Necator regum sum, et pro regibus nector
Kent, Winter Solstice 1976
Winter Solstice. One of the Group's regular and most important gatherings. We would meet to celebrate the end of the darkening days and the beginning of the return of the light: Christmas, before it was Christmas, if you will. Never mind that across in Germany, Ritter was probably doing the same thing with far darker purposes in mind - for us it was an important milestone in the year.
This year we decided to hold the celebration at Wittersham House, out in the mock ruins. Wolf and his family had come down for Christmas, as had become our tradition, and that afternoon, he, Michel and I had fun building the bonfire, while Susanne went into Tenterden to do some last minute Christmas shopping. Of course, Michel was very disappointed when her stepfather said that she couldn't be there when we set fire to it. However, he very deftly played the "past your bedtime" card, and she accepted it with minimal grumbling.
He had never revealed to me just how much he had told Susanne about the Group, and what we do. However, it was obvious that they had talked - sometime in the last year or so, she'd learned I was his biological father, for a start - as she didn't seem surprised at our plans for later in the evening. Indeed, she seemed more than happy to stay with her daughter and leave us to our own devices. Maybe because this other part of Wolf's life was at odds with her own Catholic faith, which made me wonder what she thought of his dual belief system, but at least she apparently hadn't told him he shouldn't be involved with us, which was something.
Our intention was to celebrate as midnight passed and the twenty-second began. Caroline North had sent her apologies, but then, now she was in her eighties, she often missed our gatherings: her daughter-in-law had taken the mantle of Priestess from her some years before, after Freddie had died. Phillip Aberforth, also, wasn't expected, although most of the rest of them had indicated that they would be coming...even Michael, who had rung me earlier in the day to let me know that he'd arranged a night off in his busy schedule. He'd been doing an inspection down at Deal that afternoon, and had managed to escape for the evening.
I let Carmichael have an early night, and saw my guests in myself, with Wolf acting as host while I awaited the other newcomers. Charles Aberforth - our Man-in-Black since Freddie's death - arrived promptly at ten-thirty; Edward North and his wife Alex a few minutes later, with their daughter Melissa. My nephew Jonathan - Audrey's brother's son - knocked on the door at around ten-forty-five, along with Alison Hargreaves, to whom he had given a lift, followed by Michael a couple of minutes later. Of those who had said they were coming, that just left Laurence Rathbone and his elder son, Simon.
Their car finally pulled up at around eleven, and as Simon helped Laurence out of the passenger side door, I was shocked at the state of my old friend and mentor. Obviously, I'd always been aware that he had fifteen years on my tender sixty-six, but he'd never actively looked old before. However, as Simon helped him inside, I was struck by how gaunt and frail he had become in the couple of months since I had seen him last.
Why hadn't he told me he was so sick?
"Hello, old friend," he said, as he clasped my hand in his. His grip was as frail as the rest of him, which left me with a lump in my throat. Simon nodded and then went on through to the lounge, leaving me with his father.
"Laurence, I..."
"I know. I look pretty awful, don't I," he answered, with a wry smile, "time catches up with all of us in the end...with the possible exception of you."
"I'm not as young as I used to be."
"No, but neither are you as old as you should be."
"Believe me, I'm as much in the dark about that one as you are."
"I know," he answered, then paused before adding, "I need to talk to you and Wolf, after we've done tonight."
"Surely it can wait for another time?" I protested, concerned that this was going to be a late enough night for him, given the state he appeared to be in.
"Ian, I'm not sure how much time I've got," he said, quietly.
My shock was obviously evident on my face, and he gave a weak smile.
"Lung cancer."
"What do they think?"
"Six weeks. Two months at best."
"How long have you known?"
"Grace made me go to the sawbones about a month ago. I'd been losing weight and getting very tired, and she was worried about me. Turns out, she had every reason to be."
"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends."
"We are...but I had to come to terms with it myself, before I felt strong enough to inflict my misfortune anyone else."
"Then you should be at home resting. Not gallivanting at midnight."
"And miss my last Winter Solstice?" he said, with a shake of his head, "No. I'd rather live my last few weeks as I want, than be wrapped up in cotton wool. And as I said, there's something important I have to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."
Unsure what to say, I helped him into the lounge, where the reactions of the others were similar to mine. I could soon feel my friend wilting under the attention, so rather than leave him to their interrogations, I called a halt to the small talk. As we headed outside, a little earlier than I'd planned, Simon took Laurence's arm and followed behind us. It was the night of the new moon, but the sky was cloudy, so we couldn't see the stars. However, at least it was relatively mild for December, and once the bonfire was burning it was almost pleasantly warm.
The ritual was well known to all of us, with the possible exception of Wolf, our newest member, and he was proving to be a very a quick study. As we began, I consciously tried put aside my concerns, and joined the others in celebrating the fact that we had survived another year, and were able to look forward to longer days. But in my heart I felt the pang that Laurence wouldn't be there to see them. It took maybe an hour and a half, and by the end, all of us felt invigorated, and ready to meet the challenges of the New Year ahead of us.
Once we were finished, we headed back to the house, shared mulled wine and mince pies in the library, and in the end my guests began departing at around two in the morning. Laurence had spent most of the time apparently dozing in a chair by the fire, although from the fact that he occasionally interjected his usual sharp comments into the conversation, he was obviously more alert than he liked to show. But he still gave the impression that, despite what he'd said earlier, his failing body coveted rest.
By two-fifteen just the four of us were left: Wolf and I, and Laurence and Simon.
"I really think you should do this another time," I said to him, concerned at his colour and general lethargy.
"It's not going to happen, Ian," Simon said for him, "he was insistent, and you know what he's like when he gets in that mood. Wild horses wouldn't change his mind."
His expression was warm and caring, rather than critical of his father, and I could see sadness in his eyes. Laurence nodded to him, then looked back at me.
"This is something he wants to discuss with you two, alone," Simon explained, "and believe me, he's being very secretive about what it is, which is never a good sign. Would it be possible for him to stay here tonight? I'll come and collect him in the morning?"
"Of course," I answered, "although we weren't expecting guests..."
"I have what I need in the car," Laurence answered, "Simon, if you'd be so kind...and maybe if you could also bring me a glass of water."
His son nodded and got to his feet, heading out of the doorway. He returned a few minutes later with a small, well-worn overnight bag, which I'd seen before: in the old days, he'd always kept a "go-bag" packed in case he was called out of town at short notice. He placed that beside Laurence's chair, and the water glass on the small occasional table in front of him.
"Thank you," he said, standing up and holding his hand out to his son. Simon caught him up in a bear hug, and then let him go, and by his body language he was obviously concerned about leaving him. But he was right. If Laurence had something private he wanted to discuss, there was no point arguing. His reticent nature was as part of his being as breathing.
"I'll see you around ten, Dad..."
"I'll be ready," he answered, "now away with you. Lucy will be wondering where you are."
"Night Ian...Wolf. See you tomorrow."
Once he was gone, Laurence lowered himself slowly back into his chair and turned to face my son and I.
"You might want to seal the room," he said, quietly, "I'd rather we weren't disturbed."
I got to my feet and did as he suggested, then returned to the fireplace and sat on the sofa, with Wolf taking the other armchair.
"What's this about?" he asked, finally.
"You and Ian, both past and present. As you know, I've worked with you both over the years, singly and together, to see if I could find out how your souls have been linked in your past lives...although you've never made it easy for me, if I may say so, young Wolf. I was never sure you actually wanted to know."
"Perhaps I wasn't ready," he answered, with a shrug, "perhaps I'm still not."
"But you've always said that your findings were inconclusive," I commented.
"And for that, I must apologise. I haven't been entirely honest with either of you. Because the truth is, I've known for almost as long as I've known that you were father and son."
I looked at him, surprised, and for a brief moment he was my old intelligence boss, unwilling to share information with me unless I needed to know. Beside me, I felt a flash of anger from Wolf, who was less used to Laurence's secrets than I was.
"Explain," he snapped, for a moment looking and sounding like the German officer he used to be.
"That's why we're having this conversation," he replied, quietly, meeting Wolf's gaze, "while I still can. What I've been looking for in my sessions with you isn't identification...it's confirmation of my conclusions."
He paused a moment, taking a drink of water, and then sat back in his chair.
"How much do you both know about the myths of the Sacred King?"
"The basics, obviously," I answered, cautiously, "our pagan ancestors believed the King and the land were linked, and the health of the one affected the health of the other. And that sometimes, in times of trouble, the King had to give his life for the land, or ask someone to stand in his place, to refresh, renew and protect it. In olden times, this was often done willingly, but as Christianity became the main religion in Britain, the practice fell into disuse..."
"At least officially," Wolf added, his flash of anger slowly giving way to curiosity, "some people continued to believe in the Old Ways, as the Group does; some of those very high up in the government of these islands. So tradition suggests that such sacrifices continued for centuries after they were supposed to have been eradicated, albeit more often with a substitute standing for the King."
"I can see you've both learned well," Laurence said, with a smile, "not that I should be surprised about that. The intelligence analyst and the policeman, eh? I'm not sure if that makes what I have to say easier or harder. Expand on that and tell me what you know about William Rufus."
"Third, I believe, son of William the Conqueror, who succeeded him as King of England after his death," Wolf answered, "but he wasn't exactly popular with the people his father had defeated. Died in a hunting accident in the New Forest in or around 1100 AD. Shot with an arrow if I remember correctly."
I glanced at him, impressed, and he shrugged.
"Most of the history I learned was German, but I did study some when I came here, so I would know my new home."
"And in the context of the Old Ways?" Laurence asked.
"Our tradition suggests that he realised he needed to die...for his blood to be spilled...so the Norman line was wedded to English soil," I answered.
"In short, a Sacred King," Laurence said, with a nod, and I felt uneasy. I didn't like where this was headed.
"Why are you telling us this?" Wolf asked.
"As I said, I've worked with you both over the years, in terms of past life regressions. I was looking for points of coincidence, where you may have crossed paths before. I found rather more of them than I'd bargained for."
"How many times?" I asked, fascinated.
"Probably a dozen over the last 900 years or so, and more before that...which is very unusual, before you ask, son..."
From Wolf's expression, it was obvious that Laurence had exactly predicted his next question. He seemed startled and sat back in his chair.
"I know you're less at ease with this than Ian is, for many reasons, not least your personal beliefs. That's been obvious when I've worked with you. That's one of the reasons I've been so reticent about talking to you about this."
"Past lives are one of the elements of what we do that I find hardest to grasp," Wolf answered, quietly.
"I know...you prefer to think about them as a part of your subconscious, sending you messages, than having truly lived before. But for the purposes of this, I hope you'll indulge an old man and take the concept literally."
Wolf looked at him, and shrugged. "Go on."
"Thank you. As I said, it is my firm belief that your souls have crossed paths for at least 900 years, and in the oldest instance of this I've identified...I believe you were William Rufus."
Then he turned away from the protest I could see Wolf about to make, and looked at me, and as he did, I suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as I guessed what he was going to say next.
"I was Tyrrel, wasn't I?"
"Yes."
Wolf glanced between us, obviously not recognising the name.
"Walter Tyrrel was William's friend," I offered, "some of the more colourful rumours said more than a friend, but given that the English people were happy to believe the worst of their King, who knows whether that was true? More relevant, I think to this conversation, was that it was also implied that one or both of them were 'Godless heathens', and William certainly had a stormy relationship with the Church, and especially with Anselm, the then Archbishop of Canterbury. More definite - or as definite as anything can be with 900 years of hindsight - is that Tyrrel was one of those hunting in the New Forest with William when he died, and it was probably his shot which killed the King."
"And hence his blood was spilled on the land," Laurence said, quietly.
"So you...killed me?" Wolf said, staring at me, his tone matching the shock on his face, "Christ, I need a drink."
I didn't answer as he stood and crossed to the drinks cabinet, where he poured himself a brandy, downed it in one, and then took slightly longer than absolutely necessary to dispense three more glasses before coming back to his seat. He handed one to each of us, and I took a sip of mine, before looking at Laurence. Wolf just sat in stunned silence, staring at both of us as if we were crazy.
"It wasn't the only time, was it?" I said.
"No. Not if I've identified your past lives correctly."
"Is it always that way around?"
"No. Sometimes Wolf is the Slayer and you are the Slain."
From his seat, Wolf glared at us, the cogs obviously whirring in his mind.
"How often?" he asked, finally.
"Half a dozen times, I think, including Rufus and Tyrrel."
"Out of a dozen identified incarnations? So it doesn't always end that way?"
"Not by any means."
"Which means there's hope this time around," I commented.
"Ian, there's always hope."
"Was one of us always of Royal blood in these...Slayer/Slain incarnations?" Wolf asked, quietly.
"There were certainly connections...close enough connections for a one of you to be a valid substitute for the King... and you were usually friends, one of you willing to do this service for the other."
"But neither of us has Royal connections this time," he said, obviously trying to convince himself, as much as us, "we're what, a commoner with a hereditary title and a KCMG under his belt, and a disgraced German officer."
"At the most basic level, perhaps. However, in the years I've known your father, and latterly yourself, I've come to the conclusion that you're both something out of the ordinary. I just don't know what. As I said earlier, Ian doesn't look as old as he should, and as the years have passed, the anomaly between his actual and his apparent ages has got bigger. He's aging more slowly than he did when he was younger. And it's obvious with you, as well, Wolf. You don't look significantly older than when I first met you, which was what...eight years ago."
"And with Ritter," I commented, "he looks maybe fifteen years older now than when I first met him in '44."
"Indeed. Although I still genuinely don't know where he fits into this...I think that will fall to you to discover.
"But he knows about this, doesn't he?" Wolf asked, "that's what the dream on the plane meant. When he said we'd found each other again, and that this time neither of us would be left behind to mourn."
"Yes, I believe so. Which would explain why, at various times, he's tried his damnedest to kill you both. If you were due to repeat the past, for the good of this country - which in the current climate is mostly likely to be to the detriment of your former homeland - breaking that would benefit his plans."
"Do you think one of us destined to kill the other this time around?" I asked, looking at Laurence.
"I don't know for sure, but I think there's a good chance that your present incarnations are not in the Slayer/Slain cycle."
"You must have reasons for thinking that. You always like to be sure of your facts."
"Facts are relative in a case like this, but I'm optimistic."
"At least that's something."
"Go on," Wolf said, quietly, and Laurence turned to him.
"As best I can tell, prior to being who you are now, you were a young boy named John. He was an epileptic and only lived a few years, from 1905-1919. If he had lived longer, then perhaps you and Ian..." he paused and glanced at me, "...and I do mean you I'm afraid, old chap...you were his contemporary..."
"Outstanding," I said, quietly, before letting him continue.
"Then perhaps you would have ended up in the same situation as in the past. But he died young, and so when he might have needed to offer himself...that lot fell to someone else."
And then the name and dates for 'John' clicked.
"Michael's father?" I asked, and Laurence nodded.
"His plane went down over France in January 1941...he didn't live to see Michael born."
"And in the months that followed, we defeated the German invasion and turned the tables on them," I finished for him, and he gave a look of approval.
"What the Hell are you both talking about?" Wolf asked, frustrated.
"I presume, given your love of investigating, you know who Michael is?" Laurence asked.
"Yes," Wolf admitted, "even if he's never said it openly."
"And he never will. That's part of the agreement he has with the Group, as his father did before him. Never say it openly. Never address him by his title."
"George was part of the Group?" I asked, surprised, "I hadn't heard that one."
"It was before you joined us. But in the context of this conversation, it will explain to you why he was willing to do what he did in 1941."
"To sacrifice himself to save England."
"Exactly."
"So Wolf is probably in the clear this time?"
"I think so."
"But I'm not."
"That's not entirely true, my friend," Laurence said, looking at me, "if the gods are kind, you, too, have already played your part. You have been an agent in this cycle."
"How?"
"You helped to supply the materials which allowed George to do what he had to do."
"Excuse me?"
"Before you were posted to France, while we were still trying to kick the bloody Krauts out of England..." He paused a moment and looked at Wolf, "...no offence."
"None taken," came the automatic answer.
"You escorted a shipment of armaments up to Evanton, in Scotland. George specifically recommended that you to be on that escort. In that shipment was a device which George had specifically arranged for delivery of. A bomb. And he and one of our Scottish allies used it to sabotage his plane.."
"Hell, I made the bloody bomb," I answered, shocked.
Startled that I might have been involved in an act of treason against my own country had shaken me rigid, and it took a few moments, and a good swig of brandy, to try to get myself under control again. As I did, Wolf looked at me in surprise, obviously willing me to explain.
"It was one of my SOE graduation pieces," I said, finally.
"You didn't ask what it was for?" Wolf said.
"Why would I? I'd spent the preceding three months involved in sabotage against the German invasion force - SOE training was, by necessity, somewhat hands on during that period - and learning not to say anything, in case it compromised an operation."
"But this George person selected you to deliver the bomb that killed him...possibly even selected you to build it," Wolf commented, "that doesn't sound like a coincidence, which implies he knew you were a potential member of the Group, long before you ever knew it existed."
"But how?"
"You'd mixed in similar social circles before the war, I believe," Laurence answered, "for some reason, you caught his eye. Despite his public persona, he was very sensitive to the Work we do, and to spotting...well, call it magical potential in people. So I'd guess he was the first to realise that you belonged with us, or that somehow, he knew by instinct what you'd been in the past, and used that, knowing what he had to do. He never discussed his reasons with me, although he may have talked to Freddie. My role was simply to make sure you were on that courier run, and when it was being arranged, he strongly suggested that should the opportunity arise, I ought to get to know you...because he would not have the chance."
"And you never told me?"
"Would it have helped, if I had?"
"Probably not," I answered, "tell me, though. Is that why I ended up working for you in Berlin?"
"Yes. I was curious...about you, about why he had wanted you involved in what he did, even in ignorance...and I knew from your SOE work that you would do what needed to be done."
He paused, downed his brandy, and then added, "And no, Ian. Your part in his death wasn't treason. He knew his duty, and he willingly chose to do it. If it makes you more comfortable, think of your involvement in it as a direct order from a superior officer."
Then he got slowly and painfully to his feet.
"There, I've said my piece. Now I wonder if one of you might be so kind as to help me upstairs to my bedroom."
"I'll go," Wolf said, looking at me, obviously realising that I needed time to think and getting to his feet, "and then I should go and join Susanne. She worries."
"Let me take down the wards first," I answered, and quickly did so. Then he picked up Laurence's overnight bag in one hand, and offered him his other arm for support, and they walked slowly and carefully out of the room. I watched them go, then poured myself another brandy and sat back down. This was a Hell of a lot to process.
* * * * * *
In the end, I only got about three hours' sleep, having finally turned in sometime around four-thirty, when my mind stopped spinning. Of course, the late night didn't stop me waking up at my usual seven-thirty, and when I realised that I wasn't going to get back to sleep, I got up and had a long bath. Once I had dressed, I headed downstairs to breakfast. Wolf and his family had already been and gone - Michel had a riding lesson at eight - but Laurence joined me about half an hour later. I helped him to a small plate of toast, eggs and a couple of slices of bacon, made sure he was comfortable, and then asked the question which had been bothering me all morning.
"Why did you decide to finally tell us?"
"It was a close call...especially as, for the reasons I said last night, I'm not sure the Slayer/Slain cycle is going to repeat with you in your current incarnations. But in the end...I respect you both, even consider you to be family in a way, and I thought you deserved to know. Had to know. Just in case. And perhaps it will also give you a new angle to try to find out why Ritter wants you dead. Are you sorry that I did?"
"I suppose not. Although I could have done without you telling me about Scotland. That I could have happily lived in ignorance about for the rest of my days."
"I'm sorry...but I think it was an integral part of the whole."
"I hope you're right. That this time, we will be spared this. Wolf is my friend, as well as my son. Given a choice, I'd go to the wall for him before I hurt him."
"And you say that as someone who's actually been to the wall," he said, with a wry smile.
"I suppose I have."
"But think, for a moment, what you just said."
I looked at him and realised what he meant. I would be willing to die for my son. As, it seemed, I had died for him in our shared past, as he had died for me.
"And on that note, will you do me a favour, Ian?"
"Always."
"Why don't we talk about something else. Something...normal. The weather. Your plans for Christmas. Your next journalism assignment. The prospects for next year's Five Nations. Anything..."
I looked at him, and could see how tired he was, and how very, very old he had become, and out of friendship and respect, I did as he asked.
Carmichael interrupted us at about nine-fifty to say that Simon had arrived. I helped my friend to his feet and walked him slowly to the door. My butler had already packed his bag, and it was sitting just inside the hall. I picked it up, and we headed out into the carriage porch. As we did, I saw Wolf's Audi pulling into the drive and with a nod to Simon, we decided to wait.
Wolf pulled up with his usual flair, skittering gravel as he braked in a way that always annoyed the grounds man. Then, as Susanne helped Michel out of the car, he came and joined us, so we could say our goodbyes. Laurence turned to him first.
"Wolf, it's been an honour and a privilege," he said, taking my son's hand, "I just wish I'd had more time to know you."
"And I you, Herr Brigadier," Wolf said, with a wry smile, "you have been a good friend, and I thank you for your trust in me, despite your...initial doubts."
"I'm glad Ian was so stubborn the day he told me he was going to find you," he answered, then nodded and the looked at me.
"Goodbye, lad. And thank you."
"For what?"
"For making my life more interesting. The first day you reported for duty in Berlin I knew that George had been right, and you were different to most of the wet behind the ears intelligence analysts I've had to deal with. I wasn't wrong. You were by far my brightest student."
"I'm going to miss you, Laurence," I said, quietly, knowing in my heart that this would be the last time I saw him.
"And I you. But maybe we'll meet again, next time around," he said, "who knows, you may even still be...you."
I took his hand, and then gently pulled him towards me, trying to ignore how thin and frail he was, and embracing him before letting him go.
"May the Lord and Lady guide your homeward steps, old friend," I said, quietly.
"And may they keep you both in long life and happiness."
He smiled, then moved slowly down the steps to where Simon was waiting for him. However, as he was about to get into the car he turned back to me.
"Oh, and Ian. Take a leaf out of Wolf's book and find yourself a good woman. It isn't right to be alone for so long."
"Perhaps, if the gods are kind," I answered, and with that he climbed into the car and Simon shut the door.
"Thanks for looking after him," Simon said, with a wave, "I'll see you soon."
Then he, too, climbed into the car and they set off up the drive.