“You’ll have to decide for yourself, I’m afraid. Sorry.”
“Okay, thanks.” Nina glumly broke contact. “So, what do you think? The first of Arthur’s sisters we met was a myth—you think this one was real?”
“Don’t ask me, you’re the historian,” Mitchell said. “It’s your choice.”
“Why does everything have to end up as my decision?” Nina moaned.
Mitchell pursed his lips. “I seem to recall a woman with red hair demanding to be in charge of the operation …”
“Y’know, I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t remember that.” Nina frowned at the plaque. “Okay, so either Anna was King Arthur’s sister, or she wasn’t. No pressure.” She closed her eyes, running through every scrap of information she could remember on the subject. “I say that she … was.”
“Educated guess?”
“Just the second word,” she admitted. “So, how are we going to do this?”
“Take off anything that’ll get waterlogged,” Mitchell said, already slipping out of his jacket. “Your coat, shoes, that sweater.”
Nina balked. “Um … there’s not a lot else under the sweater.”
“Wait, you’re not wearing a bra?”
“Yes, I’m wearing a bra! But it’s a bit, y’know, thin.”
Mitchell stripped off his shirt, standing naked to the waist. He handed the garment to her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Nina said hurriedly, trying not to look too impressed by his bare—and muscular—torso.
He smirked. “Different from Eddie?”
“He’s more … densely packed, I guess you could say. And kind of hairy. Oh, God, I’m going to shut up now.”
Mitchell chuckled and turned away as she took off her sweater and donned his shirt in its place. “Leave anything valuable here as well—wallet, phone, whatever. The flashlight’ll be fine underwater. Is your camera waterproof?”
Nina nodded as she removed her shoes, then hesitantly dipped her toes in the water. “Oh, crap, it’s cold.”
“This is nothing,” proclaimed Mitchell as he stepped into the pool, holding the flashlight. “I’ve been in the Atlantic in the middle of winter. Now that’s cold! Come on, I’ll help you in.”
“Oh …” With great reluctance, Nina took his hand and entered the water. It was as frigid as she had feared. “Son of a …”
“It’ll feel better in a minute.” He kicked away from the bank and swam to the tunnel entrance. “So, Anna. You’re sure about this?”
“Nope.” She joined him. The pool was deeper than she could feel with her feet, which was a concern. What if the tunnels went even lower?
“You could wait here while I go through and check it out,” Mitchell suggested. “If it’s the right tunnel, it can’t be all that long. The monks would have had to swim through it, and I’m guessing they weren’t exactly at the peak of physical fitness.”
“But if it’s the wrong tunnel, you might need help to get out. We should stay together.” Nina paused, then frowned. “Hmm. Did I really just volunteer to swim through a dark tunnel that might be a dead end?”
“I’ll look after you,” Mitchell assured her. He handed her the light. “You hang onto this, and hold my belt. I’ll pull you through. Trust me,” he added, seeing her look. “You don’t get far in the navy if you’re not a good swimmer.”
“So basically I’m going to be grabbing your ass?”
He grinned. “I can live with that. You ready?”
“No.” But she gripped his belt anyway.
“Okay, now get as much oxygen into your system as you can.” He took several deep breaths, Nina following suit. “Ready?”
She shook her head, saying “Nuh-uh” through closed lips. Mitchell smiled again …
And dived.
Nina was pulled after him as he swam into the tunnel. Eyes closed, all she could hear was the rhythmic whoosh of each of his powerful strokes as he advanced through the opaque water. He had been telling the truth about his skill as a swimmer; even though she was kicking as strongly as she could to keep up, she was still being hauled along like baggage.
Mitchell changed direction, going left and slightly downward. Her flashlight brushed against a wall as the tunnel turned. Another few strokes, and he paused before turning again, feeling for the way ahead.
The pressure in Nina’s chest began to rise. Thirty seconds had passed since they entered the tunnel, she estimated. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold her breath; she had once lasted for over a minute, but that had been a long time ago, when she was still a kid …
Mitchell seemed to be slowing, the force of the water over her face lessening. Another turn, still going down. Not good. She wanted to go up. Close to a minute by now, surely. A burning sensation was spreading through her lungs …
Mitchell stopped suddenly, Nina drifting into him from behind. She held out an arm to steady herself and touched a wall. She could feel him twisting in the water, searching for the turn in the passage.
Shit! What if she’d made the wrong choice, if this was the dead end meant to trap and drown those who didn’t know myth from history?
A gulp of air tried to escape from her throat; she choked it back, her body twitching. Mitchell felt it. He swam to the right, then the left, still groping blindly for the way forward.
A hissing sound, not in the water but in her ears as her heart beat faster, struggling to extract what little oxygen remained in her lungs. She bumped against Mitchell again. Well over a minute, and she could barely hold out as it was, never mind swim all the way back through the darkness.
He moved. Not upward, or back to the entrance, but down, deeper into the murky water. Nina wanted to protest, but all she could do was hang on as the hissing rose to a roar …
Mitchell changed direction again—and went up.
His strokes became harder, less precise, more frantic. Nina felt the tunnel narrowing as it rose, her limbs brushing the walls as they ascended toward either a fatal dead end or—
Air!
Mitchell broke the surface, immediately grabbing Nina’s arm and pulling her up beside him. She whooped for breath, water streaming down her face as she filled her lungs.
And coughed. The air was anything but pure.
The chamber they had emerged in was full of gas.
EIGHTEEN
Chase was in a very irritable mood by the time he reached Glastonbury Tor. Still unable to persuade Elizabeth to lend him her car, he had been forced to take the train from Bournemouth, a tedious journey requiring two changes en route—and Glastonbury was almost ten miles from the nearest station, requiring an expensive taxi ride for the final leg.
Adding to his annoyance, he realized on arriving that he didn’t know where Nina was. Somewhere under the tor, presumably, but seen in person the hill was considerably larger than it had appeared in Elizabeth’s road atlas. Picking his way through the squishy minefield left by the wandering cows, he strode around the base of the strangely terraced hill until he spotted something on the next level up. He climbed past another couple of cows to find a plump blond woman sitting inside a cordon of stripy tape. She stopped eating her sandwich and regarded him uncertainly as he approached.
“Hi,” said Chase. “You haven’t seen an American archaeologist around here, have you? About yea high, red hair, pain in the arse?”
The woman stood. “Would you be … Eddie, by any chance?”
“I would,” Chase replied. No sign of Nina or Mitchell—but the hole the woman was guarding gave him a pretty good idea where they were. His displeasure returned. Nina had completely ignored him. Again.
“Hi. I’m Chloe, Chloe Lamb. Dr. Chloe Lamb.” She extended her hand.
Chase shook it. “Eddie Chase,” he said curtly, glancing at the hole. “So, she’s in there, is she?”
“Yes, with Jack.”
“Oh, with Jack. Great.”
Chloe shifted uncomfortably, wanting to stay out of any personal disputes. “Yes, they’ve ma
de some very interesting discoveries. But I haven’t spoken to them for a bit. They’ve been out of contact.” She held up a walkie-talkie.
“How come?”
“Well, she said they’d reached a flooded tunnel and were going to swim through it.”
“It’s flooded down there? Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Chloe was taken aback at his swearing, but he ignored her reaction. He noticed a flashlight among the pile of equipment beside the hole, and picked it up. “Really can’t bloody take her anywhere.”
“Um, Eddie? Mr. Chase?” said Chloe nervously as he moved to the hole. “You’ll need to be careful too. There are traps down there.”
“Traps?”
“Yes, apparently they were designed to catch people who took the wrong route to the trial of Nivienne—”
“Wait, what?” Chase spluttered. “The place is full of traps, there’s some kind of trial, and you haven’t heard from them for ages? Jesus! They could be dead already!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” wailed Chloe. “I didn’t realize, Nina just seemed to know what she was doing!”
“Yeah, she usually does—until stuff starts exploding!”
“I’m sorry, really,” Chloe repeated.
Chase took a breath. “That’s okay, it’s not your fault.” He shone the light into the hole. “Just tell me how to catch up with them.”
• • •
Hacking in the foul air, Mitchell climbed out of the water and hauled Nina up after him. The ground was soft and muddy, squishing revoltingly.
The flashlight was still lit, having survived its submersion. The beam revealed another chamber, smaller than the one at the other end of the passage—with a huge stone face set in the rear wall.
“Merlin,” Nina realized.
The wrath of Merlin, which strikes only those who see his face …
But she had seen his face, which was curled into a mocking sneer. And so far, nothing had happened.
Still coughing, she staggered toward the carving, feet sinking inches deep into the mud. The stench of methane grew worse, gas belching out from the decomposing muck with each step.
“Man, this smells like a sub after the mess serves beans,” Mitchell wheezed, squelching up behind her. “I guess this is Merlin, huh? So where’s his wrath?”
“I’m not sure.” Nina used the light to survey the chamber. At one side was a stone door, firmly closed.
And there was something on the floor, half buried in the oozing mud …
“Is that a skull?” said Mitchell, spotting the discolored object.
“Wait here, don’t move,” Nina ordered. She carefully crossed the room, trying to disturb the disgusting sludge underfoot as little as possible. The object was indeed a skull, blackened with soot, all but a few lumps of charred flesh long since rotted away. Other bones poked through the mud around it.
Including a hand, clutching something. A piece of wood.
She turned back to Mitchell. “I know what the wrath of Merlin was. And it’s kind of ingenious, in a sadistic sort of way.”
Mitchell eyed the chamber. “Are we safe?”
“We should be. But if we’d come in here a couple of centuries ago, we’d be dead by now.” She held up the flashlight. “This whole room’s one big trap. If you don’t have a sealed electric light, any torches you’re carrying are going to go out during the swim, right?”
“I guess.”
“So let’s say you’re smart enough to have planned ahead, and wrapped up another torch to keep it dry. What’s the first thing you do when you come out of the water in here?”
“You light it …” said Mitchell, realizing.
“Exactly. You light it—and create a flame. In a room filled with methane gas. Whoomph!” She threw out her hands to mimic an explosion. “The last thing they saw before they got toasted was Merlin’s face, just as it said on the stone at the entrance.”
“Those cunning little monks,” Mitchell said, almost admiringly. He went to the door and pointed at the base of one of the stone pillars framing it. A slot had been carved in it, a wooden wedge poking out. Nina checked the other pillar to find an identical arrangement. “Pull ’em out, you think?”
“Just a sec. Let’s make sure Merlin doesn’t have a double helping of wrath.” She scrutinized the wedges to make sure they hadn’t been booby-trapped with flints. “Okay, let’s give it a shot.”
Mitchell gripped the first wedge and pulled, straining against the weight of the door pressing down on it. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then with a sudden groan of wet wood it slid free. The door lowered slightly on that side. Nina took a deep breath, wished she hadn’t, then tugged at the second wedge. It took longer, but it too finally came loose.
The door dropped into the floor, displacing a rush of mud and turgid water. They jumped back as it washed around their legs.
A loud rumble filled the chamber. “Shit!” Mitchell cried. “It’s gonna blow!”
“No, wait!” Nina aimed the light at the hole through which they’d entered. “It’s draining!” Frothing and churning, the water was indeed falling as they watched. A draft blew past them through the newly opened door. The air was still rancid with the stench of marsh gas, but not quite as strong. “The gas is escaping as well. Guess they decided that if you knew the secret of getting in, they might as well make it easier for you to get out again.”
Mitchell looked suspiciously through the doorway. “So the tomb’s just through there? Excalibur’s through there?”
“Soon find out.” Nina took out the camera to take a picture of the carving of Merlin.
“Whoa, whoa!” said Mitchell. “Flash, spark, remember?”
“The camera’s waterproof, so the flash must be a sealed unit as well. It’ll be fine.” She pressed the shutter to prove her point—although with a momentary pang of concern.
“Wait—oh, Jesus.” Mitchell flinched as the flash fired, but the chamber stayed free of flames. “Okay, how about you don’t do that again? That was a pretty damn stupid risk to take.”
“Oh, don’t you start,” Nina said as she stepped over the lowered door into the passage beyond. “You really are as bad as Eddie!”
• • •
Waiting anxiously at the entrance, Chloe looked around as a group of people approached, walking briskly along the terrace toward her cordon. Something about their appearance—their clothing, haircuts, even their complexions—instantly told her that they were foreigners. Eastern Europeans, maybe? Russians?
Wherever they were from, there were quite a lot of them. She counted nine in all: eight men, and one woman whose ragged hair was dyed a bright punkish green.
They stopped at the edge of the tape barrier. “Hello,” Chloe said politely. Presumably they thought from her jacket that she was some kind of guide. “Can I help you?”
One of the men, the oldest, took a step forward, drawing the tape taut round his waist. His broad mouth reminded Chloe of a frog. “Yes, I hope you can,” he said, his accent strong. Russian, almost certainly. “We are looking for Excalibur.”
Chloe felt a stab of concern. Mitchell had made it very clear that the search for Excalibur was somehow connected with national security—and therefore a secret. She put on a polite smile. “Oh, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. King Arthur’s tomb was supposedly found at the abbey, in the village. If Excalibur existed, it would have been there.” She gestured in the direction of Glastonbury, out of sight on the far side of the tor.
The man stepped forward again, the tape pulling tighter … and snapping. “No,” he said quietly. Chloe’s concern turned to fear as she realized the man’s companions had moved to surround the cordon, blocking her in. He continued his advance, glancing at the tunnel before his cold eyes fixed on Chloe once more. “I am certain this is the right place.”
• • •
Nina rounded one last turn in the passage … and found herself at the entrance to the tomb of King Arthur.
Unlike the earth an
d wood of the tunnels, the walls here were stone, the ceiling vaulted to support the weight of the tor above the rectangular chamber. The resemblance to the architecture of Glastonbury Abbey was unmistakable, a product of the same era, even the same hands. The walls were inscribed with Latin texts, a cursory reading showing her they were all dedicated to the history of Arthur, a monument to the legendary king of the Britons.
Legendary no more, she thought. Rust had been vindicated; Arthur was real.
But if this was Arthur’s tomb, then …
“So where’s the man himself?” Mitchell wondered aloud, completing her thought. There were no coffins or grave markers, the chamber a hollow space. “Shit, did someone beat us to it?”
“No,” said Nina, moving to the center of the room. Although it was empty, there was something on the floor. A painted shape, a circle divided into segments, coin-sized holes at the outer edge of each one. And at the center, a coat of arms …
“No way,” said Mitchell. “I thought Chloe said the Round Table didn’t exist.”
There were thirteen segments in all—and the hole in the one farthest from the entrance was filled by a bronze figurine about six inches high, protruding from the floor like a peg. Nina shone the light over it. A regal figure bearing sword and shield, text running around the base beneath its feet.
ARTURUS.
“It’s King Arthur,” she whispered. The purpose of the other, empty holes was revealed when she directed the flashlight’s beam into one corner of the chamber. A small alcove contained stone shelves, more figures standing on them. She went to it. Each figure was revealed as a knight of the Round Table, familiar names at their feet. Bedivere, Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Tristan, Bors … Twelve knights in all, one for each of the remaining holes in the floor.
Mitchell examined the chamber’s end wall, which closely resembled the stone door that had blocked the exit from the gas-filled chamber. “This looks like it might open. Maybe there’s another room through here.”