Lammas night

by Katherine Kurtz

  "She's almost full tonight, isn't she?" His tone was light, but Graham caught the brittle edge to the real reason for the question.

  "Yes, one more day," he said quietly, watching the royal silhouette against the fires burning all around the city.

  William nodded slowly and sipped at his drink, savoring the civilized moment amid the chaos of war, then raised his glass a second time.

  "Let's drink a toast to the King's health, shall we?"

  As Graham touched his glass lightly to William's, the chime of the crystal cut through all artifice.

  "Let's drink to both kings," he replied.

  William tensed for just an instant, hand clenching around the faceted stem of the glass, then bobbed his head in agreement and drank blindly. After a moment, he turned his face slightly toward Graham again, though he would not meet his eyes.

  "It is tomorrow, isn't it?" William whispered. "Don't tell me details. Just answer yes or no."

  Graham swallowed a mouthful of brandy, which had suddenly lost all taste, and allowed the prince a sparse nod.

  "Yes."

  "I thought it would be," William breathed, glancing at his glass. "The news has been too grim for the past week. And then Winston's speech about Armada times and Napoleon. I knew it had to be before the moon waned, too."

  "It wouldn't have to be, but yes, that was a consideration." Graham swirled his drink and stared into the fire-lit gold. The crystal was Waterford and far too civilized for such a moment.

  "It still isn't too late to call it off, you know, if you've changed your mind," he ventured when William did not seem inclined to speak—though he knew the hope was futile. "We don't know that the sacrifice will make a difference."

  "Don't we?"

  With a strained smile, William turned and sank to a sitting position against the wall of the balcony, oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking on his dress uniform.

  "Sit," he said, patting the cement beside him. "Let me tell you what I remember, and then you tell me if you don't think it will make a difference."

  A bomb screamed overhead, thumping into a building in the next block and raining fine debris almost as far as their balcony. Graham ducked and shielded his head with one arm as he dropped to a crouch beside William.

  "Are you crazy? We're going to be killed if we stay out here much longer! At least let's go inside to talk."

  "Nope. This isn't how I'm supposed to die. I should think that's quite clear by now. It can't be your time, either, since you have to stick around for me. Sit dov.'n."

  If Graham believed in what they were doing, then he supposed the logic did make an odd kind of sense, though he was not sure it held for his own safety, since his part had already been done. Nonetheless, he edged a little closer to William and obeyed. The prince stretched out his legs straight in front of him, head resting easily against the concrete wall behind him, and ran a thumb along the rim of his half-filled glass as Graham settled.

  "There was sunlight that other time, not the light of a burning city," William fmally said, holding up his glass and letting his eyes focus on and slightly through it. "Do you remember? We had dined then, too. You wore a scarlet tunic. You knew what I had asked."

  As William turned his glass slightly in the light of the fires and explosions, Graham put his own aside and focused on the glint of the cut crystal, catching his breath as he felt himself drawn into that other life, other mind, other time. He let it happen, seeing the fire flashes of the crystal facets turn to jewels on gold, watching as the cup went to the King's lips and he drank deeply of it. He flinched as William put the cup into his hand, seeing beyond the goblet's rim a florid face with redder hair superimposed on William's.

  "Drink thou of the cup. I would not have it pass," the sacred king murmured. "Canst thou not recall the good times between us? Who better should I ask to do me this last service?"

  The memory was poignant, familiar, the conversation one that had haunted Graham through many lives—the seal of duty set upon one whom the fates knew strong enough to bear the burden without breaking, though it did not make the sadness any less in the final hours.

  Cup in hand, Graham let the memory run, then gave his head a little shake and drained the goblet to the dregs. The fiery gold burned his throat far more than wine had done that other time, and he coughed once as he set the empty glass upside-down on the cement next to his own, covering his face with his hands.

  "Let be, Wat," William whispered. "I know 'tis not an easy burden to accept, but thou knowest the law. For this was I chosen long ago. The cycle must be observed. The succession shall pass in orderly fashion. I have made all the arrangements. Wouldst have some other hand less loving strike the sacred blow?"

  Graham heard himself whisper, "No," for all that the prince was saying was as true in the here and now as it had been in that other life more than eight hundred years before. A sacred king was observing the sacred cycle, a willing sacrifice to ensure the survival of the land. The succession would be assured, at least for a time. Nor would this king find a more loving hand to serve him in this hour of need.

  Greater love hath no man....

  He raised his head and leaned it calmly against the wall to gaze back at the King in the semidarkness, a great peace filling his soul.

  "I recognize the honor you do me, Lord," he heard himself say, echoing that other man's words so many years before, "and my hand shall not falter when the time comes. It is my mortal heart which aches, heavy in my breast, for I shall miss you. The slayer goes not with the slain."

  "Alas, no."

  There had been arrows before, Graham suddenly remembered. No—crossbow quarrels. He flashed on a later memory: of putting nock to string and cranking back a crossbow screw. There would be no arrows tonKjrrow or crossbows or even the sword that had served them both in yet another time and place, but the words they exchanged were fitting. He watched William glance at the cement between them, making the mental adjustment, and he knew what would come next.

  'To the best shot must go the finest arrows," the prince said slowly, almost by rote. "I hope that two will be more than sufficient, for I have no more love of suffering than the next man." His eyes sought Graham's in silent plea. "I rely on thee to do the job with dispatch. This—role of God does not come easily, in its ending."

  Cold inside, Graham gazed long into the eyes of the two Williams, seeing the device he had installed in the belly of the Sunderland mirrored there. Then he eased roughly to his knees and took one of the royal hands, kissed it in homage, held it clasped in both of his in comfort.

  "I shall not fail you, my liege. Only, let us speak no more of this until we must again. I promise, you shall not suffer," he added softly.

  With a shudder, William closed his eyes and nodded, then sighed and looked up again. This time, there was only one William looking back, and Graham, in a blink, shed his other self as well. Smiling more easily now, he released the royal hand and retrieved the upturned glass along with his own.

  "More Napoleon, my prince?" he asked, ducking instinctively as a burning Domier screamed past and crashed nearby. "And why don't we go inside? We may well be indestructible tonight, but I think my sitting room is a far more comfortable place to celebrate our godhood."

  William grinned at that and let himself be helped to his feet and ushered inside. They finished the bottle that night and stayed awake, talking, until dawn brought respite, at least from the bombing.

  Chapter 26

  THE MORNING WAS OVERCAST, WITH RAIN AND LOW cloud mercifully misting the still-smoking London skyline, matching their mood. They drank strong, steaming cups of Denton's tea while Graham changed from mess dress to service uniform. William seemed a little surprised at the voluntary donning of proper dress, but Graham could tell that he was pleased even though he did not comment. After that, Denton drove them to the Palace so William could bathe and change before leaving on his Welsh tour.

  Graham lounged in the royal sitting room and made small talk with F
lynn and several other officers while he waited for the prince to finish his toilette, feeling the effects of the sleepless night. He had no stomach for the breakfast a butler offered all around. Half an hour later, an immaculately turned out William emerged in his customary service dress uniform. Uniforms of other services in which William held rank were packed in the valises that Griffin snapped shut on the bed, for many varied activities were planned for the prince's stay in Wales, but Graham knew that this was one time when Griffin's efficiency would never matter. He was silent as he led William down to the waiting Bentley again, Rynn and Griffin following with a footman and the luggage.

  Griffin alone, of the five going on to Calshot, had no inkling of the true tenor of the day. They had tried to contrive an excuse not to bring him, but there was no reason they could find that would not have aroused later suspicion, at least on Griffin's part. Royal dukes did not travel overnight without their valets, and Griffin had been the prince's man since William was old enough to have a valet of his own. He had served the Royal Family all his adult life and had no other kin. Kindest, by far, to let him come.

  But for his sake and for other reasons, no one said much on the drive to Southampton. Nothing more really needed to be said. William yawned pointedly several times at the beginning and laughingly blamed his seeming lethargy on the late hours he and Graham had kept the night before and the excellent bottle of brandy they had sacrificed in the cause of princely amusement. Then he appeared to doze, though Graham was certain he was doing no such thing. Sitting there at William's side, so close and yet so far away, Graham wondered whether the prince was remembering another drive nearly three months before when the two of them had made a shorter trip from Plymouth to Buckland. Even then, life had seemed far simpler.

  They arrived at RAF Calshot all too soon, pulling up on the tarmac near the end of the quay just at noon, right on time. A guard of honor came smartly to present arms as the car stopped. Denton and Flynn made a brisk show of opening doors and seeing the luggage taken down to the waiting motor launch with Griffin. A hundred yards out from the end of the quay, the Sunderland rode its moorings like a motley, captive swan in the light chop, straining for flight already, unaware of the death it carried in its belly.

  As the guard of honour ordered arms and their officer started toward the prince, William signaled Flynn to go ahead and turned back to Graham, standing attentively beside one open rear door. A gentle mist was falling, but the accompanying breeze was quite warm for September. The prince's face was serene in the shadow of his cap visor, the ribbons of his orders and medals bright splashes of color against his breast. The blue of his Garter ribbon seemed brightest of all.

  "I'd rather you stayed with the car if you don't mind," he said quietly. "I don't think I could stand a public good-by at the dock."

  "Nor I," Graham murmured, trying to keep on a brave face for all their sakes.

  He started to make a proper, formal bow, mindful of curious eyes upon them, as was always the case when Willaim appeared in pubbc; but then William gripped his hand in that familiar, intimate clasp of one hand between his two, grinning broadly, his smile like the sun, which chose that moment to emerge from behind the clouds. Graham thought it was probably the most courageous thing he had ever seen William do.

  "Not all that formal, my friend, after all we've been through together," the prince said softly, looking him straight in the eyes. "Good-bye, Gray."

  To those watching, Graham's bow over their joined hands might have been simply an elaboration of the bow he had begun before. Surely no one besides the two of them heard Graham's whispered "Good-bye, William" or caught the added significance when Graham fleetingly slipped the fingers of his other hand between William's just before they drew apart.

  "God bless, sir," Graham said more formally, stepping back a pace to render precise salute to the prince more than to the man.

  Then William smiled and walked briskly toward the guard of honor, Flynn falling into place behind him. pausing to take the officer's salute before moving more slowly between their two lines in inspection. As was his wont, he paused occasionally to speak to one or another of the men, exercising that special charm that had always been so much his trademark. Graham was reminded of at least a dozen other leave-takings and tried to convince himself that this one was no different from any of them as William concluded his inspection and headed down the quay.

  But as Graham watched William and his party board the motor launch, the Duke of Clarence's personal standard being broken as the prince himself stepped aboard, he was startled to find Ellis at his elbow. The old man wore a service uniform under his British Warm, with a pair of field glasses slung around his neck, but he shook his nead when Graham would have spoken, drawing himself to respectful attention as the two of them watched William's launch punch its way through the swells toward the waiting Sunderiand. When it was nearly there, Ellis sighed and took off the field glasses, resting them on the car's window frame between him and Graham.

  "As I promised you, the crew are all volunteers," Ellis said quietly, though his voice sounded strained. "Each one is of the old faith—families whose names you'd recognize. They feel privileged to be accomi>anying His Royal Highness on this flight."

  Graham stared at the field glasses for a few seconds, not fathoming the reason Ellis was offering them—or why he was even here—then snatched them and jammed them to his eyes, suddenly afraid he knew exactly why. The launch was still a dozen yards from the flying boat, so he had an unobstructed view of the doorway and the officers waiting there to greet the prince. He recognized Geoffrey first, by his red hair, and then his son.

  "Richard!" he breathed. "My God, no!"

  As he lowered the glasses, sick with shock and anger, he saw that the old man's hands were clenched white-knuckled around the top of the window frame. Abruptly, it hit him that the brigadier's grief could be no less than his own despite the disciplined expression he wore for the benefit of anyone who chanced to look at them. Even were it not for William, both Richard and Geoffrey were beloved grandsons.

  The realization deflated his own horror, and he could only take stunned example from the brigadier's outward calm, numbly schooling his own expression to one of only ordinary interest.

  "I have to ask why, Wesley," he murmured, when he had found his voice again, though he knew at least part of the answer already. The conversation he had with Richard before the Lammas working came back to haunt him.

  "I love him, too" Richard had said. And Graham had asked him to serve the prince as he himself had always tried to do.

  "They would have it no other way. Din" Ellis said in a very low voice, using Graham's magical name to underline the gravity of what he was saying. "I tried to talk them out of it, but they insisted. Richard understood the link between you and William. He was concerned that the link might not be direct enough between you and—the device—so he volunteered to be the pilot. He's your son and a part of you. It will be his hands on the controls when the boat starts climbing over Wales."

  "But I'm responsible, not—You should have told me!" Graham whispered fiercely. "He doesn't have to do this. And Geoffrey—why Geoffrey!"

  "I didn't tell you because they made me promise not to," Ellis replied. "And Geoffrey goes where Richard goes. You know that. They've been that way since childhood."

  "That isn't a reason to die!"

  "Perhaps you're right." Ellis sighed. "As for the ultimate why—well, I suppose we just hadn't reckoned on the impression our prince made on the young ones. You know how you had to argue with Michael and finally forbid him to be a part of this. Well, Richard and Geoffrey felt just as strongly, but they were determined not to give you the chance to tell them what they should or should not do. They were afraid that anyone else chosen for the duty might bungle it—might not prove suitable escort for the sacred king."

  The sacred king.

  As Graham's throat constricted in new grief; his eyes darted to the launch again. It was drawing u
nder the wing of the Sunderland, but he could see William clearly even without the glasses. The prince stood in the stem, watching the flying boat's rigger secure the line one of the ratings had thrown from the bow of the motor launch. He waved a greeting as Richard crouched down in the doorway and tossed off a smiling salute.

  Graham watched as the launch was drawn close, raising the glasses to his eyes again as William and then the others climbed aboard and disappeared inside. The luggage was passed up, and then William was back in the doorway with Richard and Geoffrey, bending to peer out from under the wing and raise a hand in last farewell. Graham could see the sunlight gleaming on his hair, and Richard's merry grin, Geoffrey's wave.

  Then they withdrew, the door was secured, and the launch headed back to the quay as the Sunderland's engines began to kick over, first the outboard and then the inboard. Graham gave the glasses back to Ellis, but he did not take his eyes from the flying boat as she slipped her moorings and began taxiing slowly away from the quay, out into the roads.

  She wallowed there in the long swells, warming her engines for several minutes. Then she was moving slowly forward again, faster, faster, rising up on her step until, with a plume of water streaming off the hull, she came unstuck and seemed to leap skyward, beginning to climb. It was the same perfect takeoff Graham had seen so many times before, with Richard's unmistakable touch at the controls as the boat circled the station and climbed high in the sky, her Aldis lamp flashing "Ta-Ta"" from one of the dorsal gun hatches before she banked to head northwest.

  As the plane disappeared from sight, even with the glasses, the sun went in, and the rain began to fall in earnest Suddenly, Graham felt very cold.

  He spent what was left of the afternoon in his office, reading and rereading intelligence reports whose details he was later unable to remember and which did not matter, anyway, since they told nothing of an invasion halted. He fought to keep his mind from the morning and the stunned, numb return from Calshot.