Merlin took charge at once. He ordered men to carry the boy to the king’s tent. Then he rushed to his carriage and got his medical supplies.
Bruce’s arm was nearly severed. Merlin dressed the wound as well as he could and gave the boy a drink of strong wine to help dull the pain. When he was calmer, Merlin asked him, “Who did this? Tell me.”
“A knight. It must have been a knight. I couldn’t really see well, what with the night and the fog, but it must have been a knight.”
Merlin looked skeptical. “Must have been.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Might it not have been one of your father’s men? You are consorting with his enemy, after all.”
“No, sir. They don’t know I’m here.”
“They might have some inkling. Your brother-”
“They don’t know I’m here. Besides, they’re more brutal than that. My head would be lying in the mud. Only Camelot’s knights are so humane as to do this.” With his good arm he gestured at the bandages.
“You are John’s brother, all right…”
“You keep saying that.”
Merlin put a hand on his good arm. “You should try and get some sleep now. That will hurt terribly in the morning.”
“I’m used to pain, sir. It’s the way we were raised. Father saw to that.”
“Not like this. Sleep.”
A few moments later Merlin was alone again with Arthur. “The boy thinks it must have been one of our knights.”
Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They were furious at his little… should we call them pranks? And they did swear to punish whoever was doing it.”
“Yes, but Arthur, an attack this brutal… Our men had him. He would be brought to justice by you. They know that. I can’t help but suspect it was one of Marmaduke’s men.”
“Perhaps they thought I would be too lenient. But why this sudden faith in the integrity of our knights? And would Marmaduke’s men try to kill their own baron’s son?”
“If I remember the character of these outlying tribes, yes, they would do that in a minute.”
“Is it possible the boy did this himself? To give us a reason to keep him with us?”
“Arthur, his arm was nearly off.”
“Of course.” He frowned. “But our men… I don’t want to believe it.”
“The knights would be glad to hear you say so.”
The king sighed. “Stay here with him, will you? Keep an eye on him.” He lowered his voice. “He was my son’s brother, after all. I… I wouldn’t want to see him follow John to the grave.”
“He’s not as much a brat as John was. There is that, at least.”
“Stop it, Merlin. Stay with him tonight.”
In the morning, the forest fog was even more dense. Thick clouds of it surged among the trees. The road, such as it was, was all but invisible. Arthur cursed the autumn weather.
Merlin, as always, was wry. “This is England. The weather is the same in springtime-miserable.”
“I know it. I wish we didn’t have to rebury the Stone.” Merlin started to speak, but Arthur cut him off. “And don’t say I told you so. We have a long way to go yet. Clearly, the fog has led us off our course. Let us hope we don’t actually have to deal with Marmaduke.”
“Marmaduke is hardly the only baron who bristles at your rule.”
“How is young Bruce this morning?”
Merlin shrugged. “I wish I could tell. He slept fairly quietly. But this morning he has no appetite. I can’t even persuade him to take a bit of soup. Some blood has seeped through the bandages. And he says he can’t feel his arm at all.”
“That is not good.”
“No. It is early yet. The attack only happened last night. But I am afraid the signs are not good.”
“Keep an eye on him, will you? I don’t want him to-” He cut off whatever he was going to say. “He can ride in your carriage. Will that be all right?”
“Of course, Arthur. I was going to suggest the same thing. The seat opposite mine is wide enough for him to lie and sleep. Peter and I can ride side by side.”
“That’s good.”
And so they set forth again. Except for the presence of Bruce, everything was as it had been before. Knights grumbled while their servants did the work. Arthur commanded, breezily ignoring the complaints in the ranks. Merlin chatted with Peter or passed the time by reading.
The one thing that did change, for the worse, was the weather. There was constant fog, all day long. Dense banks of it clogged the forest. Thicker streamers of it coiled among the trees. It was impossible to see very far along the road in front of them. A constant drizzle began to fall.
Bruce slept in Merlin’s carriage, but only fitfully. He kept waking every few minutes, complaining of pain in his shoulder. Merlin applied a painkilling salve to his wounds as often as necessary, but it helped only so much. When the carriage hit a bump in the road Bruce would cry out, softly if he was asleep, more loudly if he was awake. His arm was still quite numb.
Merlin and Peter avoided talking about anything too alarming when the boy could hear. But when he was asleep, or when they thought he was asleep, they let their guard down.
“How much worse can this get?” Peter asked, staring out the window.
“This is England, Peter.” Merlin was sanguine. “Our one claim to distinction on the world stage is our atrocious weather.”
“A fine distinction.”
“A humble thing, but our own.” Merlin was wry.
“What worries me most is security. There could be anyone or anything out there in the fog, and we’d never know it till it was too late. Half the Byzantine Empire could be out there, sharpening their spears.”
“Just for us. But do you really think we have to worry so much about external threats?”
Peter scowled. “You mean whoever tried to kill our young companion, here.”
“Precisely. With a murderer-attempted murderer-in our midst, why fret about imaginary armies?”
“His father’s men-”
“Do you really think so? Would not Marmaduke’s men be more likely to try and assassinate Arthur? Why would they go after their own leader’s son?”
“It’s been known to happen, Merlin.”
Slowly, groggily, Bruce opened his eyes. Weakly he announced, “My father’s men hate me. At least the ones who want to take his place. All of them hate me.”
Peter, mildly startled at this, asked him, “Why would they hate a boy like you?”
“I’m next. It’s no more complicated than that.” He closed his eyes again and, to appearances, fell instantly asleep.
Peter looked at Merlin. “Does he mean next in line for leadership, or next to die, do you think?”
Merlin shrugged. “I am a scholar, not a mind reader.”
“To hear people tell it, you’re both.”
Merlin ignored this and looked out at the fog-shrouded landscape. The world was a blank gray. After a few moments, Peter fell asleep, too, lulled by the motion of the carriage. Merlin became lost in his thoughts.
Then suddenly, quite abruptly with a jolt, the carriage stopped. Merlin craned his head out the window to see what the holdup might be. But the fog made it impossible for him to see more than a few mounted riders ahead.
But then a rider appeared out of the fog. It was Sir Kay, driving his horse to gallop back along the line. “Merlin! Merlin, come quickly!”
Merlin opened the carriage door and began to climb down. “I cannot do much of anything quickly, Kay. Blame this bloody arthritis.”
“Come! Let me help you up onto my horse.”
“What is the problem?”
“My squire, Jumonet. He’s been hit.”
Merlin let the knight pull him up just behind him on the mount. “Hit? What on earth do you mean?”
“Hit.” The knight said nothing else but spurred his horse back to a gallop. Merlin held on tightly and watched the puzzled faces as they flew past the rest of the party.
In a short time they were near the front of the line. Kay slowed the horse and turned to the left, and they headed into the woods.