Untitled (32 page)

   As unobtrusively as possible for a party of fourteen, Merlin and the others followed.

   The place was crowded, mostly with more Byzantines. Either traveling to France was the rage among them or Constantine had sent hordes of spies and this inn was their meeting place. The restaurateur seated Merlin's party at a long table against a wall opposite the fireplace.

   Merlin ordered roast beef and ale for everyone; when it was served his "monks" ate in silence. They all strained to hear what they could from the other patrons, but their pres­ ence seemed to inhibit the Byzantines.

   The mere number of Greeks revealed a telling story. By the time the Englishmen finished eating, Merlin was quite convinced that Jean-Michel's intelligence had been accu­ rate, at least the part about increased Byzantine activity in France.

   They finished their meal in silence and left. Outside, they sky had become quite cloudy. Merlin paused to hope the last vestiges of the great storm were not about to strike. He got out a map and whispered to Petronus, "What is the quickest way for us to travel? I am quite disoriented, with no sun . . ."

   "There is a great road heading along the eastern side of the Pyrenees from Marseilles. I'm not certain how to reach it from here."

   "People will always give help and assistance to monks. I am certain we only need to ask."

   But no one was as accommodating as he hoped. Every­ one he stopped seemed to regard the monks and their leader, with his English accent, with considerable suspicion. The party headed away from the waterfront and hoped they would encounter someone more friendly.

   After nearly an hour's walk through the city they came to a Christian church. Merlin and Petronus looked at one another as if to ask
why not?
And so they went inside.

   An attendant, to appearances not a priest, was tending a rack of candles. Merlin interrupted him. "Excuse me. I am Father Methodius of the Abbey of St. Dymphna in England. Queen Leonilla has sent us on an errand to Camelliard, but I am afraid we have lost our bearings. Might you please direct us to the Pyrenees Road?"

   The man turned to face him, and Merlin saw that he was a hunchback. "She is not queen here." He had a speech defect.

   "We were planning to land at Brittany. But the storm— our map—we have quite lost our bearings. So you see, any assistance you can give us will be most helpful."

   The hunchback wrinkled his brow, as if thought came hard for him. "You're not Greeks?"

   "Good heavens, no."

   "You want the Pyrenees Road?"

   "Yes. We understand there is a good road along the east­ ern side of the mountains. If you could direct us there—"

   "This is Marseilles."

   "We are quite aware of that. We need to reach Camel­ liard. If you might—"

   "That way." The man pointed to the church door.

   Merlin looked at the threshold. "Is there someone else here?"

   "That way," the hunchback repeated. "Go up that street and keep going. The mountains are that way."

   "I see."

   "First light a candle. The Virgin will protect you."

   Obediently he lit not one but four candles. "For the Vir­ gin and the Trinity," he explained.

   The hunchback smiled, satisfied. A moment later the "monks" were back on the street and heading north. Merlin was pleased that his first attempt at a cover story had gone over fairly well. But not everyone they met would be as compliant as the hunchback in the church.

   Outside, there were more clouds in the sky. Martin moved next to Merlin and whispered, "This is all too ominous."

   "Do you mean the weather or the Byzantines?"

   "Both."

   "Relax, Martin. Tell everyone to be alert and to keep their ears open. But relax. We have the perfect cover. We are priests."

   "I didn't notice the innkeeper or the hunchback to be very accommodating . . ."

   "Perhaps people are staying indoors, sheltering from the approaching storm." Merlin produced one of his viewing devices and scanned the road as far as he could see. "Let us hope they are wrong. I saw enough rain in England to last me for a good, long time."

   "My Roman history is not what it should be, Merlin." Martin walked beside him. "Is this the same Hadrian who built the wall between England and Scotland?"

   Merlin nodded.

   "Resourceful man."

   "To say the least, Martin. And he is one of Arthur's per­ sonal heroes."

   "His ambition keeps growing, doesn't it?"

   Not in a mood to focus on anything but their journey, Merlin didn't answer. They set out, heading north. The clouds were dark and threatening, and the mountains to the west, on their left, looked equally so. Martin complained that they should find a dry, cozy inn and wait till the weather changed.

   "The Pyrenees always look off-putting, Martin, even in bright sunlight." Merlin kept his eyes on the road, scanning the far horizon. "They are the gloomiest range in the world. But if we have trouble, it will more likely be from enemies than from nature."

   "I wish I could be so confident."

   "The French, the Byzantines, possibly even the Arch­ duchess of Mendola . . . they are all active here. We have seen enough of the Greeks to know they are a strong pres­ ence. Treachery is everywhere around us."

   A bolt of lightning flashed above the distant mountains. Martin noticed it from the corner of an eye and frowned at Merlin. "And we are sitting ducks for all of them, even Mother Nature."

   "I have always thought of Nature as more like a stern, unyielding father than a loving mother."

   Martin smiled a deathly smile. "I'd like to be there sometime when you tell Morgan that. Her goddess is loving and benevolent."

   "Morgan is not in the government. Do you suppose that might be why?"

   Occasionally drops of rain fell, but they always vanished quickly and never turned into actual showers. After two hours of walking the party stopped for a light meal. Martin had taken a few of the men to a marketplace before they left the city walls, so they had supplies for a long journey. There were large packs of food, skins of water, blankets; everyone but Merlin was burdened.

   Petronus's pack was as large as everyone else's; he struggled under it. Merlin asked if he was all right. "Are you certain you can manage all that?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "You should have something lighter."

   "They don't like me," he whispered to Merlin. "They still think I tried to assassinate Arthur."

   "You did." He smiled. "But perhaps they do not know the circumstances. I will have a word with Martin."

   "Arthur has forgiven me. Why shouldn't they?"

   "I'm not certain forgiven is the right word, Petronus. The king has taken my word for it that you did not do what you did voluntarily. But he is still skeptical. For instance he told me I would be foolish to bring you on this trip. Martin and the others are under strict orders to watch you care­ fully."

   "Oh." The boy sounded glum. "I see."

   "Just behave and be careful to report all that you see and hear, and everything will be fine. I want to believe in you. I do, in fact. Do not make me regret it. I brought you because I think you will prove invaluable when we reach Camel­ liard. Please do so."

   Petronus fell silent and walked apart from Merlin and the others for a long while. They passed occasional other travelers on the road now and then. Some were alone; most in groups. More rarely there was a minor lord or a wealthy merchant traveling on horseback, accompanied by servants. Some of them crossed themselves or nodded and smiled warmly at the supposed clerics.

   When Petronus spoke again he sounded suspicious. "Why are we doing this, sir? I mean, next to Camelot or even Corfe, Camelliard is nothing."

   "Beliveau. The court jeweler. I have a good idea who our murderer is. Beliveau is the one man who can give me the information I need to confirm my guess."

   "Who do you suspect?"

   "In good time, Petronus, in good time."

   The journey to Camelliard took three days. Except for a constant cold, driving wind, it was uneventful. Rain squalls rode the wind; they would soak the wayfarers then vanish quickly. Their cloaks offered some protection; but the rain was so hard it soaked them. By the time they had dried out again, more rain would come.

   The knights grumbled; they were finding this trip more miserable than they'd expected. It was with relief that Mer­ lin noticed an inn on the road ahead. He handed his viewing glass to Martin and suggested they stop there for the night. Almost at once the men's spirits brightened.

   There were other guests at the inn, several of them obvi­ ously from Byzantium. The knights arranged themselves at strategic points around the inn's common room to try to overhear what was being said. But the foreigners spoke their own various languages, and the knights were at a loss to understand them.

   Merlin spoke Greek, but the interesting conversations always seemed to be taking place someplace other than where he had settled. Petronus tried his best—he knew a smattering of Greek—but all he could make out was a ref­ erence to the Archduchess of Mendola.

"Who will be in charge at Camelliard?" Merlin asked.

   They were on the second day of their journey, walking on the Pyrenees Road. The knights walked in a group, led by Martin; Merlin and Petronus walked side by side. There were no other wayfarers in sight, so they talked freely among themselves.

   "Leodegrance's majordomo, I think, Pierre of Autun." Petronus looked away. "My uncle."

   "Good, that will give us an opening."

   "Not likely, sir. He doesn't like me. He never has."

   "What a turbulent family you have. But at least he knows you. That will give us a level of credibility."

   "He'll be happy I'm a novice in a religious order. It will keep me out of his way while he chases various family legacies."

   "One way or another," Merlin sighed, "all families have members like that, I suppose. Mine did."

   "You never talk about your family, sir."

   "No, I do not."

   The conversation thus ended, Petronus moved off and walked alone. Merlin kept an eye on the sky to the west; so far there had been no severe weather. The knights were increasingly disgruntled but still compliant. Merlin also kept an eye out for another inn. The weather was growing colder; in wet cloaks it would be unbearable, and he needed the knights in a mood to obey, or at least co­ operate.

   It was after dark when they came to one. Unlike the first one, this was nearly empty. The only other guest was a young woman traveling with a manservant and a brace of hunting dogs. Her servant was large and burly enough to protect her. Merlin had the impression she was wealthy; it was odd for her to be traveling with just one man,

   He made conversation with her. And it turned out she was leaving Camelliard. "Something is happening. I'm not certain what, but the mood in the castle is . . . peculiar. Everyone is on edge and distrustful of everything else."

   "You are from the castle itself? Do you know a young woman named Petronilla, who was raised there?"

   "We were friends. Well, not friends, exactly, but more than acquaintances. I can't say we were ever really inti­ mate."

   "I knew her in England. In fact, I was her confessor." He hoped he had the right tone to sound authentically clerical.

   The woman smirked. "I imagine that took up a lot of your time. She always had a lot to confess."

   "I may not say." He piously averted his eyes and crossed himself. "My novice, here, is her brother."

   She looked at the boy, who had been listening in appro­ priate monklike silence. "Petronus? You must remember me. I'm Marie Philippeau."

   He nodded but maintained his pietistic silence. Merlin was pleased. He steered the conversation gently back to the political situation.

   Marie opened up. "Ever since word came that Leode­ grance was dead, parties have been forming up. I mean at court. Leonilla's party is trying to maintain her position for her return. There are also agents from Justinian, from the Mendola region up in the mountains and even a few hangers-on who simply have to be Flemish. There's going to be trouble, I know it. I decided to take my servant and my dogs and get out while I could." She stroked one of the dogs affectionately.

   Merlin pretended complete ignorance. "The situation is that bad?"

   "You men of God have no idea how treacherous the world can be when there is power at stake."

"No, I suppose we are naïve in our piety."

   "You should stay in your abbeys. They are the only truly safe places left in the world, and the only good places."

   "We only leave when we must." He added helpfully, "On God's work, of course."

   "But tell me, how is Petronilla? Does she like her life in England?"

   "She never seems quite content. Shall I tell her you asked about her?"

   "I'd rather you didn't. If she is at all unhappy, that is enough for me." She grinned. "As I said, we were friends."

   He tried pumping her for more intelligence about what was going on at Camelliard, but she was too preoccupied for anything but gossip. He tried to learn something more about Petronilla's character and history, but Marie was too completely self-absorbed to say much about her. But he hoped the people at court would be too suspicious of each other to pay much attention to a group of traveling monks.