“Lord Darrowfield has only recently been elevated to that rank, by the unfortunate death of his father, the old lord. He will shortly host a feast here for a number of his peers, in celebration of his new status. You are to assist the household staff, then return to Camelot. It is as uncomplicated as that.” He narrowed his eyes and peered at the woman. “You work in the kitchen, do you not? I believe you are the cook who makes those heavenly honey cakes Arthur is so fond of.”

She giggled with pleasure at his recognition. “Yes, sir. The king has shown me his favor from time to time.”

“And you boys-you wait tables for us, do you not?”

They nodded but did not smile or give any indication of the kind of enjoyment their mother had displayed.

“Well, all of you, off to Lady Darrowfield now. I haven’t time for any more small talk.”

The boys turned and left quickly, leaving their mother to thank Merlin for his attention. “And… do you know if Lady Darrowfield has an herb garden I may have access to? The secret of my baking is in the herbs.” She wrinkled her nose. “Camelot’s herb garden is so large, so marvelous. I can always find anything I need there. But here…”

“I am sure there must be one. But you will have to ask someone who knows better than I.” It was time to dismiss her. “But I am certain Lord Darrowfield’s feast will be more successful for the contribution you can make.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. Sir.” She followed her sons in an uncertain way, as if she was not certain where she was or what to expect.

“And be careful of this castle,” Merlin called after her. “The corridors can be quite tricky. I have seen Lord Darrowfield himself become disoriented. Have one of his servants show you the way.”

The Darrowfields showed no sign of having reconciled overnight. They studiously avoided looking at or speaking to each other. When on occasion at breakfast their arms brushed against each other, they stiffened like dictators expecting an assassin. The atmosphere in the dining hall was palpably uncomfortable, not to say hostile. Marian of Bath’s sons, who helped serve the meal, seemed baffled by it, and no one bothered to explain.

This continued all day long. Merlin confronted each of the Darrowfields and hinted that it might be wise for them to make up their differences before the other peers arrived; neither would countenance the idea. After a time, he stopped trying. “The king would wish me to make an attempt at bringing harmony,” he told Nimue. “I have made it. They want no part of it.”

“How long do we have to stay here?”

“No longer. I intend to thank Darrowfield for his hospitality, such as it has been, and inform him we will be leaving tomorrow morning. However unpleasant Dover might be, I will find it quite cordial after this place.”

She laughed. “I always enjoy it when your expectations are confounded.”

“I had no expectations, except that this would not be a pleasant place to visit. It is worse than that. Will you find our soldiers and tell them to be ready to leave in the morning?”

“Yes. I think they’re looking forward to Dover, too. It will be a holiday for them.”

“Excellent. I will tell Petronus myself.”

Over dinner that night the lord and lady of the castle threw all discretion to the winds and fought openly, about the same thing as before. Their sons shifted awkwardly and finally made excuses to leave the room. The twins from Camelot, who were again serving the meal, worked quickly and kept as much distance as possible between themselves and their temporary masters. Their mother kept to the kitchen; Merlin wondered whether it was by design.

During a lull in the combat Merlin announced his party’s imminent departure. Darrowfield glared at him. “Why? Do you not like it here?”

“We are on holiday, Lord Darrowfield. All of us are anxious to reach Dover and the festival there.”

Darrowfield frowned and continued questioning them, even turning on Nimue and Petronus. “You told me you weren’t going there.”

“It was your suggestion that gave us the idea.” Merlin lied freely, like the courtier he was.

Darrowfield seemed determined to find some cause to take offense. But Merlin was a more skillful conversational ist, or debater, than that; he salved every objection Darrowfield had.

At one point Lady Darrowfield asked him, “You will not forget your promise to me?”

“Promise?” Darrowfield roared. “What promise? Who do you think you are, making promises to a woman-and another man’s wife?”

“If promises to wives were of any moment to you, husband,” she scolded him, “we would hardly be at this impasse.”

He raised a hand to strike her; the elder of their sons jumped to his feet and caught his arm. Darrowfield stomped angrily out of the room, muttering about “enemies everywhere-even in my own house.”

When the rest of the party finally broke up, no one was in good spirits. But Merlin had his host’s leave to depart.

“I hear you’re leaving.” Mordred encountered Nimue at the entrance to the dining hall, just before breakfast.

“I’m afraid we have to. We’re expected at Dover.” She told the convenient lie easily. “The king sent us as his representatives to their festival.”

“I envy you. We’ll be here till the equinox, so Mother can preside at the rituals at Stonehenge.”

“I imagine I’ll see you there, then. Our companion Petronus wants to see the monument. I can’t imagine why.” She wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated way. “He’s French.”

“Listening to our host and hostess fight all the time will be so unpleasant. And there are no signs of them being reconciled-or wanting to.”

“Why don’t you come with us?”

“Mother wouldn’t approve. She can be so demanding. And she’s angry at Darrowfield. He’s flirting with Christianity, like half the nobles in England. She means to dissuade him. I want to try and maintain the peace, to the extent I can.”

“And from what I hear, your mother can be so very vindictive when her demands are ignored. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I pity Darrowfield if he defies her. But at least you’ll survive, Mordred. You’re young.”

“So are you. So is Petro-Pet-What is his name again?”

“Petronus.”

“Well, we should go in and have breakfast.” He smiled a sardonic smile. “The condemned man ate a hearty meal.”

“Cheer up. Arthur sent his pastry chef. You’ll have the most wonderful cakes while you’re here.”

“If Mother doesn’t poison them.”

Breakfast was made into an ordeal by the Darrowfields’ stony disagreements. When Merlin began saying his farewells, they both reacted unhappily. Then, when each of them realized the other wanted him to stay, they both made a show of bidding their guests good-bye.

Through it all, Morgan sat without saying much; Uther slept at the table; and Mordred sulked. Peter of Darrowfield came to table late and kept yawning. When everyone was finished with breakfast, Merlin, his aides and their soldier-escorts went directly to the stables, saddled their horses and made ready to leave.

At the last moment Lord Darrowfield approached Merlin. “I have changed my mind. I should like you to stay.”

Merlin forced himself to smile. “May I ask why you have had such a dramatic change of heart?”

“Someone has been following me. Like a shadow. I can never see who it is-these damned winding corridors make it impossible. But someone is always there. You are famous for exposing villains. I-”

“I am certain it is nothing to be concerned about. Your castle is so easy to become lost in. It could be anyone, for any reason. Just because someone is behind you does not mean you are being threatened. Besides, your new sheriff seems a capable man. I expect he can give you any protection you might need.”