by Sandra Heath
Alauda called out urgently to him. “Don’t pay her any heed, Falk! She’s trying to trick you!”
Marigold smiled, and snapped her fingers to make Rowan’s fetches disappear again. “It’s quite a trick, Alauda, you should try it some time,” she said, and was gratified by the hate-filled look Alauda directed at her.
Marigold gazed at Rowan. “Is it not a trick, my darling?” she said softly, and saw by his answering smile that he was aware of what had happened during the night. She felt stronger than ever as she returned her attention to Falk.
“The truth is all there in history, Falk. A baby boy was lord for a month, which means Rowan’s father was the thirteenth and supposedly last Lord Avenbury. You’re a generation too late, and Jennifer Avenbury can never be yours now.” She held her ground as more shafts of lightning flashed from his anguinum to hers, she even laughed with scorn. “Pretty lights are all you amount to now, for you’ve even failed to disprove my first marriage. You burned the wrong church!”
The dance became even slower, and one by one the revolving stones began to slip back into their places. The druids were gradually lowered to the grass once more, and their chanting ceased. The wind died away to nothing.
“You lie!” Falk’s voice rose to a shriek as he saw his great plan coming to nothing before his eyes.
“Behold your famous wheel! It no longer turns for you!” she taunted.
“I warned that I would punish you for interfering, and so I will!” he cried, turning toward Rowan, but as he raised the sickle-topped staff, Perry suddenly swooped out of the brilliance of the rising sun to snatch Falk’s anguinum with his vicious talons. Falk cried out with dismay, but there was nothing he could do except watch the peregrine fly away with the amulet.
Alauda ran forward, unable to believe that all the months of preparation were to prove of no avail. She caught her brother by the arm, and shook him bitterly. “Don’t lose your nerve now! You are Aquila Randol, the greatest druid that ever lived!”
Marigold suddenly realized that Bysshe had also disobeyed her, for the moment Alauda had distracted Falk, the boy ran to the oak from his hiding place by the brambles. He seized the white cloth and mistletoe from the grass, and then tried to wrench the staff from Falk’s hand, but he was grabbed by Alauda. With angry cries, the other druids closed in to deal with the brave but reckless boy.
Almost demented with disbelief that all this could be happening, Falk again raised the staff to strike Rowan with the sickle, but then a huge flock of waterfowl dove down from the sky, led by Sir Francis, whose furious quacking could be heard above all the others. The druids scattered as they tried to beat off the aerial army, and in the process they released Bysshe, who escaped with the cloth and mistletoe.
Alauda screamed hysterically as the two swans she’d driven from the Romans jetty alighted on the grass in front of her. They’d recognized her immediately, and were now intent upon revenge. They spread their enormous wings, then hissed menacingly as they pursued her toward the moat, where the eerie blue flames still hovered.
As soon as the other birds arrived, Robin darted upon Falk, treating his gleaming pate to such a barrage of pecks that Falk fought desperately to drive him away with one hand, the other being occupied with the staff. His mistletoe crown was dislodged, and fell forward over his nose, but still Robin kept up his attack, and eventually Falk had to drop the staff in an effort to defend himself with both hands.
At this point Sir Francis joined in, clamping his bill onto Falk’s nose, and holding on for all he was worth. What a splendid pair of candle snuffers was a mallard’s bill, thought Marigold, as she ran to retrieve the staff. In a moment she’d hacked through the ropes holding Rowan, then she was in his arms, and his lips had found hers in a kiss more sweet and poignant than could ever have been imagined.
Falk now knew it was all up, and all he could do now was try to save himself, and his devotees. He managed to beat off Sir Francis, savagely dashing the mallard to the ground, then he raised both his hands and cried out in the same ancient tongue as before.
Lightning flashed, and there was a roar of thunder from a sky that was empty of clouds, but although Falk did indeed still possess some powers, they were no longer quite what he or his followers would have wished. Somehow Taranis’s original magic became confused, and instead of escaping by changing into the birds of their names, the druids became mere flightless chickens! Old English Whites, to be precise.
Falk was easy enough to pick out among them, for he still had the torque around his neck, and his head remained bald except for the remnants of the mistletoe crown. Mr. Crowe, clucking in dismay, hobbled hither and thither, causing more confusion than ever as he got in the others’ way. A very wet and bedraggled Alauda scrambled up from the moat, and ran to join them all. She was draped with slimy green weed, and was in such a state of hysteria that her squawks were piercing.
At first they were all so panic-stricken that they ran in all directions, but at last they had the wit to unite, then Falk marshaled them with a loud cry, and they all ran flapping toward the house. Sir Francis’s aerial army pursued them relentlessly.
With the vanquishing of Falk’s power, the servants had returned to their normal selves, but hardly had they time to glance at each other in amazement at what had happened to them, than the incredible chase hurtled through the garden toward them.
Mrs. Spindle screamed with fright, and picked up her skirts to run into the kitchen. She was followed by the others, but as they started to close the door, the desperate chickens streamed noisily through the gap. Soon after that there were feathers everywhere as Mrs. Spindle recovered from her fright, and picked up her meat cleaver.
With the cook in hot pursuit, Falk and his companions fled through every floor of the house, but gradually the chickens seemed to disappear. At least, that was what Mrs. Spindle thought, but the truth was that they’d obeyed another of Falk’s orders, and were now huddled in the darkest corner of the attic, wondering how everything could have gone so utterly wrong.
The waterfowl wheeled about and flew swiftly back to the common, where poor Sir Francis still lay where Falk had dashed him. The huge flock of birds glided to the grass, and moved concernedly near to see if Sir Francis was all right.
Marigold knelt beside the fallen mallard, and gasped as he changed into a man of Henry VIII’s time. Somehow he seemed familiar, although she did not know why. He was quietly handsome, with tawny hair and a pointed beard, and he wore a single pendant earring. There was a rich lace ruff around his throat, his doublet was turquoise slashed with gold, and his hose were gray. His eyes were closed.
Rowan leaned over to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “So, the name Sir Francis was appropriate after all. This is my ancestor, the first Lord Avenbury. I recognize him from his portrait in the great hall.”
The man stirred, and opened his eyes. He gazed up at Rowan. “How now, Lord Avenbury,” he said with a wry smile.
“How now indeed, Lord Avenbury,” Rowan replied, smiling back and then holding out his hand.
The first Lord Avenbury struggled to his feet, then immediately turned toward his sister, who was still quite frozen. “Oh, Jennifer, Jennifer, you’re safe from Randol at last,” he said, going to embrace her. She remained stiff and unresponsive in his arms, but they knew that she heard and understood everything.
Marigold’s immediate thought was to release Jenny from this new imprisonment, but as she raised the anguinum, Lord Avenbury turned with a dismayed cry. “No!”
“But—”
“No one can ever be enchanted more than four times. Jenny was turned from woman to wren, then from wren to woman, then she was frozen. If you bring her to life as a woman, she will never be able to be a wren again, and that is what she really wants.”
She was taken aback. “I don’t understand. I thought she and Robin wanted to be together again as they once were.”
“No, they want to remain birds. Marigold, of Jenny, Robin, mysel
f, and your son, only Robin is in the form he desires.” As he spoke, Robin fluttered to his shoulder and chirruped agreement. Lord Avenbury smiled at the little bird, then went on. “Your son wishes to be a boy again, and we wish to be birds, because we are content with our feathered eternity, indeed I am most happy indeed as a mallard, even a demon one.”
As he said this, he turned to smile at Bysshe, who had come to join them with Perry on his wrist. On seeing the falcon, the assembled waterfowl backed uneasily away, for no bird of prey was ever to be trusted.
Bysshe grinned sheepishly. “We really thought you were a demon, sir.”
“After my initial disarray, it amused me to behave like one,” Lord Avenbury admitted, then looked at Marigold again. “My life as a drake contains everything I could wish, for my wife and baby son are with me.”
“Really?” Marigold was pleased. “But why have you never brought them to show us?”
“They’re shy, but maybe now all this is done with, they will accompany me to see you. Provided, of course, you first return me to my desired form.” He said this last in a tone of gentle persuasion.
Rowan put his arm around Marigold’s waist. “If that is what they all want, my darling, then that is what you must do for them.”
She glanced down at the scarlet ball in her hand. It was still glowing, and its energy still tingled through her. “But there are things I must ask.” She looked at Lord Avenbury. “Why did you become a mallard? Did Aquila do it?”
“No. There was a very wise druid seer here at Avenbury, who fell foul of Randol and was banished. This seer had the power too, and when I lay dying, he was able to see that I became one of the eternal birds. As my life slipped away, I was to become the first bird that was heard. It happened to be a mallard from the lake here. That’s why my wife and child are also mallards, for I made absolutely certain that I was the first bird they’d hear!” He smiled.
She smiled too. “How very sensible of you, sir.”
“I can be, even if as a drake I sometimes seem less sensible than irritating.” He became more serious. “I owe you my life, for if you hadn’t saved me from Mrs. Spindle ...”
“You owe me nothing, sir, because I am now in your debt.”
“Hardly.”
“Then let us agree to hold each other in high esteem.” She laughed a little. “Mind you, I didn’t think you were all that estimable when I first saw—and heard!—you at Dr. Bethel’s house.”
“I was splendidly noisy, wasn’t I?” he replied. “The reason was my annoyance that my delight at having used the boys’ demonic circle to ‘arrive’ was ruined by the indignities heaped upon my person.”
“You certainly registered your protests.”
“Well, a drake has to speak up for himself,” he said with a grin. “Anyway, I imposed upon Perry and Bysshe because I needed to be involved in what was to come, and I’d spied upon them enough to know they’d move heaven and earth to come here once they learned of your intention to take ‘doomed’ Lord Avenbury as your second husband.”
As Bysshe shuffled embarrassedly, and Perry gazed pointedly in another direction, Jenny’s brother continued. “Before I made my presence known in Eton, I’d been in frequent contact with Jenny and Robin, for we were all three aware of what must happen this year. We knew about your as yet undiscovered power, and about Rowan being the fourteenth not thirteenth lord, but unless you discovered both things, Randol’s scheme would have succeeded.”
“It’s of no consequence, I know, but I really would like to know why you left it to the eleventh hour to properly indicate which portrait I was supposed to look at. I know you went close to it before, but if you’d only told me sooner—”
He interrupted. “Time was ticking away, and I was afraid for poor Jenny.” He looked lovingly at his beautiful sister again. “For her sake I decided to make certain you considered the correct portrait. Fortunately it did no harm, on the contrary it achieved what was necessary.”
“But who decreed that I had to finally act alone? There isn’t anything in the legend, is there?”
Instead of answering straightaway, he looked up at the mistletoe. Although the sun was almost up now, the rotation of the earth was beginning to cast the shadow of the escarpment over it. Several sprays were still bathed in dawn rays, however, and Marigold thought he seemed relieved that this was so. She glanced at the bright green-gold sunlit leaves amid the darker foliage of the oak. It was like the tree’s heart, indeed, maybe that was exactly what it was. She cleared her throat a little. “My lord?” she prompted.
His attention swung back to her. “Forgive me, my dear, you asked a question, did you not? No, your crucial role isn’t in the legend, but it is indicated in my sister’s portrait, which happens to have been painted by the druid seer I mentioned earlier. He predicted that our salvation would come from the marigold, which is why he painted so many of your flowers into the portrait. He painted rowan leaves because he knew that tree would prove to be Aquila’s stumbling block, and the wheel lies useless in the grass because he knew it could be prevented from turning. He also foresaw that the birds of the lake would help to finally prevent Aquila’s victory. There are other things in the portrait as well, but right now I cannot remember them.”
He glanced up at the mistletoe again. “You must help us quickly now, my dear, for if the sun’s rays leave the mistletoe, it will be too late.”
At this, Perry shuffled alarmedly on Bysshe’s wrist, and gave one of his thin shrieks. His fear of remaining as he was forever was almost palpable, so he directed the cry at Marigold. It was an imploring sound that cut through her like a knife, and she knew she dared not delay. Her gaze moved wistfully to Jenny, with whom she felt such affinity. It would have been so good to use the anguinum to bring her to life once more, and just talk to her, but there was no time; the anguinum had to be used to another end.
Clutching the amulet, Marigold closed her eyes, and concentrated. She felt energy flowing into her, and asked aloud for everyone present be granted their wish. But instead of English, she heard herself speaking in the same ancient tongue that Falk had used earlier. An absolute silence followed, and she was afraid to open her eyes because she thought she’d failed, but Rowan’s arm tightened reassuringly around her. “You can look now, my lady,” he said softly.
Then Perry cried out jubilantly. “Mama! Oh, Mama, you’ve done it!”
Her eyes flew open as he ran to hug her, and she could have wept for joy that he was as strong and handsome as before. She held him close, and then looked up to see her three bird friends, Jenny Wren, Robin Redbreast, and Sir Francis, flying happy and free in the morning sunshine.
Suddenly the assembled army of waterfowl rose noisily from the grass, filling the early morning air with cries as they wheeled above the common. The unnatural new trees had disappeared from the village, which was now fully awake. People had emerged from their homes, and were going about their business as if nothing had happened, which indeed, as far as they were concerned, was the case. It was just an ordinary day, except that tonight there would be dancing and amusements on the common.
The great multitude of birds streamed noisily away toward the lake, led by Sir Francis, whose loud quacks could be heard above the general clamor. Robin and Jenny remained, and alighted on a branch of the oak. Jenny gazed brightly down at Marigold. “Thank you, Marigold, thank you so much,” she said.
Tears filled Marigold’s eyes. “You will come to me again, won’t you? We’ve shared so much, and I feel so close to you both, yet we haven’t had time to talk. I so long to know you better.”
“We would like to know you too. We will come,” the wren promised, then she and her robin lover flew away.
* * *
Marigold and Rowan lay naked in each other’s arms. The bed was scented with lavender, and the early evening sunshine warm and hazy. They could hear music on the common, as the villagers celebrated midsummer day. Everything was quite perfect. Rowan leaned over her, cupping he
r breast with his hand. “I adore you with all my heart, Lady Avenbury,” he whispered.
“And I adore you,” she whispered back.
He hesitated. “Marigold, about what happened at Romans with Alauda—”
She put a finger briefly to his lips. “There is no need to say anything, for I know you were under Falk’s control.”
“But I was unfaithful, my darling,” he whispered.
“I don’t see it in that light.”
“I was aware of what was happening, but I didn’t seem to care. I even knew I was to be the sacrifice this morning, yet nothing seemed to matter. I was spellbound, I suppose.”
He took one of her heavy red-gold tresses in his hand, and parted the strands. “They spoke quite openly in front of me, you know. When Alauda sent that note trying to prevent me from leaving, she was going to deliver me into Falk’s hands then. I’d ruined their original plan, you see. She’d wanted to spend time here with me, but my sudden marriage put a stop to that. If I’d been under their control here in this house, no one would have remarked anything untoward. As it was, they had to keep me at Romans, and you know what a stir that caused!”
“Your good name has suffered considerably,” she admitted, thinking of the servants and villagers.
“I will do all I can to redeem myself.”
“If that entails being very agreeable and attentive to your wronged wife, she will not complain,” Marigold said softly, then she looked inquiringly at him. “Now that our little flock of chickens have been found in the attic, what do you intend to do with them?”
“I’m tempted to hand them over to Mrs. Spindle, but I can’t quite bring myself to that point. Actually, I thought I’d send them to Salisbury market. They should fetch a good price.”
“Speaking of fetches ...”
He smiled down into her green eyes. “You made very fast and loose with my person, madam.”
“Did you like the experience?”
“Very much.”
“I’m so glad you knew it was happening.”
