• Robert de Lacy
• Rupert Delatz
• Ian Hawke
• Wolf Ulrich
• Jowan Daveth-Helgram

 

Then and Now

Now: Tenterden 2010, Agincourt 1413

I was having breakfast one morning in my apartment in the Mansion House, when I felt the stirring of a Trump call. I opened up the link to see Artur at the other end of the contact. We hadn't spoken since our shouting match in the Guildhall Cabinet Room, two weeks before, and I'll admit I was a little cautious about what had caused him to call me now.

"Morning, Ian," he said, cheerfully, with absolutely no sign of hard feelings, "could I come through?"

"Is this a pre-emptive apology over another pool of blood?" I asked cautiously, but instead of taking umbrage at my comment, he smiled broadly.

"Believe me, I don't intend to make a habit of what happened the other week."

"Glad to hear it," I answered, standing and offering him my hand.

As he stepped through, I thought he looked a lot better than he had that morning. He seemed a lot more relaxed, and I detected a new confidence in him, plus I could see a far more mischievous twinkle in his eye. It was as if he'd gone looking for himself, and found someone else. Someone infinitely more likeable than the dour SS officer I was used to. Even thirty years on Dominion hadn't had this much effect on him.

"Breakfast?" I asked, offering him a seat.

"Please."

I called the servants, who brought a second plate laden with bacon, eggs, sausages and fried bread. Plus coffee.

"So how can I help?"

"I need to learn astronomy."

"Okay. So why come to me? You can just wander into Shadow and find Jodrell Bank."

"I know. But these things always work better with a personal recommendation. Plus, Jodrell Bank actually won't help in this case. So I wondered if there was anyone you knew who might be a willing teacher."

"Any particular tech level?"

"We're looking for something that can't be found by magic. So it's going to need to be pretty old school."

"We?"

"Me and Edward. We've learned about something related to Hexen, and as you're another member of the Hexen group, we thought you were a good person to ask."

"How old school?"

"Galileo, maybe? Or da Vinci?"

"Sadly, I never met either of them."

And then I paused for a moment, and cast my mind back over a hundred years in my personal timeframe.

"But there was a man I knew long ago. When Bleys was first teaching me about Shadow. A little earlier than you're thinking, perhaps - mid-fourteenth century - but he's certainly someone both Bleys and I trust, and he was one of the great minds of his time."

"Anyone famous?"

"It depends on your definition of fame. But in certain circles, yes. I think he's come down through history known as Herman of Carinthia. But when I knew him, he was calling himself Ermanno Dalmata."

"I've heard of him. He was one of the first great Arabic scholars. Did a lot of translation of Arabic astronomical and alchemical works into Latin and Spanish."

"He did a lot more than just that.

"But that was more than 900 years ago. How could you have known him?"

"It may be that length of time on Tenterden. But on that world it was only the 1360s. He was a friend of my father's, and later of mine, and he was my teacher when Bleys decided I needed a Renaissance phase to prepare me for life in Amber."

"I thought he died sometime in the twelfth century, not the fourteenth."

"Again, on Tenterden, perhaps. But this one found the Elixir of Life."

"So he might still be alive."

"I can't think of any reason why he wouldn't be, unless he's decided he's had enough of the world. But I'd be happy to go and find out. It's a long time since I've seen him, and I should fix that. How urgent is it?"

"It isn't life and death, but it would be better if it were dealt with sooner rather than later."

"Okay. But I'll admit you've really piqued my curiosity. What do you need to find?"

"Apparently, somewhere on the Hexen Shadow, there's a kregora moon."

"Excuse me?"

"A moon made either partially or wholly from kregora. It's where the ore for the Hexen Tower came from."

"I assume you don't mean something three feet across, either?"

"Just how big it is, we have no idea, but we got the impression it was a real, proper moon."

I could feel my mind boggling at the very thought of it. That could be exceedingly bad if it fell into the wrong hands.

"We also have a suspicion that Dara knows about it, and it's the source of all the kregora she likes to throw around."

Crap. It already had.

"Which is why magic can't find it..." I said, suddenly understanding his request, "you need to actually figure out the movement of the bodies around it to locate it."

"Exactly. Hence the need to learn how to do that the old way, and then we can apply that knowledge with a more modern telescope to actually look."

"And as soon as possible, I'll warrant, if Dara really does know about it."

"So we can put it beyond her reach."

"Okay, so if Ermanno's still there, and still happy to teach, I need to play with the time to make it more favourable to Hexen. That wasn't something I could do back then, but I should be able to now. Why don't you leave it with me, and I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks, Ian. I appreciate it. Good breakfast, by the way."

So I could tell. He seemed to be tucking it away with more gusto than I'd ever seen him eat. We sat and ate, and chatted for a bit, and it was pleasant to just spend time with him, but he eventually said he had to get back to Edward, and Trumped away.

Once he had gone, I started trying to remember the details of the world I was thinking of. I'd never followed Bleys's advice and gone back there to see what difference my time with Joan would have made to the place, but perhaps it was time I did. I didn't even have any idea how much time had passed, but if it was less than a couple of centuries, there were potentially still descendants of my blood there. And as for Ermanno...unless he decided he'd had enough of life, there was a good chance that he would still be alive.

I asked one of the servants to take a message to the Guildhall, saying I wouldn't be in that morning, and then packed up my travelling kit and made my way back to Tenterden via the transfer portal in the Mansion House. Once I was there, I checked that everything was okay, before saddling up Asha, who was used to Shadow travel, and set off. I brought up the Pattern and started seeking for Ermanno in Shadow, and soon I felt like I had a bearing on him. I kicked my heels into Asha's sides, and set off in the appropriate direction.

It took me most of the day, with a combination of jumps and Hellrides, but eventually I felt as if I was in the right place. I found myself drawing rein outside a fortified manor house which I recognised as de Bohun's property at Pleshey, in Essex. From the look of the fields, and the feel of the air, it was late winter or early spring, although it looked as if there had been a bit of additional building since I'd last seen the place.

What was Ermanno doing back in England? And more to the point, what was he doing in de Bohun's manor house? Was he a prisoner?

"Who goes there?" challenged a guard from the gateway, as he saw me walking towards the gatehouse. He was dressed in a livery I didn't recognise, but looked related to that of the Earl of Hereford.

"This is the Manor of Pleshey?" I asked, dismounting in front of him, and walking my horse towards him.

"It is," came the answer.

"And the name of your Lord?"

"My LADY is Joan, Dowager Countess of Hereford, Essex and Northampton."

Interesting. Now was it still my Joan? Or had she gone had another daughter, and the place had passed to her? Still, Dowager Countess implied it was the woman I'd known.

"Is your Lady at home?"

"She's in London, at Court. What brings you here, fellow? You seem mighty interested in my lady's doings."

"I was seeking a friend, and had heard he was staying here."

"His name?"

"Ermanno Dalmata."

He looked me up and down, at which point I was quite pleased that I'd taken steps to appear as a person of quality, rather than just a weary traveller. I'd even concocted a surcoat for myself, with my Amber arms on it.

"I will call my Lady's Steward. What name should I give him?"

"Iván Falco of Tenterden."

"Please wait here, sir," he answered, and called back to one of his companions to run a message inside.

I waited beside my horse, watching the courtyard in front of me for any signs of trouble, and soon I could hear shouting from inside the range of buildings next to the keep. However, it didn't sound hostile. It sounded excited. And then I saw my old friend issue out of the doorway and come towards me in a billow of velvet.

"Iván!"

He embraced me, as I did him, and then I stood back and looked at him. He looked a little older since I had last seen him, and his dark hair was shot with grey. He'd also grown a beard. But looking at his clothes and general demeanour he seemed to be thriving. He definitely wasn't de Bohun's prisoner...but what was he?

"My friend! It has been so long since I saw either you. I thought you were dead."

"You look well, Ermanno," I answered, then added, curious, "How long as it been?"

"Nearly forty-five years," he answered.

Interesting. So faster than Tenterden, but only by about two to one. That was only a couple of generations. There really was a good chance I had descendants here who were alive and well.

"You look good, Iván. But older. I think you have lived more than forty-five years since I last saw you. How are you? And how is your father?"

"We're both alive and well," I answered, "but what the Hell are you doing here? Pleshey is pretty much the last place I would have expected to find you, after what happened."

"Let us talk inside. I will make sure a room is made up for you. You will dine with me tonight?"

"Of course."

He clapped me on the back, then ordered one of the grooms to take Asha, and we headed inside. It was obviously a wealthy manor, and the furnishings were luxurious. But there was a more feminine feel to it than when de Bohun had owned this place. My best guess was that Joan was either divorced or widowed by now, and this had been part of her settlement.

One of the servants took my things and disappeared upstairs with them, while my friend led me into a comfortable sitting room towards the back of the range of buildings on the first floor. From the homely feel, I guessed it was his own private sitting room, rather than one of the manor's formal chambers, and I half remembered that this area of the house was the quarters of the manor's Steward. How on earth had Ermanno managed that?

He ordered another servant to bring mulled wine and indicated for me to make myself comfortable in front of the fire, then excused himself for a few minutes, during which time a servant brought in a pitcher of mulled wine and two goblets. She poured for me and then departed. Then I sat back in my chair and looked around the room, recognising some of the ornaments and pictures as ones my friend had had in Florence, along with a few new pieces which had been selected with his usual taste. And better still, the fire was hot, and the wine was warm, and sweet and spicy: just what I needed after a day travelling Shadow.

Ermanno returned about fifteen minutes later.

"Forgive me, Iván. I had to send a message to London. The Countess will be thrilled to hear that you have returned."

"You think so?"

"Oh yes," he answered, "especially now."

"Why now in particular?"

"All in good time. But first, tell me of yourself, and of my good friend Adán."

"We're both fine. He's gone up in the world."

"Does this mean that his plots and schemes finally came to fruition?"

"If you mean did he manage to become King of Amber. Yes he did. About two and a half years ago, now."

"So you are a Prince."

"Apparently I always was. But I'm not his Crown Prince. That's my son Wolf...you remember me talking of him."

"I do. The young, good-looking German. But why him and not you?"

"Early in Bleys's reign, he and I were not seeing eye to eye. I felt he was acting like a jerk and not listening to anyone who told him so, and he probably thought I was making too much fuss about him actually having to do something useful. So I spoke my mind publicly, told him I thought that his becoming King was a mistake. I refused to support him, and took myself out of the succession."

"How very Plantagenet," he said, with a chuckle, "What happened? When you were staying with me in Athens you seemed close enough."

"And then he took me home and I didn't see him again for another thirty years. And when we did meet again, we both made a lot of assumptions about our relationship, and neither of us was even remotely on the same page."

"I am sorry," he answered, "so does that mean you have been attaindered in Amber? Is that why you have returned?"

"Bizarrely no. He did precisely nothing to me, except accept my stepping out of the line of succession."

"Here, you would have been either incarcerated or executed."

"I know. And believe me, I expected it there, too. Especially there, if I'm being honest. But he took no action at all. I'm even still his heir in Chaos. And it has to be said that since it all happened, we're actually getting on better."

"Mutual respect? Or did you just need to clear the air?"

"I don't know, but I'm not complaining. He got married again a few weeks ago, as well, and asked me to be his best man."

"So he is settling down?"

"To a degree at least," I answered, and I filled him in on some of the Amber gossip, knowing that he'd appreciate it.

Sitting there chatting with him, I felt myself slipping back in time to when I'd been here before. The whole issue of de Bohun aside, it had been a simpler time, and compared with the stresses of being in Amber, I realised that I missed this place. We worked through the pitcher of mulled wine - and at least two refills - for about an hour, before a servant came and told us dinner was ready. Then we got to our feet, and Ermanno led me through a curtained door I hadn't noticed before into a small private dining room. Two places were laid at a table that would probably seat six at a pinch.

We sat down, and once the first course was served (poached quail in honey), I decided it was time that told me his story of how he came here.

"I am Lord Steward to Her Grace the Dowager Countess," he answered, "and have been so for many years."

"And it's obviously the same Joan, if she remembers me. However old is she?"

"One should never ask a woman her age, Iván. Don't you know that?"

"I'm not asking her, my friend. I'm asking you," I replied, with a chuckle.

"She is a very sprightly six and sixty, and has a certain amount of influence in her own right, thanks to her Royal connections. Both her daughters married into the Plantagenet line."

Interesting. So Bleys had been wrong. The birth of a son and heir to Humphrey de Bohun hadn't changed the desirability of either of his sisters as Royal brides. Maybe some things are harder to change than others, or maybe something else had happened to put things back on their usual track.

"So what happened after Bleys and I left? How did you end up back here?"

"I stayed in Greece for several years, but eventually I received a messenger from the Countess. She told me that her husband was dead, and that it was safe for you and I to return to England. She even issued an invitation to us join her new household. She said that her husband had wronged both of us and she wanted to make amends.

To tell you the truth, I was not sure if I trusted the approach, so I restricted my answer to saying that you were gone, and that I did not have plans to return to England at that time. I did not expect to hear anything else from her, but about a year later, she issued the invitation once again, asking if I would consider becoming her Steward. I was surprised, but I agreed.

I made my way back to England, and she welcomed me to her estate in Langham. It had been a gift from King Edward as a reward for her husband's years of faithful service, a pension for her as the widow of one of the Company of the Garter, and recognition of her willingness for her daughters to be at Court. By then they were both the King's wards, having been co-inheritors of her husband's estate."

"Hang on....why did they end up as co-inheritors. What happened to my son?"

He paused a moment, and I could tell her really didn't want to answer.

"Ermanno?"

"I'm sorry, Iván, but the little boy died."

I sat back in my chair, unsure how to react, and felt a lump in my throat as I thought of it. After everything we'd gone through...

"How?" I said, quietly.

"The Countess and her husband were staying in Westminster for Christmas Court in the year of our lord thirteen hundred and seventy-two. They had gone to the King's Feast on Christmas Day, leaving little Edward being watched by the nursemaid. When she was questioned afterwards, she said that she only left him for a few minutes, as she had to give a Christmas gift to a friend, but when she came back he was gone.

She alerted the guards and a search was initiated, in the hope that they could locate him before the Earl and Countess returned, so they would be none the wiser. But it wasn't to be. They found him in the stable yard, unconscious from a blow to the head. It was assumed he'd been kicked by a horse. They took him inside, but there was nothing they could do for him. He was dead by the time the Countess and her husband returned, in the small hours of the morning."

"So he never even reached his fifth birthday...I never even got to meet him."

"I am so sorry, Iván."

"So why did Joan agree for the girls to live at Court? It can't have had good memories for her, if it cost her their son?"

"She wanted them to have the protection that being in Court gave them, especially as she had no intention of ever marrying again. It guaranteed their visibility, and enhanced their opportunities to make appropriate marriages."

"So when did de Bohun die?"

"About five years after you and Adán left."

"Did they have any more children?"

"No," he answered, "from what I understand - this was before I came back to England, you see, so I only heard this second hand - after she gave birth to the twins, she returned to his household for appearances sake, but they lived separately until his death. She never forgave him for what he did to you, that day in the courtyard."

"What happened to him?"

"As far as the official records state, he died in a duel...although if what the Countess has told me, an execution would probably be more accurate."

"He probably had it coming."

"The duel was because of little Edward's death."

"So he died because of a boy he knew wasn't even his? Why?"

"Apparently Earl was convinced that it wasn't an accident, although why he believed that never became clear, even to the Countess. However, he swore vengeance on whoever had killed his heir. He made a lot of trouble at Court, which did not find favour with the King, given that Christmas is supposed to be a time of celebration."

"Not that they had a great deal to celebrate that year," I said, bitterly, and Ermanno's look was sympathetic.

"He fixed his hatred on a foreign Knight, one Kayin de Vert, one of the Queen's Hainault relatives. De Bohun accused him of murder in open court, and challenged him to a duel, but the King forbade it being fought until after Epiphany, to give them time to calm down and come to a less permanent, but it didn't make any difference. They were intent on killing each other, and when they finally met de Vert cut him to pieces. It was cold blooded murder, rather than a duel: a fact that Edward recognised by ordering de Vert's detention and execution. However, the man disappeared from his cell before sentence could be carried out."

Kayin de Vert. Kayin the Green. Could it have been most unlamented uncle or one of his spawn? If Caine had somehow found this place - despite my father thinking it was safe - and had thought, as I had, that de Bohun was a Helgram by-blow, I could see him murdering both father and son. And he could certainly have disappeared from his cell in oh so many ways.

"But the daughters weren't hurt? De Vert didn't do anything to them?"

"Not at all, although they mourned their father's death. Eleanor went on to marry the Duke of Gloucester three years later. It was arranged when she was just ten years old and still Edward's ward. By then the Black Prince was dead, and Edward was very aware of his own mortality. Their marriage was very much a matter of state."

"In my country, they lock people up for having sex with children."

"They waited until she was of age before the marriage was consummated. And their first child, a son, was not born until seven years later."

"I suppose that's not quite as bad, but I always have to consciously remember that 'of age' is only about fourteen in this era. And Mary?"

"She remained a ward of Court, during which time she and her cousins, Richard and Henry, came to know each other, and played together as children. They were all within a couple of years in age, and all descendants of Edward I."

"At least as far as anyone realised..."

Ermanno shrugged but didn't comment. He just continued with his story.

"Mary and Henry were particularly close."

"Brother and sister, or potential lovers?"

"I do not know for certain, as I did not mix in those circles. However, I understand from the Countess that even then there was some talk of a marriage between them. Something both she and Henry's father, John of Gaunt, supported. But instead, when King Edward died, Mary was sent to live her sister."

So far, the story matched pretty closely with the history I was used to on Tenterden. The ripples, if there had even been any, seemed to have been very minor.

"Because with Edward's death the Crown passed to a King who was only two years older than she was," I said, and Ermanno nodded, "so they will have needed to make alternative arrangements.

"And Thomas was in a position to 'humbly suggest' that his nephew send Mary to live with himself and Eleanor."

"She was the co-heiress, and Thomas and Eleanor would want to control that. Plus Thomas may have had reservations about his sister-in-law marrying the son of his elder brother."

"On the generational thing alone, I would have thought: the one married to the other's nephew."

"That is a very modern view, Iván. Here, it was politics. Such a match would have given Lancaster and his heir control of even more land than he already held."

"So he and Eleanor took steps to prevent that," I suggested, "I could even see them couching it in terms that such a match would not be to Richard's benefit, either, for the same reasons. But why Joan didn't do anything to prevent it?"

"After her husband's death, Edward had been generous to her, because of her husband. But Richard did not have that connection with her: he was only six when he had died. And so Joan had no position beyond that of a lady at Court. Her true influence came later. So Mary was sent to live with her sister and brother-in-law..."

"Where they could try to force her to renounce all claims on her lands. On my world, Joan and Lancaster worked together to get Mary back, and she and Bolingbroke were married."

"Here, it was Henry himself. He came here to Pleshey, which had been part of Eleanor's inheritance after her father's death, at the head of 50 of his father's knights, and demanded Mary's release."

Okay, so that was a difference. On Tenterden, John of Gaunt had kidnapped/rescued her from her sister.

"How old was he?"

"He was in his fourteenth summer, but had already been invested as Earl of Derby and as a Companion of the Garter, along with his cousin Richard."

"What happened?"

"Gloucester came out to meet with him and laughed in his face. So Henry challenged him to a duel, as was his right as a knight of the realm. And as the challenge was made in front of knightly witnesses, Gloucester had little choice but to agree. That didn't stop him from trying to impose conditions on the duel which should have made sure he won.

Luckily for Henry, one of the knights got a message to John of Gaunt quickly enough for him to intervene. He made for Pleshey, accompanied by more of his men, stopping en route to inform the King, who indicated that he wished to be present. The duel was fought, but it was limited to light blades, no armour and first blood, and to everyone's surprise, Henry won."

"Good for him," I said, secretly proud that my daughter had elicited such loyalty from her childhood sweetheart.

"Faced with the King, his elder brother, a precocious thirteen-year old and nearly 100 knights, Thomas surrendered Mary into Lancaster's custody. She and Henry were married the following February, and his father settled Monmouth Castle Monmouth on them as a wedding gift, which is where their first two children were born."

"She would have been barely twelve."

"Very true, but she and Henry were lucky. Whatever the political benefits of their union, the lengths he had to go to, to win her hand, suggests that they actually married for love.

Interesting. And definitely another ripple. Perhaps the fact that Mary was my daughter, and therefore a Half Blood, had had a greater influence on Bolingbroke than I might have expected. Certainly he hadn't come down through Tenterden's history as the sort of man who fought a duel to win the love of his life.

"After they were married, despite Gaunt encouraging them not to consummate their union until she was of age, but neither of them listened, which is another reason why it was generally considered to be a love match."

"Are either Eleanor or Mary still alive?"

"Eleanor died just before the turn of the century, having outlived her husband and both her sons. It was the elder boy's death which was the end of her, I think. She outlived him by barely a month."

"I suppose I should feel some sympathy for her...and yet..."

"And yet you find it hard, because of how she treated your daughter."

"Yes. Do you think she knew that Mary was only her half-sister? And because of that, she didn't believe Mary deserved her half of the inheritance?"

"That is one of those questions which will never be answered, I think. And perhaps it is better that way."

"And Mary herself?"

"She is still very much alive."

As he said that, I smiled. On my world, that wouldn't have been the case, and I felt glad for Joan. Parents shouldn't outlive any of their children, and definitely not all of them.

"Do I have grandchildren?"

"Six boys, three girls. Their first son died in infancy: but then, Mary was only thirteen when he was born. But all the others are still alive."

So that was another ripple. There were two more Plantagenet children than there had been on Tenterden, and all of them were at least partially Blooded.

"Did Bolingbroke and Richard manage to stay on good terms, or did it all go very wrong?"

"Now I understand a comment you made when we first met. You said that at least it was Edward on the Throne, not Richard. The reign of the second King of that name was not a good one for England. In fact, it was sufficiently troubled that on two occasions it caused Thomas of Gloucester and Henry Bolingbroke to put aside their differences and rise in rebellion, to force the King to adhere to his Coronation vows.

The second time, Gloucester was executed for treason and Bolingbroke was exiled. Mary went with him to France, along with their younger children, but Richard insisted that they leave behind their two eldest sons, Henry - known as Hal to all concerned - and Thomas."

"As hostages against their parents' good intentions, no doubt."

"Indeed," Ermanno said with a nod, "but somehow, Hal managed to make peace with his cousin during his parents' exile. He accompanied Richard on his last campaign to Ireland, and was knighted there aged just twelve. Thomas was a year younger, and remained in England under the guardianship of Edmund of Langley, who Richard still believed to be loyal."

"What happened to Richard?"

"After Gaunt died, the February after Henry was exiled, Richard seized his lands. Understandably, Bolingbroke took this as a sign of Richard's bad faith, broke his exile and returned to England, although he left Mary and the children behind in France. He made his headquarters with the Countess, and from there recruited the other Magnates to his cause. Rumours of this unrest brought Richard home from Ireland.

Bolingbroke mustered his forces to intercept the King as he made his way home from the Welsh Coast. They met in battle near Conwy Castle in early September, and Richard was killed: his horse was killed under him, and once he was dismounted, he was stabbed to death by some of Bolingbroke's more fanatical supporters.

"So he wasn't deposed and thrown in the dungeons of Pontefract Castle?"

"No, he died in battle. There was barely enough of him left to bury afterwards."

Now that was another interesting difference, and led me to wonder if that was how events would have played out here in the general course of things, or was it one of the more subtle influences of my actions? Still, my comment obviously confused Ermanno.

"For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings," I commented, remembering the quotation from Shakespeare's play about that sad, unlamented monarch.

"With Richard dead, the lords who had supported Bolingbroke proclaimed him King, riding roughshod over Richard's heir apparent, his cousin Edmund, who was a boy of barely eight. The general consensus was that as the last boy king had not been good for England, they could not afford another. Henry recalled his family from France, and he and Mary were Crowned in October, less than a week after Eleanor's death. The King restored Pleshey to the Countess shortly afterwards."

"You said Bolingbroke intercepted him on the way back from Ireland. Was Hal at Conwy?"

"He fought on Richard's side and acquitted himself well for his age. But he was just a boy, and in the end he was pulled from his horse, captured by Bolingbroke's forces and taken to his father."

"I suspect that wasn't a particularly friendly reunion."

"No one knows. It took place in private. However, politically, at least, they agreed to show a united face to the people. The following day, Hal was admitted to the Company of the Garter, and stood as his father's heir apparent at the Coronation, holding the Great Sword of State during the ceremony."

"You always were very well informed, even about Court."

"I may have come here as the Countess' employee, but we have become friends. And you are also my friend. I hoped that one day you would come back, so we could have a discussion very like this one."

"Does Joan ever ask after me?"

"Sometimes. But until today, there was so little I could tell her. I knew you had survived and had fully recovered from your injury, and that the last time I had seen you, you were leaving for a journey with your father, but there was nothing more I could offer her."

"What happened to the Keepers?"

"They continue to meet. Joan made sure that they knew exactly what de Bohun had done to you, and from what she has shared with me, the majority of them considered that De Bohun's actions were dishonourable."

"Are any of them still alive?"

"Some of them. But it has been a long time, so most of the current Keepers are the sons and grandsons of the men you knew."

We fell into silence for a bit, as we finished off the rather excellent duck with cherries and red wine that we were eating for our main course, but eventually he put down his knife and fork, and looked up at me.

"I am enjoying catching up, but I have to ask. What has finally brought you back, Iván. It has been nearly two generations."

"I was wondering if you still took pupils."

"Not usually, but I am willing to make exceptions. It depends on who they are."

"My son, and possibly my brother, but I suspect that when he gets here, he'll get thoroughly diverted by the military situation in Europe. And I may also be interested in brushing up some of my skills."

"England has not been particularly peaceful since before Richard died. King Henry's priority was securing his position at home, which has taken most of his reign, so there has been little action on the Continent. I believe there may even be a truce in place at the moment."

"Then maybe he won't get diverted," I said, with a shrug, and continued, "Artur...my son...came to me this morning, and asked if I knew someone who could teach him good, old fashioned astronomy of the Renaissance school. I thought of you."

"I am flattered that you would remember me after all this time."

"I know. I should have found my way back before, but given the events of my departure, I wasn't sure what sort of reception I'd get."

"What is he like...your son?"

"Intelligent. Dedicated. Definitely a scholar. But he is also a soldier of sorts, as well as many other things. He is already a sorcerer and ritual magician of considerable skill, so he's a lot better educated than I was when I came to you. And I guarantee that he's less likely to get diverted from his studies than I was. I think you would enjoy teaching him."

"Do you have his likeness? Perhaps on one of those cards?"

"I do," I answered

I dug into my pocket for my Trump deck, and then shuffled out Artur's Trump and handed it to him. But as he looked at it, I saw a very odd expression cross his face.

"What is it, Ermanno?"

"He bears an uncanny likeness to someone else of my acquaintance," he answered, and as he said it, I could see a mischievous look in his eye.

"What?"

"Did you really only come back, just now, to talk to me about taking pupils?"

"What's so special about just now?"

I looked at him, confused.

"So your return is nothing to do with the events of the last month?"

"I'm sorry, Ermanno. I have no idea what you're talking about. What events? I don't even know what the date is."

"Oh my friend, much as I would like your company for a few days, you need to leave for Westminster tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Henry IV died last month, after a long illness. His wife and children were with him when he passed away, and the priests said masses for his soul. "

And then I looked at him, slightly disbelieving.

"But that means my grandson..."

"His Coronation is three days from now: the ninth of April" he answered, cracking a broad smile as I caught up.

I stared at him in stunned silence. It hadn't been that long ago that I'd been considering a new alternate history project. One which involved trying to figure out what had happened if Henry V hadn't died, but had lived to become King of France. But here. Here I had a personal stake in making sure of his survival.

"That is why I sent the messenger to her ladyship," he continued, "she is staying in the Palace of Westminster, along with her daughter and grandchildren, so I have told her to expect you. When you arrive, use the name Iván Falco, and describe yourself as a knight of her household."

"Surely I got stripped of that privilege by de Bohun."

"Neither Joan, nor the other Keepers, would let him. As I said, they considered his attempt to murder you as a horse thief to be beneath his honour as a Garter Knight. And I have instructions from her that should you ever return, that is how you should identify yourself."

"Wow. This is a lot to take in."

"I am proud to be the bearer of at least some good news," he answered with a smile, and the servant came in to take our plates and bring us dessert.

*   *   *   *   *   *

The following morning, I was on the road shortly after dawn. Ermanno's people had packed me some supplies for the journey, he gave me a fur cloak which would keep out the cold far better than anything I'd brought with me - by the gods it was cold for April - and I had extra saddlebags of grain for Asha. My route effectively took me down what in my day would be the A12, although then, of course, it was a just passable coaching route. Still, there seemed to be plenty of traffic, including grander coaches with military escorts. Presumably noblemen and merchants heading to Westminster for the Coronation.

I rode flat out, taking the occasional shortcut through Shadow when there were too many people on the road. I passed through the City of London, and saw how it was arrayed in celebration, then carried on west until I arrived in an equally splendidly decked out Westminster as it was getting dark. I knew where the Palace of Westminster was, but it would be interesting whether I would be allowed inside, despite the fact that Ermanno had sent ahead to Joan. I took a few moments to duck off world and back on again, to array myself in suitable finery for walking up to the Royal Palace, and then made my way to the gates.

"State your business!" demanded an efficient-looking sergeant.

"I have been summoned to the presence of the Dowager Countess Joan of Hereford."

"Identify yourself?"

"Sir Iván Falco, Knight of the Countess's Household."

"Dismount, and wait within the gatehouse. The grooms will take your horse."

I was shown to a small vestibule lit by candles and a small fire, while a runner was sent inside, and Asha was led away to the stables. The déjà vu compared to the night before in Pleshey was amusing. However, I was feeling less amused once I'd been waiting for half an hour, and I felt very grateful for the fur cloak Ermanno had provided for me. Had his messenger gone astray? Or was my friend wrong when he'd thought my former lover would welcome me.

Finally, however, the runner returned, accompanied by an efficient looking man in the livery of the Countess of Hereford.

"My lady apologises for the wait. She was at Mass. But she can see you now, Sir Iván," he said, "please follow me."

I did as I was told, and was led inside the hallowed halls of the Palace of Westminster. It had changed since I had last been here...but then, that was three kings ago here, let alone the nearly century in my own timeline. However, this time I was taken up towards the private apartments that were reserved for the King and his immediate family: not an honour I'd ever had before. My guide knocked on the door, and a voice from inside told him to enter.

The chamber was luxurious in the extreme. separated in two by a curtain, behind which I could see an impressive four-poster bed. Rich silks and velvets. Furniture made of the finest woods and with the best craftsmanship. Beside the fire were three women, bent over some kind of embroidery, and attended by a gaggle of maids of honour, and as we entered they looked up.

I recognised Joan instantly. Yes, she was older, but she still looked at least ten years younger than she should have done. Even her hair was barely turning grey. Next to her was a woman who looked to be in her late-thirties. She had reddish hair, tightly curled on her head, and grey-blue eyes. However, as I looked at her longer, I could see traces of my features in hers. From the fact that she was dressed in mourning, I guessed this was my daughter Mary. The third was still a girl, at least in my eyes. She was maybe twelve or thirteen, with long blond hair that fell down her back, and eyes that looked a lot like my father's.

Joan turned and dismissed all the ladies in waiting, who scurried out of the door, presumably to some nearby servants' sitting room, and then got to her feet. I'd forgotten how small she was.

"By the gods... it really is you," she said, "I can scarcely believe it."

And very much to the surprise of the others, she came over and embraced me: a gesture which I returned wholeheartedly. She was thinner than I remembered, and up close I could see a few lines on her face, but Ermanno had been right. She seemed to be thriving.

"Hello Joan," I answered, "it's been a long time."

She laid her head against me chest, just above the heart. I kissed her on the forehead - getting more startled outrage from Mary, and confusion from the younger girl, and then broke off the embrace and stood facing her, my hands resting gently on her shoulders.

"You look well," I said.

"Well enough, although I'm beginning to feel my years. But you...you've hardly changed."

"Mother! How dare you!" Mary said, getting to her feet looking outraged at such a display of affection, "who is this person? What is he doing here? And how dare you be so familiar with a stranger! Enough!"

"This man is not a stranger...not to me," Joan answered turning to her daughter, "this is Iván Falco. You've heard me speak of him."

And from Mary's expression, it was very obvious that she knew exactly what I was to her. That really surprised me. I hadn't expected that Joan would have told her the truth. Her daughter, though, just looked puzzled.

"Iván, my daughter Mary, Queen Mother of England, and her youngest child, the Princess Margaret."

I looked at her, and made a deep, respectful bow to the Queen of England. Protocol lessons in Amber had to be good for something.

"Your Majesty."

"But how can this be?" Mary asked, coming over, looking purposeful, Margaret trailing behind her, "he looks no older than I do. How can he be the man you told me about?"

"Iván is an alchemist," she answered, "that's how we first met. Very skilled alchemists like him and Ermanno can make themselves look younger."

Then she turned back to me.

"I got his message. It arrived at lunchtime, although I wasn't sure whether to believe it. And as you can imagine, it has been a sad time for us all. And then, this evening, we were attending Mass for the late-King's soul."

"So your man said when he came to fetch me from the gatehouse," I answered, "I completely understand."

I looked at my daughter, but I felt somewhat awkward. I'd been brought up in a tradition of service to the Kings and Queens of England, but I had no idea what to do when the said Queen was my own flesh and blood. I could tell that she was trying to put a brave face on things, but underneath I could see how much she was hurting from her husband's loss. I had been the same when Audrey died.

But at least her expression had softened slightly. How much had Joan told her?

"Please accept my condolences for your loss, Your Majesty......it is hard to lose your soul mate."

"Thank you..." she looked like she was going to say something, but then paused, obviously uncertain, "I am sorry. I do not know what I should call you."

"Iván would be fine."

"Sir Iván would be appropriate," Joan corrected, gently, "given that you are here as part of my household. That is, if you wish to stay until after the Coronation."

"Very much," I answered, "although I didn't really come down here packed for a great Court event. Apart from what I'm wearing, all I have with me are the clothes I rode down from Pleshey in. So I probably need to go find a tailor in the morning."

"I'll make the arrangements. And now, come and sit by the fire with us."

"Perhaps Margaret and I should leave you alone, mother," Mary said, and I could tell she felt awkward about suddenly being presented with me, "I imagine you and...Sir Iván...have a great deal to discuss."

Joan looked at her and then at me, perhaps a little disappointed.

"Don't worry, it's fine," I said, then looked at Mary, "but while I'm here, Your Majesty, I hope we will have a chance to become acquainted."

"The next few days will be very busy, and I have duties to perform. But perhaps afterwards..."

"I will look forward to it," I said, with a slight bow of my head.

She looked at me for a moment or two, and then inclined her head regally, and she and my granddaughter left Joan and I alone.

"You are not seeing her at the best time," Joan said, quietly, "she is less than a month a widow, and she still keenly feels her husband's loss. Then to be faced with the emotions of Hal's Coronation..." she paused a moment and gave a slight smile, "I should get used to calling him King Henry, or Your Majesty, but to me he will always be Hal. My favourite grandchild."

"Are grandparents supposed to have favourites?" I chided gently.

"No, but he reminds me so much of you. Much more so than the others. Still I hope that you and Mary will have a chance to get to know each other once the ceremonies are over. Now take some wine, and come and sit."

I threw my travelling cloak over the back of one of the chairs, and did as I was bid. It was a lot warmer and more pleasant in here than in the gatehouse.

"When did you return? And how much has our friend Ermanno told you?"

"I only got back yesterday evening, and I was rather surprised to find him at Pleshey."

"He has been a solid friend to me, and is a very good Steward."

"I'm glad. He certainly seems happy to be in your service. We talked about a lot of things, although I'd guess not everything that's happened. But I do know about little Edward and how de Bohun died. I'm so sorry."

"He was such a bonny boy," she said, sadly, "I wish you could have seen him. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and he was always curious...always interested. And in the end, at least Humphrey tried to avenge him. For all our problems, he was a good father to our boy."

I offered my hand to hers, and squeezed it, trying to convey my sympathy to her.

"Do you have any pictures of him?"

"We thought there would be plenty of time. And then he was gone."

"Do you think your husband was right? That de Vert killed him?"

"At the time, I was too upset to think about it. But in hindsight, I suspect he did. I disliked like him when we first met him at Court. There was something dark about him. As if he followed a different path to ours, although my husband seemed to like him well enough. But it was only after Edward and then Humphrey died that I realised just how many questions he had been asking about our family, and its ancestors. Do you have any idea why that might have been?"

"More than an idea," I answered.

"Who do you think he was?"

"Let me show you something."

I reached into my pocket, got out my Trump deck, shuffled out Caine's Trump and handed it to her.

"This picture is cold," she commented, puzzled, "what is it?"

"It's a kind of Tarot used by my Family. Is this Kayin de Vert?"

"I am not certain...it was a long time ago. But it could be. There is certainly a resemblance..."

"His name is Caine, and he and his allies and offspring, killed a lot of my side of the family. If he realised that Edward was one of us, then killing both him and his supposed father would have been in character. After all, part of the reason why your husband made you and I do...what we did...was because he and I looked related."

She turned the card over a couple of times in her hand, noting the unicorn back, a questioning look on her face, and then handed it back to me. I put it back into the deck and slipped it into my pocket.

"Do you think you were? Related?"

"Possibly. My father had been here before, and he certainly enjoys the company of women. So it's not impossible that he may have had a daughter, at some point, who ended up in your husband's ancestry."

"Does this...Caine still live?"

"Not any more. He made a lot of enemies, and in the end we worked together to destroy him."

"So our son is avenged?"

"I hope so."

We lapsed into silence, and she poured us each another cup of wine from a jug that had been warming by the fire.

"Let's talk about something more cheerful," I suggested, and she gave me a weak smile, "do I really have NINE grandchildren?"

"Only eight lived to come of age, but yes. They range from Hal, who is twenty-six; to Edmund, who just turned fifteen, and Margaret, who will be thirteen in May."

"I want to know all about what's been happening with you and your family since I've been away."

"If I tell you, is there any possibility that in return you will tell me what has happened with you since that day in the courtyard?" she asked, quietly, "And who was that man...the one who took you away. He kept saying he was a Prince of Amber, and that you were his son."

"And so he is. Has Ermanno ever mentioned a friend called Adán?"

"Sometimes. But he has not seen him for a long time, I understand."

"Adán is the name he knows my father by."

"So what is a Prince of Amber? I assume this is your mysterious family. The ones who have personal Tarot cards."

"We come from a land a long way from here. We are an old, powerful clan, which rule from the city of Amber. When we work together there's very little that can stop us. But most of the time we're fighting and arguing, and trying to score points of each other. Or in the case of Caine, going homicidal on the side of the family he dislikes. Truth to tell, most of us aren't really that nice a bunch. But he was by far one of the worst."

"I do not know this...Amber. Where is it?"

"That is rather a long story," I answered, "and I'm not sure whether now's the time to go into it."

"But there, you are a prince."

"I am."

"But you never said anything."

"When I was here before, I didn't know a lot of it," I answered, "I've only really become part of what's going on there in the last few years. And now it's your turn. When did you tell Mary that she wasn't Humphrey's daughter?"

She looked at me as she realised that I was changing the subject, and obviously debated whether to let me or not. But in the end, she just sighed, and answered my question.

"The Duke of Lancaster and I told our children together, shortly before they married," Mary answered.

"So John of Gaunt knew as well?"

"Humphrey was dead, Mary had been taken into the care of her elder sister and the Duke's younger brother against my will, and John and I had common cause. I wanted Mary to be safe, and he was more than happy to support the match between our children. They had grown up together, and it was obvious that they cared deeply for each other, and politically it was a good match on both sides. So I took the risk and confided in him."

"Ermanno told me the story of Henry, Gloucester and the duel."

"I wish I had seen that. When I heard about it, I was so proud of Henry."

"Were you and John of Gaunt close?"

"As friends, but nothing more. He was married to Constance of Castile, and he was never one of the Keepers. But I still miss him. And I know he was deeply hurt when Richard, of less than blessed memory, exiled his son."

"And Mary went with him to France."

"Along with four of our grandchildren: John, Humphrey, Blanche and Philippa. And little Edmund was born while they were in exile."

"How did she take the news...about her father? She didn't seem all that thrilled to see me just now. And I assume that Margaret doesn't know, from the fact that you were both quite cautious about what you said."

"Please do not be too hard on her. Mary and Henry were married for over thirty years. They stayed together through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, and never stopped loving each other. I wish you could have seen them together. But in the last five years, he had not been well, which was made much worse by the fact that he and Hal argued constantly."

"About what?"

"Almost everything," she said with a sigh, "it started very soon after Henry was Crowned, with the troubles with the Percy family and their Welsh allies, at the turn of the century. The first few years of his reign were largely one battle after another. Henry went into the field very early on, and took Hal with him. But it soon became very apparent that while Henry was a competent soldier and commander, Hal was a lot more. A natural leader, with a talent for gaining the love and respect of those who followed him."

That didn't really surprise me to hear. After all, he was at least partially High Blood, and even the lowliest of us could usually out-general a mortal. And if this Hal was anything like his Tenterden equivalent, his flair in such matters would be rather greater than that.

"You think he got that from you?" Joan asked, curious.

Quite how she'd followed my train of thought quite so accurately, I wasn't sure. Perhaps it was because we'd both been Keepers, as well as lovers, and therefore shared a certain arcane intimacy.

"I've fought a few battles in my time," I answered, "and among my Family I've been reasonably successful. So I suspect that at least in part he got it from me."

"Unfortunately, Henry found it all very difficult to accept. He could not generate the same loyalty, and resented the fact that his son kept countermanding him when they were on campaign. Especially when, more often than not, Hal was right. On at least one occasion in the first battle, he saved his father's life. By the middle of AD 1401, Henry had returned to London, leaving Hal in charge of the campaign.

Once the Percys, the Welsh and their allies were defeated, four years later, Hal felt that he had earned the right to be involved in the day-to-day running of the country, after the tradition of Old and Young Kings that was common earlier in the history of the Plantagenet Family."

"Like Henry II and Henry the Young King," I offered, interested that Hal had mopped up in five years a mess that had taken eight on Tenterden.

"Indeed."

"That doesn't seem unreasonable. He would have been what...nineteen by then? I'm surprised he wasn't already involved."

"It is my believe that his father was afraid of what his son would do if he had that power. But once Hal returned victorious from campaign, Henry realised he could not put off the inevitable any longer. Sadly, it quickly became apparent that it was never going to work. Father and son were just too different. Henry felt the burden of what had happened to Richard which, along with the problems with the Percys, who had initially supported him but then rebelled at his lack of appreciation, coloured the views of many of his lords. He was therefore always a cautious monarch who spent a lot of time overanalysing and second guessing his own decisions. Moreover, his ill health gave him a forbidding appearance and attitude.

In contrast, Hal was young, handsome, untainted by what had happened to his father's predecessor, having actually served with Richard in that fatal battle, and had proven himself as a talented soldier and general. He also found it far easier to make friends and allies. But his ideas and views were very different to his father's, which often led to violent arguments between them. Mary tried to keep the peace between them, but it never seemed to last."

It sounded as if Hal had inherited my stubborn streak and volatile temper: this sounded like definite shades of my relationship with Bleys. I'm not sure that on Tenterden, the relationship between Harries IV and V had been that bad. But it made me more curious about meeting my grandson.

"As I said, Iván. He's a lot like you," she commented, obviously following my train of thought again, "The final break between them came about eighteen months later, when Henry became ill the following Christmas. During Christmas-Epiphany Court, Hal, supported by several of the key Magnates who could see that the King was ailing, tried to persuade his father to let him stand as Regent.

Henry refused point blank, and accused him of trying to usurp the Throne before his time. He was banished from Court in front of most of the major nobles in England, and Thomas and John were given places on the King's Council in his stead. There was even some talk of him being stripped of his ranks and privileges and fully attaindered, but to do that to the Prince of Wales, who was both popular and proven, would have caused an outrage, and wisely Henry stepped back from that course of action. I suspect he realised that if he did that, he would have another full-on rebellion with the intention of replacing him with his son."

"Where did Hal go?"

"There were rumours that he went either north or west, to gain support for an attempt to depose his father and seize the Throne, using the same kind of argument that Henry had used as justification for deposing Richard..."

"Tyranny and misgovernment had rendered him unworthy of being King? Something of that ilk?"

"And by virtue of his ill health. Hal was certainly seen in the Scottish borders, in the company of the Warden of the Middle March, as well as in the Welsh marches during that time. Other rumours said that he had gone to France, and found a place at the court of his cousin Charles VI, and was studying with the French Court magician. It was even suggested that he was negotiating with France for either an invasion of England, or some kind arrangement regarding the French Crown..."

"To which he has a potential claim through Edward III."

"At least according to English Law. French Law, I understand, is somewhat different. And as with the rumours about the borders, English envoys to the French Court did report having seen him there. Which of course did nothing to help his relations with his father."

"I can understand that. The fear of treason would eat at someone who took his throne by conquest. The rumours about him learning sorcery are interesting, though."

"Why?"

"He would certainly have the natural bloodline to do that, as well as having an affinity for ritual magic. Has Hal ever shown any interest in the Keepers?"

"He was born on the Autumn Equinox, and initiated as one of us on his sixteenth birthday. Which was another cause of disagreement between him and his parents, especially after Henry became King. Neither of them considered it appropriate that the Prince of Wales should consort with witches."

"Fascinating."

"However, he does not join us often. He understands that he needs to be careful, and certainly makes sure that he is regularly seen at Mass. And in truth, he is also a devout Christian in his own way. More so than his father ever was."

"My son Wolf is like that. Carry on."

"Well, then there were others centred around him spending at least one winter, maybe two, with the Teutonic Knights, fighting on the Eastern borders."

"Much as Humphrey did, that year when I was still in favour. And let me guess, once again there is evidence to support it."

"His arms are in the role of foreign knights who have fought in there. And finally, others told that he had fallen in with rough company, and was living in a tavern in Eastcheap, having turned outlaw against the king's tax collectors."

"Where people also have claim to have seen him."

"Indeed."

"How did Mary feel about all of this?"

"She sided with her husband...that's another reason why you did not see her at her best this evening. She blames the problems between Hal and his father for hastening Henry's death."

"Do you think there's any truth to that?"

"I doubt it can have helped."

"What about you? Did you ever see him?"

"Every few months he would come to stay with me, usually around our celebrations, but never for more than a couple of weeks at a time. On one of those visits, I told him about you. Some of the other Keepers had told him stories about you. He seemed intrigued, and I think spent a while trying to find out where you went. But he never confided in me about what he was doing. The only thing that is certain, is that he was not seen at Court again until March."

"So he was effectively missing for what...just over six years?"

"Indeed."

"How did Henry take it?"

"He did his best, although there were still always pockets of trouble, which he had to deal with himself. But inevitably there were whispers around Court that he'd had his far more popular son done away with as a threat to his Throne. Especially as it was obvious that he favoured both Thomas and John over poor Hal."

"What brought him back?"

"I would like to think I did," she answered, "but I do not really know for certain. He came to stay here with me around Imbolic, by which time it was obvious that Henry was very ill. I suggested that he should try to make his peace with his father, while he still could, as I knew he would regret it if he did not. I was not at all sure if he'd taken my advice, until he arrived at the Palace of Westminster at the beginning of March."

"Did they manage to reconcile?"

"I was not at Court at the time, but from what Mary has told me, it did not start well," she answered, "by the time he arrived, Henry was sick abed and no-one seemed able to wake him. Hal thought he was already dead and started making arrangements, as if he were King. Some say that was what caused Henry to awaken. Needless to say, the misunderstanding led to one of the most violent arguments they had ever had. They got within a hair's breadth of drawing on each other. Some tried to see the positive side of this, saying it was a sign that the King's health was improving. However, such was not to be, and Henry began to decline again just days later."

"Which is presumably why Mary blames her son for his death."

"I think so. She summoned me as soon as he took a turn for the worst. I think she knew he was dying, and she wanted me to be there. His last afternoon, he demanded to see Hal, and they were closeted together for several hours. Then, around nine of the clock, the King summoned the family and his closest advisers, and when we were assembled, Henry removed the Crown from his head, and placed it on Hal's. Then he lapsed into unconsciousness and died just after midnight on the 12th of March."

"That must have been around the Spring Equinox."

"Almost the very moment."

"Interesting..."

With a history linked with sacred kings, like mine, that didn't seem like a coincidence. Especially as I had a feeling that on Tenterden, Henry died few days later than that.

"Do you think Henry's decision to Crown Hal was voluntary? Or did Hal make him?"

"Looking at them that last night, my main sense was of sadness and regret on both of their parts. The feeling of lost opportunities. But by then, it was too late; his father was dying. The lords took their lead from the old King, and Hal was Proclaimed the following day."

"Which brings us round to now."

She was going to answer, but instead she found herself yawning.

"Oh Iván, I am so sorry. That was very rude of me."

"Don't worry. Thinking about it, it's getting late," I said, gently, although truth to tell, I was beginning to get to the end of my reserves myself, having ridden down that morning. "I should let you rest, and we can talk more in the morning."

"You need quarters," she answered, and went to the door to call one of her serving maids to organise it. Then she returned to sit in front of the fire once more. I stood up and crossed to her, massaging her shoulders gently. She put her hand to mine, and then obviously felt the wedding ring on my finger. She took my hand and looked at it, rubbing the ring gently.

"How long have you been married?" she asked, quietly.

"In my personal timeframe, about thirty years. Amber time, about eighteen months."

"I suppose I should have realised...it was too much for me to hope for that you were still unattached. But then, I must seem an old woman to you now..."

"Of course you don't," I protested, "the years have treated you very kindly. But knowing that I'm married, are you happy for me to remain here as one of your household?"

"You will be barracked with some of my other household knights. And in the morning, after breakfast, I'll arrange for you to get yourself properly attired."

The girl returned, and informed her mistress that a place had been prepared for me. We got to our feet, and Joan and I embraced again. Then we said our good nights, and the servant led me out of her quarters and along the corridors to where I would be sleeping.

*   *   *   *   *   *

I met up with Joan and her household the following morning, and was soon caught up in a whirlwind of tailors, fittings and protocol instruction, as the palace stewards, senior knights and gentlemen of Westminster Abbey looked after the guests and made sure they knew what they should or should not do the following day.

Joan had three others of her knights with her for the Coronation, and it has to be said that at first they were rather surprised to find me added to their number. Two of them were younger, children of men I'd known when I'd lived in the de Bohun household. The third was older. He'd been a squire during my time with the family, and he looked at me very strangely, obviously recognising me but not sure if he believed it. I tried to keep my answers vague when he asked me various questions, implying more that I was the son of the man he'd known. However, as I was obviously there with the agreement of their mistress, none of them made too much issue about the fact.

By the end of the day I was a fully equipped Renaissance knight, ready for the Coronation. It was strange to be wearing that style of clothing again, given that I generally avoid it when I'm in Amber or Thelbane, except on really special occasions, but as I looked at myself in the glass, I thought I cut quite a dashing figure.

Joan told me she was dining with her daughter that night, which left me free to do what I pleased. So I dressed in my older travelling clothes, fastened Ermanno's fur cloak around my neck, belted my sword at my waist and headed out of the Palace. It was a chilly night, and if it hadn't been April, I would have seriously wondered if it was going to snow. I decided to wander Westminster, revisiting old haunts and seeing how much it had changed.

The most noticeable thing was that since there had been two outbreaks of the Black Death in England since I'd been there, streets were emptier than they used to be, and fewer people seemed to be out at night than there used to be. Not that the taverns weren't doing a decent pre-Coronation drinks trade. But something was missing...or perhaps I could feel the spirits of the thousands who had died in the plague weighing on the aura of the city.

In the end, I wandered further than I had intended. I found myself on Eastcheap, over in the City. This area was very different to Westminster. The sounds and smells. The much simpler garb. The careworn appearance. The obvious poverty. And I belatedly realised that even my travelling clothes marked me as an outsider, and therefore potentially a target. My hand went to the hilt of my blade and I refreshed my personal wards. Then I turned back the way I had come, making a conscious effort to project a feeling of confidence, so that I wouldn't be an easy mark for the cutpurses and robbers who might be walking the streets.

I saw probably half a dozen different people or groups take an appraising look at me, but after I returned their gaze, they melted back into the alleyways. And then I made a mistake. Stupid, really, given that I'm normally a lot more savvy than that when I'm in Amber. I took a right, thinking I remembered it heading back towards Cornhill and Cheapside, but rather than turning into a thoroughfare, I discovered after about twenty feet that it led to a tavern yard. Opposite me, hung on the wall, was the sign of a Talbot hunting dog facing towards the lane. It looked warm and inviting, especially as the temperature had continued to drop, and I could hear raucous laughter coming from inside.

I was torn between heading inside to warm up - it really felt like snow now - and getting the Hell out of the area as soon as possible, when I heard a movement from behind me. I turned, to see a group of half a dozen thugs, appearing out of the shadows behind me, armed with dirks and cudgels. A short way behind them was another man, dressed as the others, but with a more competent air, and had a long sword at his belt.

I had a choice of going towards the tavern, or standing to fight, and given that it was seven to one, even if the one was a High Blood, I decided on the former. After all, it seemed unlikely that they would try something inside a tavern full of people, and hopefully I could mingle with the other patrons when they left at closing time. But as I moved towards the door, unwilling to turn my back on the men, I heard movements to both my right and left, and saw another half a dozen men emerging out of alleys to either side of the yard, three from each. These ones were armed with blades rather than cudgels.

"Is this 'im?" one of the ones to my right.

"Dunno, but 'e's where e's supposed to be."

Who the Hell did they think I was?

"Ain't he a bit old?"

"Trick o' the light. 'Ow many posh nobs are likely to be here on a night like this?"

"Must be 'im," said another, and they moved in towards me, "let's get it over with."

Crap, this was serious. They'd come here to do someone harm and found me, although whether I was their actual target, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I had no idea. I drew my blade, and started backing slowing towards the wall of the tavern, calculating the best angles to attack. The ones to my right had to be my first target, as they were in a position to cut off my retreat, and the ones to the left were a little further away. I angled myself, and then moved as quickly as I could manage to engage, meeting blade with blade.

The ring of steel on steel sounded out in the odd stillness of the night, as did our shouts as we engaged each other. Now, though, I was a damned sight better of a swordsman than I had been on my last visit to this world, and when I let my instincts click in this time, I was a lot more deadly. I got through the guard of my first assailant and took him in the chest, then as he fell back, I turned and cut right towards the second. The fact that I was fighting left-handed caught them by surprise, too, and I decided to use that advantage to its fullest. The second man went down, and I turned towards the third. As he was sagging to his knees, and I turned to defend myself against the group from the left, I realised that the yard had erupted into a brawl.

People were coming out of the tavern, in different stages of drunkenness, and were wading into the fray, whooping like mad things, as if this was the best entertainment they'd seen in weeks. In the middle of them all, yelling gleefully like the others, was a young man who stood a good four inches taller than most of the people around him. I noticed that his clothes were of better quality than his companions and he was using his blade, a proper long sword, with considerable skill, despite playing the brawler rather than the soldier. I also had the distinct impression that he was warded.

It took me a moment or two to realise that it was Artur. Probably because this was the last place I expected to see him. But what the Hell was he doing here? How had he even found the place? Back in Amber, I'd thought we'd left it that I would give him a call once I'd established that Ermanno was still alive and willing to teach him. But maybe he'd followed me here for some reason.

Still, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I rejoined the fight, working my way through the brawlers, looking for the leader. If these people had intentionally been sent to hurt someone, then he would be the one who knew who the target was. Using my own height to advantage, I scanned the crowd and spotted him towards the back, near the lane back out of the alley. Gone was the look of ruffians, and instead I realised that I was watching trained troops, following his orders.

The poor bastards from the tavern wouldn't have a chance.

"Artur, it's a set-up," I yelled over at the young man I'd seen before, "these guys are soldiers."

He didn't answer, but he'd obviously heard me, as suddenly his demeanour changed completely. He wasn't a drunken brawler any more. He was fighting like the trained swordsman I knew he was. And more to the point, he began organising his 'troops', and they actually obeyed him. Maybe those weekends in the Boar's Head had helped him related to tavern rats like these. As he dealt with the men in the yard, I pushed on through towards the captain. He realised that I was coming for him, but rather than run, he found a more defensive position where he could catch me as I came in.

He met my blade with his as soon as I was in range, and hit at me with a couple of quick cuts to test my guard. I parried and returned the compliment with some moves of my own. As I did, I ascertained that I was faster than him, although his strikes packed quite a punch, as evidenced when he slammed me on the arm with the flat of his sword. It was all I could do to keep hold of my blade.

However, I threw up a pain-relief cantrip, and advanced towards him, varying the angle of my attack in an attempt to make contact. I cut low, and managed to catch the inside of his thigh - thankfully missing the femoral artery, as injuring him there would not have helped my chances of interrogating him afterwards. He cried out as my blade hit, and tried to renew his attack. He swept upwards, catching me on the hip and slicing it open, but I reinforced the cantrip, and managed to push his blade away before it could do me any further damage.

We stepped back to take a breath, and as we did, I caught sight of Artur heading towards us, blade red with blood. I distracted my opponent by renewing the attack, to give my son the chance to get into position. The assailant fell for my feint, and then he was stumbling to the ground, as if he'd lost his balance. I looked up to see Artur there, having kicked the guy in the back of the knees to knock him down.

"Thanks, Artur," I said to him, "that was a bit close."

And I started thinking healing thoughts to myself, to stop the bleeding. It seemed easier than it used to, now I had more idea of how my healing ability worked. By now, the brawl in the yard was winding down, and the remaining combatants were standing upright and noticing the scene in our corner of the yard. I could see ten bodies on the ground, but most of them looked to be the attackers.

"Stand aside," he answered, and pushed me out of the way, rather more roughly than was perhaps necessary.

Then he turned to the fallen man and laid his blade at his throat. His expression and tone both dropped several degrees, as he obviously recognised the prisoner.

"I know you. You are in the service of my cousin Edmund," he said, an impressive tone of command in his voice, "Why are you here?"

And that was when I realised that it wasn't Artur. Whoever he was, he spoke the English of this place. That made me take a better look at him. He was certainly as tall as Artur, which made him pretty distinctive in that day and age, and was dressed in a simple but good quality grey shirt, riding breeches rather than hose, and sturdy-looking boots. It was obvious from his build and stance that this was a professional soldier. It was equally obvious that I was looking at a Helgram. And as far as I could see, the only reason why a Helgram would be here, was if it was one of my grandchildren. But which one?

His hair was somewhere between strawberry blond and auburn, swept back behind his ears, although it curled noticeably at the ends, and a gentle arcane probe confirmed that he was, indeed, warded, and using a school very similar to my own. He spotted the probe immediately, and he turned towards me, eyes narrowing, but blade still at his prisoner's throat. Which is when I realised that he looked younger than Artur by three or four years, although there was a definite resemblance between the man before me and my son. Most noticeable, however, was the fact that he had inherited Bleys's blue eyes.

"Do that again, and you will not find me merciful," he said coldly.

"I'm sorry," I answered, "you're right, I should not have done that. But I was surprised to find a fellow practitioner..."

Then I noticed a younger man, probably in his early twenties, separate from the group of tavern goers, and come over, and the man with me shot me a look which suggested that I shut up now, before his friend heard what I was about to say. The newcomer was thinner than the soldier, and a good five inches shorter, with loose black hair and a pale complexion.

"What's going on Hal? Who are these people?"

And I knew exactly who these men had come to hurt. My grandson Hal, by Grace of God King of England, Lord of Ireland and arguably King of France. But what the Hell was he doing in a tavern in Eastcheap the night before his Coronation?

Rather than looking at the newcomer, Hal held up his hand to order him to keep back - which he duly did with absolutely no argument - and returned his focus to his prisoner, blade resting on the fallen man's throat.

"I will not repeat myself again, Sirrah," he said, quietly but firmly, "Who are you, and why are you here?"

But instead of answering, the man on the ground moved his head, forcing the blade into his own neck. There was a spurt of blood, and Hal jumped backwards, but not before some of the man's blood landed on his boots. This time I pushed him out of the way, noting that he almost lost his balance, and knelt beside the prisoner. I called up my healing gift and threw it into stopping the man bleeding out from a severed jugular (and dealing with that leg wound while I was at it). Off to one side, I could see the younger man grabbing hold of Hal's shoulder to stop me facing the same fate as my patient. However, I couldn't afford to watch them. I concentrated on my patient, and slowly and surely, the blood flow slowed and then stopped. I could see the anger in the man's eyes as he was denied death, and sat back on my haunches to catch my breath. Which is when I felt the blade resting in the back of my neck.

I stayed dead still, and then very slowly moved my hands way from my patient's throat. After all, I wasn't going to do anything stupid with a pissed off Helgram-Plantagenet standing behind me with an unsheathed blade.

"Name yourself, Sirrah."

"Iván Falco. Knight of the household of the Dowager Countess of Hereford."

"I do not recognise you, and I know all of her knights. So I repeat, who are you?"

"I am who I say I am. You will find my name in the household records, and in the annals of a certain group to which you and your grandmother belong."

There was a pause, and I could tell that he was deciphering what I'd just said.

"And this man?" he continued, eventually, but at least I could feel a little less hostility in his voice.

"He was waiting here with his men, but I think they mistook me for you, and I sprung the trap meant for you. If you'll remove that blade from the back of my neck, I may be able to find out for sure, but I don't do my best work at sword's point."

There was a pause, and then I felt the cool metal move away from the top of my spine. However, I didn't hear him move away, so presumably he was still just behind me, in case I played him false.

"Do so."

Painfully aware of just how precarious my situation was, I brought up a working trance, rested my hand on the prisoner's temple, locked eyes with him, and forced my will on the prisoner to truth read him. He felt the intrusion and tried to fight me, but he had no skills with which to do so, and eventually, his body went limp and he looked up at me with hatred.

"Curse you, witch," he said, quietly, "is it not enough that you use your foul powers to rob my noble master of his rightful heritage, in favour of a Usurper and his thrice-cursed whelp. But you also have imperil my immortal soul as well? How dare you, you spawn of Satan?"

Great. Just what I needed. The fourteenth century equivalent of the Republican Party.

"I dare to do so on behalf of Henry, King of England," I answered, coldly, "and you will tell me what I wish to know. First, your name?"

"Andrew of Wigmore."

"Who do you serve?"

"Edmund Mortimer, rightful King of England."

Behind me, I heard an impressive string of Anglo-Saxon invective from Hal.

"Rightful by whose authority?" I demanded of the prisoner.

"By right of birth, as the descendent of Prince Lionel of Antwerp. Henry Bolingbroke, spawn of a more junior line, usurped his claim to the Throne, and imprisoned him. God Save King Edmund, and smite Foul Harry where he stands!"

"Hal, are you going to let him talk like that?" asked his young friend.

"He will get what is coming to him, Poins," Hal answered, quietly, although under his bravado, I could hear that he was slightly shaken, "but for now, let him continue to regale us with his story. That way his trial will be all the shorter. Sir Iván, continue if you please."

"Yes, Your Majesty," I answered.

"I don't think this is the place to stand on ceremony, do you?" he asked, "that comes tomorrow. Tonight, I am just Hal."

"Then I am happy to just be Iván," I answered, and returned my attention to the prisoner, "Why are you here?"

"We learned that Bolingbroke's son would be here tonight, and came to right the wrong done to our great and noble master," he said, and I could see the fear in the man's eyes, as he incriminated himself.

"What was your plan?" I asked.

"We were to cut his throat and throw his body in a ditch, like a common ruffian. And when he failed to present himself tomorrow, my King would be Crowned in his place."

"So you really were here to kill me?" came Hal's voice from behind me, and I could hear the anger underlying it, "Iván, ask this man if my cousin Edmund knows what was being done in his name?"

I repeated the question to the prisoner, interested that he knew the trick I was using would only work if I asked the questions. But then, Joan had said he was one of the Keepers, so maybe he understood.

"Our master has been bewitched. He does not see that the Usurper is in league with the Devil, and using evil magics to keep his Throne. But once he is dead, my master will be able to take his rightful."

"Is that true?" I asked, not looking behind me.

"Assuming you mean would Edmund inherit if I died without issue? The answer is no. That would fall to my brother Thomas. Edmund knows it well enough, and just this day I knighted himself and his brother, in recognition that he had surrendered his claim to the Throne."

"Only because of dark magic and trickery," protested the man on the floor, "you used your Satan-spawned powers to force him to your will. As your minion is doing to me."

I looked at him, startled not actually quiet believing that he'd had the gall to do it in front of Hal's face. And now I was a minion, to boot. But before he could say any more, Hal's voice interrupted him from behind me.

"Poins."

"Yes, Hal?"

"Go and get men from the Tower. This traitor will need to be taken there to await my pleasure. Take this as a token that you speak for me."

I had no idea what he handed over, but I guessed it would have to be something like his personal signet. He obviously didn't want his friend to hear what came next.

"At once," came the answer, and I heard footsteps departing at speed.

"Now, Iván, would you be able to make sure that no-one else hears the rest of this conversation? I think we may be venturing onto difficult territory."

I nodded, and put up an anti-eavesdropping field around us, before returning my attention to the prisoner. As I did, Hal ducked down beside me, bending his long legs under him.

"Andrew, are you accusing the King of England of Witchcraft."

"He consorts with those who are witches, and protects them against the Church," our prisoner answered.

"Who told you this?" I said, because by now I was getting really quite concerned about just how much this man knew about what was really going on.

"Our leader, Yanick de Vert, has spoken to us of the evil in the line of Bolingbroke. Its unnatural origins through a changeling who cuckolded one of our great Lords, slept with his wife, and forced his get onto her to taint the Plantagenet Line. But my master Edmund is without taint, and lord Yanick will help us throw off the usurper and restore the rightful King."

"Yanick de Vert?"

What bothered me most, even more than the fact that what he was saying was pretty much all true - the whole spawn of Satan bit aside - was how he had found out. None of this was anything many people should have been aware of. But Kayin de Vert had known, or at least suspected, and I was well aware that Caine had a son named Yanick. I'd just thought that he was currently a Helgram-hating sun in the Black Zone.

Had some or all of him escaped? Or could he have somehow it's the power to cast off some equivalent of Pattern ghosts?

"Why do I know that name?" Hal asked, puzzled.

"I believe the name of the man who killed Humphrey de Bohun was Kayin de Vert."

"Of course," he answered, but he didn't seem at all happy about it, "ask him why that family hate my family so much?"

"I think I already know the answer to that," I answered, "and you and I need a conversation. But not just now."

He didn't look happy, but he let it pass

"One last question, Andrew," I said, returning my attention to the prisoner, "How did you know that His Majesty would be here this evening?"

"One of his squires was talking at Court. He said he'd been told not to serve him that night, as he was going out to say his farewell to his friends in Eastcheap."

"Which squire?" Hal asked, and I repeated the question.

"Matthew of Monmouth."

"Do you need anything else?" I asked my grandson.

"No. He will be tried for treason, and I will speak with my cousin Edmund, to make sure that he truly had nothing to do with this plot. Perhaps you will assist me with that."

"Of course...Hal."

By then, I was noticing that my knees were cold and aching from kneeling on the stone floor of the yard, and felt the first flecks of what felt like snow on my bloody hand. And I remembered another snippet of history. Henry V had been crowned in a snowstorm, and no-one at the time had been able to tell if that was a good omen, or a bad one.

"Any chance I can get up now?"

Hal stood first, then placed a boot on the throat of Andrew of Wigmore, and offered me his hand to pull me up. He left his boot resting where it was, then looked at me.

"So you are Iván Falco," he said, obviously intrigued, "My grandmother's favourite knight."

"I'd never thought of myself as that, but yes."

"Under normal circumstances, I would have expected you to be older, but knowing that you were Ermanno's apprentice, and he is far older than he looks, perhaps I should not be surprised. She has spoken of you with fondness, and holds you high regard."

"As I do her."

"Did she send you here to find me this evening?"

"No. That was pure coincidence."

"A strange coincidence indeed," he said, thoughtfully, and then started looking around the yard at the fallen, "but a fortuitous one, methinks. I suspect thirteen against one would have been challenging, even for me...although I wonder if Andrew chose that number on purpose."

That hadn't even occurred to me, but who knows. Maybe he was right. There was obviously a lot more behind this whole thing than met the eye.

Of the attackers, nine lay dead or wounded on the ground, which unfortunately meant that three had got away. I also saw a couple of the tavern's patrons lying, eyes open on the ground, and knew there was nothing more I could do for them. However, others were either walking wounded, or being taken inside on stretchers. I noted about half a dozen minor injuries and two more serious ones.

"As butcher bills go, this one isn't particularly to my credit," my companion commented.

"These men were professionals..." I answered, "so instead I would argue that it's down to your skill that so few of your friends were hurt. And I'm a physician. I can help tend the wounded once we're inside, which will hopefully keep the casualties even lighter."

"You would do that?"

"Without their help, I probably would have been toast."

"What is...toast?"

I looked at his puzzled expression, and it was all I could do to avoid bursting out laughing.

"Never mind," I said, gently, but resisted the temptation to pat him on the back in reassurance.

I just dropped the anti-eavesdropping field, and watched what he did next with interested. He turned to some of the tavern's patrons, and once again he was the King in waiting.

"Tom, Dick and Francis. Stay out here with the prisoner, and guard any of the attackers who may still be alive. Ned, Peter, make sure all the injured are inside out of the cold. Jack, get Mistress Coleman to warm up some wine for this man. He has done me great service tonight."

It was fascinating to see a bunch of tavern rats jump to do his bidding as if they'd been soldiers serving under him. This particular iteration of Henry V was going to make a very interesting King. I just hoped he'd live long enough to see his full potential.

"I'm going to take a guess that you aren't planning on banishing them from your company any time soon," I commented to him, as we walked inside.

"To do so was my intention when I came here this evening. But after this..."

He paused for a moment on the threshold, looking into the tavern. The two most seriously injured patrons had been laid beside the fireplace, while the walking wounded were sat around one of the tables propping each other up. There was a lot of shouting, backslapping from those who were unhurt, along with assorted other noise which was loud in the confined space of the tap room.

"They fought with me. Protected me. Bled and died for me I would never have expected them to do that. I will need to make provision for the families of those who fell in my service, however unofficial."

"I'm sure you will do the right thing," I said quietly, and we stepped inside.

A woman who was probably in her early-40s met us at the door with two tankards of warmed wine. I assumed she was the hostess. Hal took his, I took mine, and then he did a standing jump onto one of the tables - managing not to spill a drop in the process. Then he offered me his hand and hauled me up onto the table to join him, before stamping his boot to get their attention.

Silence.

"This man is Sir Iván Falco. Had it not been for the happy coincidence of his presence here this evening, the men outside, would have set upon me when I left this place, with the intention of killing me. As such, I owe him a debt of gratitude, as I do to you."

There was a spontaneous outbreak of cheering. Hal waited for a few moments, and then gestured for the tavern rats to quieten down. It was like watching a conductor with an orchestra.

"As well as being a soldier, and a knight in my grandmother's household, he is also a physician, and has offered to help with the injured. I expect you to co-operate with him fully. If he asks for your assistance, assist him. If he asks you to fetch anything, fetch it. If he asks you to leave him be so he can work, do so. And Mistress Coleman, make sure he has both hot wine to drink, and cloths and water while he works."

"Yes my Lord," said the hostess.

"Then get to it," Hal said, taking a good swig from his tankard, and then jumping back down to the floor.

I dismounted a little more sedately, and made my way over to the fireplace, and started to work on the two who had been badly hurt. Primarily, I focused on using mundane means, bringing my twenty-first century EMT skills to bear. However, when I thought I could get away with it, I helped my patients along by arcane means: enough to get the healing process under way without being too obvious. Still, I got some odd looks from some of the patrons as I asked them to fetch and carry things for me. Using the gut-rot whisky they sold there to clean the wounds seemed to particularly confuse them.

Hal's friend Poins returned while I was dealing with my first patient, and Hal headed outside with him, presumably to talk to the detachment of guards from the Tower. However, rather than leaving with them, which he probably should have done with at least one attempt on his life that evening, he returned about fifteen minutes later. He drafted in a couple of the more able bodied patrons to help him clean some of the less-serious wounds, following my techniques, and set the odd broken bone. Obviously he'd had cause to do battle first aid at some point since his father first took him into the field, as he seemed to know what he was doing.

Eventually, I'd done what I could for my patients, and made arrangements with Mistress Coleman for them to stay in one of the rooms upstairs in the tavern. Paying up front, of course. Both would live, as long as their friends followed some basic rules on how to keep them warm, clean and safe. By then I was pretty tired, but there were still some of the walking wounded to deal with, so I moved over to help Hal and his companions. It was well after midnight before we were done, and as I crossed to one of the tavern windows, and looked outside, I could see a couple of inches of snow lying on the stones in the yard. It must have come down in the last couple of hours.

"You should be heading back to the Palace," I said, as Hal moved to stand beside me, "I believe you have a big day tomorrow."

"Indeed," he said, with a weak smile, "truth to tell, I probably should have gone back long since."

"Are you going to miss this? The freedom to come here and be yourself?"

He didn't answer for a moment, but eventually he nodded. A line from Henry V came unbidden to my mind. "What infinite heart's ease, must kings neglect, that private men enjoy."

"Don't forget who you were, Hal," I said, quietly, "If you need to, make time for yourself. After all, it's not like anyone will stop you if you decide you need a day off."

"Kings don't get days off."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," I said, with a smile, "there's one King of my acquaintance who specialises in delegating when he just feels he has to get away."

"Who?" he asked, turning to me in surprise.

"Someone I hope you'll meet one day."

"I suppose I will see what happens."

He turned away, and did a circuit of the room, saying his goodbyes to his friends. Then he pulled on a red leather jerkin, fastened a fur cloak over it, and joined me by the door.

"Coming, Iván?" he asked, and I nodded.

We stepped out into the snow. The City was strangely quiet, and whiteness had settled on the banners which had been hung for the Coronation. Hal and I walked through the streets in companionable silence, our footsteps muffled, but as we walked, he was obviously taking a good look around him. Part of it was presumably because of what had happened earlier that evening - after all, here we didn't have a tavern full of people to bail us out - but I also felt his regret, that he'd probably not have the freedom to just walk through his City after the ceremonies on the morrow.

"How did you heal those men?" he said, finally, once we were between the City and Westminster, "first Andrew of Wigmore, and then Hugo and Ivor. I assume it was some form of magic, but it wasn't one I recognised. It reminded me of the stories in the New Testament: Jesus laying his hands on the sick and injured, and healing them. But from what my grandmother said, you aren't of the Christian tradition"

"It's a knack I have," I answered, "I've developed it in the last thirty years or so, and it has grown more powerful as I've got more practised. I originally thought it was part and parcel of my skill as a ritual magician, but nowadays, I've come to the conclusion that it's something else."

"Such as?"

"I'm my father's seventh son. He was his father's seventh son. So I rather suspect it's something to do with that."

"Back in the yard...you called me Artur. Who is he?"

"He's one of my children. There's a very strong resemblance between you both, although he has my eyes, and you have my father's."

"So he is my uncle? My mother's brother."

"He is."

He stopped in front of me and looked directly at me.

"What brought you back here, grandfather? You've been missing for a long time."

"I'd really stick with Sir Iván, if I were you," I answered, with a chuckle, "especially where anyone else might hear."

"Oh, I have every intention of doing so in polite company," he replied, "after all, this is not the time to be casting any doubts on my own parentage. Although what the prisoner said. A great deal of it was true, and I was not aware it was so well known. But just here, just now, who else is going to know? We're just two comrades walking back to our place of residence. This is as private a conversation as we are ever going to have."

"I don't think it is well known," I answered, "I suspect he was told it by one of my relatives...one who has no love for me and mine. And as for why I'm back, Artur wishes to learn astronomy and astrology, and I thought of Ermanno. Then I realised it had been a very long time since I'd seen him."

"So will you be staying here for a while time? Or are you going to disappear for another forty-five years?"

"That's my intention. Which of course means I'll need to find both somewhere to live for myself and my wife, and some form of gainful employment. And potentially so will my maternal brother and his wife, who are also likely to be coming here."

"Such things can be arranged. There are many manors and palaces that are within my right to grant and, if necessary, positions can be found at Court. The question is, what do you have to offer?"

"Artur is a skilled magician and ritualist, with a flair for discovering information. Edward, my brother, is one of the best generals I've ever met...and I've served with quite a few. He could be very useful to you in that regard. He is also a sorcerer. A battle mage to be specific. So it is possible that either or both of you may be able to instruct you in such things, were you interested."

"I would be very interested."

"How much magical training do you have? You obviously have some, as you have reasonably decent personal wards, and came out of that little fracas without a scrape."

"I am trained as a Keeper, and I also spent some time studying sorcery in France."

"Joan said there was a rumour you were with the French Court."

"I believe there are rather a lot of rumours about me. But as it happens, my teacher was one who had renounced his vows after a disagreement with his Superior, rather than an official member of the Order of the Flame. Still what he taught me had its basis in their rites. And what about you?"

"You've seen my ability to heal and fight. I'm also not a bad commander in my own right - just not as good as Edward. My speciality is small and sneaky. And I'm also a pretty dab hand at information gathering."

"A spy."

"I like to think of myself more as a collector and analyst. Now Artur, he would probably call himself an intelligence operative. And then there's what I learned from Ermanno, and with the Keepers, which I've taken a lot further than when I was here. I'm sure you could find a use for me."

"When will your family be coming here?"

"Probably in the next few weeks. I was intending to stay for a few days, spend some time with your grandmother and Ermanno, and maybe meet your mother properly, and then head back to fetch them."

"So by Midsummer?"

"That seems about right."

"Then I shall consider how best to include you in my Court, and let you know at Midsummer."

"Do you intend to remain as one of the Keepers?"

"I am not sure that I will be able to. Noblemen are allowed their oddities...even Princes can be eccentric. But Kings cannot, as was obvious earlier. However, I will feel happier knowing that they are there to support me. That you will support me."

"You're going to be a great King, Hal."

"We shall see."

He paused a moment, before continuing.

"So who is this other king you know?"

"Actually, I know a surprisingly large number of people who call themselves that, in various different realms. But the one I meant was my father."

"You claim Royal blood?"

"Son of one king, grandson of another. Scion of two very powerful bloodlines, and a Prince in my own right...just not here."

"Did Humphrey de Bohun know that when he made his arrangement with you and my grandmother?"

"Back then, even I didn't know that. But my bloodline isn't anything to be ashamed of, when you're ready, I'll explain why."

Off in the distance, I heard a clock striking two, the bell sounding oddly muffled by the snow.

"And we really need to get back to the Palace. They'll be coming to fetch you to start dressing you soon."

"I know. I just wish this was what I wanted."

"It isn't?"

"In truth, standing here tonight, and given what's ahead of me on the morrow, I know that I would rather have my father alive and well, than sit on his Throne. But it is far too late. I was a stubborn, arrogant fool."

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a Crown."

"I did not understand that when he was still alive, but now I do."

"Let's get back," I answered, "and if you want, I could speed us on our way a bit."

"That might be wise."

So I set about casting a teleport back to near the entrance to the Palace of Westminster.

*   *   *   *   *   *

The following morning I was in the entourage of Joan, Dowager Countess of Hereford, as we filed into Westminster Abbey to take our places. Everyone was standing, and would remain so throughout the service, with the exception of the greatest Magnates of the land. Joan had been given a place near to the Throne, as befitting the grandmother of the soon-to-be King. Mary was seated opposite, still dressed in black, and made a stark contrast to the gaily arrayed nobles around her. Beside her, also in more sombre clothing, were Margaret and a young man with dark hair, who looked to be in his teens, but was belted as a knight. I assumed that was her youngest son, Edmund.

Outside, the blizzard had arrived on cue, just as it was getting light: the previous night's couple of inches had been a foretaste of things to come. I felt somewhat relieved for Hal that he wasn't travelling a great distance to reach the Abbey, although his planned procession through Westminster and into the City was probably going to be unpleasant.

Joan looked beautiful, in a dark blue dress that matched the Garter robes of the great knights of the land, and a cloak of fox fur. She even wore the badge of St George, surrounded in blue, in remembrance of her position as the widow of one of the Company of the Garter. I hadn't had a chance to tell her what had happened the previous evening, and how I'd met our grandson. That could wait until afterwards.

The knights accompanying her, including myself, were wearing her surcoat over our mail and the rich tunics beneath it, fur-trimmed cloaks over our shoulders and blades at our belts. I placed myself at her right shoulder, where I could rest my hand on it if she looked like she needed the support, although I suspect of mother and daughter, it would be Mary who found this day harder. Elsewhere, members of the King's personal household, interspersed with the Garter Knights in their blue mantles, lined the route from the entrance to the empty Throne.

At eleven of the clock, there was a solid knock at the door of the Abbey, and it was opened to admit the Coronation party. In front of Hal, carrying the Sword of State, was his brother Thomas, Duke of Clarence, followed by John of Bedford and Humphrey of Gloucester with the Orb and Sceptre, respectively. All three of them were dressed in their Garter mantles, which contrasted strongly with the red, gold and ermine robe worn by their elder brother. Behind Hal, the Archbishop of Canterbury bore the Crown of England, with a variety of other lords carrying other parts of the Coronation regalia.

As the soon to be King walked up the aisle made by his knights, the other Garter Knights fell in beside him as a guard of honour. Of the four of them, Hal had the strongest Helgram stamp to his features, as evidenced by the fact that I'd mistaken him for Artur. However, it was still noticeable in both Thomas and John, although their hair was a darker chestnut brown, which I think had come from their other grandfather, and both had my hazel eyes. Humphrey, in contrast, looked more like his mother. His complexion was lighter and he had her grey-blue eyes and red hair.

As the procession walked up the aisle, the monks of the Abbey sang psalms and chants. Hal himself, looked older than he had the night before, as if the weight of Kingship was already settling on his shoulders. As he passed us to reach the Throne, Joan surreptitiously reached for my hand, and squeezed it, as we watched our grandchildren with pride.

The Coronation Mass was in Latin, of course, and watching it was fascinating, although I felt a pang that the last time I'd seen a coronation had been the day Audrey died. But when he spoke to his people, his accession speech was in English, and it was obvious that it was a popular gesture. He also declared that within his reign, he would see English, the language of the people, become the language of government. It was a good speech, delivered with a surprisingly self-deprecating humour and a piercing intelligence, and the cheers when he finished seemed genuinely enthusiastic.

As I watched him walking slowly towards the great West Door of the Abbey, once the ceremonies were complete, Crown on his head and carrying the Orb and Sceptre, I found myself wondering if he would ever go back to the tavern and just be himself; or whether he'd take the Shakespearean path and cast off all the 'vulgar company' of his youth.

It would be interesting to see, as the years went by, and I had every intention of being there to see it. What had started as a potential Alternate History project was suddenly so much more...