not looking for the king, here? Whom you know?”
“Know?” Bewilderment showed in Bruce’s features. “I’ve heard his name often enough, yes. And heard him described. But know him?”
“Tell me the truth, boy.”
“I am, sir. I’ve never seen the k-His Majesty before.”
“Never?”
“No, sir.”
“You have been in touch with him by letter, then.”
“No, sir.” The boy was quite lost, and it showed. “Never.” Merlin looked skeptical, or perhaps unhappy. He turned to Arthur, who was smiling smugly.
“And why,” Arthur asked the boy, “have you been following us and shooting things?”
“Like I said, sir-Your Majesty-my brother. I thought he might be traveling with you. I knew, or rather I had heard, that this was a royal party. I was hoping he might be with you.”
Arthur’s face was a blank. “Your brother.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. John.”
“John?”
“John of Paintonbury, Your Majesty.”
For the first time, Arthur registered something like emotion-genuine surprise. “You are the brother of John of Paintonbury?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I see.”
“When he left home, he told me you had invited him to join your court. In some important position, he said. Father was furious. So when I heard you were making a progress through our land, I-”
“Your land?!” Merlin almost shouted it. “Who are you? I mean, who are your people?”
The boy averted his eyes. “Our father is baron of these lands, sir. Marmaduke of Paintonbury.”
Arthur looked at Merlin and said in a lowered voice, “One of the more troublesome barons.”
“Arthur, I remember.” He turned back to Bruce. “Young man, I am afraid I have bad news for you.” He found a skin of wine and poured a cup. “Here. You will need this.”
Uncertainly, Bruce took the cup. “Bad news, sir?”
“I regret to tell you that your brother is dead. He died of the plague, just as we were setting out from Camelot.”
“Dead, sir?” Bruce took a long drink. “The plague?”
Arthur told him, “I’m afraid so.”
“But-”
“He was a fine young man,” Arthur went on. “With a good mind. In time he would have been a valued member of our retinue. But-but if it was John you were looking for, why were you harassing the rest of us?”
“I’m sorry about that, sir. I mistook the others for him. The fog, you see. John and I had always… Well, we had always teased each other. Playfully, you understand. I didn’t realize he was…” The boy’s face was twisted; he had obviously loved his brother. He took up the wine cup and drained it. “I was only playing.”
Peter had listened to all of this in silence. Finally he spoke up. “You must return to your father now, young man. We are on a quest.”
“Please, Your Majesty, may I not join you? I could take John’s place. Our father is…” He let the sentence die unfinished. “Please, may I join you?”
“I’ll have to think about that. You may spend the night here in our camp. I’ll have some of the servants make a bath for you. You’re covered with mud.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I know I can be of service to you. Especially if all the knights I hit are typical of your forces.”
Merlin suppressed a chuckle. “You are John’s brother, all right.”
“Peter, will you take Bruce off to the servants?” Arthur looked mildly nonplussed by the boy’s presence. “And Bruce, I would suggest that you keep a low profile for the night. You will find many of the knights are humorless and less than forgiving.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. And thank you.”
“Go along now and get scrubbed up.”
“Can I… May I have my slingshot back”
“No.”
“But I-Very well, Your Majesty. But…”
“Yes?”
“Might I stay with you? Join you? Return to Camelot with you?”
Arthur rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. For either of us.”
“But-”
“I promise to give it some thought. Now go and sleep.”
Pouting slightly, the boy left.
Merlin stared pointedly at Arthur. And Arthur knew immediately what was on his mind. “I told you, Merlin, he is not mine.”
Merlin was skeptical, and it showed. “His brother, but not him?”
“You have grasped it.”
“Arthur-”
“You remember Marmaduke of Paintonbury, surely.”
“Well, I recall the name. And of course there was John. But I am afraid the details-”
“Fat man. Coarse man. During the wars that brought me to the throne, he was one of our bitterest enemies. You must remember that.”
“Something comes back to me. Not much.”
“Why do you think he hated me so ferociously?”
Merlin narrowed his eyes. “His wife?”
“Exactly. John was the product of our… union. But it only happened the once. Bruce is Marmaduke’s, all Marmaduke’s.”
Merlin sighed. “If there are any gods, I pray they will rescue England from its noblemen. There can’t be a more irresponsible class of people anywhere.”
At this, Arthur laughed. “Just point anyplace on the map of Europe. You’ll find them. Nobles are human beings, Merlin.”
“I wish you would not remind me.”
“We do what everyone else does. But we do it more… vigorously. Power and wealth make that possible.”
“Of course.”
“What concerns me at the moment is that we seem to have drifted into Marmaduke’s territory. All this bloody fog… We must have missed a turning or a fork in the road. We need to move on as quickly as this weather will permit.”
“Let us hope Marmaduke has learned to show more temperance than you showed him back in the day. You should post guards on the boy.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? Now that he knows John is dead, he would have no reason to-”
“Can we trust him? He is Marmaduke’s son. His story might be…”
“I see your point.”
“And of course he will need protecting from our own men.”
Arthur frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t always take such a dark view of things.”
Merlin shrugged. “The facts of human nature-”
“That’s enough. No guards. If only so I can prove you wrong, for once.”
Late in the night, Merlin was awakened by shouts. A moment later, Arthur woke, too.
They stared at each other across the tent. Merlin said, “Do you suppose…?”
Arthur jumped up and began to dress. “Marmaduke’s men. It must be.”
A moment later, still half undressed, they were outside. There was confusion; knights and servants were running about, carrying torches against the forest blackness, plainly not knowing where the shouts came from. An instant later Accolon’s voice cut through it all. “Here! Over here!”
They took torches and rushed to see what was happening there.
Next to his bedroll, Bruce of Paintonbury was lying on the ground, bleeding horribly. “Help! Murder! Help me! Please!” He was sobbing horribly.