Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘The pleasure is mine, Peter. It is good that you have come. We have so few visitors to the house these days.’

  Peter turned to James. ‘Exceptional beauty and grace, and so charming too. You are indeed a lucky man to have found such a wondrous woman!’

  ‘You flatter me, Peter!’ laughed Gloria as she settled onto the sofa. ‘So tell me, is this a purely social call, or is there another reason for your visit?’

  When James warned Peter into silence with a stinging glare before the visitor had a chance to speak further, Gloria did not miss the wordless cautionary message that flashed between the pair.

  ‘All right, what’s going on?’ Gloria demanded forcefully. She glowered at the pair. ‘Come on, out with it!’

  ‘Nothing is going on,’ said Peter softly, knowing she would not believe him.

  ‘Rubbish! I saw the look James gave you. He wanted to stop you from telling me something, and don’t try to deny it! I want to know why you came here!’

  James chuckled. ‘Is she not feisty, Peter?’

  ‘Indeed. She shall rest not until she knows the truth. Mayhap she should know of the rumours concerning her!’

  These words perturbed Gloria. What rumours could he possibly mean?

  Since the dawning of the New Year, Gloria had begun to feel more comfortable and at home in her new surroundings, especially once the trauma she had endured bringing Elizabeth into the world had dissipated. All her desires for the creature comforts of the Twentieth Century had vanished, though she still often found herself yearning to speak to her family and friends. She wondered how they were all coping since her departure: did they all miss her as much as she missed them? Sometimes she thought she might one day return, older and wiser.

  The sense of loss she felt for her friends was made stronger still by the fact that she still had no friends of her own in this time. The only person who had any time for her was her husband, and despite what she told James, it saddened her that the locals were so unyielding. She immersed herself in her writing, drawing on her lonely experiences thus far, and had written a cautionary tale concerning the value of friendship and the importance of treating strangers – and even people you do not necessarily like – with a modicum of respect.

  She had made this new life for herself, and she was determined to make the most of it, live as happily as she could, but James and Elizabeth were simply not enough. She longed for companionship, and as the New Year progressed into spring, she found herself constantly thinking of leaving this time. There were so many times they could go to where they could start a new life, but more and more now she thought of returning to her own time, taking James and Elizabeth with her. The only thing that prevented her from suggesting the idea to her husband was the fear that Allan – Samuel – would come to claim their lives as he had in her dreams, and then he would finally possess the secrets they had in this time prevented him from attaining.

  Had Peter somehow sensed all this? Perhaps Isabella was still floating around the dream realm, probing Gloria’s nocturnal thoughts and then betraying them to Peter? Was that why he had come here, now, to betray her feelings of loneliness to her husband?

  ‘It appears the locals believe you are a witch,’ James said, breaking her train of thought. ‘The rumours have reached the King, and it is only a matter of time afore he sends for you to be taken to the Tower!’

  ‘And executed!’ added Peter with unnecessary flourish.

  ‘Or,’ said Gloria in a small voice, as she recalled the story she had read in the history books of her own time, ‘the villagers could take matters into their own hands!’ She was looking at James as she said this, but from the corner of her eye she saw Peter’s reaction to her words, and it became clear to her that he knew even more than he had apparently told James. She chose not to pursue the matter with him. She knew enough about what was to come – she certainly did not need any further information. Peter’s arrival made it clear that the time was almost upon them, and she had to decide what course of action to take.

  *

  Much later that day, as the evening sun slowly set upon the horizon, spreading golden shadows across the stone floor of the Great Hall, Peter finally took his leave of the couple. James and Gloria settled down before the warmth of the fire in the parlour, trying to take away the chill they had endured during their early evening stroll with Peter an hour earlier.

  The sun that day had been deceptive, appearing warm and welcoming when in fact it was quite cold outside. It had been a day for deceptions, but also for revelations.

  Gloria had wanted desperately to know what else Peter knew, but knew herself that too much information could lead her to make wrong decisions.

  James had sensed there was something awry with the story Peter had told him, but he did not know what.

  Peter had told the pair everything he felt they needed to know. To know more would be to place an unenviable burden upon them, yet he found himself liking Gloria enough to impart one final piece of information to her while James put Elizabeth to bed, and was surprised to learn that she already knew Neville Hall was doomed.

  Now, as they sat in the parlour, James and Gloria knew they had tough times ahead. There were decisions that they needed to make, and any indecision could cost them their very lives. They had to discuss what they knew of their destiny together.

  ‘You know more than you are telling, Ria. Why hide you such things from me? Is it something about my future?’

  ‘No, not yours,’ sighed Gloria, struggling to think of something she could tell her husband that would be plausible. She hated keeping secrets from him, but it was necessary for the moment. She had never been good at keeping secrets, and her face had betrayed her. ‘It’s Peter’s future,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘What of Peter’s future?’

  ‘A few years from now there will be a great battle, the English against the Scots. The Scots will lose. Peter, for reasons I don’t know, will fight for the Scots, and he will die at that battle!’

  James was aghast. ‘Dear Lord! Why would Peter fight for the Scots?’

  ‘He lives up there, doesn’t he? Perhaps at that future point in his life he has no reason to live, no reason to be loyal to England or to the Monarch any more!’

  ‘But–’ James stopped mid-sentence as the implications struck home. ‘Oh… I need know no more than that!’

  Gloria stood and kissed James. ‘As you wish, my husband. I’m going to check on Elizabeth, and then I shall prepare a light supper!’

  *

  Several more days passed before a visitor again graced Neville Manor; the man whose loathing for the new mistress of the house matched only her own desire to be liked by him.

  When Gloria, holding Elizabeth in her arms, opened the door to be confronted with Sir Henry Fitzwilliam, she knew trouble was not far away. She could sense it, and it seemed Elizabeth could too, for she started wailing as soon as the door opened. Sir Henry’s animosity radiated out from his frosty presence to embrace Gloria as they faced each other in the doorway.

  Gloria smiled, in spite of the sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm her, breaking the silence as she politely greeted him, inviting him into the house.

  Sir Henry strode wordlessly past Gloria into the Great Hall, ignoring her polite hospitality.

  Gloria forced herself to continue smiling as she self-consciously shrugged at his rudeness. Closing the front door, she followed the visitor into the Great Hall. ‘A drink to warm you, Sir Henry?’ she suggested.

  Her continued politeness seemed only to aggravate Sir Henry’s black mood further. He shook his head violently. ‘Kindly inform the Master of the house that I am here and wish words with him!’

  ‘Of course, Sir Henry,’ Gloria replied, and ascended the stairs. She disappeared into the room, once Isabella’s, but now shared by James and her, and settled Elizabeth down in the cradle at the foot of the bed upon which James lay, his head pounding furiously, his skin clammy and pale.

&
nbsp; ‘Who is our visitor?’ he whispered hoarsely, struggling into a sitting position.

  Gloria touched his forehead tenderly, appalled at how feverish he had become. ‘It’s Sir Henry. He wishes to speak with you!’ When James began to edge his way off the bed, Gloria restrained him. ‘James, you have a fever. You should remain in bed.’

  ‘Nonsense, my love, it is merely a chill. I am fine.’ He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and as he stood, James swayed back and forth alarmingly as a dizzying sensation of desperate weakness swamped his vision. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying to halt the nausea that threatened to erupt.

  ‘James, are you all right?’ gasped Gloria in concern.

  Slumping back on the bed, her husband shook his head slightly. ‘I have a terrible pain in my throat, and I ache all over.’

  ‘Sounds like flu to me.’ She patted his hand reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, it’s rarely fatal. Well, not in my time anyway! You should get back to bed immediately. It’s highly contagious, so I’m going to take Elizabeth out of here, and then I’ll get rid of Sir Henry. You’re in no fit state to see him!’

  Through his torpor, James resisted, knowing that Sir Henry would not take kindly to being refused an audience. Incapacitated by weakness, James’s struggle lasted less than a minute. ‘Very well, Ria. Please express my regret to Sir Henry.’

  ‘He won’t like this, James, you can be sure of that! He’s bound to think I’ve done you in!’ Gloria did not laugh at her joke, and neither did James; it was really no laughing matter. Sir Henry Fitzwilliam was friend to His Majesty, King Henry viii, and it was most likely he who had started the rumours about Gloria that had reached the King. A sobering thought indeed, Gloria mused, as she left her incapacitated husband alone in the bedchamber. She would have to use tact and discretion when dealing with Sir Henry, but somehow she feared that would not be nearly enough.

  As predicted, when she returned to the Great Hall to inform him that James was unwell and could not receive him, Sir Henry Fitzwilliam firmly believed Gloria had used witchcraft to cast some kind of magic spell over her husband, but he departed quietly and without argument when politely requested to leave. He had no wish to endure an altercation with a witch and elicit her wrath. There was no telling what vengeance an enraged witch might mete out!

  Gloria knew that the barbaric day she did not look forward to fast approached; the day when she would taste the flames of hell. She found herself watching over her shoulder, even within the house, seeing looming doom within every shadow. With her prophetic destiny mapped out, only once that was over with would she be able to relax. Timing was paramount, and she knew James was too weak now to get through what was to come. As such, they were all incredibly vulnerable, and she knew that Sir Henry was aware of this fact.

  *

  The fateful day finally arrived exactly two weeks after Sir Henry’s visit. The early morning sunshine warmed the air, heralding the eagerly awaited arrival of the spring.

  Though his fever had long since broken, James remained encumbered with illness, and supplies of food became low. Since it was Market day, Gloria knew she would have no option other than go to the village herself.

  She collected the wicker basket from the storeroom within the kitchen, and then checked that Elizabeth and James were both resting comfortably in the parlour. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right looking after her?’

  James smiled up at his wife, amused at her usual fussing. ‘Of course I shall! Linger not in the village, Ria. Buy only that which is necessary and hurry back.’

  Gloria kissed James on the cheek and bade him a falsely cheerful farewell from the Great Hall as she opened the front door, and then stepped into the gloriously warm midmorning air. She closed the door again behind her, walked out of the grounds, over the bridge across the moat, along the edge of the village green, and down the hill towards the village square where the market was held.

  As she walked, she felt a tremor on the air, a sensation of omnipotence. Something bad was going to happen, and her thoughts rested with James and Elizabeth. Today was the day – she could feel it. She hurried on, wondering fleetingly whether it was all in her imagination. The disturbing feelings she felt might all be imaginary.

  Deep in thought, Gloria did not see the posse of men as they ducked behind a group of unruly bushes up ahead, nor hear their whisperings as she passed their hiding place. Once past, the men, all from the village, returned to the track and watched Gloria as she disappeared around the tree lined curve of the track, heading on down the hill to the village.

  ‘Shall we fetch her back?’ hissed one particularly dirty peasant, his lips curled back venomously to reveal discoloured, decaying teeth.

  The tallest, biggest built of the group, clearly the self-appointed leader of the band of roughnecks, shook his head. ‘We leave the Witch till last. First we destroy her Devil Spawn offspring, and dispose of what remains of poor James Trevayne.’

  ‘Might we not spare James Trevayne?’ asked one of the others softly. ‘He is the innocent in this!’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed another. ‘He is a good man!’

  The dark haired leader shook his head again. ‘He has been too long in the company of the Witch! She has bedevilled him, and he is no longer an innocent. There can be no salvation for James Trevayne this day. He betrayed Isabella. He defiled her gracious memory when he married that whore! No – they must all die!’

  *

  Stepping into the Market Square, Gloria became suddenly aware that every pair of eyes swivelled around to stare at her. She was very self-conscious with the knowledge that she was the unwilling centre of attention, and it made her distinctly uneasy. The sense of foreboding she had felt in the air on the way down from Neville Manor took on a singular physicality now she was actually in the village. It was a disquieting sensation, made even more disturbing by the wave of animosity directed at her by every one of the gathered villagers.

  Trying to keep herself from shaking with nerves, aware that every single pair of eyes followed her progress, Gloria made her way across the square to the stall that sold freshly baked bread, desperate not to falter or stumble. She could hear whispered words. Hushed insinuations and wild accusations buzzed around her like flies, and abruptly people began moving towards her. Only a few at first, slowly, but then more and more joined the few, and very rapidly a vast crowd gathered behind her.

  Behind the bread stall, the fat woman blessed with a large hairy mole on her upper lip stared with undisguised contempt at Gloria. ‘Witch!’ she hissed, spitting great globules of sputum deliberately and directly in Gloria’s direction.

  Gloria ducked backwards a step, but the woman’s spittle found its mark upon her bodice. She turned, dropping the wicker basket at the sight of the angry crowd mere feet behind her, ominously silent, every one a woman, and each woman glaring at her with open hostility.

  Cruel, callous words were bandied around, each a different inflammatory description of how they viewed Gloria, every word a clearly defined threat to her safety for what they thought she was.

  All Gloria wanted was to get out of the Market Square and run back to the relative security of the house, but they hemmed her in, with no means of escape.

  Suddenly one of the women dropped to her knees, picked a stone from the ground, and hurled it with incredible force at Gloria. Gloria saw it coming and dodged it with ease, but then the others took the woman’s lead and gobbets of rotten meat and fruit rained down upon her, accompanied by more stones and other missiles.

  Moaning with mounting fear, Gloria ducked beneath the bread stall, overturning it in her desperation to escape the baying mob. The large woman with the hairy mole lunged forcefully at her, grabbing a fistful of Gloria’s hair. She released her grip and screamed in pain as Gloria’s toe connected with her shin. Gloria took the opportunity and fled the square, the angry mob in hot pursuit, demanding blood and howling condemnations.

  Gloria knew that if she paused or stumbled she would
be a dead woman. This was not the way of the prediction, and her only real thought was to reach the comforting safety of Neville Manor.

  As she raced towards the lane that led up to the Manor, a sense of desperation spurred her on, and it was only as she crossed the moat and approached the front door that she realised it was wide open. A group of men moved around inside, and Gloria stopped in her tracks, unsure what to do. The men had apparently not seen her, but the crowd of women swarmed up the hill towards the house, making so much noise that the men would surely hear before long. Her overriding concern was for James and Elizabeth within the house. She needed to get in without being seen in order to carry out her rescue plan.

  Thick arms grabbed her suddenly from behind, causing her to jump and cry out in alarm. A dirty hand covered her mouth to silence any foul spells that she might try to utter in defence.

  ‘They have her!’ screamed one of the rapidly approaching women. ‘They have the Witch at last!’

  Struggling against her captor, who manhandled her towards the house, Gloria put up a valiant effort to escape, and might have succeeded had the man who approached her from inside the house, whom she recognised as the Blacksmith, not punched her in the face to subdue her.

  The last thing she heard, as the crowd bayed for her blood, was the Blacksmith telling her captor to tie her up inside with James and the Devil Spawn, and then they would burn the house to the ground.

  He then hit Gloria again, and she lost consciousness.

  Part Four

  Prophecy Fulfilled

  June 1987

  Her mother’s words had not entirely reassured Rachel. From the little Mary had told her, she knew Samuel Wylams, Sawyl Gwilym, Vilam – whichever he chose to call himself, to be a thoroughly unpleasant man, a physical manifestation of pure evil, his powers unknown. It was all very well telling her that things would work out fine, that they should let events play out without interference, but this was her own daughter whose life might be imperilled. Mary’s words did nothing to alleviate the increasing sense of dread Rachel felt after hearing that cruel voice on the other end of the telephone before the line went dead.