devilstone chronicles 01 - devils band (17 page)

This feeling of enmity was mutual. Though Albany was also a royal duke forced to flee his homeland by Tudor plots, he couldn’t respect his host whom he regarded as an upstart. The White Rose’s ancestors had been wool merchants whereas royal blood had flowed through his family’s veins for generations. Moreover, as heir presumptive to the Scottish throne, Albany had ruled Scotland as regent for the twelve-year-old James V until Margaret Tudor, the young Scottish king’s mother and older sister of
the English king Henry VIII, had forced him into exile. Albany had immediately sought French support for his restoration and the wily Francis had agreed, on condition he joined de la Pole.

Reluctantly Albany had travelled to Metz as Francis’ emissary but ever since his arrival the two pretenders had been arguing over the most effective strategy for their joint invasion. De la Pole was convinced that they should first capture London by sailing up the Thames and taking the Tudor capital by surprise. Once Henry had been defeated, de la Pole promised to use the power of English arms to drive Margaret from Scotland. Albany however, had insisted that Edinburgh should be their primary objective. After weeks of wrangling, the White Rose had reached the end of his patience and in desperation he’d tried to win Albany ‘s backing for his plans with this sumptuous feast.

“Your scheme is daring, that I’ll admit, but I repeat it’s doomed to failure. If Henry has ships at Deptford or Tilbury he can block any hostile attempt to sail up the Thames and seize London,” said Albany, stroking his neatly clipped beard with his long, ducal fingers.

“As I have already explained, at length My Lord Albany, my spies assure me that the only ships in Henry’s navy are broken down hulks awaiting repair,” countered de la Pole.

“And what of Henry’s sister Margaret, won’t she come to her brother’s aid? My Scottish countrymen have no love for their Welsh Queen but they need no excuse to fight the English. Land anywhere in England and you’ll have an army of 30,000 Scots crossing the border within the
week but if I rule in Edinburgh your northern flank will be protected,” said Albany

“The northern earls will crush any Scots invasion just as they did at Flodden a decade ago, but the situation is entirely different in the south. Do I have to say it again My Lord Albany? Henry is bankrupt and London is defenceless. After his last French fiasco, the English army is disbanded, Henry has no money to raise another and his ships are in port for want of gold to repair them. That’s why we must strike at England’s capital now, before it is too late!” said de la Pole angrily.

“Henry still has his trained bands and militias to guard London. On the other hand, a landing at Dunbar will force the Tudor whore and her treacherous allies to abandon Edinburgh. Surely you see the sense of my stratagem? To save his sister’s honour, Henry will be forced to march north with every man he can muster and once we have crushed his army at Newcastle or Carlisle our road to London will be open.” Albany replied.

“Dammit Albany, I’ll have my throne with or without you and if you don’t support me in this you’ll see hell before you see Scotland again!” De la Pole thundered and he slammed his fist on the table so hard an exquisitely chased silver flagon toppled over. For a heartbeat Albany had the feeling that his host would order Langenmantel to plunge his dagger into his guest’s throat but a nervous knock and the slow opening of the great hall’s door let the evil humour out of the chamber.

“Forgive the intrusion My Lord but there are men without who insist on seeing you immediately, they say
they have come from England and must discuss matters of great importance,” said de la Pole’s steward timidly.

“Well who are they, am I to guess their names?” bellowed de la Pole.

The steward bowed low and announced that Petrus Alamire wished to present Sir Thomas Devilstone of Tynedale to his Royal Highness Richard IV. The White Rose’s expression changed the instant he heard Thomas’ name and his own regal title, he beamed a great smile of welcome and ordered the steward to show them in at once. Moments later, Thomas and his companions were standing before the White Rose telling him the story of their escape from The Tower of London, the fight with Wolsey’s pirates and their arrival at Haute Pierre. Hearing how they’d made Henry and Wolsey look foolish further restored de la Pole’s good humour and even the normally saturnine Albany was impressed.

“You’ve done well Petrus, for I have great need of Master Thomas’ services, however I must speak to him in private so you and your companions may withdraw,” said de la Pole. He turned to his captain and ordered him to find food and lodgings for Bos, Prometheus and Quintana. Langenmantel obediently rose from his chair, wished his master a good night and ushered the other guests away. Albany also rose to leave but de la Pole insisted that the duke remain. When the three men were alone, he turned to Thomas and looked at him like a hungry child.

“Do you have it?” he whispered.

“Have what, My Lord?” said Thomas, glancing at Albany.

“Do you have da Vinci’s notebook with his secret designs for weapons of war. You may speak freely for My Lord Albany, though a Scot, is to be trusted.” said de la Pole breathlessly. Thomas ignored the look of pure rage in Albany’s eyes and retrieved the oilcloth packet from beneath his shirt.

“I do have it My Lord,” he said. De la Pole saw the packet in Thomas’ hand and gave a great whoop of delight.

“God’s Hooks is that it? Oh I how I’ve dreamed of this day, for you see Master Thomas I’ve brought you to Metz to build one of these marvellous machines for my invasion. Da Vinci’s genius shall be reborn in you and with your help I shall regain my throne,” he cried.

“Indeed My Lord and I’ve journeyed to Metz for precisely this purpose,” said Thomas with a bow but de la Pole was now addressing his Scottish guest.

“Now Albany, you’ll see why my plan to seize London can’t fail. Master Thomas shall build the same ship that Leonardo designed for the Venetian Doge. Such a ship can travel under the water enabling my army to sail unseen into the Tudor whoremonger’s stronghold!” the White Rose declared and Thomas felt his heart miss a beat.

Though he’d boasted to Quintana and the others that he could build such a vessel Thomas had never imagined he would have to do so. He’d been sure that de la Pole would want him to construct one of the giant crossbows or organ guns that da Vinci had designed for the dukes of Milan, not something as ambitious as an underwater boat.

Whilst de la Pole continued to extol the virtues of submarine travel to the highly sceptical Duke of Albany, Thomas turned over the drawing of the turtle shaped vessel in his mind. There’d be problems of course, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that there was nothing in the laws of nature which said a boat
couldn’t
sail beneath the waves and if he succeeded his name would be mentioned in the same breath as Archimedes of Syracuse, Hero of Alexander and even Leonardo himself.

“We shall appear before Westminster like Excalibur rising from the lake and when Henry sees that ruin awaits him, he’ll foul himself with fear but he’ll be dead before his groom-of-the-stool can wipe his master’s poxed, purple arse!” De la Pole ranted.

“A boat that can sail under the water, are you mad?” scoffed Albany. De la Pole opened his mouth to berate his guest but Thomas interrupted him.

“Is the turtle or the oyster mad? They can survive at great depths safe in their shells so why not a man or even an army of men? It is simply a matter of constructing a shell large enough for the purpose it is to serve,” he said but Albany was in no mood to be mollified.

“I’ve heard enough, if your best stratagem is to pretend to be a haddock then I want nothing more to do with your lunatic scheme. I’ll return to Paris at once and I’ll inform Francis that his beloved White Rose has lost his petals!” Albany cried and he rose angrily from his chair. De la Pole opened his mouth to curse the duke for a craven Scots poltroon but Thomas raised his hand for silence.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing but understandable My Lord Albany, yet I can assure you such a boat can be built and if you doubt my word I’m quite willing to take a test. If I’m lying, my sin of calumny will be known to the demon Abrasax, Prince of Lies, so tonight, at midnight, I’ll summon this demon and you may ask him if I speak the truth,” he said quietly.

Albany stared nervously at Thomas and wondered what manner of man could talk of the Black Arts so casually. Like most good Christians, the duke believed implicitly in the existence of Satan and the power of necromancers like Thomas Devilstone to converse with the Dark Lord’s minions. However the thought of evil spirits being released from the sulphurous pit turned the duke’s blood to water and his air of disinterested pride vanished faster than a drunkard’s gold in a tavern.

“You can really do such a thing?” whispered Albany in a thin reedy voice.

“He can and you’ll see for yourself unless you lack the courage,” said de la Pole who was thoroughly enjoying the duke’s discomfort. Albany’s eyes darted around the room but he knew he was trapped. If he refused to witness the summoning of a demon he’d be branded a coward and henceforward he’d never command the respect of his enemies let alone his friends.

“Very well, until midnight,” said Albany swallowing hard.

10

THE PENTAGRAM

T
homas requested the use of the tallest tower in Haute Pierre for the ceremony and the grateful de la Pole offered his necromancer the guards’ chamber in the outer wall’s north turret. This proved to be more than suitable and Thomas’ new patron also sent servants to the markets to fetch the items needed for the spell. These included a robe, cowl and gloves made from red satin, a bible, a live cockerel, tailor’s chalk, a brazier, herbs, needles, thread, a wand of seasoned elderwood three feet long and a dozen candles, ideally made from the rendered fat of a hanged man. As such candles could not be procured in time Thomas assured de la Pole that ordinary beeswax candles would do.

Whilst the servants searched the city’s apothecaries, Thomas prepared the chamber. The room was emptied of all furniture, except two chairs, and the stone walls and wooden floor scrubbed clean. Once this was done, he spent the rest of the day chalking magical symbols on the
floorboards, arranging candles and praying loudly for the strength to summon Abrasax. It was not that he expected he’d need divine protection but he could not be sure who might be listening at the keyhole. To add to the deception, he refused all offers of food and drink saying that, like St Anthony, he was purifying his body for only the pure could survive an encounter with The Devil.

Just before midnight Thomas lit the candles and brazier he’d placed at precise points on the chalk symbols. He then dressed in his scarlet robes and sprinkled some of the dried herbs over the brazier’s glowing coals. Once this was done, all he could do was wait for his acolytes and a few minutes’ later he heard voices arguing outside the chamber.

“I’ve changed my mind, I’ll have nothing to do with this wickedness and I demand you put an end to this foul outrage at once!” Albany said in a quavering, high-pitched squeak.

“Cease your cowardly prating. You agreed to come and you’ll have proof that I’m destined to rule England,” replied the gruffer voice of Richard de la Pole. The next moment, the door opened to reveal the protesting guest and his host. Albany took one look inside the dimly lit room, which now had the appearance of a shrine to Satan, and screamed in terror. He turned to flee back down the stairs but de la Pole had a dagger pointed at his guest’s heart. Again Albany cried out in fear.

“All regicides shall be cursed, if you murder me, you will be broken on the wheel and after death you shall suffer the worst torments of hell for all time,” he wailed.

“So help me I’ll fillet you like a Scotch kipper, unless you shut up and go inside!” growled de la Pole and he prodded Albany in the ribs with the point of his dagger. With a last howl of despair Albany crossed himself and stepped over the threshold. The room smelled strongly of exotic herbs and the only light was from the flickering candles but Albany could see the ghostly figure of Thomas, holding his wand of elderwood, standing motionless in the centre of the room. Dressed in his scarlet robes, and with his face obscured by the cowl, he looked like an abomination of a monk in Holy Orders.

“Please be seated My Lords,” Thomas said calmly and he pointed his wand at the chairs he’d placed at the centre of the two, five pointed stars he’d drawn on the floor. A candle burned at the point of each star and beneath each candlestick was a page torn from a bible. The spaces inside the star’s points were filled with astrological and alchemical symbols. Albany whimpered but he sat on one of the chairs whilst de la Pole took the other.

“You’re both quite safe inside Solomon’s Shield but it’s of the utmost importance that neither of you move outside its protection during the ceremony. Only those initiated into the highest orders of the Secret Arts may stand outside the star when Abrasax is abroad, ordinary men will be torn to shreds by this vengeful demon’s spurs and their souls dragged to eternal damnation,” Thomas warned.

“We will obey Master Necromancer, now, is the hour propitious?” whispered de la Pole excitedly.

“It is and I shall begin,” said Thomas and he placed the tip of his wand in the burning brazier. He left it there
for several minutes whilst he recited a prayer in Hebrew. When the room was filled with the bitter perfume of smouldering elderwood he removed the wand from the hot coals and used the charred tip to complete the third magical star he’d drawn on the floor.

Earlier, Thomas had sketched a chalk circle about six feet across and within this ring he’d marked out another five pointed pentacle with three parallel lines through its centre. Where the two outer lines touched the ring he’d drawn the symbol for one of the four elements of earth, air, fire and water. At each end of the central line he’d drawn a Greek cross surrounded by three dots. Now, to complete the symbol, Thomas used the charred end of the wand to draw the Greek letter
_ω
at the point where each of the parallel lines touched the pentagon at the centre of the pentacle. When he was satisfied, he placed a square object, covered by a black velvet cloth, in the pentacle’s exact centre and after reciting a prayer he removed the cloth to reveal a cage containing a sleepy, rather mangy cockerel.