Lammas Night (24 page)

“Are you sure you're back?” his chief asked, looking closely at his eyes and waving a hand across his vision close on. “Let me see you blink, Gray. Focus on my hand.”

As Selwyn snapped his fingers, Graham blinked several times and gave a cautious nod, still disoriented from settling into his own memories so quickly. The mirror caught his eyes and started to pull him back, and he blinked again.

The mirror. What was there about the mirror, another mirror?

“Was that Drake's, by any chance?” he breathed, staring as if he had never seen it before. “I remember something about a mirror, right at the beginning.”

“What do you remember?” Alix asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to capture the memory, then looked into the mirror again.

“I think I had one on my ship,” he whispered, halfway back in Drake. “I could see the movements of the enemy ships and hear their captains' orders. I—”

He raised a hand to his forehead and shook his head, the memory lost. Alix turned and motioned for the brigadier to cover the mirror and take it away. The movement brought Graham back with a snap, the final link at last severed. He managed a wan smile as his glance flicked over their worried faces: Alix, Selwyn, the brigadier.…

“William?”

He wrenched around. The prince was poised on the edge of his seat as if he were about to explode, hands gripped tightly along the seat edge to either side. By the look on his face, Graham wondered what had kept him there.

“It's all right,” Graham blurted. “
I'm
all right.”

He took a deep breath and let it out, willing his momentary apprehension for William to recede. He did not want the prince to see him this way.

“Wesley, why don't you take our guest outside while I debrief?” he murmured. “He can wait with Richard and Geoffrey if you need to go. William, I'll be with you in a few minutes. We'll talk on the way back.”

“What about the mirror?” William whispered, not moving from the settle. “
Was
it Drake's?”

“I don't know.” He glanced at Alix. “Was it?”

She shook her head. “Not this one, though he
was
reputed to have a magic mirror aboard his flagship which worked as you described. Had you read about it?”

“Not that I recall. Besides, we've used this mirror before, haven't we?”

“Yes. However, before we continue this discussion …”

She let her voice trail off as she gazed past him at the prince, and Graham nodded.

“You're right. William, if you'll excuse us, please.”

He tried to stand as the prince rose, but it was too soon for that. Selwyn caught him under one arm as he reeled, and William grabbed his other, but for a moment he feared he might pass out. The episode and his embarrassment were real enough, but they were also convenient. While he supported himself against the edge of the table, only half feigning further dizziness to keep William's attention, the brigadier took care of the door.

“Sorry. I shouldn't have stood so soon after coming out of deep trance,” Graham said apologetically. “It was just a little dizziness. I'm really all right.”

William eyed him somewhat dubiously as he was ushered out, but Graham raised a hand in reassurance and somehow mustered a smile. He managed to maintain it until Richard had brought in his clothes and gone out again. Only when the door had closed did he allow himself to slump bonelessly back into the chair, closing his eyes. He heard Selwyn sit down with an indignant snort.

“All right, what the bloody hell were you trying to do?” his chief said, drumming fingers on the table in annoyance. “Alix, does he do this sort of thing often when I'm away?”

“No, and I don't know what happened,” she replied, pulling up another stool. “We'd only planned to scry for Drake—I thought. Where
did
you go, Gray?”

Graham rubbed his face with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else. “I wish to hell I knew. The Drake part was fine. There at the end, though, I seemed to be killing kings—and being killed sometimes. Can someone get me a pencil and paper? I want to write down some names before they slip away.”

He tried not to think until he had scribbled out the list. That part of his trance was hazy, and he wasn't sure he didn't want it to stay that way. When the others had read what he wrote, Alix looked up at him wistfully. Selwyn's expression was un-readable.

“Well, what did I snare?” Graham asked softly. “Was it a series of dreams or past-life memories or what?”

“The second, I think,” Alix replied. “Look at your list again. Do any of the names mean anything to you now?”

“Nothing in particular. I suppose I've read about most of them at one time or another, but …”

As he leaned forward lethargically to pull at the pile of his clothes, Selwyn thrust a restraining hand across his chest.

“Are you sure you ought to dress yet? You may not be quite settled.”

Graham managed a weak grin as he shook out his trousers and began pulling them on. Both took a lot of effort.

“I'll be all right. Doing something ordinary helps me ground myself.”

He stood long enough to zip his trousers and pull the robe off over his head, but the exertion seemed to drain him of what little energy he had regained. White-faced, he collapsed back into the chair, the sweater crumpled in his lap.

“Gray, I've never seen you this disoriented,” Alix murmured. “Talk to us! Get yourself focused. Tell us more about the names.”

He blinked and sighed again, then began wearily pulling on the sweater, his voice coming muffled through the wool.

“Ah, FitzUrse, right off. He was one of the knights who killed Becket, wasn't he?”

“Yes. Who else?”

“Ah—William Wallace? That doesn't make sense. He was a Scot.”

“Executed by Edward I, however,” Selwyn said. “That may be the connection. An interesting pairing, though: FitzUrse and Wallace, a murderer and a victim.”

“No, slayer and slain,” Graham corrected without even thinking.
“Slayer of kings and slain for kings am I
.…”

Alix looked at him sharply. “What was that?”

“Sl—” Graham stopped in confusion. “What did I say?”

“Slayer of kings and slain by kings am I,” she repeated. “It sounded like you were quoting.”

He shook his head, seized by the words again. “No, not slain
by
kings; slain
for
kings.
Necator regum sum, et pro regibus necor
. A big difference.”

He blinked, then buried his face in his hands and tried to sort it out.

“God, where did I get all that?” he murmured, suddenly a little scared. “What the bloody hell was I, Alix? Some kind of karmic executioner?”

“Perhaps, in a sense,” Selwyn replied slowly, “but more likely a great deal more than that. It sounds like you've been part of the sacred king cycle: FitzUrse killing Becket for Henry II; Wallace
being
killed for—Edward?” He cleared his throat nervously. “However, if you've also been Drake and some of the others who have followed after him, then you've been a defender as well.” He paused just a beat. “I would think that's your function in
this
life, based on what we're trying to do.”

“It sounds like you're trying to reassure me that we haven't been talking about a repeat sacrifice this time around,” Graham said quietly. “Do you think the memories may be meant to prepare me for that possibility?”

Selwyn looked very uncomfortable. “We knew that was a remote possibility when we started. I don't see that anything has changed as a result of tonight's working.”

“Let's go on from here,” Alix said, circling several names. “I don't see that it serves any purpose to speculate further about Gray's role right now. Gray, you have Tyrrel on your list. Was that Walter Tyrrel, who was connected with William Rufus?”

“Rufus? Of course!” Graham sat back in his chair, suddenly remembering the redheaded king of his vision. “That's who it was. For some reason, that one had details.”

When he closed his eyes, the scene came crisp and clear, though this time he was remembering, not reliving it.

“We were hunting. It was the day after Lammas, in a year sacred for him and the land; he was forty-two, and it was a new century. He turned and smiled at me as I wound the bolt into my crossbow. He knew. We'd talked about it. He gave me the bolts.” His eyes popped open, but he was still seeing it for a moment.

“I shot him. He fell on the bolt. He was dead before I could reach his side. I remember I wept.…”

“You wept here, too,” Alix said, gently laying a hand on his as his voice quivered at the ending. “Anything else you can remember about it?”

He shook his head and began pulling on socks and boots, wanting to give his hands something to do.

“Nothing else about him,” he murmured. “I'd certainly like to know what triggered all the bits that hadn't to do with Drake, though. All these memories about sacrifices—”

“Let's forget about sacrifices for the moment,” Selwyn said gruffly. “What about Drake? Did you get what you went for?”

Graham sat back with a sigh and rubbed absently at the space between his eyes. If the possibility of sacrifice made
him
uneasy, then it must be doubly distressing to Selwyn, who had all but drafted Graham to take his place as man in black—and as sacrifice, if it came to that. For all their sakes, best to get on with Drake, who had merely been a defender. At least the Drake memories were not so threatening.

“I don't know that I got exactly what we were looking for, but I certainly made a contact,” Graham said, forcing himself to put the other out of mind. “I
was
Drake, by the way—I didn't just pick up information about him. For the first part of it, I was sitting on a hilltop above Plymouth Sound and drumming while the grand coven danced around me and raised the power for the Armada storm. You and the drum were ideal background for that part of it, David. The drum provided the thread which drew the whole first part together.” He shivered. “It was even more mystical and powerful than the old tales let on.”

Selwyn smiled for the first time since the scrying ended. “Was Drake the local man in black, then? Is that how he convened the grand coven?”

“I'm not sure. I
think
so. I'm going to have to do some more thinking about that. As nearly as I can tell, he appears to have received some kind of mandate directly from Elizabeth. Do either of you happen to know whether she dropped a garter while she was knighting Drake?”

“A garter? As in Knights of, or witches?” Alix asked.

Graham shook his head, remembering the purple velvet. “I don't know. Close enough not to make a difference, I suspect. I had the distinct impression he found her far more sympathetic and knowledgeable about the old ways than history paints her. There's some kind of Garter connection, though. Several Garter Knights were in attendance, and the incident seemed to mean something to them. She had Drake pick up the dropped garter, and he kissed it before he gave it back. After that, the Garter Knights saluted him.”

“That's curious,” Selwyn said, retrieving Graham's pencil. “Do you remember which Garter Knights? That's easy enough to check.”

Graham closed his eyes, picturing the three men. “Ah—Leicester, Burghley, and Howard. That's Charles Howard of Effingham. I had the feeling that I knew him well.”

“Not surprising. He was lord high admiral by the time of the Armada, and probably your boss,” Selwyn said. “What you've described seems odd, though. Drake was never a Knight of the Garter.”

“It doesn't sound as if he
had
to be,” Alix said with a raised eyebrow. “Gray, can you give us any other names that could be verified historically?”

Graham nodded. “Sir Christopher Hatton. He was captain of the Queen's guard. She used his sword. And the French ambassador did the actual knighting. I can't remember his name, but Drake may not have known, either.”

“All right, I can check that, too,” Alix replied, chewing on her pencil. “Anyone else?”

“Not just now.” He dropped his head into both hands. “Jesus, my head hurts! It's really just started to hit me.”

“You've been a busy boy,” Selwyn muttered, rising to begin massaging the back of Graham's neck and shoulders with both hands. “Come back and sleep aboard my ship tonight and we'll talk more when you've slept. Do you think you're fit to drive?”

“I'll ask William. I don't think he'll mind.”

“William? My dear chap, colonels don't ask—”

“This one does,” Graham replied, rising shakily and smiling to disarm Selwyn's surprise. “Really, David. It's all right. He used to do it all the time. Besides, it will help take his mind off some of what happened tonight. If I'd known how it was going to go, I'm not sure I would have let him come. We've probably scared him witless.”

“Don't be too sure about that,” Alix said, walking with him to the door. “He may surprise you. Ask him about it. I have a feeling he may sense more than meets the eye.”

He wondered what she meant by that, but there was no time for further speculation. Outside the room, he put on a reassuring face for Richard and Geoffrey as he shrugged into the duffle coat his son held, noting vaguely that William was already back in Balaclava helmet and coat, waiting attentively.

He knew he was preoccupied as he led William back down the stairs and to the car, but somehow he was reluctant to break the silence and sensed the same reluctance in William. Even when the prince had pulled the car back onto the paved road and settled in for the drive back to Plymouth, neither of them said a word.

C
HAPTER
10

They drove in silence for the first quarter hour, William at the wheel and Graham with his head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed, bracing himself for a barrage of questions that did not come.