Merlin made the sign of the cross.
“Pax Dei, O King!”
“What would you, good father?”
“Sir, I am a humble friar, but one who wishes the King well. In these troublous times all men do not speak the truth.”
His eyes had scanned the lad’s face with a veiled but fierce eagerness, and a sudden exultation leapt in him. He had tempted Death, but Death and Fulk Ferrers were not in the bed—nothing but the real King, a King who had lain hidden through the roughest hours of the storm. For two days Merlin had been asking himself questions, and his subtlety had unravelled the riddle.
He approached the bed.
“Sir, I would speak with you alone.”
Richard looked at him suspiciously.
“Why should I listen to you, friar?”
“Because, sir, I shall speak of a traitor and of a bastard thing that is dangerous to you.”