“Not while she is in our custody. Not even Morgan could be that dull.”
“She is the high priestess, Merlin. She does have followers.”
“She may have followers, but we most certainly have her. I think she will behave.”
Arthur yawned. “This journey has been more exhausting than it should have been. Let’s get some sleep.”
“And hope the roof doesn’t collapse on us.”
“Why is your view of everything so rosy, Merlin? I always sleep well in rainy weather. Let’s hope tonight is no exception. Good night, Merlin.” He yawned and stretched. “Thank heaven there’s still some hay left in here.”
Lights were extinguished; Arthur and his men prepared to sleep. There were no dry spots on the barn floor. A few of the more enterprising knights climbed up to the hayloft and made to prepare their bedrolls there. But when the wood began to creak ominously they came back down and slept on the damp floor with the others.
The sound of dripping rainwater made an oddly calming sound. Most of the party were lulled gently to sleep by it. But Merlin slept fitfully. The dampness aggravated his arthritis. He wakened more than once with pain in his hip and had to readjust himself to ease the pressure on it. The fact that most of the others seemed to be sleeping soundly irritated him. Somewhere in a far part of the barn one of them was snoring, and the sound reverberated. Under his breath he muttered, “Knights.”
Then in the small hours, just before purple dawn, there was the sound of someone moving, followed by a cry in the dark. A dozen men woke and looked around, groggily trying to orient themselves.
Merlin was barely asleep. He sat up. “What is that? Who is crying out?” No one answered, but as his mind cleared he realized it had been the king’s voice. “Arthur?”
More sounds. Another cry, a gurgling sound and what appeared to be someone rushing about in the dark.
“Arthur?”
The king did not answer.
Merlin called out, “Lights! We need lights!” He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, groped for his cane and took a few steps toward the place where Arthur had been sleeping. “Someone get a torch or a lantern!”
One of the squires managed to strike a flint. In an instant a torch was blazing.
“Here!” Merlin called. “Bring it here!”
In a moment he had the torch in his hand. Leaning heavily on his cane with the other hand, he limped toward the spot where Arthur had been.
The king lay soaked in blood. A dagger stuck out of his chest. He was unconscious. Merlin gasped. “In the name of everything human! Arthur, no!”
Peter appeared out of the darkness behind him.
“Run and get my medical kit. Quickly!”
Peter ran.
Bedivere, hearing the commotion, rushed into the barn. “What has happened?” Then he saw Arthur and cried, “No! No! This cannot be!”
Peter returned with Merlin’s medical things. He quickly got down on his knees-as quickly as his arthritis would let him-and examined the king. After a moment he looked to Bedivere. “Fortunately, this is not too deep. The assassin missed his heart.”
Bedivere thanked the gods.
“Thank our good luck. I should be able to dress this wound as soon as the bleeding slows.” He fell to cleaning it. Then a thought occurred. “Bed, I told you this is not a deep wound.”
“What of that? We’re fortunate. Arthur is. He’s always had good luck.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“Then-?”
“The wound is shallow.” He paused, then said, “Almost as if it had been struck by a woman.”
“A woman? But we-”
“Where is Morgan?”
More lights were being lit, but the cavernous interior of the barn was still only dimly lit. Bedivere glanced around. “Morgan! Morgan le Fay!”
There was no reply. The other men looked around. There was no sign of her.
Bedivere returned to Merlin’s side. “Is he all right? Will he recover?”
“He will have to rest for a few days. He will have to ride in a carriage on our return journey. Thankfully the one that brought the Stone is empty now. Bring me Morgan. I want to question her.”
“Merlin…” He hesitated and looked around the barn one more time. “Merlin, she is gone.”
TEN
Camelot came into view just after dawn on the first sunny morning Merlin had seen in weeks. It stood on its hilltop, its stones gleaming in the early light. Its windows beamed with lights that had not yet been extinguished; but they were blinking out one by one.
Arthur’s wounds had been healing well but slowly. Merlin, backed up by Bedivere, insisted that Arthur ride in a carriage instead of on horseback at the head of the column. Merlin, seeing the beautiful prospect before them, woke him gently. “Arthur, wake up. This is something you ought to see.”
Groggily the king asked, “What? What could there possibly be?”
“Home. Camelot. I have never seen it look so beautiful.”
Arthur sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve seen Camelot before, thank you. Why don’t you let me sleep?”
“Don’t be difficult. Just look.”
He looked. There was the castle, its two great towers soaring into the sky, its stones illuminated brilliantly by the sun.
“Look at it, Arthur. After all the horrors on our journey, we are home. And it must be the most welcoming place in the world.”
“Are you turning into a poet? You certainly don’t sound like the cold-eyed scholar you always pretend to be.”
“Even a cold-eyed scholar can be glad of hearth and home. Paintonbury and Grosfalcon are behind us. I have hope that we have seen the last of the killings.”
“And now you’ve become an optimist.” Arthur smirked at him. “And they say old people lose the ability to grow.”
“Go ahead, Arthur. Enjoy yourself. You are king and you have the right. Spoil this beautiful moment for me.”
Arthur fell silent and looked out at the castle again. “We’ll be there in another hour. You’re right, Merlin. It is a beautiful place. A fitting symbol of everything we’ve tried to accomplish in England, you and I.”
“And we will have our first good, full English breakfast since we left on this fool’s errand.”
Arthur’s face lit up. “With honey cakes.”
Merlin was not certain whether to say it; he did not want to dampen Arthur’s mood. But he could not restrain himself. “You forget, Arthur. The woman who bakes those cakes is in jail now, along with her sons.”
“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?” His smile vanished. “Now that is the voice of the Merlin I know.”
“I am not a poet after all?”
“Don’t be absurd. But… but surely we can release Marian and her boys now. We know that Morgan was behind it all.”
“Do we?”
Arthur rubbed the bandage on his chest. “Is this my imagination, then?”
“You have always been so reluctant to confront Morgan. What will you do now? Send out parties of knights to find and arrest her?”
“It’s too early to think. I need that good breakfast you mentioned.”
When the party moved through the gate and into Camelot’s courtyard, Simon of York was waiting to greet them with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Behind him stood Petronus, holding still more paperwork. Various other functionaries were scattered about the yard waiting to press their business with the returning monarch and his chief advisor. Merlin stared at the scene and muttered, “Home. So much for that.”
Bedivere dismounted and approached the carriage to help Arthur out.
And Arthur grumped. “I wish you’d all stop fussing over me. I’m over the damage Morgan did to me.”
“You are our king. The nation’s welfare depends on you.”
Arthur took a few steps and brushed some dust off himself. “The nation runs itself. Crops grow or fail, the weather turns fair or foul, people get on with their lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Even the government goes on its merry way without me.” He took a deep breath, seeming to relish the cold morning air. “It’s good to be home.”