by Manda Scott
And so it was, drawn with charcoal and coloured by ochre and lime and copper oxide, held fast by water, or egg white, or somesuch that had caused the tints to fade greatly with age.
The place was the one he had seen. Still the number of the stones was impossible to count, as if the firelight made them sway whenever Owen looked directly. In any case, it was the mound that drew his eye and held it, for it was not empty and silent as he had met it first, but the centre of a gathered crowd, with a man holding a raised staff near its mouth. He leaned in to the fire and brought the vellum close, then lowered it again.
‘How old is this?’ His voice was dry as dust.
‘It has been in my family for a little over one hundred generations,’ said Edward Wainwright. ‘I could name them for you, but fear my life would end ere I was finished. Someday, if you have the time and the interest, Martha will do so for you.’
Owen said, ‘In my family also, we can name the generations of those who have held the blue stone. It is the first thing I learned from my grandmother. The reciting of names takes over half a day.’
‘Of course, for you are the keeper and your line is as unbroken as ours. We are the walkers of the trackways. To us has fallen the task of keeping the life in the old places. Why, then, do you ask the age of the picture?’
By a small miracle, Owen found sufficient spit to speak. ‘I thought I recognized myself. Now I look more closely, I see that it is but a man with silvered hair, and could be anyone of like height and colouring. My apologies.’
He held the two pictures side by side, his and the older one. ‘These are unquestionably the same place, but even now I don’t know where in England it is.’
Wainwright looked at him, shocked. ‘Of course not! For if you knew, you might speak it aloud. Only by keeping stone and knowledge separate are we safe in this world where fire and torment are used to pull the truth from unwilling minds.’
He took back the older picture and began carefully to fold it. ‘And still, there is no need for you to know, for it is many years before your stone must be set there, to form the heart of the beast that will arise from the land. As we have done since before the birth of Christ, we who walk the trackways will hold this knowledge safe until such time as man’s evil requires that it be drawn forth in the earth’s defence. Your task is to hide the skull in a place of great secrecy that will thwart all those who seek its destruction, while yet leaving it to be found by the one who must bring it here.’
Edward Wainwright’s eyes were the same dense steel grey as his daughter’s. He used them as a fencer uses his foil, to catch Owen and hold him. ‘You did know that the heart-stone must be hidden somewhere distant from here?’
‘In a place of white water, yes. My grandmother described to me the place and a wise Frenchman spoke of it again, long ago, in the summer of my youth, so that I understood why she had done so.’
‘Is it within reach of here? Can you go there now?’
‘If need be, although the route will not be easy if it must be travelled in secrecy. The place is in Yorkshire, where I grew up, a good ten days’ ride from here.’
‘Then we can each fulfil our tasks. I will hide again the map that my family may keep the secret of it, and you must set forth to York that you may keep the final part of your bargain with the stone. Martha? Will you return the scroll to its resting place?’
His daughter did as she was bid, closing over the hidden place and returning the fire to its bed. The heat it gave off was not as great, afterwards, but quite sufficient.
‘Thank you.’ In a creak of old limbs, Edward Wainwright lifted himself to standing. With no small regret, he handed back the heart-stone to Owen, bowing deeply to him and then to Fernandez de Aguilar.
‘Sirs, it has given me untold pleasure to see the stone and yourselves in the last days of my life and I cannot thank you enough. By all rights, I should send you swiftly to complete your final task, but tonight is not a night for travel and I cannot doubt but that the morning will suffice. In the meantime, we can set the beds to warming and we have food enough for four, if you have not yet tired of the taste of roast goose?’
29
Lower Hayworth Farm, Oxfordshire, 31 December 1588
NOT FAR AWAY, a church bell tolled midnight.
Cedric Owen lay awake, staring up at the dark ceiling. The sheets of his bed were cold and damp and starched so that they did not fold around him. The room smelled of unuse and cobwebs draped thickly across the corners of the roof beams. The mattress was of uneven horse hair with ends that poked out to stab through his shirt to his skin. With all of this, it was luxury compared to where he had slept in the journey from Cambridge, and he was glad of it. Pushing his feet down to the last heat of the warming brick, wrapped in its own woollen sock, he listened to the slow heartbeat of a new house, settling, and to the breathing of the man on the bed next to his own.
He knew the signatures of that breath as well as he knew his own; he had slept in its company, although not in the same bed, for the past thirty years. Presently, into the dark, he said, ‘Fernandez, if you cannot sleep, why do you not go to her? Likely she is as awake as you.’
There was a silence, in which the breathing changed and changed again. Eventually, Fernandez de Aguilar said, ‘She is a lady. I would not sully her good name.’
‘And if Walsingham’s men come tomorrow and we are slain? Would you not rather at least have let her choose what she does with her good name? You can be married in days if you and she wish it.’
‘And if she does not?’
‘Then you will have your answer. Go to her, man. You have nothing to lose.’
A bed creaked in the dark. He heard the slide of starched sheets and a blanket thrown back and the subtle noises of de Aguilar’s dressing, broken by the briefest pause.
Amused, Owen said, ‘You need not change your doublet. If she does not love you in the tawny velvet, she will not love you better in the blue. You will wear neither for long if she feels as you do.’
‘I had thought to find something with less mud on it, but you are right, there is nothing to be gained by dissembling.’ For a man who had never been uncertain, there was a shadow of doubt in de Aguilar’s voice now. ‘If she does not want me, we may have to leave before morning.’
‘Then we will be spared more goose. Go, and do not expect to be back before cockcrow.’
Soft-footed, de Aguilar left. Owen lay awake in the dark and heard, presently, the murmur of voices and the scrape and rattle of the hearth as the fire was roused. He smelled its smoke, and the cinnamon sweetness of wine newly mulled and let himself drift into a doze, that he might not offend his friend, whom he dearly loved, by listening to his courtship.
He woke some time later to the baying of bloodhounds; a sound to rouse the moon and make it flee from its course. The heart-stone sang with them, a song of alarm that had penetrated the clouds of his dreams, spreading streaks of yellow lightning in a warning he had neither heard nor seen in the whole forty years of their time together.
Owen sat bolt upright in the dark, reaching with one hand for his knife and with the other for de Aguilar, and only when he had found neither did he remember where he was and to what purpose.
He was rolling out of bed even as the evening’s events were sorting themselves in his head. Last came the knowledge of where he might find de Aguilar, and in what frame of mind.
Barnabas Tythe had given him a sword. He buckled it on, for the show, and ran along the corridor to the room at the east end, where slept his host’s daughter. ‘Fernandez? Fernandez, are you there? We are assaulted!’
‘Wait for me downstairs.’ The voice was only a little disgruntled.
They met downstairs in front of the red-ashed fire. Fernandez was sharply awake, his eyes alight with the life of newly consummated love. He buckled on his sword belt one-handed.
‘Walsingham?’ he asked.
‘I believe so. The heart-stone sounds a warning to match the hounds.’
‘And who else would be abroad in the dark morning hours of the year’s last day?’ De Aguilar swung round as he spoke, studying the room. ‘The house is well built. We can fortify the doors and shutter the windows but we cannot withstand a long siege. It might be better if you and I were to go outside and meet the enemy in the open, which will leave our host and his daughter safely inside to—’
‘No.’
Edward Wainwright and his daughter spoke with one voice. The old man was surprisingly sprightly, for his age and the time of night. He leaned on the doorway to the kitchen. ‘I do not impugn your courage or your abilities, but we are too close to the end to risk failure now. The blue heart-stone must not fall into the hands of the enemy, nor must the secret of its final destination in the heart of the earth. If these two are lost together, then far more than we are lost with them.’
‘What do you advise?’ De Aguilar was politely attentive, even as he found wood to brace the shutters and sought vessels in which to gather water against fire.
‘I will stay here. You and the skull-keeper must leave. My daughter may do as she will; go with you or stay here. Either way is fraught with danger and I would not impose on her a mean death against her own choosing.’
‘Father …’ She was torn; any man could see it.
The blue heart-stone was still sounding its warning. Finding courage in that, Owen said, ‘Go with Fernandez. He will keep you safe. I will leave first and ride north from here and thus lead them away. When they have followed me, you can both return in safety to your father.’
‘No.’ De Aguilar spoke alone this time. Moving closer to Martha, he said, ‘Cedric, you have the blue heart-stone and I still have my sworn duty, which is, as you said last night, far more than that. Your life is in my care, and that of the blue stone, and thus the hope of the world for all eternity. Therefore, I will trust you to guard Martha and her father, or perhaps trust her to guard both of you, for I suspect her skill with a blade may exceed yours. I will be the one to act as decoy. Martha and her father will tell me now which trackways I may follow that will most confuse those who hunt us and I will do whatever I must to draw them away while all three of you travel north. Please – there is no time to be lost and this is our only hope.’
He held up his hand against the chorus that came against him. In the space of moments, he became again the man Owen remembered, who had captained the Aurora through a storm to a strange land: confident, organized to the point of arrogance and brooking no argument. He stalked the length of the kitchen, firing instructions. As he had so many years ago, Cedric found himself doing as he was bid, too busy to think of other avenues that might be taken.
‘Pack what little you must carry and leave the rest. Take sufficient diamonds to keep you in good heart for half a year and hide the rest. Leave a little of the gold where it might appear to have been hidden in haste; if it is found, it may be enough to buy us freedom. If we live, we can come back for the rest later. Cedric, you take my horse; I will take yours. If we were recognized on our journey, that will help the deception, for you rode a grey and it will be seen in the light of the coming morning. I will take whatever spare horses Edward can lend us and use them to make diversion.’ They were running to his command. As he stopped, Owen and Martha were both close. De Aguilar caught them each, one after the other, with his one arm. ‘I am not seeking my death, only to buy life for us all. You must trust me to do this, both of you.’
Martha was the braver of the two. She had a square of linen and was already gathering into it bread and hard cheese and – miraculously – a small squared honeycomb from the pantry in the corner of the kitchen. She moulded herself to de Aguilar’s embrace and received a brief, chaste kiss. Stepping back, she said to Owen, ‘Name a place where he may meet us when he has lost them,’ and thus was the decision sealed.
They moved swiftly, goaded by the worsening noise of the hounds and the frantic urgings of the heart-stone. The candle had burned down less than a quarter of an inch by the time they embraced their last goodbyes. Their diamonds and as much of the gold as they dared were hidden in the resting place at the back of the fire; the rest of the gold was left in a place where searching men might find it without undue difficulty, and think they had come across a hoard. Owen was packed and ready with Edward Wainwright and his daughter. De Aguilar had committed to memory, but not written anywhere about his person, the name of the place where they might meet.
He was mounted on the grey gelding that had been Owen’s since they left Cambridge. Owen reached up a hand to the bridle. In the dark, his friend was a bare outline, seen against the crisp cold of a frosted night. ‘We will wait for you ten days from now, and every alternate day for a month. After that, we will return monthly, in case you have been there. If you come and we are not there, tie a square of linen to the hawthorn tree near the ford and we will come every day at dawn. If you are taken, and made to talk, tell them to tie white wool and we will know we must flee.’
De Aguilar leaned down from his horse. His breath made pale mist in the greying air of morning. ‘I will not be taken. Wait for me there. I shall join you as soon as I may.’
His parting from Martha was brief and heartfelt. Owen turned away from it, that he might not interfere. They stood together, he and Martha, in the sharp cold of the stables, and listened to de Aguilar make noise enough for three, if those three were doing their best not to be heard.
The bloodhounds bayed, and the heart-stone sang a quiet song of farewell that caused Owen more heartbreak than had even Najakmul’s timely death in the jungles beyond Zama. Martha Huntley could not hear it and he did her the service of not explaining why he wept. By the flickering light of the single candle, he saw that her fingers, which had been bare, now wore a gold ring of great quality on the marriage finger of her left hand.
Too soon, he heard a shout, and the sound of many horsemen, and the whistle that was de Aguilar’s signal that he had been spotted. The patter of bound hooves became a thunder with the iron-on-stone of shod hooves behind. Very quickly, the sound of a hunt grew loud and fell away into the night.
‘We should go now,’ said Owen gruffly, to Martha and her father. ‘For it is a ten-day ride north to York and we must travel circumspectly, and not arouse attention.’
30
Oxfordshire, England, 4:00 a.m. 21 June 2007
‘WE’RE BEING FOLLOWED.’ Stella turned to look out of the back window. Somewhere behind in the black night were twin points of light. For a moment, she smelled damp rock, tasted earth on her tongue, felt the acid wrench of fear from the cave. Anger washed it away, made blue by the stone. ‘The pearl-hunter,’ she said softly, viciously. ‘We’re being hunted.’
Kit was in the car’s back seat. He leaned forward. ‘Davy, can you drive without the lights?’
‘Not unless you want to die before dawn.’ Davy knew the way to the grave mound and so Davy was driving. Already they were going too fast.
‘How far to go?’ Kit asked.
‘Another two or three miles.’
‘Then stop the car and go without me. I’ll catch you up.’
‘Kit?’ Stella turned to catch his hand. ‘You can’t walk.’
‘I can walk, I just can’t run. You can, and it’s you two who need to be there. Davy knows where you need to be, you have the stone. So leave me behind.’ In a gesture as intimate as any Stella had seen, he reached forward to touch Davy’s wrist. ‘You know I’m right. Don’t piss about. Just do it.’
Davy kept his eyes on the road. After a moment, he said, ‘Junction coming up. There’s a field just past the turning where we can park the car behind the hedge. Stella, there’s a torch in the glove compartment. We’ll need it to see where we’re going. Kit, if you’re walking, stick to the road. Go up the hill to the white horse car park and turn right on to the Ridgeway. Head for the line of beech trees; it’s quarter of a mile after those. You truly can’t miss it.’
‘I won’t miss anything tonight,’ Kit said
. ‘After everything else, I’m expecting fireworks at the very least. Or a dragon arising.’
‘I hope not,’ Davy said grimly. ‘Ki’kaame, skull-holder of the Sami, said if we ever saw the dragon, we would know we were already dead. Hold tight. Here’s the turn.’
He flicked off the headlights and pulled hard left on the wheel. In the blinding darkness, only hope and luck kept them safe. Stella found the torch and shone it out through the windscreen. Davy cut the engine. In silence, they bounced over rutted ground into the field.
‘Out,’ Davy said. ‘Fast.’
He had been in war zones; it showed in the ways he moved, keeping close to the hedge line, away from the grey starlight.
Standing knee deep in uncut barley, Stella gave Kit the torch and her phone. They stood in the dark, with stars above showing outlines of faces and hands and eyes. Somewhere, not too far back, a car paused and came on.
Kit said, ‘It’s like the cave, but this time you’re running ahead.’
‘I have nowhere to fall.’ She felt him falter, and sit. ‘Kit—’
‘I’m fine. I’ll sit here a bit and catch you up. Go on. Tonight is about you and the stone. Afterwards, we can find the balance.’
She found his shoulders in the dark, and then his face, and his lips, and kissed him. ‘I love you, did I mention?’
‘Not today.’ His eyes were wet. He made himself smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not choosing between you and the stone.’
‘I never really thought you were. Please go.’ His voice was steadier. He drew back and she could not see his face. He turned her round and gave a small shove between her shoulders. ‘I’ll catch you up, I promise.’
Davy caught her arm. ‘Run, or we’ll lose the advantage. How fit are you?’
‘I ran the Paris marathon last year.’
‘Good. So pace yourself. You’ve had no - warm-up and there’s a big hill coming.’
Pacing herself, she ran. In the dark, under sharp stars, with cold night air on her face and the first hint of dawn dew, with the breath rasping hot in her throat and the taste of blood on the back of her tongue and a stitch knifing her side and sweat rolling in a steady stream down her back, with the heart-stone bouncing in her backpack, urging her faster onward, she followed Davy up the never ending hill which did end eventually when they turned right on to the track that led to the Ridgeway. No car lights followed.
