Arthur looked from one of them to the next. “Come walk with me, then. I need fresh air. I need the night.”

“It’s getting cold outside, Arthur.” Brit took a step toward him then seemed to think better of it. “Stay here where it’s warm.”

“Do you suppose it’s warm where Borolet is?”

“Let us get swords, then.” Mark spoke forcefully. “Let me call guards. I won’t have you wandering around alone.”

“All right. Get them.” He looked to the rest of them as Mark went. “I never thought I’d need guards in my own castle. In my wildest imaginings I never thought such a thing.”

Britomart and Ganelin said they were going to their rooms to get weapons, leaving Merlin and Nimue with the king.

Suddenly, Arthur turned animated. He rushed to the nearest wall, took a torch and began going about the room, lighting the ones that had been extinguished. “We want light. What happened, happened in darkness. With more light the boy would be alive.”

“Arthur, stop it!” Merlin caught him by the arm. “That isn’t so and you know it.”

He pulled free violently. “Let me go! I want light in here!”

Merlin stood back, alarmed, and let the king go on lighting the room. By the time the others got back it was ablaze with torchlight. Lit, it seemed vast and much more empty than it did in near-darkness.

Mark returned with a dozen soldiers; he left them by the door and rejoined Merlin.

“I’m worried, Mark.” He kept his voice low. “This isn’t at all like Arthur. We’ve seen him in crisis before. He’s lost battles, lost whole regiments and not acted like this.”

“That was out in the world.” Mark studied the king. “Not in his home. The dead were anonymous, not his squire.”

Suddenly Arthur turned to them. “Let’s go.”

Six of the soldiers took the lead. Arthur, Merlin and the others followed, trailed by the remaining guards. The party moved quickly through Camelot’s winding corridors. There was no talking.

The halls were filled with people. Somehow news of the murder had leaked out; presumably, one of the guards had said something. Everyone was buzzing about it, speculating, gossiping. They stood, some in small groups, some in larger ones, watching the king’s progress. No one seemed to take it as reassuring.

From nowhere Pellenore came galloping down a hallway, directly at the king. “Beware, Arthur, beware!”

Arthur’s party stopped and waited for him to reach them. He had, to appearances, been running all over Camelot; there was sweat on his forehead, and his clothes were soaked with it. Arthur caught him by the shoulder and made him stand still. “What the devil is wrong with you? For once, Pellenore, try and act like a normal man.”

“Normal?” The old man staggered a bit and Arthur steadied him. “How can anyone behave normally? Don’t you know what’s happened?”

“I know only too well. I-”

“The beasts, Arthur, the beasts. They’ve begun to kill. If we don’t vanquish them, we’ll all be dead before long.”

Merlin planted himself in front of the mad old man. “We’ll all be dead eventually anyway, Pellenore. Let the beasts do what they will.”

“No! I have to stop them. No one else can. And no one will believe me.” With that he drew his sword and sped off down the corridor.

For a moment everyone stood looking at one another, unsure what to say or how to react. Finally Nimue spoke up. “Poor old man.”

“Poor old man, nothing,” Mark said. “I often think he’s only pretending to be mad, and now I’m sure of it. How else could he know about the death tonight?”

“Everyone knows.” Merlin sounded tired; he wanted all this to end.

Arthur got between them. “Come. We’re on our way outside, remember?”

At the main entrance two other guards stood on duty. Mark had a quick word with them and left two more of the cohort with them for extra security.

The courtyard, unlike the castle, was quite empty. The night was cold, unseasonably so, and no one had thought to bring winter clothing. There were heavy clouds; the moon was a bright pale patch through them. Merlin felt a drop of rain and looked up; the sky was ominous. “Winter weather,” he muttered. “Too soon.”

One of the guards from the front gate said to Mark, “She hasn’t left yet, sir, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

“She?”

“The queen. Her party is assembling at the back of the castle, by the stables.”

“The queen?!” Merlin shouted. “We mustn’t let her leave.”

Sparked into action, Mark took two men and went to look. He came back quickly and walked straight to the king. “She’s leaving, Arthur. She, Lancelot, all their servants. The horses are being loaded now.”

Loudly, Merlin said again, “She mustn’t. Arthur, you can’t allow her to go. Not till I’ve had time to question her and her people about the killing.”

“Guenevere is a vindictive, loveless woman, Merlin. But I wouldn’t like to think she’s behind this.”

“Don’t be naïve, Arthur. She-” He was going to remind the king how much his wife hated him, but he caught himself. “If not she herself, then Lancelot or one of her servants. Any of them could have a hand in this.”

Sounding even more sad than before, Arthur told him, “You’re right, I suppose. Let’s go and talk to her.”

Mark spoke up. “I’ll have the guards close all the gates. They won’t get out.”

At the rear of Camelot, Guenevere was overseeing preparations for the journey home. Her carriage, small but ornate, was harnessed to four black horses. Packhorses were being loaded. Two dozen servants worked busily. One carried an unfurled banner bearing the queen’s arms.

She herself stood on the carriage’s step, watching, giving orders, making certain everything was done to her satisfaction. Her ape perched on her shoulder and cried, apparently unhappy to be in the cold. There were torches; the rest of the courtyard was in darkness made deeper by the clouds.

“James,” she said loudly to one of the servants, “get me another cloak.”

Lancelot, ever the chivalrous gallant, took his own off and wrapped it around her shoulders. The ape jumped onto his back.

“Guenevere!” Arthur tried to resume a tone of command, not quite convincingly. “I must ask you to remain here for the time being.”

“Why, Arthur! How nice of you to come see me off.” She was the picture of sweet composure.

A sprinkle of large, heavy drops of rain came and went quickly. Merlin looked to the sky again. There would be a storm. Guenevere looked skyward as well. “I wish I had time to talk, but we really must be on the road before the rain comes.”

“Did you hear me? You are not to leave.”

She let out a girlish laugh. “Is that authority you’re trying to convey? You lost the right to talk to me that way years ago. Arthur, I have to return to Corfe. I have a castle of my own to tend to, remember?”

“The guards will not let you out of the courtyard, Guenevere. Send your people back to their rooms.”

“But, Arthur.” She feigned innocence well; she was every inch the French coquette. “Camelot is so crowded.”

“Even so.”

Mark took a step forward. “Your Majesty must know how unwise it is to travel by night. There are bandits- cutthroats.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to provide me with guards.” She lowered her eyes. “My poor throat is so delicate.”

Before Mark could respond to her irony, Lancelot stepped forward from among the servants where he’d been seeing to his horse’s saddle. “We can handle any brigands who might dare attack the queen’s party.”

Then for the first time Arthur spoke like a king, with a sense of command in his voice. “Your swordsmanship is precisely the issue, Lancelot. Guenevere, you are not to leave. This is an order.” He smiled. “Departure will not be permitted.”

“Don’t be a fool, Arthur. There are three times more people than the castle can hold. Food is running out already.”

He turned to Mark and ordered him pointedly to post more soldiers. Then to the queen he said, “Go back to your rooms, Guenevere. If you don’t go now, and voluntarily, you will do it under guard.”