Merlin whispered to Arthur, “Who on earth can that be? He must weigh four hundred pounds.”
“Don’t you recognize him? No, he was nowhere near so fat when you saw him last. But he is unmistakable. That,” said Arthur, “is Marmaduke of Paintonbury.”
“You’re joking. I can’t recall ever seeing him at all, with any certainty. How could that lump be lord over a society of vigorous warriors?”
“Nevertheless, that is Marmaduke.”
Merlin gaped. “I have only a faint memory of seeing him once before, and I am not certain that memory is reliable. But he was nowhere near so heavy.”
Arthur shrugged. “These things happen to leaders. Have you ever seen the Pope?”
“Not this one. They keep changing. But the Pope is-”
Before Merlin could say any more, Marmaduke raised a hand and bellowed, “Stop!” The voice, unlike the body from which it emanated, was vigorous and impressive.
Obligingly, the party stopped. Robin trotted his horse to Marmaduke’s side and they shared a brief, whispered conversation. Even whispering, Marmaduke’s voice was loud enough to carry, though the specific words were lost.
Finally Marmaduke looked directly at his prisoners and bellowed, “Arthur!” He laughed a bit too heartily for the situation. “King Arthur!”
Arthur kept his face and his voice carefully neutral. “Yes, Marmaduke?”
Marmaduke laughed, and the sound roared through the street. “King of the Britons.” The derision was impossibly loud. “My prisoner. The prisoner of humble Marmaduke of Paintonbury.”
If Arthur bristled at this, he didn’t let it show. “Prisoner? I thought I was your honored guest.”
Again Marmaduke roared with laughter. “And so you are. Exactly like these other honored guests.” He gestured at the cages lining the road.
Loudly Robin said, “Arthur is not the only prize we have taken this day. Look.”
From under his cape Robin produced a parcel wrapped in black cloth. With a flourish he removed the cloth and let it fall to the ground. High aloft he held the crystal skull, the Stone of Bran. It gleamed.
Marmaduke eyed it avariciously, as if it might be a huge diamond. “Give me that.”
He took it from Robin’s hands greedily. Carefully he inspected it, running his fingers over it, feeling its contours. Then he looked at Arthur again. “This is your famous Stone of Bran? The one all England heard about when you found it two years ago?”
Arthur was granite-faced. “It is the Stone of Bran, yes. Handle it carefully.”
Marmaduke tested its heft, then tossed it from hand to hand. “Pretty thing. How can it be so evil?”
Merlin spoke up. “Evil? What on earth do you mean?”
Marmaduke glared at him, then narrowed his eyes and peered. “You are Merlin, the magician?”
“I am Merlin, yes.”
“Then you know perfectly well what I mean.”
“No, I do not.”
Marmaduke laughed again, more loudly than before. It was not clear why.
A small child, a girl, ran out of one of the huts toward him. Without missing a beat he drew his sword and pointed it at the child’s neck. “Go back to your mother.”
The child stopped in her tracks. Looking confused and vaguely hurt, she turned and walked back to the hut. When she was inside again, Marmaduke turned back to his prisoners. “One of my children,” he said. “One of my true children, not one of the bastards that were foisted on me by my late lady wife.”
Arthur could not keep the alarm out of his voice. “Margaret is dead?”
More laughter from Marmaduke. “She died.” The irony in his voice left no doubt that her death had not been natural.
Merlin decided he had nothing to lose. “What happened? Did she suffocate while you were making love to her?”
For an instant Marmaduke glared. Then he calmed himself and turned to Robin. “This little crystal skull is most valuable. The priestesses will want to know we have it. They will notify the Great Queen.
“Take our two honored guests to their ‘quarters.’ Send the rest of their men to the field west of town. But keep close guard on them. Make sure they understand that any attempt to rescue Arthur will result in his death.”
Robin bowed his head slightly. “You want us to keep both Arthur and Merlin?”
Marmaduke nodded. “Disarm the rest of them and hold them in a little camp where they can rest themselves and lick their wounds. Keep careful guard over them. But they won’t make any trouble as long as we’ve got their king.”
“And what shall we do about him?” Robin pointed to the litter that carried Bruce.
Marmaduke squinted, then took a few steps toward it. Unhappy at what he was seeing, he muttered, “I’ll have to think. Disarm the rest of them. Keep them all in one place, and make sure there are enough of our men guarding them so they won’t try anything.” He grinned. “Not that they would, while we hold their king.”
He held the Stone of Bran at arm’s length and inspected it, beaming. He tried polishing it with a sleeve, but that served only to smear it with mud. Then he turned and stomped off toward his wooden “palace.” His feet made repulsive squishing sounds in the mud.
It was nearly dusk. Soldiers armed with spears and broad-swords led Merlin and the king off to a place where empty cages, of the kind that lined the road into town, were waiting. Each of them was forced into a cage at sword point. The cages were made of wood and were barely large enough to hold one man apiece. They were apart from the other ones; the nearest were ten yards away.
Then peasants, from the look of them, under the supervision of Robin, hauled the cages to a place at the side of the main road, in the center of town. Once they were in place, Marmaduke reappeared, carrying a torch against the fading afternoon light, plainly ready to gloat. “Arthur, King of the united Britain.” He spat. The saliva dribbled down his beard and the front of his clothing but he seemed not to notice, or not to care. “England was better off divided.”
“You mean that you were better off.” Arthur remained calm and self-possessed. “With no constraints on what you wanted to do. It must have been quite luxurious for you back then. You were able to treat anyone just exactly as you pleased. The rule of law-”
“I still can.” Marmaduke roared with laughter again. “That must have dawned on you by now. Besides, that’s an odd thing to hear from a man who runs around the country impregnating other men’s wives.”
“Marmaduke.” Arthur forced himself to speak calmly. “You must not do this thing to us.”
“Thing? What thing?” Marmaduke did not understand what Arthur was getting at, and it showed.
“You must not make us your prisoners. You will regret it.”
More loud laughter. “Regret it? When, Arthur? When will that happen?”
“Sooner than you think.”
Marmaduke stopped laughing and turned to Merlin. “And you, Wizard. You must have known better than to let Arthur do what he’s done. Bringing the plague to a peaceful land.”
So that was it. Marmaduke believed Arthur had somehow caused the plague. Merlin wondered whether Paintonbury had actually been touched by the disease, or whether Morgan’s and Gildas’s nonsense about the Stone of Bran had reached this far west. Taking his cue from Arthur, he spoke calmly. “Plague? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to bluff me, old man. Everybody knows the plague has struck the southeast. Dover is dead. Canterbury is dying. And everybody knows it was Arthur, digging up that crystal skull, that brought it on.”
Merlin turned to Arthur and mouthed the name, “Morgan.” Then to Marmaduke he said, “But we are on our way back to Wales to rebury the Stone. The god Bran will be placated. You do not wish to impede that, do you?”
“Oh.” He furrowed his brow. New thoughts were plainly difficult for him. He scratched his stomach. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think. I’ll have to ask the witch what to do.”