By noon the sky began to cloud up again, and it gave her still more to complain about. “English winters. I’d love to know who first decided this island was a good place to live.”

“For once I agree with you, Brit.” Merlin had been nodding off in the saddle. “Humanity should confine itself to the warm, pleasant parts of the earth.”

“How many of those are there?”

“There are enough. I’ve seen them. North Africa, that’s the place.”

“Whatever brought you back to England, then?”

“Don’t ask.”

She looked back the way they’d come. “One thing’s for certain. Londinium is dying and will die. Twenty years from now it will be deserted.”

“Good.”

The road south to the coast was better than the one they’d taken to Londinium. Wider, smoother. And there was more traffic. Despite his antisocial nature, Merlin was happy to see more people. If nothing else, it indicated healthier weather. They came to a town called Greenwich and found an inn called the Tusk and Claw where the food was delicious. The landlord and his wife were plump and cordial; she told her guests they’d bought the place from an old Italian who had originally called it the Tuscan Law. Brit immediately ordered more supplies there and dumped in the river the ones they’d bought from Robert.

Nimue watched her, amused. “You shouldn’t do that. The Thames is dirty enough already. That beer might kill the fish.”

“The fish can fend for themselves. I never want to taste anything that foul again.”

Merlin stretched out on the riverbank and chimed in, “Wait till we get to Corfe. Have you ever had French cooking? ”

“Will we be staying at the castle, then?” Brit seemed surprised. “I took it for granted we’d be quartered with the soldiers there.”

“If we’re invited, we should definitely stay with Guenevere, don’t you think? After all, we’re going there to pry into her affairs. And Lancelot’s.”

Nimue listened to the exchange. “I’ve never been to Corfe. I don’t think I knew there was a garrison there.”

“A fine one. It’s one of our most important ports.” Brit was in her element. “We could hardly leave it unguarded.”

“It doesn’t make sense that Guenevere would have settled there, then. I mean, why would she want to be where Arthur’s men could keep an eye on her?”

“It’s never made sense to anyone, Colin. I mean, it is one of the best ports in England, so if the French wanted to invade, it would make a logical landing place for them. But the landing force would have to be enormous to overcome our men. Leodegrance doesn’t have anywhere near that many men.”

“Leode-who?”

“Guenevere’s father,” Merlin explained.

“Oh. But-but I still don’t understand why Guenevere chose to live at Corfe Castle of all the places in England.”

Merlin and Britomart looked at one another and shrugged. He said, “I’ve often wondered if Guenevere is as crafty as she likes to think.”

Brit finished her dumping, they took a short walk around the town to help digest their food, and then full and satisfied, they resumed their journey to the south coast. The horses settled into a comfortable pace, and the three travelers settled into a comfortable silence. There were still plenty of other people on the road.

“We should have Arthur designate this a king’s highway or something.” Nimue was enjoying the trip. “And that inn, the Tusk and Claw-he should buy all his provisions there. It’s better food than I ever tasted at Camelot.”

Merlin enjoyed her enthusiasm. “Maybe we can simply kidnap the cook.”

“I’m serious, Merlin.”

“You don’t find the name of the place ominous?”

“Never mind.”

At dinnertime they stopped to eat in Bournemouth then moved on. They reached the coast road to Corfe just at twilight.

A long, sloping grade went down to the ocean, where the town sat. One ship was anchored in the harbor. Merlin was surprised; he said there was normally more traffic.

Above the town, secure between two hills, was the castle. It was large and dark, more enormous than any building Nimue had seen. Brit told her it had originally been a Romanfortress. “This is one of the best natural ports in the country. No one could miss its strategic importance.”

It was not at all a typical castle. There was no curtain wall surrounding it, and not even a moat. To all appearances it was quite open and vulnerable. But on closer inspection its unusual design became evident. There was a central keep, octagonal in shape, rising some eighty feet. From it, eight wings extended. And each of them was topped with heavy fortifications. Anyone trying to attack the castle would have met with a rain of arrows from several directions.

“And the Romans built all this?”

“No, I think they only built the central keep.”

Merlin told her, “The castle goes back centuries. Some people think it must be the oldest in England. It’s so ancient no one remembers who added all those arms. But they certainly date from before the rise of modern castle construction. ”

“Arms? Is that a formal architectural term, Merlin?” Brit asked.

He smiled. “No, but arms they are. Eight of them. The townspeople whose lives are dominated by it call it the Spider’s House. I’ve never been certain whether that refers to the castle itself or to its chief occupant.”

Clouds had built up steadily all afternoon. At least the temperature had remained on the mild side; there wouldn’t be snow. But a stiff wind roiled the Atlantic; huge waves were breaking all around. The ship in Corfe’s harbor rocked wildly.

The town was smaller than Nimue expected, but it was full of people, all of them evidently busy. And prosperous. A good harbor draws trade, and trade draws wealth. There were even women who were brazenly open about being streetwalkers.

The roar of the waves was clearly audible from every spot they passed. They found a little inn and had some spiced wine. Then Brit led them to the garrison and identified them to one of the guards on duty. Another one went off to find the commander. The three of them waited just inside the walls.

“You’re one of Arthur’s military commanders, Brit.” Merlin was annoyed to be kept waiting. “Don’t they know you?”

“I haven’t been here in years. But the commandant is an old friend.”

A moment later a man wearing chain mail for no apparent reason came and greeted them. He and Brit embraced warmly, and she introduced him to Merlin as Captain John Dalley, the garrison commander. He shook their hands vigorously and led them through the courtyard and Common Room to his office, where they had more wine.

“I thought someone from Camelot might come, once word of that ship spread. But how did you manage to get here so fast?”

“What about the ship?” He had caught Brit off guard.

“Didn’t you get a look at it? It’s French.” He lowered his voice and looked around conspiratorially. “Guenevere’s father. ”

“Leodegrance, here? Why haven’t you notified the king?”

“The ship put in late this afternoon. You should have seen all the fanfare and fuss when she turned out to welcome him. I was just drafting a letter to Camelot now.”

“I see. Do you have any idea what he’s doing here?”

Dalley shrugged. “It could be anything from visiting his daughter to planning a war to welcoming a new addition to the family tree.”

Merlin spoke up. “Guenevere is pregnant?”

“Not that I know of. I was only speculating. But she bellies with Lancelot often enough.”

“Has she… how shall I say? Has she been behaving herself lately?”

“As much as she ever does. She’s always trying to recruit my men away from Arthur’s service.”

“You must get that letter to Arthur right away. And we’ll be drafting one, too. You can send it along with yours.”

“Is something wrong?” He obviously suspected they might be there to check on him.

“No, John.” Brit was reassuring. “We’re doing some… er… fact-finding for him. We just want to apprise him of our progress.”