Josse had spun round at the first words, as swiftly as if a spark of the fire had indeed leapt out and burned him; now, holding his knife before him, he said, ‘Who are you? Come out and show yourself !’
And out of the darkness came John Dee.
His milky hair was partly concealed by a hood, but his beard seemed to glow silver in the light, merging into the luminous pallor of his face. The dark eyes, intense, deep, were fixed on Josse with a power that seemed to hold him still.
With an effort, as if breaking out of an enchantment, he said, ‘What are you doing out here in the rain, Magister?’
Dee, with a faint air of surprise, held out his long hands, palms uppermost. Josse caught a glint of brilliant pale blue as the light of the fire caught the large aquamarine. ‘But it is not raining,’ he observed.
‘Yes it is, I––’ But as Josse, too, put out a hand, he realised that it was staying quite dry.
But he could still hear the rain, hissing down out of the black sky, drumming down on the ground!
Dee laughed. ‘There is no magic involved in that, Sir Josse,’ he said. ‘We stand under the generous branches of a chestnut tree and, for all that it is autumn, she still has sufficient leaves to shelter us.’
Feeling foolish, Josse bent his head and carefully put his knife away in its sheath. Then, raising his eyes and glaring at Dee, he said, ‘You did not answer my question. What are you doing out here?’
‘I am waiting for you,’ Dee replied calmly.
‘But how did you know that I would come out and find you?’
‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘Er – aye, I did.’
‘Well, then.’ Before Josse could make a comment – before, indeed, he had thought of one to make – Dee said, ‘I wanted to see you, Josse. May I address you so? Thank you. Yes, I wanted – needed – to speak to you privately, with no fear of being overheard.’ As he spoke, he turned and did something to the fire that quietened its brilliance to a gentle glow which, Josse reckoned, would scarcely be visible from the track. ‘There. The fire has done its job and brought you here. I have softened it so that it will not bring anyone else.’
Josse went to stand beside him. ‘Greek fire, you said?’ He was intrigued.
‘Yes. It is an invention of the Byzantines. They use it as a weapon, and it is a fearsome, terrifying one for, although when inert it has the appearance of a harmless lump of mud, it leaps into life when water touches it. Imagine, Josse, what that flame could do when stuck like a second skin to a man’s body.’
Josse preferred not to imagine that. ‘Fearsome,’ he muttered. ‘Aye, that it is.’
‘I have never used it to harm a living being,’ Dee said. ‘But I find that, as a light on a moonless night, it is incomparable. I have added a few ingredients of my own to the Byzantines’ formula,’ he went on, eagerness creeping into his voice, ‘and this modified fire suits me well.’ He waved a hand over the iron cup, and the flame quietened further. ‘Now. To business.’
He turned to face Josse, tucking his hands away in his wide sleeves; fleetingly, Josse was reminded of the Abbess. ‘What did you wish to say to me that must not be overheard?’ he asked.
The Magister studied him for a few moments. Then he said, ‘I admired your restraint when you asked your question of Prince John earlier. You merely wondered how he came to know of Sidonius. It displayed wise forbearance, if I may say so, not to have demanded what was really in your mind.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Why, how he knew about the Eye of Jerusalem, of course. You surely realise that it is the jewel he is after?’
With a long sigh, Josse said, ‘Aye. It does not take any great intelligence to work that out, when it is commonly said that the Prince is trying to raise cash and support against the likelihood that he becomes king.’ He scowled at Dee. ‘And I reckon I already know how he found out about the Eye.’ He hesitated for an instant – was it wise to hurl accusations at a sorcerer, out in a lonely valley with nobody about and a magical fire glowing steadily? But his anger burned more hotly than the fire; he leaned closer to Dee and said, ‘You told him about it. You use the scrying glass that your forefathers passed down to you – aye, I know about it, my own father used to tell us tales of the first two King Williams and their court magician – and you saw Galbertius Sidonius carrying the Eye into England, looking for me.’ He paused for breath, then went on, ‘That was why the Prince came seeking me out at New Winnowlands. When I said I had never heard of Sidonius, you knew I spoke the truth, and so you turned the search elsewhere. And, eventually, you came here.’
He heard the echo of his final words on the still air. The intensity of the Magister’s stare was disconcerting; for the first time, Josse felt the stirrings of fear.
But, as if he were aware of it, Dee put out a hand and lightly touched Josse’s arm. ‘I mean you no harm, Josse,’ he said. ‘You are an honest man, and I have no quarrel with one such as you. Indeed, I – But no.’ Briefly he shook his head, as if casting aside whatever he had been about to say. ‘In essence, you guess rightly,’ he said instead. ‘Although we had heard tell of a magical stone of power brought home from Outremer, there are many such tales and few are worth credence. However, the story of Geoffroi d’Acquin and the Eye of Jerusalem did seem particularly persistent, and the Prince suggested that inquiries should be made. Even the best of his spies, I’m afraid, came quickly to a dead end.’ He paused. Then added, compassion in his voice, ‘Literally to a dead end, I fear, in one instance. We are almost certain that the dead body that you told me about, the one discovered here in the Vale, was that of one of the Prince’s agents.’
‘The rotting corpse with the knife stuck in his ribs?’ As soon as he had said the words, Josse regretted their bluntness. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I speak of a rotting corpse, whereas you, Magister, perhaps knew the living man, and regret his death.’
‘I knew him, yes, a little,’ Dee said. ‘And I do indeed regret his death, both for its brutality and for the fact that it was a sheer waste.’
‘A waste?’
‘The young man did not stand a chance,’ Dee murmured. Then, once again, he stared into Josse’s eyes. Instantly Josse had the sense that what they had just been speaking of was now obscured by a cloud of smoke; although he tried, he could not remember what it was.
Dee said firmly, ‘But we were discussing your father. I was explaining how it was known that Geoffroi set out from Outremer to head for home, but nobody seemed to be able to say whether or not he made it. Except that there was you.’ The dark eyes held Josse’s.
‘Me?’
‘Yes. Your name was known – are you not a King’s man? Did not Richard give you a task to do, and award you the manor of New Winnowlands in gratitude?’
‘Aye, that he did.’
‘So. Josse d’Acquin, who came from northern France. You see how the assumption was made, that you could very well be of Geoffroi’s line?’
‘Aye. Which led to the conclusion that he must have got home, married, and had a son.’
‘Exactly!’ The Magister looked pleased. ‘So, assuming that Geoffroi returned to Acquin, we further guessed that he brought the Eye with him. And then, when you came to see me that day, you told me that your father was dead.’
‘You already knew.’
‘Did I?’ There was a definite twinkle in Dee’s eyes. ‘Perhaps I did. As I was saying, knowing that your father was dead, it was natural to reason that the man you call Sidonius would bring the Eye to you, his heir, and so––’
‘You
did
know that Father was dead!’ Josse interrupted. ‘You came to New Winnowlands to ask me about Sidonius several days before I told you! You would only have done so had you known full well that I now hold the Acquin title!’
‘Very well, then.’ Dee sounded amused. ‘Yes, I knew of your father’s summertime death, and I regret to say that I guided the Prince’s steps to you.’ Sounding serious now, he went on, ‘I serve the Crown, as John Dee has always done and will always do, as long as his services are required. King Richard, however, has no time for my talents; his brother is a different matter. My master’s need, Josse, is for wealth; as his loyal servant, is it not my duty to assist him in its acquisition?’
‘Perhaps.’ Josse was not going to be seduced into an unreserved agreement. ‘But what if Prince John acquiring wealth means stealing things from other people?’
Dee made no answer for a moment. Then, eyeing Josse steadily, he said, ‘There you have it. My dilemma, as bluntly expressed as any man could wish.’
Josse, wanting to be entirely sure that he had understood, said slowly, ‘Let me be clear about this, Magister. You knew of the Eye, you told the Prince it was valuable, you tracked it to the house of Acquin, you brought the Prince to me. You aim to help steal it from me, but the problem is that I do not have it.’
‘I know that, Josse. I can see full well that the Eye has not come to you. But that is not the problem, for I assure you that the stone is on its way. My problem is that I no longer believe the Prince should relieve you of it.’
Stunned, Josse could only manage, ‘Why not?’
‘Because you are an honest man,’ Dee replied simply, ‘like your father before you. And as powerful a tool as the Eye of Jerusalem is will ever be safer in the hands of those whose moral fibre is straight, strong and incorruptible.’
‘I don’t know about all that,’ Josse began. But then, realising what Dee’s comment implied about his master the Prince, he stopped. Confused, vaguely uneasy, he did not know what to say.
‘I see much that the Prince is not aware that I see,’ Dee said, his voice taking on a hypnotic tone. ‘I see that he is clever – oh, yes, highly intelligent – and that he has some fine qualities. But I also see what seethes below the surface; he has all the energy and thrust of his redoubtable parents but, perhaps typically of a last-born, he has a strong sense of survival. He is able, I believe, to put aside what he knows to be right and best for the majority in favour of what is right and best for himself. He is not’ – now the voice spoke out clearly – ‘the right guardian of the Eye. And you are.’
Josse said in a whisper, ‘Are you sure of that?’
‘I am,’ Dee said. ‘It was given to your father – freely given, in thanks for a brave deed of rare loving kindness – and, as your father’s eldest child, it is now rightfully yours.’
‘I had an elder sister, but she died when she was a baby,’ Josse murmured.
‘Yes. Had she lived, the stone would have been hers.’
‘It does not have to be passed to a son?’
‘No.’ The Magister laughed. ‘The Eye is old, Josse. It comes from a time long ago when, before men elbowed women out of the seats of power, the female was accorded the greater honour. And the Eye holds ancient magic from the land of its birth, far away, whose northern borders touch the trade routes that wind out of China and lead to India and into the west, joining the great Silk Road in the mountains to the east of Persia. It was in Persia that jewellers worked the uncut stone, and skilled goldsmiths fashioned the Eye’s casing; they wrote a magic inscription in their own language.’
‘Aramaic,’ Josse said dreamily.
‘Aramaic,’ Dee agreed. ‘Do you know what the words say, Josse?’
‘No.’ He was bewitched by the Magister’s deep, dark eyes, and had the sense that, as he stared into their depths, he was being drawn down a long, shadowed tunnel.
‘The stone is a sapphire, which the Persians call
saffir
,’ Dee’s dream-voice went on. ‘They believe that the stone is formed from the elixir of immortality, the
amrita
. It is the life-giving milk of the Great Goddess whom they know as Ishtar, although she has many names. You see, Josse? Long ago, when mankind was in his infancy, the deity was adored in her female role. So, to answer your question, naturally the Eye does not ignore the Goddess’s daughters in favour of her sons. There is nothing to suggest that a woman may not inherit the stone.’
‘I see,’ Josse murmured. Then, recovering from his dream state, ashamed that this old sorcerer should have found him such an easy victim, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. ‘This Abbey is ruled by a woman.’
‘A fine woman,’ Dee agreed. ‘I confess I am greatly impressed by Abbess Helewise. She refused to be intimidated by the Prince, didn’t she? Even when he was on the point of erupting into a rage, she stood firm. I admire that in anyone, but it is as rare as to be virtually unique in a woman.’ He chuckled. ‘The only other lady who looks him straight in the eye is his mother.’
‘Do you have a wife, Magister?’ Josse asked, interested.
‘I? No, I regret not. Wedlock and sorcery do not sit comfortably together.’
‘But you like and admire women?’
‘Oh, yes. Our age does not value them as it should, and the world is the poorer for it. Power in the female form is our only hope,’ he murmured.
‘How so?’ Josse demanded.
The Magister’s eyes took on a clouded look, as if he were staring at something in the distance. ‘The power of men is a selfish power,’ he intoned. ‘It is a base and naked force which, once discovered, is akin to that of a small boy who finds he can cut off the head of a cat with his father’s sword. Because he can is no reason to assume that he should. Do you see?’
‘Er – aye.’
‘There is no future for us unless we acknowledge the female force,’ Dee went on. ‘The spark of the Great Mother, the nurturer, exists in all of us, would we but recognise it.’
Some hope of that, Josse reflected.
Dee, as if picking up on Josse’s unspoken thought, said, ‘One day, Josse – a day not far off in terms of the long history of this world of ours – one day it will change.’ The dark eyes suddenly turned to Josse, piercing him with a stabbing stare that was almost painful. ‘There will sit on the great throne of England a monarch who will be the greatest of them all.’ He spoke the words as if he were chanting. ‘Wise, astute, learned and just, beloved of the people, this monarch will be the child of a philanderer and a witch with eleven fingers.’ He paused. ‘And she will be a woman.’