Two Crowns for America

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Do you think he’ll try?” Andrew asked. “How orthodox do you think he is?”

  “That is difficult to say, based on our relatively short contact of today. One would hope that the—unique nature of a Ba’al Shem’s activities would lend a certain flexibility, especially in a high initiate like Falk, but many very orthodox Jews will avoid the presence of any woman who is not wife or daughter or—”

  His voice trailed off and he stopped walking, a slow grin curling at his lip as he turned to regard Andrew.

  “My dear Chevalier, I suddenly understand why Saint-Germain insisted that Arabella should take her additional degrees in Freemasonry. I had assumed it was for the sake of Washington, and her role in the eventual enactment of his ritual—but no, not even he could have anticipated this development!”

  He unfolded the logic of his proposition as they continued along the Embankment. By the time they reached Temple Bar and their hotel, they had resolved the form their rebuttal must take when Falk met Arabella.

  Arabella herself showed no particular anxiety once Andrew had outlined the form of their persuasion. After rehearsing several different scenarios, according to Falk’s likely objections, she declared herself content to lay the affair in the hands of The Great Architect of the Universe, at Whose direction they deemed Warren to have intervened in the first place. And if, despite their best arguments, Falk still refused to employ her, they would worry about other arrangements at that time.

  That having been decided, they availed themselves of the sights and pleasures of London for the next four days. The weather was turning too cold to enjoy London’s parks and walks along the Thames, but there were museums and art galleries to sample, and the theater to enjoy. One afternoon the prince hired a carriage to drive them past the Abbey and the Palace of Westminster, where Parliament sat, and then along toward Whitehall and the Admiralty, whence issued many of the orders concerning the war in America.

  Ramsay declined to join them much, declaring his wish to explore the city on his own. He had been briefed as thoroughly as possible on what they might expect when they went to Falk and was in agreement regarding the need for Arabella’s participation, but a vague, brooding undercurrent ran beneath the surface. Most nights he returned only late to his room.

  Andrew let him go, because he had no cause to forbid him; but he continued to wonder what was going on inside Ramsay’s head. He mentioned it to Arabella and the prince, but they agreed that nothing could be done save to continue their vigilance. Even in a worst-case scenario, Ramsay was not likely to bolt until he knew the location of the gold and had a chance of getting to it before anyone else—which meant that he probably would make no move until they returned to America. Beyond that, they must simply wait and see.

  Their schedule changed on the fifth day, the third before their return to Falk. Thereafter, all four of them kept to their rooms save to venture out each afternoon to nearby St. Paul’s to hear Evensong. Otherwise, they occupied themselves with reading and writing in their rooms, each making his or her individual preparations for a powerful occult working.

  Tempers at first grew frayed as the days passed and hunger began to assert itself; but with the hunger came a light-headedness and then a sharpening of senses, as was intended. By the evening of the third day, as four dark-cloaked figures disembarked from a carriage in front of Falk’s home in Wellclose Square, at least a semblance of harmony bound them in sober fraternity.

  A servant took hats and cloaks and the men’s swords as they came in through the little vestibule, though he stared at Arabella as she surrendered her cloak. All of them had dressed in dark clothing as instructed, and Arabella had chosen a high-necked black gown that would not have offended a Roman pontiff, with her black hair covered by a black lace cap. Despite this demonstration of propriety, she sensed outraged disapproval in the servant’s gaze as he led them through the candlelit hall and into the library. Ramsay carried the valise that contained their Masonic gear, his eyes darting constantly around him, taking in each new detail of the strange surroundings.

  More candles burned behind glass chimneys around the room, but the library still was mostly in shadow. Arabella hung back behind Andrew and the prince as the door opened and an elderly man entered, the candlelight glinting on his spectacles. From Andrew’s prior description, it could only be Dr. Falk, the Ba’al Shem of London.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Falk said, extending his hand to the prince and then pulling up short as he spied Arabella slightly behind him. “And who, may I ask, is that?”

  “These are the other members of our delegation,” the prince replied, including Ramsay in the sweep of his gesture. “I have the honor to present Mistress Arabella Wallace and Dr. James Ramsay. Both are in the confidence of Saint-Germain.”

  “Saint-Germain mentioned no woman,” Falk said coldly. “Nor did you.”

  The prince glanced at Andrew, somewhat taken aback by the implication that Falk had been in contact with Saint-Germain in only a week.

  “I do not recall that you asked, Rabbi,” he said neutrally. “Nor has there been time for Saint-Germain to mention anything concerning this venture. Or is he here in London, unbeknownst to us?”

  “He is not in London,” Falk said. “Suffice it to say that we have been in communication. Both you and the Chevalier are well regarded—though now I must wonder why. Had I realized that a woman was among your number—” He shook his head, candlelight winking off his spectacles as he muttered, “Utterly impossible. I cannot permit it. The ritual might work with only four, but—”

  “Will the ritual work without a medium, Rabbi?” Arabella asked quietly, moving from behind Andrew.

  Falk stared at her dumbstruck, then turned to the prince in appeal.

  “Surely she is not saying that she is the medium,” he said.

  The prince nodded. “I fear she is, Rabbi. Believe me, we would not have exposed her to this, or imposed her presence upon you, if she had not been designated by our contact as being necessary for this working.”

  “How can I expect you to understand?” Falk muttered, half under his breath. “High magic is an art of great intimacy. By the customs of my faith, even to speak to a woman not my wife or daughter or sister—”

  “Ah,” Andrew interjected. “But she is my daughter, by virtue of being married to my son. And she is sister to all of us—including you, Rabbi.”

  Falk’s bushy eyebrows lifted in question. “What do you mean?”

  “What he means,” the prince said, suppressing a smile, “is that she is a regularly initiated Freemason, and therefore a sister to every man in this room. I will admit that the circumstances of her making were unusual, but precedent was offered that satisfied nine Master Masons at the time, including Dr. Benjamin Franklin and General George Washington, as well as ourselves. Since then she has been both passed and raised. I assure you, Brother Falk, on the level and on the square, that she is every bit the Freemason that any of us are.”

  “Impossible. Utterly impossible,” Falk whispered, shaking his head.

  “These brethren will attest that it is possible, Brother Falk,” Arabella said very quietly. “They have made, passed, and raised me. Or do you suggest that their regard for their Obligations is less than your own? I am clearly a woman, Rabbi, even as God made me, but I am also a Master Mason in the service of The Great Architect of the Universe.”

  “No,” Falk said weakly, still shaking his head.

  “Will nothing convince you?” Arabella continued, her voice still barely audible. “Shall I give you signs and tokens? Shall I greet you on the Five Points of Fellowship, and impart to you the Master’s word?”

  As he recoiled, his face going ashen, she proceeded to do just that. Boldly seizing his right hand in hers, she shifted her fingers so that her nails pressed into his wrist in the Master’s grip. Her other hand she closed over their joined ones so he could not pull away.

  “Hand to hand I greet you as a brother,” she said quietl
y, looking him in the eyes. Deliberately moving her right foot forward against the inside of his, she said, “Foot to foot, I will support you in all your undertakings.”

  When he only stared at her in shock, too stunned to pull back, she shifted forward so that her right calf lay close alongside his, ankle to knee. Her voluminous petticoats muffled any actual contact, but the symbolism was clear, and well Falk knew it. She felt him flinch as she murmured, “Knee to knee, the posture of my daily undertakings shall remind me of your wants. Breast to breast—”

  He gasped and stiffened as she leaned her right shoulder against his, his eyes squeezing shut as if to shut out the words.

  “—your lawful secrets when entrusted to me as such I will keep as my own,” she said. “Hand over back”—her left hand finally released their clasped ones to lift and circle lightly over his back, clasping him firmly, trembling with him—“I will support your character in your absence as in your presence.”

  He still did not move, stiff and rigid within her embrace, eyes tightly closed; but as she leaned closer to his ear and softly whispered the Master’s word, the resistance seemed to drain out of him with a faint sob.

  Slowly the fingers of his right hand shifted to echo the Master’s grip against her right wrist, his left hand lifting to lightly clasp her back. Then his forehead dipped briefly to rest against her shoulder.

  After a few seconds he drew breath and raised his head, his eyes stormy with confusion as he dropped his left hand and drew back slightly. But he kept her right hand in his, shifting it to a more conventional handclasp, patting it awkwardly with his left hand, shaking his gray head in bewildered respect.

  “Madame,” he said, his voice a little unsteady, “I am seventy-one years old, a Ba’al Shem, a high Initiate in Freemasonry and in many secret sciences of which you have not even dreamed. Yet never did I think to see the day when I should greet a woman as my sister in the Craft.”

  “I feel privileged to greet you as a brother, Rabbi,” she said quietly, finally lowering her eyes in the deference usually expected of women. “I am truly sorry if my presence has caused you discomfort, but we feared that if you knew my gender beforehand, you might reject my assistance out of hand. And since I was the one pointed out by the Chevalier’s contact …”

  She let him fill in the sense of the sentence she failed to finish, not offended when he dropped her hand, again shaking his head.

  “Yes, there is still that question,” he said.

  She quirked him a brief, mirthless smile. “It would not have been my choice either, Rabbi. And if you can provide a better candidate, I shall be happy to step aside and support my brethren in whatever manner you may direct. But in this it appears that other agencies are at work besides our own.”

  “Indeed.” Falk exhaled gustily and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I had already allowed for working with an untrained medium—and I cannot deny that, as a Master Mason, you cannot fail to have the basic preparation I would require of any man.

  “Yet you were present before and failed to make contact with the Messrs. Murray,” he went on. “Nonetheless, a contact was made. Curious.”

  He drew a deep breath, pulling off his spectacles to polish them against a voluminous handkerchief he produced from somewhere inside his coat, then cast his glance over the four of them as he put the spectacles back on.

  “Very well,” he said. “I like it not, for we invite far more variables than I would wish in an operation of this kind. Nonetheless, our numbers seem ordained; and the auguries for finding your gold will not be so good for many weeks if we use not this night. Come. We shall make the attempt. A place has been prepared.”

  Without further ado, he took up one of the candlesticks and led them out of the library, back through the polished hall and along a carpeted corridor, passing through a succession of waxed and polished doors. At length they came to a door that was grander than all the previous ones, banded in polished brass and surrounded by an architrave carved with marble pillars to either side, the right one white, and the left one black.

  By the light of his candlestick Falk unlocked the door with a small brass key and pushed it open. A small silver mezuzah gleamed on the doorpost on the right, and he kissed the fingertips of his right hand and then touched them to the object before entering.

  “Shema Ysrael, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad,” he murmured, bowing his head as he stepped across the threshold.

  The prince followed immediately after, also kissing his fingertips as Falk had done and touching them to the object as he glanced back at the rest of them.

  “That prayer is called the Shema,” he murmured. “Say after me, and do as I do: Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”

  They repeated his words dutifully, each copying the prince’s gesture of respect as they followed him inside. Ramsay was the last one in, setting the valise at his feet as he pulled the door closed behind him.

  By the light of several candles in the vestibule beyond, Falk was taking off his shoes. Without prompting they followed suit, for the context made it clear that they were preparing to walk upon holy ground. As further reinforcement of tradition, Falk handed out black skullcaps to the other men, noting Arabella’s lace cap with apparent acceptance.

  He then bade them clothe themselves for work, surreptitiously watching Arabella put on her apron while he donned his own. The lining of his was blue, Arabella noticed, as was the prince’s, as she had learned was European custom. He moved to a china basin to wash his hands, drying them on a linen towel.

  “I ask that when you enter the temple beyond, you go to the places I indicate and sit in silence,” he said as they washed and dried their hands after him. “Before beginning our work tonight, it is fitting that each of us pray individually, even as we prayed before being raised as Master Masons, asking God’s strength to bless our endeavor and sustain us in our work. After a suitable interval I shall then direct you in the opening of the temple, invoking the sacred Names. Have you any questions?”

  There were none, though the Ba’al Shem looked long into each solemn face. When he had satisfied himself as to their readiness, he turned to open the arched door into the next chamber.

  It was a perfect cube of a room, perhaps fifteen feet on a side, with heavy blue velvet wall hangings beneath the plastered cornicing, tall alabaster columns set in the four corners, a ceiling painted like the night sky, and a black-and-white-tiled floor mostly covered by a painted floor cloth. Mirror facets marked out constellations on the ceiling, catching points of light from a hanging center lantern of brass set with blue glass that also revealed the dark bulk of several chairs arranged in the center of the room.

  They stepped inside at Falk’s gesture of invitation, though they hung to either side while he locked the door behind them, letting their eyes adjust to the watery light. As Arabella glanced up at the ceiling, seeking out familiar patterns, she noticed that the pointers of the Big Dipper indicated north to the left—which gave the room a traditional east-west orientation.

  Closer perusal of the center of the room revealed the chairs to be five in number, set astride five of the painted points of a six-pointed star formed of interlocking triangles of gold and silver. Rather than a chair, a small table occupied the easternmost point, supporting the familiar symbols of Freemasonry: square and compasses laid atop an open Volume of Sacred Law, with three lighted candles set across the back of the table. A painted circle of vermilion contained the star; a second, slightly larger one defined a band like the rim of a plate, on which were painted Hebrew letters that spelled out sacred names.

  Silently Falk moved before the westernmost chair, facing the east, directing the rest of them to the positions he deemed most suitable: Arabella to the chair immediately to the right of him, with Ramsay beyond her; the prince and Andrew to the two more northerly chairs, the prince immediately to Falk’s left. As Arabella nervously sat in her designated place, she cast her gaze over a small wooden pedestal standing between
her and Falk, supporting a small incense brazier, a small bowl of incense, and Angus Murray’s silver snuffbox.

  Slowly and deliberately, Falk closed his eyes and bowed his head. Profound silence ensued as the others followed his example and settled into prayer.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The silence deepened as the minutes ticked by, until finally Falk raised his head and stood, the rustle of his movement recalling them from meditation. “ ‘Except Adonai build the house, they labor in vain that build it,’ ” he said, quoting from the Psalm.

  “ ‘Except Adonai keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.’ My brothers and my sister, assist me to open this temple, in the name of Adonai, for the purpose of seeking knowledge from one who has passed beyond. Be upstanding as I invoke the Sacred Names and summon the heavenly Protectors.”

  They rose at his bidding, facing east with him as he moved into the center of the circle and lifted his right hand both in salute and in the beginning gesture of a familiar ritual. The equal-armed cross he began to trace across his body was no Christian symbol; rather, a glyph of the four elements in balance, the four cardinal points, known among Initiates as the Cabalistic cross.

  “Ateh,” Falk intoned, touching his forehead. “Malkuth.” His hand dipped to his solar plexus. “Ve Geburah … Ve Gedulah.” The hand swept to his right shoulder and then to the left, joining the left at his breast as he spoke the final words, “Le Olahm.”

  “Unto Thee … be the Kingdom … and the Power … and the Glory … unto all the ages.…”

  His head dipped as he whispered, “Amin,” which the rest of them repeated.

  A moment he stood thus, with head bowed, then lifted his eyes again to the east. Extending his right arm downward and across his body, he swept it upward in the first stroke of a banishing pentagram, carrying down then to the right, up and across to the left, directly across to the right, and then returning to the starting point off his left hip. His watchers had followed the motion and set the symbol in memory, but as he stabbed a forefinger at the center of the figure he had traced, intoning the first of the sacred Names, the Tetragrammaton itself, visual confirmation seemed to shimmer briefly before them, the air vibrating with the power of the Name.