J. M. C. Blair_Merlin Investigation_03, page 17
part #3 of Merlin Investigation Series
Marmaduke tested its heft, then tossed it from hand to hand. “Pretty thing. How can it be so evil?”
Merlin spoke up. “Evil? What on earth do you mean?”
Marmaduke glared at him, then narrowed his eyes and peered. “You are Merlin, the magician?”
“I am Merlin, yes.”
“Then you know perfectly well what I mean.”
“No, I do not.”
Marmaduke laughed again, more loudly than before. It was not clear why.
A small child, a girl, ran out of one of the huts toward him. Without missing a beat he drew his sword and pointed it at the child’s neck. “Go back to your mother.”
The child stopped in her tracks. Looking confused and vaguely hurt, she turned and walked back to the hut. When she was inside again, Marmaduke turned back to his prisoners. “One of my children,” he said. “One of my true children, not one of the bastards that were foisted on me by my late lady wife.”
Arthur could not keep the alarm out of his voice. “Margaret is dead?”
More laughter from Marmaduke. “She died.” The irony in his voice left no doubt that her death had not been natural.
Merlin decided he had nothing to lose. “What happened? Did she suffocate while you were making love to her?”
For an instant Marmaduke glared. Then he calmed himself and turned to Robin. “This little crystal skull is most valuable. The priestesses will want to know we have it. They will notify the Great Queen.
“Take our two honored guests to their ‘quarters.’ Send the rest of their men to the field west of town. But keep close guard on them. Make sure they understand that any attempt to rescue Arthur will result in his death.”
Robin bowed his head slightly. “You want us to keep both Arthur and Merlin?”
Marmaduke nodded. “Disarm the rest of them and hold them in a little camp where they can rest themselves and lick their wounds. Keep careful guard over them. But they won’t make any trouble as long as we’ve got their king.”
“And what shall we do about him?” Robin pointed to the litter that carried Bruce.
Marmaduke squinted, then took a few steps toward it. Unhappy at what he was seeing, he muttered, “I’ll have to think. Disarm the rest of them. Keep them all in one place, and make sure there are enough of our men guarding them so they won’t try anything.” He grinned. “Not that they would, while we hold their king.”
He held the Stone of Bran at arm’s length and inspected it, beaming. He tried polishing it with a sleeve, but that served only to smear it with mud. Then he turned and stomped off toward his wooden “palace.” His feet made repulsive squishing sounds in the mud.
It was nearly dusk. Soldiers armed with spears and broad-swords led Merlin and the king off to a place where empty cages, of the kind that lined the road into town, were waiting. Each of them was forced into a cage at sword point. The cages were made of wood and were barely large enough to hold one man apiece. They were apart from the other ones; the nearest were ten yards away.
Then peasants, from the look of them, under the supervision of Robin, hauled the cages to a place at the side of the main road, in the center of town. Once they were in place, Marmaduke reappeared, carrying a torch against the fading afternoon light, plainly ready to gloat. “Arthur, King of the united Britain.” He spat. The saliva dribbled down his beard and the front of his clothing but he seemed not to notice, or not to care. “England was better off divided.”
“You mean that you were better off.” Arthur remained calm and self-possessed. “With no constraints on what you wanted to do. It must have been quite luxurious for you back then. You were able to treat anyone just exactly as you pleased. The rule of law—”
“I still can.” Marmaduke roared with laughter again. “That must have dawned on you by now. Besides, that’s an odd thing to hear from a man who runs around the country impregnating other men’s wives.”
“Marmaduke.” Arthur forced himself to speak calmly. “You must not do this thing to us.”
“Thing? What thing?” Marmaduke did not understand what Arthur was getting at, and it showed.
“You must not make us your prisoners. You will regret it.”
More loud laughter. “Regret it? When, Arthur? When will that happen?”
“Sooner than you think.”
Marmaduke stopped laughing and turned to Merlin. “And you, Wizard. You must have known better than to let Arthur do what he’s done. Bringing the plague to a peaceful land.”
So that was it. Marmaduke believed Arthur had somehow caused the plague. Merlin wondered whether Paintonbury had actually been touched by the disease, or whether Morgan’s and Gildas’s nonsense about the Stone of Bran had reached this far west. Taking his cue from Arthur, he spoke calmly. “Plague? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to bluff me, old man. Everybody knows the plague has struck the southeast. Dover is dead. Canterbury is dying. And everybody knows it was Arthur, digging up that crystal skull, that brought it on.”
Merlin turned to Arthur and mouthed the name, “Morgan.” Then to Marmaduke he said, “But we are on our way back to Wales to rebury the Stone. The god Bran will be placated. You do not wish to impede that, do you?”
“Oh.” He furrowed his brow. New thoughts were plainly difficult for him. He scratched his stomach. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think. I’ll have to ask the witch what to do.”
“There is a witch?”
Marmaduke nodded gravely. “Placed here by Morgan le Fay herself.”
Arthur smiled. “It’s nice that you have some respect for my family.”
“The Paintonbury witch knows and understands all that happens here.”
“Oh. Of course.” Merlin smirked. “Ask her, by all means.”
Arthur added, “And while you’re at it, ask her what happens to petty warlords who harm the duly recognized king.”
Again, this was a new and difficult thought for him. “She lives a few miles away. It will take a while.”
Merlin laughed. “Then why is she called the witch of Paintonbury?”
Marmaduke ignored this. “Meantime, Wizard, don’t try any of your magic here. Understand?”
“I would not dream of such a thing.”
“See that you don’t.” He stomped away, evidently confident that he’d told them a thing or two.
Merlin tried the bars of his cage halfheartedly, then turned to the king. “So we have your sister to thank for this.”
“No. Marmaduke.”
“He is her pawn. I have often suspected she is behind half the rebellious barons in England. The ones who are not devoted to your wife, that is. Royal families. You will be the death of us all.”
“If death means I won’t have to listen to you complaining all the time, I hope it comes soon. Why don’t you try and think of a way out of this?”
“I have already done that. I advised you not to make this journey in the first place.”
“Be quiet, Merlin.”
But he was not about to. “And I advised you that this ‘strategy’ of yours was foolish. So did Britomart and Bedivere. If you are not going to listen to your own advisors—”
“For once in your life, Merlin, be still. My plan will work. Why do you think I’m not panicking?”
“Let us hope it works while we are still alive to benefit from it.”
“It will.”
Just then, another group of workers appeared, seemingly from nowhere, dragging another cage into place beside the others. This one was slightly smaller than the ones Arthur and Merlin were in. Arthur asked them, “Who is that for?”
They ignored him and kept working. Once the cage was in place, they tested its bars for solidity. Then they went back to wherever they’d come from.
Merlin had watched them, his curiosity aroused. “Who the devil can that be for? Marmaduke seemed content to let all the rest of our party remain free but unarmed.”
Arthur shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.”
And they did. A few minutes later several of Marmaduke’s warriors, swords drawn, approached. Two of them were carrying someone. When they drew near, it became clear who. It was Bruce, Marmaduke’s son.
The boy was half unconscious, and his wounded shoulder was dripping blood. They pushed him into a cage ten feet away from Arthur and Merlin. Like the others, it was not large enough for him to lie down. He held on to the bars to support himself. Drops of blood ran down his arm and dripped onto the ground.
Merlin turned to Arthur. “We are in the hands of barbarians.”
“Englishmen. We have civilized a great part of the country. We can do it here, too.”
“From these cages?”
“We will not be in these cages forever, Merlin.”
Merlin tried to throw up his hands in exasperation, but the cage was too small to allow it.
Marmaduke appeared. He walked to the cage where his son was imprisoned and tried the bars. Evidently they were strong enough to suit him. He smiled and turned his attention to Arthur and Merlin.
“That boy is in serious trouble. His arm was nearly severed.” Merlin’s face was grave. “If you force him to remain in that cage, he will surely die.”
Marmaduke laughed loudly. “What is that to me?”
“He’s your son, for God’s sake.” Arthur found Marmaduke more and more appalling.
“My son? Hah!” Marmaduke had not stopped his roaring laughter. “My late wife’s son, yes. But mine? No more than that other one, that rat who scuttled off to join your court. Why should I care whether a bastard lives or dies?”
“Your wife came to me, Marmaduke, not the other way around. And that was . . . John was . . . This boy is not my son.”
“A convenient lie. He went off to join you. He knew.”
Merlin decided to try to inject something more substantial than allegations into this. But he realized there was not much he might say that Marmaduke would believe. “He came looking for his brother. There was no more to it than that. He was hectoring our knights. They wanted him dead.”
“They will get their wish.” Marmaduke turned and stomped away. His stench receded with him.
Merlin turned to Arthur. “You see what your rampant coupling leads to? Even this innocent boy will—”
“I know you disapprove of me, Merlin. Of that part of me, at least. Do not lecture me. These deaths have been . . . will be . . . have been terrible enough.” He lowered his head. “We will get out of this, somehow. One of the knights will creep in and free us in the night. Or Bedivere will . . . I don’t know. But we have not come this far, we have not begun to build our new, just nation, only to die in the mud of Paintonbury.”
Merlin closed his eyes and tried to nod off.
A light rain began to fall and they both slept.
A shriek pierced the night. “Help! Help me! Monsters are devouring me!”
The sound of footsteps receded into the darkness.
Merlin woke with a start. Marmaduke’s men had built huge bonfires. The rain was slowly, inexorably, putting them out.
Arthur stirred in his cage. He yawned. “Damn. Why couldn’t they give me a prison large enough for me to stretch my arms?”
“Marmaduke will stretch your neck soon enough. Will that make up for it?”
“Someday your sarcasm will go too far, Merlin.” Arthur snorted in frustration and turned to see Bruce’s cage. Bruce was slumped, crumpled in the bottom half of his cage, in an awkward heap. Blood from his shoulder had stained the front of his tunic; the flow had stopped, but moist blood still glistened in the light from the fires.
Merlin squinted to see better. There was a small wound in the boy’s throat, and more blood had flowed from it, then dried.
“Look at him.” Merlin could not keep the sadness out of his voice. “Look at him. That wound on his neck is new. It was not there before. When I think what Marmaduke must have done to him . . .”
Arthur could not take his gaze off the boy. Softly, in a low voice, he asked, “Is he dead, then, do you think?”
“It is not possible to tell from this distance. It appears so. If he were alive, blood would still be flowing.”
“Perhaps there is not enough left to flow.” In a loud whisper Arthur called, “Bruce.”
The boy did not stir.
More loudly, “Bruce!”
“It is no use, Arthur. Even if we could wake him, we can do nothing to help him. Not from these cages.”
Arthur bellowed, “Marmaduke! Robin!”
No one responded, and he called again. A few men looked idly in his direction, then went on with what they were doing. “Come here! Quickly! It’s not for me. It’s for Bruce of Paintonbury. He needs help.”
Slowly, Marmaduke emerged from his house, stopped to warm himself by one of the bonfires, then walked toward them. A handful of his men followed him, carrying torches, looking grim. Marmaduke stopped midway between Arthur’s cage and Bruce’s. “What is the problem?”
“For God’s sake, man, look. You son is dead, or dying.”
Marmaduke spat on the ground, then ambled casually to Bruce’s cage. “Let me have a torch.”
One of his men handed one to him. He leaned down and inspected Bruce’s crumpled from. “For love of all that’s holy.”
He stood upright and took a step toward Arthur, smiling a tight smile. “You did this. You are the cause of it. England is damned.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Merlin asked, “The boy is dead, then?”
Marmaduke’s face turned to stone. “I loved him. Or I used to. But when I realized . . . when I knew that he . . .” He could not make himself finish the thought. Instead, he returned to the cage holding Bruce’s body and moved his torch close to the dead boy’s face. It was covered with red-black blotches.
“You brought this, Arthur. My son or yours, he is dead, and you are the cause of it. The Great Queen Morgan warned us years ago that you would be the end of England.” He opened Bruce’s cage and eased the body out. “We are all dead men. It is your doing.”
Merlin spoke up, loudly and, he hoped, forcefully. “There are no reports of plague this far west, Marmaduke. No one in our party has any signs of it. Plague is not what caused his death. It must have been something else.”
“Rot. Look at him.”
He placed the boy’s body back in its cage and turned to one of his men. “Build a pyre.” Then he turned and glared at Arthur and Merlin in their cages. “My boy is not the only one who will burn on it.”
Another of this lieutenants said in alarm, “We have a rat by the tail, Marmaduke. Provoke it and it will bite. Their men will try to rescue them.”
“If they do, you are to kill them at once. I will make sure their men understand that.”
“What difference will that make? If they are going to be executed anyway, what will their soldiers have to lose by trying to save them? You are only giving them more reason to try.”
In the torchlight it was clear that this was a new thought for Marmaduke. The effort of thinking showed in his features. Finally he barked, “Don’t confuse me,” and began to stomp off back to the main part of the camp.
“What shall we do with the boy, Marmaduke?” one of his men called.
He turned and exhaled deeply. “Leave him here for now. The pyre will be ready soon enough.”
Merlin called after him, “If it really is the plague that killed the boy, you are most unwise to leave his body in the open.”
Marmaduke halted for an instant, turned and looked back at them and muttered, “What difference does that make? We are all dead men. All England will die.” He kept walking.
Merlin looked at Arthur. “Everyone says you are a military genius. Even Britomart endorses that view. Just look what your genius has brought us to.”
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.” Arthur barked the words impatiently.
“Like Marmaduke? Perhaps the two of you could get together and compare notes on the way intelligent leaders behave.”
“Merlin, if you don’t stop needling me, I’ll—”
“You will what? Come, Arthur, make your best threat. What will you do? Burn me alive on Bruce’s pyre? Arrangements for that are already being made.”
“Stop it, will you?” Arthur lapsed into silence for a moment, then said, “If only Bedivere—”
“Yes, if only Bedivere.”
Arthur glanced at the distant end of the camp, where there was a large clearing. His men were being held there. For the briefest moment he thought they might break loose and come to his rescue. But they were badly outnumbered—and unarmed. For them to try anything would be tantamount to suicide.
Half an hour later, amid considerable fuss, a small carriage pulled into the camp. It was jet-black, pulled by four black horses. It glistened in the torchlight. And it was riding low, as if it was carrying something very heavy. A small contingent of lightly armed guards accompanied it on horseback, all dressed in black. The two caged prisoners watched it, more than curious. Arthur said, “My sister. I should have known she wouldn’t stay at Camelot.”
“Morgan? I think not. That carriage is too small for her taste. So is the guard. She likes things extravagant.”
“It is she. It must be. She will not permit them to harm us.”
“No, of course not. She would never permit anything that might result in her taking the throne.”
“Stop it, Merlin. She is my sister.”
“Exactly the point.” With more than a little distaste he muttered, “Nobility. Besides, look at that carriage. It is riding low. It must be burdened with some enormous weight.”
“Morgan—”
“It cannot be Morgan, Arthur.”
The carriage pulled to a stop just at the entrance to Marmaduke’s “palace.” Its guards lined up ceremonially outside it. Slowly the door opened. Something large and black appeared at the door, then stopped.
“What on earth—?” Merlin strained to see.
It soon became apparent to him that what he was seeing was a woman, a terribly fat one. She tried to exit the carriage, but the door was too narrow for her. Two of her soldiers took her by the hands and pulled, and finally she managed to squeeze her way out of the coach. Heavily she descended. She was wrapped in black robes. On a slimmer woman they would have swirled and billowed, as Morgan’s always did. On this woman, they were as tight as anything.
