Then and Now
Then: Tenterden 1981, Agincourt 1364-69
Florence in 1364 may have been the height of European culture, but as I stared down at the filthy streets from the first-floor window of my room in Casa Dalmata, I wished I was back in my comfortable little house in 1981. Or at least had the slightest idea where my father was.
After I'd recovered from walking the Pattern, he and I had travelled together for several months, as he taught me the ways of Shadow, the Pattern and the cards which the Family used to keep in touch with each other. The Napoleonic wars were fascinating to a historian like me, as was the insane luxury of the Georgian era. I'd been a dab hand with both swords and black powder weapons by the end of those trips, and he'd also shared some of his own skill as a soldier with me. He'd even taken me to one or two other versions of my own century, as apparently Tenterden's history didn't follow the usual pattern for its section of Shadow: the Earth Zone, as he called it.
Who knew that the Nazis had been utterly defeated in 1945? Apparently everyone but us.
But the main thing that threw him seemed to be what do about my arcane abilities. By then I'd been a practising ritualist for nearly forty years, but that didn't seem to be his area of speciality. However, when he tried to show me his technique - which I have to say was a lot closer to sword and sorcery magic - I had difficulty duplicating it. I managed some very basic bits and bobs - wards, the odd light spell, and so on - but not with any great ability or confidence. I couldn't tell if he was disappointed or frustrated.
Eventually, he began to wonder if I just couldn't learn from him, for some reason, and that if he introduced me to someone else, they might have more luck. So he dropped me off for a couple of weeks on a world he never identified, with two people he introduced as his sister Fiona and his brother Brand. But the identity of my teacher didn't seem to make any difference to my ability, or lack thereof. Brand seemed to have several screws loose, and therefore wasn't a very useful teacher, and Fiona got just as frustrated as my father had with my inability to pick up something she obviously considered simple. Finally, she told him to come back and take me away, so she didn't have to waste her time with me anymore.
It's so nice to feel wanted.
In the end, he decided to work on what I could do, rather than what I obviously didn't have the mind set for. At least not then. So he searched through his mental rolodex and came up an alchemist and ritual magician of his acquaintance, who might have more luck.
I should have guessed how primitive (at least to me) the place he was going to take me to would be when he said alchemist. He hadn't even bothered to give it a name. However, he explained that it was one of the few he could immediately think of where the timeframe and technology was in the same ballpark as Amber, but where using magic didn't automatically get you burned at the stake. I appreciated the thought. Being burned at the stake was not high on my to do list.
After several days' ride we arrived in Florence one evening in early-May 1364. I'd been to Florence on Tenterden, but most of the city I'd visited there hadn't even been built here yet. Instead, this was the Florence of the earlier part of Renaissance. Post Edward III having bankrupted the Bardi and Peruzzi merchant families; pre the rise of the Medicis. The Black Death hadn't helped, either, although my father assured me that right then, they were between outbreaks, and that the general depopulation which had happened during the plague years would mean that there were plenty of opportunities for a young man of means and sufficient drive to make them.
I listened with some scepticism, as we rode through the filthy streets, before stopping at a livery stables south of the river. We lodged our horses, and then headed on foot into a middle-class residential area in the direction of the Ponte Vecchio, one of the few structures I did recognise. He obviously knew exactly where he was going, although I was soon lost in the maze of streets, and eventually we fetched up in front of a well-appointed house on the Via Toscanella. He knocked on the door, which was opened promptly by a servant girl. She enquired of his business, to which he replied that she should tell her master Adán Falco had come to see him. That version of his name was a new one on me, but I guessed it was a variant of Adam Hawke, the identity he used on Tenterden.
She showed us inside, and then disappeared down the wood and stone corridor towards the back of the house. A short while later, she returned and told us to follow her. She led us past various closed doors, to a sun room at the back of the house. As we entered, its occupant got to his feet. He stood maybe 5'6", was lightly built, and looked to be in his early forties. He was clean shaven, with a pale complexion, dark hair and eyes that were a somewhat disturbing blue-black. As he looked at us and smiled broadly, I realised that he had the same kind of timeless quality to him that my father did. That I supposed nowadays I did too, as my new, youthful appearance was at odds with my actual age. It made me wonder if he was Family, although I didn't remember seeing his picture in the Trump deck Bleys had shown me.
"Adán," he said, coming over and embracing my father, "it has been far too long. And who is this handsome young man you're bringing me."
Or at least, that's what I thought he said - but the combination of Vulgate Latin and proto-Italian, coupled with a strong accent that may have been Eastern European, didn't exactly make him particularly easy to understand.
"This is my son Ian," Bleys answered, stepping back and reverting to English, so I could follow the conversation, "Ian, meet Ermanno Dalmata. One of the most talented alchemists and ritual magicians I know, and a good friend of mine."
I offered my hand, but instead Dalmata grabbed my wrist and embraced me much as he had my father. He was surprisingly strong for his size.
"Welcome to my home, Iván," he said in heavily accented but comprehensible English, "come in, sit a while and be comfortable."
Then he turned back to my father, although he carried on speaking in English. "So what causes you to darken my door after so long, Adán."
"I have a favour to ask you."
"You have been away for many, many years. Not even a letter to tell me you are still alive. And now you wish a favour? My friend, you wound me. Let us eat, and drink, and enjoy ourselves, and perhaps in the morning you can ask me your favour."
Then his attention flipped back to me. "From whence do you come, young Iván?"
"London," I answered, cautiously.
"Here, there, or somewhere else?"
"I don't understand."
"He is not very bright, this boy of yours, Adán," he commented looking over at my father.
"He's new to Shadow," Bleys answered, "and he's not met that many people who know anything about other worlds."
I looked at them both, surprised. Bleys wasn't usually this expansive about who and what we were, but it sounded as if this man knew at least some of it. Whoever he was, my father obviously trusted him, which meant he probably wasn't Family.
"So from whence do you come?" Dalmata repeated, looking back at me.
"My father calls it Tenterden, which is as good a name for it as any," I answered.
"It's on the Earth Line," Bleys added, and Dalmata nodded as if he understood what that meant.
"Year?" the smaller man asked.
"When we left it was 1981," I answered, "although we've been travelling a while since then."
"I will look forward to discussing your history with you, young Iván. I have not been to such a place. However, that can wait for a few days."
Then he looked back at Bleys, and his attention switching was beginning to give me a headache.
"I hope you will stay awhile, my friend. It has been too long."
"If I can," he answered, "I'll know better in the next couple of days."
"Still one for mysterious comings and goings, I see," Dalmata said, with a sigh, "well, for as long as you are here my home is your home. I will arrange dinner and rooms for you."
As he walked out of the sunroom, I was surprised by the grace with which he moved. Like a dancer or a martial artist. However, the moment he was gone, I looked at Bleys.
"Who on earth is he? Or maybe what is he?"
"Ermanno? He's an old friend of mine. We met in Paris when he was a student, and we got up to all sorts of trouble together. Definitely a man who knows how to party."
"You studied in Paris?"
"No, I was passing through, but after we became friends, I decided to stay a while."
"Family?"
"Talented mortal."
"But he knows about Shadow."
"He travelled with me for a while."
"Why him?"
"You're very full of questions today, son," came the answer, and I recognised the tone he used when he didn't want to discuss something any further, "The point is, he's someone I can trust. And he can teach you a lot of skills which will be very useful for you in the future, especially if it ever becomes safe to take you to Amber."
"You're leaving again, aren't you?"
"I have to. I'm sorry. I got a call from Fiona a few days ago. But hopefully it won't be for long. And in the meantime, I can't think of anyone I'd rather leave you with than Ermanno."
"Why not just take me back to Tenterden?"
"I don't have time. Not now. And as I said, you have a lot to learn here, and it has the benefit that everything you do learn here will work in Amber."
Before I could say anything else, Dalmata came back into the room.
"Everything is organised, my friends. And now, let us eat."
We adjourned to the dining room, and as we talked over far too much wine, in a variety of languages which it got successively harder for me to identify as the evening progressed, I got the impression that the two of them had known each other for far longer than I'd been alive. I listened to them swapping stories which, from what I could pick up, involved adventures and scrapes they'd got into over a period of what had to be two hundred years. A very old friend indeed, especially if he truly wasn't Family. We finally called it a night at around one, and headed upstairs to our rooms.
I slept through until mid-morning, and by the time I surfaced, my twentieth century head seriously suffering from a surfeit of fourteenth century wine, I seemed to be the only person in the house besides the servants. They showed me back to the sun room, provided me with bread and weak beer, and told me that their Master would be back soon. The pair of them turned up around 11.30am, and neither of them appeared to be suffering from the night's excesses as badly as I was. But then, if last night's conversation was anything to go by, they both probably had a good two hundred years more practise than I had.
"How are you feeling, Ian," Bleys said, perhaps a little too brightly.
"I think I'll live," I answered.
"Excellent. I've spent the morning arranging things with Ermanno, here, and he's agreed to look after you for a couple of months."
"A couple of months?"
"I got another call from Fiona this morning, and she's getting impatient. But hopefully it shouldn't be anything too long-term. I'd guess two months, three at the most. But that should be fine. The time will fly by, you'll see."
"And if you don't come back when you expect? What then?" I asked, "should I come and find you?"
A strange expression crossed his face, with possibly a trace of fear in his eyes, before he looked at me sternly.
"Absolutely not. There's too much going on right now, and it would be dangerous for you to be wandering Shadow on your own. I have enemies out there who would want to do you harm."
"How do you know I'll be safe here, then?" I asked, feeling surprisingly petulant about being dumped in the Middle Ages while he went off gallivanting again.
Those mysterious bloody 'enemies' again. I was fed up of getting them thrown at me. They were his stock answer whenever I asked, although he never went into details about who might want to do me harm. But one day, I was going to make him to tell me the truth.
"I'll put up some basic protections here before I leave, which should ensure that no-one stumbles across this world by accident."
"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on? Really going on? All these mysterious trips and meetings you keep disappearing off to?"
"All in good time, son. All in good time. But for now, it's safer that you don't know. Because that way you can't be forced to tell. I know Ermanno will look after you," he continued, "he's a good friend."
And then he gathered together his travelling things, and made his way out to the entrance hall. Once there, he grabbed me in a bear hug, and said his goodbyes.
"I'll try not to be too long, Ian," he said, as he let me go, "and I promise I'll come back as soon as I can."
"Be careful," I said, quietly.
"I always am," he answered, and walked out of the door.
I stood in the doorway, watching him as he walked up the street towards the Ponte Vecchio, and the stable where we'd left the horses. I just wished I could believe him when he said he'd be back in a few months.
"He is an interesting man, your father," Dalmata said from behind me. Once again, he was speaking reasonably coherent English.
"How did you meet him?" I asked, turned towards him.
"It was a long time ago. I was around your age...or perhaps, knowing him as I now do, the age you like to show the world. I was studying in Paris and he was seeking knowledge and adventure. We travelled around the Mediterranean together, and he introduced me to the rich scientific culture of the Arabs. After a while he moved on and I remained there to study, gaining a reputation as an Arabist.
"Presumably that was less common back then."
"It is still less common," he said, with a shrug, "because of my reputation, I was asked to return to Spain to help translate various Arabic texts into Latin. I remained there for several years, before returning to Arabia, to gain more experience and understanding of my subjects. Your father always visited me when he was travelling in the area, and helped me with some of my projects. And when he thought I was spending too long at my books, he would force me to leave it all, and take me on adventures. We were...are...good friends. But this is the first time I have seen him in many years."
I looked at him for a moment, wondering just how 'good' he meant. After all, if there was one thing I'd learned from my father during our travels, he liked to live life to the full. But when Dalmata caught my expression he just smiled, and changed the subject.
"Adán helped me to discover the means of prolonging my life," he continued, diverting the subject, "an Elixir. I have been improving it ever since. But it must be said that before he brought you here, I was beginning to feel whether it was time to go."
"And now?"
"I think that perhaps I will stay around a little longer."
"How old are you?"
"There comes a time when you stop counting the years. I ceased to consider it important after I buried my grandchildren."
"But surely you could have given them the same Elixir?"
"It works for me and me alone. When I was married, I tried to give it to my wife. But rather than help her, it hastened her end. So I never gave it to my only child...a son. I let him live, love, marry and have a family, and didn't interfere. And when the time came, I let them go. Do you have children?"
"Like you. One son."
"How old is he?"
"He's in his forties, although we only met relatively recently."
"Your family live strange lives, it seems. But if he shares your blood, at least you will have the comfort of not seeing him fade away before your eyes. But you will find it hard with others whom you know. You will end up moving around, changing identities, and hoping you do not run into anyone who knew you before."
"I can certainly see myself having to do something like that in the not too distant future, given that I now look rather younger than I did this time last year."
"Did Adán take you to his Pattern?"
"You know about that?"
"As I said, I have known him a long time. We talk."
"Has he ever taken you there?"
"It is somewhere only your family can go. However, he did take me to a place where a fragment of something similar was present, and taught me its secrets. I suspect that has been a factor in in the Elixir remaining potent after all this time."
He looked at me with a sympathetic look and sighed.
"I wish I did not have the feeling that whatever he is involved in is spiralling out of his control. I am afraid it might be the end of him."
"He told you that?" I asked, feeling more than a little concerned in case it was true, and slightly resentful that he hadn't said anything to me.
Had our goodbye that morning been the last time I would ever see my father?
"No. But there was something in the way he was acting."
"So you think he may never come back?"
"I am sorry, I should not have said anything. Let us work on the assumption that he will. And in the meantime, there is much I can teach you, if you are willing to learn. Over three hundred years of study is good for many things."
"He mentioned alchemy and ritual magic."
"Do you have any experience with either?"
"Ritual magic, yes. It's part of my faith. Alchemy, not really...although I've done some chemistry."
"A word of advice. Unless you can prove that your tradition has a Christian basis, I would refrain from mentioning that you are a ritual magician in front of the Church authorities. While they tolerate both magic within reason, it has to be within a proper Christian framework. They can be less understanding with those they would consider heathens. The history of the Crusades will tell you that. The Arabs are a far more advanced culture in matters of science, but the Church decided they should be killed because they did not follow the White Christ."
"I'm used to having to be careful where I come from. I know how to play the game."
"I am glad to hear it. Now, let us sit in the garden, and you can tell me more about yourself. I do not take pupils often, and I like to know the few I do."
* * * * * *
Which is how I ended up staring out of a window at fourteenth century Florence. Adapting was a serious readjustment which made even the Napoleonic Era seem modern and familiar. But I quickly saw why Bleys had decided to leave me in Ermanno's charge. He was an excellent teacher, and a true fourteenth century polymath: alchemist, philosopher, astronomer, astrologer, mathematician, translator and author. I learned a lot from him, and he seemed fascinated to learn from me as well. After all, my world had lived through another six hundred years of history to his.
And as well as my lessons, I learned the ins and outs of how to be a Renaissance gentlemen from the steady stream of handsome young men who were frequent visitors to his home. That he was lovers with some of them I didn't doubt, and yet, he was also always a very willing escort to the women of his acquaintance who were invited to the many parties around Florence, but didn't want to go alone. And who knows, given that he'd been married at least once, perhaps some of them were his lovers as well. He did tentatively investigate my feelings on the matter, but after a polite refusal on my part, the subject was never mentioned again.
As the weeks passed, I discovered more about him. He knew a lot of people - I can recognise a spy master when I see one - and kept himself very much up to date with the ever-changing politics of Renaissance Florence. He also patronised a number of less affluent musicians, artists and writers in and around the city. And he was very, very careful about what he did and what he said when he was out and about.
I also got to know his more frequent visitors, and through them was introduced to the local bars, taverns, gambling houses and duelling clubs. The duelling clubs were especially entertaining, given that there were often young women in the audience, either with their beaus, or looking for new champions.
Soon I was getting the hang of Renaissance life, although there were times when I longed for a hot bath and indoor plumbing. But as I looked down on the street that particular morning, I was painfully aware that it was six months since Bleys had left, and that I hadn't heard a word from him since. Perhaps, despite his protestations to the contrary, it was time I went looking for him. After all, maybe he was in trouble and could use my help.
"I'm going to look for my father," I said to Ermanno over dinner that evening.
By now our conversations were in a strange mixture of Vulgate, Arabic and English, and I was even beginning to be able to read Arabic.
"Even though he expressly told you not to?"
"Six months ago. When he said he'd only be three."
"Men like your father. You cannot really pin them down to a specific time. I am not even sure that time means the same thing to him as it does to us."
"That doesn't stop me worrying about him," I answered, with a shrug.
"I can understand that. And obviously you must do as you will. But I will miss your company. You have no idea how satisfying it is for an old teacher like me to have a pupil who really wishes to learn. But take his advice, and be careful. He would not have left you with those warnings if there was not something to them."
The following morning, I got up early, made up a pack of necessities for travelling, belted on my sword and headed out before Ermanno was awake. Even though it had been six months since we'd got here, I remembered the basics of walking Shadow. I headed for the livery stable, took out my mount and then rode out of the city to start from there.
I got precisely nowhere.
I could still reach for the stuff of Shadow and manipulate my immediate environment, or bring the Pattern up to defend myself. But if I tried the sort of tricks he'd taught me for actually moving between the worlds - you ride around the corner and there's a stand of trees; or you turn right and find a cornfield - nothing happened. Obviously my dear father hadn't trusted me not to disobey him, and made sure I couldn't leave even if I wanted to.
By the time I returned to Casa Dalmata I felt tired, frustrated and trapped.
Ermanno thankfully didn't say a word.
* * * * * *
Time passed. Six months stretched to a year, and a year stretched to two. I threw myself into both my studies and the Renaissance life. But of my father, there was no sign. And then, one evening in early-July, Ermanno came back to the house looking decidedly flustered. It was so unlike his usual calm demeanour that I was instantly concerned.
"What's happened?" I asked him.
"I have been here too long," he answered, "I was near the Palazzo Vecchio, and was recognised by someone I knew in Algiers, fifty years ago. He crossed the street to greet me. I tried to ignore him, but he kept bothering me, saying I was his old friend Armando, and when I told him he was mistaken, he got angry at me and threatened to teach me some manners."
"When I first got here, you said you'd been wondering if it was time to go."
He looked at me with a slightly odd look, as if I'd misunderstood him, but rather than say anything, he just shrugged.
"And now I must. Will you accompany me, Iván? Or do you wish to stay here in Florence?"
"It depends where you decide to go."
"It has been a long time since I lived in London. Perhaps that will be far enough away."
"And at least Edward is still on the throne," I commented, "rather than Richard."
"Who is Richard?"
"One of Henry I's descendants who didn't live up to the Plantagenet legacy."
"That can be said of more than one of that dynasty, I think. Plantagenet is not a name that has always been respected. However, King Edward has done much to change that."
"It'll be interesting to see what it's like here and now," I commented, "so yes, I would be delighted to accompany you to England."
He smiled broadly at my acceptance, and we settled down to make preparations.
Of course, changing your country of residence was a far from easy job in 1366. First you had to decide whether to risk the land route, or travel by sea, and then you had to make preparations to ensure that you reached your destination in one piece. And while Ermanno had obviously done this before, he seemed grateful that I was around to help. In the end, we decided that travelling by land would be the easier, given that he wanted to transport much of his scientific and alchemical equipment, and he didn't want to risk losing it at sea.
It was probably one of the hardest journeys of my life. We set off in the middle of July, before the days started drawing in too badly, to make our way to Calais and a ship to England. And believe me, the experience of travelling nearly a thousand miles on horseback with wagons was not a very enjoyable one. We hired a small squad of guards as an escort - ex soldiers mainly - with Ermanno making sure they were paid well enough to stay loyal. But we still had to deal with dodging cold, plague, robbers and highwaymen, and the edges of the Anglo-French/Anglo-Castilian wars under John of Gaunt and the Black Prince.
We eventually reached Calais at the end of August, thinner and in my case, pretty much exhausted, and took ship for England. We arrived in Dover on 1 September 1366, in a violent rainstorm that threatened to submerge everything in its path.
Our first night on English soil, we stayed with a friend of Ermanno's, a fellow alchemist and astrologer named Thomas Norton, who had links with the English Court. He helped us find rooms in the town for what proved to be an interesting month.
King Edward was in residence in Dover Castle, and there was a lot of coming and going of the English Aristocracy. As it turned out, a combination of that and Thomas's own contacts proved to be very beneficial in helping us find a patron. After all, alchemy wasn't a particularly secure past-time, especially if you were a newcomer to the land and trying to become established, and having a friend at Court was almost essential if you were likely to practise anything of an occult or arcane nature, even if there was a partial acceptance of magic.
By the end of October, we had managed to secure for ourselves the patronage of Humphrey de Bohun, the dashing young Earl of Hereford, Essex and Northampton. He had inherited Northampton from his father in 1360, at the age of nineteen, and Hereford and Essex a year later, when his uncle died without issue (as had his brother had before him). In addition, he been made a Garter Knight in April 1365, no doubt because he was both the King's cousin (through a maternal link to Edward I), and the son of one of the men who had helped Edward III throw off Roger Mortimer and become King in fact, as well as name.
A tall man for the era, standing only an inch or so shorter than me, de Bohun had chestnut brown hair, blue-grey eyes, and a friendly, open demeanour. I briefly wondered if he was a descendent of one of Bleys's by-blows from a previous visit. However, given that he was Edward I's great-grandson, with the records to prove it, if it were the case, it could only be through a sister I didn't know about, who had somehow got into the mix further up the Plantagenet line.
De Bohun was at Court with his wife Joan, a tiny, beautiful woman who stood maybe 5'2" in her stockinged feet, and their new-born daughter Eleanor. He made contact with Norton because he was seeking a son to carry on his family name: something which had obviously been a problem in his family before, given that he'd inherited much of his land from an uncle. Consulting an alchemist seemed an odd thing for one of the Great Magnates of England to do, but he was obviously very serious about it.
Thomas considered de Bohun's request, but in the end decided that he didn't want to take the risk on that particular commission. While he didn't say it in so many words to his potential client, he mentioned privately to us that he was afraid that if he couldn't succeed in granting the request, things might end up going badly for him. However, he referred the Earl to Ermanno, who was made of sterner stuff and decided that it was worth the risk. And in fairness, given Ermanno's alchemical and medical skills, helped by my improving efforts and ability to manipulate probability, it didn't seem impossible that we might actually succeed.
De Bohun engaged us under an informal agreement which allowed us to establish a premises on the northern side of the City of Westminster, giving us a main base of operations. However, as part of the arrangement, he made it very clear that he expected one of us to travel with him at all times, officially acting as a general assistant and consultant, but also regularly casting astrological charts for himself and his Countess to choose when the most propitious moment might be for them to attempt to conceive a son.
When I heard that condition, I was split between whether he really wished an astrologer, or whether he wanted a hostage, to make sure that we held up our side of the bargain. However, after some discussion, we agreed, with Ermanno suggesting that I would be better suited to travel with our client, while he stayed in Westminster, working on some way of making de Bohun's request happen. That arrangement made sense, as I was younger and travel bothered me less; and staying in the capital also gave him the chance to establish a wider clientele to help keep a roof over our heads, and maybe offer us protection if this anything went wrong.
My curiosity was piqued when I was asked to formally join the Earl's household at Winter Solstice. However, I quickly discovered that the date wasn't a coincidence. Humphrey de Bohun was one of those nobleman who understood and protected the Old Religion, and used its rites and ceremonies for the greater good of the country.
France had a Court Magician, one of a small group of Vatican-trained sorcerers and ritual magicians who called themselves the Order of the Flame. Members of the Order served within several of the Continental Royal Households, acting as protectors of various kings and princes, and presumably reporting everything back to their Vatican masters. But given that relations between the Plantagenets and the various Popes had always been somewhat variable, the Vatican had never deigned to send one of the Order to England. Which was where de Bohun and his Group came in.
They called themselves the Keepers of Albion, and acted as the unofficial magical protectors of King and Country. As I quickly came to learn, their rites were fairly similar to my own, allowing for the inevitable differences made by the six-hundred years between his group and mine. Of course, to allay suspicion, he made sure that his family and household were regularly seen at Mass, and he kept both faiths to the degree he could.
Once we had both realised where we stood in such matters, the relationship between us changed. I ceased to be a paid employee, and started to be treated as an equal. However, it wasn't until I was initiated as one of them that I learned that de Bohun wasn't the only Garter Knight among the Keepers, and that the diminutive Countess of Hereford was their Priestess.
Through the Keepers, I became part of a circle which included some of the most powerful men in England, and was soon attending Court as a member of Humphrey's retinue. He even arranged for me to be admitted as one of his household knights and be presented to the King. It was fascinating to actually BE at the Court of Edward III, even though the years of his prime were in the past, and I'd arrived too late for either Crécy or Poitiers. Still, it was a sobering thought that if Bleys never came back, which seemed more likely as the months progressed, I'd probably get to see Agincourt, quite possibly from the back of a horse. Assuming, of course, that I didn't get the chop under either Richard II or Bolingbroke in the meantime.
Neither Ermanno nor myself were the kind of people who took someone's money and patronage without giving anything in return. I kept my side of the arrangement, casting charts on Humphrey's behalf and teaching him how to do likewise, and when we were in Westminster, I worked with my teacher to try to find a solution to their problem. What Ermanno thought of the company I was keeping, he never said. However, I had the distinct feeling that he wasn't convinced it would last, even if he didn't say it in so many words. Medieval alliances could often hinge on the wrong word said to the wrong person.
We offered the first fruits of our work to Humphrey in April 1367, and initially everything seemed to be going well. Joan became pregnant with a boy - something that the Keepers ascertained through arcane means - and there was a certain amount of optimism within his household. But it wasn't to be. She lost the baby before the end of the first trimester, and we were back to square one. Another failed pregnancy followed later that year, again a boy, possibly because they had tried again too soon after the first loss, and at far greater peril to Joan than the first. It took her almost three months to recover sufficiently to even consider having another try.
By December, it was obvious that both husband and wife were beginning to lose hope that there would ever be a son, and even Ermanno was getting nervous, wondering whether Thomas Norton had been right not to take this commission. With the King's permission, Humphrey decided to forgo Christmas-Epiphany Court to join the Teutonic Knights in their 'crusade' against the heathens on the eastern borders of Prussia. My cynical side decided that he only choose to do so in the hope that it might help bring him favour with the Christian powers that be, as the non-Christian ones didn't seem to be answering his prayers.
The idea of going on 'crusade' against people I had considerably more in common with than the Teutonic Knights we'd be fighting for did not sit well with me. The trouble was, de Bohun and the other senior Keepers had to juggle their acknowledgment of the Old Religion with their Christian beliefs, as the social structure of the day expected them to show their devotion to the Church, and going on 'crusade' was a way to do that. And alas, as one of his knights, I had little choice but to accompany him, despite the fact that my personal beliefs were probably as pagan as those of the people we were supposed to fight.
We spent the next three months in the frozen swamps of Eastern Europe, smiting the heathens 'in the name of God' to try to help the Teutonic Knights increase their landholdings. It's probably just as well that my comrades in arms didn't figure out that our lack of success during that campaign was due to my making contact with some of our so-called adversaries on the Second Road, and warning them when the Knights were coming.
We arrived back in England in the middle of March, and Humphrey spent almost all the time between our return and when we had to depart for Westminster and Easter Court with Joan. But by the time we left, it was very apparent that they had again been unsuccessful. As we travelled, I had the distinct impression that Humphrey was planning something. However, I certainly didn't expect the conversation he had with me on Easter Monday.
That evening, he held a private feast in his own palace in the city, for those of the Keepers who were in Westminster for Easter Court, plus their families and some trusted friends. Little Eleanor had been kept in the nursery, but Joan had been at the feast, and I'd been seated next to her. I enjoyed Joan's company, and she had become as close a friend to me as her husband in the years since I'd joined the Keepers. However, that evening, given the amount of drink that had been flowing, there had been rather more flirting going on around the table than usual.
Humphrey had watched us thoughtfully, and once again I got the impression that he was planning something. I just had no idea exactly what it was. But once the feast was breaking up, and we were heading for our various rooms, he caught up with me in the corridor.
"Walk with me, Iván," he said, his eyes slightly unfocused from the amount he'd drunk that night.
He put an arm over my shoulder, and I'll admit, that made me a little nervous. He seemed in an odd mood, and I knew that if he had too much to drink he became more prone to lose his temper.
"You seemed to be paying a lot of court to my wife this evening, Iván," he said.
Sadly, it was true and I knew it. My best bet was to try to keep calm, and if he called me out over it, acknowledge my fault. However, rather than get angry, he steered me towards one of the sitting rooms near to his quarters, and gestured for me to sit.
"There was no harm in it, Humphrey," I said, gently, "you know that. Joan's my friend, as are you. I'd never do anything to get between you."
"But deep down, you want to sleep with her."
It was an aggressive comment, but his body language as he sat down as well, didn't seem quite as hostile as his words.
"What I want or not is irrelevant. ," I answered, "She's your wife, so I would never do it."
"You and I. Would you agree that there is something of a resemblance between us?"
"Yes," I answered, cautiously, "when we first met, I actually wondered if we were related. But if we are, it would have to be through one of your female ancestors."
"What if I asked you to sleep with her?"
"Excuse me?"
"You and Joan. What if I gave you my blessing?"
"Why on earth would you do that?" I asked startled.
"What if the fact that I cannot produce an heir is my fault, rather than hers?"
He'd assumed it was her fault? How typically Medieval.
"You have a daughter, Humphrey, and you've proven that you can father sons."
"But neither of them lived to be born. Perhaps this really is some kind of punishment on us, if even fighting with the Teutonic Knights did not prove my worth."
I refrained from commenting that rather than helping, it might have actually hurt his case: the gods of the Old Religion can be very unforgiving if slighted, and he had been crusading against their worshippers.
"I'm sure that has nothing to do with it," I answered, "there will be a much more mundane reason for it."
"Such as?"
"I don't know. Maybe we just haven't got the timing right. Or maybe the stress of trying so hard isn't helping, and she needs more rest ..."
"I do not know how much more of this I can put her through. The last time she nearly died, and since I've been back in England there seems to be no sign that things are improving."
"Both of you are still young. You have plenty of time."
"No, I do not think so. I have come to the conclusion that soon the opportunity will be gone forever, unless I can come up with another solution."
"And your solution is getting me to sleep with your wife?" I asked, not quite believing what he was proposing.
"A child of yours could pass as mine, and I am beginning to believe that this may be the only way that a son will be born to continue the de Bohun name."
"And what makes you think I'd have any more success than you? Even if I wanted to father a child on Joan, which by the way, I don't."
"Because there is something different about you. Something more fundamental. More real."
"How on earth do you come to that conclusion?"
"It is obvious when the Keepers Work together. Since you joined us, several of us have noticed that there has been more power in our rituals. The magic seems more certain, and you are the only new factor."
"I've been a ritual magician for a long time. Nothing more."
"Yes, but for how long?"
"That's an odd question."
"Not really. While you do not look much older than I do, I believe you have been working in this tradition for more years than I have been alive. You are a creature of magic...far more so than the other Keepers."
"Creature of magic?"
"Perhaps a changeling or one of the Fair Folk. Certainly something more than human."
"Do I really look like one of the Fair Folk to you? After all I can wield a steel blade as well as you can, as I proved over the winter...which is not something the Fae are able to do."
"Then some other magic is keeping you young."
"How old do you think I am?"
"At least twice my age, probably closer to thrice. I certainly know you have a son who is older than me, because I have heard you talking about him with Dalmata. And when you think no-one is listening, you speak of worlds, which are neither here, nor the on Second Road; and of battles which have never been fought."
"You listen to a lot," I answered
Now I was getting annoyed, although whether at myself for not being careful enough, or at him for being nosey, I wasn't sure. But most of all, I was surprised at how close to the mark he was...not that I was about to admit that.
"Dalmata is my employee. I have every right to listen in if his business might concern me."
His tone was completely matter of fact, but I could hear a harder edge to it than I was used to.
"One of your conversations particularly stuck in my mind," he continued, "you were comparing the great English victories at Crécy and Poitiers to another battle called Agincourt, and speaking of a King called Henry. Do you mean treason against King Edward, to put this Henry on the Throne? Is that why you wormed your way into the confidence of the Keepers? So you could harm him, rather than help him?"
"There wasn't any worming, Humphrey," I snorted, "you invited me in when you realised we had shared beliefs. So tell me, when have I ever given you cause to doubt my loyalty to King Edward?"
He looked at me in silence, obviously unwilling to answer my question. Probably because we both knew that he couldn't.
"And more to the point," I continued, "if you fundamentally doubt who or what I am, then why on earth would you want me to sleep with Joan?"
"Whatever you are, I believe you have the magic to help her conceive a son and carry him to term, and I suspect any child of yours would be very powerful."
"And if it's a girl, rather than a boy? Would you force me to sleep with her again until we got it right? I can't, Humphrey. It would be wrong."
"And what if I ordered you to do it, as your liege lord?"
Which of course he technically could, given that I was his knight under feudal law.
"You would actually do that?" I asked, aghast.
"Only if I have to."
"That would be even more wrong than just asking me."
"But your friend Dalmata wouldn't be tried for being a sodomite, and practising witchcraft as well as alchemy."
I looked at him, shocked, realising the trap he was weaving for me, and saw a coldness in his eyes that I'd never seen before. But then, when all was said and done, he was one of the Magnates of England. Not a position you rise to without a certain degree of ruthlessness. And he effectively had the power to do whatever he pleased, up to and including upbraiding the King. He'd just never used that power against me.
"You would do that?" I repeated, "even knowing that if you did, your own involvement in such things would almost certainly come out?"
"And who would they believe? The Earl of Hereford, and a Garter Knight in good standing? Or a foreign alchemist but recently arrived in England, with a past that he does not want looked into too closely, and his handsome companion who wormed his way into my household?"
We stared at each other in silence, and then I got to my feet, almost too angry to speak. He moved faster, and blocked my exit from the room. As I reached him, I pressed my hands against his temples, and forced my way into his mind, to try to read whether he was bluffing or not. He tried to bring up his mental shields to stop me, but my mind was much stronger and I cut through them like butter. For the first time I saw fear in his eyes, but he wasn't bluffing. Either I did what he asked, or he would give Ermanno, and possibly me as well, to the Church.
I seriously debated just breaking him there and but I realised that would be suicidal. I'd probably been seen leaving with him, and if any harm befell him, I would be the first suspect. And while I could properly get away, Ermanno didn't have that option.
"You bastard," I said, dropping my hands and staring at him, "I'll do as you wish. But threaten either me or Ermanno again, and I will kill you."
"Give her a son, and there is nothing I will not give you in return."
"And if I give her a daughter?"
"You had better make sure you do not."
"So much for our friendship."
"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for dynastic reasons," he answered, "and sadly, you are mine. I will make the arrangements."
And with that he turned his back on me and walked out.
* * * * * *
The following morning, I sneaked out of de Bohun's palace and made my way to Ermanno's home. He let me in with some surprise, and showed me into the morning room, where I was plied with breakfast and warm ale. And as we sat eating together, I poured out the whole story.
"So Thomas was right after all," he said quietly, once I'd finished, "Iván, I am so sorry. What will you do?"
"What choice do I have? He's right. Because at the heart of it, if he brought those kind of charges against you, they would actually be true. You would be handed over to the Church, and maybe me as well, and unless my father came riding in on a white horse to save us, we'd be as good as dead."
"Can you do what he asks? Provide him with a son?"
"I think so. It should be possible to manipulate probability to do it. And if I succeed, it should give us a chance to get away to safety."
"So you will not stay to see your child born?"
"It will never be my child. And more to the point, I have no intention of being held captive to his whims if something goes wrong. Last night I saw a side of him I'd never seen before. One that cast off all bonds of fellowship which might have been expected from being one of the Keepers. So I will do this, and once I'm sure I've done what he's ordered me to, I suggest you and I get the Hell out of here."
"I cannot risk making preparations while he may still come in here looking for my services."
"I understand that. But the moment there's news...that's the time to move."
"I agree."
It was around then that we were joined in the dining room by a young man dressed in a simple nightshirt. Ermanno introduced him as his particular friend Kit, and I had a feeling that I'd seen him around Court, although I couldn't for the life of me remember who he was. However, I didn't want to discuss my business any further in front of a stranger, so after making pleasant conversation with them both for a few minutes, I got to my feet and said my goodbyes.
I made my way back to de Bohun's palace, where the guards let me in without a word. My employer and his intimates were preparing for a masque which would be held that evening at Court. One I was supposed to be part of. So I threw myself into the preparations, and did what I could to avoid de Bohun himself. One of the other Keepers, Edward de Spencer, obviously noticed something, and asked what was wrong. I debated telling the truth, but in the ended decided that if I did, it would again come down to de Bohun's word against mine. So I covered with some comment about Humphrey having taken exception to my flirting with Joan the previous night. He took that at face value, assured me that Humphrey would get over it soon enough, and we went back to the preparations.
Three nights later, de Bohun made arrangements for me to be with Joan. And to be honest, I don't know which of the two of us felt more used by the whole process, her or me. I enjoy the company of women, but being a stud to his brood mare just rankled. Our lovemaking was awkward and unenthusiastic, but it did establish a bond between us, somewhere between coven member and Priestess, and comrades in arms, and I knew that she understood how little choice I'd had.
It was probably that bond which got us both through the next month or so. We became very close, to the extent that we actually had to be consciously careful around the rest of our circle, and even de Bohun himself, in case we let slip that things had changed between us. But as time passed, I could tell that he was getting more and more angry that his scheme didn't seem to be working. He even accused me of not taking his threat seriously, and to prove a point, he made sure I knew that Christopher Audley, a minor functionary from Court, had been executed for treason. The news made me dislike him even more, given that after having to deal with a distraught Ermanno, I seriously suspected Audley's only crime was to pick the wrong lover.
However, by the end of May, it became apparent that Joan was, indeed, pregnant. At our Midsummer celebration, the Keepers incorporated an aspect into the rites to discover the sex of the baby, and we learned that she was carrying twins, a boy and a girl. Suddenly de Bohun's mood lightened, and he was back to his old, friendly self. But after what had happened at Easter Court, and later to poor Kit Audley, I trusted his protestations that all was forgiven, his threats had been hasty, and that he'd never wanted to lose my friendship, about as far as I would trust my father's siblings.
What hurt more, though, was that from that point on he took steps to ensure that Joan and I were never alone together. Thankfully, though, given who and what I was, I could elude most of his precautions, and we found ways to maintain the close friendship we had developed. However, I never even attempted to sleep with her again, and I suspect she wouldn't have wanted me to if I'd tried.
I began to spend less time in his household, and more time in the lab with Ermanno, and we began to make preparations to put a lot of distance between ourselves and England. The only question was whether we should try to get away before or after the end of her first trimester. There were arguments for both: run away and escape de Bohun's wrath if things once again went wrong; or stay to make sure nothing happened to Joan, given her history of problems. In the end I suggested we split up, and meet in Athens by 1st October.
I saw him off on his journey in early August, and by the middle of the month, de Bohun knew he was gone and was spitting mad, guessing rightly that I had told Ermanno exactly what was going on with Joan. He tried to take steps to curtail my liberty until the result of Joan's pregnancy was certain, but again, my abilities gave me the opportunity to elude his watchdogs if I wanted to. In the meantime, I tried to act as if it was all business as normal, despite the threat I felt was hanging over my head. But I made sure to be a lot more careful about my own security, as I was under no illusions that the I was a loose end in Bohun's scheme. So I made my own preparations to get the Hell out of England as soon as I could.
Thankfully, apart from one or two tense moments, Joan seemed reasonably healthy, and by early-September, when I needed to get on the road to meet with Ermanno, she was past the first danger stage. Given the basic level of medical care, only the gods knew if she'd stay that way, but with a Pattern initiate doing his best to affect the probabilities in her favour, she perhaps had a better chance than many a Medieval mother.
I set my departure for 10th September, hoping three weeks would be long enough to make it to Athens on time. I'd bought a decent new mount a couple of months before, a handsome Irish roan stallion I'd called Íomhar, thinking ahead to when I would need him. My intention was to go overland to Venice, and then take ship down to Athens, and I hoped that with the Pattern's probability manipulation to help me along the way, I'd make it in good time.
The night before I was due to leave, I packed my saddlebags and then found a way to say goodbye to Joan, who blessed me on my way. I'd decided to travel light, leaving the majority of my possessions (Ermanno had already taken everything I actually cared about) in my quarters in de Bohun's fortified manor house at Pleshey. I snatched a couple of hours sleep, and then dressed in my old travel clothes and made my way down to the stables, shortly before dawn. Trying not to wake the stable boys, who were asleep in the loft, I saddled my horse, secured the saddlebags, muffled his feet in rags so his shoes wouldn't ring on the stone, and led him out into the yard.
I had just unbarred the gate - a little surprised that I hadn't been challenged by the guards - and swung it open when I heard a movement behind me.
"So what do we have here?" came de Bohun's voice from behind me, "is this a horse thief I see before me?"
I let go the reins, put my hand on the hilt of my sword, and turned towards him.
"Just let me go, and there won't be any trouble," I said, quietly.
"But stealing horses is a capital offence," he replied, coldly.
"You know damned well I'm not stealing him."
"All I see before me is a ruffian taking a valuable horse out of my stable before dawn," he answered, and he drew his blade, "I am completely within my rights to prevent him."
I didn't want to fight him. I wanted my children to at least grow up with some kind of father, even if it was a bastard like de Bohun. However, he had no such qualms, and I had only just managed to get my blade clear of its scabbard when he was on me.
My first moves were defensive, although the clash of steel obviously bothered my mount, as he edged closer to the gateway and freedom. I was very aware that I didn't have time to hang about. I was a little slow moving onto the attack, though, and he caught me across my upper sword arm with the flat of his blade, leaving a trace of blood. It smarted like Hell, but it gave me the impetus to fight harder.
Of course, I wasn't helped by the fact that this was a man who'd been brought up from an early age in the martial arts of Medieval England. Me, while I'd fenced when I was younger, the first time I'd used a sword in anger was when Bleys first started teaching me about Shadow, and I got the 'blades work anywhere' lesson. I had speed on my side, coming from my not entirely human physiology, but he was strong, fast and experienced. And the choice between self-preservation, or killing someone who still had a purpose to serve in the history of this place didn't make anything easier.
I moved forward with a series of strikes, putting all my strength behind them. He took a step back under my onslaught, and let through a blow to the shoulder. He cursed in surprised, but then rallied. He pressed towards me, and I felt another blow land, this time on my side. Thankfully, I'd moved fast enough that rather than hit me with the point of his blade, he got me with the flat. It didn't stop him knocking the wind out of me, though, and from the trouble I had breathing afterwards, I had a strong suspicion that he'd cracked a rib. Time to forget what his death could mean to this Shadow, and just move into self-preservation mode.
I clicked up another gear, and let my instincts take over. After all, I'd lived other lives in worlds much more like this one than Tenterden, and my astral self obviously felt it belonged here. Why overthink when the memories were inside my head somewhere. I took the risk of getting in touch with my past, and my skills as a member of the Family, and gave myself over to them.
The change from relatively easy mark to serious opponent caught him by surprise. I attacked strongly with a number of sweeps and blows, and I got the impression that it was all he could do to counter them. I used my strength and speed against him, and managed to blood him more than once. But it was becoming more and more obvious to me that chance of finishing this quickly was going out of the gate as quickly as my horse. And worse still, both the guards and the household were beginning to react to the noice. I stepped in, round his guard and caught him on the sword arm. I saw him wince, but it didn't seem to stop him. He caught me in the shoulder, and I felt the pain from the new wound, and suddenly wasn't sure how much more of this I could take.
I beat his blade down to the side, and tried to lunge into him, but he was too fast and jumped back out of my reach. That was the point at which I overextended, and I felt his blade take me in the stomach. It took a moment or two for my pain receptors to kick in, but once they did I was hit by the wave of pain. I hadn't been in so much agony for a long, long time. I dropped my weapon and subsided onto my knees. He was behind me in an instant, holding me down with one hand, and the edge of his sword across my throat. I could feel him pushing it against the flesh, and the sharp pain as he cut the skin.
And then he stopped.
"Well finish it, then," I said, quietly, hearing the pain in my voice.
"That would be exceedingly unwise of him," came a voice it took me a moment or two to recognise. After all, it had been nearly four years since I had last heard it, "Prithee, Sir Knight. Kindly remove your blade from that man's throat and step away."
I stayed exactly where I was, holding myself as upright as I could in case I slipped and cut my own throat. And initially, so did de Bohun.
"I said kindly step away from him, or you will make me very angry," came the voice again, this time more firmly.
"You are interfering in a matter of household law," de Bohun said, making sure his blade stayed exactly where it was, even if he had turned his head towards the speaker, "this thief offended me. I am within my rights to kill him."
"On the contrary," Bleys said, firmly, "it is you who are meddling in the affairs of MY household. This is my son. You will remove your blade from his neck AT ONCE."
They locked eyes for what seemed like hours, but eventually de Bohun put up his sword and did what he was told. Once the blade was removed from my neck, I sagged down to the ground, an arm over the wound in my gut, hoping I didn't pass out. And as Bleys moved between him and me, I saw an honest to goodness white horse behind him in the gateway.
"Now tell me," he said coldly, to my former friend, "Of what offence are you accusing this man?"
"He was stealing a horse."
Bleys looked over in my direction, and I shook my head. He nodded, and returned his attention to de Bohun, his blade raised and pointed directly at the other man's neck, and I saw him lock eyes with the man.
"I do not believe you, Sir Knight. Now try again."
"He was a loose end," came the answer, "he had to die."
I could see from his expression of surprise that he hadn't planned to say that at all. Somehow my father had made him tell the truth. And more to the point, by now, several of the household were in the yard, including Joan, and could hear everything that was said.
"Why is he a loose end? Has he committed some offence against you?"
"He wants to kill Iván to keep his own secret," came Joan's clear voice.
She pulled her wrap around her, took one look at me, and then ordered one of the servants to get cloths and water. The she came over to where I was half sitting, half lying, knelt down beside me and started ripping the fabric of my travelling cloak to staunch the blood.
"It must be quite a secret if you would spill High Blood over it," Bleys answered, coldly, his eyes still locked with de Bohun's, "Please, feel free to share it with these good people, Sir Knight."
"I ordered him to sleep with my wife to get a son," he answered, and I saw his expression change to mortification.
Bleys had forced the truth from him again, and now everyone in that courtyard knew what had happened. Gods help them all if de Bohun came out of this alive: he was going to kill every last one of them.
The servants came out with the rags and water, and gave them to Joan, who started trying to help me. My father took a quick look in my direction as Joan began washing the wound, and I could see that he was both angry and troubled. De Bohun took advantage of the distraction, saw an opening and struck, but Bleys was quicker. He caught the movement, and his blade beat down against the other with sufficient force that it dropped from his hand, broken in two pieces. And then he strode over to the man to vent his anger.
He picked him up by the throat, until his feet were six inches off the ground.
"You had better hope that he doesn't die, or I will come back here, and I rip you limb from limb."
"You cannot do that. I am the Earl of Hereford, Essex and Northampton. I can have you hung drawn and quartered for treason."
"And I am a Prince of Amber, you foolish mortal. I'd like to see you try."
And then he cast de Bohun backwards, to land in an ungainly heap in a pile of manure. The younger man tried to get back to his feet, but before he could, my father had moved again, and his blade was at de Bohun's throat.
"Stay right there where you belong, you pile of excrement."
De Bohun froze, and then subsided back down. Then Bleys turned his back on him and came over to where Joan was tending to me. By then I was well into shock, and I felt frozen and my skin was clammy.
"How is he, dear lady?" he asked, quietly.
"I have seen wounds like this which were received in battle," she said, quietly, "the bowels have been ruptured, and there is very little I can do. I'm sorry, Sir Knight."
And the she bent down and kissed me on the forehead.
"Oh Iván. I am so sorry."
By then, I was fading into unconsciousness, and was unable to answer. The last thing I heard was my father's voice, as he knelt beside me, and reached out a hand towards my temple.
"Let me take a look." he said, and then everything went black.
* * * * * *
When I struggled back out of the darkness, the first thing I was aware of was warmth. I was lying in bed, a sheet over my body, and the light coming in through the window was exceedingly bright. Definitely not the sun of Essex in September. I ached, but at least I didn't feel as if my guts were hanging out any more.
"How do you feel?" came Bleys's voice from beside me.
"Alive," I answered.
"Always a good start."
"Where am I?"
"Athens. This is Ermanno's new home."
"How did we get here?"
"I Trumped him."
"But he isn't..."
"No, but I can still draw a Trump of him, and he is strong enough to answer."
"You can do that?"
"It's not something I usually bandy about, but yes."
"Where's Joan? What happened to her? Is she alright?"
"I saw her safely to her parents' home, where she will be staying until the twins she's carrying are born."
"And de Bohun?"
"He and I had words, and he didn't stop me."
"Did you kill him?"
"I did not need to...and after all, he is a man of some significance on that world, I understand."
"One of the King's Earls."
"Presumably the twins are yours."
"Yes. But by his order, not my choice."
"You let him force you into a position like that? And then gave him the opportunity to try to kill you? I'm disappointed. Haven't you learned anything since you've been here?"
"You were the one who said you'd be away for three months, and then buggered off again for four years," I answered, angrily, but I sat up rather too hastily, and ended up wrenching my stomach again."
"Four years? I thought it was just a few months."
And then he gently pushed me back down onto the bed.
"I hadn't realised," he said, more gently, "I'm sorry. But I'm here now, and if it really is running that fast, then I should be able to stay for a while. Perhaps, once you're feeling better, we can use that time to improve your skill with a blade. Now, though, you need rest. Lots of rest."
And he reached out his hand once more, and sent me to sleep.
* * * * * *
We stayed in Athens for about four months, and I got the impression that Bleys was taking the opportunity for some R&R. Whenever anyone was looking, he was his usual cheerful self. However, in unguarded moments I saw a tired and haunted look on his face. He had the look of a soldier home on leave after a particularly nasty battle.
Once I was up and about again, he started working out with me, building up my fitness again and then, once he was satisfied, he got into the habit of spending most mornings with me, teaching me swordplay. He found a variety of different blades for the purpose, and taught me the strengths and weaknesses of each. He also told me of a place called Avernus, which sounded like his base of operations, and spoke of taking me there once we left Athens.
In the afternoons, one or both of us would either work with Ermanno, or read, or write, or just enjoy the Greek sunshine. Admittedly it wasn't completely idyllic: there was an underlying nervousness about what the Ottomans were up to. But I still enjoyed that time with them both. And then, one afternoon in early-February, when we were working on a distillation of bread mould - after all, from such humble origins came penicillin - a messenger knocked at the door. To my surprise, the message he carried was addressed to me. I took it, and unsealed it, then opened the stiff parchment.
It was from Joan, although how she knew where to reach me, I had no idea. I suppose it was something Bleys had set up when he dropped her off with her parents. She was writing to tell me that she'd been safely delivered of a son and daughter, Edward and Mary. I did some mental calculations, and realised that allowing for the time the message took to reach me, they had been born almost two months early, and I really hoped that all three of them had survived.
"Well?" Bleys asked, coming over to join me.
"You're a grandfather."
"Are they healthy?"
"It sounds like it, although they must have been a premature. But she says she's going back to de Bohun."
"She couldn't really do anything else. Not here. Not in this age."
"Couldn't we have taken her with us, into Shadow?"
"And what would she do? Do you think she would understand?
"I suppose not."
"I think he will look after her, now there is a son in his household. But it will be interesting to see how much that little boy's presence changes things here."
"In what way?"
"On Tenterden, and many of the Earth Line worlds, when Humphrey de Bohun died, his estates were split between his two daughters: Eleanor and Mary. Here, though, there is a son in the mix. It could have interesting repercussions. "
"I don't follow."
"I thought you were a historian, son."
"I am, but..."
"In the usual scheme of things, Mary de Bohun, co-heiress to some of the richest lands in England, marries Henry Bolingbroke and becomes the mother of Henry V, and his siblings. But with a son, he will inherit those lands, not the daughters."
"Which will make Mary a far less desirable match for Bolingbroke."
"And if she doesn't marry Bolingbroke..."
"There will be no Good King Hal. There's no guarantee that Bolingbroke will even end up exiled, and Richard II may live long enough to have a son of his own by his second wife."
"So I've pretty much destroyed English history as I know it."
"Ripple effects. It's fascinating to watch them. In fact, my brother Benedict makes a study of them: looking at different variants of the great battles, and changing how they would have been fought. You should come back here one day and see what's changed. "
"Back here?"
"Yes. I want to get you back to Tenterden."
"Fiona called again, didn't she."
"A couple of weeks ago. But I wanted to be sure that you heard from Joan before we left. I wanted you to know she was alright."
"Thank you."
We packed up our things and left the following morning. This time, though, rather than meander through Shadow at our own pace, he taught me about Hellriding. How to get from one world to another as quickly as you could: brute force, rather than finesse. I lost track of the time as we travelled, given it was all I could do to keep Íomhar under control, but eventually we felt like we were in familiar territory. He let me make the last couple of adjustments, and soon we were riding up the driveway of Wittersham House. Once we were in the stables, I dismounted. However, he didn't do the same.
"You aren't staying, are you? Even overnight?"
"I can't, Ian."
"More trouble?"
"More trouble."
"And you're still not going to tell me what you're doing."
"One day, son. I promise. One day I'll take you to Avernus and explain everything."
"But not today."
The groom came and took my mount, and then I crossed to my father, who bent down, and gripped my wrist.
"Be safe, Ian."
"And you, father."
"And if you decide to walk out into Shadow again, just be careful. There are enemies out there who mean you harm."
"I'm surprised you aren't going to stop me shifting away again."
"I can't. Not here."
"Why?"
"This place is yours now. I've made sure of that. Use it as a base of operations. Mould it to your will. I've left you instructions on how to do that in your house in London. Having a safe place to come home to is the most important thing an Amberite can have. Mine is Avernus. And for now at least, Tenterden is yours."
"When will I see you again?"
"I don't know, son. If what I'm working on is successful, then soon. Very soon. If it doesn't...then who knows."
"Be careful. And call me occasionally. Let me know you're still alive."
"Next time I contact you, it will be to bring you to my side."
And then he sat back up on his horse, and kicked his heels into its flank.
"Au revoir, Ian."
And I watched as he rode down the drive and disappeared, wondering if I'd ever see him again.