Lammas Night (17 page)

William, who had been listening in astonishment as Graham spoke, recovered his previous skepticism with a blink and flicked ash from his cigarette with a sly grin.

“You're digressing, Gray. Get back to the garters and the witches. This is very entertaining, but I don't think you can bring this one back on the track and make me believe it.”

“No? Let me tell you a little about the witch cult in England, then. You said you'd done some reading in the past week, but you obviously didn't do enough. In the Middle Ages, the old religion—paganism, if you will—was still flourishing among both the common people and certain of the nobility. The real cult, involving worship of the ancient gods and goddesses of Britain, had little to do with what later became the subject of the so-called witch hunts. A great deal of what came to be believed about the witches derived from the same sort of mentality that produced the Inquisition and the crusades against other kinds of heretics on the Continent: Cathars and Albigensians and even some remnants of Templar belief. As a Freemason, you're aware of that aspect of my story, I'm sure.”

“You're saying that Jacques de Molay and Geoffroi de Charney were witches.” William said indulgently. “Do go on. This gets more fantastic by the second.”

Graham sighed patiently. “You're not listening, William. In France as well as in England, the ecclesiastical hierarchy was aware that the conversion to Christianity was incomplete, that paganism was flourishing side by side with orthodox Christianity. Officially, they did their best to discourage it.

“But even the priests often managed to meld the two traditions into an acceptable blend without qualms. Many pagan customs were simply assimilated wholesale into Christianity. That same kind of synthesis was involved in the formation of the Order of the Garter.”

“Strange, I always thought it had been modeled on the court of King Arthur and his knights,” William said archly.

“That was one of the outward justifications,” Graham agreed. “But let's look at the lost garter incident more closely. You didn't say whose garter it was, but that isn't particularly important, anyway—only that the lady was of very high rank at court. It could have been Philippa, Edward's queen, or the Countess of Salisbury. Or even the King's own cousin, Joan the Fair Maid of Kent, who later became Countess of Salisbury herself—and Princess of Wales after that, as wife to the Black Prince. I tend to suspect it was Joan.”

“Go on, go on,” William urged, gesturing with his hand.

“I am. In any case, when as important a lady as any of those lost the garter of her pagan rank at a court function before the King and probably assorted ecclesiastical authorities, things could have gone very badly for her,” Graham continued. “When Edward picked up that garter and buckled it around his leg with the immortal words, at very
least
he was taking her under his protection. He's also said to have mentioned something about making it ‘the most honourable garter that ever was worn, e'er long'—though Edward may already have been aware of its significance, since he later asked his private secretary to look into the ‘background and traditions of the Order of St. George and the Garter.' It makes little sense to have inquired about this unless there
was
an earlier significance to the garter, and Edward knew of it.”

William frowned. “You seem to know quite a lot about an order to which you don't even belong.”

“It's my business to know,” Graham returned softly. “I told you I wasn't totally untrained. I've given you the more conservative interpretation of Edward's actions in picking up the lady's garter. Shall I suggest a broader one?”

“Why not?” William smiled ruefully. “I don't believe a word of this, anyway.”

“I know you don't. Humor me just a little longer. If Edward
was
aware of the esoteric meaning of the garter, we might construe that, by his action, he was essentially acknowledging his own support of and possibly membership in the very cult signified by the garter—maybe even taking on the position of an incarnate god for his subjects who still followed the path of the divine king. He would have been neither the first nor the last of your illustrious ancestors to assume that role.”

“The divine king?” William interrupted. “Wait a moment. Are you saying that the idea of divine right came from—”

“The very thing. Anciently—and by that I mean from the earliest tribal times—the king was the embodiment of the land and life-giving forces. As such, he had to remain strong and vigorous if the land was to prosper. It followed that as his strength waned—as he got old—it became necessary to replace the aging king with a new, younger vessel to carry the strength of the land.

“So the king was sacrificed, his blood spilled on the earth, and a new king crowned, usually on a seven-year cycle. Later, kings were no longer sacrificed every seven years, but a substitute was slain, as long as the king was strong. The idea of the king's divinity persisted in our notion of rule by divine right. There may even have been instances of the divine sacrifice in historical times. The death of your distant ancestor, William Rufus, was almost certainly a sacrificial slaying. There were undoubtedly others later on. But I didn't mean to digress too far from old Edward Three and the Garter.”

William shook his head bewilderedly. “You're more than a little wonky, Gray. A garter
can
just be something to hold up a stocking, you know. It doesn't have to be some magical—”

“Still not convinced, eh? What did I tell you about covens the last time we talked?”

“The idea of twelve plus one?”

“Um-hum.”

“What about it?”

“Think about the organization of the order: twelve knights for the King and twelve for the Prince of Wales. That's twenty-six: two covens. There are also twenty-six poor knights and thirteen canons, making a total of five covens in all. I'd guess that to be more than coincidence.”

“But it's a
Christian
order, founded on classic
Christian
principles.”

Graham smiled and shook his head. “The principles are universal at their heart, William. In the beginning, the reverence of the Garter Knights for the sovereign of their order put even God in second place. Read the order's original statutes of institution sometime. For the first century or so after the founding, the knights entering the St. George Chapel at Windsor for meetings of their order would make their obeisance
first
to the sovereign or his stall and
then
to the presence signified at the altar. They believed that the God Incarnate was among them in the person of their king. This kind of reverence for the monarch, to one degree or another, extended at least into the reign of James I.”

William shook his head. “Why am I even listening to you? This is utter rubbish!”

“Is it? What else was Christ's crucifixion but a sacrifice of the divine king?” Graham retorted, determined not to let up. “King of the Jews and Son of God—God Incarnate. And I could name you dozens of other divine king sacrifices from the traditions of other religions—Osiris, Tammuz, Mithras.… If one believes in any of those, including Christianity, how is that so different from believing that the king assumed the godhead at his anointing and then stood in the stead of the god during his reign? It all goes back to the times when the king was priest as well as ruler, making sacrifices on his people's behalf—and the sacrifice was not always just incense and sheep.”

“But that was
then
.”

“Yes, but we certainly do retain elements of the old priestly ordination in our present coronation ceremony—the anointing, the vesting with priest-like clothing. It's still sometimes referred to as the sacring of the king. Perhaps it's even significant that to this day, only Knights of the Garter are permitted to hold the canopy over the king during his anointing. Think back to your brother's coronation—or your father's, if you can remember it. An interesting custom, don't you think?”

William had actually stopped breathing as Graham hammered home his final points, and now he let out his pent-up breath in an audible sigh as he sank back in his chair. All the fight was gone out of him. After a moment, he remembered the cigarette between his fingers and stubbed it out distractedly, but Graham could see him eyeing his Garter star from quite a new perspective as he pushed his glass aside.

“Oddly enough, it does make a certain kind of sense,” William murmured when he glanced up at Graham again.

“It also carries the potential for a great deal of controversy and scandal, were your knowledge to become known,” Graham said quietly. “That's why I've never told you any of this before.” He sighed. “On the other hand, it does seem somehow right that you should finally know. Maybe I've realized that from the beginning. Perhaps that's why I fought so hard to force you into being what I knew you could be when that spoiled, arrogant young Lieutenant Victor first came under my command,” he continued with a wan smile. “Perhaps we even knew one another in some previous life and unconsciously I recognized the bond.”

William smiled self-consciously, still a little nervous but obviously pleased at the idea.

“Do you really think so?”

“It's possible.” Graham flashed on a mental image of William's horoscope, suddenly making a previously unnoticed connection with an aspect of his own. “Now that I think about it, our charts do tend to confirm that. My south node falls in your first house. It's a little wide, but it certainly fits. Odd that I never noticed it before.”

“What are you talking about? Noticed what?”

Graham shook his head and grinned. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that such things mean nothing to you. Such a configuration is often a sign of a karmic tie—some connection from previous lives. I'll bring both charts and show you next time we meet. On the other hand”—he shrugged—“perhaps it doesn't mean a thing. Astrology is no more infallible than any other science.”

“Or art?” William returned with a tiny smile.

“Or art,” Graham agreed, though suddenly he felt uneasy.

Apparently restless, William rose and moved nearer the fireplace to stare unseeing at the bric-a-brac there, one hand in a pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, nervous gesture. After a moment, he half turned to Graham again.

“This—tie of the Royal Family to the—the old faith. Do you think it still exists today?”

“Not consciously, for the most part, especially for the royals themselves,” Graham answered, wondering what he might unwittingly have said to elicit William's growing restlessness. “I think it persists for the people in the mystique of royalty, however. That's why your appearances and speeches are so important, even though they may not seem that way, compared to more dramatic action. You're a part of the same royal line which anciently gave us sacred kings. In that sense, they become very much your people, and you their prince.”

“But it's my brother who's king, not I.”

“Yes, but blood is blood regardless of the order of birth. That makes you rather special.”

“Then you think—”

A discreet rap at the door cut William off in mid-sentence, and he mouthed a single-word expletive under his breath before clearing his throat with a nervous cough.

“Yes?”

It was Wells, who inclined his head apologetically.

“I beg your pardon, sir. There's a Mr. Grumbaugh on the line for Colonel Graham.” He shifted his glance to Graham. “He says you're to pick up a message at the Admiralty straightaway, colonel.”

Graham rose at once. “Tell him I'm on my way, please, Mr. Wells. And have my driver bring the car around, if you will.”

As Wells withdrew and Graham tossed off the last of his cognac, the prince drifted a little closer.

“What's on, then? Is Grumbaugh a part of your—Drake thing, after all?”

Graham nearly choked on his drink. “Good heavens, no! It's probably some ciphers we're expecting. Ultra—you know. They won't release them to anyone but me.” He set down his glass and began struggling with the collar of his tunic. “Grumbaugh's working the late shift tonight. I told him to ring me if the word came through. He's the only one who knew where I was dining this evening, and I told him any interruption had better be urgent—so I suppose it is.”

“Well, I suppose you'd better see about it, then, hadn't you?” The prince stuck out his hand. “At any rate, I'm glad we had a chance to talk—even if we were interrupted. Incidentally, may I ask a favor?” he added as Graham's hand touched his.

Graham, his one hand clasped between the prince's two, had a sudden premonition of impending crisis.

“What favor is that?”

“I'd like to be with you when you do that Drake thing you talked about.”

C
HAPTER
7

For an interminable instant, Graham could only stare at William in dumb disbelief. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the feudal symbolism of his hand between the prince's and the obedience the implied relationship suggested. He realized, too, that William had very likely intended the connection, rightly anticipating that what he asked would put Graham on the spot.

But why had William asked such a thing and with the weight of such compulsion? Graham had not even been sure the prince believed most of what they had been dicussing.

No formal oath of feudal allegiance bound the two of them, prince and man, as it might have done in medieval times. Graham was not William's vassal in any technical sense. But Graham now realized that a hint of such a link had been building between them for some time—perhaps even from the beginning. The mystique of the royal was far more than the coolly reasoned historical theory he had voiced so glibly not minutes before. William
was
his prince, in the fullest sense of the feudal relationship expressed in their clasped hands.