The Two Confessions

by John Whitbourn

  The Two Confessions

  John Whitbourn

  'All is lost. Monks! Monks! Monks!'

  (Dying words of King Henry Tudor 'VIII-and-last')

  Published 2013 by Spark Furnace Books, an imprint of Fabled Lands LLP.

  www.sparkfurnace.com

  The right of John Whitbourn to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted by him in accordance with the United Kingdom Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction and any supposed resemblance to persons living, dead, or in-between is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy, adaptation or transmission of this work may be made in any form with the written permission of the publisher. Any person who violates the Copyright Act in regard to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Copyright © 2013 John Whitbourn

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1909905992

  ISBN-13: 978-1909905993

  ALSO BY JOHN WHITBOURN

  A DANGEROUS ENERGY

  POPES & PHANTOMS

  TO BUILD JERUSALEM

  THE BINSCOMBE TALES: Vol. 1. Sinister Saxon Stories

  THE BINSCOMBE TALES: Vol. 2. Sinister Sutangli Stories

  THE ROYAL CHANGELING

  DOWNS-LORD DAWN

  DOWNS-LORD DAY

  DOWNS-LORD DOOMSDAY

  FRANKENSTEIN’S LEGIONS

  FORTHCOMING

  BABYLONdon

  AMY FAITH & THE STRONGHOLD

  AMY FAITH & THE ENEMY OF CALM

  PRAISE FOR JOHN WHITBOURN

  A DANGEROUS ENERGY

  ‘John Whitbourn’s first novel… is a humdinger. … a terrifying story, marvellously inventive and written with great power and conviction.’

  The Times.

  ‘A work of brilliance. Never was a prize more richly deserved.’

  Starburst magazine.

  POPES & PHANTOMS

  ‘Terrific, cynical fun.’

  The Times.

  THE ROYAL CHANGELING

  ‘This is alternative history/fantasy at its very best – sort of C17th meets the X-Files… An excellent read, well-imagined, intriguingly constructed and extremely well written with a rich vein of underlying humour.’

  Historical Novels Review.

  ‘Alternative history pulled off with panache and no small amount of humour. Whitbourn’s wit is both unforced and splendidly droll.’

  The Daily Express.

  ‘Gutsy, witty and time-twisting.’

  The Daily Telegraph.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JOHN WHITBOURN has had ten novels published since winning the BBC Bookshelf & Victor Gollancz Ltd. 'Fantasy Novel Prize’ with 'A Dangerous Energy' in 1991. Most recently they include his 'Downs-Lord' trilogy concerning the establishment of empire in an alternative, monster-ridden England; and ‘Frankenstein’s Legions’, an extrapolation of Mary Shelley’s classic gothic tale. Whitbourn's works have received favourable reviews in The Times, Telegraph, and Guardian, amongst others.

  A rare press interview with Whitbourn in 2000 was revealingly entitled ‘Confessions of a Counter-Reformation Green Anarcho-Jacobite’.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Honour and gratitude alike dictate that the author acknowledges his mountainous debts to the following:

  Two parents:

  Joan Whitbourn (1917-2000) and Albert Whitbourn (1912-2008).

  ‘We kissed and parted. I humbly hope to meet again, and to part no more.’ (Samuel Johnson, 1767).

  Two writers:

  Dave & Roz Morris.

  Two doctors:

  Dr Amy Faith Ludwin. For cardiology treatment.

  Dr Smudge Whitbourn, PhD (London School of Economics, 2011, £25. ‘Towards a Typology of Libyan Sticks & Squeaky Toys, 1911-2011’). For physiotherapy treatment.

  DEDICATION

  This conclusion of ‘The Pevensey Trilogy’ is dedicated to:

  Miss Caroline Elizabeth Gale.

  And Lucy too.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  THE FIRST CONFESSION

  THE SECOND CONFESSION

  EPILOGUE

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  PROLOGUE

  FOR THE NEWCOMER:

  ‘RANDOM HERALDS OF CHANGE’

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  A TRUE accounting of the order for the Reception & SOLEMN ANOINTING of:

  CHARLES STUART-OGLETHORPE, by Grace of G*D

  CHARLES V

  KING of UNITED ENGLAND, and WALES, and CORNWALL; PROTECTOR of SCOTLAND-SECUNDA, DALRIADA & THE ISLES; PROTECTOR OF MANNIN; PATRON OF THE JAFFA & JERUSALEM CITADELS; DEFENDER OF THE FAITH.

  St GUY'S CATHEDRAL, WESTMINSTER, St Dismas' Day, the 25th day of March, the year of our Salvation in Christ, 2014.

  [Published in both the Latin and English tongues, by Mr Daniel Soutar's Ephemeralia Press, Croydon, Wessex, England. 2½ d. Paper covers ].

  ... the Papal Dragoons and Palatine Musketeers, preceding the King's Own Troop of horse and Chosen Schiltron of Pikemen of the Corporation of London.

  ... As His Majestye processes the nave, the choir will sing:

  Rex et virtutum opifex, pastor bone in populo, sic plauisti Domino.

  [ O King doer of good deeds, O shepherd good to thy people, thus hast thou pleased the Lord ].

  Accompaniment: 'Luther, lift thy eyes from torment.' Trad. arranged Henry Purcell. Schola Cantorum of Westminster and Caer-diff Cathedrals.

  ... Turning left the procession shall then make obeisance to the Blessed Sacrament in the Chapel of Blessed Mary III 'Restorationist'. The familiares, sword-bearers, and Chamberlains of the Noble Secret Antechamber will remain outside, beyond the grille.

  ... When all are in their places before the High Altar and have made full prostration, the Cardinal-Archbishop shall arise and approach the supine King. He will sing:

  Protector noster aspice Deus. [ O G*d, our protector behold ].

  Salvum fact servum tuum. [ Save thy servant ].

  Deus meus sperantem in te. [ Who hopeth in Thee, my G*d ].

  ... [ Cardinal-Archbishop ]: Do you accept the proconsulship of G*d and His Holy Church, to rule under His direction, this land?

  [ King ]: [ I do ].

  [ C-A ]: Do you undertake and avowe before that same G*d and your people, to serve Him and them, to the oblivion of self?

  [ K ]: [ I do ].

  [ C-A ]: Do you spurn heresy and cleave to the narrow gate to salvation?

  [ K ]: [ I do ].

  [ C-A ]: How speak you of those here before: the Tudors-save-Mary?

  [ K ]: [ I abominate their memory forever ].

  [ C-A ]: Have you the power of thaumaturgy?

  [ K ]: [ I have not ].

  [ C-A ]: If such should descend on you, will you declare same and submit yourself to the will of the Church: Universal, Roman & Catholick?

  [ K ]: [ I will ].

  [ C-A ]: Do you renounce the guidance or counsel of sorcerers, save those in the service of Mother Church and licensed by proper authority?

  [ K ]: [ I do ].

  ... the Cardinal-Archbishop will then be handed the fiery-flail, signifying the wrath of G*d, and dissemble the scourging of the King, to show his fate, in this world and the next, should he fail in duty or obedience.

  ... If the Cardinal-Archbishop consents then the King shall arise and a suitable crown shall be placed on his head. His Majestye may then leave the House of G*d...

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  From: 'THE BOOK OF CEREMONIAL MAGIC'

  By Sir Arthur Waite.


  Published London, Auto-da-fé Press, 1911.

  Chapter 36 : 'Social Etiquette for Sorcerers'

  '... in the stubborn souls of the uninstructed, suspicions of the grimmest sort attach still to those whom Almighty G*d has seen fit to gift with the thaumaturgic art. That certain minds are so strong, so capable of self-convincing, that they may mould reality, seems forever unacceptable to many. Vulgar prejudice, proof against all persuasion over the ages, prefers the idea that sorcerers derive their powers from dark forces, holding perpetual communion with them. Or else we are held a sinister brotherhood, biding our time, and conspiring to rule over mundane humanity.

  From these fears came the early persecutions, the terrible murders and tortures, yea even the infanticide of innocent babes, which the great Charlemagne himself was unable to suppress. Happily, Mother Church, of her apostolic kindness, decreed in our favour and the more violent afflictions accordingly ceased. Gathering the angry and bewildered remnants to Rome, She succoured them, making a peace whose fruits we still enjoy. However, it remains my unshakeable opinion that only the sheltering wing of the Holy Catholick Church prevents the bonfires' return.

  In England our cause was aided (after a fashion and in due course) by the reign of King Joseph I, 'the Wizard'. Seen in retrospect, those lively and remarkable years achieved much: for religion, for England and for sweet toleration. And all this from a merry monarch who never departed from his avowed intent 'to enjoy life as much I d*mn well may - and then go to heaven.' He most certainly fulfilled the first, and we may venture reasonable confidence on the second count. Even if he did 'worship the female form' and 'cavort with elves and elementals', as mean-spirited detractors allege, surely our Merciful Father's anger is less roused by such lapses of the flesh, than the more cold-hearted and bloody sins?

  But I digress, prompted by warm feelings for our great benefactor in these Isles. In essence, I say that even in these most favourable times, the Christian wizard should sigh and resign himself to life-long petty discriminations. He (or she) must accept it as mortification for the blessing granted them. Against the sidelong glance, the wounding remark, they can turn the other cheek and earn grace thereby. Knowledge of the deadly retribution available by curse or spell only makes our forbearance the more commendable....

  A.W.

  London, Bognor, Jaffa. 1902-10.

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  'On this field once stood 'THE TOWER OF LONDON', of hideous memory & a place of horror to all English-folk. Founded by William 'the Conqueror' as a stronghold & symbol of the Norman Yoke, successive monarchs herein incarcerated, tortured & murdered their enemies, oft-times innocent patriots or hapless barriers to their gross ambitions. Foremost in the catalogue of iniquities witnessed by this soil are Henry First-Tudor's infanticide of the young 'Princes in the Tower', & the numberless martyrdoms of the ‘Reformation-Devastation’ period. Waxen-mannequin cameos of these despicable deeds may be seen in the Chamber of Horrors attached to the 'Chapel of Perpetual Lamentation', Seething Lane.

  Briefly taken and partly slighted, its myriad prisoners released, in the fleeting but glorious days of the 'Gunpowder Plot', The Tower was then the blood-drenched, beleaguered citadel of 'King Essex' and other crazed schismatics. Its entire razing was ordered by King James the True in 1688.

  St Richard Challoner, Archbishop of Canterbury, decreed that no successor structure ever be erected on this site, so that it might be henceforth given over as silent witness to the wickedness of history-makers and the sure eventual triumph of G*D.

  These beautiful grounds and gardens are maintained by the brothers of the Crutched Friars, Fenchurch Street, and a 300 day indulgence (usual conditions) is granted to anyone donating one quarter the contents of their loose change purse - as they may truly find it upon the notion - into the sealed box below.'

  This plaque was unveiled in the presence of His Royal Highness, Guy, Prince of Wales, under the auspices of ÐA ENGLSICAN GESIÐAS Society. The 23rd day of March, the year of our Deliverance 1958.

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  'Notes Towards an Inventory of the Collection of the Royal Stuart National Portrait Gallery: for the reference of scholars, and the enlightenment of visiting quality and the better-educated degree of yeomen.'

  By Fr. Brian Sewell, O.S.B. Curator. 3rd edition. 2s/6d. 1981.

  '... it is indeed salutary to note that not a single undefaced depiction of 'Henry VIII-and-last' survives in our possession. One, unmistakably of his porcine form, even has the visage of St Guy angrily daubed over the original head! The overall effect is unedifying and I hasten to forestall morbid curiosity by saying this quasi-laudable revenge is not for general view.

  In the same manner, few likenesses of Elizabeth I remain without expressions of disgust, conveyed in paint or blade; potent reminders of the powerful emotions roused by her brief reign and the forces she unleashed - but proved unable to control.

  At times, I survey these mutilated works of art, many of them sublime expressions aside from their rebarbative subjects, and ponder the wisdom of repair. Should, for instance, Holbein's or Van Dyke's oeuvre forever be impoverished by an unhappy choice of patron? Art, which is only the dimmest echo of G*d's whispering in our ears, answers 'surely not!'

  But then I recall history, and in my mind's eye see Abbott Whiting dragged on a hurdle to be hung, drawn and quartered on Glastonbury Tor; I hear the pleas of soon-to-be widows and orphans fall upon 'Black Betty's deaf ears; and smell roasted flesh from Edward's hecatombs at Smithfield. After which I turn again to the wounded pictures and tell them 'so shall ye stay'....’

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  THE FIRST CONFESSION

  'For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth:

  And though after worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.'

  The Book of Job. Chapter 19, verses 25 - 26.

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  ‘Harden Not Your Hearts.’

  Psalm 95.

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  THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2037

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  CHAPTER 1

  For several days there had been no messages; no invitations, threats or pleas. That was a mercy, a rare holiday from relentless pressure. He realised how hard his guardians strove, and at what cost, to block every approach and was duly grateful for it. Nor did he blame them for the frequent failures, knowing the enemy was implacable.

  Then their agents must have found another way in, suborned a brother, forced illicit entry or else employed fresh sorcerous tricks. When he dragged himself from bed to early prayers in the chapel the old man found a scrawled note tucked into the pages of his missal. In seeking the 'proper of the day' it was liberated from concealment and slipped to the floor. He was happy for it to stay there. His name adorned the front and that was sufficient. They generally wrote in blood (though not their own) and he'd no wish to soil himself with such sordidness. The words might vary but the general sentiments did not, and he knew all they had to say.

  Sadly, his monk-bodyguards saw fit to retrieve and read the thing, and then pass it on with eloquent expressions of disgust. Unable to afford any lapse from virtue, courtesy obliged the old man to accept delivery.

  'Come forth' it said, as always. 'Leave the old god's house and lead us!'

  So that was another opportunity for saving prayer lost. They'd succeeded in distracting him.

  The letter was disposed of and in due course the brothers arrived for the service of prime. The old man said the responses but his attention was divided. Part of him considered the ravenous and watchful ones outside. They were probably close enough to hear the plainchant.

  After breaking his fast, he sat alone in the library, too aged and feeble and threatened to join in with community labour in the priory’s grounds. Basking in
sunshine in a window seat he deluded himself he was studying St Richard Challoner's 'Lives of the Lewes Martyrs'. Then it started to rain.

  It began as heavy droplets, impacting against the diamond-pane glass. They came in slow but steady succession, like the drumming of impatient fingers. Gradually the pace increased, imparting more urgency to the sound. He was caused to look up and thus note this was no shower from heaven. Each incoming speck arrived with venom, akin to spittle flung into a hated face. Each expired in a puff of corroded glass. Within a minute or so the window was pockmarked with tiny craters.

  The old man tottered over to the library rope-pull and raised the alarm. Soon a group of monks arrived to splash the panes with holy water and erect the specially prepared steel shutters. One of the team of Rome-wizards now permanently stationed at the priory supervised. He frowned at the attempted incursion, whilst reinforcing the warding spells round the window frames. All the chalk and wax symbols were painstakingly checked.