Peter placed a hand under his arm to steady him. “Except the ones in our dreams.”
Merlin looked at him as if the statement startled him. “Yes, there are always those. Come. Arthur will be expecting us to meet him.”
There was very little activity in the mill. A fire roared in the main hearth, and its flames made almost the only motion. Word of the night’s events had spread. The two deaths seemed to cast a pall over everything and everyone.
From the kitchen came aromas of cooking food. Merlin started to react without thinking. “That smells quite wonderful. There is nothing like fresh-baked bread in the morning. Arthur will be pleased. He will want to thank young Geo-” He caught himself. “He will want to thank whoever is doing the baking.”
Outside the world had indeed turned white and the temperature had grown bitterly cold. Snow was falling heavily. Three inches of it covered everything. Trees were lacy white marvels. A strong, steady wind blew; snowflakes danced in it. Patches of ice were forming on the surface of the stream.
Softly, at the bottom of his breath, Merlin muttered, “Winter. And there are people who believe in benevolent gods.”
The king’s party could be seen in the middle distance through the falling snow. They were riding slowly, wrapped in heavy, dull-colored cloaks. Under his, Arthur wore his ceremonial armor, and it gleamed in the white landscape.
“It is too cold, Peter. This wind-Run inside and fetch me a cloak.”
Peter vanished into the mill. Two of the servants emerged and placed themselves just behind Merlin, in case he should need anything else. He leaned on their arms to steady himself.
Arthur’s band arrived. Bedivere and Sagramore were among his companions. The king jumped heartily down from his horse. “Merlin! I trust everything is well here. How are you? More to the point, how are my knights?”
“Things are not well, Arthur.”
Peter emerged from the mill with a cloak and placed it around Merlin’s shoulders. A sudden, particularly fierce gust of wind blew up, and he pulled the cloak tight around himself. “In the name of all that is human, Arthur, let us go inside before we freeze to death.”
Inside, servants were busily placing more logs on the fires in all the rooms. Merlin, the king and his men arranged themselves around the main fireplace and warmed themselves eagerly. Merlin asked a servant to bring wine. “Not the remnants of the wine from last night. Open new bottles.”
Then he turned to Arthur. “Somewhere in this mill is my valet, Robert. You must send men to find him and arrest him.”
“Good heavens, Merlin, why?”
Merlin told him about the night’s events and the deaths of George and Accolon. “The boy died a horrible death. But none of us could help him. We were all quite insensible. Robert gave us wine laced with some narcotic.”
Two knights got to their feet and made ready to leave.
Merlin told them, “If he is not in the mill, then he has run away. That would not surprise me. You will see his footprints in the snow. Find him if you can.”
He turned to Arthur. “You must send him back to Camelot under heavy guard. And send word to Simon to have his mother and brother arrested as well.”
Bedivere sipped his wine. “Camelot’s jailors will have a busy winter.”
Merlin ignored this. “His mother is one of your cooks, Arthur. She has access to the castle’s herb garden. I can only imagine what she must be growing there. Something to make us sleep. And something that can simulate symptoms of the plague.” A thought struck him. “Belladonna, perhaps.”
“But-but your valet?” Arthur was having trouble digesting it all.
Merlin took a large cup of wine. “Perhaps this will clear my head. My ears are ringing. Robert gave us all drugged wine last night.”
“He tried to kill all of you? Why, for goodness’ sake?”
“At the very least, he wanted to render us unconscious. As to motive, at this point I can only speculate.” He glared at Arthur accusingly. “Perhaps you know better than I could.”
Arthur squirmed. “Enough of that.”
Bedivere, too, seemed to be having trouble understanding. “But-but-a pastry cook and two serving boys. Why would they-?”
“As I said,” Merlin told him, “I can only speculate as to what motivated them. I will know more when I have had the chance to interrogate them. But they have been present so often when death has occurred. Even at Darrowfield Castle. You sent them there, remember, Arthur? The murders at Stonehenge would have been most difficult for one man alone to have committed. One killer, three victims. Most improbable. But three killers, or even merely two, if the boys did it without their mother’s assistance…”
“But-but-why would they have killed Darrowfield and his sons? What possible reason could they have?”
Calmly Merlin pronounced, “We shall know that soon enough.”
A moment later the two knights reappeared, dragging Robert between them. His face showed fear and confusion, and he was struggling, but the knights were much too strong for him.
“No!” he cried. “Why are you doing this?”
The knights ignored his cries and pulled him toward the king and Merlin.
“Merlin, help me!” Robert pled. “Why have they taken me? I haven’t done anything.”
When they reached Merlin and the king, the two of them exchanged glances. Then Merlin turned to the boy. “You know perfectly well.”
“No!”
“What was in the wine you gave us last night?”
“Nothing.” The bewilderment in Robert’s face was plain to see. “Nothing. I swear it.”
Merlin looked to the king again and nodded. Arthur said to the knights, “Get two more knights from our main column. Take him back to Camelot. Guard him carefully. We will want to question him more thoroughly when we get back.”
He went on. “You will almost certainly overtake the party that has Marmaduke and Lulua under guard. I can’t imagine they’re making very good time, not with those lumps. See to it that they’re all placed in very secure cells in the dungeon.”
The knights saluted and turned to go. Robert was still pleading with Merlin, protesting his innocence, as they dragged him off and shackled him. The boy fought, and one of the knights struck him. After that he was quiet.
Only minutes later they were ready to leave on their return to Camelot. Arthur and Merlin watched them depart and quickly disappear behind a curtain of falling snow. Arthur had an air of self-congratulation. “I knew you’d get to the bottom of the killings. You always do. But tell me. Why do you think he did it? What could have possessed him?”
Merlin looked away from him. “Can you really not guess? We have discussed it often enough.”
“Don’t be cryptic, Merlin. I want to know.”
Merlin heaved an enormous sigh. “You want an heir. You have sired a great many potential ones. More, even, than is usual for a nobleman in this country. Does it really surprise you that some of them should resort to murder in hopes of gaining the throne?”
“Heirs? I-no!” Arthur caught him by the arm.
“I make no judgment, Arthur. But it must have occurred to you at some point that so many children, in or out of wedlock, would lead to many problems.”
“That boy is not mine. He cannot be!”
Merlin shrugged. “I cannot imagine you keep track of all the women you have bedded. Robert’s mother, Marian, is one of your servants. You must have had many opportunities to-”
“No! Merlin, I tell you, he is not mine. He and his brother-don’t you think I’d know it if I had fathered twins?”
“Then tell me, Arthur, what other motive could they have had for all this death? Darrowfield and his sons, John and Bruce, Accolon… Even if they were not all your bastards, people thought they were. And what about daughters? How many of them have you sired?”
“Darrowfield was twenty years older than me. There is no way he could possibly be my son. Not even with the help of a sorcerer. No, there must be some other explanation. I want you to find it.”