The Pendragon Murders

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England was at peace, at least superficially, and King Arthur was enjoying his kingship for the first time in memory. “My kingdom is quiet,” he told Merlin, astonished at his own words. “Can you believe it? For once there are no insurrections and the nobles are quiet. No one in England is scheming against me.”

“The barons are always scheming.”

“Always, perhaps. But not now. You are such a killjoy, Merlin. Let me enjoy it while it lasts, will you?”

There were no foreign intrigues for him to concern himself with. Since the deaths of Leodegrance and Leonilla, France had been fragmented and posed no threat to the British. The Byzantine Empire had been distracted by wars on its eastern and northern frontiers; thus preoccupied, Justinian had evidently forgotten his interest in the British Isles. The only foreign concerns arose from Scandinavian raiders who plundered the northeast coast from time to time. But that was a military matter, and a relatively minor one, not a concern of Merlin’s. Britomart had organized defenses and the situation seemed to be well in hand.

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