Gideon's Angel

by Clifford Beal

  In spite of the agony behind my eyes, I tried to focus on those who sat arrayed before me in the haloed light of the candlesticks. All five of them dour men, dressed in black, expressionless, tall crowned hats on each. And then, a sixth floated into my view, a man in grey, standing at the opposite end.

  “Give him drink,” commanded Major Gideon Fludd. One of his comrades stood and approached. He raised a tankard to my lips and I drank, gratefully, the beer soaking my beard and spilling down my shirt front and coat. “Now, sirrah,” continued Fludd, his voice quiet and calm, “we must attend to the business at hand. I have taken back that which is mine but we are not yet satisfied.” He came around the table and walked towards me. My eyes followed his progress. He was at first glance no more than a young man, a beardless boy even. But in his voice there was age, experience, and a note of self-assurance well beyond his years. He stood at the arm of the chair and studied me silently. I saw that this fair-haired man was fair-featured too, almost angelic. Unblemished; eyes, nose, and lips in harmony just like the statues of the ancients. And yet, looking at those eyes, I could see nothing behind them. No pity or high purpose, not even honest anger or hate. His eyes were dead.

  He turned and held up my stiletto.

  “We found this in your belt. Not the weapon of any gentleman who means well.” He gripped it and thrust it into the table top. Fingers rubbing against his palm as if the stiletto had been tainted, he rounded on me again.

  “I am in pursuit of the murderer of my kinsman. The signs that the Lord has shown me have led me to this town. And they have also brought me to you.” He held up his left hand in front of me. “I now have a ring which I found upon your hand. This ring belonged to my brother and was stolen by the man who killed him.” If he was fishing for me to blurt out a confession then he was going to be disappointed. Fludd began nodding thoughtfully at me, then turned to his disciples. “We now must appeal to the Lord for further signs of the presence of the guilty.”

  A murmur went through the five. “God be praised! His will be done!”

  Fludd turned and walked back to the head of the table. “I had expected to find only a thief in Exeter, not a Royalist conspirator. And one in roost with other birds of a common feather. Will you tell me your name?”

  I prayed he did not truly know it already and was merely baiting me along. I opened my lips and croaked out, “Falkenhayn... Andreas.”

  Fludd nodded, whether he believed this or not. “Your companions I have already turned over to the militia in the castle. Their fate is of little concern to me. Their plotting was already known and observed for some time. But you, sir, you there is more to than meets the eye.”

  I swallowed and licked my lips, already bone dry despite the sip of drink. “By what right do you hold me here? I don’t know you or your companions.”

  Fludd smiled. “What right? By the right of retribution, surely. But we must make proof of our suspicions. You’re correct in that you at least deserve that service, Mister Falkenhayn.”

  And I watched as he drew out another dagger. It was my Scottish dirk, the one I had dropped on the kitchen floor that wild night.

  “This weapon was found alongside my brother’s corpse. It did not pierce his body but it will nonetheless testify as to his assailant.” He placed it upon the middle of the table, its point directed at me, the brass studs of the black hilt glowing in the reflecting candlelight. “If you are but a mere thief and opportunist—or conspirator—you’ll be delivered to the Army Council for rightful prosecution. If a murderer you be, then I will take my own justice as I choose.”

  He then folded his hands in prayer, quickly followed in suit by his comrades. “Lord, continue to grant me Your divine favour and bestow the blessed signs. Give us Your divine wisdom to show out the guilty, the spillers of the blood of the saints! We beseech thee, Adonai!” A chorus of amens sang out along the table and Fludd opened his eyes again, settling that piercing gaze directly on me. It was just as it had been in the square at Plymouth. I felt him look right through me. He raised his right hand out over the table, palm down, face set in stone but never lifting his gaze from me. I heard one of the others start praying aloud, “Our Father, Who art in heaven...”

  And after a few moments, a noise upon the table. A rasping noise, the sound of an object being dragged over the scarred planks. In numbed horror I watched as the dirk slowly moved along of its own accord, determinedly propelling itself closer and closer to me. It was returning to its owner.

  In a low voice the man closest to me muttered, “He beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.’ So saith the Lord.”

  I could not take my eyes from the blade as it crawled its way to me. And it came on, inexorably, until it reached the edge, a hairbreadth away from my bound hand. Fludd lowered his arm and swept his other hand over his face as if a great weight had been hefted and set down again. He then looked at me again, and this time, rage stoked behind that saintly visage. He came around fast, pushing a chair out of his way and whisking the dirk from the table. He gripped it and pushed the blade up to my throat; the point bit into my flesh. “Base, foul creature,” he whispered. “You have slain one of the appointed of God for no other cause than worldly greed and avarice.”

  The blade pulled back and he laid it on my right cheekbone. In a flash he jerked his wrist downwards, and I felt the tug of my skin as the blade cut in, and then the delayed agony as it sliced down, blood pouring out onto my shirt. Fludd raised the blade again, flicking it up to my nose. He then caught a nostril with the tip, and tore upwards with a swift pull. I screamed, the blood spraying out in front of me.

  Fludd tossed the knife onto the table. “We will wait for the direction of the Lord’s messenger to decide your fate. If God wills it, and He accepts our prayer, then His angel will come among us this night. As he has before. The hour will soon be at hand.”

  I was drooling and spitting out blood as he made this pronouncement. “You clever bastard,” I muttered. “Where is your black dog and that winged ape? Are they too messengers of your God?”

  He wheeled on me in an instant. “Blasphemer!” And his balled fist struck me so hard I saw lights dance, my head colliding into the wing of the chair. And he struck me again, and again. I felt him seize my forelock, and my head jerked up as he wrenched my skull. “For you, sirrah, the agonies of hell await!” And he drew back his fist to his shoulder before sending it crashing into my face. And for the second time that night, I was thrown into oblivion.

  I WAS ON the floorboards. I could feel my left eye swollen up so tight I could barely see out of it. But I was still alive. The floor was sticky with my blood and I was stiff and aching, my nose on fire. They had dumped me out of the chair, trussed me like a hog, hand and foot, and thrown me in the far corner of the room. But this time, as far as I could tell, I was alone. The hard varnished floor stank of blood and soap mixed, and the cold went right through me. I started to shiver as I lay.

  From my vantage, head upon the floor, I could see a doorway in front of me, slightly ajar. I didn’t know whose house I was in, but from my surroundings, it was surely that of a man of wealth. And was I still in Exeter? It must be so. My ears kept ringing, high and low, around and around. I pulled my bound wrists close to my chest as I pulled up my knees, crawling on my elbows along the floor like a wounded worm. The doorway began to loom larger. I rested a bit, my face lying flat, and then pushed forward again. I finally reached the threshold of the open door and with one final push, found the upper half of my body in the next chamber, a darkened hallway. But at the opposite end another doorway lay, and this too, was open.

  I had to find the stairs without making a sound if I stood any chance of escape. I pushed into the hallway a few lengths, but then stopped. There were many voices coming from the next chamber, and one of them was Gideon Fludd’s.

  “He comes not,” said someone in the room.

  “We have not pray
ed hard enough, or followed the conjuration to the letter!” said another.

  Then Gideon: “Silence, all of you! On your knees again, and resume the prayer!” I could hear the rustle of garments as the others obeyed. And then Gideon Fludd spoke, voice raised almost as if in song. “Here are the symbols of secret things, the ensigns and the banners of God the conqueror and the arms of the Almighty One, to compel the aerial potencies. I command you, by their power and virtue, that ye come near unto us into our presence, from whatsoever part of the world ye may be in.”

  The prayers of the others tumbled out, in differing cadences and tones, all the while Gideon’s steely voice raised high over all.

  “I conjure thee, by His Almighty power and by the light and flame which emanate from His countenance and which are before His face... by the angelical powers which are in the Heavens and by the most great wisdom of Almighty God; by the Seal of David, by the ring and Seal of Solomon which I bear here... Eistibus... I demand thy presence!”

  And suddenly, the light emanating from the room grew in intensity. It grew so bright, and so quickly, as if it was daylight contained inside four walls. I squinted as the door frame was bathed in whiteness. It slowly dissipated, but the light remained as bright as a thousand candles. And then I was struck full by the overpowering scent of blossoms, as if summer had somehow come upon us by stealth. I heard a sound like rushing waters, a waterfall or a wellspring coming from the room. The men had stopped praying aloud and I knew not what had happened inside. Then a voice spoke. A voice so clear it rang like Bohemian crystal. It was neither male nor female but a strange combination of the two sexes, and it filled my ears so full it was as if I was in the chamber with them all.

  “Gideon, thou callest me forth, this, the third time. What would thou knowest of me, son of man?”

  Fludd’s voice fluttered with apprehension and whatever manner of thing had manifested itself in that room, it had filled him full with terror. “I would know more of your telling, Eistibus. We seek to know what we must do to hasten the final days. You have given me the signs before and I beg you to give them unto us again.”

  “I will tell you this: the end of days is not far and the new kingdom is near upon the tide. The rule of the Saints is upon us.”

  I heard the others exclaim and cry out hosannas and amens, but Fludd kept his head to his task. “Angel of the Lord, what must we do to bring about the day? Do we take the sword?”

  The voice of Eistibus seemed to merge with the sound of the rippling waters that bounced from the walls around me. “The Great Captain will drive out the wicked from the house. This he will do inside the next moon.”

  “Cromwell will dissolve the House! I knew it would be so!”

  “But be not cozened by the Great Captain... He who would usher in the rule of the Saints would also set himself up upon the throne before the year is out! He is false and does not serve the Light.”

  Fludd stuttered a reply, so terrible was the import of this prophecy. “The Lord General... a traitor to the Saints? O great Spirit, you give us Hope and Despair mixed. What must we do?”

  “After the house is cleansed, he must die.”

  “He has delivered us from oppression, he is our captain...”

  “He must die, that the kingdom may come.”

  Neither Fludd nor any of his companions deigned to reply to the entity. The water gushed unseen all around and the sweet smell became nauseating. I pushed myself upon my elbows to the side of the corridor that I might somehow catch a glimpse of what went on inside the chamber. I managed to press myself against the wall, crane my head upwards, and just was able to get a look beyond the partially open door.

  What I saw took away all my pain, so sudden was the quickening in my chest. I could see the far wall of the chamber, now a roiling cloud of milky substance from floor to ceiling. It tumbled onto itself and swirled like smoke in a bottle, indeed, the whole mass seemed to push forth from the wall and enter the room only to recede back again. But that which stood upon the floor in front of this cloud froze me with dread. I saw the angel, white with great eagle’s wings, tall as Goliath, standing over all of Fludd’s men. I was spared its terrible visage for its head was turned away from my vantage, but such a white light poured out of the creature that the glow was almost painful. I could just make out Fludd and two others upon their knees, just inside a great white circle painted on the black floor.

  Gideon Fludd must have pricked up his courage again; I heard him cry out: “Will you give us aid? You and the other Seraphim of the ether? Tell us what we must do!”

  “Gideon,” answered the angel, “My power in this sphere waxes with the moon and in the day of Saturn. Call upon me then and I will give you the instruments you desire. My servants will continue to do you service even as they obey me.”

  “Cromwell shall be slain,” said Fludd, his voice choked.

  “Fail us not!” the angel warned, its voice rising to a near screech. That was more than enough for me. Though pressed against the floor, my bowels turned to water, I somehow crawled backwards, away from that terrible sight. I regained the chamber I had been in before and swivelled my head, looking for a way out of the nightmare. All my pain had now returned, and my head spun with delirium and disbelief. I placed my cheek upon the floor and shut my eyes. The boards were cold on my chest and belly but I still felt myself drifting away, falling again.

  An instant later my heart was in my throat. I felt a hand press into the small of my back and another cover my mouth. From the corner of my eye I saw someone lean over and look into my face.

  “Ca va, Colonel?” came the words in a near whisper.

  The man who knelt over me looked like d’Artagnan, that same swarthy face I knew of old, but I could no longer trust my senses which were fast drifting away.

  “Monsieur d’Artagnan?” I croaked. “You have no shoes on your feet.”

  I felt his hand roughly grasp my chin and move my head, as he leaned over and examined my face. “Merde!” was the only word I could comprehend.

  I felt a tug on my wrists and then they came apart. So too with my ankles as the musketeer cut loose my bonds. Then I felt my shoes coming off. He shook me and my head must have lolled like a doll’s. He swore again and smacked me upon the cheek with the palm of his hand. “Colonel, get up!”

  It was d’Artagnan. Here, in England. Here with me. I slowly crawled up to my knees and I felt him raise me swaying to my feet. Barefoot, and he practically carrying me, we somehow made it to the stairwell. Whatever still went on beyond us in Fludd’s chamber, I did not know. Whatever prayers they were saying, they did not hear our escape. Outside it was darkness except for a sliver of moon. In my dizzy state, the trees swayed like monstrous Hydras and I could not tell whether we were in town or country, farm or estate. We hobbled across a courtyard, then mercifully onto lawn and towards a thick stand of oak. I glimpsed horses under the trees, and someone else. I felt myself pushed into the withers of a mount, and then someone had grabbed my legs and was hoisting me into a saddle.

  “Blessed God, Mister Eff! Give us a hand, sir! Can’t budge you on my lonesome, Fellow Creature. There now, up you go!”

  Billy Chard pushed my hips round and I slumped over the saddlebow. Next I knew he was behind me and grabbing the reins. I looked up to see d’Artagnan, already mounted in front of us, raising his hand and giving a short whistle. And we were off at a fast trot, Billy’s hand gripping the back of my coat. My stomach rolled and up came my accounts over the horse’s neck.

  “Sweet Jesus, Mister Eff! You’re in a bad way. Hell of a banquet by the sounds of it.”

  I should have been thinking about how d’Artagnan had magically appeared. Or how Marguerite had lied to me. Or how Billy Chard had reappeared after abandoning me earlier. Or even of the miraculous vision I had just witnessed in that house. But what kept rolling around my mind was the thought of what Gideon Fludd would make of two empty shoes lying on the floor of his dining room.

  Chapte
r Eleven

  WHEN I CAME to, it was in more comfortable circumstances. I lay on a proper feather bed, the curtains drawn back full. At my left sat Maggie, the vision of a proper country maid, dressed in plain dark wool skirt and bodice, a linen cap upon her head. At first, it was a slightly jarring sight. I had never before glimpsed Marguerite St. John in anything other than silks and taffetas. But looking into her face again, cheeks pink as budding roses, my spirits rallied.

  But even as I opened my eyes into what I took to be early morning light, all the memories of what had gone before came swimming back to mind. And a new sadness quietly closed on my heart. Across the bedchamber I could see Lieutenant d’Artagnan standing near the large casement window, absently watching the world outside. Unlike Maggie, he was rigged to the height of gentlemanly fashion, and a Paris gentleman at that. His rapier sat low, slung across his hip, his jet black coat dripping with silver frippery, two huge lace cuffs protruding from the sleeves.

  I spoke, my top lip feeling thick and swollen. “Where is this place?”

  She looked up at the sound of my voice. Her green-flecked brown eyes suddenly gleamed. “Richard, rest easy. We’re safe and outside of Exeter now.”

  I tried to raise my head off the two commodious pillows I lay on and was rewarded with a horse-kick to my skull. I must have winced visibly in pain for she reached out and laid a hand softly on my shoulder.

  “Lie still. You still have a lump on your head like a goose egg.” Her hand moved to my face with a caress. “But the boss and bruise to your cheek is already much improved and I think your nose will heal on its own in time. And God bless Billy Chard, he was able to set your finger while you were still senseless last night and put a few stitches into your face wound.”