Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset

by Cooper, Edmund

  ‘We shall pray greatly for you,’ said Brother Hildebrand. ‘Ludd’s will be done. Whatever may befall, rest assured that we shall save your immortal souls.’

  ‘With such friends,’ said Kieron, ‘we have no need of enemies.’

  ‘Silence, fellow!’

  A man stood forward. He wore the habit of a neddy; but round his neck there hung a silver chain, and from the chain a small golden hammer was suspended. He carried a scroll which he opened and from which he then read.

  ‘To Kieron, apprentice of Master Hobart, painter, and to Kentigern, bailiff of Seigneur Fitzalan of the seigneurie of Arundel, greetings. I. Xavier, Inquisitor General of the Holy Luddite Church, commend your souls to Ludd, and require the servants of the Church to convey you to the Sacred College of Nedd Ludd in the city of London where you shall be tried for diverse heresies and sundry treasons. It is my wish that my beloved brother Constant, Steward of the Inquisition, shall have regard for your comfort and safety upon the journey and shall bring you in safety to judgment, which shall be given by the Inquisitor General upon the advice of ten High Stewards and such persons as may speak in your favour.’

  Kentigern laughed. ‘They mean to burn us, Kieron. It is humorous, is it not? You destroyed the freebooters with your hot-air balloon, and I gave you some small assistance. They mean to burn us. That is droll – if not unexpected.’

  ‘By the hammer, I would like to see them try to burn us if the trial were held in this seigneurie.’

  ‘By the hammer, Kieron, you have the truth of it!’ shouted Kentigern. He turned to the Steward Constant, who had just read from the scroll. ‘It is an ancient right, Steward, granted to all men, that, if accused of any crime, including heresy, they may choose to be tried in their own seigneurie and in the presence of their people.’

  Constant gave an unpleasant laugh. ‘It is true, fellow, that a man may choose to be tried in his own seigneurie; but first he must plead such choice in the presence of his seigneur. You have no seigneur. Holy Church, as always, acts within the law and maintains the law … Now, it is a long ride to London. Do you go peaceably, or do my officers knock you on the head and draw you like meat in a cart?’

  Kieron and Kentigern looked at each other in dismay.

  ‘It is better to go peaceably,’ said Kieron. ‘A man with his wits about him still has the dignity of a man.’

  ‘Bind their mouths,’ said Constant. ‘We must be away before sunrise, else this confused and misguided citizenry may note and dispute our passage.’

  Cloths were placed over the mouths of Kieron and Kentigern. Then, with armed men escorting them, they were led out into the castle yard, where saddled horses were now waiting.

  Kieron glanced hopefully at the sty. But there was much low cloud, and light would be slow in coming. By the time that people were abroad and the situation made known to them, a troop of horsemen could be many kilometres to the north. He thought of Petrina. When he had been hustled out of his bed chamber, Brother Lemuel had remained. Guards also had been left at the door of Hobart’s house. He hoped no harm would come to her. But it would be a terrible thing for her to live the rest of her life as the widow of a man burned for heresy. And there was the child … How would the son of the Cloud Walker feel when he was old enough to understand the fate of his father?

  ‘Have the prisoners well mounted,’ said Constant. ‘We ride hard. I am entrusted with their safety. I have no wish to explain a broken neck to the Inquisitor General. Also,’ he laughed, ‘they may yet prove innocence.’

  A soldier, helping Kieron to mount his horse, grunted, coughed, opened his eyes wide with surprise and fell to the ground. In the half-light, Kieron saw an arrow shaft protruding from his back.

  ‘Let no one move,’ said a voice, ‘unless he wishes to follow this one rapidly to eternity.’

  ‘Mount!’ shouted Constant. ‘Mount, everyone! Let us away!’

  Two more men tried to force Kieron into the saddle. Both died.

  The Steward Constant stood quite still, peering in the half-light, seeing no one. So did the rest of his party.

  ‘You who are hidden,’ called Constant, ‘know that I am a Steward of the office of the Inquisitor General and that I lawfully take these men to give account of themselves in his presence. Justice shall be done.’

  ‘You who are not hidden,’ answered the voice, ‘rest easy. Do not move. Justice shall indeed be done. I will count three. Upon the count of three, all men bearing weapons will let them fall, or they will die. One … Two … Three.’

  There was a great clatter as swords, daggers, crossbows and bolts fell to the ground. Kieron looked joyfully about him. The light was gaining strength. He could now vaguely discern figures on the battlements, men crouched by the stables, men standing shoulder to shoulder with drawn bows in the castle gateway.

  ‘That is most sensible,’ said the voice. ‘Now we may talk.’ A man stepped out of the shadows to be revealed as Isidor. Two more men followed him, cutting the ropes that bound Kieron and Kentigern and tearing the cloth bindings from their mouths.

  ‘You come opportunely,’ said Kentigern.

  ‘You must thank Mistress Petrina for that,’ said Isidor solemnly. ‘I am told she broke a chamber pot over the head of a prating neddy; and then, disguised in his habit, left the guarded house to raise the alarm.’

  Kieron burst out laughing. ‘Miracles come aplenty. Two boys and a hot-air balloon rout the freebooters, and the power of the Luddite Church is broken by a chamber pot. Ludd, it seems, does not always favour the big battalions.’

  Kentigern rubbed his wrists and looked at the Steward Constant. ‘This creature was about to take us to London for a burning.’

  ‘We knew their plans,’ said Isidor. ‘We found one who talked with much enthusiasm and a dagger at his throat … I decided not to lead men into the castle, not knowing if they would kill you in the mêlée.’

  ‘An excellent decision. But they would not have killed. Such tricksters need to have their crimes approved in writing.’ He turned to the Luddite officers and soldiers, who had now been lined up by more of Isidor’s followers. ‘Well, fellows, you came not openly to perform your task but under cover of darkness like common rogues. You did not bring your arms when we needed them to drive out the invader. It seems your masters were not overly concerned with the fate of our women and children, having more important matters to consider – such as the dreadful crime of conspiring to construct a hot-air balloon. I have ever shown respect for the Church and its teachings, even when I thought them severe. But now that I have seen how the Luddite Church cares for its flock, I say we have no need of such madness in this seigneurie.’

  His words were followed by a great roar of approval. Kieron looked round. The light was gaining strength. It seemed now that all the grown men and many of the women of Arundel were assembled in the castle yard. He saw Petrina and smiled at her.

  Kentigern confronted the Steward. He snapped the silver chain that hung round Constant’s neck and let the small golden hammer drop at his feet. He put his foot upon it and ground it with his heel. He took the scroll from Constant’s hand and slowly tore in into pieces. The Steward stood pale, motionless, surmising perhaps that his last hour had come.

  ‘So, master champion of Holy Writ, you have heard the voice of the people – the free people of Arundel. Many have lost wives, husbands, sons, daughters, while such as you meditated upon the wickedness of heretical acts. I doubt that any man or woman present would shed a tear if we hanged a dozen Luddites before breaking our fast.’

  Again there was a great roar of approval.

  ‘But do not tremble, sir Steward. We are civilised folk – until we are greatly wronged. So you may return to your Inquisitor General in London and give him our thanks for the fine horses he has sent us and for the arms. Say they arrived late, but no matter. Say also that Kentigern sends his regrets, but chooses to remain bailiff of the seigneurie of Arundel until an inheritor is recognised. Say also that Maste
r Kieron Joinerson is too busy to attend his trial for heresy, having been appointed Warden of the Coast, Captain of Aerial Defence and – most recently – Master of Machines. Say finally that, if any force be raised against us, if any Luddite mission again enters this seigneurie, we shall reply most dreadfully with fire from the air and with machines of destruction beyond the imaginings of such as you … You will remember these words?’

  ‘I – I will remember them,’ Constant managed to say, though his voice was very small.

  ‘Go, then, Six hours from now, dogs and men on horseback shall be sent after you. It will go ill if they find you upon the lands of the seigneurie.’ Kentigern turned to the crowd. ‘Do I speak for you?’

  ‘By the hammer—’ shouted someone, then changed his mind. ‘By the reach of the Cloud Walker, you speak for us.’ There were cheers and much laughter.

  ‘A last reckoning,’ called Kentigern. ‘Where are they who brought vermin in our midst?’

  The two neddies, Lemuel and Hildebrand, were pushed forward. Lemuel wore only his stockings and a long undershirt. There was blood upon his head and an expression of great mortification upon his face. Hildebrand had the look of one who expected sudden death.

  Kentigern stared hard at them both. ‘You, I cannot find it in my heart to forgive nor your deeds to forget. You were of our people, your parents, whom you dishonour, raised you in the seigneurie, you saw the terrible destruction we endured. And yet, with pious words, you sought to work more mischief. It is my judgment that chains shall be set upon your hands and legs for a twelve-month. You shall sleep on straw in the stables, and you shall be any man’s labourers. If you attempt to escape we shall hunt you with dogs. Be thankful that you live, fellows. Our justice is more gentle than yours would have been.’

  Kentigern faced his people. ‘My friends, I am not your seigneur; and likely it will be many years before one sits in the castle once more. But I will do my best for the seigneurie. That is all I can say.’

  ‘It is enough!’ someone shouted. ‘We will have no strangers now. You know us and we know you. Raise hands those who accept Kentigern.’

  There was much shouting and cheering, as a forest of hands rose high.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Kentigern gaily, ‘I am overwhelmed, being too much of a coward to challenge the will of the people … Not many days ago I was in a sad humour, being half convinced that the world was ending. Then the Cloud Walker came to me with wild talk of a hot-air balloon with which he would attack our enemies. He was mad, of course.’

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  ‘But his madness was infectious, it seems … And, my friends, was it not an inspired madness? The world we knew has ended, a world in which it was a mortal sin for a man to devise something that would help his fellow men. But the Cloud Walker has given us the opportunity to build a new world. Shall we build that new world, or shall we return to the old ways?’

  ‘The new!’ they shouted. ‘Let us build the new!’

  ‘I hear your answer,’ said Kentigern. ‘Well, my friends, set these creatures who came against us back on the road to London. Then go to your homes and eat well, for there is much hard work ahead for all.’

  As the crowd dispersed, and the officers of the Inquisitor General were jeered on their way, Petrina came to Kieron’s side. He put his arm round her shoulders. ‘It was a heavy chamber pot?’ he asked.

  ‘It was a satisfyingly heavy chamber pot.’ She laughed. ‘I had no time to remove the contents.’

  Kieron turned to Kentigern. ‘I did not know you had such eloquent words in you.’

  ‘Nor did I,’ confessed Kentigern. ‘Kieron, I am in your debt. I greatly fear that your strange ideas have made a man of me.’

  ‘A man,’ observed Kieron, ‘must either fall or rise in adversity.’

  ‘Well said. But now we have many problems. Likely, the Luddite Church will try to reassert its authority. How much time do you need to construct hot-air balloons?’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Let us say five.’

  Kieron was aghast ‘Five? You want me to make five?’

  ‘Let us hope for the best and prepare for the worst,’ said Kentigern.

  ‘Can you give me a hundred men?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And a thousand square metres of linen and paper?’

  ‘Yes – if I have to send riders abroad, and strip every woman in the seigneurie of her petticoats.’

  ‘Well, then, in five days you shall have five hot-air balloons, armed and ready to defend the seigneurie.’

  ‘That is better than I hoped. I think it will take the Luddites at least eight days to raise a force against us – if they have the stomach for it.’

  Petrina shivered and said: ‘Kieron, come. The sun has risen. We must eat.’

  ‘My love, I am too busy. There is much to think about, much to do.’

  Kentigern cleared his throat. ‘Cloud Walker, I command you in little. But it is necessary that you remain alive and in good health. Must I send men to hold you while you are fed?’

  Kieron laughed. ‘You are a hard master, Kentigern. But I have a sterner mistress. I live, now, in fear of chamber pots. I will eat.’

  19

  By the time he was twenty-eight years old, Kieron had become a legend and had achieved the reputation of being immortal. He had broken both legs, both arms and had sustained other injuries that would have consigned many lesser men to the grave. He had endured all this because of his obsession with the conquest of the air. Hot-air balloons he had left behind him. These were now the province of his less-gifted apprentices and craftsmen. His present obsession was with sailplanes, machines that would glide through the air like birds.

  The Luddite Church had never again challenged the seigneurie of Arundel. The Luddite Church was in decline. As the news of Kieron’s successful attack upon the forces of Admiral Death had spread quickly through neighbouring seigneuries and more slowly through the rest of the island’s seigneuries, followed hard by the news that the Luddite Church had been proscribed in Arundel, men of intelligence everywhere began to think about these matters. The Church had been made to look ridiculous by its furtive attempt to capture the Cloud Walker – the only man who had known how to deal with the freebooters – and charge him with heresy. More, the Church had not only been made to look ridiculous, it had become ridiculous – showing plainly that it was concerned more with dogma than with the welfare of the people.

  For centuries the Luddites, drawing their inspiration from the fates that had overtaken the First Men and the Second Men, had maintained their power by fear, authoritarianism, and punishment. They had attempted, as it were, to freeze history, to maintain a society that neither declined nor improved. They had attempted to imprison the spirit of man like a fly in amber. Countless ingenious, inventive and creative people, attempting to improve their own lot and that of their fellow creatures, had been imprisoned, tortured, burned in order to maintain the doctrine that machines were anathema. But a strange and wonderful machine had been necessary to defeat Admiral Death; and the people of the seigneurie of Arundel had delivered their verdict upon the teachings of the Church.

  Men of intelligence dwelt upon these matters. Young men – ambitious and imaginative young men – throughout the country regarded the Cloud Walker with as much awe and reverence as their fathers and forefathers had regarded the Divine Boy. Many of the adventurous ones – young men with strange ideas and fanciful notions – broke their apprenticeships, left home and kith and kin, and journeyed to Arundel to seek service with the man who seemed to them to have opened the door to a new golden age. Some were recaptured by their masters or parents and were punished by their seigneurs or by the Church. But enough reached the Free Seigneurie, as they called it, to provide the Cloud Walker with an élite corps of young men with ideas.

  He received them joyfully as brothers, sons, companions of the spirit. The best of them lived in his house, ate at his table, having free access t
o their beloved Cloud Walker. Kieron had long since fulfilled the prediction of the astrologer Marcus and had begotten three sturdy sons. Master Hobart’s house had been considerably extended to accommodate wife, sons, and chosen apprentices in comfort. It was no longer just a house. It was a small university.

  Petrina had grown beautiful with the years, even more opulent in her body, and immensely proud of her husband and her sons. She presided over her extensive household like a queen. Students competed for her smile and approval. No one but Kieron aspired to her love. Each time he experimented with a new flying machine, she held her breast tightly and tried vainly not to weep. When he was brought home in pain, she soothed him and ministered to him and gave him hope for the future.

  Sometimes, she looked at the painting of Mistress Fitzalan’s Leap that he had lovingly restored, his last act as a master painter. Sometimes she hated that slender, bright-eyed girl, sitting a horse so wonderfully between earth and sky. Sometimes she wept for her. Alyx Fitzalan had never known the joy of lying with her love, had never borne three sons.

  Always, Petrina gave herself freely to Kieron – her mind, her spirit, her body. To her alone he was not the Cloud Walker. To her only he was a man who drove himself too hard, a lonely man whose tears and anguish and desire could only be released in the anonymity of darkness.

  One day, when the wind was right, blowing steadily from the east, Kieron sat in the aeronaut’s cage of his seventh sailplane. It lay upon the beach at Little Hampton, attached to a rope that would be drawn at his signal by eight good horses, the best that Kentigern could supply.

  He sat thinking, waiting for the wind to stiffen. He was thinking of the six preceding sailplanes. The first one – no more than a pair of imitation bird wings with a central harness for a man – had actually left the ground but had turned over in flight. Kieron had been lucky to escape with a broken arm only. The second one, having two wings, one set above the other, had not even left the ground, having been shaken to pieces as it was drawn along the beach by a team of horses. The third one, shaped like a gull in gliding flight and made cunningly of wood and canvas, had risen beautifully, only to have its wings broken by the fierce pressure of air, so that Kieron had fallen like a stone into the sea and, having broken a leg, had only been saved from drowning by a devoted apprentice who was a great swimmer. The fourth and fifth sailplanes had been subtle variations upon the gull design. There was a gifted apprentice, Bruno of York, who had travelled on foot across the length and breadth of England to reach the Free Seigneurie. Bruno, like his master, was obsessed by flight and had greatly studied the aerial movements of such birds as the swift and the swallow. He spoke convincingly of air resistance and the importance of what he called smooth or streamed lines. He, though not yet twenty, unlike the other apprentices, did not fear to openly challenge the notions of his beloved master – for which Kieron held him in great affection.