The Black Rood (16 page)

In the days and weeks following that fateful meeting of the Inner Circle, I determined to educate myself in the crucial events taking place in the world around me. Inspired, not to say alarmed, by the vital importance of the work now before us, I endeavored to emulate the example of the others by learning all I could of the current social and political climate of Europe and the West, thinking a firm grasp on contemporary affairs would aid me in the coming battle. The Seven had other plans for me, however, as I was to discover one rainy afternoon in early spring.

A wintry gale was blowing cold off the North Sea, lashing the windows and making the lights flutter above my desk. It was nearing closing time, and I was not looking forward to braving the elements on my way home for the evening. I heard footsteps outside my office, shortly accompanied by a rapid knock. “Enter,” I called, glancing up as the door opened.

To my surprise, it was Pemberton, and with him, Zaccaria. I jumped to my feet at once, for never had a single member of the Brotherhood darkened my door—and now there were two. “Gentlemen, welcome. Come in,” I said, rushing forth to relieve them of their dripping coats and hats. “It is beastly out there. Come in, both of you, and sit by the fire. We'll have you dried out in no time.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” said Pemberton genially. “I hope you will forgive this intrusion.”

“Intrusion? Not at all,” I replied, pushing chairs toward the fireplace where the coals were glowing red and warm in the grate. “It is, in fact, a welcome break in the monotony that passes for studious industry in a legal firm.”

“You are most kind,” said Zaccaria, settling into the offered chair with a sigh. He patted his face with a folded handkerchief to dry it.

I pulled my own chair from behind the desk and, feeling slightly awkward playing the host, I said, “May I offer you something to chase the chill—a tot of brandy, perhaps?”

“Splendid,” said Pemberton, rubbing his hands to warm them. “Just the thing.”

I stepped to the tray of decanters on the sideboard and poured three small snifters of the firm's tolerable brandy, and passed them to my visitors. “Slàinte!” Pemberton said, raising his glass. We sipped our drinks then, and I took my seat and waited for them to reveal the reason for their visit.

“No doubt you will recall that last time we met mention was made of, shall we say, the
imperatives
before us,” Pemberton said, settling his lean form back in his chair. He cradled the bulbous glass in his long fingers as he swirled the aromatic amber liquid.

“Indeed, yes,” I replied. The dire warnings voiced in that meeting had scarcely been absent from my thoughts.

“You were a classicist at university, I believe?” said Zaccaria suddenly. A small, energetic man of swarthy complexion and sturdy build, he burns with a lively, barely contained intensity many people mistake for giddiness.

“Why, yes,” I allowed, somewhat cautiously, uncertain of the pertinence of this fact, “now that you mention it, I was. It's been so long since anyone accused me of that, I had all but forgotten.”

“History, too, isn't that correct?”

“I hope you haven't spent too much effort rooting around in the hall of records. I'm afraid my academic career does not make scintillating reading.”

Zaccaria smiled, but did not disagree. “At least, you showed a distinct affinity for the ancients rarely seen these days. For that, I commend you.”

“You will have studied Latin,” Pemberton said. “Did you enjoy it?”

“After a fashion. My tutor was a dry old stick, prone to bouts of absentmindedness. He should not shoulder all the blame, however; had I applied myself with a modicum of effort, I might have made a better job of it. Still, Virgil, Cicero, and Julius Caesar have stood by me through thick and thin. Also, being in the legal profession, I have the chance to brush up the odd phrase now and then.”

“What about Greek?”

“Ah, no,” I replied. “Greek was never my strong suit. After a brief flirtation, I abandoned the enterprise completely. Euripides almost did me in. I managed enough to scrape by, but only just.”

“I suspected as much,” mused Zaccaria; he made it sound as if he had long harbored grave misgivings about my natural parentage and patriotism.

“Then that is where we will begin,” said Pemberton. He tossed down the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. “We have been thinking it was time you were better acquainted with your heritage, so to speak.”

“My
Greek
heritage?” I said. “I wasn't aware I had any.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” replied Pemberton with a smile. “Shake a family closet, and you never know what might tumble out.”

“I think it more precise to say your Greek-
speaking
heritage,” Zaccaria said.

“I am intrigued,” I said. “Please, continue.”

“The Greek islands are pure enchantment. Have you ever been?”

“Only by way of Homer.”

“An excellent introduction to be sure, but not a patch on the real thing, I must say.”

Pemberton leaned forward earnestly. “We have a challenge to set before you, Gordon. Would you like to hear it?”

“By all means.” I put aside my glass and gave him my full attention. I imagined this unprecedented visit owed much to the new order anticipated by the Inner Circle and, aware of the seriousness of our endeavor, composed myself with all gravity for what was shortly to be asked of me.

“We want you to learn Greek.”

“Greek!” The suggestion made me laugh out loud. Given the climate of danger into which we were descending, I had anticipated a slightly more noble, if not perilous, undertaking. “Whatever next? Do you think I am up to it?”

“I think you are more than up to it,” Zaccaria assured me solemnly.

“May I ask why you wish me to learn Greek?”

“That need not concern you at the moment,” Pemberton said, brushing the question aside lightly. “Let's just say that an opportunity has lately arisen which we are keen to have you exploit to the full. To do that, you will need a good working knowledge of Greek—both antique and modern.”

I looked from one to the other of them. They were quite serious. In fact, Pemberton regarded me with such intensity, I began to suspect there was more to this proposal than I had been told so far. The only way to find out more, I understood, was to accept what had been put before me. Nor was I inclined to turn down my first genuine assignment as a member of the Inner Circle. In any case, I would have agreed just to see what came next.

“Well, why not?” I said at last. “Yes, of course. I'll do it. With any luck, I'll be speaking like a native in no time at all.”

“That,” said Pemberton dryly, “is about how long you have to master it.”

“Sorry?”

“You have from now to the end of September,” he said.

“Good heavens!” I counted quickly on my fingertips. “It's less than six months.”

“If it were up to me, I would give you as much time as you liked. Unfortunately, we no longer have that luxury.”

“I see now why you called it a challenge.”

I had, I suppose, imagined great deeds of high daring to answer the clarion call I had heard so clearly at the last meeting of the Seven. I had allowed myself to believe that when my turn came to serve, it would involve something far more grand and exciting than stuffing my head full of ancient Greek syntax. To tell the truth, I was slightly deflated.

Pemberton astutely read the disappointment in my mood. “It is important, Gordon,” he said softly, “vitally so, or I would not have asked you. What is more, you will learn much to your advantage. That I promise.”

“Quite,” agreed Zaccaria. “Now then,” he reached into his suit pocket and brought out a calling card, “I have taken the liberty of giving your name to an acquaintance of mine. His name is Rossides, and he is a scholar of the first order.” He handed me the card. “He lives in Lothian Street near the university.”

I took the card and read the name aloud. “M. Rossides, D. Phil.” It was written in both Greek and English. “Do you think he would be inclined to take on a student of my low aptitude and qualification?”

“Oh, indeed,” Zaccaria assured me seriously. “He has guided many a floundering Odysseus through the Scylla and Charybdis of aspirated vowels and masculine verb forms. If anyone can get you ready in time, he can.” He reached out and tapped the card in my hand. “I dare say he'll even get your Latin back in fighting trim.”

“Then I will certainly pay him a visit first chance I get. I'll send him my card and arrange a meeting next week.”

“He is expecting you tomorrow,” Zaccaria informed me. “Stroke of six. Don't be late. The good professor expects punctuality in his students.”

As if in anticipation of this meeting, the clock in the hallway beyond chimed the hour, and my two guests rose to leave. “You will want to be getting home, I expect,” said Pemberton. “Give your lovely Caitlin my best regards, and tell her it might be a good idea to keep the autumn clear in the social diary.” He smiled, enjoying his little mystery. “I have a feeling you two will be spending some time in sunnier climes.”