Merlin turned back to Peter. “No, I fear that centuries from now, when we are all long dead and buried, the myth of the town sheriff as a cloddish dimwit will still be alive.”
“For once I hope you are mistaken, sir.” Peter held out his own cup for wine.
Then with a sudden flourish Morgan le Fay swept into the room, black robes swirling around her as if the wind might be blowing them. “Cloddish dimwit?” She put on a huge artificial smile. “You are talking about my brother?”
Alarmed by her treasonous wit, Peter drank deeply. “Please, Morgan. We must be respectful of authority.”
“Spoken like a man in a position of authority.” She brushed him aside. “Mordred. Father.” She nodded to each of them. “I was not certain whether to expect you here.”
“Even the old get hungry, Daughter.” Uther’s voice sounded as if speaking might be painful for him.
“So they do.” Lady Darrowfield, who had been oddly quiet in a melancholy way, got to her feet. “I believe everyone is here? Excellent.” She gestured to the servants and they instantly sprang into motion. In a matter of moments the table was spread with a rich feast, ham, roast beef, eel, and an array of vegetables, breads and pastries. Despite all the animation the hostess still looked unhappy. Merlin wondered why. Was there trouble in the new lord’s household?
The guests all tucked into their dinner, which was excellent. Petronus gobbled his food like the teenage boy he was. In only moments all the sweets had been eaten and Lady Darrowfield sent servants to the kitchen for more.
“Now.” She scanned the table and, apparently satisfied that her guests were all eating contentedly, she began her own meal. “What shall be the topic of our dinner conversation?”
The guests all looked at one another but no one replied.
“Shall we discuss family relations among the nobility of England?” She asked the question in a wry tone.
“Miriam, please.” Darrowfield was looking extraordinarily uncomfortable.
But his wife seemed unable to stop herself. “Shall we perhaps discuss the problems created by a lord who rides about his fiefdom, siring bastard children?”
“Miriam! Stop this at once.”
The woman was trembling. “I am not the one who must be told to stop.” She looked at Merlin. “What is the official line at Camelot on this shameful behavior? Does Arthur not expect more integrity from his barons?”
Merlin turned to stone. He looked down at the table, not at Lady Darrowfield. “I fear it is not my place to say.”
Suddenly on the verge of tears, she got to her feet and rushed from the room. Everyone else looked at one another nervously, groping for appropriate comments. Finally Morgan found her voice and complimented Darrowfield on the roast beef. “It is the most succulent I’ve had in months. Isn’t it delicious, Mordred?”
Mordred looked awkwardly away from her and muttered, “Yes, Mother. I mean, yes, Lord Darrowfield.”
For a time there was no more conversation; everyone ate in silence. Then gradually people began to talk again. Conversation was thankfully light. The weather, news from the Continent, reports of energetic jousting matches around the countryside… There was gossip of outbreaks of plague in parts of Europe, but no one knew any details. At one point Lady Darrowfield reappeared at the door of the dining hall, then seemed to reconsider and left quickly. Geoffrey and Freelander kept pumping Merlin with questions about magic and the black arts, much to his annoyance and the amusement of Nimue.
When finally the company dispersed, Merlin paused to ask Darrowfield whether he had arranged for any entertainment to fill the rest of the evening. They walked together through the maze of hallways.
“I beg your indulgence, Merlin. You will perhaps have noticed that this is not the happiest of households. Do you honestly think entertainment of any kind would be appropriate? Please let me apologize for my wife’s childish outburst.”
“Childish? Yes, of course. If there is anything I might do to help the situation…”
“No, no, please don’t give it a thought. It is merely a domestic falling-out, nothing more. It will pass. She never remains angry for long.”
Turning a bend in the winding corridor, Darrowfield walked smack into a wall. He recoiled, and his nose bled. There was a sound of muffled footsteps, retreating away from them along the corridors. Merlin tried to see who it was, but whoever had been there had vanished.
Merlin fumbled through his pockets and found a kerchief. “Here, use this.”
Darrowfield took it and covered his bloody nose with it. It made his voice unpleasantly nasal as he said, “Damn my grandfather and his damned building scheme. We’ve been building castles in England for centuries, good, solid, simple plans. But no, he had to be novel. Damn him.”
Merlin chuckled. “So the unpleasantness in your family extends across generations.”
“Damned right, it does. How would you like to live in a foul rat’s nest like this? No one in his right mind would. But I get to be Lord Darrowfield, so I have to live here. I’d be happier in the country, raising wheat and pigs.”
“If you knew how many times I have seen Arthur in just exactly this mood.”
“He is a wise king, then. Thank you for the kerchief. I’ll have it laundered and returned to you. Can you find your way back to your rooms?”
“I believe so.”
“I’ll say good night, then.” He made a sour face. “Back to my wife. Good night.”
Back at his rooms, Merlin found Morgan waiting for him. She was, to appearances, in a jovial mood. When he entered she did not stand but sat regally, like a queen on her throne. “Merlin. What took you so long? Did you get lost in this absurd labyrinth of a castle?”
“Not at all.” He made himself smile. “I was chatting with our host, that is all.”
“Poor Darrowfield. He is not the first lord to have his wife resent his infidelities.”
“And he certainly will not be the last. Extramarital copulation is what barons do. I have spoken to Arthur several times about regularizing and regulating the institution of marriage, at least for the nobility. But you know Arthur.”
“Yes, believe me, I know him.” She didn’t try to hide her disdain.
“Of course. You know as well as anyone his attitude toward casual liaisons.”
The dart hit home; Morgan stiffened. “That subject is not open to discussion. I am here to talk about Darrowfield.”
Merlin had begun to feel absurd, standing while Morgan sat and acted grand. He found a stool and made himself comfortable. “Darrowfield? There would not seem to be much to say. It is odd, but someone seemed to be following us just now, out in the corridor from the dining hall.”
“Perhaps someone could not sleep and wished to be bored into slumber.”
Merlin chuckled. “The noblemen of England are all wise and magnificent.”
“Of course. About Darrowfield’s religious affiliation.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You speak in riddles, Morgan. I know you are a priestess, and cryptic flummery is your job, but really-”
“It is rumored that he may convert to Christianity. That must not be permitted. We have lost several barons to this upstart faith already.”
“And how would you propose I stop it?”
“England has thrived for thousands of years on the worship of the traditional gods. The true gods. We must stop this erosion now.”
“I am afraid I cannot help you, Morgan. Even Arthur himself is-”
“I am quite aware of it. He has been meeting with that fool Bishop Gildas. It must be stopped.”
“I am Arthur’s advisor, not his nanny.”
“Do you find there is much difference?”
Merlin sighed deeply. “I am so weary of superstition in all its forms. As if it mattered which gods a man sends perfumed smoke to.”
“It does. It matters enormously.”
“If the barons stop giving you tribute and begin donating it to Gildas…” He grinned at her, and she glared. “Christianity has stabilized half of Europe, Morgan. The tatters of the Roman Empire are beginning to coalesce in a coherent way. Such a vast historical process can hardly be stopped-not even if it were desirable. Progress, or at any rate movement, cannot be stopped. I doubt it can even be slowed by much.”