Excalibur Rising (19 page)

     “What?” said Mandretti.
     Molly took another hearty swig of brandy.
     “It was in the paper this morning.  Apparently his housekeeper found him.  He’s been dead for a couple of days. Foul play, of course.”
     “Wait,” said Mandretti, “is this the same Crispin Peacock?”
     “Well, obviously not,” said Molly with a certain amount of impatience. “This is the Crispin Peacock who is second cousin to Taras Peacock, and this is the Crispin Peacock who stood to inherit Griffinwood Manor, but it’s not the Crispin Peacock who took Professor Ryan to Norfolk.  The real Crispin was already dead by the time Violet and Professor Ryan landed at Heathrow.”
     She swallowed the last of the brandy. “That’s what I came to tell you,” she said, “before you distracted me by talking about Shrewsbury Castle.”
     “We didn’t distract_____” Todd started to say, but Mandretti was already in motion, grabbing Todd by the arm and dragging him towards the door.
     “Violet’s at Griffinwood,” he said.
     “Yes.”
     “And Ryan?”
     “Yes.”
     “And they’re with this man, whoever, he is.”
     “Yes,” said Todd.
     “Well, then, let’s go,” said Mandretti, marching Todd across the lobby to the front doors.
     “Where?”
     “To Griffinwood. We ain’t gonna find nothing standing around here. I expect people who work for me to take care of themselves, but those two don’t got no clue.  We’re gonna lose them, and the sword, if we don’t get a move on.”
     Freddie was still parked outside with the engine running on the black limousine. Mandretti yanked open the driver’s door and leaned in.
     “Get going,” he said.
     “Where to?” Freddie asked.
     Mandretti looked at Todd. “You tell him,” he said.   
     Todd realized that Mandretti was pale under his tan, and with no one available to shoot or bully, his mind was racing so hard that he could not frame his thoughts.
     “Well,” said Todd, “I think he wants you to drive us to_____”
     Molly shouldered Todd aside.
     “Shrewsbury,” she said. “M1 to the M6.”
     “I’m not supposed to take the car out of London,” Freddie protested.
     Mandretti leaned in, his face within inches of Freddie’s. “Do what the lady says,” he said. “Take the M whatever to the whatever and step on it.”
     “I’ll have to phone it in,” said Freddie, apparently unperturbed by the proximity of Mandretti’s excited face.
     “I’ll phone it in for you,” said Mandretti, as he ran around to the other side of the car and dropped into the front passenger seat. “Get going.”
     “Whatever you say, mate,” said Freddie said, “so long as you clear it with the governor.’’
     “I’ll clear it. I’ll clear it,” said Mandretti.
     Todd stood indecisively on the sidewalk.  Molly gave him a shove. “Get in the car,” she hissed, “or he’ll go without us.”
     Todd scrambled into the back seat and then moved quickly across to the opposite side as Molly Walker heaved her bulk in beside him. The doorman, who had come forward to assist them, stepped back in a hurry as Molly slammed the door and Freddie eased the big car forward and into the flow of traffic.
     “You gotta gun?” Mandretti asked.
     “No guns, mate,” said Freddie.
     “Knife?” Mandretti asked.
     “Yeah, we got knives,” said Freddie.

CHAPTER TWELVE
Violet
     Violet put her hand up to the back of her head, and it came away sticky with blood.  She sat up and looked around.  She was still beside the ancient stone wall.  The mist had cleared, but nothing else seemed to have changed.  She pushed aside the branches obscuring her view of the valley and saw the scene exactly as it had been before she tripped. The yellow construction equipment still crawled across the raw scraped earth, and the cement wall of the dam spanned the valley. No magic, no alternative reality, no magical  kingdom of Albion. What a fool she had been to believe any of Elaine’s nonsense.
     “Just a surface wound,” said a woman’s voice close by.  “Scalps always bleed.”
     The opinion of the wound on her head was being given by an elderly woman who stood beside her.  She was leaning on an intricately carved wooden staff and wore a dress in the same style and same sky blue as Elaine. Her white hair was plaited into an elaborate pattern of braids piled on top of her head.  The impression she gave of dignity and authority was somewhat lessened by the fact that she was wearing white high top sneakers decorated with red flashing LED lights.
     Elaine came into Violet’s line of vision carrying a large green leaf which she handed to Violet with instructions that she should place it over the wound on her scalp.
     “Go away,” said Violet. “I’m not putting that on my head.”
     “Oh, just do it,” said Elaine.
     “I’m not putting a leaf on my head,” Violet said. “It’s not sanitary, and you’re a lunatic.”
      The elderly lady poked Violet with her staff, and then smacked the staff none too gently across Elaine’s posterior.  “Is this what has delayed you?” she asked. “Is this why I have had to come to you?  Have you squabbled and argued every point?”
     “No,” said Elaine and Violet together.
     The older woman glared at Elaine and then turned her attention to Violet. “You do have your mother’s eyes,” she said.
     Violet gasped.  Could there be a grain of truth at the bottom of this pile of fantasy? Hope returned.
     “You knew my mother?” 
     “I think so.  I think you are the daughter of Ariana.  I have been informed of your gifts, and they are the same gifts that were given to your mother.  We sent her into your world as we have sent so many others, to find the sword.  She never returned.  One day, my dear, we will discover her story and learn why she abandoned you to the care of strangers, but now is not the time.”
     The white haired woman looked across at the construction equipment on the hillside.  The silence of the valley was suddenly ruptured by the wailing of a siren.
     “They’re closing the sluice gates,” said Elaine.
     The older woman nodded her head. “We are out of time,” she said. “Within the next day, it will be too late and this valley will be a lake.”  She looked at Elaine. “What have you told her?” she asked.
     “There has not been time,” Elaine said.
     “You have wasted time on your own affairs,” her companion replied, “and now I have no time to prepare her properly.  It’s too late now to go through the portal and show her what lies beyond.”
     She took the leaf from Elaine’s hand and held it out to Violet. 
     “My name is Rowan,” she said, “and I am in the habit of being obeyed. It may be that you doubt things told you by this silly girl, but do not make the mistake of doubting what I tell you.  We have very little time and because of your mother, and because of the gifts you have received, I believe that you can help us.  Now, take the leaf that Elaine has brought you and apply it to the wound on your head.  It will stop the bleeding.  Elaine is foolish at times and she’s been very much distracted by her infatuation with your traveling companion, but her knowledge of herbs is without equal.”
     Violet obediently applied the large green leaf to the throbbing wound on her scalp and felt immediate relief.
     “Come,” said Rowan.
     Violet struggled to her feet, straightened her clothing and retrieved her purse. 
     Rowan led the way out of the thicket and began to climb a narrow rocky path that bordered the waterfall, stepping energetically in her high top sneakers.  Elaine trod gracefully behind her and Violet climbed as best she could.
     Rowan paused halfway up the path and waited for Violet to catch up.  The sound of the water was loud and Violet strained to hear Rowan’s words.
     “You will not get wet,” Rowan said.
     Violet shrugged her shoulders.  So far she had been in no danger of getting wet, although they were walking close beside the waterfall.  Rowan turned a corner in the path and stepped into a dark shadow beside the rushing water.  Then she disappeared.  Elaine stepped aside and urged Violet forward. “Go,” she said. 
     “Go where?”
     “Behind the water,” said Elaine.
     Violet edged hesitantly into the darkness and found herself in a cave behind the waterfall.  A wall of water cut off the view of the valley and admitted only a small amount of daylight, but the cave was dry.  Rowan had spoken the truth, Violet was not getting wet.  The rushing water muffled the urgent wailing of the siren.  Ahead she could see the flashing red lights of Rowan’s sneakers. So that’s why she wears them, she thought.
     Violet followed the lights and within moments she was standing beside Rowan with Elaine close behind her. Elaine produced a flashlight from somewhere within her clothing and Violet could see that the small cave was at the entrance to a network of caves.  Elaine moved the flashlight and Violet saw the dark entrances to numerous tunnels, some wide and welcoming, some small and narrow.
     “This way,” said Rowan, setting off along one of the smaller tunnels where Violet had to stoop to enter.  A few feet further in and the tunnel opened into another cave.  The sound of the waterfall was muted and distant now and the siren could not penetrate.  Violet found that she could hear Rowan even though she spoke in hushed whispers.
     “Light the torches,” Rowan said.
     Elaine’s right hand moved in graceful gestures and the light of the flashlight was replaced by the flickering light of flaming torches set in sconces on the walls of the cave.  Magic, Violet thought, true magic. If Elaine could bring forth fire with a wave of her hand, what else could she do? 
      The dancing flames showed Violet that this cave was larger than the one before, and that entrances to even more caves lurked in the shadows.  She was already confused and doubting that she could find her way back to the waterfall without a guide.
     “I am going to tell you a story that you have already heard,” said Rowan.  “All of the people of this island have heard the story and they have carried it with them throughout your world. Few have believed its truth, and many have perverted the facts for the entertainment of the masses, but the story has never been forgotten.” 
     The old woman looked around for a moment and then located a rock where she was able to sit.  
     “There is such a thing as racial memory,” Rowan said, “and this story is in the racial memory of your father’s people, That’s why young people seek so desperately for meaning in ancient rituals, in worshipping oak trees and making pilgrimages to Stonehenge, and why your ancient inns have the names of romance.”  She nodded her head. “It is part of the racial memory of this island.” 
     She sighed deeply.  “I have no time to tell you all of it and there are many things that I don’t know; those are the things that you will tell me.”
      “I can’t tell you anything,” Violet protested. 
     “You will,” said Rowan, “if you are, in fact, Ariana’s daughter.  Now listen carefully for this is what you must know before we go any further.  I will tell you of Arthur’s son Mordred and the great rebellion.”
     Violet heard Elaine give a little sigh of impatience.
     “I will be brief,” Rowan said.
     “The valley is filling with water,” Elaine protested.
     “There is nothing we can do about that,” Rowan said. “All I can do now is to tell Ariana’s daughter the story of her people.”
      She looked up at Violet, and continued her story. “Arthur, the king, grew older,” she said, “and the Queen produced no heir.  The Knights of the Round Table roamed across the island of Britain searching for their Holy Grail, and the old powers were weakened by the new beliefs.  The people turned from the ancient magic and embraced the creed of the new God-Man, the Carpenter, the one who died on a cross and returned to life. Merlin was forgotten and some say that he left Albion. Only the gates he had created into your world remained.  And then Mordred rose up in rebellion against his father.  Better, he said, for the kingdom to be in the hands of a bastard, than to be in the hands of an old man and a barren woman.
     When word of the rebellion reached the questing knights, they returned to Albion through the portals Merlin had created and they took up arms, some on the side of the king, but many on the side of Mordred, the usurper.  Even then, it might well have been possible to avert war because Mordred was lacking in charm, and not well liked, but a terrible sin came to light; the relationship of the Queen Guinevere and Lancelot her champion.”
     “Was it true?” Violet interrupted.
     “Yes,” said Rowan, “much to their shame, it was the truth.  Guinevere had cuckolded the king.  All hope was gone that she could provide Arthur with a legitimate heir, and many feared that she might try to pass off a child of Lancelot’s as a child of Arthur.  The Queen was banished through the gate to the island of Britain where she was to spend the rest of her days among the holy women of the new religion.”
     “A nun,” Violet said. “I saw a nun, a tall woman with a gold cross. She was making someone write.  She wanted a map, a description, something like that.”
     “The Griffinwood Document,” said Elaine.
     “Is that what it was?” Violet asked.
      “Yes,” said Rowan, “but who wrote it and why it was written is what we don’t know. “
      “It was a novice,” Violet said. ”I don’t know anything else.”
      “It’s no longer important,” said Rowan.  “Let me complete my story.”
      Violet subsided into silence but her mind was filled with the memory of the room she had glimpsed, the young novice in terror of the tall, demanding nun; the nun she had called Majesty.
     “Albion was thrown into civil war” said Rowan, “with Arthur and his remaining loyal knights set against Mordred and all those who had failed to profit from Arthur’s long and peaceful reign.  The land was ravaged by war, crops were destroyed, and villages were torched, whole towns destroyed
. 
The Knights of the Round Table were defeated one by one until Arthur, gravely wounded, and with just a few knights to support him, was forced to retreat to the West.  Strange as it may seem, Lancelot returned then to stand by the king.  His love for Guinevere was never as great as his loyalty to Arthur.”
     “The woman had bewitched him,” Elaine said.
     “Possibly,” said Rowan. “Even without magic, a woman can bewitch a man.”
     “Merlin could not be found in Albion,” Rowan continued.  “He had not been seen since the new religion of the Holy Grail had been carried back by the Knights.  The portals to Britain remained open but they were the only evidence that Merlin’s magic had ever existed.  The knights, even the knights of the Holy Grail, knew that magic would be needed to heal the king and so they carried Arthur westward into the highest mountains searching for the last refuge of the old magic.
      “After a long journey, in which the king grew weaker by the hour, they came to their final destination, the lake from which Arthur had obtained Excalibur.  The island of Avilion could still be glimpsed through the eternal mists, although it was slowly receding from human sight.  They lay the dying king on a stony beach and Sir Percival raised Excalibur high, calling on the same power that had forged Excalibur in the depths of the lake to come now and save the king.”
     Rowan stopped speaking for a moment and rose to her feet.  “I am not asking you to believe,” she said. “I am not even asking you to comment.  I ask only that you come with me now.”
     Violet obediently bit back the thousand questions that had come to her mind.  The old woman’s tale had been strangely compelling, a mixture of Mallory, Tennyson and Disney, told in a voice of absolute certainty.
     Elaine took a lighted torch from the wall sconce and handed it to Rowan.
     “I am the only one who knows the way,” Rowan said.
      Leaning on her cane she crossed the cavern, selecting one of the many cave entrances that Violet had seen as dark shadows.  She ducked her head and led the way.  The floor of the cave sloped sharply downward.  After some hundred yards the slope turned to steps and the light of the torch that Rowan carried ahead of them showed her that they were no longer walking through a natural tunnel.  Stone walls rose on either side and formed an arch above them.
     “More light,” said Rowan.
     Elaine gestured again, and torches and wall sconces gave a flickering light to the tunnel ahead.  The floor and walls of the tunnel were green with the moss of ages but the steps were firm and straight. 
     “When the reservoir is full, this will be under water,” Elaine said.
     “We cannot prevent it,” Rowan said, “and therefore we will not waste our time discussing it.”
     Violet felt the first prickling fingers of panic. Despite the amazing events of the day, and the incredible tale told by the old woman, she had not so far been truly afraid, but now she faced something she knew to be reality. The valley was filling with water. She had seen it with her own eyes.  She could imagine the water seeping into the cave, and slowly making its way down the various tunnels until the whole system would be flooded.  How long would it take?  Would she still be here in the thrall of the old woman’s story when the water rose and cut off their exit?  If she turned around now, could she even find her own way out? 
     Rowan continued to make her way down the long flight of stone steps.  With a pounding heart, Violet followed her until they came to the bottom of the steps where a heavy iron grill barred their way.
     Rowan turned and looked at Violet.  “More than nine hundred years have passed since this gate was opened,” she said.  “Our sisters came only once and saw what had been done, and then they knew why Arthur had not returned.  They sealed the gate with more than iron bars.  It is sealed with enchantment but if you are Ariana’s daughter, you may open the gate.”