She was stiff. “You will not assist me, then, in preserving sacred England?”

“I am afraid I am powerless.”

“If you can persuade Arthur-”

“Morgan, this is out of my hands. I doubt I could even get Darrowfield to listen to me, much less Arthur.”

She got to her feet and struck an imperious pose. “Very well, then. Saving England falls to me. As it has fallen to many a high priestess in the past. Good night, Merlin.”

“We are fortunate to have had you. All of you.” He smiled what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.

Then he stood and escorted her to the door. Darrowfield Castle had proved a much more interesting place than he had expected, and a much more turbulent one.

Late that night Lady Darrowfield came to Merlin’s rooms. She had evidently been crying, and she was still trying to regain her composure. In her hand she clutched a kerchief.

“Lady Darrowfield.” He yawned and frowned at her; the last thing he wanted was to become entangled in his host’s domestic affairs. But she seemed not to notice. “What brings you to my chambers at this awful hour?”

“I wanted-I wanted to apologize for my unseemly behavior at dinner. I am so ashamed. I had liked to think I outgrew that sort of tantrum when I was still a girl.”

“Everyone suffers weak moments, milady.”

“It is not simply a matter of weakness. You have no idea what it’s like, living with someone who says he loves only you, but in fact distributes his love freely, far and wide. Belief-trust becomes impossible.”

“I can only imagine.” He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to sound as sad and concerned as he could. “But it is not uncommon.”

“I mean, I know that copulating with women far and wide is what lords do. All of them, or nearly so. What is the polite term they use? ‘Baronial privilege,’ I believe.” She glanced at him with some mixture of hope and fear in her eyes. “But Merlin, he has been threatening to disinherit my sons and bring some of his bastards to live here as his heirs.” She looked away from him, clearly abashed. “Might you-is there any chance you might ask King Arthur to intervene?”

“Arthur?”

“Yes. Surely it must be of interest to the crown to see that England’s noble bloodlines are kept as pure as can be.”

He wanted to ask her Why? What makes you think they are pure at all? Instead he said softly, “I will mention the matter to him.”

“Do I have your promise?”

“You do.” The situation was making him increasingly uncomfortable. He yawned an exaggerated yawn, hoping she would take the hint and leave.

But she seemed unable to move. “I may consider you a friend, then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“My boys are good boys. I mean, they are boys, they get into mischief. But they deserve their birthright.”

“Of course they do.”

“Will you call me Miriam, please? ‘Lady Darrowfield’-that is hardly the way friends address one another.”

“Of course. Miriam.” He wanted her gone. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in the domestic troubles of a minor lord. Not able to think of anything else, he yawned again.

This time she took the hint. Impulsively she threw her arms around him, squeezed him tightly, then kissed him hard on the cheek. “Good night, Merlin.”

“Sleep well, Miriam.” But please go, he thought.

“I will, knowing that you will have Arthur bring my errant husband into line.”

She walked off down the corridor quickly, made a wrong turn, stopped and waved to Merlin, then hastened down the correct hallway. Merlin sighed heavily, glad she was gone, and went into his room and crawled into bed. He realized he had forgotten to extinguish the candles and decided not to. Let them burn themselves out.

In the morning he told Nimue about the nocturnal visit of Miriam Darrowfield. Petronus was still at his morning bath, which was just as well; a boy that young would be unlikely to grasp the implications of the situation or have anything useful to contribute.

Nimue was unsurprised at his account. “You’re right, Merlin. All the barons do it. And every woman in England knows it. Our ‘lords and masters’ expect us to let them have their way with us, then leave. Pity the woman who makes any fuss. And the woman unfortunate enough to conceive a child is left quite on her own. It is understood she is not ever to name the father.”

Merlin listened and furrowed his brow. “And so she has had a night of pleasure, same as the man, and it has ended. What has changed for her?”

“You assume that the men trouble to give the women full pleasure.”

“Full or partial-does it matter?”

“Perhaps to the woman. And if she is left with child? No man would marry a woman in such a plight, or at least very few would. Have you never suspected that your and Arthur’s ‘new’ England must look quite different to a woman than it does to a knight, say, or a lord?”

“Nature has decreed that-”

“That men take vows and then shatter them? That men use women the way they use their horses or their hunting dogs?” Her tone was growing heated.

Merlin tried to calm her down. “You must not take this so personally. I told you, Darrowfield is renowned for his dullness. It is hardly fair to judge all men by that uninspiring standard.”

“Hogwash. Other men may not be quite as callous to their wives as Darrowfield, but they all behave like him. I never realized how crass the average lord is till I started living among them as a man myself. You should hear the knights sometime. You and Pellenore are the only male members of the ruling order who don’t regard women as chattel. Or so I thought.”

He hesitated. “Thank you for exempting me.”

“I exempt you, personally. I indict your sex.”

“Sex?” Petronus breezed into the room, toweling his hair. “Did someone mention sex?”

“There-you see?” Nimue was exultant. “That completes the indictment, milord.” She stuck her tongue out at Merlin and walked jauntily out of the room.

“What on earth was that about?” Petronus scratched his head.

“You would never understand, you man, you.”

“But-I-”

“Never mind, Petronus. Do you know how soon breakfast will be served?”

The boy shook his head. “But there are some people to see you.”

“People? What people?”

“From Camelot.”

Merlin was bewildered.

“The servants,” Petronus prompted. “The ones Arthur promised to send.”

“Oh. But what do they want with me? They should be reporting to Lady Darrowfield for their instructions. She runs the household.”

At a loss, Petronus shrugged. “Shall I show them in?”

“I suppose. Slowly, though. I am not awake yet. And the morning has already been too eventful.”

Petronus left and Merlin pulled up a chair. Servants. He would tell them to report to the lady of the castle and get rid of them. He was finding Darrowfield Castle and its inhabitants more and more tedious.

When Petronus returned, he was followed by a woman who looked to be in her late thirties and two teenage boys who looked startlingly alike. He had seen them around Camelot; he was certain of it. But he could not place them.

The woman curtsied to him and introduced herself as Marian of Bath. The boys, she explained, were her twin sons, Robert and Wayne.

Merlin smiled and made himself cordial. “And what can I do for you?”

“The king told us to report to you,” one of the twins explained.

“He wanted you to know we’ve arrived,” said the other. “Actually we arrived last night, but we were told you were engaged.”

“Engaged? Who told you that?”

The boy shrugged. “One of the people here.”

“But you were here last night?”

Both boys nodded.

For a moment there was an awkward silence, as if they were expecting someone to add something to what they’d said. Finally their mother added, “The king’s instructions were rather vague, I’m afraid. What exactly are we to do here?”