The woman spat. “Let’s see him stop this plague, then.”
Merlin started explaining in his best teacherly voice that the cold weather would bring an end to the plague. But Arthur interrupted this. “Who rules here, woman? Who represents order? Where is the local baron?”
“Are you trying to be funny?” She glared at him, then at Merlin. “And who are you?”
Merlin introduced himself.
And unexpectedly the woman smiled. “The wizard? I’ve heard of you.”
“I assure you, I am not a-”
Another woman, slightly younger, joined her. “You are looking for Lord Tambour?”
“Tambour?” Bedivere consulted one of his maps. “As near as I can recall, the warlord here was named Timothy.” He lowered his voice and told Arthur, “You remember him, Arthur? He fought side by side with Marmaduke.” He made a sour face. “He was never much of a warrior, as I recall.”
“No, I don’t remember him at all.”
“He was that kind of baron. I suspect he gained power here because no one else could be bothered. Look at this place. It’s almost as forlorn as Paintonbury.”
The younger woman said loudly, “Tambour seized power three years ago.”
“Why was Camelot not informed?”
Her older companion laughed. “You are trying to be funny.”
Arthur ignored this. “Where is Tambour now?”
“Who knows?” The younger of the two shrugged. “He ran off with the group of catamites who have always surrounded him. The plague-”
“The plague is dying. No one here is threatened. The world will soon be itself again.”
“So the men here can start drinking and fighting among themselves for power? Now all they do is drink. My husband ran off with Tambour. Honestly, death by plague would be a blessing.”
Bedivere nudged Arthur. “Look.”
At the far end of the street stood a figure in swirling black robes. A woman. She slowly raised her arms as if she was trying to cast a spell, or at least as if she wanted to appear so.
Softly Arthur whispered, “Morgan.” Then, in his best command voice, he called, “Sister!”
Morgan nodded slightly but said nothing in response.
Arthur thanked the two women for their information and spurred his horse to meet Morgan. The rest of the column followed.
“Morgan. How interesting to find you here. What the devil do you want?”
She was serene. “I am the high priestess of England, remember? I have business everywhere in the realm.”
Gildas left his place in the column and moved to a spot just behind the king. In a whisper he said, “Ask her about Marmaduke and Lulua. She must have been a party to their treason.”
But before Arthur could say anything, Morgan intoned, “I am seeking my disciple in these parts. A fine priestess called Lulua. But she seems to have vanished. I don’t suppose you’ve had any intelligence of her, Brother?”
Gildas could not restrain himself. “Your disciple is under arrest for treason.” He smiled a smug little smile. “Along with your minion Marmaduke.”
Morgan frowned deeply. Ignoring Gildas she asked, “Is this true, Brother?”
Arthur shrugged. “They tried to have me killed. I hope you don’t mind that I survived them.”
“Lulua is a good woman, a loyal servant of the crown of England.”
“Perhaps so, Morgan, but she hardly seems to know who wears that crown.”
Merlin joined the conversation. “How peculiar that you have shown up here, in the midst of their treachery. You are not a part of it, by any chance?”
Morgan glared. “Are you going to permit your servants to continue addressing me in this churlish manner, Arthur? Respect for the royal bloodline would dictate-”
“Respect for the royal bloodline would dictate that subjects not plot against their king, Morgan. Or do you suppose that yours is the only royal blood that matters?”
“How did you get here ahead of us?” Merlin asked her.
Serenely she replied, “I control the elements. The gods-”
“It is not possible that other rebel barons and their, er, priestesses provided you with safe passage, is it?”
She stiffened. “You are here to rebury the most sacred object in the kingdom. As high priestess, it is most fitting that I be here. It was most impious of you to leave me behind.” A faint smile appeared. “Or to try to.”
Arthur sighed. “Then let us get on with the burying. But I warn you, Morgan, I am going to get to the bottom of all this. If I find evidence that you were complicit with Lulua and Marmaduke-”
“You will not.”
He put on a tight grin. “Time will tell, I suppose. I recall instructing you to remain at Camelot. Yet you are here.”
Morgan shrugged.
“We will take that up later. Meanwhile, let’s find this barn and bury the bloody Stone. I can’t tell you how sorry I am I ever set my knights to find the damned thing.”
Gildas sensed an opening. “The plague, Your Majesty, is-”
“In the name of everything human, Gildas, not now.” Merlin was tired and impatient. He turned to the king. “Another cold wind is kicking up, Arthur. Let us get this done with and get back to Camelot.”
The citizens of Grosfalcon displayed little curiosity as the column proceeded through their village. They went on about their own business, which in most cases appeared to be pleasure. Drinking, gorging themselves with food, lovemaking… Nothing the knights might have done, short of actual violence, could have distracted them from their hedonistic pursuits.
The sight of it made Arthur glum. “So this is what plague does to society. We have never experienced one before, not in my lifetime. There are histories of course, but-”
“Be grateful they aren’t offering any resistance to us.” Bedivere spoke like a military man.
“Seeing any semblance of social-order breakdown is hardly a thing to be grateful for, Bed.”
“Not meeting hostility is.”
A black stallion had been found for Morgan. It was grazing in a field just outside the town, and it had apparently been broken. Or nearly so. Every now and then it snorted and bolted. Morgan, unruffled, manage to calm the animal every time. Arthur had the impression she was whispering something to it. A sidesaddle was found and the mount prepared for her.
But she was unhappy at having to ride. “I am a member of the royal house. I merit a carriage.”
Arthur was sanguine. “When the king himself is riding horseback, it ill becomes his sister to demand any more than that.”
“That fool advisor of yours is in a carriage. I deserve no less.”
“Merlin is old and infirm, Morgan. You know that. Don’t be disagreeable.”
“You should tell that to him. He is not too ‘old and infirm’ to make snide comments.” She scowled and mounted her horse.
In his carriage, Merlin was restless. He complained to Peter. “What on earth is she doing here? How did she get here so rapidly?”
Peter made a slight shrug. “Perhaps she really is a witch.”
Merlin ignored this. “She has a larger network of supporters than we ever realized. Or at any rate a more efficient one.”
“More and more of her people seem to be defecting to this new religion.” Peter seemed amused by it. “I mean, Gildas does seem an improbable leader, but he is making headway in England. Even Lord Darrowfield-”
“Gildas is hardly alone. More and more of his ‘monks,’ as they call themselves, keep showing up in various parts of the country. But the Christians are Morgan’s problem.”
“Then-?”
“I am concerned about Morgan’s connection to Lulua and Marmaduke. If she has been complicit in their treason… If her whole vast network is treasonous…”
“I see what you mean.”
“Arthur’s… what shall I call them?… potential heirs are being eliminated, one by one. Morgan has every reason in the world to want to see that happen. She wants the throne herself, after all. Having Marmaduke and Lulua eliminate her brother for her would have…” He made a vague gesture. “I am getting old, Peter. This is too much for my poor old mind. Lord Darrowfield…”