Son of the Morning (84 page)

Isabella looked at Montagu, like a cat assessing a sunbeam. ‘Oh William,’ she said, ‘you are the most useful of men and, on that condition, are welcome to my service. The Hospitallers have my husband alive – Mortimer was happy with that. I am not. I think you and I need to talk.’

‘I will do what you ask. I will hurry to Hell for you.’

‘Of course you will. Now come into my arms. You will stay with me tonight.’

Montagu was dizzy. ‘You hate me.’

‘But I am not unsubtle. Share my bed. I can think of nothing that will make you hate yourself more than to compound your offence to your lord, to cuckold your rightful king and spite his son. What enemy could ever defeat William Montagu, England’s most famous fighter? It’s you, William. You are the man to undo yourself. I appoint you to the task.’

She opened the little window and the child devil squeezed through, flying out against the stars.

‘So come,’ she said, ‘let me be your torturer and your damnation.’

Montagu closed his eyes. Then walked across the room. He put his lips to hers. She smelled of almonds and apples, of church incense and rue.

‘What do you want from me?’ he said as he broke from her kiss.

‘What I asked for from Mortimer,’ she whispered. ‘I want my husband’s heart, for that will give me England.’

5

Despenser eyed Nergal as the tattered cardinal made his way into the crypt. The giant was still crouching by Sariel’s body, his rotten face pale in the torchlight.

‘I’m not sure I like the look of him,’ he said, ‘he’s not of our faction.’

‘Is he of Free Hell?’ said Osbert. Behind him was a creature like a devil in a painting, horned and bearded, bright red, his body glowing like a hot iron. This was the hottest branding devil, brought in by Osbert for the warmth he would lend to Nergal.

‘No. But he’s not someone I know. Who do you work for, devil?’

‘For Lord Satan.’

Osbert saw something remarkable – an expression of nervousness, almost fear, crossed Despenser’s face, the angel’s rotted lips drawing back from its toothless gums. Behind him the body of Sariel lay pale in the breathing torchlight.

‘None other?’

‘I am employed direct. Or I was. My situation may have changed since I came here, so unsuccessful have I been, so abused and mutilated.’

Osbert lit a little oil lamp off a candle. How quickly he had become indifferent to horrors. This decaying giant, this torn devil – no more disturbing to him now than the faces he’d seen in the marketplaces. He reminded himself what he always reminded himself when looking at infirmity or disease – physical collapse was just a symptom of spiritual collapse. One of the comforts Osbert took in his own good health was that it showed God favoured him at least a little.

‘Self-pity suits no one,’ said Despenser, ‘but if you had to suffer my toe or my shoulder then you’d know what pain was. Why is he here, pardoner?’

‘I believe he might have a talent similar to your own, lord, in that he could inhabit the body of this fallen angel.’

‘I would prefer a devil of my faction,’ said Despenser.

‘I am willing to be of your faction,’ said Nergal. ‘I will represent you to Satan as a very fine devil if you allow me to move out of this painful and threadbare body. He removed his collar to reveal a line of neat stitches. ‘My head aches terribly; these stitches allow me to live but they are so stiff and the collar chafes me so.’

‘You know how that feels,’ said Osbert. ‘You had just such a thing when I first met you.’

‘Are you suggesting some similarity between me and him?’ Despenser grabbed the pardoner and pulled him close to the sucking pink wound of his mouth.

‘Far from it,’ said Osbert, ‘but surely you must see how grateful he would be, how useful too, should the proper devil’s oaths be extracted.’

‘You would take an oath?’

‘I cannot take an oath to obey you because I obey Satan. But I can vow not to harm you, to further your aims and to give credit where it is due should we catch the Antichrist.’

Despenser looked hard at the devil. ‘And you think you could possess her body?’

‘Yes. Time was when every devil worth his salt could manage a possession. Now the old arts are being lost and few can do it – none of the outer circles at all.’

‘Why is that?’

‘The younger breed are content to jab a few sinners in the arse and spend their days in idleness. Satan’s attention is on the battles in the inner circles – he doesn’t impose discipline like he did. Those young devils are in for a shock once the battle’s won, though. The outer circles will have to buck up their ideas!’

‘You are not of the outer circles?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Nergal with a sniff. ‘I am an ambassador from Lord Satan. I am a devil of breeding, of quality. My powers are great.’

Now it was Despenser’s turn to sniff. ‘Not so great since you lost your head, I think.’

‘Perhaps I will recapture them if I possess this corpse. I could be of great service to you.’

Despenser glanced at Osbert, his great dead eyes meeting the pardoner’s. ‘If it gives us a chance to know the angel’s thoughts and locate the boy then it’s worth it,’ said Osbert.

Osbert had never asked Despenser why he hadn’t used the angels to defend the old king when Isabella attacked with Mortimer. Maybe they were disgusted by his tyranny and refused to appear for him. For fear of Despenser’s wrath, Osbert did not much fancy bringing the subject up. ‘Shall we try the possession then?’

‘No time like the present,’ said Despenser. ‘Have you run him through the form of the ceremony?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Osbert. He turned to address Nergal. ‘It would involve some little discomfort on your behalf.’

‘In what way?’

‘I think we’d have to call on the higher spirits of the east, west, north and south.’

‘I can stand that.’

‘You’d have to be put in another magic circle.’

‘That might be claustrophobic,’ said Nergal. He stroked his pale chin.

‘And – at the climax of the ceremony – you would have to have – er, there really isn’t a particularly pleasant way of saying this – your beating heart ripped from your chest and squeezed over the body of this fallen angel.’

Nergal ummed and ahhed. ‘I do see that might work,’ he said, ‘the heart being the seat of all the emotions and of the spirit. There would certainly be some discomfort involved. It’s not something that would be undertaken by a less desperate devil than me. I’ve only done faces before. Hmm. Life is a walking misery, though. Hmmm. Can I ask who would do the ripping?’

Osbert gestured to Despenser. ‘He has the nails, he has the strength and, more than that, it’s the sort of thing he’s good at. Have you ever torn out a heart before, lord?’

‘A couple of livers, a tongue and a spleen,’ said Despenser.

‘Not very different. Practically an expert,’ said Osbert. ‘What do you say?’

‘It is a very fine body,’ said Nergal, ‘and I have no doubt it may invigorate me to inhabit it. The lord here looks a quick and efficient eviscerator. Yes, I think I’ll say yes. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?’

‘Indeed not,’ said Osbert. ‘Well, I’ll draw up the chalk circle and we’ll get to it, shall we?’

‘Contracts first,’ said Despenser.

‘In blood too?’ enquired Osbert.

‘Just the signature; there’s no need to go mad,’ replied Nergal.

‘I thought devils usually demanded contracts be written in blood,’ said Osbert.

‘Only to piss the sorcerer off,’ said Nergal. ‘It’s a bit of fun we devils allow ourselves.’

Osbert drew up the contract and both Despenser and Nergal signed, or rather smeared their blood upon it.

‘Is the moon right?’ The devil was plainly nervous.

‘The moon is fine,’ said Osbert, ‘and the stars are in a good conjunction. I know what is needed, I studied nothing but magic for long years under a harsh master.’

‘The tides?’

‘Have shit all to do with it,’ said Osbert.

‘Just testing,’ said Nergal.

Osbert drew the circle, modelled on the one on his belly. He dabbed on a bit of angel’s blood from his little vial. Not much left now.

‘You said you had run out!’ said Despenser.

‘A good job I hid it,’ said Osbert. ‘Or where would we be now? Your majesty.’

‘When you are no longer useful to me I will kill you,’ said Despenser.

‘Then I hope to be useful to you for a long time,’ said Osbert.

The circle enclosed the plinth on which Sariel lay. Osbert almost hated to complete the possession. She had been kind to him, told him he was made for better things. Well, serving fallen, fallen angels like Despenser, serving kings, were better things, weren’t they?

The names of the spirits of the east, the west, the south and the north were inscribed; the names of God were inscribed, without whom resurrection would have been impossible; Osbert lit the incense and purified the four corners of the world; he set down salt for the element of earth, a saucer of water, a burning candle for fire, a fan to represent the wind. Nergal himself would be aether – the spirit substance. Despenser crammed himself into the circle too, ready for his part.

Osbert moved by instinct – his knowledge derived from long observation of Edwin. He set the objects in their places, he muttered the names of Christ and of the angels and of God who made the devils and confined their souls to flesh, and God who made the angels who fell and who allowed his servants in Hell to find their forms where they might. Sweat stung his eyes and wet his tunic – the presence of the branding devil was increasing the heat to an almost unbearable level. Nergal stood at the side of Sariel’s corpse, his hands grasping the plinth either side of her as if he might kiss her. Through the long hours of darkness Osbert invoked the spirits who had been there at the creation of Hell where devils were assembled from the offcuts of God’s creation and life breathed into them. He called on God who had kindled that life to take the flame of the devil’s soul to light the fire that would move the fallen angel’s body. He called on the … ‘Now!’

Mid-word he brought his hand down quick as a headsman’s axe and Despenser grasped Nergal by the scruff of the neck with one hand and sank his nails into the devil’s chest with the other. The devil howled and braced itself against the plinth as Despenser tore through its belly and up into its chest cavity. There were sparks and crackles from the devil’s skin and Despenser cried out that its guts were hot, but he didn’t relent, he burrowed out the sizzling, sparking fiery heart and held it above Sariel’s body.

‘By the blood of Hell and the blood of Heaven, I bid you live!’ Osbert’s voice was cracked with the hours of incantation. Despenser squeezed the heart as Osbert flicked the last of the angel’s blood onto Sariel’s forehead. It was as if the heart turned to molten metal poured from a smith’s bucket – it flowed through Despenser’s fingers steaming and sparking and down into the dead angel’s mouth.

Osbert crossed himself, fearing she would be burned alive but she was not. Sariel coughed and hacked, her body wrenched by convulsions.

‘If this just brings
her
back to life, pardoner, we could be for it,’ said Despenser. ‘Get ready to behead her before she realises she’s awake – at my command.’

‘Why don’t
you
get ready to behead her?’

‘She’ll attack her assailant. You’re dispensable, bring your sword or defend yourself against me.’

Sariel gave a great cry – a keening funereal sob and Osbert scrabbled for his sword. Despenser backed away like a court lady from a spider, crawling around to the stairs.

‘Strike if she lives!’ said Despenser. ‘Strike if she lives.’

Sariel sat up. She looked around her.

‘Nergal?’ said Osbert.

The fallen angel opened her mouth. It was a tiny furnace, full of a roaring fire.

‘Yes,’ she said, smoke billowing from her lips as she spoke. ‘Yes. Nergal. The days of my flame have come again. This is choice, this is rich, I can feel her here. She wants the light but she is here for the boy. When the boy calls for her help, I’ll know where he is.’

‘Good,’ said the pardoner, ‘let me know when that happens. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get drunk.’

‘It could be years before he calls her, a lifetime even,’ said Despenser.

‘I’m quite prepared to be drunk for that long if I have to,’ said Osbert. He went to step out of the circle but Despenser grabbed him.

‘Sorry,’ said Osbert. ‘I nearly forgot.’

He kicked a gap in the chalk he had drawn, walked past the simmering branding devil and made his way out up the stairs.

He felt Despenser’s gaze on him as he left. Soon, he would no longer be useful to the lord. He would have to start looking for other patrons. He had enough of working with devils. Perhaps it was time to see what more pleasant forces had to offer. Something Despenser had said had triggered a memory. ‘Why do you always concentrate on what God wants?’ He recalled what Despenser had said when he first met him – that perhaps God does not want what Satan wants. Perhaps angels don’t want what God wants. Which meant that he who found out what God wanted would be in a very powerful position. Osbert would go direct to King Philip because he now had an idea what might rouse his angels.

6

Charles had a dream of an arrow flying. It flew against a strong Iberian sun. It was the arrow of the future, flying from the walls of Algeciras in Granada, striking his father in the throat and sending him slumping from his horse.

‘Mother!’

‘Yes, Charles?’

The boy had taken to sleeping curled up on her bed, a blanket of cats around him. His mother had terrible trouble ensuring that the noble cats slept closest and the fight-torn battle cats furthest away. One had only one eye. That reminded her of Montagu. At least there might be some hope from England, one day.

‘Father is dead.’

‘How do you know it?’

‘I know it,’ he said.

The queen rose up in a fever of anticipation. ‘We must head south tonight. Let’s get to the great cathedral and have it call you king and me your regent before anyone can start casting aspersions on your parentage.’