She swiped at him angrily, but he pulled away, laughing at her.

Nimue jumped on the opening he’d given her. “You were with Lancelot?”

“Well.” She pouted. “I guess you could say that.”

Tom tapped Nimue’s shoulder and pointed. “They did it in that little pantry over there. Everybody calls it ‘Gretchen’s Bedroom.’ ”

Nimue refused to be distracted. “And this was on the night of the ceremony with the Stone of Bran? The night Borolet was killed?”

Gretchen reached out and touched Nimue’s arm. “You’re strong for a scholar.”

“Answer my question, please.” She decided to take a softer tone and play up to the girl. “Please.”

“Yes, that was the night. Meet me here later, all right? No one will know.”

“You’re certain it was Lancelot? And it was on that night?”

“Yes, it was him. Tall, blond, with the nicest muscles. And really dumb. He gave me twice what I would have asked for.”

Petronus laughed and said, “No wonder Guenevere is hard up for money.”

“He kept asking me to keep our little affair a secret. Said his girlfriend would get nasty if she even suspected. But I figured he was making that up, to keep me quiet. They all say that. Even the king.”

“Arthur-?!”

“Yes, good, noble King Arthur. He tells me no one understands him, same as they all do. But he’s never given me a thing, the bastard. Not one royal farthing for poor little Gretchen.”

A couple of other kitchen servants walked in, talking. Nimue watched them, made mildly uncomfortable by their presence. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me, Gretchen? Anything about Lancelot, I mean.”

“He talked to me in French. When his passion peaked, he spoke French.”

“About that night-how and where did you meet him?”

“Why don’t you and I discuss that privately?”

“Really, Gretchen, that is not what I’m after.”

“All men are after that. What kind of man are you?”

“A scholar, unraveling a mystery.”

She shrugged. “Call it what you like. It always comes to the same thing with men.”

“And with women. You want your money. Merlin will pay you.”

She moved beside Nimue and rubbed against her. “I’d rather get it from you, Colin.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want.”

“Then leave me alone. Send Merlin to me. With coin.”

Swaying her hips, she walked off into the corridor that led to “Gretchen’s Bedroom.”

Nimue looked at Greffys. “Well. That is that, it seems.”

“You should come back to her. She’s worth it. Believe me.”

“A boy your age, Greffys? Spending good money for women? That doesn’t seem right.”

“How old were you the first time, Colin?”

“Old enough. And there was no cash exchanged. But never mind.” She wanted to change the subject.

Petronus said, “Then the girl must have been homely.”

“I shouldn’t have let you out of your sickbed, Petronus. Behave yourself or I’ll order you back to it. Let’s go.”

As they left the kitchen, Gretchen watched from the dark corridor, wishing Colin was friendlier.

The next morning, after breakfast, Merlin met privately with Morgan.

“You said Arthur has some specific requests for the Midwinter ceremonies. As if he knew a thing about ritual and tradition. What does he want?”

“Well, I’m not certain you’ll like it.”

“Go ahead. I can only imagine the worst. And Arthur isn’t that imaginative.”

He bristled at this but resolved to go on. “He wants prayers to the gods.”

“Naturally. What else?”

“And not the goddesses.”

“Oh.” She stiffened slightly. “The Morrigan, the great Goddess of Death, has always ruled here. It would not be wise to ignore her.”

“I believe he knows you were named for her. Nevertheless…”

“And Danu, her daughter. We are Tuatha du Danu, the People of Danu. Has Arthur forgotten?”

“Arthur is quite keenly aware of how effective religious myth is as propaganda. That is precisely why he wants male deities, not female ones.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I’ve known Arthur all my life. He isn’t that thoughtful. This is your idea.”

“Arthur authorized it.”

“I shall pray to England’s traditional deities. That is not subject to further discussion.”

“I see. That is your final answer?”

She nodded.

Merlin rose to go. “That settles it, then. I’ll carry that news to the king.”

“Do so.”

“Trust me, Morgan, I will.”

“And then?”

“He will have to consider whether to have you officiate.”

She forced a smile. “Who else would have that privilege? ”

“There are other priests. Thank you for clarifying your position, Morgan.”

“I am the high priestess of England, chosen of the gods. Remind Arthur of that. To permit anyone else to officiate at a holiday as important as Midwinter would cause a scandal, to say the least.”

“Of course. I’ll be certain to tell him.” He decided to take a shot in the dark. “Oh-by the way?”

“Yes?”

“What was Mark doing here?”

She showed no reaction. “You know about that?”

So he had been there, as he had been at Corfe. “It is not easy to keep intelligence from Arthur, Morgan. You should know that.”

“Or from you?”

“If you like.”

“Mark wants to be king. You must know that, or suspect. Arthur is a fool to keep him in a position of power.”

“And he wants you to… to do what, exactly?” He smiled a politician’s smile.

“If you are so adept at gaining intelligence, you shouldn’t have to ask. Good day, Merlin. Have a nice journey back to Camelot.” Suddenly she narrowed her eyes. “Where is that woman you came with?”

“Britomart? I imagine she’s exercising with your knights.”

“I hope so. Good day, Merlin.”

Brit had agreed to look for Mordred while Merlin kept the boy’s mother occupied. She found him in the library, reading a book.

“Knowledge, at the court of Morgan le Fay, Mordred? Surely superstition is the thing. Or religion-assuming there’s any difference. I’d be careful. You may be setting a dangerous precedent.”

“It’s only one of Caesar’s war commentaries.”

“You’re a warrior, then?”

“No, a historian.” His guard was up; his tone revealed it.

“Oh. I see.”

“Court life doesn’t really suit me. I’ve always wanted to go to Alexandria, to see the great library there.”

“Merlin’s been there. Did you know that? In fact he lived there for a while.”

“Really? I’ll have to ask him about it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it.” In a confidential tone, she added, “He likes to talk.”

“So does Mother. There are times when I’d give my entire inheritance for a bit of peace.”

“Tell me, is she really a witch?”

“She really thinks she is,” he whispered. “Doesn’t that come to the same thing?”

“Why hasn’t she married you off yet? You are the royal heir, after all.”

“I was betrothed for a time. But I’m not really interested in women. I think the girl understood that. She ran off.”

“Just between us, I’m not really interested in men.” Her tone was confidential, but she was smiling.

Suddenly Mordred seemed to relax. “Marriage… it seems so unnatural to me.”

“To me, too.”

“I always felt sorry for the poor girl.”

“You have a reputation for being disagreeable.”

Suddenly he put his guard up. “I imagine I am, to most people. I want to be left alone with my books, not bothered with ritual and protocol and backstabbing plots and all the other rubbish that fills Mother’s world.” He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And Uncle Arthur’s. And yours, for that matter.”

But she saw the opening she wanted. “Yet everyone says you and Lancelot were off whoring together the night of that ceremony at Camelot.”

“When that boy was killed?” He seemed to find it odd. “No, I left the Great Hall that night, looking for the privy. And I got lost-Camelot is such a bewildering place. But I did see Lancelot. He said he was going to the kitchen and asked me if I wanted to join him with the girls there.”