Murder at Camelot or Tales of Sir Tristram

Murder at Camelot

or

Tales of Sir Tristram

An account from Sir Bobart le Cure Hardy, the only legitimate son of the noble King Arthur, concerning the poisoning and untimely death of Sir Palomides the Saracen, knight of the Round Table.

Stuart Clark Rogers

Copyright 2013 by by Stuart Clark Rogers.

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America.

Cover photograph of ancient drystone steps Copyright 2013 by Stuart Clark Rogers.

Author photograph Copyright 2013 by Polly Childs Rogers.

Cover treatment by Will Young. Cover design by AEB Graphics, Denver, CO.

E-Book by e-book-design.com

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Dedication

Author’s note

Foreword

The first day

CHAPTER 1: In which the gallant Sir Palomides, the Saracen, is murdered.

CHAPTER 2: Wherein Merlin instructs me on methods to detect poison.

CHAPTER 3: An assembly at which Merlin explains what we have discovered.

CHAPTER 4: Merlin categorizes intelligence, and we free the peerless Sir Galahad.

The second day

CHAPTER 5: How I arm myself for a tournament at Camelot.

CHAPTER 6: I am unhorsed in a joust by Sir Gareth.

CHAPTER 7: Action at the tourney, particularly a scheme to embarrass Sir Dinadan.

The third day

CHAPTER 8: I express my love for Fair Eleandor of the Golden Curls.

CHAPTER 9: A necessary visit to Eponina, the armourer’s daughter.

CHAPTER 10: Merlin prompts my recollection of an early lesson.

The fourth day

CHAPTER 11: An audience with my father reveals my mission.

CHAPTER 12: My appointment is announced to the Court of Camelot.

CHAPTER 13: Merlin teaches me about inductive reasoning.

CHAPTER 14: I receive warnings in connection with my quest.

The fifth day

CHAPTER 15: I try to interview Sir Lucan the Butler.

CHAPTER 16: Squire Breunor the Black reveals what he knows of the murder.

CHAPTER 17: I next interrogate two squires and two knights.

CHAPTER 18: I review with Merlin the facts to date, and he criticizes the Church of Rome.

CHAPTER 19: King Agwisance tells me about a deadly rivalry.

CHAPTER 20: How Sir Palomides attempted vengeance on Sir Tristram of Liones.

CHAPTER 21: I encounter Sir Hebes the Renowned.

CHAPTER 22: I invite the spinning of yarns at table.

CHAPTER 23: Sir Sagramore the Desirous tells how a lady rejected Sir Tristram.

The sixth day

CHAPTER 24: I learn from Sir Bleoberis about the malice of King Mark.

CHAPTER 25: Sir Guyant the Small tells how Sir Tristram met Isoud la Blanche Mains.

CHAPTER 26: Sir Tristram encounters Sir Lamorak of Gales and Sir Palomides.

CHAPTER 27: I plan to depart from my Fair Eleandor.

CHAPTER 28: I speak of Sir Mordred to my lady and suffer for it.

CHAPTER 29: I bid farewell to my mother Queen Guenever.

The seventh day

CHAPTER 30: We depart for the Isle of Avalon, and I tell of the famous sword Excalibur.

CHAPTER 31: We vanquish brigands, and encounter malice from the Abbot at Avalon.

CHAPTER 32: Sister Bragwaine tells of her experience with Sir Palomides.

CHAPTER 33: Sister Bragwaine concludes her tale of the deception of Queen Isoud.

The eighth day

CHAPTER 34: We companions discuss the malice of Saint Sampson.

CHAPTER 35: Sir Epinogris tells of Sir Andred’s betrayal of Sir Tristram.

CHAPTER 36: Sir Tristram escapes execution, and I ponder the mystery of love.

CHAPTER 37: Sir Fergus relates more of the adventures of Sir Tristram.

CHAPTER 38: Sir Tristram leaves Cornwall with regret.

CHAPTER 39: Sir Gaheris remembers an adventure in which Sir Palomides planned a trap.

The ninth day

CHAPTER 40: I have a pleasant ride, but a narrow escape.

CHAPTER 41: The tournament at the Maiden Castle, according to Sir Pellounes.

The tenth day

CHAPTER 42: Sir Aglovale tells how Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan were imprisoned and freed.

CHAPTER 43: Sir Elys the Black tells how Sir Tristram rescued Sir Palomides.

CHAPTER 44: Sir Gawain tells how knights of the Table encountered with the strong knight.

CHAPTER 45: Sir Tristram becomes a knight of the Round Table.

CHAPTER 46 Sir Dinadan sings his song about King Mark.

CHAPTER 47: Sir Dinadan tells of duplicity by Sir Palomides and King Mark.

The eleventh day

CHAPTER 48: Sir Gawain tells how Sir Tristram and Queen Isoud went to the Joyous Gard.

CHAPTER 49: Sir Gawain tells how Sir Tristram won Sir Palomides.

CHAPTER 50: The tournament at Lonazep, and how Sir Palomides fared there.

CHAPTER 51: We see a marvel, reach the Maiden Castle, and learn of more treason.

CHAPTER 52: Sir Lambegus relates how Sir Palomides defied Sir Tristram.

CHAPTER 53: Sir Epinogris persuades me that I had misjudged the Saracen in thinking well of him.

CHAPTER 54: A startling revelation at the Maiden Castle.

The twelfth day

CHAPTER 55: We destroy an invasion force of Frisians.

The thirteenth day

CHAPTER 56: I recapitulate with Sir Gareth and Squire Lovel the facts to date.

CHAPTER 57: More ruminations until we are joined by three companions.

CHAPTER 58: I engage in deductive reasoning with Sir Gareth and Sir Epinogris.

CHAPTER 59: My fellowship and I return to Camelot, and I address King Arthur.

CHAPTER 60: Merlin reveals another secret, and we discuss what I suspect.

The fourteenth day

CHAPTER 61: Merlin and I plan a means to discover who the murderer might be.

The twenty-first day

CHAPTER 62: How knights of the Table disport themselves when not fighting.

CHAPTER 63: The motive for the murder is revealed.

The twenty-second day

CHAPTER 64: Trial by combat is required, and champions volunteer.

The twenty-third day

CHAPTER 65: The great battle of the champions at Camelot.

The twenty-fourth day

CHAPTER 66: My father explains his absence and thanks me.

CHAPTER 67: Sir Dinadan returns to Camelot from Northumberland.

CHAPTER 68: I compose a little tribute to Sir Tristram, and consider the future.

List of characters, places, and objects

Glossary

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Dedication

This book is lovingly dedicated to Polly Childs Rogers, my devoted wife, guide, and playmate for more than half a century, who searched with me for Camelot.

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction based on ancient British legends, folk tales, and medieval troubadour poetry. Negative stereotypes and prejudices are included to provide dramatic conflict and do not reflect the beliefs or opinions of either the author or the publisher.

Spellings of names and places are according to Sir Thomas Malory’s classic compilation, Le Morte d’Arthur, first published in the year 1485. Thus, Tristram is used instead of Tristan, or Durstan, and Isoud rather than Isolde, Iseult, or Yseult. In keeping with the locale, British spellings of common words have also been used.

The Tristram story appears in Books VIII through X of Le Morte d’Arthur, but also included here are elements from folklore and several medieval French troubadours. Malory portrayed knights as he knew them in the 15th Century, but this story takes place in the 6th Century. The year is 531 A.D. when best estimates suggest King Arthur was 39 years of age and his son, Sir Bobart le Cure Hardy, or the Hardy Heart – mentioned only once in passing by Malory in Book XIX – was 18. Thus, the reader should adjust to a world nearly 1,000 years prior to the Golden Age of Chivalry – a world long before full plate armour, and before tall castles of stone with crenellated towers and drawbridges. Every effort has been made to portray details of geography, arms and armour, buildings, fashions, and food according to current historical and archaeological evidence – and to explain all magic as natural science.

A great many characters and Dark Ages countries figure to a greater or lesser degree into these tales, and they are listed and briefly described in the first appendix, Alphabetical List of Characters, Places, and Objects. Also included is a Glossary of Old English, Celtic, Roman, and Frankish words that may not be familiar to some readers. The first use of each such word in the text is italicized. I am particularly indebted to Leslie Alcock, whose excavations at Cadbury Castle between 1966 and 1970 inspired my imagination. Numerous other sources of information about Britain and its Celtic population during this obscure period of time are listed in the Bibliography.

Readers should note that Sir Palomides, the Saracen, was not a Muslim, since Muhammad was born some forty years after this story takes place. The word Saracen was used by ancient Greeks, Romans, and Britons to designate people who lived in what we now call the Middle East. The portrayal of that dusky knight as it appears here is somewhat more harsh than in Malory – but then wickedness, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder. Readers may make up their own minds as to whether Sir Palomides was significantly different in his behavior from other knights of his time, whether the tales about him were biased by ethnic prejudice, or whether he richly deserved his fate.

Foreword

As you will see in what is to follow, I greatly fear that because of its malice toward my father, King Arthur, the Church of Rome may deliberately refuse to record what has transpired in his court of Camelot and through his seven realms of Logris. Therefore, I am beginning here to record my own impressions of our time. My tutor, the wise Merlin, is at the same time preparing a book of our traditional beliefs and customs, and has promised – once he has completed the first task – to write a second book of the history of the Island of the Mighty which the Romans called Britannia and Caledonia, or Alban.

I write this not in Latin, but in my own British language using Roman letters for the possible interest of those few who have the training to read what is inscribed with ink on parchment. My handwriting is very small, I know, and I hope will present to the reader no great difficulty, but my means are modest – despite my being the High King’s son – and the costs of ink and parchment are substantial.

To summarize a bit of background, let me begin by affirming that the man who now rules all of Britain and Ireland was born at Tintagel Castle in the year of our Lord Jesu 492. He became Dux Bellorum, or Battle Chief, under High King Uther Pendragon, and on the old king’s death aspired to the position of High King himself. Thus, between the years 510 and 511 he was required to fight a terrible civil war against eleven rebellious petty kings who refused to acknowledge his right to rule over them.

A year after his victory and conversion of the rebels to his client kings he married the only daughter of King Leodegrance of Cameliard, Princess Guenever, and she bore me – their only legitimate son – in the following year of our Lord Jesu 513 when she was 17 years of age.

Between the years 512 and 516 King Arthur fought twelve great battles against the Anglian invaders, ending with their resounding defeat at Badon Hill. For these deeds he is called by those who still cling to the old Roman language Artorius Magnus Rex, or King Arthur the Great – the only British king, to my knowledge, who has ever been so gloriously designated.

The text that follows describes what I learned during a period of 24 days following the death of Sir Palomides the Saracen, knight of the Round Table, and how my duty to king and country was dispatched.

(signed)

Sir Bobart le Cure Hardy (or the Hardy Heart) at Camelot, Realm of Logris, in the Year of Our Lord Jesu 531.

The first day

Chapter 1

In which the gallant Sir Palomides, the Saracen, is murdered.

My favourite cousin, Sir Gareth, my father’s own sister’s son, had just passed me a particularly juicy jowl of roasted boar and Squire Lovel, my cousin Sir Gawain’s youngest son, was topping off my wine goblet when Sir Palomides – the Saracen from the distant deserts to the east of the Middle Sea and one of my father’s most dreaded knights – pitched forward face-first into his trencher.

The Feasting Hall of Camelot abruptly fell as hushed as the Savage Forest on a moonless winter night; but then within a few heartbeats burst into a clutter of noise as if a gaggle of wild geese were suddenly rising from an inland lake.

Sir Mordred, another of my first-cousins, laughed aloud through his long thin nose as he often does at the distress or embarrassment of others and said to Sir Meliagaunt who sat to his left, "Saracens don’t eat pigs; they just eat like pigs." And he continued to snicker and make rude remarks about the brave and gentle knight, Sir Palomides.

Sir Agravain, Sir Mordred’s half-brother and frequent companion, ever alert to making trouble for my mother, the peerless Queen Guenever, pointed dramatically at her in mute accusation as she sat stock-still on the royal dais beside my father, the noble King Arthur, at this holy Feast of Pentecost on the 8th day of the month of June in this year of our Lord Jesu 531.

Do you suppose Sir Palomides is drunk? I whispered to Sir Gareth.

I think that might never be, Sir Bobart, he replied under his breath, shaking his glistening black curls. Well do we know Sir Palomides indulges little in fermented beverages, lest they diminish his knightly prowess.

Earl Aristause, who claims to be fond of battling giants and dragons, and Sir Griflet, who is called Chosen of God because of his great good fortune in battle, and who consequently believes he is always in the right, immediately seized the fair Sir Galahad, the only son of our renowned Sir Launcelot of the Lake, and by many accounts the most perfect young knight in all of Christendom. Although this seemed to me an unseemly act, it was apparently not deemed illogical by many present at the feast, for Sir Galahad was sitting immediately to the right of Sir Palomides, and therefore Sir Griflet and Earl Aristause assumed he must have caused the dusky knight’s collapse.

My father called to his foster brother, Sir Kay the Seneschal, our kingdom’s general manager, to run and fetch Merlin, our sage and seer, who scrupulously avoids feasts and banquets. And he then signaled Sir Petipase of Winchelsea, a passing good battlefield surgeon and occasional herbalist, to attend to Sir Palomides where he lay, arms outstretched like the legs of a slaughtered bull.

But it was to no avail, and Sir Petipase soon pronounced the mighty Saracen stone dead, manifesting neither hint of breath nor the faintest heartbeat.

As dead and brown as a smoked herring, Sir Mordred giggled and repeatedly nudged his two companions, until the gentle Sir Gareth swiveled about on our bench and glared him into silence.

So massive a man was Sir Palomides – one whom my father once called a much man and a large, passingly well made and bigly – that, even divested of his armour, three strong knights were required to carry him into our Chapel, there to be washed and watched till he might be suitably entombed with full military honours in the eastern meadow under the towering battlements of Camelot.

All across the long rows of trestle tables where sat those of us privileged to be called knights of the Round Table – those of us, that is, who were not at this time away upon adventures – the prevailing suspicion was that Sir Palomides had been traitorously poisoned. Poison is by no means an uncommon method of murder in our court, although universally recognized as false, treasonous, and cowardly. And, therefore, I think no more than half of us believed Sir Galahad, so pure of heart and strong of hand he is likely to surpass even his famous father, could ever possibly have stooped to commit such a crime.

Bright beams of spring-afternoon sunlight rushed into the high hall through dust and dander mingled with pale smoke rising from black iron braziers surrounding the room for warmth against walls still chilled from the bitter winds of winter. The tubes of light that slanted down from the high open windows appeared almost solid in form, like the huge white columns of a ruined Roman temple.

Fine food stood stacked on the tables where tall tallow candles guttered and smoldered. Joints of beef, sides and heads and legs of boar and lamb, pots of stews of rabbit and partridge, roasted badger and swan, grilled salmon and trout lay amongst steaming bowls of cracked grain, dark greens, diverse boiled roots, and dried and pickled fruits of every kind and colour.

Enormous amphorae of cool spring-water and rich garnet red wine, carried over stormy seas in great galleys from far-off lands, lined the walkways around our tables where eager squires – warriors in training all – served their masters from noon to dawn on such festive occasions, till those noble knights would fall full and senseless from their benches.

I wept there for the death of Sir Palomides, whom I thought at the time to have been the most courteous of knights, ever victorious in both royal joust and Anglian battle, the gallant champion of many a fair maid, and one of the few knights of the Table who had always treated me consistently with kindness, courtesy, and respect.

He was a man who tended to walk his own way and to keep his own counsel, for his culture was neither Roman nor British, neither Gael nor Gaul, neither Byzantine nor Celt. He had been brought to Britain many years ago with his brother, Sir Safer, and his father, Sheikh Astlabour of Babylon, as a captive slave from his birthplace in the desolate deserts half way to Cathay, beyond the Middle Sea which the Romans called Mare Nostrum – Our Sea – before they began to lose their empire. And, as he grew to manhood, Sir Palomides won his freedom and then his spurs of knighthood from his master, King Pellinore of Listinoise, through his alert eye, strong hands, and deadly prowess as a warrior. He was, indeed, one of my father’s favourites, renowned for his size, strength, and skill throughout Britain and even all of Christendom.

From our lowly positions at the tables for bachelor knights, Sir Gareth and I had seen little of the events surrounding the death of Sir Palomides, but when Merlin arrived, with his usual flash and flourish and swirling of black and golden robes beneath his flowing white hair and full beard, he summoned me to his side, and I soon got well attuned to the diverse activities that accompany sudden death in my father’s court.

Sir Bobart, my old tutor directed with echoing verbosity, take you both the good knight’s trencher and his goblet – observing care to spill not a drop nor a jot of either – to my chambers now, and then return to me in the Chapel where we may study this doughty knight’s mortal remains.

When I had done as directed, I met Merlin in the Chapel where he was accompanied respectfully by my father, King Arthur, along with King Clarence of Northumberland; Sir Barant the Esteemed, who is called the King with the Hundred Knights, and who is lord of the Maiden Castle south of Camelot; King Agwisance, High King of Ireland; King Nentres of Garloth; King Brandegoris of Strangore; King Carados the Younger of Pictland; King Bagdemagus of Rheged; and King Uriens of the land of Gore who is the husband of my aunt, Queen Morgan the Fay; and the King of the Straight Marches. As High King of Britain, my father relies on the counsel of such royal warriors as these in all weighty matters of his court and our land.

Merlin bent low and painfully, it appeared, to smell Sir Palomides’ mouth – a common test for poison ingested with food – then rolled back the dead knight’s eyelids to discover the amount of hemorrhaging of the eyeballs. Dried saliva around the mouth and chin, he muttered almost to himself. And pupils no bigger than fly-scat, he added.

I would to our Lord Jesu he were not so tawny, that I might better observe variations in his skin colour, Merlin said out of the side of his mouth, and then proceeded to feel about the chest and stomach. His tunic is quite damp with sweat, he said, which could indicate any number of causes of death, of course. Finally, he leaned farther over and sniffed at Sir Palomides’ crotch, a test I had seen him perform previously to determine if the feces which men often deposit in their undergarments as they die could suggest the nature of what poison might have killed the great champion. Diarrhea, he concluded, as his nose wrinkled and he clenched his teeth tightly together. His eyes immediately flashed toward my father like those of an old falcon.

My lord Arthur, Merlin said, straightening with some difficulty, as if his aged spine was gradually turning to stone, and ye sublime majesties all, he added to include the others in his most courtly manner, although there are several evidences that this might not be a death from natural causes, I seem unable to determine immediately the reason for this valiant knight’s demise. But with the help of your worthy young son Sir Bobart, your highness, I would test the food and beverage consumed, and also interrogate the slave who served Sir Palomides. His name, I believe, is Cuthwulf, an Anglian prize Sir Palomides won in battle some years ago, who might have had reason to do his master harm. I would also, with your gracious permission, like to require young Sir Bobart here – perhaps the brightest youth amongst all your gallant chivalry – to interrogate the young squires who carried the foods and wines to the tables at your feast, and perhaps also those knights who sat closest to the deceased.

King Arthur, impatiently ignoring all the traditional flattery, gave Merlin a sharp look, his eyes blazing with rage, and said, Wit you well, this heinous crime which some recreant has dared to commit in my Hall, in the presence of me and my queen and all my noble knights on this holy Feast of Pentecost, is the gravest and most shameful affront to my reign that I have ever endured. Such an audacious act of treason against one of my most valued knights shall not be allowed to go unpunished. So monitor well all that Sir Bobart does, Merlin, and bring swift and terrible vengeance down upon whoever this foul traitor and cowardly murderer may be.

It probably would have been enough simply to have shown Sir Palomides’ slave, the unhappy Cuthwulf, the instruments of torture and to let him reflect on what lay in store for him if he did not speak the truth, for he was most cooperative from the very beginning – well in advance of the ordeal he ultimately endured. For many an agonizing hour he insisted vehemently on his loyalty to his master and his innocence of the death, but mere words did not slacken Merlin’s lust to extract the truth.

Perhaps it would have been enough, for example, simply to have threatened to slowly mash his nether-eggs; to split each of his fingers, toes, and heels; and finally to flay his chest and face. But Merlin was as patient as he was determined and the torturers who assisted him, alas, have little wit and much malice in their hearts. So poor Cuthwulf was subjected to the most dreadful misery and hideous disfigurement at the hands of experts who have caused my father to be called not only Arthur the Great, but also Arthur the Cruel through the length and breadth of Britain. But all that patience and attention to detail, like the gracious and gentle ministrations of Sir Petipase of Winchelsea to Sir Palomides, were to no avail.

What we did learn was that Cuthwulf, as was his custom, spent the entire feast standing behind and just to the right of Sir Palomides. He tasted each dish meant for all to share as it was brought to the table, and also any special dish that might have been brought to Sir Palomides by his squire, with the single exception of a platter of fried mushrooms which was a particular favourite, and which Sir Palomides seized eagerly, apparently suspecting no foul play, but wishing to enjoy all by himself without delay. None of the foods Cuthwulf tasted affected him in the least, so he was certain there was no poison in any of them.

I suggested to Merlin that we might have Cuthwulf taste each dish again – especially the mushrooms which he had failed to ingest – but he replied that if any of the food had been poisoned, we would succeed only in killing our primary potential source of information – an eventuality which Merlin, of course, ultimately ignored.

Cuthwulf claimed he had also tasted each goblet of wine that he poured before Sir Palomides drank of it. He alone was the keeper of Sir Palomides’ elegant bronze wine flagon and he alone was responsible for keeping his master’s goblet full, so when Sir Palomides fell into his trencher and knocked over his goblet, Cuthwulf dutifully refilled it, for he had no idea the noble knight was never to drink again in this life.

I deeply regret the suffering and eventual death of Cuthwulf, who really was quite a decent man for an Anglian. And I could wish that torture of criminal suspects were not such an integral part of the search for truth and justice in our enlightened land.

But I put these concerns aside when, as soon as the wretched slave was able to speak no more, Merlin turned to me and said, It appears that was a worthless effort. So let us now inspect Sir Palomides’ food and beverage to see what might be discerned therein as to the cause of his death and perhaps who his murderer or murderers might be. And we struck off immediately for Merlin’s quarters.

Chapter 2

Wherein Merlin instructs me on methods to detect poison.

As soon as we reached the main chamber of the suite of rooms Merlin uses for his alchemy, the venerable seer, scholar, and sage began carefully to instruct me on his meticulous manner of revealing the mysterious. As I had come to learn over the years, his results were often due more to his methods than to magic – although he likes for the majority of witnesses to believe his successes are supernatural.

Since no other knight died at the feast, he began, we may presume that whatever killed Sir Palomides was administered either directly into his body – as through a poisoned dart, which might implicate Sir Galahad – or through his food or wine exclusively. Does that seem logical?

Yes, sir, I responded routinely. It is always clear to me from the tone of Merlin’s questions and the furrows of his old brow when my tutor desires no discussion. Only when the interrogative is accompanied by a slight smile or a nod can I feel sure that I am expected to say something which I hope is reasonably intelligent.

Merlin lifted Sir Palomides’ goblet, very nearly full of wine, and sniffed the surface of the fragrant liquid. Smells just like wine, he said with a chuckle, then picked up a small grey kitten that had been sleeping on the table where the goblet and trencher lay, and addressed me in his somewhat pompous instructional manner.

I could place compounds in this wine which might produce specific colours and precipitates to indicate the presence of certain poisons, he said, but, as the kingdom suffers an overabundance of cats, there is a more conclusive method of testing immediately available to us. And at that he squeezed open the kitten’s jaws and poured a finger or more of Sir Palomides’ wine into the little creature’s mouth and down its throat. Then he placed her back on his large dark-oak worktable and watched for an effect.

At length the kitten’s hind legs buckled a bit like a newborn colt attempting to stand for the first time. Then she walked haltingly along the table and, after a moment’s hesitation, jumped to the floor. She staggered, recovered, and finally swayed to a corner where she lay down and looked up at us with an expression that I think was merely one of confusion rather than accusation.

Only drunk, clearly not dying, said Merlin, and turned to the trencher, which I had earlier covered with a blank sheet of parchment to prevent my tutor’s abundant accumulation of cats from consuming the evidence.

Since Sir Palomides was a particularly large man, his wooden eating-dish was fashioned to scale. As long as my forearm and twice as wide as my hand, the vessel was carefully carved of flawless white maple and could hold enough food for three average-sized men.

Observe what the victim was consuming, Merlin said, sweeping aside the parchment with a flourish. Mushrooms fried in fat, a roasted eel cut in sections, and some boiled seaweed. A healthy variety of food for a strong and lusty man such as the Saracen was.

Merlin tossed one of the sections of eel to a large and plump calico cat that had been watching him closely since we had arrived, and the animal devoured it in a trice.

He caught a slim black kitten by the tail and, carefully avoiding the flailing claws, force-fed it several pinches of the boiled red seaweed called dulse.

Hand me Lucifer there, Merlin instructed indicating a tiger-striped cat lying at my feet, and he proceeded to require it, in its turn, to swallow a fair-sized portion of the fat-fried mushrooms.

The calico and the black fared well, but in no more time than it would have taken a squad of infantry to march twenty paces, Lucifer fell over on his side, twitched twice, and stopped breathing as abruptly as when a man’s heart is pierced by a dirk thrust beneath his breastbone.

Merlin looked down for some moments at the remains of what it was now clear had doomed both Lucifer and Sir Palomides. Apparently some cowardly villain has poisoned our brave knight’s fried mushrooms, he said as much to himself as to me. "It is ironic that this was the only dish Cuthwulf told us he did not taste, owing to Sir Palomides’ eagerness to devour it immediately. You might see in this, Sir Bobart, the wages of the sins of selfishness and gluttony. But we should now devote ourselves to determining what sort of poison it contains.

It is common to find hemlock used these days, he said, "although that tends to kill more slowly than this particular poison seems to have done. So, considering fast-acting poisons, it might have been a form of extract of the deadly nightshade plant that yields what is called belladonna – although his pupils were not dilated, which is a sign of that type of poisoning. Or it could have been the processed pits of apricots, peaches, apple seeds, and the like that yield prussic acid which is commonly administered in a form called cyanide – although I smelled no bitter almond odor from his mouth as one can almost invariably notice when cyanide has been administered.

"Then again, perchance it was some other swift and lethal concoction such as a derivative of the beautiful flowering foxglove that is so common in this land. Or alternatively the grain of that sort of rye grass called darnel, consumption of which produces dizziness, delirium, blindness, and death.

On the other hand, he said in a tone that suggested he was reaching his conclusion, considering that this is a dish of fried fungus, it might very well have been made lethal through the judicious addition of deadly toadstools or poisonous mushrooms to a basic field-mushroom content. He thought a moment before he continued. And since both toadstools and mushrooms – like nearly all the assorted varieties of fungi – generally turn as brown as Sir Palomides himself when they are cooked, if the killing agent is in fact some such, he would have had no reason to suspect that, through such a virtually unrecognizable supplement, his doom was sealed.

Soft late-afternoon light oozed into Merlin’s chambers through a large wood-framed panel holding small squares of greenish glass that he had had specially fabricated at the ancient glassworks on the Isle of Avalon, the sacred island of apples which lies some dozen miles to the northwest of Camelot. The panel faces south, and lets in light through most of the daylight hours, an ingenious method – originally devised by the Romans who learned to make glass from the Egyptians – to provide a degree of warmth whilst preventing cold air from entering the room, as through normal open window holes such as those under the eaves of the Feasting Hall. The natural colour of the glass also permits to pass a verdant, cool, and mellow glow. The panel is several times the size of windows commonly covered with cured animal skin, and gives the room a brighter but also considerably more mysterious appearance than other rooms in the Palace complex.

Field mushrooms are out-of-season this time of year, Merlin said softly, "so these were either dried and reconstituted by soaking, steaming, or boiling – or else cultivated in some dark, damp place, perhaps even here in the confines of Camelot. I believe it is unlikely anyone cultivated toadstools or poisonous mushrooms, but some varieties do flourish even in this pleasant month of Equos, which our ancestors called Horse-Time, and which the Romans renamed for the queen of their gods, Juno. I am sure it comes as no surprise to you, Sir Bobart, that fungi are often collected and dried by witches and sorceresses to be used for just such a purpose as the murder of Sir Palomides – which in part accounts for the unpopularity of such women amongst good Christian people. Now then, let us see what more we can learn."

The old philosopher opened an iron-bound chest that stood on the flagstone floor beside his work-table and removed a chamois bag from which he extracted an elongated piece of highly polished clear rock crystal. With a dark wood stylus he separated the pieces of sliced fried mushrooms in Sir Palomides’ trencher, and gazed at them thoughtfully through the transparent lozenge, continuing to push them about.

With this device, young sir, we can make objects appear larger than they really are. See for yourself. And he held the crystal between my right eye and my hand. My fingers, indeed, looked instantly and weirdly huge.

This is rare magic, my lord, I said in amazement, and Merlin laughed.

I suppose it is, he said. It is also useful for reading small writing when one grows old, and he laughed again. You might be equally surprised to see how I can start a fire by allowing the light of the sun to pass through it. Some day I might show you how to do that – but we have more important things to consider at present.

"A fire?" I asked excitedly, but he brushed my enthusiasm aside with an impatient wave of his brown-splotched old hand.

As you will soon see, Sir Bobart, there are many related forms of fungus. Some are good for us, but some are deadly. Just as we observe amongst diverse individuals within the Human Race.

He moved two brown bits of the food aside, looked through the crystal lozenge, and then handed it to me. "Notice the difference between these two stems here. The one on your left-hand side is wide and plump, tapered in from one end, whilst the other – on your right, you see – is relatively thin and narrow. Notice, too, the cap of the mushroom on the right, although sliced through, appears to have a more hemispherical shape than that on the left. And even a casual examination of the stem again reveals a relatively prominent annulus and the sack-like volva which are characteristic of several forms of poisonous mushrooms." At times like this when I do not understand what he is saying I have learned it is wise for me to remain silent and hope that time will clear up any mystery within Merlin’s words.

He removed a scroll of parchment from amongst a hodgepodge of others nested in pigeonholes along the wall opposite his composite glass window. He unrolled the scroll on his worktable and weighted the corners with polished stones to reveal drawings of various types of mushrooms and toadstools accompanied by captions in old Latin calligraphy which I could not decipher. I had previously had no idea there was such variety amongst those odd little growths that we tend to overlook as we walk here and there out of doors – particularly in late summer and autumn. Merlin pointed to a drawing of a plump white mushroom with pink gills that looked familiar.

This is the common field mushroom that is harmless and, indeed, quite nourishing, he said, "and it was this type of fungus that Sir Palomides no doubt thought he had been served. It is the one represented by the specimen you have observed on your left. Several of these species you see here are edible, whilst others are poisonous, although even the most deadly normally take several days or even weeks to make a person sick or to kill him. For example, illustrated here is The Destroying Angel which is white like the field mushroom, but with a much thinner stem than we see amongst the remains of Sir Palomides’ dish. It is deadly, but it takes a day or more to kill. The Red-Staining Mushroom illustrated below it is also deadly poisonous, but its cap is flatter and ragged around the edges; and we do not see those features represented in the dish.

"But, he said emphatically, here is a very special species that appears to be the specimen to your right, and which, he added after a dramatic pause, according to our source here, is a fairly rare mushroom sometimes called ‘The Dome of Doom’ that, when ingested, within mere minutes acts as a deadly poison. This particular fungus is far faster and more lethal than even our more common Death Cap toadstool, often found under oak or beech trees. Yes, Sir Bobart, this is the corruption we have sought – so deadly, and yet in appearance so like the innocent field mushroom. And it matters not whether this Dome of Doom is consumed raw or after having been cooked, as in this case. No amount of drying, heating, boiling, or frying affects its toxicity."

Merlin pushed aside his stone weights, rolled up the scroll, and casually shoved it back into its pigeonhole as he asked, What do you think now, young sir?

I think that Sir Palomides died from eating a poisonous mushroom, I replied.

Very astute, the old scholar said with a wry smile. Anything else? Any idea who might have been responsible?

Since the poisoned dish was composed of two different type plants ...

Fungi, Merlin corrected.

"Yes, fungi, I continued, which were steamed or boiled, sliced, and then fried, the dish must have been prepared either in the royal kitchens or in some other place where cooking is possible before being taken to the feasting table. Thus, the poison was not administered by dart through the skin, nor by powder or liquid put into Sir Palomides’ food or wine at the table, as you earlier speculated, but disproved for all but the mushrooms by testing each on your cats."

Very good, Sir Bobart. And what might you conclude from those facts about who the murderer or murderers might be?

"I do not know yet who they might be, but I believe the murderer could not have been Sir Galahad."

Why might that be?

Because, I replied, first of all, we have established that poison was not administered to Sir Palomides’ body either by dart, by powder, or by liquid at the table. So, the fact that Sir Galahad was sitting next to the victim in no way incriminates him. Second, Sir Galahad lives in the Bachelor Knights’ Dormitory and therefore has no access to cooking facilities. And, third, he would have been in his seat at table with all other knights and members of the court from the very beginning of the feast, so he could neither have prepared nor delivered this poison-ridden dish to Sir Palomides. So he could not possibly have been the murderer, I concluded.

I agree with you completely, Merlin said warmly. And let me add some considerations for your further edification: The Dome of Doom mushroom acts very quickly, as I mentioned, and is accompanied by drooling, sweating, diarrhea, and the pupils of the eyes shrinking to pinpoints. Now, does that suggest anything you have not mentioned, in case your father questions us closely about our conclusion?

Well, yes, I replied eagerly. You observed saliva – or dried drool – around Sir Palomides’ mouth and on his chin; you also noted that his tunic was quite damp with sweat; you noted, too, the unpleasant fact that there was smelly diarrhea in his trousers; and you said, as I recall, that his pupils were ‘no bigger than flyscat.’ All those symptoms which you observed in the victim match what you tell me are characteristics of poisoning by The Dome of Doom mushroom!

Good thinking, my boy! Merlin exclaimed. So let us go now to King Arthur and explain what we have discovered. Then we may fetch the unfortunate Sir Galahad from the dungeon cell into which the overly zealous Sir Griflet and the intemperate Earl Aristause have had him cast.

Chapter 3

An assembly at which Merlin explains what we have discovered.

At Merlin’s urging, my father was willing once again to leave the delights of his unfinished Feast of Pentecost and ask several of his most trusted knights to join us in the Assembly Hall where the evidence we had collected could be weighed.

Second only to the battlefield, I believe, my father finds himself most comfortable in this special building, for it is clearly a place of honour, bedecked as it is with all his many mementoes of war. Enemy flags and banners stream from the high ceiling beams, and captured emblems and guidons hang upon the walls. Weapons of every outlandish sort are displayed along with helmets and pieces of armour from vanquished war-leaders and heroic foes. Although there is a smell of death about the room, probably owing to blood and body fluids inadequately washed from the trophies, there is also the unmistakable aura of victory, which makes the Assembly Hall both a dreadful and an exhilarating place.

Unlike most of the royalty who have attached themselves to the Court of Camelot, my father prefers to be called "Sir Arthur" by his intimates for he clearly considers himself first a knight, second a Christian, and only third a king. He is one of the most thoroughly unaffected men I have ever known, despite his unusual strength, skill, and shrewdness which have been recognized by his having been elected initially Battle Chief and later High King of Britain.

So modest is he, in fact, that he refuses to have coins struck with his name and visage on them, insisting simply that one of the causes for the failure of Rome to retain control in Britain was that they put too much cheap money into circulation. He insists that if any of us want more coins in our argentaria, or moneybags, the lack of an excess will serve eminently well as an incentive for us to sally forth and take them away from the Angles, the Saxons, the Frisians, and the Jutes who are so near at hand – not to mention the Northmen, the Picts, and the recently arriving Scots who ravage to the farther north and the west.

Although he respects the fundamentals of Roman law and abides by most of Britain’s ancient customs when they do not contradict one another, King Arthur claims no allegiance to Rome nor to any British tribe. Although his mother and father were of the Dumnonii, and he was reared in the Savage Forest by Sir Ector the Elder and his wife who were Belgae, he knows no tribal favouritism. He has enlarged his original holding called Gramary during the roughly two decades of his rule so that what is now known as his kingdom of Logris includes seven formerly independent kingdoms. Logris encompasses today the ancestral lands of the Durotriges, the Belgae, and portions of land still occupied by Dobunii, Atrabates, and Regni. Of course, the blood of these people is now mixed with that of Romans, legionnaires from diverse lands, and merchants, officials, and others from the farthest corners of the Earth who came here during the nearly four centuries Britain was a part of the Empire. So it is easy to see why ruling all those people of such sundry cultures and loyalties requires a masterful leader, and not just another warlord.

As further evidence of his modesty, I have heard from some older members of the court that when King Arthur began to refurbish the hillfort of Camelot after its having been for so many years vacant under Roman rule, he wished not even to have a Throne Room or a throne. But he retained the Round Table, given to him on his wedding day by King Leodegrance who designed it with 27 seats, including one for the king and one empty seat, the so-called Perilous Seat, for any knight who aspired to join the Table and was therefore willing to risk death to gain the honour. The number 27 was chosen because it represented three-times-three-times-three, and thus reflected our ancient Celtic veneration for that sacred prime number. The number is still recognized, too, in the Church’s reverence for the three aspects of God Almighty: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; for the three elements of the Lord Jesu’s divinity which are blood, water, and spirit; and in the three sacred Christian virtues of faith, hope, and charity.

Come to think of it, everything is represented by a triad, is it not? The Universe itself is composed of the Earth, the Heavens, and the Otherworld. And the Earth in turn is composed of three elements: land, air, and water. Time is divided into past, present, and future. We are composed of body, intellect, and spirit or soul. We experience birth, life, and death. And society is composed of three classes: those who rule – warrior kings, knights, and officials; those who communicate – bards, scribes, and priests; and those who labour – commoners, servants, and slaves. Just so, the Island of the Mighty has three major rivers: the Humber, the Thames, and the Severn. And three lesser islands close to shore: Anglesey, Man, and Wight.

The Assembly Hall in which we now gathered lies immediately to the east of the Feasting Hall on the crest of the hilltop of Camelot. At one end of the hall stands the Original Round Table where, in full assembly, the king would sit with 25 or 26 of his currently most favoured knights – one of whom had been Sir Palomides himself. The cohort at this time would include the peerless Sir Galahad were he not now imprisoned. Despite his youth, that purest of our knights barely more than a month ago on Saint James Day earned the Perilous Seat by the strength of his hands and his skill at arms, and earned his new title, Knight of the Red Cross.

The balance of the brotherhood, currently 113 in number, during formal assemblies sit at tables arranged in rows down the center of the room – although they are still entitled to call themselves knights of the Round Table. Squires, aspirants to the Table, and lesser court officials and functionaries sit on benches that line the walls of the Assembly Hall. At this meeting eighteen knights of the Original Table were present in addition to the king: Sir Kay the Seneschal, our general manager; Sir Bedevere, our constable, or lord in charge of law and order; Sir Lucan the Butler, responsible for logistics; Sir Griflet Chosen of God; Sir Ector of the Sea, Sir Launcelot’s brother; Sir Bors and Sir Bleoberis from Ganis; Sir Dagonet, the court fool; Sir Dinadan, the jolly scoffer; King Bagdemagus of Rheged; Sir Galahalt the High Prince of the Long Isles; King Clarence of Northumberland; Sir Barant the Esteemed, who is called the King with the Hundred Knights, lord of the Maiden Castle; King Agwisance of Ireland; King Nentres of Garloth; King Uriens of the land of Gore; King Carados the Younger of Pictland, far off to the north; and the Earl Aristause.

Some of our greatest heroes were absent this day, owing to their being off on quests or adventures. Those include: Sir Launcelot of the Lake; Sir Gawain from Orkney; Sir Lamorak of Gales; Sir Blamore from Ganis; Sir Tor of Listinoise, King Pellinore’s old realm; and Sir Tristram of Liones.

It was left to lesser members of the fellowship to stay and keep order in the Feasting Hall, as the more knights drink of ale and wine and mead, the more likely they are to fight. Only recently several knights shed blood at table in an argument over whose lady was the fairest. King Arthur has no patience with violence in his hall and he ordered Sir Bedevere, who as I mentioned is our lord constable, responsible for law and order in Logris, to have the offending knights stripped of their spurs and titles, and to have their sword-hands amputated. As a further lesson to all that good Christian knights must remain gentle in hall when eating amongst ladies, the noses of the knights’ paramours about whom they had argued were cut off, their heads were shaved, and they were all ejected from the Court of Camelot to survive as best they might in the wilds.

Sir Bedevere, who sat on this occasion at King Arthur’s right, has been a favourite from the early days for his skill at arms, his heroic deeds on the field of battle, and his loyalty to Sir Arthur. It was he who opened the proceedings. He is now in his thirty-ninth year, only a year younger than my father, a large and formidable man,