He came cantering down the hall toward Merlin like a small boy pretending to ride a horse. “Merlin. Good day. Have you seen it?”

“Hello, Pellenore. You’re looking well. Seen what?”

“The dragon I’m chasing. It’s green.”

Merlin pretended to turn thoughtful. “Green? No, I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

Pellenore narrowed his eyes. “It came this way. There are times when I wonder about you, Merlin.”

“Really? I never wonder about you.”

“A wizard like you might be the one responsible for all the monsters in this castle.”

Merlin leaned close to him and whispered dramatically, “Just between us, I am.”

“No!”

“I swear it.”

“Well, this one’s green.”

“So you said.”

“I think it’s after Arthur.”

“Who isn’t?”

This seemed to come as a new thought. Pellenore scratched his head and started off down the corridor.

“Are you coming to council?” Merlin called after him.

Pellenore looked back over his shoulder and shrugged an exaggerated shrug. “Keep an eye out for my dragon, will you?”

“I will.”

“You’ll know it-it’s green.”

Then he was gone. Merlin decided to walk for a few more minutes; the day and the situation called for thought, and he might be the only one doing it.

By the time Merlin reached the Great Hall, many of the others were already there. Pellenore had gotten there ahead of him and was agitatedly going from one group of people to the next, warning them about dragons, griffins and rogue unicorns. Ganelin and Borolet were playing hosts for their king, who hadn’t yet put in an appearance. Sagramore, a minor lord, was complaining loudly about the heavy burden of his yearly tribute to Arthur. And everyone, it seemed, was buzzing about the reason for the council.

The hall itself was at the heart of the castle keep, the most impregnable part of Camelot. It was built of the largest, heaviest stones, and it was always claimed that not even the largest battering ram could hope to penetrate them. This struck Merlin as problematic; the place was full of drafts.

The room was circular as was the great council table at its center. Though to be precise it was not a table but a series of connecting tables, each an arc. Arthur had adopted it so that everyone at council would feel equal with all the others, but of course, given the court’s nature, squabbles erupted all the time anyway. It seated thirty-seven people; at larger council meetings some people had to stand or sit behind the others, and this caused fights as well.

Today the Great Hall was ablaze with torchlight; dozens of torches burned in sconces along the walls and in tall holders around the table. Drafts made them flicker and dance. A small band of musicians played military music off in a spot along the northeast wall. Servants passed through the hall with trays of fruit, cheese, bread. Others carried drinks-wine, beer, mead-for the lords and knights. And everyone seemed to be in a celebratory mood. The hall, it seemed to Merlin, had not seen such merry activity in a long time.

There were the petty kings, now vassals of Arthur, attended by their retinues. The most important of them was Mark of Cornwall, whose tin mines Arthur had taken by main force and who was now his chief military advisor. There was Sagramore from Kent, Bialich from Ireland and assorted others. And there were knights-Dinadan, Gawain, Petrilock, Bors and dozens more-most of them accompanied by their squires.

They never stopped bickering, jockeying for position in the court hierarchy, even starting minor wars among themselves. All but old Pellenore, who was the only one of them who had anything like a sense of humor about it all, squirrelly as he was. Merlin had seen the court of the Byzantine emperor Justinian, and courtiers there never ceased their jockeying and backstabbing, but at least they did it with a measure of subtlety. At Camelot, on the other hand, subtlety was all but unknown.

Everyone was drinking. Cups were huge; it wasn’t hard to see most of the assembled nobles were already tipsy, not to say drunk.

Merlin had talked to Arthur time and again about this. No respectable court would try to conduct business this way, especially when there might be important decisions to be made. Camelot was gossiped about and laughed at all across Europe.

Arthur’s response, as usual, was to call him a spoilsport. “They say the court of Alexander the Great was like this. You told me so yourself, when I was a boy and you were my tutor. Wine and beer everywhere. And Alexander conquered the world.”

Merlin was sanguine. “Alexander didn’t have Justinian and the Byzantines to deal with. Arthur, your court is an embarrassment.”

“Nonsense.”

Other times he tried a more direct approach. “Arthur, England is being held together with baling wire. Look at all the bickering, the feuds, the petty wars.You’ve unified the country, but it could come unraveled anytime. Alexander’s empire splintered when he died. Letting these people get drunk every time they’re together can only speed that here, too.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist, Merlin.” The king clearly didn’t want to hear this. “A unified England benefits everyone. It makes us all stronger, militarily, culturally, in so many ways. No one would be foolish enough to upset that. We are adults, here, after all.”

“When have you ever known anyone to place the higher good above his own self-interest, Arthur?”

But the king wasn’t to be moved. “It’s only drinking, Merlin. We’re only having fun. What’s the point of being a king or even a knight if you can’t have a little fun now and then?”

“You call self-destructiveness fun?”

“Merlin, let it go.” And that was that. As often as Merlin had broached the subject Arthur ignored him.

At one side of the Great Hall, watching the others but neither dunking nor socializing with them, stood Britomart, the only female knight at Camelot. Her mere presence sent most of the men into shivers of anger and jealousy for several reasons, not least because she was a better knight than most of them. Merlin adored her.

He made his way through the throng and joined her. “Hello, Brit. It looks like a particularly big court today.”

She smiled at him. “Wonderful. More councilors means more fights. Have you heard the news?”

“I live in a tower. I never hear anything.”

“Don’t be absurd, Merlin. Apparently Percival has found this stone everyone’s been questing after. Arthur’s going to make a surprise announcement.”

It caught him off guard. “How did you know?”

“Everyone does. Arthur told Mark, and you know him. He gossips like somebody’s grandmother.”

“That is a disrespectful way to talk about your commander. ”

“It’s true and you know it. The news has been spreading like a fire in a hayloft.”

“I hope everyone has sense enough to act astonished when Arthur springs it on them.”

“I doubt he’ll know the difference.” She nodded toward the main doorway. “Look.”

Arthur was there, and his squires Ganelin and Borolet were at his side. He was carrying the largest goblet Merlin had ever seen, and drinking freely. Apparently this was a day for celebration. Merlin realized that the king must have started to drink as soon as he left the tower; he was already unsteady on his feet.

Britomart was wry. “Should we go and pay our respects? ”

“Don’t be catty, Brit.”

Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, Mark of Cornwall was beside them.

Mark was the youngest of Arthur’s close councilors. He was short, broadly built and had thick black hair; he wore a mustache but, unlike most of the knights and kings, no beard. Merlin often wondered about Arthur’s wisdom in making someone he’d conquered his chief military advisor, but as usual the king wasn’t to be moved. “I’ve conquered everyone in England,” he would always respond. “So who does that leave?”