Phillip said. “This reliquary—it must hold the Devil’s Vessel. Macbeth must have seen that it was hidden somewhere in this cathedral in Dunkeld. Those final words—‘it can be neither destroyed nor freed’—that sounds apocryphal.”
“It sounds evil,” Susannah said, shivering. “I wonder what could have frightened the pope and this Hildebrand so much that they gave this Devil’s Vessel in trust to Macbeth? I suppose that someone must have discovered its existence. Perhaps like Tibolt, this person believed he could control the world if he had this—whatever it is.”
Rohan was nodding. “Yes, that seems likely. Tibolt said he would rule wherever he wished to rule. He would have ultimate domination. He would be as a god.”
“What the devil is this thing?” Phillip said, smacking his fist down on the mantelpiece. A Dresden shepherdess teetered for a moment until he righted it.
Susannah said, “Don’t forget that Tibolt also mentioned ‘those old fools protecting the secret.’ The ring Tibolt was wearing, the ring that obviously Bishop Roundtree was wearing before his death—it has to be some sort of secret society, one founded a very long time ago to keep the Devil’s Vessel hidden.”
Rohan sighed. “And Tibolt is a member of this society. Bishop Roundtree was the leader. He suspected danger. He couldn’t have suspected Tibolt or he would hardly have given George half the map. He kept the other half. He must have been murdered for the other half, but the murderer didn’t find his hiding place.”
“Tibolt,” Susannah said and shuddered. “I hope it wasn’t Tibolt who killed the bishop.”
“I agree,” Rohan said, “but it doesn’t look good.”
“Who else is a member, if there are more members?” Phillip asked.
“Bishops,” Susannah said. “The society must be primarily bishops. Since Tibolt is a member, not all of them are, but evidently those who aren’t bishops when they’re made members are destined to become bishops or to go even higher in the church.”
“To become Archbishop of Canterbury,” Rohan said, “has always been Tibolt’s goal.”
“And they wear the ring to identify each other.”
“I wonder if they ever meet,” Rohan said. He turned to watch his wife pacing back and forth from the fireplace to the windows. He said slowly, “We have a problem here that we must face. We must make a decision. Do we destroy this small book and this half of the map?”
Susannah stopped dead in her tracks. “Destroy? Oh, no.”
“Rohan has a point,” Phillip said. “The Devil’s Vessel, whatever it is, poses a threat to mankind—at least that’s what many people evidently believed for many hundred years. What these men still believe. If Bishop Roundtree hadn’t believed it, surely he wouldn’t have given George half of the map to protect its hiding place. He could just as easily have destroyed the gold key, the map, and the book himself.”
“But he didn’t,” Susannah said. “There must have been a very good reason why.”
Rohan said, “Who’s to say that Bishop Roundtree was the only member of this bishops’ society to have a copy of the map? Surely there must be at least one other copy of both the map and the book. What if Tibolt becomes the leader of this society? What if it is the leader who is one of the protectors of the map and the book?”
Phillip was shaking his head. “Listen to me. You actually believe that this vessel—whatever that means—actually can confer power to the one who has it in his possession? It can actually make a man as a god? Give him ultimate domination? Surely that is taking this supposed magic to ludicrous heights.”
“I agree with Rohan,” Susannah said. “I don’t think we should take the chance of Tibolt’s finding this Devil’s Vessel.” She drew a deep breath. “Perhaps in the future there will be another greedy person who breaks faith and wants the vessel. No, I think we should find it and hide it in a new place. Then we will be certain that whatever danger is inherent in this vessel will be lost for eternity.”
“So you believe that it is magic? That it is a threat to mankind?”
“Don’t raise that supercilious eyebrow, Phillip,” Rohan said. “It was Hamlet who said, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ I cannot discount it. There is too much in life that simply occurs—” He broke off, somewhat embarrassed.
“Things,” Phillip said quietly, “for which there is no logical explanation, no framework to assuage the intellect.”
Susannah turned the last page of the book. “Ah, here it is. I wondered where this vessel was hidden in the Dunkeld cathedral. It isn’t written in Latin, so it must have been added later. She stared hard at the faded spidery words. She read slowly,
“Beneath the abbot’s resting stone
Down the rotted stairs.
Reach inside the wall that screams
The Devil’s Vessel lies in-between.”
Rohan whistled. “It won’t win any prizes for poetic merit, but I fancy that once we find the church in Dunkeld, we’ll find the reliquary and this mysterious vessel inside it.”
He looked first at his wife, then at his friend. He smiled faintly. “I imagine that we are going to Scotland?”
They said not a word, merely nodded.
Phillip walked to a bookshelf and pulled out a book of maps. It didn’t take him long to find Dunkeld. “It’s only about fourteen miles north of Perth.” Then he walked to the far wall and perused his books. Finally, he selected one and thumbed through it. “Ah, here it is. Dunkeld has a cathedral, a very big, important cathedral. This is where we’ll find this bishop buried. This is where we’ll find the reliquary. If we can find that screaming wall.”
“Look, Rohan,” Susannah said suddenly, tugging on his sleeve in her excitement. “Look at what’s written in these spidery black letters underneath the inside back cover. The paper came up and I could see there was some writing.”
“The Bishops’ Society,” Rohan repeated. “Exactly as we suspected. Just imagine, a society of men who have devoted themselves to protecting this Devil’s Vessel and keeping it hidden. It bespeaks a great respect, perhaps even fear, for the power of this thing.”
“I would have liked to have been a member,” Susannah said. “Just imagine them meeting in a private room somewhere, with curtains drawn. Do you think they still meet upon occasion?”
“Doubtless,” Rohan said. “And we’ll never discover who they are.”
“Except Tibolt.”
“Yes, except Tibolt,” Rohan agreed. “Our reason for finding this ancient magic.”
“A club,” said Phillip. “A secret organization that’s lasted probably a goodly number of years. But I do wonder how it could have lasted from the eleventh century until now. The map is old, but not eight hundred years old, nor is the book. Not more than a hundred years, if that.”
“You’re right,” Rohan said, running his fingers lightly over the binding. “It must have been lost, then rediscovered.”
Phillip said, “I believe before we travel to Scotland to fetch this reliquary and this Devil’s Vessel, we should visit an old teacher of mine—Mr. Leonine Budsman. If he isn’t a member of this club, he will know all about it. He knows about everything. I think the more information we can glean about this, the better. Perhaps,” he added, frowning, “perhaps we’ll even be safer.”
They all stared at each other. Susannah knew that each was thinking about a magic that was older than any of them could accept, a magic that was perhaps evil, magic that, if Tibolt found it first, could give him limitless power.
Phillip’s old teacher wasn’t just old, he was archaic. Rohan was afraid to shake his hand for fear he would crush his fragile bones. He doddered to his chair and threw back his head—a gesture of obvious long standing—sending his thick white hair to flow down his collar. His show of vanity, Ro-han thought, charmed by the old bird. Phillip inquired politely after Mr. Budsman’s health. The old man just looked at him with his rheumy eyes and remarked to the ceiling that i
f he wasn’t dead by the morning, it would be no fault of his.
That sent a temporary pall of silence over everyone.
“Sir, Lord Derencourt says you know everything that’s worth knowing,” Rohan asked, waving away the tea that a very old butler served. “We must know about the Bishops’ Society. Do you know anything of this?”
Without warning, Lord Balantyne walked into the small, musty parlor. He bowed to Susannah, nodded to Rohan and Phillip. “This is an interesting gathering, to be sure. Good day to you, sir. You are looking fit. You have more hair than I do. I have always wondered about the justice of that.”
To Susannah’s surprise, the ancient old man preened, actually preened, and tossed his head again. “It’s old, very warm, close-held air that preserves hair, Balantyne. No secret to that. All you young men stroll about in the open air and leave the windows open at night when you sleep. No surprise that all sorts of miserable things befall you.”
“You are doubtless right, sir,” Phillip said. He overcame his chagrin at seeing Balantyne so suddenly upon them and said, “As you see, we have need of you. I have told my friends that you know just about everything. Will you tell us about the Bishops’ Society?”
The old man settled back into his chair, like an insect in a cocoon. He wrapped his frail, age-spotted hands around a cup of tea. “It was begun about the time I was born by a Bishop Jackspar, now long dead. I don’t know how it happened, but he stumbled across documentation of this strange legend, lost for centuries. The theory went that long ago Pope Leo IX gave King Macbeth of Scotland a reliquary that held an ancient magic known as the Devil’s Vessel. What exactly this vessel was I have never learned. If its essence, its physicality, is actually known by some of the members, then it has been a close-held secret. Devil’s Vessel. It conjures up curious images, doesn’t it? It makes one think of sorcerers and potions, wild hermits with long white hair and magic wands. On the other hand, perhaps it is indeed some sort of vessel, a cup, something that holds liquid. That sounds odd, doesn’t it? What could such a cup be? Who knows?
“The only other information I have is that it is believed to be dangerous, this Devil’s Vessel. Perhaps it is evil. It certainly bears an ominous name. Naturally, all of this is speculation.”
Lord Balantyne said when the ancient old man remained quiet, sipping his tea, “I imagine that all this has to do with Bishop Roundtree. I don’t suppose any of you will tell me what exactly this is all about?”
“You must surely know as much as we do,” Rohan said.
Lord Balantyne grunted.
Susannah said thoughtfully, “Do you know any of the members of this Bishops’ Society, sir?”
“Poor old Roundtree was a member. Who else? I don’t think anyone knows, even many of the members themselves. They meet, I’ve heard, in very small groups. That was a good question, young lady,” Mr. Budsman added, nodding approval in her general direction. “I, er, suppose you are young?”
“Yes, sir. Do you believe this Devil’s Vessel really exists?”
“Oh, yes. Why not? Now, if you will excuse me, it is time for me to rest.”
From one moment to the next, Mr. Budsman was speaking clearly and cogently, then softly snoring, his head back, his lovely white hair falling to his shoulders, his mouth open and showing three remaining teeth.
Lord Balantyne quietly led the way out of the parlor. They were met by another very old gentleman, the one who had tried to serve them tea. He managed a creaking bow. “My master helped you?”
“He did,” Rohan said. “He is now reposing himself.”
The old man nodded. “He does that at least twenty times a day. I believe I shall join him.” The old man nodded toward the door, then tottered toward the parlor where Mr. Budsman was resting.
“A fascinating pair,” Susannah said, laughing. “I wonder how long they have been together?”
“Longer than anyone can remember,” Phillip said. “They were together when my grandfather was here.”
On the street outside Mr. Budsman’s small house, Jubilee Balantyne said, “The three of you will now tell me what’s going on. Young Roland came to me, telling me that you were searching Bishop Roundtree’s study. I am willing to wager that you were looking for the Devil’s Vessel.”
“Unfortunately we didn’t find a thing,” Phillip said. “We doubt it has anything to do with the bishop’s murder. Sorry, Jubilee, but that’s how it is.”
“I don’t suppose you have any new theories about who killed the bishop?”
“Not a one,” Rohan said.
30
ROHAN WAS BREATHING HARD AND FAST. HE THOUGHT HE was bound to meet his Maker very shortly. He hoped it would be the right Maker. It should be, since he’d not committed any foul deeds. He thought his heart would burst from his chest. He managed to keep himself balanced on his elbows and looked down at his wife. She looked to be near the end herself, all sprawled out, so much beautiful white flesh, most of it beneath his body. Her hair was damp from her exertions, her lips slightly parted, her breathing coming in short gasps.
“A close thing,” he said.
She managed to open one eye and look up at him. She looked suddenly very thoughtful. “You’re still inside me.”
“You really didn’t have to say that, Susannah.” He moaned, unable to prevent himself from jerking forward, deep and high, touching her womb again.
To his delight, her hips rose just a bit, but then she seemed to collapse in on herself. “It is too much. I am willing, but my body is beyond my control. My body is wafting away like an autumn leaf in a crisp breeze.”
“That’s a terrible analogy.”
“It was at least an effort to describe the state of my female corporeal self. Surely it wasn’t all that bad. I can’t believe your powers of judgment are worth much at the moment. But I am willing to admit something, Rohan. Men are stronger. Just look at you, above me, holding up your own weight so you won’t crush me. If I were the one on top, I would be plastered flat against you.”
He thought it took a lot of energy to talk. She was doing a lot of it. He pressed inward again. She moaned, then raised herself slightly to tighten her arms around his back, bringing him down on her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said against her mouth, feeling all of her. Oh, God, it was wonderful.
“You’re not hurting me, at least not yet. The mattress is very giving.”
“That’s probably why Phillip gave us this bedchamber. He saw that I was looking at you like a hungry wolf and he thought of how we would fit quite nicely together in this lovely bed. Kiss me again. I can take no more. I know it’s over for me. I want to cock up my toes with your mouth against mine.”
“How can you string all those words together?” But he kissed her, deeply. He didn’t believe it, but energy was flowing back into his body—all of his body. Was he a pig? Was she really on the edge of oblivion? She certainly seemed boneless beneath him. Then he began pushing more deeply inside her.
“Rohan?”
“Hmmm?”
“I didn’t realize it until just this moment.”
“Realize what?” He had a rhythm now, and it was slow and deep and easy, not too difficult for him to sustain.
“That I love you.”
“You what?”
“I know we haven’t known each other for much longer than a month. Do you think it’s possible I could come to love you so quickly or do you think it’s lust and I am deceiving myself?”
She loved him? By God, he could now sustain the earth on his shoulders, just like Atlas. She loved him? He slowed, shaking his head even as he stared down into her face. Her eyes were closed. No, it was lust, plain delicious lust. This sort of deception wasn’t at all a bad thing. But say it wasn’t just lust, but more. To be loved by Susannah, that was something else . . . he found a burst of new energy.
“Come to me again, Susannah,” he said against her mouth, taking in her small cry of surprise and pleasure as he moved over
her, easing his hand between their bodies to find her.
This time he knew it was all over for him. In just a moment from now he would be no longer of this earth. He would be spiritual matter. He would have to hover over her in the blankness of air and admire her as would a phantom.
If he had to become a spirit, it had been worth it. It meant he would have given his all to his wife.
He was so sweaty he knew he would slip off her. Bless her delicious female self, she was just as sweaty as he was.
“Susannah?”
No answer, just a feeble movement of two fingers of her left hand that was still resting on his shoulder.
“Aren’t you ready to recite me a Shakespeare play? You were doing so well after our first time. You spoke fluently, with verve. What’s the matter?”
No answer, just a small pinch of two fingers of her left hand that was still resting on his shoulder.
“Lust is a very nice thing,” he said, “a very nice thing. Do you really think it’s possible that you love me, that you’re not deceiving yourself because I am such an extraordinary lover? I remember you did tell me I had beautiful eyes. Did you mean it?” He thought his heart would certainly explode if he kept using all his energy to form words and get them out of his mouth. Did she really love him?
She leaned up on her elbows, her eyes still closed, and bit his shoulder.
He dipped his head down and kissed her nose.
“I will think about this, Susannah. Surely a man of my reputation is quite used to having ladies telling him every hour of at least every other day that they love him, adore him, even worship him. What do you think?”
To her own astonishment, she heaved him off her and onto his side. “You’re a baboon,” she said, and pressed herself close, giving him nipping bites and kisses on his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Then she reared up to look down at him. “I’m married to a baboon with a reputation. I’m sorry, Ro-han, but I’ve thought a good deal about it. I’ve decided that you must rid yourself of all those other women. I don’t wish to disappoint Charlotte, but I don’t believe I can let you keep them about. You will be with me every night or else it won’t go well for you. I can be mean if it is required of me. Very mean.”
The Wild Baron Page 30