Hill of Bones (30 page)

The bear flopped heavily down onto all four paws. As the rain pounded down, he sniffed at the prone body of the King, then turned away. For a long moment, the bear stood alone on the top of Solsbury Hill, its great head lifted as if it was looking out over the darkened valley, out over England, out over time itself.

As the thunder rumbled once more around the hill, more distant now, Henry finally came to and began to stir. The great bear looked down at him one last time before it turned and lumbered off down the hill, vanishing into the cavernous night.

A pale primrose light was creeping into the sky. The air had the sharp, fresh scent of wet earth and grass. It had rained all night, washing stones down the hillside in muddy torrents, but with the coming of dawn the clouds had finally rolled away. William, resting heavily on his staff, limped painfully across the sodden grass, his progress made even slower by his soaking robe, which twisted itself around his legs. His ankle had swollen to twice its size from his wrenching it in the hole. It was going to be agony getting down that hill, with the grass so slippery after the storm. But it had to be done; up here alone and injured he may as well have been staked out like a lamb for a wolf.

There was no sign of any of his disciples, not even Martin. The traitors had fled, leaving him completely alone and unprotected. He had lain all night, curled tightly in a ball against the pounding rain, his limbs numb with cold and his brain frozen with fear that the devil he had conjured would return.

He had not for one moment believed that the spell would really bring forth a demon, but when that monster had lumbered towards him, rattling the chains of hell, he had thought that Satan himself had risen out of the earth to take him. He had, he supposed, fainted, for when he came to he could see nothing in the blinding rain, hear nothing except the wind raging. He’d crawled away and hidden in a clump of bushes, reciting every prayer and charm he’d ever learned or even half learned, until it was light enough for him to dare to move.

Now the only thought in his head was to get off this accursed hill as quickly as possible. Nothing would induce him to spend another night here. But first there was something he had to retrieve. It was his only hope of getting so far away from here that he’d never have to lay eyes on England again.

He limped painfully towards the fire pit. The pots and the jar of sulphur still lay where he had left them. The pit had filled with black water on which the dust and ashes of last night’s fire floated. He struggled down onto his knees, and began frantically groping around until his fingers touched the edge of a heavy disc. Almost sobbing with relief, he pulled the mirror out and carefully wiped it on the hem of his sodden robe. The silver was blackened and fragments of the red enamel on the back had cracked and fallen off.

For a moment he felt the crushing weight of disappointment, but he consoled himself. Had the rain not extinguished the fire so quickly, the damage could have been far worse. Besides, he would not have been able to sell it as a mirror, for it would be far too easily identified, and who in these parts could possibly afford to pay the kind of sum that the complete mirror was worth? No, far better to break it apart, sell a ruby here, some pearls there and melt the silver down into smaller pieces.

Hastily he drew his knife, and set about prising a single ruby from its setting. He must have something ready to barter with at the first village he came to, for he was in desperate need of food, new clothes and, most importantly, a strong horse. He wouldn’t get very far on foot with his injured ankle.

Without warning he felt a sharp pain stabbing into his back. He jerked upwards, dropping the mirror for the second time into the black puddle of the fire pit.

‘Throw your knife away,’ a voice growled behind him, ‘or I’ll push this dagger so far into you it’ll cut your navel out.’

Sick with fear, William did as he was bid and heard his staff being kicked out of his reach.

‘Don’t stand up. Just turn around, nice and slowly. I want to see your face, you bastard.’

William couldn’t have stood, even if he’d tried. Wincing in pain he twisted around and looked up into the face of the one man he prayed he’d never see again.

‘So, William, or should I call you Serkan? Oh, where are my manners? I should address you as “Master” now, shouldn’t I?’

The man, towering over him, was smiling coldly. His dark hair was streaked with grey. His scarred face was gaunt and as tanned as old leather, and several of his teeth were missing. But his eyes were the same emerald green as William’s own.

William tried to force his mouth into a smile, but failed miserably. ‘Edgar. Thank God, you . . . you live. I was so afraid you’d perished in the wreck.’

Edgar gave a bitter laugh. ‘So afraid I’d survived, you mean. But you knew I was still alive, didn’t you? You got the little message I pinned to the cottage door. I thought you’d recognise the sign – the staff of Asclepius with a serpent entwined about it – the emblem of a physician. But then the serpent has another meaning too, doesn’t it, William? One you’d know all about –
treachery
.’

‘And you left another of your little marks too, didn’t you?’ William said. ‘On the body of that poor woman you murdered.’

‘Only sporting to give you fair warning I was here. I’ve followed you every sorry step of the way from Brean, biding my time. But you’d surrounded yourself with followers, hiding behind women’s skirts as usual. I suppose I could have picked them off one at a time, but that would have attracted attention. I was trying to figure out how to get you alone when, by good fortune, I met a servant in an inn who told me about his master’s valuable mirror. As soon as I heard about that mirror I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to steal it. So I persuaded the servant to bring his master here, because I knew your greed would get the better of you, and it has. Why didn’t you flee last night when you had the chance? You could have been well away by now. But I know you too well, William. I knew you would come back for the mirror and here you are, snouting around in the mud for it, like the swine you are.’

Despite the chill of his wet robes, William’s face was flushed. ‘What . . . what do you want of me?’

Edgar fingered the blade of his dagger. ‘I want you, dear brother. I want your death. I want revenge.’

‘But after all these years, you can’t still—’

‘Fifteen years and three months, to be exact, and I should know; I counted every rotten, stinking back-breaking day of it. And now you are going to pay. I’m only sorry I can’t make you suffer as long as I did, but I can ensure you do suffer. The question is, how? Staking you to the ground and roasting your feet in a fire – how would that be to begin with? What a pity all your followers have deserted you. There’ll be no one to hear your screams up here.’

‘Except me!’ a voice yelled out behind him. Martin launched himself at Edgar, knocking him to the ground and pinning his arms behind him. ‘Quick, Master, give me your girdle.’

He held the struggling man until William had managed to unfasten the blue cord he wore about his waist and had crawled on his hands and knees over to bind Edgar’s arms behind him. Martin used his own belt to lash Edgar’s ankles. Once the prisoner was firmly secured, Martin hauled him into a sitting position.

‘What should I do with him, Master?’

‘Wait, boy,’ Edgar said. ‘Before you do anything with me, there are things you need to know. Things about this
master
of yours.’

‘Ignore him,’ William snapped. ‘Fetch my staff and help me to my feet. We’re leaving. This wretch can stay here until someone eventually comes up and stumbles upon him.’

‘Don’t you want to know why I was trying to kill your master?’ Edgar said calmly. ‘Aren’t you at all curious about why I followed him here?’

‘Fetch my staff now, I command you,’ William said with all the authority he could muster.

Martin hesitated, looking at the two men on the ground. Then he picked up William’s staff and Edgar’s dagger, and sat down a little way from the two men, holding the dagger ready in his hand.

‘I want to hear what he has to say. You!’ He pointed with the dagger at Edgar. ‘You called my master “brother”. Is he really your kin?’

Edgar arched his back, trying to ease the ache of the tight bonds. ‘He is my father’s son, though by God, I swear he has shown no brotherly loyalty to me.’

Martin frowned. ‘I used to fight with my brothers all the time, but I never wanted to see them dead. What was the quarrel between you?’

‘Will you tell him, William, or shall I?’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ William roared.

‘I’ll tell it then, shall I?’ Edgar said coldly. ‘The
quarrel
, as you put it, happened when I was just sixteen and my brother here, a year younger. We were both apprenticed to a great physician and alchemist, a man much respected in the district. I was betrothed to Aliena, the physician’s only child, whom I adored, and it seemed that my life was mapped out for me. Aliena and I would marry and raise our children. In time I would inherit my father-in-law’s business and devote my life to healing the sick.

‘I worked hard, eager to become as good a physician as my master. But William had no interest in studying. He didn’t need to; knowledge came easily to him and somehow he managed to convince our master that he was studying diligently. He always had a gift for words, but the truth was that when the master left us alone, my brother would sneak off to lay wagers on the cockfights or seduce some tavern wench.

‘One day, our master set us both to making up potions and purges for the patients he would visit later that day. He left recipes, which we were to follow to the letter. But a pretty young maid called with a message for the physician. William was supposed to be making up a sleeping draught for a woman who suffered much pain, but he was so busy flirting with the maid that he forgot he had already added the drops of hemlock to the potion and added more. Of course, the woman died. My dear brother swore that it was I, not he, who had prepared that sleeping draught and everyone believed him.

‘I was terrified I would be hanged, but my master pleaded that it was an accident and my sentence was commuted to a public flogging in the market place, and then I was sold to a ship’s captain to pay the heavy fine imposed on my master.

‘I had lost everything, while my brother had it all. He even took my beloved Aliena, until he tired of her and left her with a child swelling her belly. For fifteen years I sweated and slaved before the mast, rowing till my hands were raw and my muscles screamed in agony, climbing the rigging as storms raged, blistering in the heat, shivering in the ice of winter, eating food rotten with maggots and drinking foul water. And if my strength failed me, there was always the encouragement of the lash to spur me on.

‘Then a few months ago a passenger came aboard. I recognised him at once, but he didn’t even notice me. Why should he? He scarcely glanced at the filthy, sunburned sailors toiling over the rigging. I thought time might have improved his character, but it hadn’t. The captain’s mistress was aboard, and it wasn’t long before I saw him groping her in the castle of the ship, when the captain was occupied elsewhere.

‘I confronted him and he finally realised who I was. He grabbed an iron grappling hook and swung it at my head, determined to silence me for good. But years of dodging heavy ropes and tackle on a rolling ship had taught me swiftness. The hook missed my head, but broke my arm. One of my shipmates saw what he did and when the captain questioned me about the quarrel, I told him all about William and his mistress.

‘The captain flew into a rage, threatening to throw them both overboard. His mistress protested that William had forced his attentions on her. So the captain had William lashed to the topmost mast to suffer the full motion of the ship and punishment of the weather. And finally, after fifteen years, I felt a little crumb of justice had fallen my way; for once in his life my brother was going to understand what it meant to endure hunger and thirst, burning sun and biting rain.

‘But in all the commotion no one had noticed how close we were to the headland. Almost at once the storm hit us. The mast was the first thing to topple into the sea. We were driven onto the rocks and fought for our lives. I struggled ashore, though how I did so with a broken arm was more than I could fathom. Rage and bitterness spurred me on. I searched for the others, but they were all drowned. I thought William had perished as well, and I was glad of it. Until I heard that a man had survived, a man tied to the mast of the ship. And I knew then that somehow that bastard had once again survived. But I was determined that this time he would not get away with it.’

The look of disgust on Martin’s face had been deepening all the time Edgar had been speaking, and now the lad turned to look at his master.

‘It’s all lies,’ William shouted, his face contorted. ‘You’re surely not going take his word over mine. Remember the miracles I’ve performed. I am Serkan, and he is . . . is nothing!’

‘Like me, you mean.’ The boy sprang to his feet. ‘I’m nothing to you either, am I? You let me think that you were a prophet, a holy man. I left my family, my village, everything, to follow you and all this time you’ve lied to me. Everything you’ve done has been nothing but cheap swindler’s tricks.’

Martin raised the dagger and ran at him, but William grabbed a handful of sulphur from the pot behind him and dashed into the lad’s face. Martin squealed, and blindly staggered backward. William reached out and grabbed his ankle, bringing him crashing to the ground. The knife flew from Martin’s hand.

William rolled onto his knees and crawled towards the blade. He stretched out his hand, but just as his fingertips touched it, a large leather boot came down on the dagger, pinning it to the ground.

William stared up. One of the sheriff’s men was looking down at him, his sword pointed straight at William’s throat. A second soldier had his sword pointed at Martin’s chest, an unnecessary precaution since he could do nothing except rub his streaming eyes.