Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  One thing that had worried her considerably, in the months of incarceration since the wedding, was the thought that all the time travelling she had done whilst unknowingly pregnant might have an unpleasant effect on her unborn child. It was such an unknown quantity that the fears did not abate, and now the knowledge that she must be approaching the final days of pregnancy served only to heighten her fears and uncertainties.

  There was precious little that she could remember reading about Ria in the history books, and certainly nothing at all about the daughter, Elizabeth. All she knew with any certainty was that the villagers were due to burn the house to the ground sometime next year.

  It was this knowledge that had made Gloria try so relentlessly hard to be liked by the villagers. If they liked her then they surely would not try to kill her. It had proved a thankless task, so she had decided on another course of action

  The nightmares concerning Allan had increased in frequency and intensity as well, which bothered her enormously. Every few days she awoke sweating, almost screaming, immediately after the moment in the dream when Allan stabbed James and her to death. There was no doubt in her mind at all now that Allan was the real reincarnation of Samuel Wylams. Was his spirit goading her from far in the future? Was it a portent of doom? Could he really reach out across the centuries like that? Had Samuel’s spirit perhaps inveigled its way into her dreams as Isabella’s had? Maybe he was trying to get at her through her baby – his child!

  Whatever the reason, she was getting less than adequate sleep, which caused severe mood swings, and as James was the only person nearby, she of course vented her wrath upon him.

  To his credit, James ignored her as best he could. It upset him to see Gloria so hurt and afraid, and he wanted so much to help her in any way he could, but was impotently powerless to do so.

  His wife would have to endure the nightmares for as long as they lasted, and he would have to endure her screaming at him for no reason at all times of day or night.

  Three days before Christmas, Gloria’s labour pains started.

  Forced to leave her alone in the house, James trudged through the snow to fetch the physician and the midwife from the village. With any luck, he thought, the birth of the baby would take her mind off all the unpleasant things going on around them, and perhaps the baby might even thaw the villagers, as he wished the spring were here to thaw the snow.

  *

  After a gruelling eighteen-hour labour, Gloria finally gave birth to a healthy baby girl with a shock of red hair. As the midwife cleared away the bloodied towels and sheets, Gloria tearfully cradled her baby in her arms. She lay upon the bed, drenched in sweat and feeling half-dead from the pain, but emotionally happy. Even in her exhausted condition, the pain she felt all over her body and the amount of blood she seemed to have lost during the birth clearly told Gloria how lucky she was to have survived the ordeal, but knew she was not out of danger just yet.

  James wanted to see her immediately, but the midwife, a wizened old crone, warned him the poor young woman would need plenty of bed rest over the coming weeks. He could see her for five minutes, after which he was to let her rest.

  James showed her to the door, along with her son who had assisted her through the deep snow, promising to do as she asked, and the old woman said she would try and return in a couple of days, weather permitting. From the look on her son’s face, James somehow suspected they would not be seeing the midwife again any time soon, or the physician, who had apparently been attending another patient in the village, but who had failed to show up at any time during Gloria’s lengthy labour.

  After closing and bolting the front door, James raced up the stairs to return to his wife. He seated himself on the edge of the bed, wrapped a protective arm around Gloria’s shoulders and pecked the top of her head as he peeked at the sleeping baby, pulling aside the shawl that partially obscured Elizabeth’s face.

  ‘She is as beautiful as her mother,’ he whispered, stroking the tears from Gloria’s face. ‘Uncanny how she has my red hair!’

  ‘On Mother’s side of the family, red is a prominent colouring. It alternates between red and black with each generation. I strongly suspect Elizabeth’s children, should she have any, will be black haired!’

  James kissed Gloria tenderly on the lips as she turned her face to look at him. ‘You are so brave, my love. I am very proud of you!’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve always dreamed of having a large family, but after that agonizing ordeal, I think I’m going to stick to one. I’m just glad the midwife didn’t use a rusty scalpel. That’s what I was most afraid of!’

  ‘I feared for you too, after what happened to poor Queen Jane Seymour! But you are well, and shall remain so if you heed the midwife and stay abed some weeks to recuperate!’

  He gently touched Elizabeth’s fingers as she stirred in her mother’s arms and reached out her hand. Such was his happiness at becoming a father at last that all else vanished from his mind. All James could think of was his beautiful wife and his delightful daughter, and if the villagers could not see the beauty and the happiness his family brought to him, then as soon as the spring thawed the snow he would move away from Ashfield, perhaps follow Peter north, to Scotland.

  Heathens or not, the Scots would not treat his wife the way the villagers had, and they could start a new life together.

  ‘Would you like to hold her, James?’ Gloria’s words brought James out of his reverie and he glanced at her, unsure. Since he had never held a baby before, she instructed him on how to hold the child properly, supporting the head. ‘If you do that you can’t really go wrong!’

  Once she had passed Elizabeth safely into his arms, James relaxed. He was surprised at how heavy the newborn was, and was instantly convinced the child would grow into a strong and healthy woman, much like her mother. He could barely take his eyes off his daughter. Though her hair colour was his, Elizabeth’s face was all Gloria’s.

  He had to remind himself that the child was not in actuality his by bloodline, so the fact that she had his colouring at least gave him some advantage when it came to showing the child to the villagers, who would no doubt try to persuade him the child was not his. He smiled to himself – he would have the last laugh in that respect!

  ‘Does Elizabeth resemble her father in any way?’ he found himself asking.

  ‘Allan looks like Samuel Wylams. I don’t know what colour hair Samuel had when he was younger, but Allan has red hair, so yes, I guess she does look like him.’

  There was a great weight of sadness in Gloria’s voice, and James knew at once that he should not have asked the question. ‘I am sorry, my love. That was insensitive of me!’

  Gloria wiped a tear from her eye. ‘It’s okay. As far as I’m concerned you’re Elizabeth’s father, and you are the only father she will ever know! I certainly don’t want Elizabeth to know her father lives over four hundred years in the future! I don’t want to hear Allan’s name mentioned again, nor Samuel’s. They are a part of our past.’

  She watched, smiling, as Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes, gurgling happily whilst James made baby noises at her. It was a wonderful sight, and a delight to Gloria’s ears. James had a definite affinity with the girl, and that made him a natural father. A particularly strong bond that should not have been there seemed somehow to connect James and Elizabeth, but Gloria was nevertheless very pleased that it was there.

  Yes, indeed, thought Gloria with a soft sigh of ultimate resignation, Allan is a part of my past.

  There is definitely no going back now!

  Early Spring 1538

  During the long cold winter months, Gloria rarely ventured outside, preferring to spend her time in the warmth of Neville Manor. The house had become a haven in which to hide, not only from the cold weather, but also from the cold villagers. They had not warmed to her at all, even when James proudly showed them Elizabeth.

  A couple of villagers had visited the house in the weeks after Elizabeth’s birth, braving th
e continuing harsh weather to bring New Year wishes from the village. The good will did not extend as far as his wife or their newborn daughter, which left James impotent with rage at the continuing lack of respect with which they courted Gloria. Yet again Gloria informed her husband that she did not care what the villagers thought of her. All she cared about was that they left her in peace.

  When the snow and ice finally started to melt, and the first green shoots of spring broke through the hard ground, the incidents with the villagers were little more than a memory. The dreams had ceased following the birth of Elizabeth, so Gloria felt that at last life was getting back on track, though she was constantly on her guard for trouble from the village. Her mood swings had abated as well, for which James was grateful.

  Several days after the last of the snow had finally disappeared, a loud knock at the front door heralded the first post-winter visitor. Gloria and Elizabeth were both still asleep, mother making the most of her child’s quietude following a long night of sleeplessness. James opened the door, shocked and surprised to see Peter standing on the threshold. His breath hung on the chill of the midmorning air as he stamped his feet and hugged himself to keep warm, but the instant James saw him, he dragged him into the warmth of the house.

  ‘Peter, I had given up hope that you might ever return to this house!’ James said, hugging the visitor affectionately. ‘You are most welcome!’

  Peter was a little surprised at the welcome he was afforded. Though he had received James’s letter within a week of its dispatch, he had not been certain of James’s motives for requesting his return, and this trepidation caused Peter to ponder long and hard about the sagacity of such a course of action. By the time he had made up his mind to travel south, winter arrived, and he changed his mind several times during those long cold months. In the end, his curiosity was victorious. He was intrigued about James’s claim that Isabella’s spirit had returned.

  Peter had spent the past couple of days in the village, catching up with old friends, deciding that a few days longer would not hurt before facing James. Peter was aware that James knew certain things that had transpired between him and Isabella, which was one of the reasons he had left the village in the first place. His old friends whom he had left behind without so much as a farewell wanted to know what made him disappear so abruptly. One suggestion put to him was that James’s new wife had placed a hex upon him.

  Peter knew nothing about James’s new wife, and so, gathered at the Inn on the farthest edge of the village, those villagers who wished him well wasted no time in filling his head with stories about The Witch Ria and her Devil Spawn child. Through the night, Peter listened to the tales with keen interest, recognising them for the lies that they were. When he could stand no more of the lies, he left, making his way down the lane and through the village, taking a detour through Dead Man’s Wood before continuing on to Neville Manor. It was certainly good to see the old family home again, but somehow Peter felt Ashfield was no longer his home, and he wished nothing more than to return to his new home in Scotland.

  ‘So, where is your bride?’ Peter asked James the instant he closed the door on the outside world.

  His question caught James off guard. ‘How know you of Ria?’

  ‘There is talk of her in the village. Is she here?’

  ‘She sleeps still, with Elizabeth. What talk in the village?’ James did not really need to be told what the villagers were saying. He could hazard a wild guess, and knew his supposition would not be far from the truth.

  ‘It pleases me that you have found new happiness, James. I bear you no ill, and would hope you can forgive my past misdeeds.’

  ‘We may all make mistakes, Peter, some more foul than others, and yet I forgive you without question. You at least acted out of love, however misguided that love might have been. But what talk in the village of Ria? Pray, tell me!’

  ‘There is rumour spread amongst the villagers that I care not for, James. They say this Ria you have married is a witch, and that her child is Devil Spawn!’

  The accusation was so ridiculous that were it not for the seriousness of the implications, James would have burst out laughing. As it was, such whisperings were dangerous and could only court death for whoever was the subject of the rumours.

  ‘I knew that folk in the village disliked Ria, but to claim she is a witch? What madness is this?’ decried James vehemently. ‘Should I uncover the perpetrator of such foul lies, that person best have a care to watch their back!’ He stared pointedly at Peter. ‘You believe not these falsehoods, I hope?’

  Peter laughed. ‘Of course not; I know the truth. I have consulted Thaumaturgia Anathemas this very morn, and she has shown me everything about this woman from future’s past, about Samuel’s execution, and the birth of your daughter.’

  The Seer had shown Peter more than he would have wished. She had conjured up unfamiliar spirits from a far off time, who had revealed the future that lay in store for James and Ria, and Peter did not much care for what was revealed. He could not possibly reveal to James that to which he had been privy, for James, no matter how much he loved his wife and daughter, might attempt some foolish act that would jeopardize more than even Peter had been able to comprehend.

  ‘I know that whatever the Seer told you was for your ears alone, Peter, so I shall make no attempt to find out. I have sought counsel from the Seer myself, this past year. That is how Isabella’s spirit came to be trapped in the realm of dreams.’

  Peter nodded. ‘Thaumaturgia told me. She reassures me that Isabella’s spirit shall return where it belongs!’

  That information was a great relief to James. Although Isabella had departed Gloria’s body, he had not known where her spirit had gone. ‘Did the Seer tell you why the villagers believe Ria to be a witch, and Elizabeth to be Devil Spawn?’

  Peter sighed. ‘Aye, they did. A woman who appears from nowhere and ensnares the mind and soul of the man who loved their beloved Isabella Neville; a woman who effects the execution of the infamous Warlock of Wicca Hill himself, and who bears the healthy child of James Trevayne within six months of her arrival. A woman such as this can only be a witch! You should not have maintained the child is yours, James. They may have believed you honourable, if misguided, had you claimed the child was not yours and that your marriage to Ria, whom you have grown to love, was more an act of kindness to give the child a father.’

  ‘That might have been more prudent. Hindsight is a powerful foe!’

  ‘Foresight is sometimes a more powerful ally! I am the bearer of more ill tidings, James! It would seem the rumour concerning the Witch Ria has reached the Royal Court! His Majesty is greatly displeased at the betrayal of his trust. He will surely not let this matter rest, as he cannot blindly ignore such rumours.’

  James was appalled. ‘I need not be told what happens to those who betray His Majesty’s loyalty! I must somehow prove the villagers mistaken in their belief.’

  ‘I envy you not such a task. Once set, His Majesty’s mind shall not be easily swayed! It is alleged that even afore the rumour reached him from the village, he possessed grave misgivings concerning Ria. They say he met her the day they executed Samuel Wylams, and there are whisperings that you yourself used Black Arts to ensnare Samuel, and now that this rumour too has reached His Majesty, he must surely believe you are bewitched by Ria. It may not be safe for you to remain here much longer.’

  ‘I have discussed with my wife the possibility of taking both Elizabeth and her north of the border, but she remains unwilling to make the journey. Worry yourself not about our situation, Peter. I shall think of something to tell His Majesty.’

  ‘I pray that you do so, afore it is too late!’

  *

  Gloria awoke with a start, wondering what noise had roused her from her slumber, untroubled as it was by dreams. She listened to an ominous silence, waiting for Elizabeth’s cry to punctuate the peace. Instead of infantile wailings, however, Gloria heard loud masculine laughter from
the lower level. James had company, and since there was in the air a sense of joviality, and a singular lack of ambivalence in the ambiance of the house, Gloria decided that her husband’s visitor was not from the village.

  She supposed it might be Sir Henry Fitzwilliam, come to make his peace at last with his old friend. This thought greatly pleased her since she knew how desolate her husband had been since apparently losing Sir Henry’s friendship. She dressed as hurriedly as she could, checked that Elizabeth was still sleeping contentedly, and then made her way swiftly down the stairs.

  She froze as she swept into the parlour to find it was not after all Sir Henry who was laughing with James.

  The two men rose a little unsteadily to their feet when they saw Gloria framed in the doorway. ‘Ria, my love, I should like for you to meet Peter Neville, Isabella’s cousin,’ James pronounced. The pair had clearly put aside the differences that existed between them. They were behaving much as best friends would, and it was obvious both had consumed a little too much wine

  Peter stepped forward, kissing Gloria’s cheek. ‘It is an honour indeed to meet she who would mend the broken heart of James Trevayne!’ There was a vaguely distracted tone to Peter’s voice, which Gloria immediately picked up, and as he kissed her, she felt a slight tremble pass through his body. Did he linger just a little too long on that kiss? Did he have knowledge about her that he perhaps should not?