J. M. C. Blair_Merlin Investigation_03, page 11
part #3 of Merlin Investigation Series
In his brief time at Camelot, John had managed to alienate virtually everyone he’d met. The knights, he learned quickly, did not appreciate being the objects of his “satire” and tended to react to it with undisguised hostility. The castle functionaries, up to and including Simon of York, regarded him with overt disdain. Several of the servants had spit on him. But Arthur stood by him firmly. Since the king was not noted for having a strong sense of humor, this generated a great deal of puzzlement and not a little resentment.
The young man, now dressed in jester’s motley except for the usual cap and bells, paused to watch the spectacle of Pellenore sparring with empty air for an instant, then asked the old king, amused, “May I inquire what you’re doing?”
Pellenore, breathlessly fighting his nonexistent beast, inhaled deeply and explained, “Protecting you.”
“Me? I don’t believe we’ve met. Why should you feel bound to protect me from—from—whatever it is you’re protecting me from?”
Not missing a beat in his swordfight with his sphinx, Pellenore explained, “They are most ravenous beasts. They devour humans, you know. I am protecting everyone in the castle. I am the only one who can see her, you see.”
“I see.” John took a step back away from the old man. “I’d be careful with that sword, though. You could do a lot of damage to those of us you want to protect.”
“Pellenore,” said the old king.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am King Pellenore. I live here.”
“Oh. I see. And I am John of Paintonbury, King Arthur’s satirist.”
“Satirist? Why are you dressed as a court fool?”
John stiffened. “It appears to me that that position may already be filled.”
“Where is your cap and bells?”
“The ringing gives me headaches.”
“And what does Arthur need with a ‘satirist’ when there are so many fools here already?”
“I am to mock pretension. Puncture false pride. Ridicule the power hungry. Belittle the arrogant.”
“Watch out! Duck!” Pellenore caught John by the arm and threw him to the floor, where he struck his elbow.
Rubbing it, he got back to this feet. “What on earth did you do that for? If you weren’t an old man, I’d—”
“She almost slashed you with her tail. They have venomous barbs in them, you know.”
“They—meaning sphinxes?”
Just at that moment Merlin entered the refectory. “Paintonbury, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
In his best ironic manner, John said, “I’ve been helping this old madman fight off a dragon.”
“Sphinx,” Pellenore corrected.
“Yes, sphinx.”
“And you are nothelping me.” Pellenore thrust again at the nonexistent monster. “I’m protecting you.”
Merlin, amused that John seemed to be in over his head, told him, “Arthur wants you.”
“The king?” The jester stepped aside to avoid another of Pellenore’s stabs.
“The king is the only Arthur we have.” Merlin could not hide the fact that he found the scene entertaining. “He wants you. He is having a meeting with Bishop Gildas and myself, and he wants you there. I cannot imagine why, but for once I will enjoy having you around. You can have at Gildas all you want, with my blessing. Arthur says it is time for you to start learning how things are done at Camelot.”
Watching Pellenore warily, John answered, “I can see how things are done here.”
“Do not be too hasty to judge, John. Madness is in the eye of the beholder.”
John was lost. “Do you mean to say there really is a beast here?”
“No. There is none.” Pellenore produced a kerchief and mopped his brow. “I have driven it off.”
Merlin took John by the hand and adopted a mock-friendly manner. “Come along, jester. You are plainly out of your depth here, and Arthur wants you.”
Numbly, dumbly, John went with him.
They walked silently for a few moments. Then Paintonbury couldn’t resist asking, “Who is that old fool?”
“Do you mean my friend Pellenore?”
“What other old fool would I mean?”
Merlin sighed. “You would do well to tone down your professional derision until you learn your way around better. From what I hear, you have made some powerful enemies already.”
“There is at least one kitchen girl who likes me.” Paintonbury put on a lascivious leer.
“The kitchen servants won’t keep you alive. Do you not understand the difference between satire and schoolboy nastiness?”
This seemed to be a new thought. “You are saying I should tone down my ridicule.”
“It might not be a bad idea. You might last longer.”
“Do you mean last as Arthur’s jester, or simply last?”
They reached Arthur’s tower and began the ascent to the king’s chambers. Merlin decided to change the subject. “Have you met Bishop Gildas yet?”
“No, I haven’t had that privilege.”
“He is a peculiar man. Some would even say delusional. He seems actually to believe he can unseat Morgan le Fay as England’s spiritual leader.”
“And what do you think? Will he do it?”
“I think,” Merlin said slowly and deliberately, “that you may find him the ideal object of satire.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Assuming that what you do actually qualifies as satire.”
John bristled at this. “I know you think I’m a country bumpkin. Everyone does. But I can read. That is more than most of these knights and nobles can say. And we had a first-rate schoolmaster in our town. I’ve studied the Greek and Roman classics. Juvenal was more harsh on his subjects than I am. So was Martial. They didn’t hesitate to mock the imperial court.”
“You surprise me, John.” Merlin looked at him with new eyes. “There is more to you than I thought.”
“Merlin, I know it. You judged me much too quickly. So much for your reputation for wisdom.”
“For once, I deserve your ridicule. But here we are. Arthur and Gildas will be in the king’s study. If you think I merit your barbs, just wait till you meet Gildas.”
“I thought you didn’t want to encourage me.”
“Whatever else I may be, I am a practical man, John.” Arthur and Gildas were seated at the table in Arthur’s study, waiting impatiently for Merlin and John to join them. Gildas, looking more thin and gaunt than usual, was dressed in flowing robes of crimson silk. When they entered, Gildas barked at them, “Here you are at last. You should know better than to keep the king waiting.”
“The king?” Merlin’s eyes twinkled. “How nice of you to be concerned for him. Or—is it possible you are more concerned over being kept waiting yourself?” Then, not waiting for an answer, he turned to the king. “I have written to Peter of Darrowfield, Arthur. I have not heard from him in days, and I want to know what progress he has made in his investigation of the murders.”
“We can discuss that later, Merlin.”
“Surely you do not want the slaying of a peer to be ignored?”
“Later. We have other things to discuss.” He smiled at John. “Have a seat, jester. Welcome to your first private meeting of state. Have you met Bishop Gildas?”
“No, I haven’t had the . . . honor.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Arthur made a show of introducing them and of explaining to Gildas that John was to become a permanent resident at Camelot. “Like yourself,” he added.
Gildas stiffened. “Are you comparing me to a mere court fool? And a boy, at that?”
Merlin laughed; he couldn’t help it.
John, unruffled, said, “I have heard about your belief system, Bishop. And it must all be true. What startling honesty.”
Gildas narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
John grinned. “You wear robes of the color associated with whores.”
Merlin laughed again, out loud. Even Arthur chuckled at this. Gildas was fuming but it was obvious to him that he was expected to put up with the jester’s barbs.
Struggling to control his pique—and it showed—he turned to Arthur. “Your Majesty, you have summoned me here to discuss this plague we are facing.”
All the amusement disappeared from Arthur’s face. “How do you know what I want?”
“I do not know it, sire. I divine it. This visitation is all anyone is talking about. I have heard that Morgan le Fay thinks the plague has been brought about by a certain pagan relic in your possession. A certain stone, carved in the shape of a human skull. Is this not correct?”
Uncertainly, thrown off balance by what the bishop knew, Arthur told him, “It is.”
Merlin added, “You have assembled a remarkably efficient intelligence machine in your time here, Gildas.”
Gildas was serene. “The Lord enlightens me.”
“Yes, I’m sure he does. The Lord, plus a few paid operatives. Who do you have on your payroll?”
John interjected, “Don’t be absurd, Merlin. Just look at him. It is clear that Bishop Gildas spends all his money on silk from China.”
Gildas stiffened. Once again he turned to the king. “I should like to see this so-called Stone of Bran, Your Majesty.”
“See it?” Arthur was deadpan. “What on earth for?”
“Word has it that the thing is demonic. I should like to ascertain that for myself.”
“You can tell by merely looking at it?”
Serenely Gildas replied, “I can.”
Without saying a word, Arthur sighed, got to his feet and gestured that they all should follow him. He led them into his private den. A guard was on duty there. In an enormous glass-fronted wooden cabinet were Arthur’s treasures—the crown jewels, the sword Excalibur and, at a central place in the display, a gleaming crystal skull.
“There,” Arthur said. “The Stone.”
John asked, “Can you see Satan’s fingerprints on it?”
Gildas glared at him, then stooped to examine the skull more closely. “Legend has it,” Merlin said helpfully, “that it was carved by the god Bran himself. Some people even believe it is the god’s own skull.”
Gildas leaned even closer to the glass. “May I hold it?”
“You may not.” Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back from the cabinet. “The palace jewelers have polished it to a high gloss. I don’t want anyone smudging it up.”
“But, Your Majesty—”
“That is enough. You wanted to see it and you have. What is your opinion?”
“My opinion,” the bishop announced importantly, “is that Morgan is right. For the wrong reasons, as usual, but the Stone must be replaced where it was found. Its presence here—”
“Among all these tempting jewels and all this valuable gold,” John said.
But Gildas ignored him and went on. “Its presence here is blasphemous. The Most High is displeased. Return it, and the plague will end.”
This left Merlin reeling. “You are not serious, are you? You and Morgan—actually agreeing on something? On a religious matter?”
Serenely Gildas announced, “Even a blind pig can find an acorn.”
John snorted at him, doing a perfect imitation of a pig. “You are referring to yourself, aren’t you, Bishop?”
Gildas faced the king. “The Lord has spoken. Camelot must be freed from the baleful influence of this pagan thing. England must be rid of it.”
“You are serious.” Merlin had had a moment to reflect. “You are really serious. You believe this preposterous skull caused plague to erupt in Dover?”
“Great is the power of the Lord.”
“Of course.”
“Well. That settles it.” Arthur looked grave. “It is clear what we must do. Both Morgan and Gildas say so. I don’t understand it, Merlin. I doubt if even Gildas, here, does. But it is clear this stone has brought a curse down upon England.”
“From which god or gods, precisely?”
“Stop it, Merlin. I will have Simon prepare a travel party. Perceval will come along; we will need him to show us the exact spot where he found the skull.” To Merlin and John he added, “And I will want the two of you to accompany us.”
“No, Arthur.” Merlin spoke firmly. “I should remain here, to coordinate the fight against the plague. Even now, my assistant Colin is drafting instructions for burying the plague dead. They must be buried outside city walls, where they will be less likely to spread the disease.”
“That is all well and good, Merlin.” Arthur put on a formal smile. In his heartiest manner he patted Merlin on the back. “As usual, you render excellent service to the country. But Colin may remain here to continue that work. I want you to come on this journey.”
“Colin is not a trained physician. He can hardly—”
“Enough. I want you along, and that is that.” He pointed a finger at John. “You, too. Please don’t be difficult.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll come along and hold your hand. It is only fitting that I come, after all. Merlin is right—this is a fool’s errand.”
Merlin laughed. Arthur frowned. Gildas persisted. “You are certain I am not to be permitted to examine this evil thing more closely?”
“Quite certain.” He forced a slight smile onto his lips. “You will come along, also?”
“It is not my habit to travel with court jesters. But if Your Majesty wishes it . . .”
“I do.”
“Then of course it will be my honor to travel alongside you, Sire. But now, if you will excuse me, other duties call. It is almost time for Vespers.” He bowed slightly.
John started to make another snide remark, but Arthur cut him off. “Of course you may go. I am most grateful for your counsel. England is a finer land for your presence here.”
Merlin rolled his eyes skyward at this. John laughed. And Gildas, ignoring them, bowed again and left. As he was going, John called after him, “My regards to your dress-maker.”
Gildas paused slightly, then sped up his pace. In a moment he was gone.
Arthur turned to face the boy. “Now you go, too.”
“But Arthur, I thought you wanted me at your side.”
“Go and eat your dinner or something.”
“Yes, sir.” And he followed the bishop.
As soon as the boy was out of earshot, Merlin, frowning, confronted Arthur. “He is one of your bastards. There is no other reason you would put up with him.”
“My—! What the devil do you mean?”
“The devil is precisely what you’ve gotten up to, far too many times. Exactly how many of them have you sired? The two who died last year, and this one, and—how many more?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go back to your tower, Merlin. Read a book, or write one. I’m in no mood for this.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me that obnoxious boy is not one of your illegitimate sons.”
“I have to meet Sir Bedivere in the courtyard.” He started to go.
But Merlin caught him by the sleeve. “Arthur, I know it is a king’s privilege. But do you not think you have overdone it? It must have occurred to you that keeping them secret will only lead to more unpleasantness. Does it not occur to you that this may be what drove Guenevere to her various rebellions?”
“I was faithful to her. Right up to the day she—”
“Of course. Arthur, how many are there? Have you ever met a pretty country girl you didn’t rut with? Keeping all these sons secret can only lead to unpleasantness. You must be aware of that. Even you, with your dogged determination to avoid inconvenient facts till they smack you in the eye.”
“John is a good boy. A bright boy.” Arthur raised a finger and pointed at Merlin. “Even you must have seen that.”
“Granted, Arthur, but—”
“Of all of them—and no, I don’t know the number—of all of them that I know of, he is the brightest.”
“And so you have made him your fool.” Merlin’s disapproval could not have been plainer.
“He has a gift for sarcasm,” Arthur said weakly. Then a bright thought occurred to him. “Like you.”
“Do not attempt to change the subject.” Suddenly he had a revelatory thought. “All this talk of yours about finding a successor—!”
“Merlin, don’t.”
“That is what is at the bottom of this. But Arthur, you cannot possibly think that making him court fool now will make it easier for everyone to accept him as king when the time comes. You have sabotaged the boy and your own plans for him.”
“He—he—”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“I like him. He likes me. Do you have any idea how rare that is between a father and son?”
“I do. But Arthur—”
“There were others. The two boys Mark killed. You remember them. I loved them. I loved their mother. Surely you would not deny me the simple joys of love, Merlin?”
“No, of course not. But love in royal families is the exception, not the rule. You love this one?”
“Yes, unlikely as it seems.”
“Then why have you put him in a place that is certain to make everyone in Camelot loathe him?”
Arthur froze; this was a new thought to him. After a moment’s thought he said, “I will simply have to keep him close to me, that’s all.”
“How long have you known him? Do you know him, really, at all?”
“I will not let any harm come to him.”
“Can he fight? Can he defend himself, if it comes to that? No, not if, when.”
“I will keep him safe, Merlin. I will.”
“I hope so, Arthur. I do not mind telling you I am beginning to like the boy.”
“Good. I want you to like him.”
“But he has spent his life raising geese. He is hardly prepared for court life. I only hope that you have not turned him from a goose farmer into a sitting duck.”
Camelot was abuzz with the news that Arthur would be making a pilgrimage to rebury the Stone of Bran. Simon of York was busy preparing the entourage. John and—against his wishes—Merlin were to go along on the journey. Various functionaries would accompany them, as well as a retinue of knights and squires. Gildas was to go along, but Arthur wanted Morgan to remain at Camelot; she bristled at this and insisted that at the very least she should return to her own castle, but Arthur was quite firm. And of course there would be enough servants to tend everyone. It was a large undertaking to be planned impromptu, and Simon was in his glory, fussing over details and complaining about everything.
