When she first reached the Meuse she came to a small ferry where the river narrowed and seemed more shallow. After giving some consideration to using it to cross over to the east bank, she discarded the idea and decided to just wade into the shallows to mask her trail and reverse her course, heading north. There was no guarantee that she would find another easy crossing point south of the city, and fussing with the horse on the small wooden barge tethered to the tree stump there seemed more than she wanted to try and manage at the moment. She could not risk being trapped on the east bank, away from the point where she had shifted in with Robert and Paul. Kelly was trying to track her position, but that was a new program, untested and possibly unreliable at this point.
Satisfied that the farmer had not taken up pursuit, she was soon picking her way north along the river’s edge. At times she had to skirt inland around thickets of plants interspersed with heavy riverside brush and stands of trees. Yet she was making good progress and, after a while, began to veer inland, hoping to take up the old Roman road again as she drew near to Heristal.
The Arabian still seemed very skittish, snuffing the cold air and moving on with a guarded, sometimes halting gait. She noted the horse’s ears were moving this way and that, intent on something.
Maeve tried to calm the horse, but then caught sight of a few dark shapes in the dim light, just ahead. Then came a howl, and a low threatening growl, and she realized at once that she had come across a roving pack of wolves.
Kuhaylan snorted, his tail swishing fitfully. Afraid the horse was about to rear, Maeve softened the grip of her legs and kept her hands soft on the reins. A less experienced rider would have done just the opposite, communicating yet more fear and distress to the animal, but Maeve knew exactly what she was about. The Arabian seemed to sense her confidence and settled down somewhat, but it was clear to Maeve that she may be in some danger. A horse’s best defense was speed, she knew, and so she urged him forward, speaking softly. “Ride on, Kuhaylan. No one can match you. Run boy!”
The horse surged forward, leaping smartly over a fallen log and Maeve had to stoop low to avoid an overhanging tree branch. She heard a snarling growl and caught the flash of sharp white teeth beneath amber eyes in the shadow of a hedge. One wolf made as if to lunge at the horse as it came on, but the Arabian was enormously strong, leaping up again, well out of harm’s way and then accelerating so fast that the rabid pack could do little more than howl in futile pursuit. The powerful horse easily outpaced the wolves and, satisfied that the danger had passed, she soon settled the Arabian to a slower, steady gait.
In time she found the road, following it north in the dark, confident that she would not be likely to encounter anyone else at this hour, though wolves were known to scavenge even in the midst of human settlements at this time. The continent was still deeply wooded, a wild, untamed land. It would be another 600 years before many of the great woodlands had been settled and cleared, even in the most populous areas of Gaul.
It was not long before she spied a dark shape ahead against the starry horizon, and she made it out to be the livery where she had first met the blacksmith and purchased the mare. There was no sign of life or activity there now, and no sound of his hammer ringing on the cold night air. Being close to the entry point, she veered off to skirt the road and look for the low stump that had marked the place in her mind. It was not far.
A few minutes later she was off the Arabian, steadying him and feeding him an apple that she still had in a pocket of her robe. She tied the horse off on the branch of a nearby hedge, and studied the ground, squinting in the dark to see if she could find the exact place where she had manifested. The soil here was thick and sodden in places and, to her surprise, the ground was marked with many footprints. Booted feet had made many deep impressions here, not long ago from the look of them, and that thought made her very uneasy.
The horse was skittish as well, snuffing the night airs and chafing a bit. He soon became so disquieted that she went quickly over at took hold of the reins, afraid he might break loose and bolt.
At that moment there was a cellophane crackling sound and the palpable odor of ozone. The Arabian whinnied, and started to rear up, but Maeve took a firm hold and calmed him with a reassuring touch and low whisper. “Easy boy, easy…”
Then the place where she had been kneeling a moment ago seemed to shimmer with a rippling blue light, and it was immediately obvious to her what was happening. Someone was shifting in, but she could not think why. They should be monitoring her mass pattern and preparing the retraction by now. Why risk another entry…unless something was very wrong, she thought suddenly.
She kept a firm grip on Kuhaylan, watching with amazement as the image of a man in monk’s robes seemed to manifest in the blue haze of the breaching point. In a flash of recognition she saw that it was Paul, but the image seemed to waver and loose substance, and she immediately feared that there was a problem on the shift, until something came flying out of the haze, landing with a thud on the grass at her feet.
The light faded in a frosty crackle of sound and was gone. There was no sign of Paul at all now, but Maeve stooped to see that an apple lay at her feet, with a neat slice down one side where something seemed to be stuck in the meat of the fruit. She picked it up, seeing a piece of folded paper had been wedged into a the small slice in the side of the apple.
She slipped it out of the fruit, opening it quickly and leaning into the wan moon light to get a look at it. It was very dark, and she could barely make out the characters, but was able to discern the message.
“New variation,” it read, with the word heavily underlined. “Lambert warned and flees in the night! Dodo fails! New Pushpoint: “A Loose twine… by the water’s edge. DO SOMETHING!”
She stared at it for some time, stunned by the development. Something had happened and her mind raced to unravel what it was. It soon became obvious to her that she had found the correct horse and foiled the plot to delay Dodo and his men. If that were the case then he would be riding south at this very moment, perhaps well past the farm site where she had found the Arabian, and closing in on Lambert’s villa at Leodium. But the words on the note clawed at her: “Lambert warned and flees in the night! Dodo Fails!”
“Do something,” she breathed aloud, shivering with the residual cold still lingering in the air nearby. It was a Spook Job, she reasoned. They don’t have the fuel to risk another full breach of the continuum here to make a re-entry, so they ran a Spook Job instead.
“And I have to do something,” she said aloud again her mind racing along the limitless Meridians of Time, frantically trying to answer the single question burned in her mind. “But what?”
Part VII
The River
“And a man cannot ever step twice into the same river, for other waters are ever flowing on to him. It's not the same river and he's not the same man.”
— Plato: Cratylus, Fragment 41
Chapter 19
Villa Landebertus, September 16, 705 ~ 11:00 P.M.
The Bishop was roused from restless sleep by heavy hammering on the door. He had retired soon after matins, but his dreams had been fitful. Now he started awake with fear, a strange presentiment sweeping over him, mixed with the lingering remnant of a dream. There was danger at hand, mortal danger in the night. Men were coming to seek his life! Instinctively, he reached for the sword that lay by his bed, groping for the hilt, reassured to grasp it. Yet he was no fighting man. What could he do?
The sound of knocking at the door grew louder, more insistent, more urgent. Then there came a hard shudder and he heard the door give way, breaking open on failed hinges and crashing to the hard stone floor below. He rushed out of his room, already hearing fearful cries from his family in the lower rooms.
“Landebertus of Tongeren!” A harsh voice echoed in the hall, resounding up the stairs.
The bishop steeled himself, making the sign of the cross and whispering a silent prayer. He looked at the sword in
his shaking hand, and realized the folly of it, setting the weapon down, resigned. “I shall not die with the sin of blood on my hands,” he said softly. “No, I shall meet my fate, steadfast in the Lord, and his will be done.”
A swarthy man came rushing up the steps, breathless, eyes wide with urgency. Seeing him, the bishop fell to his knees, eyes upward as if searching the heavens for aid and succor. Yet fear disturbed his prayer, an emotion so strong so as to wrench a cry from his soul, and he wept.
“Take me unto thy bosom, O Lord,” he cried.
“What man? I have come with dire warning!” The stranger stooped, taking hold of the bishop’s nightgown, shaking him. “Asleep in my farm I was, when with fitful dreams I was taken, and behold, a vision came unto me, an angel as it were! And I was told I must ride hither, with all speed to give this warning. Men are on the old Roman road, even as we speak, and bent here with evil hearts, intent upon thy death. Get up, my bishop, and flee now to safe ground while you may! Three horses have I, tethered at the gate, enough to carry you and your domestics safely away from this place. Hurry man! Get up and don warm clothing, I will rouse your household and see that they are safely mounted. Quickly now, ere fell deeds take the lives of all your family as well!”
The bishop stared, dumbfounded, through teary eyes. “Then you are a friend to Christ and servant of the church?” he quavered.
“I am a friend to fate and the one true God, indeed!” said the man quickly. “Come now, I urge you. Take flight to the river, and there you may cross safely at the old ferry site not far from here. Once across there is no other way for your enemies to follow. It is Dodo of Heristal that comes in the night, with fell retainers by his side and hatred in his heart. He boasted that he would avenge the death of his relatives, slain by your command for the desecration of church property, and more, for the slander you have spoken of his sister. All this the angel spake unto me, but said fear not, the Lord’s is with thee this night.” The stranger smiled, helping the bishop to his feet.
“Dodo is nigh at hand, I fear, but by heading east to the river you may yet evade him. I will remain here and tell him you have fled south, away from this place. So may he be deceived and the work of this, thy holy see, preserved with thy life, and the lives of all those well loved by thee in this house.”
It was enough to rouse the bishop from his fretful fit, and he straightened with newfound resolve and strength. By the grace of the Lord, and guided by this stranger, he held fast to a thin coil of hope. Minutes later he was the last to come down from his chambers, to find his family securely huddled on the backs of the waiting horses. “Bless you, bless you,” he said in thanks, making the sign of the cross as he mounted the last of the three horses, a gray mare with sad, sorrowful eyes.
“I had hoped to bring you a mighty steed, father, so that you might fly like the wind this night,” the man said quietly, “but these three are all I could find, and may they prove your salvation.”
“As God wills it,” said the bishop.
“Then go now, quickly! You have labored along the banks of this river many long years, and you know the way well. Flee east, thence north along the river to the ferry. Stay off the road, for Dodo and his retainers will surely come by that route. And may God be with you!”
The bishop rode off on the gray mare, leading his domestics away into the shadows of the night. The stranger watched him go, smiling, relieved, as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.
“Go, and live,” he whispered, with just a hint of disdain in his voice now. “Go and preach your creed as you will for the little time that remains to you.”
The story he had told the bishop was true, for it was not long after the serving wench fled with the Arabian that a messenger appeared to him in the firelight while he paced in his home, restlessly trying to decide what he must do. Was the woman truthful? Would she indeed lead Dodo and his men to this place? The messenger came, appearing like the angel he had spoken of, then vanishing in a blue mist. Yet he left behind a scroll, and the farmer had opened it, his dark eyes wide as he read the strange characters there, speaking softly to himself. At once he knew what he must do, and he immediately put the scroll to the fire.
Now he watched the bishop go, and spoke aloud again. “So we fill your cup in this chance, dear bishop, for I am no assassin.” He smiled. “We are gracious, and it is necessary to spare your life so that others might prevail in a time and place you can scarcely imagine. Yes, as God wills it! For there is no God but God, and Allah is his name.”
Miles away to the north, Maeve had her own visit from an angel and was back on Kuhaylan. The stallion chafed, sensing the emotion and urgency in her movements. Her mind outpaced her heart, with one question on top of another. What? What am I to do? She went round and round with it, but almost without realizing it she was riding again, south, down the old Roman road.
If Lambert was warned this night, she reasoned, then someone must have gone to the villa. They must be making another attempt at sparing the life of the bishop—this time by direct intervention! Yes, it was risky to so directly affect the behavior of a Prime Mover, but what else could they do if Dodo was not forestalled? Then, if Lambert flees, where would he go? And what does that last bit mean, about the river?
“Think, woman,” she said aloud, urging the Arabian faster yet. There is no way the bishop could come north, she decided, for he would immediately run afoul of Dodo and his men. He could flee south, but that road is 40 miles or more to Namur, and it is likely that Dodo, or at least one of his men, would overtake the bishop and his family, delaying them long enough for the others to catch them up. West lies open land, where they would surely leave tracks that could be followed, and it would be very trying and dangerous to go that way. East lies the river Meuse—then she remembered it with thunderclap surprise. The ferry! He’s going to run east and then turn north along the river to the ferry, just as I did when I fled the farm site!
It was the only scenario that promised a speedy escape. If the bishop could reach the ferry and get safely across the Meuse, he could ground it on the far bank and there would not be another way to get over the river for miles in either direction. The delay would give Lambert just the time he needed to make good an escape.
Her body had already decided this course, but now her weary mind joined it, melded with the flowing rhythm of the horse as she hastened south in the dark. It was clear now that she had to get to the ferry before Lambert did, and set it adrift. It was the only way she could extinguish this last route of escape and seal the bishop’s fate. Dodo and his men would follow the tracks east, and he would know of the ferry site as well, she reasoned. Once he determines where Lambert is headed, he’ll gallop there at full speed on whatever mount he can find. He’ll do everything in his power to get to that ferry, yet what if Lambert arrives first and escapes? It’s a horse race now, she thought. And I have just the horse to win!
“Ride with me, Kuhaylan,” she said aloud. “Ride with me this night and drink the wind!”
“She’s moving,” said Kelly, pointing at the line of latitude and longitude coordinates on the screen. “And from the rate these numbers are changing she’s going at a fairly good clip.”
Paul had returned, elated that Maeve had been right there at the breaching point, waiting for them when he appeared. The Spook Job went off seamlessly, and he was able to toss Maeve the apple with its hidden message.
“Can’t risk just fluttering a piece of paper her way,” Paul had argued earlier. “I’ll need something with some weight that I can throw and aim. I’ll want to get it well away from my manifestation coordinates, but yet close enough to the breaching point so that it might be noticed if she comes upon the scene later. And it can’t be anything modern that could contaminate the Meridian.”
In the end they had found the apples in the kitchen break room, and Paul decided they could slide a folded message neatly into a small slice in one side. Maeve’s close proximity when he appeared was ju
st the icing on the cake. Paul knew she could not fail to see the apple now, and read the note it held.
“What is she supposed to do with it?” said Kelly. “Eat the damn thing?” They had no idea what the altered hieroglyphics might mean now, ‘by the river’s edge,’ but it was all they could do—just pass the information on to Maeve and hope for the best.
“Well, if she can’t make an intervention, then what?” Kelly asked, frustrated.
“Then you can send Paul through again to the villa and he can kill the bishop.” Nordhausen folded his arms and looked smugly at his friend.
“Hey, I just shifted in for the Spook Job, Robert. You’re up next.”
“That won’t matter,” Kelly waved at the two of them. “Lambert won’t even be at the villa. He was warned, remember? You think he’s just going to sit there waiting for Dodo and his men to show up?”
“He was warned, alright, and I would make it well after 9:00P.M. on that Meridian when we first returned,” said Paul. “But he had to be tipped off before midnight when we assume Dodo could arrive with his men from Heristal. Let’s say he flees at eleven then. In that case you’ll have to tell the Golems to reprogram that final worst case mission entry point for some time between ten and eleven. That would put Robert at the villa just before the warning arrives. Then he can break in and assassinate the poor man before he’s warned and makes off with the whole of Christendom and the fate of Western civilization in the night.”
“What?” Robert protested. “We haven’t drawn lots yet. Those little Spook jobs were nothing. You weren’t there but a few seconds, on either Meridian. It’s obvious you still have your wits about you, so take your chances, Paul. We’ll draw lots,” he insisted.
Anvil of Fate (Meridian Series) Page 16