Untitled (30 page)

   "She is young, comparatively, only in her forties. And she is the most treacherous woman in France, if not in Europe."

   Merlin wrinkled his nose. "What is more poisonous than a French queen? But can she really be worse than Leonilla?"

   Jean-Michel ignored the dig. "She has poisoned three of her own children who were gaining power and influence. She has been envious of Queen Leonilla for years. And our intelligence indicates the Byzantines plan to put her on the throne of Camelliard. With our province as well as her own, she would threaten the balance of power in all of Western Europe."

   Merlin wrinkled his brow and said softly, "Interesting." Then he leaned close to Arthur and they had quick, whis­ pered exchange. "But, Jean-Paul."

   The young man rolled his eyes but said only, "Yes, Merlin?"

   "What is the source of this intelligence? How can we know how reliable it is?"

   "I'm afraid I cannot reveal that, sir."

   "And how on earth did it reach you? Corfe has been cut off from the rest of the world for—"

   "You should never underestimate other nations, sir. Our intelligence network—"

   "Is frightfully efficient, yes. At any rate, we can discuss that later. You are not to leave the castle without our express permission, do you understand? What exactly can we do for you now?"

   He was not receiving the reception he had expected. Un­ certainly he said, "Well, sir, it is the queen. You've surely seen how terribly her mind has deteriorated over these last awful weeks. Now, with this political situation at home . . . I'm not at all certain she'll be able to hold her throne."

   Arthur smiled and did not try to disguise it. "My poor mother-in-law. So what do you want from us?"

   Jean-Michel paused for a long moment, then said qui­ etly, "Asylum."

   "Asylum? For Leonilla or yourself?"

   "For both of us, Your Majesty." He looked at Merlin. "I

told you, sir, I love her like a mother. That is what she has always been to me."

   Merlin and Arthur huddled again. Jean-Michel watched them closely. Merlin asked him, "Do you know anything more concrete about this Archduchess of—?"

   "Mendola. That Archduchess of Mendola."

   "Exactly. Does she pose an immediate danger to En­ gland? Do her ambitions reach in our direction? Or will she have to spend time solidifying her position in France?"

   Jean-Michel shrugged. "I've told you before, Merlin. I avoid politics."

   "That is unfortunate, since your future seems to depend on all this political maneuvering."

   "I know it, sir. I have been a poor servant to my queen."

   "Yet you come here asking for political asylum."

   Jean-Michel blushed exactly like a young lover. "Yes."

   "I see." Arthur had not stopped smiling. "We will take your request under advisement. You may go."

   "But . . . but . . . Your Majesty, she is your wife's mother."

   "That is not something you should remind me of too of­ ten, not if you want her to reside here permanently. You are dismissed."

   The young man stood to go. But Merlin put a hand on Arthur's arm. "If I may, Arthur." He turned to Jean-Michel. "We have been told that you are Queen Leonilla's court jeweler. Is that accurate?"

   "Yes, sir. I am not much of one, though. She only ap­ pointed me to legitimize my presence at court. I was an apprentice to the actual court jeweler, Reynaud de Beliveau. Making jewelry has never been much more than a hobby of mine. I even—"

   "But you made those knives? The ones used in the murders?"

   He seemed surprised by the question. "Yes, sir."

   "How many?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Knives. How many of them did you make?"

   "There were prototypes. You know, tests before I made the final two, the ones that were sent to Guenevere and Lancelot."

   "And where are the others?"

   "In my workshop at home." Suddenly he seemed to real­ ize where these questions were leading. "Oh, no, not even there. Beliveau told our servant to melt them down. I mean, they're gold. Not much use as knives, really, except cere­ monially. Gold is too soft. But the metal and the ivory are valuable, So I—"

   "How many? Three of them have surfaced here. The two for Lancelot and Guenevere's 'wedding gifts' plus one other. How many more exist?"

   "I—I really couldn't say, I'm afraid. Beliveau is the real metalsmith. I—my appointment was more political."

   Merlin smiled. "But you avoid politics." His voice oozed irony.

   "I—I do. I am merely—"

   "What? You are merely what? Is there a French term for it, or should we use the word the Greeks had?"

   Clearly out of his depth, and obviously shaken, JeanMichel fell silent. He folded his hands and stared down at the floor. "I thought you liked me."

   Merlin decided it was time to soften his tone. "JeanPierre."

   He looked up.

   "You do understand why we must pursue this line of in­ quiry, do you not?"

   "I suppose so. But I thought we were friends, At least on our way to becoming friends, To have you treat me like this, practically accusing me of—of—of I don't even know what . . . I didn't expect it from you."

   "How congenial is this Beliveau? If you ask him for in­ formation, will he provide it?"

   "I don't know. He was more Leodegrance's man than mine."

   "Write him. At once. Ask how many knives he made and what became of them all."

   "I will."

   "And do it today. We will have it sent at once."

   "Yes, Merlin."

   "Go now."

   He looked down again. "I will. Is there anything else you need me to do?"

   Arthur decided to jump into the exchange. "It would help if you could convince us we can trust you. If you would tell us everything you know."

   "Everything?"

   "Who do you think killed Leodegrance?"

   "I thought it was Lancelot. But you've confused me. I don't know anymore."

   "If you think of anything else," Merlin told him sternly, "or if you learn anything else, you must tell us at once. Un­ derstand?"

   "Yes, Merlin. I'm sorry you don't trust me."

   "We want to, Jean-Paul. But you must help us. You must be as open as you can."

   "I am. I will."

   "Good. We will take your request for asylum for Leonilla and yourself under careful advisement. Go now, and write that letter to—what is his name?"

   "Reynaud. Reynaud de Beliveau."

   Jean-Michel left, looking rather badly shaken.

   Merlin turned to Arthur. "Reynaud de Beliveau. I'll talk to Brit. She may be able to send a detachment of men to Camel­ liard to question him. Or better yet, to bring him here."

   "Of course," she said, looking more than slightly skepti­ cal. "Things have been stable there till now, and Petronilla has proved so very reliable."

   Merlin wrinkled his nose. "The French. They must be the most duplicitous race in the world."

   "I thought that was the Byzantines."

   "No wonder they are allies. But tell your men to act as swiftly as conditions permit. And make certain they under­ stand they are to stay carefully undercover. The fluid poli­ tics may actually work in their favor. Even if some rat wants to report them, who would he report them to?"

   "And you want them to bring this Beliveau back here with them?"

   "Ideally, yes. But if that is not feasible, have them get a signed statement from him."

   "You fascinate me, Merlin. On the one hand you want us to extract a statement from this man; on the other you want us not to use force or coercion. So does your aversion to torture or even the threat of it not extend to using it on the French?"

   Merlin sighed like a man who was being questioned on a point he thought he'd already settled. "Camelot represents something new in the affairs of the world, Brit. I thought you agreed with the principles Arthur and I have tried to enact. If we abandon them because they become inconvenient some­ times, what we have built here counts for nothing."

   "I do agree with them, and you know it. In what other place could a woman command the king's army? But, Mer­ lin, you want us to extract a statement from this man, and to do it quickly, and not use force? That simply may not be possible. What do you know about him? Does he feel alle­ giance to Leonilla? Or to her late, lamented husband? Or to the Archduchess of Mendola, for that matter?"

   "I see the difficulty; honestly, I do. All we know about this man is what we were told by Jean-Pierre.
His
loyalties lie with Leonilla—as he does himself. But what form his loyalty takes . . . that, we have know way of knowing. Be­ liveau, he says, is the real court jeweler at Camelliard. Other than that, we know not a thing."

   "You're sending us to France to get a statement from a man you know next to nothing about. And what little you do know, you've learned from someone you don't trust."

   He smiled. "You have grasped it."

   "Splendid. Merlin, you are the most infuriating man."

   "I thought you might have noticed. Listen, Brit, I recog­ nize the difficulties your men will face. But this man, this Beliveau, may hold the secret to solving these murders. It is vital that we get his statement. And you must send knights of more than average intelligence and resourcefulness. They will have to evaluate his truthfulness."

   "Intelligent knights. While you're at it, why don't you ask for pigs with wings?" An idea struck her. "Better yet, why don't you go to France yourself?"

   "Myself? I have considered it. In fact, I would like to. But Arthur disapproves of the idea. He says I am too valu­ able here. But at the same time he keeps pressing me to solve the murders."

   "You want to get a good sense of what this Beliveau is like, don't you? And while you're at it, you might gain some insight into what the Byzantines are up to."

   "I had not planned on going myself. But . . ."

   "Give it some thought. Between the two of us, we can persuade Arthur. I'll send some soldiers with you of course. You
are
too valuable to put at unnecessary risk."

   He turned thoughtful. "I have not been out of England in longer than I can remember."

   "The change will do you good, then."

   An idea suddenly hit him; he snapped his fingers. "There is someone I can take along, someone who knows that court and Camelliard better than any of us."

   Brit looked at him skeptically. "You don't mean Petronilla?"

   "No, of course not. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her horse. But . . ."

   "What are you thinking? Who do you have in mind?"

   "Her brother, Petronus."

   Brit looked genuinely shocked. "The assassin. Oh yes, he'd make such a jolly traveling companion."

   "He keeps trying to ingratiate himself, wanting to prove his loyalty. This would be as good a way to do that as any I can think of. And if he proves untrustworthy . . . Your sol­ diers will have knives, will they not?"

   "You mean you'd execute him without a trial? Honestly, Merlin, I—"

   "Only if he proves dangerous to our lives. Only if he really is treasonous, and only if there is no other way. I must think about this. And consult with Arthur, of course. But we shall have to leave soon—as soon as possible."

   Her manner turned wry. "Perhaps you could disguise yourselves as Druid priests."

   Oblivious to her irony, he mulled the idea and quickly rejected it. "No. We must find some hooded robes and pose as Christian monks. With our hoods up, we would be quite difficult to recognize. And the robes they wear are ideal for hiding our weapons."

   She was not about to abandon her sarcasm. "You could pray the Rosary while you sharpen your knives."

   "That, Brit, I will happily leave to the Byzantines." He paused for a moment. "It would be helpful if you could find some knights for me who understand several languages."

   "Are you joking? These are knights we're talking about. Most of them are fine athletes, but what they're good for is physicality. Strength, force. Most of them have trouble enough speaking English. Aren't there orders of Christian priests who never talk, for some reason?"

   "That is a good thought. Maybe we should encourage Gildas to join one of them. But do your men have more discipline than you for keeping their mouths shut?"

"You're one to talk. Be quiet, Merlin."

"Petronus, I need you."

The boy looked first suspicious and then hopeful. "Me?"

Merlin nodded. "In France."

"You are sending me home?"

"No, I am
taking
you home."

   The boy's confusion could not have been more evident. He stood at the window of his room, staring out at the blank sky and trying to make sense of what was happening. "You want me to spy?"

   "Not exactly, no. And you will be under careful watch. I am afraid no one trusts you." He tried to put a kindly face on it; smiling, he added, "Yet. This is the chance you have been wanting to redeem yourself."

   "Please, sir." He turned to face Merlin. "I don't under­ stand this. Not at all."

   "Let me sit down and I will explain, then."

   "It has to do with the murders, doesn't it?"

   He nodded and smiled. "Colin always says you have the quickest mind among the squires."

   "He does?"

   "I would not be quite so pleased if I were you. That only makes it easier to suspect you of evildoing. People are al­ ways suspicious of intelligence. Look at what happened to Socrates."