Lammas night

by Katherine Kurtz

  "Are you sure you're back?" his chief asked, looking closely at his eyes and waving a hand across his vision close on. "Let me see you blink. Gray. Focus on my hand."

  As Selwyn snapped his fingers, Graham blinked several times and gave a cautious nod, still disoriented from settling into his own memories so quickly. The mirror caught his eyes and started to pull him back, and he blinked again.

  The mirror. What was there about the mirror, another mirror?

  "Was that Drake's, by any chance?" he breathed, staring as if he had never seen it before. "I remember something about a mirror, right at the beginning."

  "What do you remember?" Alix asked.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to capture the memory, then looked into the mirror again.

  "I think I had one on my ship," he whispered, halfway back in Drake. "I could see the movements of the enemy ships and hear their captains' orders. I—"

  He raised a hand to his forehead and shook his head, the memory lost. Alix turned and motioned for the brigadier to cover the mirror and take it away. The movement brought Graham back with a snap, the fmal hnk at last severed. He managed a wan smile as his glance flicked over their worried faces: Alix, Selwyn, the brigadier....

  "William?"

  He wrenched around. The prince was poised on the edge of his seat as if he were about to explode, hands gripped tightly along the seat edge to either side. By the look on his face, Graham wondered what had kept him there.

  "It's all right," Graham blurted, "I'm all right."

  He took a deep breath and let it out, willing his momentary apprehension for William to recede. He did not want the prince to see him this way.

  "Wesley, why don't you take our guest outside while I debrief?" he murmured. "He can wait with Richard and Geoffrey if you need to go. William, I'll be with you in a few minutes. We'll talk on the way back."

  "What about the mirror?" William whispered, not moving from the settle. '"Was it Drake's?"

  "I don't know." He glanced at Alix. "Was it?"

  She shook her head. "Not this one, though he was reputed to have a magic mirror aboard his flagship which worked as you described. Had you read about it?"

  "Not that I recall. Besides, we've used this mirror before, haven't we?"

  "Yes. However, before we continue this discussion..."

  She let her voice trail off as she gazed past him at the prince, and Graham nodded.

  "You're right. William, if you'll excuse us, please."

  He tried to stand as the prince rose, but it was too soon for that. Selwyn caught him under one arm as he reeled, and William grabbed his other, but for a moment he feared he might pass out. The episode and his embarrassment were real enough, but they were also convenient. While he supported himself against the edge of the table, only half feigning further dizziness to keep William's attention, the brigadier took care of the door.

  "Sorry. I shouldn't have stood so soon after coming out of deep trance," Graham said apologetically. "It was just a little dizziness. I'm really all right."

  William eyed him somewhat dubiously as he was ushered out, but Graham raised a hand in reassurance and somehow mustered a smile. Hp managed to maintain it until Richard had brought in his clothes and gone out again. Only when the door had closed did he allow himself to slump bonelessly back into the chair, closing his eyes. He heard Selwyn sit down with an indignant snort.

  "All right, what the bloody hell were you trying to do?" his chief said, drumming fingers on the table in annoyance. "Alix, does he do this sort of thing often when I'm away?"

  "No, and I don't know what happened," she replied, pulling up another stool. "We'd only planned to scry for Drake—I thought. Where did you go. Gray?"

  Graham rubbed his face with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else. "I wish to hell I knew. The Drake part was fine. There at the end, though, I seemed to be killing kings—and being killed sometimes. Can someone get me a pencil and paper? I want to write down some names before they slip away."

  He tried not to think until he had scribbled out the list. That part of his trance was hazy, and he wasn't sure he didn't want it to stay that way. When the others had read what he wrote, Alix looked up at him wistfully. Selwyn's expression was unreadable.

  "Well, what did I snare?" Graham asked softly. "Was it a series of dreams or past-life memories or what?"

  "The second, I think," Alix replied. "Look at your list again. Do any of the names mean anything to you now?"

  "Nothing in particular. I suppose I've read about most of them at one time or another, but..."

  As he leaned forward lethargically to pull at the pile of his clothes, Selwyn thrust a restraining hand across his chest.

  "Are you sure you ought to dress yet? You may not be quite settled."

  Graham managed a weak grin as he shook out his trousers and began pulling them on. Both took a lot of effort.

  "I'll be all right. Doing something ordinary helps me ground myself."

  He stood long enough to zip his trousers and pull the robe off over his head, but the exertion seemed to drain him of what little energy he had regained. White-faced, he collapsed back into the chair, the sweater crumpled in his lap.

  "Gray, I've never seen you this disoriented," Alix murmured. "Talk to us! Get yourself focused. Tell us more about the names."

  He blinked and sighed again, then began wearily pulling on the sweater, his voice coming muffled through the wool.

  "Ah, FitzUrse, right off. He was one of the knights who killed Becket, wasn't he?"

  "Yes. Who else?"

  "Ah—William Wallace? That doesn't make sense. He was a Scot."

  "Executed by Edward I, however," Selwyn said. "That may be the connection. An interesting pairing, though: FitzUrse and Wallace, a murderer and a victim."

  "No, slayer and slain," Graham corrected without even thinking. "Slayer of kings and slain for kings am I...."

  Alix looked at him sharply. "What was that?"

  "Si—" Graham stopped in confusion. "What did I say?"

  "Slayer of kings and slain by kings am I," she repeated. "It sounded like you were quoting."

  He shook his head, seized by the words again. "No, not slain by kings; slain for kings. Necator regum sum, et pro regibus necor. A big difference."

  He blinked, then buried his face in his hands and tried to sort it out.

  "God, where did I get all that?" he murmured, suddenly a little scared. "What the bloody hell was I, Alix? Some kind of karmic executioner?"

  "Perhaps, in a sense," Selwyn replied slowly, "but more likely a great deal more than that. It sounds like you've been part of the sacred king cycle: FitzUrse killing Becket for Henry II; Wallace being killed for—Edward?" He cleared his throat nervously. "However, if you've also been Drake and some of the others who have followed after him, then you've been a defender as well." He paused just a beat. "I would think that's your function in this life, based on what we're trying to do."

  "It sounds like you're trying to reassure me that we haven't been talking about a repeat sacrifice this time around," Graham said quietly. "Do you think the memories may be meant to prepare me for that possibility?"

  Selwyn looked very uncomfortable. "We knew that was a remote possibility when we started. I don't see that anything has changed as a result of tonight's working."

  "Let's go on from here," Alix said, circling several names. "I don't see that it serves any purpose to speculate further about Gray's role right now. Gray, you have Tyrrel on your list. Was that Walter Tyrrel, who was connected with William Rufiis?"

  "Rufus? Of course!" Graham sat back in his chair, suddenly remembering the redheaded king of his vision. "That's who it was. For some reason, that one had details."

  When he closed his eyes, the scene came crisp and clear, though this time he was remembering, not reliving it.

  "We were hunting. It was the day after Lammas, in a year sacred for him and the land; he was forty-two, and it was a new cen
tury. He turned and smiled at me as I wound the bolt into my crossbow. He knew. We'd talked about it. He gave me the bolts." His eyes popped open, but he was still seeing it for a moment.

  "I shot him. He fell on the bolt. He was dead before I could reach his side. I remember I wept "

  "You wept here, too," Alix said, gently laying a hand on his as his voice quivered at the ending. "Anything else you can remember about it?"

  He shook his head and began pulling on socks and boots, wanting to give his hands something to do.

  "Nothing else about him," he murmured. "I'd certainly like to know what triggered all the bits that hadn't to do with Drake, though. All these memories about sacrifices—"

  "Let's forget about sacrifices for the moment," Selwyn said gruffly. "What about E>rake? Did you get what you went for?"

  Graham sat back with a sigh and rubbed absently at the space between his eyes. If the possibility of sacrifice made him uneasy, then it must be doubly distressing to Selwyn, who had all but drafted Graham to take his place as man in black—and as sacrifice, if it came to that. For all their sakes, best to get on with Drake, who had merely been a defender. At least the Drake memories were not so threatening.

  "I don't know that I got exactly what we were looking for, but I certainly made a contact," Graham said, forcing himself to put the other out of mind. "I was Drake, by the way—I didn't just pick up information about him. For the first part of it, I was sitting on a hilltop above Plymouth Sound and drumming while the grand coven danced around me and raised the power for the Armada storm. You and the drum were ideal background for that part of it, David. The drum provided the thread which drew the whole first part together." He shivered. "It was even more mystical and powerful than the old tales let on."

  Selwyn smiled for the first time since the scrying ended. "Was Drake the local man in black, then? Is that how he convened the grand coven?"

  "I'm not sure. I think so. I'm going to have to do some more thinking about that. As nearly as I can tell, he appears to have received some kind of mandate directly from Elizabeth. Do either of you happen to know whether she dropped a garter while she was knighting Drake?"

  "A garter? As in Knights of, or witches?" Alix asked.

  Graham shook his head, remembering the purple velvet. "I don't know. Close enough not to make a difference, I suspect. I had the distinct impression he found her far more sympathetic and knowledgeable about the old ways than history paints her. There's some kind of Garter connection, though. Several Garter Knights were in attendance, and the incident seemed to mean something to them. She had Drake pick up the dropped garter, and he kissed it before he gave it back. After that, the Garter Knights saluted him."

  "That's curious," Selwyn said, retrieving Graham's pencil. "Do you remember which Garter Knights? That's easy enough to check."

  Graham closed his eyes, picturing the three men. "Ah— Leicester, Burghley, and Howaixl. That's Charles Howard of Effingham. I had the feeling that I knew him well."

  "Not surprising. He was lord high admiral by the time of the Armada, and probably your boss," Selwyn said. "What you've described seems odd, though. Drake was never a Knight of the Garter."

  "It doesn't sound as if he had to be," Alix said with a raised eyebrow. "Gray, can you give us any other names that could be verified historically?"

  Graham nodded. "Sir Christopher Hatton. He was captain of the Queen's guard. She used his sword. And the French ambassador did the actual knighting. I can't remember his name, but Drake may not have known, either."

  "All right, I can check that, too," Alix replied, chewing on her pencil. "Anyone else?"

  "Not just now." He dropped his head into both hands. "Jesus, my head hurts! It's really just started to hit me."

  "You've been a busy boy," Selwyn muttered, rising to begin massaging the back of Graham's neck and shoulders with both hands. "Come back and sleep aboard my ship tonight and we'll talk more when you've slept. Do you think you're fit to drive?"

  "I'll ask William. I don't think he'll mind."

  "William? My dear chap, colonels don't ask—"

  "This one does," Graham replied, rising shakily and smiling to disarm Selwyn's surprise. "Really, David. It's all right. He used to do it all the time. Besides, it will help take his mind off some of what happened tonight. If I'd known how it was going to go, I'm not sure I would have let him come. We've probably scared him witless."

  "Don't be too sure about that," Alix said, walking with him to the door. "He may surprise you. Ask him about it. I have a feeling he may sense more than meets the eye."

  He wondered what she meant by that, but there was no time for further speculation. Outside the room, he put on a reassuring face for Richard and Geoffrey as he shrugged into the duffle coat his son held, noting vaguely that William was already back in Balaclava helmet and coat, waiting attentively.

  He knew he was preoccupied as he led William back down the stairs and to the car, but somehow he was reluctant to break the silence and sensed the same reluctance in William. Even when the prince had pulled the car back onto the paved road and settled in for the drive back to Plymouth, neither of them said a word.

  Chapter 10

  THEY DROVE IN SILENCE FOR THE FIRST QUARTER HOUR, William at the wheel and Graham with his head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed, bracing himself for a barrage of questions that did not come.

  He wondered why. Though William had always been close-mouthed while actually working on an assignment, it was not like him to keep silent once a tight spot was past and questions could be asked. Certainly Graham did not expect silence after their conversation on the trip out. As he watched William light his second cigarette since their departure, the brief flare of the match illuminated unexpected nervousness and even apprehension. That surprised him even more. As far as he was concerned, the worst of the night was over. Why, then, was William still so edgy?

  "Are you all right?" he finally asked in a low voice. "Is something bothering you about what happened back there?"

  William drew smoke deep into his lungs and exhaled it briskly over his right shoulder, where it dissipated through the partially open window.

  "I could ask you the same question."

  "But you haven't. Why not?"

  "Because I've been waiting for you to jump all over me for not following your orders!" came the terse reply. "Go ahead and get on with it. I deserve it. I was wrong. I admit it."

  Graham quickly skimmed back over the past three hours in his mind and was still puzzled. What was William talking about?

  "I must be too exhausted to follow you. What orders do you mean?"

  "What other orders did you give?" William snapped. "You told me not to move from where you put me. I moved. Selwyn and the lady seemed not to mind," he added defensively.

  Instantly, Graham flashed on the hands drawing him away from the abyss as he fought his way forward from the memory regression: Alix and Dav—bloody damn! So that was it.

  He had assumed the man's hand was David's, but in fact it must have been William's. Yet the feel of it, psychically, had been so solid, so familiar.... Was it possible that he really had known William in another life? Their charts had hinted at it, but he had all but dismissed that before as wishful thinking.

  He remembered glancing back at William on the settle, and the look on his face, and wondering what had kept him there. Now it was clear: nothing had. William must have recognized his distress and rushed to grab his hand before Selwyn could, somehow knowing instinctively how to help Alix pull him back. Why hadn't Alix said something?

  He pressed the heels of both hands over his eyes and tried to think. She had, of course. Her words simply had not penetrated his fatigue. Something about William probably sensing more than meets the eye....

  Well, William had done that, all right—and bloody well, too. A breach of orders, yes, but hardly one to which Graham could take violent exception under the circumstances.

  He glanced at William again, sudd
enly remembering that he had not yet answered the prince's taut self-accusation. The fine hands were clenched white-knuckled on the steering wheel, only barely discernible in the faint illumination from the instrument panel, the tension in the face more sensed than seen. Berating himself for the inexcusable delay, Graham shook his head and reached across to touch the prince's arm in reassurance. William flinched.

  "Jesus, Will, don't jump out of your skin!" Graham breathed. "I'm sorry. I just now reahzed that it was your hand and not Selwyn's—which should tell you something important about whether it seemed right at the time or not." He shifted his gaze out to the darkness ahead of them, watching the narrow headlight beams sweep the road as they went around a curve.

  "Frankly, I'd have to say that you probably did exactly the right thing," he admitted, "though I'd rather not even think about the headache I'd probably have if it hadn't been all right. So I suppose I'll have to forgive you for not following orders this time—but don't let it happen again."

  The falling tension was almost tangible. With an enormous sigh, the prince pulled over and stopped, shoulders slumping in relief as he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel between his hands and took a deep breath.

  "Please don't ever do that to me again, Gray," he whispered, raising his head. "When you didn't say anything for so long, I didn't know what to think. God knows, you'd made a big enough issue about not interfering. I wouldn't blame you if you were sorry you ever let me come."

  "No, I'm not sorry," Graham repUed, suddenly aware that it was true. "Are you?"

  "Good God, no! I'm totally confused, of course—though that can hardly come as a surprise. What happened? I got the impression that things didn't go exactly as planned."

  Graham snorted at the eagerness in the voice. "I'll say one thing in your behalf: you've a bloody marvelous gift for understatement. We'd better keep driving, though, if you feel up to it. To tell the truth, I'm not exactly sure what did happen."