by Alys Clare
Josse said in a whisper, ‘Are you sure of that?’
‘I am,’ Dee said. ‘It was given to your father – freely given, in thanks for a brave deed of rare loving kindness – and, as your father’s eldest child, it is now rightfully yours.’
‘I had an elder sister, but she died when she was a baby,’ Josse murmured.
‘Yes. Had she lived, the stone would have been hers.’
‘It does not have to be passed to a son?’
‘No.’ The Magister laughed. ‘The Eye is old, Josse. It comes from a time long ago when, before men elbowed women out of the seats of power, the female was accorded the greater honour. And the Eye holds ancient magic from the land of its birth, far away, whose northern borders touch the trade routes that wind out of China and lead to India and into the west, joining the great Silk Road in the mountains to the east of Persia. It was in Persia that jewellers worked the uncut stone, and skilled goldsmiths fashioned the Eye’s casing; they wrote a magic inscription in their own language.’
‘Aramaic,’ Josse said dreamily.
‘Aramaic,’ Dee agreed. ‘Do you know what the words say, Josse?’
‘No.’ He was bewitched by the Magister’s deep, dark eyes, and had the sense that, as he stared into their depths, he was being drawn down a long, shadowed tunnel.
‘The stone is a sapphire, which the Persians call saffir,’ Dee’s dream-voice went on. ‘They believe that the stone is formed from the elixir of immortality, the amrita. It is the life-giving milk of the Great Goddess whom they know as Ishtar, although she has many names. You see, Josse? Long ago, when mankind was in his infancy, the deity was adored in her female role. So, to answer your question, naturally the Eye does not ignore the Goddess’s daughters in favour of her sons. There is nothing to suggest that a woman may not inherit the stone.’
‘I see,’ Josse murmured. Then, recovering from his dream state, ashamed that this old sorcerer should have found him such an easy victim, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. ‘This Abbey is ruled by a woman.’
‘A fine woman,’ Dee agreed. ‘I confess I am greatly impressed by Abbess Helewise. She refused to be intimidated by the Prince, didn’t she? Even when he was on the point of erupting into a rage, she stood firm. I admire that in anyone, but it is as rare as to be virtually unique in a woman.’ He chuckled. ‘The only other lady who looks him straight in the eye is his mother.’
‘Do you have a wife, Magister?’ Josse asked, interested.
‘I? No, I regret not. Wedlock and sorcery do not sit comfortably together.’
‘But you like and admire women?’
‘Oh, yes. Our age does not value them as it should, and the world is the poorer for it. Power in the female form is our only hope,’ he murmured.
‘How so?’ Josse demanded.
The Magister’s eyes took on a clouded look, as if he were staring at something in the distance. ‘The power of men is a selfish power,’ he intoned. ‘It is a base and naked force which, once discovered, is akin to that of a small boy who finds he can cut off the head of a cat with his father’s sword. Because he can is no reason to assume that he should. Do you see?’
‘Er – aye.’
‘There is no future for us unless we acknowledge the female force,’ Dee went on. ‘The spark of the Great Mother, the nurturer, exists in all of us, would we but recognise it.’
Some hope of that, Josse reflected.
Dee, as if picking up on Josse’s unspoken thought, said, ‘One day, Josse – a day not far off in terms of the long history of this world of ours – one day it will change.’ The dark eyes suddenly turned to Josse, piercing him with a stabbing stare that was almost painful. ‘There will sit on the great throne of England a monarch who will be the greatest of them all.’ He spoke the words as if he were chanting. ‘Wise, astute, learned and just, beloved of the people, this monarch will be the child of a philanderer and a witch with eleven fingers.’ He paused. ‘And she will be a woman.’
For an instant Josse was sufficiently carriedaway by the Magister to believe him. But then, with a slightly uneasy laugh, he realised Dee must be joking. ‘That,’ he said, grinning, ‘would indeed be something to behold.’
Dee, regarding him with faint irony, did not answer.
‘So, Magister’ – Josse tried to sound business-like; there had surely been quite enough of this whimsical talk, and Dee, after all, must have brought him out here for a purpose – ‘what do you suggest we do now?’
Dee, appearing not to resent Josse’s lead back to the matter-of-fact, said, ‘As I told you, I do not believe that the Eye should fall into the hands of my master the Prince. Therefore I shall not let that happen.’
The Magister in his day-to-day form was, Josse realised, a different matter from the powerful sorcerer of the shadows; he found that it was quite easy to say to the former, now standing before him, ‘And just how will you prevent it?’
Dee smiled. ‘The Eye will come to you. I told you that, also. Provided you do not rush away to tell the Prince and offer your treasure to him, he will not know that you possess it.’
‘And he will cease demanding it of me?’ It sounded highly unlikely.
‘He will.’ Dee, it seemed, could see that Josse did not believe him. Smiling, he added, ‘It is not in his best interests to have the Eye. He has perils enough ahead, without the added danger of attracting the malice of a powerful amulet.’
‘But––’
‘I wish that you would pay attention.’ A mildly peevish note had entered Dee’s soft voice. ‘The Eye only works positively for its rightful owner, which is you. And your descendants. Unless, of course, you give it away of your own free will, which you may choose to do, although I do not advise it.’ He paused, then added, even more quietly, ‘I certainly do not advise giving it to Prince John.’ His eyes on Josse’s, he murmured, ‘If anybody steals the stone, removes it from your possession without your consent, it will do them no good; its unique powers will become inert, and it will be no more than a pretty bauble. Worse than that, I suspect it may actually work against a man who purloins it. So, Josse. Do you understand?’
Slowly Josse nodded. ‘Aye. But––’
Dee sighed faintly. ‘But? Go on, you may as well ask.’
‘You said that the Prince faced perils ahead,’ Josse whispered, as if the very trees in the Vale might try to overhear. ‘What did you mean? Will he succeed Richard and become king?’
Dee paused, then said, ‘King Richard has no child. If he does not beget a healthy son on Berengaria his wife, then the laws of our land state that he must be succeeded by his brother.’
‘Aha!’ But Josse’s brief moment of excitement was swiftly curtained as he realised that Dee had told him nothing that he had not already known. ‘If Prince John should reign,’ he said, wondering if he might be able to trick the Magister into a confidence, ‘will it be a dreadful disaster?’
Dee stared at him, his face impassive. Then, with the shadow of a wry smile, he said, ‘Wait and see. Just wait and see.’
17
In the morning, waking to the sheer normality of Yves yawning and stretching beside him, laughing at some light-hearted remark made by Brother Saul as he brought them mugs of some hot, pleasant-tasting drink, Josse wondered if the experiences of the previous night had been a dream.
In some ways, he would have been relieved if they had been. But he knew better. And, besides, his cloak was still soaking wet from the drenching he had received as he saw the Magister safely back to the Abbey gates.
In retrospect, surely it had been unnecessary for a man armed only with a knife to presume to safeguard a powerful magician. Dee, Josse was quite sure, was more than capable of looking after himself.
But the old man had accepted Josse’s gesture with grace and a courteous ‘Thank you’. He had even deigned to take Josse’s proffered arm as they climbed up the slippery path.
I like the man, Josse decided, blowing on his herbal drink
to cool it. If indeed man is what he is . . .
But that thought was disturbing, even in the sunshine of early morning. He put it aside, instead announcing to Yves that they must go and seek an audience with the Abbess because he had something important to tell her.
Helewise, once over the shock of learning that Josse had been abroad in the night and consorting with a sorcerer, discovered that she was not surprised that John Dee had declared himself for Josse. Watching his earnest, honest face as he repeated to her what Dee had said, she thought, I, too, would place my trust in dear Josse over the Prince. What a pity it is that Josse cannot ascend the throne if King Richard leaves it vacant.
But that thought, she was well aware, was treasonable. She said a quick and silent apology, and turned her full attention back to Josse.
‘We have, if nothing else, now managed to identify the poor young man murdered in the Vale,’ she observed when, after quite some time, he finally finished all that he had to say. ‘An agent of Prince John’s, did Dee say?’
‘Aye, he did. And––’ Josse frowned, apparently thinking hard, but, after a moment, gave up and said with a shrug, ‘There was something else he said, but I can’t seem to bring it to mind. Something about the young man not standing a chance . . .’ Turning to Yves and then back to Helewise, he added, half-apologetically, ‘It’s an odd experience, talking to a sorcerer. He – well, you get the feeling that he makes sure you only recall what he wants you to recall.’
Yves made a faint sound of awe. Helewise, managing to control her reaction, merely said, ‘He is a powerful man, this John Dee.’
‘That he is,’ Josse agreed fervently. ‘And knowledgeable! Why, he told me things about this Eye of Jerusalem that only the very wise could know!’
‘Yes, you said,’ Helewise interrupted. Fascinated though she had been with Josse’s tale of the Eye’s history according to John Dee, she did not want to hear it all over again. ‘And he is going to ensure that the jewel comes to you, its rightful owner.’
‘That’s what he said, aye. And I believe him.’ Josse stuck his chin up.
‘I am sure you are quite right to do so,’ she said soothingly. ‘Although, of course, that presupposes that the Magister is right and the Eye is indeed on its way to you.’
‘All this talk,’ Yves put in, sounding as if he had had to steel himself to speak, ‘it unnerves me.’ He addressed his brother: ‘Josse, you make it sound as if this here Eye has a mind of its own. As if – as if––’ With a shrug, he gave up. ‘I don’t know. But, like I say, I’m – well, I’m afraid. We seem to be dealing with matters outside the normal, everyday world that I know.’
Helewise could feel his unease, and she both understood and sympathised. ‘Do not forget, Yves,’ she said gently, ‘that your brother here has spent the night in the company of a great magician. Fortunately for Sir Josse – indeed, for all of us here – it seems that Dee approves of the family of Acquin, and means them no harm. Whether or not Dee does in fact have power, I think we can be fairly confident that he does not intend to turn it against us.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Yves said, bowing to her. ‘Your words reassure me. But if this Eye turns up, what then?’
‘I suggest,’ she said, as calmly as she could, ‘that we worry about that when, and if, it happens. Now, Sir Josse, to return to the matter of the poor dead young man. Did Dee supply a name?’
‘No, he said he did not know it, but he promised to speak to Prince John this morning. I think, my lady, that, come evening, we shall have an identity for the body buried out there.’
‘I am glad of it,’ she replied. She was silent for a moment as she thought, then she said, ‘I don’t know if you agree, but to me it seems likely that the Prince’s man must have picked up the trail of Galbertius Sidonius and followed him here to Hawkenlye. Perhaps he intended to steal the Eye from him, perhaps he was merely intending to report back to the Prince that Galbertius was here, and await further instructions.’
‘I imagine his instructions were quite clear,’ Josse put in. ‘The Prince probably said, find the man, steal the stone and bring it to me.’
Helewise watched him. He was, she thought, becoming quite possessive about the Eye of Jerusalem. Which, although in many ways understandable, did not entirely seem to accord with what she knew of his generous, open-hearted nature.
It was, perhaps, something to watch out for. ‘If that is so,’ she said, ‘then we can only assume that someone else was already on the Prince’s man’s trail. And that he killed him before he could carry out his intention of stealing the Eye.’
Yves said excitedly, ‘But then, before the killer could creep up on Galbertius and take the Eye, the old man died and his own servant stole the stone and made off with it!’
‘Then, for some reason, the lad was making his way back here when the killer caught up with him and murdered him!’ Josse cried. Then, the light fading from his face, he concluded, ‘So this skilful, brutal murderer now has the Eye.’
‘But Dee is convinced that the Eye will be brought to you,’ Helewise said. ‘Which can only mean that the killer, whoever he is, intends to redress the original theft of the Eye by the Lombard – or rather Galbertius, to call him by his name – and give it back to you, Sir Josse, whom he sees as its rightful owner.’
Josse’s eyes met hers, and his distress was evident even before he spoke. ‘If an assassin who can slay two innocent men wants to give me the Eye, I am not so sure I want it.’
It was exactly what Helewise had been thinking. But she said smoothly, ‘Wait and see, Sir Josse. We do not know the whole tale yet – far from it – and we should not prejudge.’
‘You speak sense, as always, Abbess Helewise,’ Josse said with a grunt. But, just the same . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.
Suddenly Yves said, ‘My lady, Josse told me that the first victim was killed with a Saracen knife.’
Helewise looked enquiringly at Josse. ‘Indeed? How so?’
‘My father had a similar knife, my lady,’ Josse explained. ‘I am certain that the murder weapon was of Outremer origin.’
She was thinking hard. Could her conclusion be right? There was little to support it, other than her strong feeling that she had hit on the truth . . . Raising her head to look at the brothers, she said, ‘What if the killer did in fact acquire his knife in Outremer? Can we deduce that he, too, was on crusade with Sir Geoffroi and the Lombard? That he is driven simply by the desire to possess the Eye of Jerusalem, which he has followed all the way north to Acquin and thence here to Hawkenlye?’
Josse stared at her with his mouth open for a moment. Then he said, ‘Your proposal is sound, my lady, up to a point. But we must not forget that Dee says the Eye will come to me. Why should a former crusader go to such lengths – travel all that way, kill two men – to steal the jewel, then give it away?’
She shook her head. ‘You are right, Sir Josse. Why indeed.’ But the thought would not go away, even in the face of such a credible undermining; she said tentatively, ‘Unless there were some great compulsion, some higher motive . . .’
‘We speak here of a killer, a cruel, efficient murderer,’ Yves put in. ‘Can such a man have a higher motive?’
She looked at him and smiled. ‘No, Yves. Probably not.’
‘But yet––’ Yves began, only to be interrupted by a vexed sound from Josse. ‘Josse? What ails you?’
‘I keep thinking that I am beginning to see this whole mystery clearly, that the solution is almost to hand, but then it seems as if a mist, or a fog, rises up suddenly and obscures my sight,’ he said, frustration evident in his angry voice. He shook his head violently. ‘I try and I try, but it’s as if that sorcerer has put an enchantment on me. As if his one desire is to make quite sure I do not see the solution.’ He glared furiously at Helewise but then, as if remembering where he was, abruptly dropped his eyes. ‘I apologise, my lady. And to you, Yves.’ He touched his brother’s shoulder. ‘I hate men who take out the
ir bad temper on innocent bystanders.’
‘It’s all right, Josse, we understand,’ Yves said.
But Josse, who did not seem to have heard, spun on his heel and headed for the door. ‘I’m going out for a ride,’ he announced. ‘I’m bad company, I have no useful thoughts to add to this discussion, and I am a trial to those who would try to muster some up. Perhaps some fresh air will clear this accursed fog in my head!’
He was out of the door before either Helewise or Yves could say anything to detain him. As the echoes of a violently slammed door died away – it was fortunate, Helewise mused, that the door and its hinges were stout and strong – Yves said quietly, ‘Oh, dear.’
She looked up at him, feeling a genuine affection. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘he’ll soon be back.’
Yves gave her a grin. ‘Aye,’ he agreed. Then, more sombrely, ‘He drives himself hard, my lady. He takes everything on those broad shoulders of his, and carries responsibilities that in truth belong elsewhere.’ She was about to agree with him when, flushing slightly, he said, ‘I implied no criticism of you, Abbess Helewise.’
‘I did not imagine that you did,’ she murmured.
‘But should not that sheriff – what was his name?’
‘Harry Pelham,’ she said tonelessly.
‘Aye, Pelham. Should he not be hunting down this killer?’
‘He should, yes,’ she agreed. ‘But, Yves, if we sat back and waited for him to solve every crime that occurred in this region, we should still be waiting when the Last Trump sounds.’
‘He is not – oh. I see.’ Yves’ face reflected his comprehension. ‘That’s why Josse feels so driven?’
‘I imagine so, yes. He has helped us many times before, you know, Yves. We at Hawkenlye treasure him.’