Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset

by Cooper, Edmund

  Kieron was near to weeping. ‘Father, you cannot do this thing. You shall not put yourself at risk in such a manner.’

  With some effort, Hobart drew himself up straight. ‘And who shall prevent me, boy? You have called me Father, of which I am proud. And is it not the duty of a father to protect his son, even if that son be not of the flesh but of the spirit?’

  ‘A son – a spiritual son – also has a duty,’ Kieron pointed out. ‘I beg you to destroy the document. It is dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous! Poof!’ Master Hobart took a sip of spirit. ‘Forgive me, Kieron. This physic is necessary for an old man who has outlived his strengths and skills … All my life, Kieron, I have lived safely – and in fear. In fear of those who employ me, in fear of the loss of my poor talent. There comes a time when a man desires to rise above fear. Such a time is when he wishes to protect one he loves … Forgive me. I am not courageous. Forgive me for deriving courage from a flask … But, I have been in the presence of greatness. I am content. Do you understand? I have seen you make brush strokes that have a wild and savage beauty. I know that you will travel far … I wish you to paint, for in that you have a great gift. But if it is your pleasure to reach for the stars, I will accept it. I cannot understand it. I cannot say more. But I accept it. Do we understand each other?’

  ‘We understand each other, my father.’

  ‘Well, then, there is no more to be said.’ Hobart took a deep draught of the spirit. ‘I have outlived my strength and my skills, but I have not entirely outlived my usefulness. The document will stand, Kieron, though I fall.’ Hobart smiled. ‘Once I tried to buy you from your parents. You did not know that. Now, I do not wish to buy you. I am content only to pay a very small price for your freedom.’

  Kieron could no longer hold back the tears. ‘Sir, you destroy me with love.’

  Hobart smiled. ‘I have watched you grow with love. I have tutored you with love. I will not destroy you with love … Kieron, I doubt that I shall visit you again. My health, you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Therefore, kiss me, my son. It is but little to you. It means much to me, because I am a foolish old man.’

  Kieron drew close and kissed him on the forehead.

  ‘On the lips, my son.’

  ‘So be it. On the lips.’

  ‘Now we are truly united in resolve.’ Hobart seemed happy. ‘Farewell, Kieron. You will not burn. Rest easy.’

  ‘Then I shall live to complete my apprenticeship,’ said Kieron lightly.

  Hobart gave a faint smile. ‘Your apprenticeship ended with Mistress Fitzalan’s Leap. It is a great painting. I can teach you no more.’

  Master Hobart took some more spirit. Then he left the cell. Two days later he was discovered dead, hanging by the neck from a beam in his chamber.

  17

  In times to come, Kieron recalled the last few days he spent in the House of Correction almost with pleasure. They were the last days of the world he had known, the last days of order and security, the last days of peace.

  Gerard and Kristen came to visit him again. So did Petrina and, with some apprehension, Aylwin the miller’s apprentice.

  Aylwin knew nothing of the measures being taken to defend Kieron. He looked upon his friend with much pity, as if the smell of smoke were already in his nostrils.

  ‘So, Kieron, it is in a sorry condition that I find you.’

  Kieron laughed. ‘Not so sorry as all that. I have food, I sleep well, my friends and loved ones do not neglect me.’

  Aylwin nodded towards the cell door, fully aware that there was a patient listener. ‘I have not broken my bond word, Kieron.’

  ‘Good, my friend. Neither have I. Nor will I. Let us each rest easy.’

  Aylwin seemed relieved. He had no wish to be noticed in any way by Holy Church. ‘Many will be willing to speak for you. I among them, if you require it.’

  Kieron noted the unhappiness in Aylwin’s eyes, and knew that it had cost him much to make the offer. ‘Aylwin, I thank you. I do not despise your kindness, yet I think that stronger voices may be heard in my favour.’

  ‘If the worst comes to the worst—’ began Aylwin.

  ‘It will not.’ Kieron also nodded towards the cell door. Then he said prophetically: ‘I will live to bury some who bear me small good will. This I swear.’

  Aylwin shuffled his feet. ‘I must go now.’

  ‘Do not neglect the skills you have learned. You have some talent, as I know.’

  Aylwin shrugged. Where now would he obtain the materials and instruction he needed? ‘We are each called to our destiny, friend. I will come again.’ He held out his hand. ‘Also, I will think much upon you, Kieron. You are my true friend.’

  But Aylwin did not come to the House of Correction again; and when Kieron next saw him, he was less a hand – the painting hand. And his black hair was streaked with white.

  Alyx Fitzalan was the last visitor Kieron received. She was accompanied by her father’s bailiff, who by his demeanour made plain his hearty disapproval of the encounter.

  ‘Be upstanding in the presence of Mistress Alyx Fitzalan,’ he intoned. An unnecessary command, since Kieron was already standing.

  ‘Kentigern,’ said Mistress Alyx with some tartness in her voice, ‘go and keep company with the good Brother Sebastian, whose heavy breathing informs me of his nearness. Discuss with him whatever is dear to you, and benefit from his pure and learned mind.’

  ‘But, Mistress, Seigneur Fitzalan commanded me to remain within your hearing.’

  ‘Do that, then. My hearing is excellent. I can hear the good Brother Sebastian shaking like one afflicted. Perhaps he has received a vision. Enquire of him if this be the case.’

  Kentigern retired, discomfited. For a moment or two, Kieron heard him exchanging words with Brother Sebastian on the other side of the cell door.

  ‘Well, Kieron?’

  ‘Well, Mistress Alyx?’

  They gazed at each other, each resisting the impulse to come close and hold close. It would not do. The witnesses at the keyhole would report what they saw.

  ‘So you stole a book from my father’s library. At least, that is what I am told.’ But her eyes said: Thank you, my love, for protecting me.

  Kieron signified his understanding. ‘I am bitterly sorry, Mistress Alyx. I intended to borrow it for a short time only.’

  ‘Did you know that it contained heresy?’

  ‘No, Mistress. Being simple, I thought only to take a book to read. I intended to restore it at the first opportunity.’

  ‘My father thinks you are a fool, Kieron. A fool without malice.’

  ‘So I am, Mistress. Definitely a fool. But I have no malice.’

  ‘So I will testify,’ said Alyx. ‘You have a great talent for falling off gentle horses, Kieron. The talent of a fool. Nevertheless, I am capricious enough to defer my wedding so that I may speak for you. Perhaps I am foolish also.’

  Kieron knelt and kissed her hand. He would have kissed her lips and felt her breasts against him. But he was mindful of the watchers and the listeners.

  ‘Mistress, you are indeed foolish to concern yourself with my predicament. Though I am nothing to you, I am most grateful for your interest in my case.’

  Alyx smiled sadly. ‘Stand, Kieron. The artist knows his subject. The subject knows the artist. Between them, formality is tedious.’

  ‘Mistress, I—’ Kieron glanced at the cell door.

  ‘Yes, I know. The ears flap. Master Kentigern grows red in the face, and the good Brother Sebastian breathes hard. It is of little importance … My father bids me thank you for removing the book from his library.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It is simple. He did not know that he possessed an heretical work. He is glad to be quit of it. Also, he, too, will speak for you. He bade me say that, while he supports Holy Church in the rooting out of heresy, fools are with us always and may be relied upon to accomplish their own destruction.’
>
  ‘He is most kind.’ Kieron, remembering his last encounter with Fitzalan, thought the seigneur was exceptionally kind.

  ‘He is, above all, a practical man,’ said Alyx enigmatically. ‘He is prepared to pay a reasonable price to achieve his ends … Kieron, I have news for you. It is both bad and good.’

  Kieron knew before she told it. ‘Master Hobart?’

  ‘Is dead. He left a document.’

  ‘I know. How did he die?’

  ‘He hanged himself … Holy Church will not burn you. The document absolves you from blame. Add to this those who will speak for you, and the Church is powerless.’

  Kieron was weeping. He turned towards the cell door. ‘Brother Sebastian,’ he shouted, ‘you hear me! Better for you to leave the seigneurie if I am acquitted. For if you do not—’

  ‘Kieron!’ Alyx spoke sharply. ‘Indulge your grief, but do not undo the work for which a good man died.’

  Kieron hid his face in his hands. ‘Alyx, I am sorry. Hobart was as a father to me, and—’

  ‘And,’ said Alyx, ‘he will be remembered for his last work, which was his greatest. You gave him some assistance, I recall. You are his monument, Kieron. Be worthy of him. That is all.’

  Kieron looked at her, red-eyed, the tears streaming down his face. ‘I will try to be worthy of him. But who can say if I succeed?’

  ‘Time will reveal, Kieron. I must go now.’ She smiled, and suddenly threw caution to the winds ‘My father drives a close bargain … But kiss me, so that I will remember it.’

  Kieron was aghast ‘But, Brother Sebastian?’

  ‘Brother Sebastian is of little account, now. His days are numbered. And Kentigern is true to the house of Fitzalan. Kiss me. Indulge a woman’s fancy. I have dreams, premonitions.’ She shuddered. ‘Kiss me.’

  Kieron held her close, felt the warm young breasts against him, kissed her lips, her cheek, her ear, her neck. He, also, had premonitions, He knew that he would not hold the living Alyx Fitzalan again.

  18

  Kieron slept badly, tormented by dreams. He was a child, with Petrina, in late summer. There was some question of following bees to find their honey, or to seek apples and plums. Eventually, they decided on apples and plums.

  The dream dissolved. Now it was a fine October morning, with the sky blue, and the castle rising out of the mist; and the boy Kieron, carrying a deerhide bag, was walking to Master Hobart’s house. He saw a dandelion clock, plucked the stem and blew the seeds away through the still air.

  A great voice that seemed to fill the world said: ‘So you want to fly, do you?’

  Kieron, terrified, looked all around him. There was no one to be seen. But it seemed advisable to make an answer. ‘Yes, I want to fly.’

  There was laughter. ‘Birds fly. Men walk. Put away such dreams.’

  Again he could see no one. Frightened, he continued on his way to the house of the painter.

  Mist and darkness. Then more sunlight. He was riding through the sky, then falling, falling. The sea was cold and there was a sharp pain in his leg.

  And suddenly, Brother Sebastian was looking at him. Brother Sebastian’s face was as large as the castle. His eyes were cold. ‘Heresy, Kieron! Men burn for heresy. Burn! Burn! Burn!’

  Brother Sebastian’s face became a black fog. No, not a fog. A column of smoke. Kieron could smell the smoke. It was choking him. He cried out, opened his eyes. But he could still smell the smoke, and the cell was entirely dark. Now he was aware of noises, shouts, screams, the sound of thunder. Or was it something other than thunder?

  His mind would not work, but the smoke was real. In the darkness, he coughed agonisingly and his eyes streamed tears. He needed air; but there was no air. Only smoke, choking smoke.

  The screams and the shouts and the thunder seemed not so near now. Everything was farther away. He was alone in the darkness, choking, choking.

  He tried to shout, but there was only a pitiful rasping gurgle in his throat. He goaded his dulled mind, seeking an explanation. He found one.

  ‘The trial is over,’ he told himself calmly. ‘The trial is over, and I was pronounced guilty. I am no longer in the cell. The smoke and heat have dulled my wits. I am at the stake, and I am burning. Why is everything so dark? Perhaps my eyes were the first to suffer. Well, then, this is the end of Kieron-head-in-the-air. It is not so bad as I thought.’

  He fell down, groping on the cell floor, coughing monstrously, but still conscious. ‘I am in my cell,’ he told himself. ‘I am in my cell. No. It is an illusion.’

  The stones of the cell floor were warm. He felt them against his face. ‘It is an illusion. It must be an illusion. The dying man seeks to escape his fate. What a pity I cannot tell—’

  He slumped unconscious.

  Outside his cell, out in the streets of Arundel, the screaming and the shouting and the banging and the burning continued. But, mercifully, Kieron was oblivious of it all. He lay on the cell floor, his open mouth touching the stone, his lungs still pitifully striving to suck in what little air remained. He was like to have choked on the smoke, had not two things happened in rapid succession. A wild, bearded, blood-stained man with an axe battered down the smouldering door and thrust a blazing torch through the doorway so that he could see if the room contained anything of value. The torch flickered and died for lack of air; but before it died, the intruder was able to discern what appeared to be a dead man on the floor. Coughing and spluttering and cursing, the bearded man retreated. A corpse did not merit his attention.

  Shortly after that, the wind changed, and the smoke was drawn out of the cell.

  Kieron had been near to death; and it was many hours before he returned to conscious life.

  There were blisters on his hands and feet and face. The pain was abominable. Every movement he made caused him to cough excruciatingly. But, somehow, he dragged himself to his feet and staggered out of the cell, out of the House of Correction. He trod, unheeding, on the body of Brother Sebastian. Brother Sebastian’s throat had been cut. But Kieron did not notice.

  It was shortly after daybreak.

  He went out into the streets of Arundel.

  It was a dead town. Dead, with the wreckage of its houses still smouldering. Apart from the crash of falling timbers, the crackle and spitting of charred wood, there was no sound. No sound of humanity. Arundel was deserted by the living, and the dead lay where they had fallen.

  The nightmare that had followed the dreams was real.

  PART TWO

  Airborne

  1

  His conscious mind numbed by shock, and like one who had taken too much strong spirit, Kieron lurched towards the castle. The main gate hung in fragments, destroyed, apparently, by some explosion.

  He clambered over the remains of the gate and the corpses of the men who had tried to defend it His mind refused to work. He tried to think. But his mind simply refused to work.

  He followed his instincts only. And his instincts led him to seek out Alyx.

  He found her.

  And then he wished he had not found her.

  She lay in the great hall, below the minstrel gallery. She lay on the floor of the great hall with her nightdress flung over her head and her legs wide apart. She lay with a sword that had passed through her navel pinning her to the wooden floor.

  Kieron inflicted on himself the supreme punishment. He drew back her nightdress and looked upon her face. A pale, bruised stranger was revealed, her eyes wide with a horror now beginning to glaze in death, her mouth now open and slack, and the blood dried upon lips that she had bitten in her torment.

  Kieron was man enough to understand the terrible fashion of her death, and boy enough to be shattered by grief. Letting out a great cry of anguish, he fell to his knees, and stooped to kiss the cold forehead. His tears fell upon her face and, half-crazed with grief and horror, it seemed to him that she wept also.

  ‘Alyx! Alyx!’ he sobbed. ‘Would that I lay dead with you.’ Then another thought
pricked through his anguish, pricking deep like the thrust of a sword. ‘No, by the hammer of Ludd, I will stay alive and seek those who have done this thing. And, if I find them, I will find a means to inflict a terrible punishment, or I will perish. This I swear.’ Then he closed her eyes gently and eased the sword out of her body. It had a narrow blade. No blood came.

  ‘I will keep this sword,’ he said aloud, ‘to return to those who have left it.’ He straightened Alyx Fitzalan’s limbs, smoothed her nightdress down decently over the outraged body. Then he stroked her hair a while. Presently, he murmured: ‘Rest quiet now, my dear one. I must look to the living; though the dead shall never be forgot.’

  Sword in hand, he moved cautiously through the castle. The devastation and carnage appalled him. Many of Seigneur Fitzalan’s men lay dead, with weapons in their hands. Many strangers, also. Strangers in strange clothes, with black skins, white skins and brown.

  Of the two younger Fitzalan daughters there was nothing to be seen. Perhaps they had been taken away, or had been killed elsewhere. Seigneur Fitzalan himself, Kieron soon discovered in one of the upper corridors. He lay on the floor, outside a chamber door, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and with a great red stain on the fine linen that covered his breast, and a look of profound astonishment frozen on his face.

  Inside the chamber, on a larger bed than Kieron had ever before seen, a bed whose fine silk coverings were now bloody and torn, lay the seigneur’s lady. Her clothes had been ripped from her; and, by the look of it, she had suffered as Alyx had suffered, perhaps even more horribly.

  Kieron could not bear to look long, could not even bear to decently enshroud the dead woman. He had had his fill of terror. He stumbled from the room, feeling foul juices rise from his stomach to his dry mouth. He was sick in the corridor, but there was none to remark his weakness.