Lammas Night (29 page)

“It's a sort of magical protection—a circle warding. Probably Dee's work.”

“I thought it might be, if the rest was true,” William replied. “Mind you, I'm not saying I believe everything you've said, but I do believe something extraordinary happened Friday night. I can't explain it—but I thought we might see what happened if we tried to use the information as if it
were
true. Does that sound at all useful?”

Graham gave a wry smile. “That sounds pretty qualified to me—but go on, I'm listening.”

“No, it's my turn to listen, your turn to tell me.”

They had reached an observation platform jutting out from the river bank, a little more secluded from the traffic of people going back and forth along the promenade. Gesturing for them to go out on it, William stuffed his paper back in his pocket. Only an occasional gull winged in low to investigate the possibility of a handout.

“Let's go back to the beginning,” William said. “Tell me again what happened when the Queen lost her garter.”

Graham rested his forearms across the rail and interlaced his fingers, gazing down into the water. He supposed it was worth a try.

“Everyone got very quiet,” he said softly, letting himself begin to see the images again on the eddies and currents below. “There were three Garter Knights in her party—Leicester, Howard, and Burghley—and they went absolutely wooden. No one wanted to move except the Frenchman. He would have run and picked up the garter, but the Queen's glance froze him on the spot.”

“Then what happened?” William urged.

“Then she looked at me. Something seemed to pass between us—an electricity, almost. She looked very pointedly at the garter. There was no question in my mind that she meant me to pick it up.”

He swallowed, aware that he was being drawn even deeper into the memory, and his voice dropped in volume and pitch, less like his own.

“I moved to obey her. I couldn't have helped myself if I had wanted to—and I didn't want to. No one made a sound as I picked it up. Somehow I knew that it was far more than just a garter. That was why I kissed it before I gave it back to her. It might have been a holy relic. My kissing of her hand, then, was an act of profound homage, not only as her new-made knight. And when those three men bowed to me, I marked them for the future: Leicester, Howard—”

He gasped and blinked, then shut his eyes and let himself go deeper into trance, for a new set of images was forming. A part of him was aware of William watching expectantly, even a little anxiously, but another part trusted that the prince understood enough of what was happening not to be afraid or interfere.

Assured at that, he put William out of mind and turned his attention wholly inward, shakily drawing a slow, steadying breath. As he let it out, he was plummeted back to that dark hilltop above Plymouth Harbor, in the midst of the grand coven.

He was not alone before them this time. Though he stood there as
her
man in black tonight, there were two others with him—
Garter Knights
, dark mantles almost black in the firelight, the garters around their knees unmistakable, though their faces were masked!

They
had helped to call the covens here, lending their weight to that which
she
had already granted him against this time. The masks were a formality, almost a ritual accoutrement, for nearly everyone in England knew the two knights by name, if not by sight. Howard was the Queen's great-uncle once removed, married to the daughter of Lord Hunsdon, who was nephew (and some said half brother) to the Queen through Mary Boleyn. Hatton was lord chancellor now, and himself only just gartered a few months before as a fresh reminder to the people of his favor with the Queen—and he, too, had been present seven years before. No wonder the grand coven had come!

The two clasped hands with him wrist to wrist, one after the other, then backed into the shadows, their point made. Now Drake was alone before them, raising his arms to enjoin their attention. As he opened his mouth to speak, Graham felt the image waver and let it go. When he opened his eyes, he was back beside the Thames, with William looking at him in elation.

“You
did
see something else! I knew I was right to bring you here! Are you all right? What did you see?”

Slowly, Graham nodded, disentangling his fingers and flexing them several times as he shook free of the final vestiges of
other
.

“I made another connection,” he said carefully. “It may even mean something for our present dilemma. Somehow, the Garter Knights
are
the key. Look.”

From his breast pocket, he drew out the two lists Selwyn had made: Elizabeth's Knights of the Garter and those alive today. On the Elizabethan list, he pointed out four names with circles around them.

“Now here are the men who saw the incident on the
Golden Hind
: Leicester, Howard, and Burghley. And here's Hatton. Hatton wasn't a Garter Knight at the time, but he was by 1588. He was present with Drake when the grand coven was convened, and so was Howard. Howard was related to the Queen by blood and by marriage with blood as well as being Drake's superior as lord high admiral. With them at his side and seven years for stories of the incident aboard the
Golden Hind
to have spread, how could anyone have refused if asked to come and help?”

William had been watching him avidly, his own expression stilled and unreadable, but now he turned toward the river again. A faint foreboding began to grow in Graham's mind until William glanced back at him.

“How many years has it been since you were knighted?” William asked softly.

Graham blinked, his mouth going dry. He thought he already knew where William was heading.

“Seven. Why?”

“That's what I thought: the same as Drake. It would certainly seem that he had a mandate, wouldn't it? A royal mandate and Garter Knights to back him up. May I see your lists?”

Graham handed them over without daring to ask why, watching as the prince scanned first the Elizabethan and then the modern one. After a moment, William pulled a pencil from an inside pocket and began writing.

“Your newer list is incomplete,” the prince said, scrawling five more names at the bottom and underlining the last. “You've counted the regular Garter Knights, but you've forgotten those related to the King.”

As Graham took back the amended list, he could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. William's list was by ducal title, but Graham knew them all: Connaught, the King's great-uncle; Windsor, the former King; and the three remaining royal brothers, Gloucester, Kent, and Clarence. Before he could even open his mouth to deny the implication of the underlined final name, the prince was reaching into an inner pocket once more to withdraw a flat leather-bound jeweler's box. He handed it to Graham with a pleased smile and took the lists, slipping them into his coat pocket.

“Tell me if you think that might be of any use in what you're trying to do,” he said softly.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Graham eased open the spring lid far enough to peek inside, closed it abruptly, then opened it again to stare in disbelief.

Inside lay William's Garter star, red cross of St. George surrounded by the blue-enamel garter:
Honi soit qui mal y pense
.

C
HAPTER
12

The Garter star seemed to pulsate against its bed of dark-blue velvet. The bright enamel and cut metal rays shimmered in the fitful sunlight.

“I suppose the Garter itself would have been a more appropriate symbol for what I'm trying to say,” the prince remarked as Graham began shaking his head. “However, its box was a little long and narrow for concealing on one's person. I rather thought our discussion might come to this. Now don't keep shaking your head at me, Gray. It's all perfectly logical. Drake had his royally connected Garter Knights, and you must have yours. I'm only one, but I fancy I'm closer to the crown than Howard or Hatton were. I think I'd do well enough.”

“William—”

“Please let me finish. Naturally, we can't send my star or garter 'round to summon these chaps you seem to think you need, but I don't see why I can't use whatever clout I have to get them all together for you. We don't have to tell them what it's all about ahead of time. Then you and Lady Selwyn come out and tell them the real reason for the meeting.”

Graham continued to shake his head, too stunned to even close the box and give it back.

“Sir, I can't let you do it.”

“Please don't ‘sir' me at a time like this,” William said softly. “And why can't you let me do it?”

Graham closed the box with a snap and thrust it back into the prince's hands. “You don't know what you're offering. You haven't thought out the full implications. You don't understand how it could be taken if you were seen at my side while I asked those people to do what I have to ask them. You're a royal duke, William. Your brother is the King of England, head of the Church of England, Defender of the Faith. If one, even
one
, of those people opened their mouths afterward, where would you be? Where would your brother be?”

“My brother need never know.”

“But
they'll
know! Don't you understand? If you were to function as you've just outlined, you'd be seen doing it in his behalf. You'd imply his sanction even if it weren't true.”

“Why couldn't it be true, then?” William asked. “Why not ask his sanction, at least unofficially? He's the anointed King. You said that the sacred king stands in the place of God in these matters. Maybe he
should
know about it. Or does he already?”

Graham shook his head sharply. “He doesn't know. No one in the immediate Royal Family knows anymore besides yourself. It's said that they never know unless the need is acute. Oh, there are relatives whose names you'd recognize if I were permitted to tell you, but no one in the close succession. And it must stay that way.”

“But why?”

Graham leaned both elbows against the rail and massaged his temples with his thumbs. How to make him understand?

“Look, William. There isn't much holding this country together right now. We're a little better off in some ways than we were a month ago—at least we got most of the BEF out of France—but it's going to get worse before it gets better. You heard what Churchill said: ‘The Battle of Britain is about to begin.' Well, it began some time ago.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“Well, are you aware what we have to fight that battle with? I don't think you are. Not enough planes, not enough pilots, not enough armed forces or materiel to equip them—we haven't recovered the Dunkirk losses yet, you know.”

“Do you really think I don't know that?” came the angry retort. “What do you take me for?”

Graham looked away painfully. “I take you for a man who loves his country more than even
he
knows and wants desperately to help save her,” he said quietly. “But I don't think this is the way. You don't yet perceive the delicate balance we're walking. Right now, there are only about two factors holding us together in addition to the monumental war effort of the British people and sheer, unadulterated luck: Mr. Churchill's unconquerable optimism and the incredible personal courage and example of the King. We must do nothing to jeopardize your brother's position.”

“But how would—”

“No, this time you let
me
finish. Don't you see? Everything else is upside-down except the Crown. The King and Queen are the single most potent symbol of stability and faith that can get this country through the war. The people need that stability. They're afraid, and for good reasons—and they could be made even more afraid if you or any other member of the Royal Family became involved in something controversial, especially something as far outside the familiar bounds of their faith as magic.”

“But I thought you said a lot of people still keep the old ways alongside the new, and they still believe.”

“A lot of them do,” Graham agreed, glancing furtively over his shoulder to make certain they were not being overheard. “But many of them don't. Some that do are not consciously aware that they still do. The great majority would be positively scandalized if they thought witchcraft were rampant in the royal house. Remember, that's tantamount to satanism and devil worship in the popular view—and enough laws are still on the books to make things very messy for a prince who got his hands dirty. Don't think you'd be immune because of your rank. Remember the uproar less than four years ago simply because a king wanted to marry a divorced woman. What do you think the press would do with a prince who got involved in witchcraft?”

The prince slipped the box back in his pocket and bowed his head, but the action was not one of surrender, only regrouping. Graham watched him closely, still a little stunned at the combined audacity and brilliance of the offer, but he could read no hint of the next argument in eyes or set of hands or jaw.

After a few moments, William glanced at him again and Graham braced himself.

“Will you at least concede that my analysis of the Drake situation was a sound one?” William asked.

Graham nodded warily.

“And will you also agree that the modern analogy is sound, at least in theory? That you need a KG to vouch for you, if you're to invoke the same kind of authority that Drake did?”

“Perhaps. But you can't be that KG. We'll find another way.”

“What other way? Listen, let me approach it from another angle. How many people are we talking about?”

“Perhaps twenty or so. No more than thirty. That isn't the point.”

“I never said it was. Let me finish,” William said, almost a little irritated. “I set up a—a social event—a reception, or something like that. No one declines a royal duke's invitation. That gets them all in the same place at the same time. After that, it's up to you.”