“Rubbish.”
“You both want moral strictures. You simply disagree about where the boundary should be set.”
“No, we disagree about why the boundary is necessary at all. If I ever become as prudish as Gildas, you may call me on it.”
Peter laughed at him. “Bishop Merlin.”
“Stop it.”
It took a moment for Peter’s laughter to die down. Then he rode in silence, leaving Merlin to his thoughts. But Merlin found himself wondering, for the first time, about Peter’s soundness.
Just before dusk the party approached Grosfalcon. The wind had calmed, but a light, gentle snow was falling. The terrain was more and more hilly; in the far distance, the Welsh mountains could be glimpsed through the snow. In the middle distance the village itself loomed. And it was ablaze with light.
Arthur commented on it to Bedivere. “It looks as if they’re having a festival. They must have a thousand torches burning.”
“It is winter.” Bed shrugged. “People need light and heat.”
“At my father’s court, we used to celebrate Bran’s birthday with lights and music. And at my mother’s court we celebrated feasts in honor of the Morrigan, the goddess of death. But I can’t recall either place being lit up as brightly as this little backwater village. What do you suppose can be behind it?”
Again Bedivere shrugged. “Bumpkins.”
But it soon became apparent that the lights were spreading out from Grosfalcon into the surrounding forest. Before long, torchbearers reached Arthur’s column. There were dozens of people, waving torches about wildly, reveling, singing, dancing, making love. Some were dressed, some not, some only partially. Musicians played loud, frolicsome airs. Boys carrying wineskins accompanied them, pouring libations for any and all who wanted to drink. Dogs followed them all, happily snapping up scraps of food that they dropped. Some of the torches set fire to low-hanging tree branches. A group of merrymakers, most of them only partly dressed, set fire to a thick bush, then danced around it in a circle, as if it was a perverse kind of maypole. The falling snow, plus the snow already lying on the trees, made the fires sputter out quickly.
Arthur summoned Perceval to his side. “Well, we’re here. Now, where is this barn where you found the Stone?”
Perceval held up a hand to shield his eyes. “There is a hill just east of the village, a little one but steep. The barn is on the far side of it.”
Gildas followed Perceval to the front of the column. “Arthur, look at all this glee. You must order these people to stop at once.”
“You think,” Arthur said with amusement, “the most powerful king on earth could order a stop to all this? Honestly, Gildas, there are times when I think Merlin is right-your view of the world is so terribly naïve.”
“The social order is breaking down, Arthur. Look at them. Morality itself is breaking down. Order must be restored.”
The king chuckled. “What would you suggest?”
“Arrest them. Use the whip and the sword.”
Bedivere spoke up. “Small as this village is, there are more people here than we have knights. Arresting them all is a practical impossibility.”
“One of them, then. Is it beyond your power to make an example of one of them?”
Arthur heaved a deep sigh. “For heaven’s sake, Gildas, look around you. It’s not as if this was only a matter of a few intransigents. It’s the entire countryside. We’ve been seeing this for miles. We’ll be lucky to keep our own men under control, much less the general population. Bed, go and fetch Merlin. I want to hear what he makes of all this.”
Bedivere spurred his horse and rode back to the carriage. Gildas snorted.
A band of young women approached and began flirting outrageously with the knights. Arthur shouted an order to maintain discipline. But it was apparent the knights were tempted. They would not maintain their self-control very long.
Bedivere returned a moment later with Merlin. Arthur briefly explained the situation. “Gildas here wants me to arrest everyone in sight. What do you think?”
Gildas glared at Merlin as if daring him to disagree. But Merlin was not about to be cowed. “The snow is beginning to fall more heavily. It will put an end to all this… what would you call it? Celebration?”
“Order must be restored!” The bishop bellowed it.
“It is a simple matter, then, Gildas. All you have to do is roar a few orders at the citizens and they will stop.” Merlin paused to give Gildas an opening, but the bishop grumped and stayed silent. Merlin turned to Arthur. “In the name of everything human, Arthur, let us get the bloody Stone buried and get back to Camelot before winter descends on us with its full force.”
Arthur brushed a snowflake from his eyelash. “Gildas does have a point, Merlin. We do have to restore order.”
“It might be more useful for you to restore clothing.”
Arthur ignored the comment. “Look around. You can hardly deny it. The question is how to do it.”
Merlin sighed. “Arthur, think. For once, winter will be a blessing. Cold weather is already ending the plague in the southwest. It will put an end to this revelry soon enough, as well. Nature will correct itself. The natural order will reassert itself. You will see.
“When we return to Camelot, you must send heralds to every corner of the country with the news that the plague has died. It is fear of the plague that engenders this kind of ribaldry. The end of the disease will bring an end to this, too. When the people realize that death is not at hand-that they must scramble to keep themselves and their families alive, just as they always have…” He left the thought unfinished.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Arthur turned pensive, at the same time eyeing an attractive young woman.
“Arthur!” Merlin was shocked to see it. “Have you forgotten everything we’ve talked about?”
“No, of course not. But-”
“Remember what happened to Ulysses’ men in the land of the lotus-eaters.”
Gildas snorted at this. “Pagan rot.”
“You think there is only one ancient book that contains any wisdom?”
But Arthur had listened to enough. “Stop it, both of you. I need to think. Let us ride on. We still have a way to go before we reach that barn of Perceval’s. By the way, where is Perceval?”
He looked around. Perceval, along with half a dozen other knights, had dismounted and was talking to a young woman. Some of the lesser knights were already locked in embrace with locals. Several were kissing and fondling.
Arthur was shocked at the lack of modesty-and discipline. “Bed, get them back into line. We have a mission to complete.”
Bedivere and a few of the older knights bellowed orders and managed, slowly, to restore order and discipline. Arthur muttered, “Lotus-eaters, indeed.” After a few minutes the column was ready to move on.
Arthur was expecting Grosfalcon to be abandoned. But the town was populated, albeit sparsely. Children played in the streets, unattended. Some were crying, looking about fu tilely, even desperately, for their parents. Elderly citizens shuffled about, evidently trying to maintain some semblance of life as usual. A few parties in the prime of life reeled drunkenly, oblivious to what was happening around them, or perhaps merely ignoring it.
Merlin joined the king and Bedivere as they surveyed still another part of the realm that had seemingly abandoned any sense of order. Seeing the concern in Arthur’s face, he tried to be reassuring. “Winter will do its work, Arthur.”
“I don’t want winter, I want England.”
“Unfortunately that isn’t your choice.”
Arthur ignored this and stopped an old woman. “Who are you?” he asked.
She glared. “Who are you?”
Bedivere explained who Arthur was, but the woman seemed unimpressed. “King of the Britons? Don’t make me laugh. You think anyone here cares about a king? Especially one who lives at the far end of the country?”
“Arthur is king. He rules here.”