THE LIGHT OF a most welcome, nourishing sun entered the leaded windows of General Cromwell’s private rooms. There was not a trace of the demons we had slain, all blood and gore vanished like smoke. Only the sundered doors gave witness to the battle of the night before. We were surrounded by redcoats, all having woken with the first light of dawn and now sheepish and nervous for their failures. They bustled like housewives bringing more food and drink from the pantry and buttery, carefully setting the fare upon the table we all were gathered at.
Try as I might, I could eat nothing. My mind was sore distracted by my Maggie’s plight. Her words had stabbed me deeply. Cromwell had sent both women home with an escort and I could not rid my mind’s eye of Maggie’s confused, questioning glances as she desperately sought to understand where she was, and why. And I was bitter besides. My wounds and those of d’Artagnan and Billy—all surely destined to be mortal wounds—had been healed by the archangel (for Mr. Milton was undoubtedly right). Why had the angel not come to her aid?
“My lord.” John Thurloe’s voice sounded as if he had drunk a hogshead of wine the night before. “We have sent out riders to apprehend any further known associates of Major Fludd. I am working to establish this very morning the degree of complicity of others in the Fifth Monarchy.”
“You do that,” said Cromwell from his high-back chair, fixing Thurloe with a glare. He then beckoned to one of the redcoats. “Take your men outside and shut the doors.” When the last soldier had scurried out, he looked at the faces around his table, each in turn. “You are undoubtedly brave men, gentlemen. But these events of late and all you have told me this last hour, make necessity of some grave decisions.” He raised a red Venetian goblet to his lips, took a sip, and set it down again. “I find at my table a Cavalier, his Ranter servant, an alchemist, a Frenchman, and a Jew. Strange company indeed. And I am beholden to each, it seems.”
Ashmole stood up. “My lord, as you have heard, it was Colonel Treadwell who learned of this plot and risked his life to come to your defence. He sits here still a condemned man... unless you change that.”
Cromwell did not reply straight away. He slowly pushed his chair back, stood up, jaw clenching with pain, and walked to the windows. “First things first,” he said, half to himself.
Ashmole hurriedly sat. “I meant no offence, my lord.”
Cromwell turned to us again. “First, I would tell you that Senor da Silva is known to me. We have had several discussions these last few months.”
I looked over to da Silva, who was nodding as he watched Cromwell. Everyone had secrets, it did seem.
“Senor da Silva knows it is my intention to open the way for his people to live in England freely again. No less do we, as free Englishmen, owe the people of the Book. His personal courage last night means that my political intention now becomes a vow.” Cromwell touched his hand to his breast.
Da Silva bowed his head in return.
“Second, I must tell all of you: what happened here last night must never be revealed. The line between miracles and witchcraft is a fine one. Last night I saw both. But those that have not seen with their own eyes will never understand. The guards, even Mister Thurloe here, remember nothing leading to their bewitching.”
John Thurloe flashed an embarrassed grimace and slunk further beyond Cromwell.
“But my Lord General,” stuttered Milton. “Surely we must reveal this wonder to the people that we may bring them to closer to God’s wisdom. Already in my mind, an ode, a poem, is taking form. The battle against Lucifer and his fallen angels. Paradise—”
The sound of Cromwell’s crashing boot brought silence.
“Never revealed, Mister Secretary!”
Milton sank down on his bench, blinking.
“That leaves us with the question of your fate, Colonel Treadwell.”
I looked over to the ruler of the new republic. “I would only ask that you give Billy Chard, here, free passage to wherever he chooses and, to Mistress St. John, passage and safe conduct to Paris, to rejoin her father.”
“These things I can do. But that does not solve the question of your fate, sir.”
D’Artagnan had barely stirred throughout. He was looking at me now; his face heavy with remorse for all that had come to pass.
“It was your own free will that brought you back to these shores—under pain of death,” said Cromwell. “I will not guess your original purpose, but I’m no fool. Even so, you have saved my life as I saved yours eight years ago. The slate is clean.”
He was right. Our slate was clean. And maybe I had saved England by saving him. But I had betrayed my king, endangered my kin, and caused my dear Maggie the theft of her own memory and with it, her love for me. And I suddenly felt very, very old.
“And there is the matter of your outstanding business with the Cardinal, as Monsieur d’Artagnan has so plainly laid out for us.” Cromwell scratched at the mole that dwelt between his eyebrows. “That leaves me with the choice of throwing you into the Tower, handing you over to the French, giving you a pardon, or... doing nothing.”
Billy sat up, a slice of gammon falling from his mouth back into his trencher.
“Monsieur,” continued Cromwell, “speaking as the Cardinal’s representative, what would you counsel?”
D’Artagnan looked straight at me, his green eyes moist. “I would say, let Colonel Treadwell decide. As my comrade, he’s earned that choice. One can always tidy the affairs of state later, n’est ce pas?”
Cromwell growled. “Somehow, I doubt the Cardinal would see it that way, sir.”
“I’m sure I can concoct something to convince His Eminence,” replied d’Artagnan, not taking his eyes from me. “I was once told that, sometimes, loyalty trumps practicality. To my mind and my heart, that is sound counsel here.” And he gave me a knowing smile and a nod. I nodded back to him. Honour was restored.
“So, my Lord General,” said d’Artagnan, turning back to Cromwell, his face full of handsome vigour, body restored by an angel’s grace. “The fate of Colonel Treadwell must lie with you, and your conscience.”
BILLY AND I stood once more in the hall of Roderigo da Silva, this time brightened by glorious morning sun through the large leaded window. The vivid blue and yellow glass at the centre of the diamond panes set the reflected rays to dancing upon the great table. But even this simple pleasure could not alter the atmosphere in the room. It was as if we were all on a death watch; a great unspoken truth hovered over all of us.
The old rabbi placed his hand on my forearm. He looked far older now than when we had set out to do battle at the palace two nights ago, and it was clear to me that his vigil in the sacred circle had come at a price. But it was the question of Maggie’s fate that set the pall over things.
“There is a deep wound in her mind,” said da Silva, quietly. I looked over to Isabel who stood near the staircase, gravely silent. Her eyes met mine and I could see little hope in them.
“I have prayed for her,” he continued. “Prayed for healing deliverance. I felt sure that after she had slept for a day and a night that she would have been restored.”
“And she remembers nothing still?”
Da Silva shook his head. Isabel moved to join us, placing an arm around her father.
“But she did not know us to begin with,” she said as she guided the old man back to a chair, “And she has been here resting since the other night. She seems happy... without concern. Almost as if she is trying hard not to remember what has befallen her. It may be that she needs to look upon you, sir, to restore her memory.”
It was Billy who was bold enough to ask what I held back.
“What if them creatures, the demons, took something from her?” He gesticulated in his awkwardness. “I mean... took away what makes her like us. She’s not said a blessed thing since what happened.”
Isabel looked up at Billy. “You mean her soul?”
Billy looked at his boots. “Aye, I reckon that’s my fear, mistress.”
>
“I will not believe that,” said the rabbi, his voice filled with sudden strength. “The Lord would not permit such a thing.”
I was not so sure. The Archangel had restored us all: saved us from our infernal wounds and maybe even banished my secret Beast forever. But it had left Maggie untouched and lost to me. Perhaps it was my punishment for this adventure, not hers.
“She is restored in body,” said Isabel. “And she can be restored in spirit too, in time. But my father and I are worried that what you propose to restore her memory carries much risk. You must have great trust in this person... this apothecary.”
“I do. It is a trust that is long-earned.”
“Very well, then. Let me bring her down to you now.” And she quickly ascended the stairs.
Billy gave me a worried glance and I edged closer to the stairwell to await the arrival of the woman I loved. When Maggie came down she looked straight at me and smiled. But it was the smile of a gentlewoman entering a room and not a smile of recognition. Her chestnut tresses were tucked in a white crocheted cap that sat far back on her head. Isabel had thrown away Maggie’s torn and soiled clothes and dressed her in her own: dark madder skirt, white chemise and green woollen bodice cinching in her bosom modestly. Isabel gently placed an arm about Maggie and slowly guided her to me.
“Do you know this man, Marguerite?”
Again, Maggie looked at me. She dipped her head in a gesture of greeting. “Sir, I cannot recall if we have met... but you must forgive me as I have not been well these last days. Indeed I cannot even remember how it is I have come back to London. These good people here have told me I bumped my head... and this is why I have forgotten things.”
I nodded and smiled even as my heart was run clean through.
“How about me, mistress?” said Billy like some cheerful clown, sweeping his battered hat from his greasy noggin.
Maggie laughed and shook her head. “I would remember you, sir, I am sure!”
I reached out and grasped her hand gently. “If you would allow me, mistress, I think we know someone who can help you to remember. Will you let us take you there?”
Maggie looked confused and I saw a brief wave of fear wash over her face. She turned to Isabel. “If Isabel comes with me, and if she thinks I should...” The words trailed off as she sought support. And I looked straight into Isabel’s eyes so that she could see this was all I wanted with all my heart.
The girl turned to her father. Da Silva, sitting hunch-shouldered in his high-backed oak chair, nodded his head twice. He then raised his chin off his starched collar and gave me a look as if to say whatever was to follow was now all upon my head. Isabel took Maggie’s other hand. “I will come with you and make sure that you will be safe.”
OUR LITTLE PARTY made its way across the uneven cobbles of the Covent Garden, anticipation and worry hastening our pace. My cloak was thrown about my chest and over my shoulders, the silvered sword that had saved my life bounced against my hip as I stepped; my right arm was tightly entwined about Maggie’s. Isabel held her right hand. Billy was a pace ahead, loudly clearing a way for us among the costermongers with his usual Ranter manners.
We were momentarily stopped by the throng that swirled around us. “You don’t sound surprised,” I said to Ashmole, who was getting jostled by a little old man bent double under a wicker basket. I had just told him that I had spied the ring of the Freemasons on Gideon Fludd’s hand, moments before he was pulled down into the abyss.
“Richard, I was going to tell you. I received a letter this morning, from Mister Lilly. He has arrived back this morning from the north.”
“How convenient.”
“You don’t understand, Richard. He and the others left because they had heard that Gideon Fludd was of the brethren. They went to Berkhamsted to learn the truth of it. Alas, too late.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Ashmole looked at me. “It might have. But time was not on our side. You know that.”
We started moving forward again. The crowd seemed vast, surging along to market. I pulled Maggie closer to my side but instantly felt her body tense under my grip. I relaxed my hand and loosened my hold upon her arm.
“We’re nearly there now,” I said. “You mustn’t worry. All will be well. Billy! Slow down there!”
I leaned closer to Ashmole so that he could hear me over the roar of traders. “Forgive me. I have not had the chance, until now, to give you my thanks. For believing me.”
Ashmole smiled broadly. “I know an honest man when I see one, and one who is worthy of assistance. And brotherhood.”
Into the Seven Dials now, we had turned down a narrow street, no more than an alleyway, and now stood in front of our destination.
Ashmole placed a hand on my shoulder. “We are all mortal men, even those of us in the Craft. Sometimes courage and faith fail even the best and bravest of us. I suppose even Gideon Fludd did not expect to take the path he ended up upon.”
“Mister Ashmole,” I said quietly, “You’re a gentleman true and among the most generous of souls in London. Will you not come in with us?”
“Nay, you don’t need me any further than here. I will pray that you find the aid you need. And I shall remain outside no matter how long it takes. God be with you.”
I took his hand. “I thank you, sir.”
Billy looked to me and I nodded. He pushed open the door and we entered the strange little shop that we had visited not three days ago. And Anya was waiting.
She stood near her work table, wiping her hands upon her moss-green skirt, a baggy linen smock masking the leanness of her brown body. Upon her head, a white turban was coiled, covering all of her raven hair except for two long strands that fell down each side of her long neck.
She looked at me, eyes sparkling despite the feeble light that fought its way into the room. “Sooner than you expected, man?”
“Aye, but no surprise to you, Anya. It never is.”
Billy swept his crumpled felt hat from his head and touched thumb and forefinger to his brow. “Mistress.”
Isabel stepped back and stood behind Maggie, a hand gently placed on her back, a gesture to let her know that she was still with her. Anya’s bare feet moved silently across the floorboards. She stopped in front of Maggie and drew back the hood of Maggie’s cloak. I could hear Maggie’s breaths coming faster as Anya’s eyes bored into her. Anya raised her long-fingered hand to Maggie’s cheek and offered a caress. “Child, what have you lost?”
Maggie hesitated, her weak voice quavering. “I’ve lost... part of myself.” And she turned to look up at me, her eyes filled with apprehension.
Anya dropped her hand and looked at me in the strangely cold way she had. “You and I must speak together, man.”
I followed her into the darker confines of the house. Over my head hung a veritable forest of dried plants and wizened things that looked vaguely like they had once been alive. Anya stopped and turned to me.
“You have succeeded against the evil, that is proved by your presence. But your victory has come at a cost.”
“I know that. You have to help her. I know that you have the power to heal.”
“She has seen things that no one should ever see. How did you let this woman come to such grief? You were careless, man!”
I felt my face suddenly burn and I moved towards her. She held her ground and met my glare with her own.
“It was not my doing!” I said.
“Bah! What has come to pass is all your doing, man. It always has been.”
I growled and swiped my hand at the festooned ceiling, pulling down an armful of stinking vegetation. Anya laughed, my shoulders sank, and my rage melted in an instant. I was defeated and she knew it. Anya undid her turban and tossed it onto a table. She gave her head a shake, long black hair spilling down to her shoulders. Even in the dimness of the room, I could see her pale eyes shine.
“Can you bring her back to me?” I begged, my voice a thin, reedy
whisper.
Anya put her hands on her hips. “There are ways. I have a draught I can give her. I can push my way into her mind and force her to look too. If I have to. But there are risks. You know that too, don’t you, man?”
I nodded like a scolded schoolboy. “What is your price, woman?”
Anya raised her chin as the old phrase left her lips. “One silver thaler... deferred.” And I knew then that whatever happened next, our business together was not at an end.
We emerged together into the daylight of the shop room. I drank in the picture of Maggie, beautiful and lost, her companions standing by her.
Anya took up Maggie’s hands in hers. “Will you trust in my medicine and my craft, girl?”
Maggie stuttered.
“Girl!” said Anya, the tanned leathery skin of her neck tightening. “Will you open yourself to me?”
“Yes, yes, I will!” The explosive reply set her to shaking.
Anya gave a slow steady nod. “Then let us begin.” She pulled Maggie along and I made to follow, but Anya reached out and placed her hand firmly on my chest, her eyes commanding my attention.
“No. The girl and I must be alone. You know this.”
“She is... dear to me.”
“That matter is plain to see. Wait here.”
I nodded and the two vanished behind a red curtain that took them into the recesses of the house. I let out one long and heavy breath.
“Then I will go with her!” Isabel stepped forward to follow them in.
I grabbed her arm. “You will not, girl! What must be done must be done alone by Anya.”
Isabel twisted out of my grip, “Who knows what that witch will do!”
I instantly relented my action. “I beg you. Give her this chance. I need her back.”
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