Untitled by Unknown Author

morning."
       "Excellent. And I will have that talk with Arthur. He is quite committed to this event. I can't imagine he'll want to stint on the preparations."
       She stood to go. "Merlin, are we out of our depth, here?"
       "Everyone is always out of his depth, one way or an­ other. It is a rule of life."
       "Don't be glib. I'm asking seriously."
       He considered for a moment. "We can do this. We can bring it off."
       "You do realize the downside, don't you?"
       "Downside?"
       "If all these emissaries, legates, ambassadors and so on arrive and find Corfe Castle in good shape, won't that en­ hance Guenevere's prestige, not Arthur's?"
       "Let us hope not. We will make a point of emphasizing to them that Guenevere lives on Arthur's largesse. But that is far from my biggest worry."
       She stopped at the door. "What do you mean?"
       "Let us hope they leave their poisons, daggers, garrotes and such at home, where they belong. And let us hope, if they do bring them, they do not use them. All we need is a wellplaced knife in the dark to turn this affair into a catastrophe. A strategically done political murder would undermine our cause more effectively than anything I can think of."
       Her face was immobile. "You're serious, aren't you?"
       "Never more so."
       "They really are that savage? I mean, England has the reputation for being the barbaric place in Europe."
       "When we kill, we do it with a grimace instead of a nice, sweet diplomatic smile. That, apparently, makes all the difference. In Byzantium there are apothecary shops on every corner, making fine profits vending poisons. They dispense them with a pleasant smile. We would be fools to think Podarthes's people might not bring some with them. Who knows how well they get along with the Armenians or whoever? Or whether they might simply want them out of the way, for profit, for territory, for any of a dozen reasons I can think of."
       "Should we worry much about the Armenians, or the Libyans or the Romans or any of the others? Surely our own people are the ones we must be concerned for."
       Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Why should they want to kill any of us?"
       "With Arthur out of the way they could carry on their negotiations with Guenevere, couldn't they? At least some of them are already committed to that."
       He narrowed his eyes and peered at her. "You are getting the hang of international relations far too quickly. It be­ speaks a bad character."
       "You are teaching me."
       "Why—I ask myself a thousand times a day—why do human beings have to be so clever?"
       "But at least we have one comfort, Merlin."
       Suspecting some sarcasm was in the air, he asked her suspiciously, "What is that?"
       "You." She grinned.
       "What the devil do you mean by that?"
       "You are a master detective. If something bad should happen, you will get to the bottom of it."
       "Don't be foolish, Nimue."
       "I mean it. Amid all the confusing evidence, you uncov­ ered the last treason that was hatched here. If there should be more murder . . ."
       "That is hardly a thing to dwell on. It would be better to be preparing yourself mentally for all the tensions that might erupt. If we anticipate them, we will be able to deal with them when they arise. After the fact . . . Clever assas­ sins do not leave clues. They strike in the dead of night, in darkened bedchambers or in privies, at victims too drunk to notice or remember anything. Brit has investigated, and we still don't have a clue who struck at Arthur that night."
       "Can murder—even diplomatic murder—ever really be anticipated?"
       "Yes. I anticipate I will wring your neck if you don't stop harping on this and get back to work."

    Late summer night. Well after midnight. Everyone in Camelot, except for the guards at their posts, was asleep. Like everyone else, Merlin was deep in slumber. Three of his pet ravens