“Knights-not exactly known for thoughtfulness, are they?”

“Go on with the story and stop trying to get a rise out of me.”

“When I went back to his cell to carry on the interrogation, he was missing. I realized at once that he must have found one of Pellenore’s secret passages. In fact the entrance to one of them was open a few inches. I called for one of the guards, we took torches and we swung it wide open and went in.

“But it was a blind alley. Ten yards in front of us we saw Mark, lit by his own torch, clawing at the wall frantically, trying to find the way to open it. ’Mark,’ I told him, ‘it’s no use. Only Pellenore knows these corridors.’

“He turned on us with a near-savage snarl. ‘You can’t keep me here. I am King Mark of Cornwall, not a common criminal.’

“Saying nothing, I stared at him.

“ ‘I will not be held!’ he bellowed. And he came running at me, snarling. My guard drew his sword, and Mark hesitated but kept coming.

“Suddenly, a door hidden in the wall sprung open. Pellenore leaped out, sword in hand, and struck Mark down. His arm and his head were nearly severed. Pellenore turned to us, wide-eyed, and said, ‘The beasts. They are one fewer now.’

“Then he stepped back into the wall and it closed. We rushed to the spot, but there was absolutely no sign of the smallest crack, even. An awful gurgling sound came from Mark, the kind you must have heard on the battlefield often enough, and he was dead.” He looked at Arthur and spread his hands apart, letting the empty air between them express what he was feeling.

Arthur remained perfectly still for a long moment. “And so justice has been done.”

“Justice? You call death at the hands of a madman justice? ”

“Mark would happily have let Pellenore be blamed for his crimes. So it is a kind of justice, I suppose. The evil has been rooted out. By you, Merlin. And I owe you a great deal. England can return to normal now, to harmony and the kind of society I want. There will be no more crime, except perhaps of the common, obvious sort. It is over.”

Slowly, Merlin stood up. The cold stone had made his back stiff. “Do you really believe that?”

“I have to. I am the king. England is mine.”

There was more wind, stiffer than before, and snow started falling. Merlin stretched, trying to work the stiffness out of his back. “Do you ever read Sappho, Arthur?”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“No, it was a foolish question. But she was a wonderful poet with a stark, dark vision. She once observed that the gods believe death to be the greatest evil.”

“She had a point.”

“But she added that the only reason they think death evil is because they themselves don’t die.”

“There are times, wizard, when I worry about you. Let’s get back to the castle. I’m cold.”

Merlin hooked his arm through Arthur’s, and the two men walked slowly in the direction of Camelot. Merlin said softly, “Now, Your Majesty, about that school for the squires and the pages…”