St James's Palace
Summer Solstice 1740
The weeks between my father's funeral and my appointment with His Majesty were exceptionally busy for a number of reasons. Primarily, I spent a lot of time with Henry Barrett and Nicholas Smythe, getting a crash course in how to do business with the intention of increasing the Duchy's resources, rather than spending them on good living and fancy parties, which had been my preferred use of them for several years. However, seeing things from the other side, as it were, and keeping abreast of the financial situation, was part of my duty as Duke - even if the day to day running of the business side of the estate wasn't my direct concern. So I did my best to concentrate during the interminable meetings, however much I wanted to be somewhere else, and I began to learn despite myself, helped by the fact that I had a decent grip of mathematics, and was a quick study.
In addition, Andrew was studying for his final exams at Eton. Because of his promise as a student, he'd been allowed to take them early, with the intention of going to Kings to study magic a year before his peers if he was successful. I'd supported him when I could, especially as I had been around in England a lot more than I had been in the preceding couple of years, and I'd tried to encourage him. It was rare for the school to allow a pupil to advance ahead of his peers, with only one or two a year being given the opportunity. I'd been given the chance when I was seventeen and had passed the test, so I was confident of his abilities, and had tried to instil that confidence in him as well.
And of course, the other item of business which was transacted over that time, was communication with the Lord Chancellor's office, regarding my June investiture as the 5th Duke of Worcester. I had only attended the Court of Saint James once before, on the occasion of my confirmation as Marquis of Tewkesbury in the summer of 1721, and that had been a pretty straightforward affair. Half a dozen others, like myself, were invested with the secondary titles of their fathers' estates at a special session, but all it had really entailed was showing up, spending the morning learning the protocols of the occasion, and then being introduced one by one to King George I. His Majesty had then made us kneel before him, dubbed us with the ceremonial Sword of State and then sent us off in the keeping of Lord Chancellor, who gave us the formal Letters Patent confirming our new status. That the proceedings had been conducted in German had added to the unreality of the event.
Being invested as a full Duke, however, appeared to be a rather more complex affair. My tailor had to provide measurements for the robes and other garments which would be needed for the occasion, and it seemed as if the day of my arrival, June 20th, would be spent going through the forms and ceremonies of the actual investiture, which would take place the following day, and being fitted with the appropriate clothing. It even sounded as if I was expected to stand what to all intents and purposes was a knight's vigil before the investiture, despite the fact that technically I'd been a knight since 1721.
I hadn't realised that such forms of ceremony were still used in England, but apparently they were alive and well, at least as far as investing the older hereditary titles in the British Isles, if not for the secondary ones. And as Worcester was one of the most senior non-Royal Duchies, third in precedence only to Norfolk and Somerset (the first Duke, Wilfred, having been raised from Marquis of Tewkesbury to Duke of Worcester by Queen Elizabeth in 1588, in recognition of his actions in the battle with the Spanish Armada), knights vigil, it appeared, it was going to be.
After celebrating my fortieth birthday with a typically extravagant party at Millbank on June 17th, Andrew and I made our way to London, staying at the townhouse near Hyde Park which father had left in his Will. I had not had the chance to visit it before, but I liked it immediately, and the staff made us very comfortable. I suspected that it was a place I would probably spend a lot of time in the years to come. In the mornings, Andrew and I rode in the park, and in the afternoons I showed my son around the city.
I had wondered about walking the short distance round to St James's Palace when the time came, but was informed in no uncertain terms by the Lord Chancellor's office that to do so would be considered highly inappropriate. Therefore, a carriage came to collect me at around nine on the morning of the twentieth. On my arrival at the Palace, I was met by a footman and escorted inside the hallowed courtyards of the Palace. The Tudor stonework glowed warmly in the June sunshine, and I could hear birds singing nearby.
Inside it was cool enough, although I suspected that that might not still be the case by the end of the day. I was welcomed by the Lord Chancellor, and then handed into the care of his assistants for my day of instruction. It was an eye-opening experience, and as the various parts of the ceremony were explained to me, it took a certain amount of conscious effort on my part to take some of it seriously. It was as if I'd stepped into the Middle Ages, and the idea of spending the night fasting, praying and standing vigil in the Chapel Royal seemed bizarre to my eighteenth century mind. Still, however archaic and ridiculous it all seemed, it was what was done, and if I wanted to become Duke of Worcester by right of law, I was going to have to undertake it all from start to finish.
By five in the evening I was tired, hot and in severe danger of losing my patience as a succession of tailors and pages did the final fittings for the various garments and vestments I would be expected to wear the following day, and I was wondering if it was all worth it. However, at least I was properly instructed in what was expected of me, even if I completely failed to understand the point.
The evening commenced with a meal at five-thirty in the sitting room of the suite I had been given in one of the guest wings. By then I could have devoured a horse, as lunch had been somewhat hurried, and so a light repast of fish, chicken and various vegetables and sauces only just passed muster, especially as the beverage accompanying it was distinctly lacking in alcohol. I was finishing up about forty-five minutes later, when there was a knock at the door.
"Enter," I said, looking up, and a distinguished looking man wearing the clothing of a nobleman at court came in. He was followed by a servant who went through to the bedroom without a word, and in the distance, I heard him begin the process of drawing a bath in the adjoining bathroom.
The nobleman looked to be in his early fifties, had dark hair and piercing blue eyes, and carried himself like a military man. I had seen him around earlier in the day, but we hadn't formally been introduced. I stood as he crossed to me and offered his hand, which I took. His grip was firm and businesslike, and when he met my gaze, I felt as if his eyes boring into my soul, as if he was trying to seek out my inner being.
"My Lord Robert of Tewkesbury, I presume," he said, his tone matter of fact, "I am Michael, Earl of Selwyn. I have been appointed as your knight-companion for this night of preparation."
I had been told during the day that I would be assigned a guide to shepherd me through the investiture process, and I had wondered who it might be. Obviously it had been decided that the formality of the occasion would best be served by a stranger, rather than a friend, and Selwyn certainly came across as straight-laced, even formidable. There was a distinct air to him which I was more used to seeing among senior mages than noblemen, although there was no indication that he was in any way Talented: he certainly wasn't wearing a mage's signet. I even had the illogical feeling that he should be wearing black, rather than the rich colours which were more common in King George's court.
"A pleasure, sir," I replied, making a suitable bow, although I'll admit I found him rather disconcerting.
"I understand that you have been told what happens now?"
"Apparently I have to take some kind of ritual bath, then go down to the chapel, make my confession, and try to stay awake for the rest of the night," I answered, possibly a little too flippantly. I saw his brow furrow, and realised that he was not amused.
"I had hoped that after a day of instruction, you would have begun to take this more seriously, Tewkesbury," he commented, his tone icy, "you should feel honoured to participate in ceremonies of such antiquity and tradition, rather than dismissing them out of hand."
"It's all been rather different to how I expected," I answered, suddenly feeling defensive, even though part of me knew he was completely within his rights to take me to task for my previous comment.
"You were informed of schedule of ceremonies before you ever arrived in London," he pointed out, sitting down on one of the gilt chairs and indicating for me to do the same. I could feel him sizing me up, and I had the distinct impression that he was trying to decide if I was trustworthy, which I found rather off-putting.
"It is very different actually being here and preparing for it, than exchanging letters on the subject."
"The form and ceremony are important, from a historical perspective and, as you will discover, if you want to get everything out of this experience that you wish for. Your father understood that. But perhaps, as a mage, you think you are above such things."
"You knew my father?"
"In a manner of speaking," he replied, but declined to comment further. From his tone, however, I was left with the feeling that while he may have known my father, he certainly didn't like him. Maybe the Lord Chancellor's assigning of him to me for the purposes of this evening was to punish me for any inappropriate reactions he had caught from me during the day.
"In case you are interested, I asked to assist you this evening," he continued, finally, almost as if he'd caught my train of thought.
"Really?"
"Yes. I am still trying to decide whether there is actually something to you, or whether you are really the spoilt...dilettante you choose to portray yourself as. Watching how you conduct yourself tonight and in the morning will help me make that decision."
I looked at him, unsure whether to be amused or affronted at his candour.
"I know a little of you, Tewkesbury. You are Talented - indeed, a Doctor of Magic. You were widowed young, and responsibility therefore landed on your shoulders earlier than many. And yet on the other side, you seem to spend much of your time in France, often with people who would be considered far from appropriate for one of your status. In many ways you still act as if you were a callow youth - not much older than your son, who you do at least seem to genuinely care for, which is something I suppose - despite the fact that you have just entered your forty-first year."
"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," I answered, testily.
He looked at me, his expression irritatingly superior.
"For now. But this evening will give me the opportunity to decide whether it stays that way, or whether we may get to know each other better in the future. Indeed, perhaps it will even give you a chance to grow up."
"Why do you care?" I asked, "and why should your opinion of me matter to me?"
"I hate to see so much potential go to waste," he answered, "and so I felt honour bound to at least attempt to make you aware of what you are squandering. But of course you're right: that is probably irrelevant to you...after all, I'm sure you are thinking that we are unlikely to meet again after tonight, except at the occasional social function, so why should my opinion of you matter?"
I was momentarily at a loss for words, both at his acuity, and by the fact that I was left with the impression that he thought I should be grateful to him for taking the time to assist me. However, before I could think of a suitable retort, I heard a movement behind me and I saw the servant come back into the room.
"All is prepared, My Lords," he said, with suitable deference, and then departed.
"Go ahead," my companion said to me, "I will await your return."
With a shrug, I headed through the bedroom to the bath. I was rather surprised to see that the tub was surrounded by candles and that there were petals floating in it. I could also smell the scented oils which had been added to the water. As was expected of me, I stripped and then let myself down into the water, vaguely wondering how long it would be appropriate for me to stay there. However, I soon realised that the oils had been chosen to help me relax. Within moments I could feel my mind emptying and drifting, and I let myself fall into a meditative state similar to the one I had been taught as a mage.
I let myself soak for some time, until I realised that the water was lukewarm at best and forced myself to stir. As I wrapped myself in a towelling robe, I felt more relaxed than I had done for a very long time - probably, since I had learned of my father's death. Eventually I emerged from the bathroom and saw a plain white robe and undergarments lying on the bed: the habit of a postulant, which I was expected to wear that night. It didn't look particularly thick, and I felt grateful that it promised to be a warm night. There was also a pair of light slippers, so at least I wouldn't have to walk through St James's Palace barefoot.
I dressed, then glanced at the clock - seven-thirty. As I emerged once more into the sitting room, I saw Selwyn get to his feet in one fluid motion.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Surprisingly rested and refreshed," I admitted.
"And are you sufficiently at peace with yourself that you are ready to clear your conscience in confession?"
"I suppose so, if I could just get over the feeling that I look a fool."
At that he gave the first smile I had seen from him.
"I felt something similar when I was in your position, but that was many years ago and I have since come to understand why the Court of Saint James still maintains this tradition. Where is your sword? I assume you were instructed to bring it?"
"Over there," I answered, indicating a dresser under the window, where I had laid the straight, lightweight blade. Selwyn crossed to it, unhooked the scabbard from the belt, and picked the sheathed weapon up. Then he pulled the bell pull by the fireplace, before rejoining me.
"It is time to go."
He stepped towards the doorway first, and opened it, with me following in his wake. Outside were two guardsmen, in ceremonial dress, who fell in beside me while Selwyn led, carrying the sword. Strangely, as we walked through the corridors and across the courtyard to the Chapel Royal, no-one gave me the impression that they thought I looked like a fool. Indeed, if anything I felt respect from some of them. Perhaps Selwyn was right, and I would come to understand.
The chapel, like the rest of the Palace, was built of Tudor brick, and eight o'clock was chiming as we reached our destination. Selwyn preceded me inside, although I noticed with interest that he didn't cross himself as he passed over the threshold. The guards escorting us remained outside, turning away to take up positions beside the chapel door. As I stepped into the chapel, I could feel the cool flagstones through the thin souls of the slippers on my feet, and the only light from outside came in through the east window above the high altar. There were a few pews near the entrance, then wood panelled choir stalls before the railing which separated the altar from the rest of the chapel. Stands holding unlit candles were strategically placed around the building, and to one side, I could see a curtain of purple velvet, enclosing a small area.
"Welcome, My Lord Marquis...Earl Selwyn," came the voice of a priest who came towards us from what was presumably the vestry, "I am Father Anthony, the chaplain here."
Over his simple black cassock, he was wearing the deep red sash of a clergyman of a Royal Peculiar. Selwyn gave an appropriately respectful bow, and then withdrew to a pew off to one side, while Father Anthony gestured for me to follow him.
"Are you used to the sacrament of confession, Lord Robert?" he asked, politely, as we walked.
"Not particularly," I answered, "it wasn't part of the tradition I was brought up with. My father never put much stock by it, considering it a somewhat...Papist observance...and I'm afraid I rather share that view. But then, while I've been brought up Christian, I wouldn't consider myself particularly religious beyond the norm for one in my position."
"An honest enough answer," he commented, "Confession is less common in the Church of England, that is true, but not unheard of, and it is still considered appropriate on occasion such as this."
He took me through the curtains, where I saw a pair of prie dieux, and after instructing me to kneel, he told me what was about to happen. To one such as myself, who usually attended church because it was expected of me, rather than out of any particular strength of faith, it all seemed rather strange to me, but he had a confident manner, was obviously strong in his faith, and he quickly put me at my ease: I'd guess he was a Sensitive with empathic qualities. What was said between us is a private matter which I have no intention of revealing to you here, but afterwards I must admit I did feel as if my soul had been unburdened, and again I thought that maybe there was something to all this, after all.
We emerged about half an hour later, after prayer and contemplation, and he withdrew to the vestry, returning about ten minutes later having divested himself of the sash, and presumably done whatever it is priests do after they take confession.
"Now I must leave you," he said, with a reassuring smile, , "but I will return tomorrow morning at seven to administer the Eucharist, before you dress for the investiture. Good night, My Lord Marquis, and may you find your time of contemplation helpful and enlightening."
With that, he made his respects to the altar, and then departed, leaving myself and Selwyn alone in the chapel. Distantly, I could still hear birds in the nearby parkland: it wouldn't be dark for another two hours.
"Are you aware that the Solstice will actually fall during the small hours of the morning?" Selwyn commented, and I had the impression that he was testing me.
"I thought the Solstice was Midsummer's Day," I answered, with all confidence.
"A common misconception," was the reply, and I felt the wind taken out of my sails again, "perhaps someone should take the time to explain the difference to you at some point in the future."
"Is it something I'm likely to need to know?"
"I'm not sure," he replied, with a shrug, "I know for certain that your father had an interest in such things, but I was unaware whether he had passed it on to you, although you don't strike me as a seeker after such knowledge. Still, that's for another day...back to this evening. What happens now, is that you take up position near the altar, and begin your prayers and contemplations. I'd suggest either in one of the choir stalls, or if you wish to be more traditional, postulant knights used to kneel directly in front of the altar with their swords in front of them, either held on outstretched palms, or perhaps resting on the point."
"And you?"
"I will wait back here in the pews. You are the one undertaking the vigil. I am merely here to symbolically protect you as you do," he answered, then added, "You'll probably find the stalls more comfortable."
I detected a challenge in the way he said it, as if he was testing me again. It was obvious that he thought I would take the easy option, and he was daring me to do otherwise. Defiantly, I took the sword from him when he presented it to me, and then made my way towards the altar rail, and as I did, I thought I heard a quiet chuckle from behind me.
An embroidered kneeler had been placed before the altar rail, so I took up position on it, put myself into a light working trance - which I hoped would steady me enough that I wouldn't fall flat on my face half way through the night as my body seized up from being locked in one position - and began my vigil.
It's amazing how difficult it is to know what to think on an occasion like that. As I've said, when I knelt in that place that evening, I wasn't a particularly religious man, and I certainly wouldn't say that I truly understood how to pray. Being left alone with your thoughts in an empty church, with many hours in front of you is very different to following the forms of service on a Sunday or High Day - or even to the obligatory Hour before the Altar of Repose on Maundy Thursday. It was going to be an exceptionally long night.
First, I ran through some very basic prayers in my head - the kind you think to yourself in a service while waiting for something to happen. Thoughts of my family: my father, Andrew, Sand, Albert and Cassie - I never knew my mother well enough for her to feature in such contemplations. Then the Lord's Prayer, the Grace, even the occasional Hail Mary. Next I found myself mentally reciting the offices I had grown up with - I hadn't realised just how much of the Book of Common Prayer I'd committed to memory in my forty years - and started singing hymns and psalms to myself in my head.
It was interesting to note that my senses seemed to be sharper - that I was noticing more than I would normally do with so few other stimuli around to trick the ears or baffle the eye. I saw the light change from evening to sunset, and around me I could see and smell candles being lit, their tiny flames combining like stars to lighten the gathering darkness. Selwyn had obviously decided to relieve the gloom now the daylight was dying. I heard the birds sing their last for the day, until all that remained was the clear notes of a nightingale. Then silence descended, and all I could hear was my own breathing. And then my perceptions seemed to change, and I started to see distinct images.
The Court of Queen Elizabeth, large as life, as if I was there, speaking with Her Majesty. I felt as if I was one of her most trusted advisors and that she was treating me with the respect which that deserved.
The Holy Land. Riding beside Richard the Lionheart in full armour, wearing the mantle of a Templar Knight.
Canterbury Cathedral, and yet a smaller, older cathedral with building work going on around me in the Norman style. The occasion appeared to be the Easter Vigil, except that I seemed to be leading it and was dressed in Episcopal purple.
Ancient Rome, standing in the forum with the purple trim of a Senator edging the toga I wore, acting as a mediator to bring a great man back to good terms with the Eternal City; and then images of a later time in the history of Rome when I appeared to be watching a gladiatorial combat while seated on the Imperial Throne.
A physician, dressed in loose white robes, in a courtyard shaded from the hot sun, discussing the imbalance of the humours with a number of students in Greek.
I watched, fascinated, as the images played in my mind, and wondered what it was I was seeing. It was as if I was experiencing memories, but of course, that was impossible. How could I possibly be sharing the memories of a courtier, a Templar knight, a bishop, a physician-teacher, a Roman Senator, possibly even an Emperor, or - Heaven help me - a Pope? Perhaps the lack of food and sleep was causing me to hallucinate.
Then my memory vision switched again, and I could feel the burning heat of the sun beating down on me. I was lying, tied to a block of stone, incapable of movement. Above me stood a man in white robes of Egyptian design, wearing an animal mask, although I couldn't identify the creature in represented: it had a curved snout and long, square ears. Part of me knew that I had been trained for that moment, because like my god I had red hair, and would therefore be a suitable offering to calm his rage. But I was frightened. What if I did not pass the test when my heart was weighed and I was devoured? The priest bent over me, a knife in his hand, and I watched as he sketched the sacred symbols above me. I knew what was going to happen next, I had prepared for it, but that did not stop the fear and the pain as he plunged it into my heart.
I came awake with a jolt. Or at least, I thought I was awake. Trance or no trance, my body felt stiff and cold from maintaining the same position for so long, my back ached like crazy, and around me the candles had burned down in their holders. Outside it was as dark as it ever got in mid June - the sky I could see through the east window was deep indigo, blending to lighter blue nearer the horizon. I guessed it was around three-thirty in the morning. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement, and I was suddenly aware of a presence behind me.
"Selwyn?" I asked, my voice sounding loud in the silence.
"Child," said a voice which most definitely was not my companion's, and I became apprehensive. Hadn't Selwyn said that his purpose was to guard me, albeit symbolically? This didn't feel like a symbolic interruption, this felt real and there seemed no indication that he had even noticed.
"Your presence is required...you will come with me," came the voice again, at the same time reassuring and making demands, and I felt a cool hand on my shoulder.
Then, before I could react, I felt as if I was flying, borne up on powerful wings. Foolishly, I looked down and suddenly experienced extreme vertigo. Hundreds of feet beneath me and getting further away by the second I could see...myself, kneeling before the altar of the Chapel Royal. Between the part of me that was flying, and the part which remained on the ground, stretched a bright, silver cord. I remembered something my father had mentioned once, in one of our more drunken moments when we were actually discussing the occult versus real magic, rather than just arguing about it: that the soul is attached to the body by a lifeline which takes the form of a silver cord. I guessed that that was what I was seeing.
I tore my eyes away from the ground and looked ahead of me. It was as if we were floating through the night sky, until eventually, a vague shape came into view in front of us: some kind of structure. After a few more moments, I could distinctly see a pair of huge doors, and as we moved nearer they opened for us. I could see that there was a room beyond them, and then I felt myself being...deposited, for want of a better word...on the threshold. I was cold, and I realised that I was barefoot, although otherwise I was dressed as I had been in the chapel. I also realised that I was completely alone - whatever presence had brought me here was gone - and I felt bereft, uncertain what to do next.
After a moment of gathering my - by now exceedingly confused and frightened - thoughts, I passed through the doors, which closed silently behind me. I was in a library, although I couldn't see a ceiling above me: only shelves and shelves of books reaching into the distance, until they blended with the stars. Bringing myself back to Earth, as it were, I glanced about the room. The only piece of furniture was a lectern, on which a single volume lay open.
Curious, I crossed to the lectern and looked at the book. It had been opened part way through, although the pages beyond that point were blank. I flipped backwards, and realised that I was reading the life history of...Robert de Lacy, Marquis of Tewkesbury. The page at which the book had been opened was describing his visit to London on the occasion of his investiture as Duke of Worcester, and the fact that he had gone to stand vigil in the Chapel Royal. Both fascinated and disconcerted, but now curious rather than afraid, I tried to turn to the beginning, but it was as if those pages were stuck together. I could read the gold-embossed title on the black leather cover - The Book of Lives of Robert of Sable - but then I couldn't access anything until about halfway through the volume, when I could see my own birth described in its pages.
What was in the pages I couldn't read?
"You really do not know, do you child?" came a quiet voice from behind me, and I turned and saw that I had been joined by a second individual. It was roughly my own height and while I couldn't tell if it was male or female, I could see that it was clothed in white, like myself, and that its eyes were black as coals, and yet burning with an inner fire. Over its left shoulder I could see the hilt of a broadsword, obviously in a scabbard across its back.
I bristled at the appellation 'child', and answered, slightly tersely "What don't I know?"
Even as I said it, it was actually pretty obvious that I did not know a Hell of a lot, but given that I considered myself an educated man, my ignorance was coming as a rather nasty shock to me.
"So very, very much, child," came the reply, and the figure shook its head. This time the voice sounded masculine, and may even have been the one I had heard in the chapel, prompting me to decide to think of the figure as male, even if I still wasn't completely certain that 'he' was the correct pronoun.
"I am not a child," I snapped, and instantly regretted it. In response, he seemed to grow bigger in front of my eyes, until he towered over me, right hand on the hilt of the sword and poised to draw. It was as if his eyes had turned to flame, and the weight of his presence bore down on me as if I had been struck. It scared the Hell out of me - which was presumably the point - and brought it home to me that I had no idea of the identity of the being I was speaking with, and that he was a creature to be feared and respected.
Suitably chastened, I bowed my head in supplication to acknowledge my fault.
"Better," he replied, and he diminished to his previous size, the flames subsided and his eyes returned once more to the deepest black, leaving me with the lasting impression of immense age. When he spoke again, it was more in the tone of a frustrated teacher, "you are wilful and arrogant, like the rest of your kind."
"My kind?"
"Those who walk between the worlds," he answered, cryptically, although he ignored my obvious puzzlement at the term, "but you are also young in this life, and so there is hope. You ask what you do not know? You do not know the book...as you do not know yourself."
"Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I here?"
"You were brought here to learn," came the matter of fact reply, which answered two out of three of my questions, but not the one I was must curious to find out the answer to.
"And you are...?"
"You may think of me as Rashid," came the answer, and I had the impression that he was amused at a joke I could not understand. My knowledge of Arabic was slight, at best - a little picked up in my alchemical work, but not much more - and I had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at me.
"Who is Robert of Sable?" I asked, trying to regain my composure, and looking once again at the title of the book on the lectern.
"The only volume it is given to me to show you is that of your own soul. You are...or will one day be...or if you are very unlucky, will fail to become...the being called Robert of Sable. What I know for certain is that you have not yet been that being."
"I'm sorry. I don't understand."
"Better," he repeated, "admitting your ignorance, rather than being angry because of it. You have what some would call an 'old soul', child."
"But I don't know what that means," I said, quietly.
"Hence the need to instruct you," he answered, as if it was the only logical reply, "Some souls come into existence, live a single span and then return from whence they came...to Heaven or Hell, Valhalla, the Elysian Fields...humanity has so very many names for its origins and the place one goes after death. Others return to Earth for another cycle on the Wheel of Life, perhaps because of unfinished business, or because they did not reach their full potential, or because they erred in a way which needs to be made right. They are sometimes called 'old souls'. Often, they do not even realise that they've lived before, but if they unlock that knowledge, it can help them complete their appointed task, so they can pass to their reward. Some become sorcerers, others adepts of another kind. Some become priest or kings and serve in that way."
"And you believe that I have lived before?"
"I know you have lived before. Many times. Because in the first of those lives you committed a crime so grievous that you have been trying to atone for it ever since. "
"What could I have possibly done that was so horrible? So unforgivable?" I asked, disbelieving and shaken.
"When it is time, you will know."
"And...what?...I'm doomed to keep being reincarnated until I make it right?"
"A typically uneducated view, but fundamentally correct."
"And the identity which will do this is Robert of Sable...?"
"Correct. You see, you have the capacity to learn, if only you can develop the patience."
Unsure what to say - if, indeed, there was anything I could say - I sat down on the step of the lectern, elbows on my knees and resting my head in my hands, trying to visualise what I may have done that was so very, very bad. To be cursed for all eternity to put right a wrong which I didn't even know I'd committed - apparently the universe had a very nasty sense of humour.
"How many times have I tried to put it right?" I said, finally, looking up at him.
"It is not given to me to tell you that, but do as I advise, and the time will come when you will gain that knowledge, either by yourself, or with the help of others," Rashid answered, "in fact, you may have had some insight into some of who you have been that earlier this evening."
And I guessed he was referring to the images I had seen earlier. I looked at him, and he continued.
"This I can will you. Only once before have you been incarnated into an existence which had the opportunity you have now to save yourself: the only other time when you were born with what you call the Talent. That young man was a priest in the Temple of Set in the Egypt of Ramses II. But he gave his life to placate his god as sandstorms ravaged his country, and his chance to expiate your ancient sins was lost. Since then you have been physician, scholar, soldier, holy man, mediator.
I doubt you will believe it, but to heal is fundamental to your very being, and has been in so many ways. You have healed bodies, healed minds, healed souls, tried to heal broken friendships which have torn nations apart, but you never again had the chance you have now. Now you must learn how to bring together the threads of your lives, either through the magic you now wield, or through a more ritualised path, and heal yourself. You will find teachers who will guide you, possibly in the most unusual places and not even necessarily among the living, and they will help you unlock your pasts and your potential as an adept."
"What do I do? Place an advertisement in The Times? Wanted, crazy occultist to help doomed soul find salvation...?"
His eyes narrowed, and I instantly regretted my words. He reached towards me and hauled me up by the front of the robe I was wearing as easily as I would have lifted a kitten, until my feet were off the ground.
"You young fool," he hissed, "If you continue to treat this as a joke, and to waste your life, your potential and your God-given Talent as a mage, then it will certainly not be Robert de Lacy who finally completes your soul's passage back to grace. You will die and be born again, and who knows how long it will be until you are reborn in an incarnation which has the opportunity that you do now."
Then, more gently, he placed me back on my feet. "If you have an ounce of wisdom in you, take your new awareness, seek knowledge and learn. If you study well, then some day, in some life, you will gain the word of an Adeptus Major, and you will be able to return to this place. Then, if you choose, you will be able to look into the pages of your pasts to see the true magnitude of your crime, and in doing so, you may find the key which helps you atone for it."
"If you feel I've been wasting my life, why has it taken so long for my mistakes to be made known to me?"
"When your son was born, it seemed as if you had developed the maturity to understand what might be required of you. True, your father still lived, with the potential to influence you, and mage or not, your mind was still rooted in the worldly, rather than the spiritual, but that wasn't necessarily insurmountable. But then your maturity deserted you. You regressed to your youth as soon as your son had flown the nest, so to speak, and you no longer had to look after him day in and day out. And you chose to study the Art of Khem, and while, like any tool, the Great Art that can be used for both good or evil, your obsession with the Elixir of Life was troubling. The knowledge of alchemy is a great and dangerous thing, but it is better to use those skills to help and improve the lives of others, than for self aggrandisement and to extend your own life."
"It sounds as if immortality might be the only way that I'm going to live long enough to try to fix what I've done," I commented, trying not to sound flippant as I said it.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you are destined to reconcile yourself to your past and become one with the being who will be known as Robert of Sable in this life or a future one. And that, of course, is still uncertain."
"So what has my father got to do with this?"
"You father did not choose the path of Light: the path I am offering you. He chose the wider way...the way of Darkness. Evil. Destruction. Hatred. Fear. Insanity. He sought Power for Power's sake, rather than for the good of the whole. In a way you are not yet equipped to understand, he is the very antithesis of everything you must become to atone for your past. And until he passed on, it was unclear whether he would guide you down his road, or whether you would eventually manage to follow the path of Light. It is far easier to do ill than good, child. You would do well to remember that."
"And now my future seems clearer?"
"Your undertaking of the ancient ritual you performed this night has given me the opportunity to assess you for myself, and to help you to make the choice. My feeling is that you are now in a position to turn your back on what your father might have offered you. And when you choose the right path, as you will sooner than perhaps you realise, there will be teachers to guide you."
"How will I know these teachers?"
In response I saw the ghost of a smile. "After you return to the chapel, you will instinctively know those who walk with you on the path of the Light. You will find that initially, you will have little control over how you See them, but the fact that you are a qualified mage tells me that you will be able to control that soon enough, so that you will only See when you wish to.
And it may be that that the adepts you first meet will not be the ones who will lead you to your final destination: they will merely place your feet on the path. Adepts of many traditions serve the Light, but not all adepts are comfortable with all traditions. But do not be disheartened. Continue to seek, and you will find a tradition or form with which you are comfortable. And until you do, you will use your abilities as a Talented mage for the greater good: mages, too, can serve the Light, and healers most especially. Remember how to heal, and that will help you in more ways than you can imagine."
"You sound very confident that I will choose the right path."
"If I were not, child, I would never allow your soul to return to your corporeal body. I would sever the connection here and now, and wait for your next incarnation."
There was no threat in his words. They were stated as a simple fact.
"What about Andrew?" I asked, finally.
"He is bound to this. He, like you, has an old soul with unique qualities. One that is intricately entwined with yours. When you committed your crime, he was there, and since then your souls have met in other lives, at other times: sometimes as father and son, other times merely as acquaintances. Part of your task as you learn to walk the path of Light, is to encourage him to do the same."
I nodded, then lapsed into silence, considering what Rashid had said. He withdrew a short distance from me, standing in perfect silence and unnaturally still, while I returned to the lectern and once more flipped through the pages of the book. As yet, nothing further had appeared on the blank sheets, and I hoped that the fact that it was only half written didn't mean that I was only halfway to my spiritual destination.
After a while, Rashid spoke once more. "Are you ready to return to your corporeal body, Robert de Lacy?"
"I am," I replied, and very gently he placed the forefinger of his right hand on my forehead, and the library dissolved around me. When I opened my eyes, I could see that I was back in the Chapel Royal. The sun had risen, and outside I could hear birds singing and the occasional carriage passing by. On the altar, the cross burned as if with an inner fire, and the sword in my hands seemed almost alive.
"Welcome back," came a voice from the choir stalls beside me and I turned to see Selwyn, looking at me, his elbows resting on the front of the stalls, his expression decidedly less disapproving that it had been when we'd started this the previous evening. And then I realised that I could See Selwyn - there was an aura around him, and the impression of an overlay of black clothing over his garments was stronger. The realisation caused me to reel. However, he moved quickly and caught me before I could fall.
"I suggest you take a deep breath and centre - you are aware of that term?"
I nodded. It was standard after casting a particularly complex spell to take time to relax and bring oneself back to the real world. I did as he suggested, and soon I felt better, although I was dog tired, and the effects fasting for over twelve hours were making me light headed.
"Good," he said, gently, "I presume that your vigil has brought you some form of unexpected enlightenment, in a more real sense than you anticipated...not that I think you knew what to anticipate."
"You would presume correctly," I answered, quietly, and he nodded, "assuming, of course, that I didn't imagine the whole thing."
"No, from your reaction to me just now, I don't think you imagined anything," came his reply, helping me to my feet, "but it does seem that you have no control over what you are Seeing."
"So this is why you chose to act as my companion this evening. You have some knowledge which is relevant to this, and suspected something was going to happen," I commented.
"I wondered," he answered, "certainly a source I trust implicitly indicated that it was worth the time to find out. And while I wasn't convinced when I met you, I think I, too, now understand."
"You are the guide...the teacher he mentioned."
"He?"
"The being...Rashid....the one I was speaking with if I didn't just dream all of this."
Selwyn looked puzzled for a moment, then chuckled.
"Okay. I really don't get the joke," I said, looking at him rather frustrated, "What is so funny?"
"It's not a name I have heard before in connection with the esoterica," he answered, "but it does seem appropriate. Rashid means 'rightly guided', which would appear to have been his purpose. But, we can discuss what you perceived tonight at a later date, if you are willing. Now, however, I need to teach you to control your new Sight, or the auras of the regalia and the ceremonies that you will be undertaking are going to overwhelm you. And we don' t have a great deal of time: the good Father will be back in about an hour."
"I'm not supposed to leave the chapel until after Father Anthony has administered the Eucharist."
"I appreciate that," he answered, "and I hope that while my methods aren't quite in keeping with a Christian chapel, they will be seen to be used with due respect for this place and tradition. Come, let us adjourn back to the pews."
I did as I was bid, but as I did so, I realised that he had just confided something to me: an olive branch of trust, perhaps? The Church has no problem with Talented and licensed magicians - indeed many priests are healers or Sensitives - so why would Selwyn be concerned about how his methods would be seen in a chapel? Unless he didn't follow the Christian tradition.
Slightly concerned about what I was letting myself in for, but well aware that I needed to do something to control the Sight Rashid had left me with, I sat when he told me to. He took his place beside me, and we started to work. Through a combination of trance and a ritual symbolism I really didn't understand, and strongly hoped wasn't actually blasphemous, plus the mental discipline I had learned in my first year at Kings, by the time the clock struck six forty-five, I had the ability to See auras at least under some control.
It was just as well. Father Anthony returned early, just as I was retaking my position, sword in hand in front of the altar and Selwyn was back in the pews. At least I wasn't struck dead by an angry bolt from on high for my presumption at taking non-Christian ritual instruction in this place - something I suddenly set a lot more store by the possibility of than I had when I had woken up the previous day - so perhaps Selwyn's methods weren't so incompatible with Christianity after all. Or maybe one form of the Light recognises another.
"Good morning, My Lord Marquis," Father Anthony said as he joined me, "I hope the night has been of benefit to you."
"Yes, thank you, Father," I answered, "I certainly understand more than I did this time yesterday."
He smiled, indicated for me to sit down in one of the stalls, and then cleared the kneeler away.
"If you will give me a few minutes, I will make the preparations for the Eucharist. I will rejoin you shortly."
He headed back down the nave, stopping to exchange a few words with Selwyn before disappearing into the vestry. Slightly to my surprise, my companion joined me a few moments later, and we waited in silence for the priest to return. I suppose that given the religious climate of England in the 1740s there was little else he could do, whatever his actual beliefs might be, and it would have seemed odd if he hadn't participated. The service took about half an hour, and in a way seemed a fitting end to what had been a very strange fourteen hours. Then the priest led us back down the nave, before bidding us goodbye beside the door. As we stepped outside, a pair of guardsmen fell in beside me again - different ones to the previous evening, I noticed - and I was escorted back to my rooms.
"This is where I must leave you for now, Tewkesbury," Selwyn said once we were in the lounge, "the dressers will be along shortly, and you will be escorted down to the Audience Chamber at ten-thirty. Oh, and it's possible they might even let you have breakfast beforehand, but I'd suggest you take it sparingly, however much you want to devour it, or it will do you more harm than good. In the meantime, I must also get ready. I will keep your sword, which will be returned to you by His Majesty in due course. Until later."
I nodded, and he turned and left the room. I crossed to the bedroom door, and saw that inside, the robes and other garments I had been fitted for the previous day had been laid out for me on the bed. About five minutes later, a servant came in with a light but very welcome breakfast, although I took note of Selwyn's comments, and soon I was ready for the onslaught of the dressers. They arrived promptly at eight-thirty and set to work, and I will admit I endured their ministrations with rather more patience than I had the day before, although the weight of the clothes and the heat of the day made for a bad combination.
As I heard clock strike ten-thirty, there was a heavy knock at the door and a guardsman came in to take me out to meet the Lord Chancellor. With a great deal of pomp and ceremony, I was then escorted downstairs to the Audience Chamber to meet my Monarch, entering the richly decorated room to what I guessed was a piece by Handel, His Majesty's Master of Music. I had been instructed not to look around as I walked, but to keep my eyes on the Royal Presence in front of me. However, even out of the corner of my eye I could see the sumptuous clothing of the guests, some in the regalia of their rank, others merely in court dress.
As I started walking, the guardsmen held back, and Selwyn fell in beside me, wearing the full regalia and coronet of an Earl of the Realm. As we approached the throne, I thought I saw Andrew standing fairly near the King, next to the Earl of Richmond, a passing acquaintance of mine. He looked rather uncomfortable in court clothes, but he smiled as he saw me. And then I was before His Majesty, and the ceremony began, all the moves carefully choreographed through years of performance.
The form of words was ancient, as were the sections of the ceremony: the reading of the Letters Patent, the placing of the Ducal robes and coronet upon the recipient, his kneeling before the Monarch to offer his allegiance, in return for which he is dubbed on the shoulders by the Sword of State, and finally the presentation of his own sword and golden spurs. My day of preparation had been very necessary, and thankfully I remembered what I had been taught and managed not to make a fool of myself.
As His Majesty fastened the sword belt around my waist, I realised that it was not the one I had arrived with - it was my own sword and scabbard, but the belt was new, and finely tooled with what looked like Celtic knots inlaid in pale leather. A gift from the King? Or from someone else? Certainly I didn't see His Majesty as putting much stock in things Celtic, being of German, rather than British heritage.
By the time it was over, and I was presented to the crowd, I felt both emotionally and physically exhausted, but also satisfied. I had survived the night, and it had given me a lot to think about, as well as presenting me with rather more questions than I had expected, and opened my eyes considerably wider to the Powers that Be. But I also hoped that I had gained a friend and teacher...although only time would tell for sure.
As Handel's music again echoed around the room, His Majesty made his exit, with Selwyn and myself following as part of his retinue, and by the time I reached the reception hall, the King was gone. I was quickly intercepted by the dressers who had attended to my needs earlier, and was steered off into a side room, where I was divested of the more impractical items of Ducal attire I had acquired over the past two days - coronet, spurs and Ducal robes - so they could be packed for my return to Millbank. In truth, in the heat of the day it was something of a relief to be rid of them. They left me with my sword, presumably because I wouldn't be meeting the King again, and the more practical court attire I was wearing, and then I was taken back to the reception room, where the champagne was flowing.
"Congratulations, father," Andrew said, coming over when he saw me and giving me an unaccustomed hug, "that was an amazing sight to watch. I don't envy you that getup on a regular basis, though."
"One day, it'll be your turn," I commented, wryly, as I took two glasses of champagne from one of the servants, handing one to my son and keeping the other for myself.
"But hopefully not for a very long time," he answered, and seemed to mean it, which was comforting, "so, what was it like? How did you get on yesterday?"
"That, is a very long story," I answered, "and one that can wait until later."
He looked disappointed, and was about to say something more when I saw Selwyn approaching. By then he, like a lot of the other noblemen in attendance, had also returned to straight court attire.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet," I said, somewhat changing the subject, "Selwyn...this is my son, Andrew de Lacy. Andrew, allow me to make known to you Michael, Earl of Selwyn."
I was pleased when my son turned to Selwyn and gave a perfectly acceptable bow. He'd obviously been learning etiquette at Eton, along with everything else.
"I'm honoured, My Lord."
"The honour is mine," Selwyn answered, possibly more respectfully than I would have expected from a Peer of the Realm towards a teenager, albeit a nominal Marquis. But then maybe he knew as much about Andrew as he seemed to about me.
"Have you known my father long, My Lord?"
"No...we met yesterday. I was assigned as his companion for the preliminary ceremonies for today. But I have a feeling that we will have the opportunity to pursue our new acquaintance further. Perhaps you would both like to visit me in Kent at some point in the near future."
"We'd be delighted," I answered, "and again, thank you for your assistance last night."
"You are most welcome," he answered, "and I shall see you both anon. Now, if you'll excuse me...there are people here who I haven't seen in some time. Until another occasion, Your Grace."
"Indeed, My Lord Earl," I answered, and we exchanged nods, before he headed over to speak with the Duke of Bedford.
"What was that all about?" Andrew asked, as Selwyn departed, possibly more abruptly than etiquette dictated for a teenager. But I let him off, through fatherly indulgence.
"What was what all about?"
"Obviously that conversation had more to it than simple pleasantries," he answered, and I looked at him quizzically, waiting for him to continue, "well, you didn't seem to be acting towards each other the way I would have expected if you only met yesterday. Is there something I should know?"
That took me by surprise: reading body language certainly wasn't on the curriculum when I was at Eton, although Rashid had implied that there was more to Andrew than met the eye as well. In answer to his question, however, I just shook my head.
"As I said, it's a very long story, and I have no intention of going into the details here, but I promise that you'll have them once we're back at the townhouse."
"There's nothing...illegal going on is there?" he asked, genuinely sounding concerned, "After all, from what I've heard, you've gained yourself a reputation as something of a Hellraiser since you banished me to Eton."
"No, nothing illegal," I replied, although the fact that he'd heard about Paris drew me up short. Still, after what had happened in the chapel, and wherever it had been that I had met Rashid, I was reasonably confident that whatever reputation I seemed to have acquired, I would be working to improve it over the next few years. Yes, I'd probably still spend time in Paris, with the parties and the gambling, if only because it would look strange if I suddenly ceased to be a fixture in the hotels and salons, but now, probably for the first time, I understood that there were more important things in life than instant gratification.
"You know, when I first went to Eton I felt like I'd been banished, as well," I commented, changing the subject slightly, "but my feelings changed. I actually came to like the place. I'd hoped you would, too."
"I was joking..." he answered, quietly, "at least about the banished part."
"But not about your father's bad reputation?"
"Not bad, exactly. Just...colourful."
"Hmm...I hadn't realised my fame...infamy...whatever you want to call it...had spread so far. But trust me, that is going to change. It won't be overnight, but it will change."
He gave a weak smile. "I don't particularly mind," he replied, quietly, although I had a feeling he was being polite, "it's a parent's duty to embarrass his children. And if nothing else, having you as a father is a talking point: it does give me something that makes me stand out from the crowd."
"You'll be going up to Kings in September, anyway," I answered, smiling, "so you'll get to experience the student life and its temptations for yourself. And then we'll see who can talk about reputations."
"You sound pretty certain."
"You said the exams went well over the last couple of weeks, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. If nothing else, because knowing you, I know you're stubborn enough not to want to be outdone by your father. So as I passed my finals at Eton at seventeen, I imagine you worked damned hard to do the same."
I heard him chuckle, confirming my comment without having to say anything.
"Come on. We'd better be sociable. And I can also see various people I haven't seen in a while who I need to catch up with," I said, finally, and with a nod from my son, we passed into the throng, where various people were waiting to congratulate me on my elevation.