by Dave Duncan
One lord, who evidently had something to do with the Treasury, at once asked how large an endowment would be required.
Kings do not like to put a price on a favored project. “As much as is needed. Is anything more important than fighting Satan?”
The bishop immediately agreed, but then asked if he was correct in assuming that I would be required to operate under the oversight of the Church. This launched a discussion. Every time someone referred to me as Sir Durwin I had to stop myself from looking behind me. I kept my mouth shut, but I was convinced that the only contribution I could expect from the Church would be gags and shackles. There would be no cooperation, only suppression.
Then I noticed the queen looking at me. She raised one eyebrow very slightly. My nod was even slighter, but suddenly, without a raised hand or as much as cough, by some magic unknown in Helmdon, Eleanor had everyone’s attention.
“Will someone inquire of Sir Durwin, my lords, just how he would propose to proceed, if entrusted with this vital responsibility?”
Grimly aware that most of the authoritative eyes in the realm had suddenly focused on me, I sent a silent prayer racing off to Heaven and said, “Enchanter General de Fours has already been most helpful in advising me on what I should need, Lord King, and I would certainly recommend that I begin by setting up a central library of enchantment. The sages in Helmdon have been meeting with much success lately in resurrecting the ancient native lore of this country, which has been sadly neglected of late. Indeed much of it has been lost. It was by means of such long-neglected enchantments that I was able to arrive here in time to forestall the attack on your gracious self.”
Eleanor said, “You would train other enchanters in these skills?”
“Most certainly, Lady Queen.”
“Have you given any thought as to where this school should be set up?”
“Not yet, Lady Queen.” I did not know if even Helmdon would have a home after Dean Odo died.
“We have several unused buildings right here in the Beaumont grounds. If the space later proves inadequate, there is room for expansion in Oxford itself. And, as my lord bishop is aware, the Church already maintains several theological schools in the town, whose officials would be available for consultation on any controversial matters. And we have facilities here—stables and kitchens and others—that stand idle for years on end.” She smiled a smile of virginal innocence—probably the same smile she had used when she talked King Louis of France into a divorce.
Her present husband strode across and stared down at her. “It is against the way of nature for a woman to be so clever.”
“Oh, sooth, my lord! Are you implying that it is in the way of nature for men to be stupid?”
The laughter required at the queen’s jest sounded a trifle strained. I wondered what she might be up to, and could see that everyone else did also. In fact I never discovered any dark motive in her suggestion. She had just seen a perfect solution, some hours before us men would have done. Beaumont was close to London and other important towns, but could provide a quiet center for study and meditation. She had even made it seem handy for the Church to keep an eye on.
Nobody came up with an objection. As my appointment did not sound unduly expensive or menacing to the nobility, it met with universal approval.
Thus, in a matter of minutes, my entire future life was determined, and the king’s two enchanters general were thanked and dismissed. The council could then go on to discuss the exciting report of King Arthur’s grave being found in Glastonbury.
chapter 29
no sooner had the council meeting ended than the king ordered his horse brought to the door, grabbed some food to eat in the saddle, and took off to Glastonbury with a small entourage.
Earl Robert of Leicester remained behind and ate in more civilized style with some of the other councillors. But then, having seen them off, he took me by the scruff of my neck—or so it felt—and led me on a tour of the palace grounds, accompanied by a couple of clerks. What size of establishment did I have in mind?
If the Glastonbury rumor proved false or the queen was delivered of a girl, I was unlikely to need much more than a six-foot grave. Since all I knew was Helmdon, I described a school of about that size.
“Double it,” Lord de Beaumont grunted. “And double it again. You have all of England to worry about now. Think fifty or sixty sages, plus adepts and pupils. At the moment you have the king’s ear and can ask what you will. In a couple of years his interest will fade and he may be less inclined to favor you.”
We found a building that had once served as a monks’ refectory, and decided that it could be divided to make classrooms. Leicester barked instructions and the clerks scribbled. Then we found a derelict stable, which he ordered torn down and replaced with housing. The attendants’ estimates of cost swirled in my head like flies around a dunghill. I had never thought in such terms.
Then the old warhorse fixed me with a glittering eye. “Why are you smirking, Enchanter?”
“I was trying not to, my lord. I was thinking that two years ago I was a stable boy.”
“And now you’re one of the king’s senior officers! The king has a rare gift for finding good men and binding them to him with chains of steel. You don’t look like a stable boy or speak like a stable boy.”
For which I had to thank the sages at Helmdon, most of whom were sprung of noble stock. Guy Delaney had been reared in a bishop’s household, Rolf de Mandeville had been a count’s brother, and they had taught us varlets gentle ways.
“Well?” Leicester demanded. “If I order these buildings altered to suit you, can you fill them with enchanters?”
It was at that moment that I saw the obvious answer to my recruitment program. “Yes, my lord. You build the paddock and I will round up the livestock.”
The old warrior laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. Nothing earlier had so demonstrated to me that I had joined the fraternity of knighthood.
That evening I supped with the queen and her ladies. She had me sing for them, and they agreed that I was as good as any minstrel. I decided that Eleanor just enjoyed watching me blush. Her Grace declared that I was now armigerous, and sent for a funny little man who wrote and sketched with his nose almost on his slate. Between them, they designed my blazonry, a crown within a pentacle.
I would need a house for my bride, Her Grace declared. There was a fine cottage in the grounds that would do splendidly—only five or six rooms, but when our family outgrew it, I would be able to afford something larger in the town. I did not enlighten her on the size of the kennel in which I had lived with my parents and three brothers.
Next morning Iden Attewell turned up again to announce that he thought Whirlwind would benefit from another day’s rest, unless I had any urgent business for him. I did not, I said, but I played his favorite game by asking after his friend’s sister.
She needed more exercise, he said, and strutted away whistling. I couldn’t tell how much he was just making up, but I thought longingly of Lovise, and swore that I would head back to Lincoln the following day.
That presented more difficulty than I expected. Queen Eleanor was not as indefatigable as her husband, but she never lacked for energy, and she was screamingly bored at being confined to one place by her pregnancy. I was a new source of amusement for her. I also had business to attend to with the workmen. I had to obtain funds, which was no easy task until I appealed to the queen, because Leicester had gone off back to London.
Iden did set off for Lincoln the next day, carrying letters signed by my hand and making no mention of my new rank. I swore him to secrecy about that, too. The day after that I received my new signet ring, with my bearings, and Magus Max Durvinus Pipveli Eques written around the edge.
When I left Beaumont, the queen presented me with a finely polished oak cane. It is one of my proudest possessions and is with me still, although the engraved silver handle is now worn smooth.
At first Eadig and I rode n
orth, retracing the way we had come, for our first destination would have to be Helmdon, or so I thought. It would be an easy day’s ride. Beautiful clouds dappled the sky, and the air was sweet. I was a knight, on my way to claim my lady and bring her to live in a palace. God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. Or so I thought.
I turned to Eadig to suggest that we sing a song or two and saw that something was very wrong in his world. He looked as if the hangman were just adjusting the noose around his neck.
“You can’t bear the thought of moving to Oxford?” I asked.
“It’s not that, Enchanter. It’s the thought of moving back here.” Seeing my blank response, he added, “we came through Bicester on the way here, remember?”
Then I understood. “Your home?”
“I could go right by it on Monday, because I was on duty as your cantor and doing the king’s business, but I can’t go past it now and not stop.”
That no longer seemed a problem to me. “You would rather continue your studies than stay at home and help your father?”
“A thousand times rather.”
“Then I shall tell him that the king needs you. If necessary I’ll buy you!”
He chuckled at that notion, but hope faded fast. “He’s a stubborn man, Enchanter.”
“So am I,” I said. “If you want to, you can tell how the queen praised your singing last night. As long as you don’t go into details, I think you can even mention that the king was greatly pleased with our efforts on his behalf, and has charged us with many important labors.”
“Charged you, not me.”
“But without your help, I would have failed dismally, so that distinction is irrelevant.”
The grin returned. “That might help, I suppose.”
Barely an hour after we left the palace, Eadig turned aside from the road and led the way to a sizable farmhouse, standing in an extensive orchard. Cows were grazing, bees buzzing, and hands were bringing in the wheat sheaves. I had known that his father was a freeholder, but not that he owned anything like that. He might not be gentry as the Normans would define the term, but clearly he was no peasant. I should have realized that a mere yeoman could never have funded an adolescent son to study at Helmdon.
Dogs barked, geese hissed, our horses fidgeted uneasily—a typical welcome. We dismounted, and immediately the dogs were all over Eadig, tails whirling like leaves in a gale. A dumpy little woman came scampering out the door, yelling his name.
I found myself holding two sets of reins while the long lost son was clasped to the family bosom, both literally and figuratively. I heard no laughter, and soon both mother and child were weeping copiously as the story unfolded. Edwin had died very suddenly, the day after returning from installing Eadig in the school at Helmdon, and no one had been able to remember where he taken his son.
This unlikely tale was supposed to explain why Eadig had never been summoned home to keep his father’s accounts, but it was bad news for me also. I could hardly deprive a weeping widow of her only available son, the elder boy having long flown away to become the fully tonsured Brother Pious.
Then the situation changed dramatically, as a burly young man came striding out to see what was going on. Eadig was introduced to John Thatcher, the steward. By this time Widow Edwin had noticed me, so Eadig introduced me, and I caught my first glimpse of what it meant to be the king’s enchanter general. Mother and steward seemed about to fall on their knees and I had to move swiftly to offer goodman Thatcher a handshake. Although a steward must be literate, this one was no bookish clerk. He had a palm like a farrier’s rasp and a grip like a vise.
The grouping had subtly changed. Widow Edwin was standing closer to Steward Thatcher than to her son, and I was suddenly uncertain whether she was still Widow Edwin or had now become Goodwife Thatcher. He was younger than she was, but King Henry was eleven years younger than Queen Eleanor, so who cared about that? The nature of their relationship was obvious, whether or not it had yet received the blessing of Mother Church.
Eadig had realized the situation also and was seriously off-balance. He had not expected this and he had a father to mourn. His first duty must be to visit the grave. And his second request would be to see his father’s will, if there even was one. Under common law, all this property must belong to him. So where did John Thatcher come in?
I was offered hospitality—the finest cider in England and freshly baked bread with clotted cream and honey. Under normal circumstances I would have accepted gladly, but I excused myself, pleading a long journey ahead. I promised that I would look in again in a week or maybe two, when I was on my way back to Oxford. Eadig nodded, understanding that I was telling him he could make his decision then.
I handed him Peregrine’s reins and mounted up. As I rode away, I looked back and saw his mother hugging him again and his step-father leading the horse away.
In the middle of the afternoon I rode into the academy yard. Sages, adepts, squires, and varlets came pouring out to greet me. I had removed my signet ring, but my fine new britches and doublet made it clear that I had prospered during my absence.
My first words, of course, were to ask after Guy, and their faces told me the answer.
“The day you left,” Sage Laurent said. “He was alive at dinner time, but refused food. We continued to keep the watch, of course, and near to sunset we sent for his family and Father Osric. I don’t think he was aware of anything by then, but we assembled everyone outside the cottage and sang for him until Osric came out and said that he had gone.”
A new stable hand, whom I did not know, attempted to take charge of Ruffian. Ruffian disagreed, which was typical of his ornery ways, because he knew quite well that he would be given a rubdown and some oats as soon as he cooperated. The struggle was going to be unequal, probably leading to one damaged youth and even one damaged horse, if he were allowed to tangle his feet in his reins or a fence.
I took charge again. “Can you sing?” I asked the lad.
Surprised, he nodded. “Some, Sage.”
“Listen.” I started Lovise’s lullaby. After the first few bars, Ruffian’s ears, which had been horizontal, rose back to their correct place. Soon the boy picked it up—the tune seemed to matter more than the words—and the two of them went off happily together. The conversation resumed.
Dean Odo, too, was failing fast, I was told. When the old sage could no longer look after his own bodily needs, Lord Odo had been summoned, and had taken him off to be properly tended at the family home. His lordship had also confirmed that he wanted to take over the academy as replacement housing for his tenants.
Sage Laurent had assumed the role of spokesman. “We have until St. Andrew’s Day to find alternative accommodation,” he said glumly.
Of course, I could now regard this as good news, but I tried not to show my delight.
“In that case, Your Wisdoms, I have some relevant information for you, matters you will wish to consider in your debates. I would like to meet with you in private immediately.”
Leaving the rest of the inhabitants to be devoured by curiosity, we trooped into the sages’ dining room and sat down around the table. I noticed that Laurent put himself at the head, which had always been Odo’s place.
“We were waiting until you returned, Durwin,” Alain remarked, “to elect a new dean.”
Alain and Laurent had never been the closest of friends. I had ideas of my own about who was going to head up the academy.
“That was thoughtful of you all,” I said, “but I do not see myself remaining at Helmdon.” I must admit that very few times in my life have I enjoyed myself as much as I was doing then. “First, Your Wisdoms, there is a grave shortage of healers in Lincoln. If we consider any of our adepts qualified to practice, we should send them there, even if only temporarily. Heads nodded: we could agree on that.
“Secondly, Eadig and I ran up against a major conspiracy of Satanists in Lincoln. With much good fortune and some remarkable assistance fro
m locals, we both survived. We hurried south to report directly to His Grace the king.” I let them assume I had gone across to France.
I still remember their faces. I never worked out which impressed them more—that I had wrestled with the Devil or that I had again spoken with royalty.
“The king was very perturbed by my news, because this same cult has been causing great distress in France and other parts of Europe. He is anxious that it not be allowed to become established here. Strictly between us, I suspect he is somewhat dissatisfied with the performance of Enchanter Aubrey de Fours. His Grace therefore decided to appoint an enchanter general for England. The man he chose is planning to open an enchantment school very similar to Helmdon, but it will be much larger, and will be located in the grounds of Beaumont Palace, near Oxford.”
“Who is this magical overlord to be?” Laurent demanded, but some of the others were starting to grin.
At that point I produced my signet ring and rolled it across the table to him.
And when the tumult from that news had died down, I explained that I was offering them all newer and much better accommodation, together with reliable employment in a noble cause.
Yes, I was showing off like the shepherd boy holding up the head of Goliath, but two years ago I had been their stable hand! Very rarely in my life have I gotten truly drunk, but that night I did. The whole academy joined in, consuming every bottle that individual sages had been hiding away for years, plus all the beer that the village alewife had brewed up for the week. There wasn’t enough to intoxicate everyone, but I got much more than my share.
chapter 30
i rested up a day to recover and another one to make a start on all the problems that the great move to Oxford was going to create. On the third day, I set out in the company of Amé and Guiscard, two adepts whom the sages had agreed were now competent to act as healers in Lincoln, and who had happily accepted the opportunity to earn some money. We were a happy trio, all three of us looking forward to new lives. The only shadows on my happiness were the many deaths that had touched my life lately: Guy, Francisco, Neil, and Piers, good men all. Life was transient, but I was young and I had the world in my pocket.