‘Do you think it’s meant for us?’ Mallory said as they stood over the lantern. ‘I’ve had some experience of this supernatural shit and nothing ever happens without a reason.’
Hunter was entranced by the blue flame, which was bent at an angle as if continually blown by a draught. Steeling himself, he waved his fingers over the lantern’s handle, then snatched it up. The flame continued to bend; it was not due to a draught.
‘Weird,’ he said.
‘Let’s take it with us. At worst, a lantern on a dark night will come in handy.’
Mallory hid the sword and the lantern in the depths of his parka and then they made their way out into the silent city. At one point, Mallory almost stumbled and fell, and Hunter gave him an arm to support him. It had stopped snowing, but the last fall was still thick on the ground; it was beginning to surpass the abilities of the street workers to clear it.
‘How are we going to get out of this city?’ Mallory said. ‘Anything that hasn’t got tracks will be snowed in.’
‘Horses,’ Hunter said. ‘There’s a Government stable at Nuffield College. They use them for expeditions into the countryside around the city. Saves fuel.’
Mallory grumbled. ‘What a way to go — frozen in the saddle.’
‘We can pick up some winter gear and supplies from the quartermaster near the stables. It’s not going to be a fun jaunt.’ For the first time, Hunter couldn’t hide his deep concern beneath a glib manner. ‘Are you going to be all right?’
‘Just get me out of the city. Once we’ve found a place to make camp, get some sleep, food, I’ll pull myself together.’ Mallory came to a halt, the pain making him look much older than he was. ‘Look, thanks for getting me out. I appreciate it. But I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forgive you for Sophie. Every time I look at you, I just think of how she…’ The words stifled in his throat.
‘I don’t expect you to like me,’ Hunter said, ‘just to do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.’
Mallory nodded once, tersely. He could live with that arrangement.
They reached the stables within the hour, shivering intensely from the harsh wind that swept down New Road. The night watchman was a youth of about seventeen who appeared to know who Hunter was and acted with due deference. Two horses were brought quickly, saddled and ready to go. Hunter left Mallory to rest and returned fifteen minutes later with two bags filled with supplies, warm clothes, tents, cooking equipment and anything else they might need on their long journeys.
In the bitter night air, Hunter helped Mallory on to his mount. Mallory’s face was as white as the snow that was once again falling, and Hunter was afraid his comrade would be dead before the day was out if he didn’t get rest, Pendragon Spirit or not. The going was hard for the horses until they reached the roads outside the built-up area beyond North Hinksey where the wind had made the snow drift to the sides, allowing a clearer path.
Once they had put a few miles between them and the city, Hunter led the horses into the centre of some dense woodland where they would not be seen. He pitched a tent, collected as much dry-ish wood as he could find to build a roaring campfire and then cooked some food while Mallory lay wrapped in his thermal sleeping bag.
Yet as they ate their food, Hunter was surprised to see how quickly Mallory was recovering; a faint flush had returned to his cheeks and he had more energy to talk.
‘I think you’ve pretty effectively burned all your bridges,’ Mallory said as he cleaned the last of the soup from his bowl.
‘It’s a fair guess that I won’t be going back to my day job. No great loss.’
‘This business has a habit of taking over your life. When I found out I was a Brother of Dragons I was trying to set myself up for a life just looking after number one. Suddenly I was lumbered with obligation, duty and all those things.’
‘Complaining?’
Mallory considered this for a moment. ‘No. Having a purpose is like… going on holiday. A break from worrying about what you’re going to do with your life. Have you left anyone behind? A wife? Girlfriend?’
‘Many, many girlfriends. So many women, so little time. I’m pretty rootless.’ He thought about Samantha and her kiss, and how he had briefly felt a real connection with her. ‘The world’s falling apart. Getting involved would only complicate matters. And with what we’re going into, it wouldn’t be very good for the woman, would it?’
‘Maybe when it’s all over.’
They exchanged a long glance, silently recognising the truth and the lie.
‘So where are we going?’ Mallory said, changing tack.
‘Government intelligence says that one of the three survivors has set up camp in Glastonbury. Got some kind of college for magicians going on, or something. The name we’ve got is Shavi — don’t know if that’s first or last.’
‘That’s not far from my old stomping ground. All right if I give that a try?’
‘Sure,’ Hunter said, ‘but it’s not an easy ride. No one we’ve sent down there has returned.’
‘He killed them? I thought he was supposed to be a champion of humanity.’
‘I don’t know any more than that. We were on the brink of sending a full force in there to haul him out when this whole thing blew up.’ Hunter paused, considering his words. ‘Suddenly things look a whole lot different from this side of the fence.’
‘That happens. Sounds like the Government hasn’t changed — still fucking with people’s lives. What have they done with the other two — locked them up in Dartmoor?’
‘We haven’t been able to track them down. From what we hear, they’re travelling together. One of them is called Ruth Gallagher-’
Mallory nodded. ‘She’s the big witch-queen. Trained Sophie.’ Mallory felt a twinge of desperate emotion, battened it down.
‘The more you look, the more you see these strands tying everything together. It could get a little unsettling if you let it.’
‘The other?’ Mallory asked.
‘Some woman called Laura DuSantiago. Don’t know anything about her.’
‘So if you have no idea where they are, how are you going to find them?’
Hunter leaned out of the tent mouth to throw another log on the fire. It sizzled and spat as the frost-rimed wood hit the heat. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of this. Whatever made us Brothers of Dragons brings us together to do a job. So I’m just going to let it.’
Mallory held out his hands, inviting the warmth of the fire to ease the bitterness from his bones. ‘You’re just going to sit here until they turn up?’
‘I’m going to ride and see where I find myself.’
‘Very Zen. Or stupidly optimistic. One of the two.’ Mallory leaned back into the tent and pulled out the lantern. ‘You’d better take this, then. You’re going to need something to light your way on those dark, lonely nights.’
Hunter took the lantern and fastened it to his bag. ‘I’ll treat it as a good-luck charm. Until it turns into some monster in the middle of the night and slits my throat.’
‘When we get back, where do we meet up?’
Hunter thought for a moment, then said, ‘There’s a brothel on Saint Michael’s Street in town. Ask for Mrs Damask. Anyone will direct you.’
‘You’re sure it’s wise to come back to Oxford?’
‘The way I see it, we’re all being drawn there. We need to regroup there in case anyone else turns up.’
‘Start at first light?’
‘If you’re up to it.’
Mallory smiled as he unzipped his parka and tugged free the bandages wrapped around his midriff. The wound beneath had almost healed.
Hal had stoked the fire in his office every fifteen minutes, but it had little effect on the biting cold that insinuated its way through the very walls. He’d bundled himself up in his overcoat and wore a pair of fingerless gloves while he worked, occasionally taking a swig of some bitter alcoholic concoction that the main gate security guard had brewed up in one
of the secret stills that now proliferated across the city. The only relief from the bitter temperatures was losing himself in his project, as he now grandly called it.
He’d worked feverishly, oblivious to all sense of time, until the chime of the clock told him it was getting on for dawn. His room was a claustrophobic space crammed with paintings and books and mysteries, illuminated by the flickering light of several candles. In search of clues, Hal had immersed himself in anything he could find on the Poussin painting and its symbolism, and on the Shugborough Hall monument. Instinctively, he was somehow convinced that his investigations would lead to a devastating revelation that would change the course of the war. Everything pointed to the vital significance of the Wish Stone — the way it had been hidden, the way it had been found, the coded message designed to deter the unworthy. If he was right, he had finally found his role.
Hal couldn’t decide if it was a by-product of his obsessive investigation, or even a sign of encroaching madness brought on by a world where anything was possible, but he was starting to see hidden connections slowly developing into a sense of some arcane master plan. The more he delved, the more connections he saw, so that at times he looked up from his books unable to tell what was real and what was a product of his overworked imagination.
So engrossed was he that he didn’t hear the knock on his door. He only jolted out of concentration when a figure loomed over him. It was Samantha.
‘I saw your light through the window. What are you doing working at this hour?’ she asked, concerned.
‘Important business for Mister Reid.’ Hal considered how much he should tell her for fear of putting her in danger, then added, ‘I think it might lead to something that could change the course of the war.’
‘Really?’ The admiration in her eyes excited him; he wanted more of it. ‘Can you talk about it?’ she asked animatedly.
Relenting, Hal explained about the stone recovered from Cadbury Hill and the mysterious message it contained. ‘Why this painting, or its reverse image at Shugborough? Why was it thought important enough to preserve at Cadbury? How could it be linked to a picture painted hundreds of years later?’
‘But what makes you think it has any relevance at all?’ Samantha settled into a sagging armchair near the fire and poured herself a glass of the moonshine.
‘Two people — two very important people in the crisis we’re seeing now — were drawn to Cadbury, to find this. Those two people were supposed to be part of the last defence of humanity, against whatever it is that’s attacking us now. And I think they were led to find this because the picture is a code that reveals something they could use in the fight, perhaps some kind of weapon.’
‘That’s amazing. Mister Reid must think a lot of you to give you a project as important as this.’
‘He trusts me. I get the feeling that… well, that doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m starting to piece it together.’
‘How far have you got?’ Samantha asked, excitement and a moonshine buzz bringing colour to her cheeks. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Hal was thrilled by the prospect of the two of them working closely. ‘Can you spare the time? You’re normally up to your neck in work.’
‘I’ve been twiddling my thumbs ever since the war started. What I do isn’t a priority any more.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Hal couldn’t contain a smile any longer. ‘OK. We’re a team. Let me tell you what I’ve found out so far.’ He stood up to point to a print of The Shepherds of Arcadia, with the shepherds and the stately woman gathered around the tomb with its intriguing inscription. ‘There’s been a lot of debate about the meaning of this ever since Poussin first painted it.’
Samantha stood and leaned towards the print, to examine it more closely. ‘What’s Arcadia?’
‘It comes from a long tradition of pastoral poetry going back to the Greeks. Basically, the poems brought to life an imaginary place — a kingdom of Utopia. Scholars spent a long time searching for the origin of the phrase “ Et in Arcadia Ego ”, but there’s no classical source.’
‘So Poussin made it up?’
Hal nodded. ‘Which makes me think that phrase is the key. One translation suggests it means “And in Arcadia I Exist”, with the scholars believing that “I” is death. Hence, even in Utopia, there’s death.’
‘That’s a little morbid.’ Samantha returned to her seat, warming her hands by the fire.
‘But you’ll notice that the shepherds and the woman don’t seem too concerned about this. In fact, if you look closely, they seem to be pondering the meaning of the inscription. Yet strangely, Poussin painted another painting, very similar and also on the Death in Arcadia theme, a few years earlier. In that version, the shepherds and the woman are visibly shocked to discover the message. There’s also a skull on top of the tomb. It’s much more sombre.’
‘So he changed his mind. Suddenly death wasn’t so scary.’
Hal smiled. ‘My conclusion exactly. But why? And this is where it gets stranger. “ Et in Arcadia Ego ” is an anagram of the Latin phrase “ I Tego Arcana Dei ”, which means “Begone! I conceal the secrets of God”.’
Hal saw the light of inspiration rise up in Samantha’s face in the same way he had felt it when he first made the connection.
‘The secrets of God,’ she whispered. ‘So the tomb could hide this weapon or whatever it is? Would it be that literal? Somewhere there’s a tomb with a weapon in it?’
‘I don’t know. Trying to piece these things together is a nightmare because you can’t work out what’s fact and what’s your imagination joining non-existent dots. For instance, there’s a popular myth linking Poussin’s painting to the Knights Templar, and Mallory, the man who found the Wish Stone, was trained at Salisbury to be a member of the new Knights Templar order that the Church, or what’s left of it, is establishing.’
‘This all sounds like some bizarre conspiracy theory.’
‘I know. And it gets worse. The image released by the Stone is a near-reversal of the painting, and on the estate at Shugborough Hall in Staffordshire there’s a stone carving in the gardens of The Shepherds of Arcadia with the same back-to-front positioning of the figures.’
‘I visited there when I was a girl,’ Samantha said. ‘It was lovely, very peaceful.’
‘Shugborough’s history has lots of odd little sidelines which may or may not be relevant.’ Hal took a sip of the moonshine as he sought out one particular book. He spoke as he flicked through the pages to get the names and dates he needed. ‘The grounds were laid out in seventeen forty-eight to forty-nine by Thomas Wright, a self-taught mathematician with an interest in the esoteric. He used to tour Britain drawing what he called “druidic” remains, and in seventeen fifty he published a book called An Original Theory of the Universe. It was the first book to explain the Milky Way as our view through a galaxy. But Wright also had very strong views about the existence of an infinite number of universes, or dimensions, or whatever you want to call them, all radiating out from a divine centre. There was a revival of druidism at the time, and this was one of the ideas that came out of that.’
‘How does that fit in?’
‘I’m not sure, except coincidences are cropping up all over the place and I’m not sure any more that they are coincidences. One of those defenders of humanity I spoke about has set up a college at Glastonbury to teach druidic knowledge. And Wright was brought to Shugborough by two men, Roger Gale and the Earl of Pembroke, who had both worked with the famous antiquarian William Stukeley, surveying Stonehenge and Avebury.’
‘So we’re talking about old mysteries, other dimensions, Utopia…’ Samantha came to stand next to Hal, leaning over him so closely that he could smell the scent of her skin. It was almost overpowering.
Struggling to concentrate, he continued, ‘The owner of Shugborough, Thomas Anson, was also interested in these old mysteries. Anson commissioned the Shepherds’ Monument in seventeen forty-eight, at the same time as he had
his dining room built. And that room featured Isis and Serapis, who are Alexandrian mystery-cult deities. Anson was a curious character. He was a member of the Royal Society and supported the most advanced scientific thinkers, including Erasmus Darwin and Josiah Wedgwood, but he was also a member of the Divan Club, one of the lesser Hellfire Clubs founded by Sir Francis Dashwood, who revelled in immorality. And where does that leave us? Lots of facts… and little else, just the hint of something waiting to be found.’
Samantha mulled this over for a moment and then said, ‘I think we need to go to Shugborough, don’t you?’
‘You and me?’
‘Who else? Mister Reid will want you to investigate it fully. You can ask for me to come along to help you with your research. There won’t be a problem. Unless you don’t want me to come?’
‘No, I do, very much,’ Hal said hastily. ‘But it’s dangerous out there. We don’t know how far the enemy have advanced-’
‘Stop making excuses and start making plans!’ Samantha gave him a wink and a smile that was unknowingly sexy before she slipped out of the door. Suddenly Hal was left with the feeling that everything was going right.
It was still half an hour until dawn as Sophie raced from Ceridwen’s temple back to the walls, but long before she reached them she knew the attack was imminent. Huge braziers of oil burst into flame like miniature suns along the great expanse of the ramparts, and a resounding cry rang up from the guards whose armour now gleamed golden in the firelight.
Sophie was breathless by the time she reached the top of the winding stone steps where the warm wind buffeted her after its journey across the vast plain. Thackeray came over anxiously.
‘I thought you were going to miss the action,’ he said edgily. He kept glancing back towards the vertiginous drop to the ground far below.
‘What’s happening?’
‘They’re massing at the foot of the walls.’
‘What do they hope to do?’ Sophie asked. ‘They’ll never be able to use ladders to climb this high. I thought they’d be relying on those weird machines to pound us into dust.’
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