Whitemantle Page 19

  He shoved Gort’s hand away. ‘Well, wouldn’t you? If you were shown your dead master’s head dripping red at the neck?’

  Gwydion directed a furious gaze at Will. The fire of it turned his flesh cold. ‘Do not speak prognostications!’

  ‘It’s not a prognostication.’ The corner of his mouth began to bleed.

  Gwydion lanced a bony finger at him. ‘Leave me to my task!’

  ‘This is my affair too!’ But his legs had lost their strength and he tottered.

  ‘Wortmaster, deal with him!’

  Gort made an anxious face, took Will’s weight and pulled him away on his heels, out of the side aisle to a place behind a great gilded iron tomb where an alabaster king of old slept away eternity.

  ‘He slapped me down,’ Will said, recovering a little from the faint. A piquant smell made him turn his head. Gort was administering a balm. ‘Master Gwydion cast a spell upon me.’

  ‘Forgive him, Willand. He’s spent many a night wrapping a great deal of magic about these proceedings.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘You must allow Master Gwydion a little working room. He must attend developments closely.’ Gort’s whispered appeal softened. ‘He’s right – you should have stayed away, but since you didn’t you must put violent thoughts far from your mind. You mustn’t interfere this time.’

  ‘Wortmaster…’ The ribs of the great fish heaved and threatened overhead. The swelling din of the Fellowship’s discordant choir threaded the air. The stink of incense drifted like a miasma. ‘He’s mad if he thinks I’d jeopardize his work with prognostications…We’re on the same side.’

  Gort’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You did more than jeopardize his work last time. You ruined everything.’

  ‘Me? But…’ He stopped. What more could he say? In truth, he had affected the outcome of the last such gathering. He had shouted out. He had not meant to, but he had. He had been the pebble that had started the landslide, and that was all that mattered in the end.

  The balm was working. His mind steadied. But Gort bowled another ball, knowing just how to knock down the rest of his skittles. ‘The world becomes whatever we decide it should become – ever hear that before, hey? And some folk’s thoughts count more than others in the process. So you see, words are prognostications – when they come from you.’

  ‘Then let me try to want what must be,’ he muttered, browbeaten and so weak he could hardly struggle upright. ‘I can’t even think my own thoughts, it seems.’

  He pushed the bottle of balm aside, wiped the brightness from his lips and forced himself to his feet. Gwydion was standing with his fist clenched white about Maglin’s staff, his eyes rolled up into his head, muttering incantations at tremendous speed. Will, feeling slightly better now and half-chastened, folded his arms and dourly watched the drama unfolding beyond the rail. He began to see more clearly the source of all the magical pressure he had been feeling – after his mistakes at Delamprey he had so wanted to abide by Gwydion’s rule. But sticking to wizardly plans for the future meant crushing himself down and setting aside his own imperatives.

  He made an effort to discipline himself and exercise patience. When he looked again for Pangur Ban he saw an old woman shuffling forward to stand in a corner not far from the throne dais. His thoughts had begun to drift elsewhere, but the oddness of the figure struck him. It was curious that no one else seemed to have noticed her – certainly not the guards, for they had let her past the screen and into a reserved part of the Hall. She was dressed too plainly to be a person of rank, yet this was no time to allow in a common petitioner. Where had she come from? How had she got in? She stood in the shadows, her back to Will, just as Duke Richard came in, ivory rod in hand, and readied himself to speak.

  Mists of smoke layered the still air. Will felt the sickness move in his belly as he tried again and again to penetrate the old woman’s disguise. The attempt felt like trying to walk through a wall, a sure sign that he had dug to the bedrock of appearances. Which could only mean that there was no disguise to be penetrated! And yet…the woman sparkled.

  He plucked up courage and shook Gwydion, murmuring, ‘Who’s that over there?’

  The wizard’s eyes swam back into focus, then alighted upon the figure. He said, ‘I think you know Brighid very well.’

  Will looked again. A familiar feeling flowed over him, one that turned suddenly leaden. ‘It’s Mother Brig? The beggarwoman? She’s come all the way from Ludford?’

  ‘Beggarwoman?’ Gwydion replied wearily. ‘Did she not say in your hearing that her name was Sovereignty? She has come here today to pay one of her visits to King Ludd’s city. It is said that the rightful king will not treat her as an old woman, but as a beautiful young maiden. She has come to try the matter.’

  Will stared back. ‘This is very dangerous.’

  ‘That I understand very well.’

  ‘What if she speaks?’

  ‘What indeed…’

  The duke moved perilously close to the throne. He brandished the white rod as if he was the Lord High Treasurer, saying, ‘We bid you welcome, my lords, to the White Hall on this most auspicious of days. We have called you here in conclave to settle the matter of the monarchy to the satisfaction of all…’

  Empty talk, Will thought. Empty but perhaps worth something if it greased the axle on which the burden of the state might be carried forward. But his thoughts were already feverishly returning to the moment at Ewletide seven years ago when Mother Brig had told Duke Richard what his fate would be.

  How the churlish folk of Ludford had gasped when Gwydion had led the duke in, for Duke Richard had been in his nightgown, barefoot and bound, sleepwalking. Mother Brig had brought him before King Ludd himself, and he had declared that she was no crone but a beautiful young girl. And Mother Brig had told the duke that, even so, he would die if once he dared lay a hand upon the enchanted chair – ‘in the first fight that follows’ – those had been her words. But there was more, for she had also said, ‘If you would know the future then look to your shadow upon the wall.’

  What the duke had said next had stayed with Will over the years, though he had found it impossible to understand at the time. Richard had said, ‘Mine is the right!’

  What had he meant by it?

  Now Will saw it clearly. A Ewle log always burned with the truest flame. That was why no one dared to look at the shadow such a fire cast upon the wall, for if it was a headless shadow that person was doomed to die before the year was out. At Mother Brig’s invitation, the duke had seen two shadows dancing on the wall that night, one on the right with nothing amiss, but also another from seven years hence – and that one had been headless.

  ‘He’s about to seal his fate,’ Will hissed urgently.

  Gwydion’s face remained thunderous. ‘This time you will stay out of it!’

  ‘But we must do something!’

  ‘I already have done something.’ And he moved off to a place of better vantage and concealment across the main aisle, where he almost disappeared among the shafts and shadows as a moth vanishes against the mottled bark of a tree.

  Will started after him, but Gort said, ‘Leave him to his tasks. He has much to do.’

  And all the while, the business of the Council was proceeding. The duke was consulting now with the Serjeants over some dubious legal point. Things seemed to have stalled. Will watched the lawyers crawling over the matter like flies over rotten meat until the lords grew restive and blew them off the corpse. Then objections were flung up from the floor, until it was announced that King Hal would have to be brought.

  Will watched as the duke tried to block the move. He stood like a tower in the tide, but there was such a swell of opposition from the benches that to preserve any hope of support he was forced to relent. And all the while, Gwydion’s grim eye was upon the struggle. Will recognized in his ungiving stare a power that had the capacity to move mountains. Strain was etched on cheek and brow, and he listened as the mariner
listens to the tell-tale creak and crack of spar and line as his vessel founders in stormy waters.

  When King Hal appeared he was pale of face and unsteady. He moved down the main aisle like an old man, so that it was hard for Will to credit that he was not yet forty years of age. As he came to the royal enclosure there was no one to lead him forward. He stumbled on the step and put out a hand to stop himself from falling down.

  Everyone’s eyes were upon the king. Some of the lords who sat on the nearest benches got to their feet, but it was Mother Brig who stepped forward and steadied him. She took his arm, and he smiled at her in a kindly way.

  But once Hal was upon the dais the duke would not suffer him to approach the throne. He intercepted him, as if casually, arm outstretched, indulgent. His ivory rod shepherded the king and Hal responded as he had done all his life, obediently, and with all respect to the man of the moment, until the plainly dressed monarch stood forlorn, the very figure of humility.

  Will’s eruption of feelings got the better of him again as he watched Hal’s pathetic form. He felt for the man whose unadorned robes hung from his shoulders, whose black hat looked like nothing so much as a Melston Moberry pie that had been burned in the oven.

  Hal did not look at the assembly before him but clasped one hand in the other and gazed at the red and yellow ochre tiles at his feet. And when the question of whether he was king or not was put to him by the Serjeants, his mild voice answered, ‘My lords, we have reigned over this Realm nigh on forty years. We dare to remind all now present that you have oftentimes before recognized us as your king. You have given your oath to us upon bended knee. Your fathers did likewise to our father. Your grandfathers to our grandfather. And so I ask: which of you will now break his oath?’

  It was simply said, a speech delivered quietly and without bombast, but it was as if a thunderbolt had been hurled down.

  No one stirred. There was not a sound. Will looked on as Duke Richard seethed with barely suppressed anger. This was not what he had counted on, and he did not seem to know how to answer.

  Once again the duke strayed closer to the throne, until Gwydion’s dour eye clamped on him. And then – miraculously – an adjournment was called.

  Dukes and earls and knights of the Realm leapt up off their benches, making accusations. Richard was at the centre of these disputes, a hubbub rising over his head.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ a voice demanded at Will’s back.

  He turned. It was Edward, with a retinue of square-jawed men. They were all of them lesser nobles, Ebor relatives, and all had the right to be here, but they seemed to Will to have formed a knight’s guard. Edward seized Will’s sleeve. ‘Your Crowmaster’s put a spell on my father!’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Why did your father choose to call Hal here?’ Will asked, turning the fierceness of the attack. ‘That was a stupid mistake, Edward. He’s rushing headlong towards his doom.’

  ‘He had to!’ Edward’s fists clenched and unclenched. He wanted someone to blame. He was hunting for Gwydion, but his eyes were presently upon a different uninvited guest. ‘Who’s that damned girl? If she hadn’t helped the old devil up the step he would’ve gone sprawling and that would have settled it.’

  Thinking fast, Will stepped to the side so that Edward was distracted and Gwydion’s already unobvious form was removed entirely from his line of sight. ‘You might better ask why your father insists on carrying around that piece of unicorn horn. His touching Hal with it was a pivotal moment, Edward, a turning point. You should tell him he ought not to make so free.’

  Edward’s attention locked fast on him. ‘The rod? What about it?’

  ‘I’ve explained to you before what meddling with powers can bring. It’s as the redes say: “All power corrupteth in proportion, and great power corrupteth greatly.”’

  Edward scowled, bethought himself a little, but then cast about impatiently. ‘I don’t want your platitudes. I want Master Gwydion to do something for us instead of letting it all go to Hell in a handcart.’

  ‘Magic cannot be used in the way you want. Only restoring the proper balance—’

  ‘Useless man! If there’s no spell upon my father’s head, then why does he not simply seize the throne? I would if I were him!’

  ‘Yes,’ Will said quietly. ‘I know you would.’

  ‘It’s the wizard’s doing. We must find him!’ Edward and his guard of cousins moved off to the centre of the storm where their leader struggled. Will looked to Gwydion but could not see him at first against the granite columns. Then his outline appeared, transparent as a wraith in the dusty light until Will’s tutored eye began to fill it in.

  The wizard was still gazing towards the throne. A blare of trumpets shocked Will’s attention back to the proceedings. More angry words were spouted as the lords heckled the serjeants-at-law, but when the duke stepped forward the chaos subsided. A fresh sense of expectation took its place, and was satisfied at last by the announcement that all had been waiting for.

  ‘My lords,’ Duke Richard began. ‘To the right wise, notable and discrete lords of this present parliament here assembled, and by the king, right trusty and well beloved, for as much as we have granted our…’

  The preamble to the duke’s speech was long and hard to follow, but the meat of it was easier chewing. It was received by some with jubilation, by others with stunned silence. Will could scarcely believe what he had heard. Hal was to remain king, but Ebor to succeed him.

  ‘Well, that’s fixed it,’ Gort said, shaking his head sadly.

  ‘But this will only fuel the war like the outrage at Delamprey did!’ Will cried. ‘Is this what Master Gwydion meant to happen?’

  ‘It is not.’

  The wizard had approached unseen and looked to Will like a man at the very limit of his strength. He had now the waxen pallor of a corpse and leaned heavily upon his make-do staff. He raised his hand weakly, only to let it fall again. He was almost too cast down by what had happened to speak, but he said, ‘Everyone knows that lawyers are knaves who thrive on discord, but I did not know until this day how wedded they had become to foolishness.’

  ‘Master Gwydion, this is the worst possible result!’ Will said. ‘Such a compromise satisfies nobody. Haven’t they any idea how much the queen will be provoked by it? To cut her son from the succession is calculated to enrage her beyond measure. And in three days she’ll know exactly what has passed here and use it to rouse up feeling all across Umberland and the north.’

  ‘She will know sooner than that,’ the wizard said, his eyes seeming to follow invisible lines of force that criss-crossed the space above their heads.

  Will turned to see Lord Warrewyk strutting gleefully in the aisle. His attention had been drawn by Will’s words, which were an offence. ‘If you dare to speak of Mad Mag now,’ Warrewyk said, ‘that is no matter! She, who is living on charity across the border in Albanay! It matters little what a penniless widow thinks.’ He laughed.

  Will realized when he heard that deadly word the true danger that had arisen, for there was now in place a terrible incentive – that Duke Richard’s way forward would be made clear as soon as Hal was dead.

  ‘Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?’ Gort asked.

  ‘I’m thinking about murder, Wortmaster.’

  Gort nodded. ‘If the power of the lorc were to rise again soon…’

  Will saw in his mind’s eye the serpentine complexities of the situation. The Realm was slithering ever closer to conflict once more. In truth, Duke Richard was not to blame. He had been unable to do other than accept the lords’ verdict, while Hal, forlorn and alone, had had little choice. Indeed it should have been clear to all that events were being carried forward by some far greater power, and that they had now developed a momentum all their own.

  But it was another event that stabbed Will to the heart with a blade of fear, for the king was being escorted from the Whit
e Hall and as he came near he paused at the step. Will watched him take the royal ring from his finger and gave it to Mother Brig. ‘For you, my dear,’ he said before continuing on. ‘You were kind enough to steady an old fool when it seemed he might fall.’

  And in both Will’s and Edward’s hearing Mother Brig made her reply: ‘Know this, your grace – Ebor shall overlook Ebor before the year is out!’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PROPHECIES, LIBELS AND

  DREAMS

  When Will burst through the door he found Lotan sitting with Willow. The big man had his back to Will but did not have his hood up. Willow’s hands were on his face and she was crying.

  ‘Don’t be angry, Will,’ she said, looking up at him.

  He had sensed something was wrong, a feeling that had grown more acute as he had got closer to his lodging. He had taken the final stairs at a run, but had not failed to notice that the chest that Gort had refused to keep in his room was no longer in the passageway.

  He heard Lotan say in a faraway voice, ‘You are so beautiful…’ and put his hand to Willow’s cheek.

  ‘What have you done?’ Will heard incredulity and accusation in his own voice. But Willow had only acted out of compassion, and that – surely – was what mattered. Yet the fact that the medicine chest had come from Maskull’s chamber – had been of his making – filled Will with dread, and he recalled Master Gwydion’s warning him long ago that fine intentions were by no means all there was to magic.

  Glass vials and jars of powders and tinctures were scattered around. Some had pictures, others words, on their labels. Despite the odour of stale magic Will forced himself to pick up one of the lidless vessels and examine it. There was a grey ointment inside, greasy on his fingers, mintily aromatic. He dabbed a little onto the knuckle of his middle finger where a white scar circled the joint. It was the reminder of a cut he had got while sparring with Edward years ago. By a count of seven the scar had started to vanish; by thirteen it had gone.

  It was a reckless trial, but necessary. He moved round so that he could see Lotan’s face. The big jaw was square now, the cheek whole, and where once two empty sockets had scanned the air, the eyes were restored.