by Alys Clare
It watched him steadily, and he began to feel it was hypnotising him. ‘What am I to do with you?’ he asked aloud. He glanced down at the silver box that Sidonius had cast aside. ‘Shall I put you back in your box, hide you away under my tunic and use you when I am threatened, sick or bleeding?’ It was a tempting thought. ‘Shall I keep you in my hand as I go about my daily round, gradually getting to know what you can do, how you are able to warn me of hidden dangers?’
What great heights I could reach, Josse thought, with such an ally ever with me.
Thoughtfully, he picked up the silver box and stuffed it inside his tunic. He kicked out what was left of Sidonius’s fire, making sure the last glowing ember had been extinguished and smoothly raking over the charred remains with the side of his boot. The forest people were fussy about fires in their domain and it was wise, he knew, to take care when one had been lit. Then, still clutching the Eye in his hand – it fitted neatly inside his closed fist and could not be seen – he headed off towards Horace and the ride back to the Abbey.
He rode slowly, still thinking hard. He took Horace to the stables, where Sister Martha, with a friendly greeting, seemed only too happy to lead the horse away and see to him.
Not yet ready to speak to the Abbess, Josse cast around in his mind for a quiet place to go and sit by himself. The herb garden came to mind; he set off around the east end of the sisters’ dormitory and made his way through Sister Tiphaine’s neat beds to where a rough bench stood, under the shelter of the Abbey walls.
It was very peaceful. The gardens around him had the feel and the scent of autumn, and there was the faint smell of smoke on the air; presumably the herbalist had been burning garden rubbish. Herb cuttings must have been among the detritus, because he could smell something sharp and quite pleasant . . .
He closed his eyes. He had all but made up his mind; perhaps a brief period of silent meditation – of prayer – might bring him the wisdom to decide whether or not what he was planning was the best thing to do.
After quite a long time, he became aware that somebody was approaching, and had come to sit beside him.
‘You have it,’ John Dee said softly. ‘Would you permit me a look?’
Josse opened his eyes. ‘Aye,’ he said. He opened his right hand, resting on his knee, and the Eye winked up at him.
Dee sat and gazed down at it.
‘You may hold it, if you wish,’ Josse said.
Dee looked doubtful. ‘I am not sure . . .’ But then, as if gathering his courage and hastening to act before he could waver, he darted out his right hand and took hold of the Eye’s chain, dropping the jewel into the open palm of his left hand.
He sat perfectly still for some time, staring at the Eye, unblinking, face impassive. Then he went to return it to Josse but, as Josse unthinkingly held out his left hand to take it – the nearer hand to Dee – the magician held the Eye back.
‘It is time for your first lesson in the power of stones,’ he said with a smile. ‘You must always think before you take the Eye in one or the other hand. Are you right or left handed?’
‘Right.’
‘Then your right hand is your power-giving hand, your left the one that receives power.’
‘Oh,’ Josse said casually. Then, as he understood, ‘Oh!’
Dee’s smile widened. ‘Yes. I, too, am right handed. And I took your Eye in my left hand because I wanted to take in some of its power. You do not mind?’
‘I know virtually nothing of its power. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to take all you like.’
‘A generous sentiment, but you should be careful over making such offers.’ There was a pause, then Dee went on, ‘Would you like me to tell you of the Eye’s power?’
Josse sighed. ‘I know it can stop bleeding and detect poisons, and warn of enemies approaching. But aye, I suppose you’d better tell me the rest.’ Thinking that he had sounded ungracious, he added, ‘If you will.’
Dee chuckled. ‘For a man who has just been given the world,’ he murmured, ‘you appear very uninterested.’
‘What do you mean?’ Suddenly Josse was alert.
‘Oh – nothing. Take no notice.’ Dee seemed to be uneasy. ‘Now, you are right in what you say, as far as it goes, but those you have described are but the Eye’s minor powers. In its heart it carries far greater forces, but they cannot be awakened except by one who possesses psychic powers.’
‘Do you have these psychic powers? Can you awaken its forces?’
‘I could,’ Dee replied carefully, ‘but I will not. The Eye is yours,’ he said by way of explanation.
But it was hardly an explanation at all.
‘What do these greater forces do?’ Josse persisted. ‘Would they bring me wealth? Power? Good fortune? Position?’
‘All of those, and far more.’ Dee’s voice was low, sombre. ‘Although, like an inexperienced rider on a fiery stallion, you would have great difficulty controlling them. Indeed, they would probably control you. Which is why’ – his voice dropped to a whisper, and he spoke right into Josse’s ear – ‘it is vital that the Prince does not get hold of the Eye.’
‘I thought you said the powers would only work for the Eye’s rightful owner?’
‘I did. So, imagine what harm he might do himself, trying to bend uncontrollable forces to his own will when their intent was already to work against him!’
Being a novice in the world of magic, Josse had no idea of what the extent of the potential damage might be. But, judging by Dee’s horror-struck tone, it sounded as if it could be fairly devastating.
‘I shall not let the Prince have the Eye,’ he said firmly. ‘You have my word, Magister.’
Dee looked at him for a long time. Then, slowly, he nodded. ‘I believe you. Thank you, Josse d’Acquin.’
He went on staring at Josse. Just as the scrutiny was becoming really uncomfortable, he spoke again. ‘The Eye now belongs to you and your descendants,’ he said dreamily. His dark eyes seemed to look beyond Josse, out into the distance – or into the future – at something unseen by all except him. ‘It will go to one who has the innate psychic skill to make the Eye come properly alive. Yes, for the first time in almost two thousand years, the stone will come into its full potential.’
After a moment – during which, it seemed to Josse, the echoes of vast invisible waves lessened and finally shrank to nothing – he said, ‘But, Magister, I have no wife, and no child of my own. Will the Eye therefore go to one of my nephews? Is that allowed?’
‘You have nieces?’ The question seemed strange.
‘Aye, several.’
‘Ah.’ Dee smiled, as if in satisfaction.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh – it is only that I have the strong sense that this great sorcerer will be female.’
Josse felt afraid. The thought of one of Yves’s girls, or of Acelin’s sweet little Eleanor, having this great burden put upon them was, in that moment, quite intolerable. Which was, when he thought about it, precisely the endorsement of his earlier decision that he had been waiting for.
As if Dee were intently following Josse’s silent reasoning, he laughed softly and said, ‘Ah, Josse, how little you know of magical stones! You can do what you will – indeed, I think that, under the circumstances, you have decided wisely – but do not think that you can dust off your hands and finish the matter. The Eye, as you will discover, has its own ideas.’
‘I can’t lay this thing on the innocent shoulders of one of my nieces!’
‘No, you can’t,’ Dee agreed.
‘But I don’t understand!’ Josse protested. ‘Magister, you speak in riddles!’
‘Just as sorcerers always do.’ Dee got to his feet, putting a hand to the small of his back. ‘Ah, but I have sat here too long, and allowed the damp to get into my bones.’
Instantly Josse leapt up to help him. ‘Lean on me, Magister, and I will help you to walk.’ He hesitated, then said impulsively, ‘I am going to seek out t
he Abbess. Will you come with me?’
‘Thank you. I will.’
‘You should ask Sister Tiphaine for some of her special remedy,’ Josse urged. ‘She has a firm hand, but the pain as she rubs in the ointment is worth it for the relief it brings.’
‘Ah yes, Sister Tiphaine,’ Dee said softly. ‘I shall do as you suggest, Josse.’ He stopped for a moment, staring into Josse’s face. ‘You are a good man. I have always said so.’
Embarrassed, Josse muttered his thanks and then concentrated on supporting the magician’s weight as he led him away. As they proceeded out of the herb garden, he remembered something.
‘Magister, I have been in the forest,’ he said.
‘Ah.’
‘I – well, I’ll save the full story to tell the Abbess first, if you don’t mind. But I was informed that someone was using their power to protect me out there, and I imagine it was you, so I would like to thank you.’
‘Ah,’ Dee said again.
But, Josse noticed, he neither confirmed nor denied that he had lent his help.
Helewise put aside her books and gave her full attention to her visitors. She had been expecting them – at least, she had been expecting Josse – and she summoned one of the sisters to go and find Yves and invite him to come and join them.
‘The Magister is suffering from a pain in his back,’ Josse informed her.
‘Then he must have my chair.’ She got up and held out her hand to John Dee. With a graceful bow, he accepted her offer.
She went to stand beside Josse. ‘Is all well?’ she asked softly; he looked – different, somehow, and she was concerned for him.
‘Aye,’ he replied. Then he told her all that had happened since he left her.
When he had finished she said, ‘So we were wrong all along, and Galbertius Sidonius was not the Lombard.’
‘No,’ Josse said.
Then – she could not prevent herself – she said, ‘May I see the Eye?’
He opened his right hand and held it out to her.
She took it in her left hand. Immediately she felt as if some tiny creature were tickling her palm. It was not an unpleasant sensation but, nevertheless, she was wary. She handed the stone back to Josse.
Dee, watching, said, ‘Did you feel the power, my lady?’
‘I – er, I felt a sort of tingle,’ she admitted.
‘Ah.’ Dee glanced at Josse.
There was a tap on the door, and Yves came in. He, too, was shown the Eye, and Josse told him of the meeting with the man who was Galbertius Sidonius.
‘But he can’t be,’ Yves protested, just as Josse had done earlier.
‘He is,’ Josse insisted. ‘You must have misheard the servant lad, Yves, because when he muttered about Galbertius Sidonius, he wasn’t referring to his master.’
Yves was shaking his head, clearly disturbed at having what he had believed a certainty prove to be no such thing. ‘You have my sincere apologies,’ he kept saying, ‘I have misled you all.’
Helewise felt very sorry for him. ‘Perhaps,’ she said gently, ‘he and his master the Lombard had reason to know the name of Galbertius Sidonius. Perhaps they knew about the Guardians, knew that they were being pursued, and the lad, at least, was afraid. Would that tally with what you overheard?’
Yves, his brows drawn down into a scowl of fierce concentration, thought for a moment. Then: ‘Aye. He was saying something about keeping out of Galbertius’s way.’ As enlightenment dawned, he exclaimed, ‘Of course! He meant they both had to avoid the man, him and the Lombard! Oh, how foolish I have been!’
‘No, no,’ Josse protested, then, undermining his protest, ‘Well, anyway, no harm done.’
Helewise gave Yves a smile. ‘Do not upset yourself,’ she said quietly, just to him. ‘It makes no difference, in the end.’
But Yves, muttering under his breath, did not seem to be able to forgive himself so easily.
Josse was addressing John Dee, sitting regally in Helewise’s tall chair. He said, ‘Magister, why were you and the Prince looking for a man by the name of Galbertius Sidonius? Did you not realise that he was the Guardian, not the man who possessed the Eye?’
Dee gave a deep sigh. ‘The name came to me,’ he said. ‘I knew that it was important – its revelation was accompanied by certain unmistakable signs. There was the question of the man’s great age.’
‘He is not all that old,’ Josse said.
‘I realise that. I think that what I was perceiving was the vast antiquity of the Guardian tradition.’
Helewise could not contain herself any longer. She said, more abruptly that she had intended, ‘But surely you do not believe this fable, of a magical sapphire given by King Cyrus to the people of Judah! How can it possibly be true?’
As three pairs of eyes turned to her, two of them incredulous, one pair strangely knowing – almost, she thought, compassionate in their understanding – Josse said, ‘Abbess Helewise! Of course we believe it!’
In the face of that sort of conviction it was, she decided, better to withdraw. Bowing briefly, she said, ‘I see.’
Josse, still looking as if he had taken her remark as a personal affront, said rather stiffly, ‘The Magister is in pain, as I said, my lady. With your leave, I will take him to Sister Tiphaine and ask her to supply and administer some of her special rub.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Yves said hurriedly.
She returned their courteous bows as they filed out of the room, John Dee between them.
It seemed, she thought as she listened to their receding footsteps, that her remark had ruined their happy mood of fascinated enchantment.
But the tale cannot be true! she told herself. How could anybody know, after all this time, where that wretched sapphire came from, what its history was? If they chose to swallow the story without one single question, well, that was their choice.
She was quite determined she wasn’t going to.
With a slightly injured sniff – oh, dear, Josse really had seemed cross with her – she returned to her books.
20
Darkness was falling when Josse came back again.
Helewise had left her room to attend Vespers but, having no appetite, had decided not to partake of the last meal. She was sitting at her table, half-listening out for the summons to Compline and, afterwards, to bed, when she heard him approach along the cloister.
He would never, she thought, smiling, manage to surprise her there in her room.
She called out, ‘Come in, Sir Josse,’ just at the instant when his knuckles knocked on the door.
He did so. Then, without preamble, he said, ‘Abbess Helewise, I am sorry if I was impolite earlier. I have thought about what you said and, of course, you are right. I have, I believe, allowed myself to be carried away by these tales of magic and sorcery, and what small amounts I possess of sense and logic have been quite absent.’
It sounded, she thought, like a prepared speech. Then he said, ‘Phew! It’s a relief to have said all that!’ which seemed to confirm it.
She smiled, full of affection for him. ‘There is no need of an apology. John Dee is a compelling man, I agree. And you have also had a long conversation with Galbertius Sidonius who, I imagine, is something of a living legend. What a life he must have had.’
‘Aye. He seemed to be almost inhuman.’ Josse frowned as he tried to explain. ‘It was as if he was no longer any more than the job he was born to do. As if the decent parts of him had eroded away, leaving only the burning desire to carry out his purpose of guarding the Eye.’
‘I suppose such single-mindedness must have come about gradually, down through the generations,’ she mused. ‘For all we know, growing in intensity with each step from father to son. If, that is,’ she added hastily, ‘we are to give any credence to the tale.’
‘Aye.’ He sighed, and, looking at him, she saw that he seemed desperately tired.
‘Why not go to bed?’ she suggested gently.
‘You have had a demanding day.’
‘Aye, I have that.’ He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I want to speak to Saul and Augustus, too, so I ought to head off down into the Vale. I would tell the brothers all that has happened, Abbess Helewise, with your permission?’
‘Of course.’
Josse grinned suddenly. ‘I was just thinking about when I first asked the monks and the lay brothers if they recalled anything that might help us identify that first body, the one that the little lass discovered.’
‘And?’
‘Brother Micah spoke of a figure all in black creeping about the Vale. We didn’t take him seriously, especially since he said he’d heard this saturnine figure, which, as Brother Erse pointed out, is impossible. But in fact he might have been right – Sidonius wore black, or at least very dark colours, so maybe Brother Micah did see him after all.’
‘Indeed.’ It was something she preferred not to dwell on; the thought of a professional killer stalking the innocent monks and pilgrims in the Vale was just too dreadful.
Josse came closer, leaning his weight on his hands, placed on her table. ‘My lady, I have come to ask a great favour,’ he said. ‘I fully expect you to refuse, so don’t worry if you have to.’
She gave a small smile and said, ‘You’d better ask it, Sir Josse, and I’ll see.’
‘I want the Abbey to have the Eye of Jerusalem. Oh, I know you’ll say it’s mine and I must take the responsibility’ – it had not entered her head to say any such thing – ‘but let me explain my reasoning.’
‘Please do.’
‘This Sidonius fellow said that the Eye was now mine, mine and my family’s, and that it would pass down to my descendants when I die. But, as you know, my lady, I am not married and I have no child. He also said that one day the Eye would fall into the hands of a woman of my blood who possessed strange powers, and she would be the first ever owner of the Eye to bring its full potential alive. Well, you see, the trouble is that I’m worried that he meant one of Yves’s girls – Marie-Ida, Mathilde or even Madoline, who is but a year old, poor little lassie. Or he might have meant Acelin’s daughter Eleanor. What a terrible weight I would put on them, if it were so. Neither they nor my brothers would thank me, would they?’