Arcadia (61 page)

‘That’s no good,’ Rosalind said.

‘Perhaps it will not be so bad. He has an interest in seeing both of them found guilty. As that is not an option, he will have no choice but to be scrupulously fair. He is not a bad man, really, although he is full of his name and greatly desires power. He is generally saved by his reverence for the Story.’

The pair walked out of a side door, through the courtyards used mainly by stable boys and those who worked in the kitchens; Henary was concerned to ensure that Gontal did not notice them, lest he intercept Pamarchon before he could claim the protection of the Shrine.

‘Tell me about this Shrine,’ Rosalind said as they walked. ‘Why is it so special?’

‘It is the grave of Esilio.’

‘He’s the man I read about. Who was he?’

‘There are many opinions. Some hold that he was simply a courageous leader who brought us back from exile to settle the
land. Others think that he was – or is – a god. The god, perhaps, who created us then abandoned us. This view holds that he will return and judge whether we have lived well enough to be forgiven the sins of our ancestors.’

‘Which sins are those?’

‘They are said to be so grave that they were hidden, lest we despair of redeeming ourselves.’

They walked round a curve in the track and there before them was the stone circle – more an oval, really, Rosalind thought – with the monument inside where she had first encountered Pamarchon. Only what? Five days ago? It seemed like an age to her.

As they entered the circle there was a movement in the bushes at the far end, and three figures emerged. They hurriedly crossed over the line into the sanctuary.

‘Done it,’ said one. ‘That’s a relief.’

There they all were. Jay, Pamarchon, Kate, and Henary looking at them. The four people, Rosalind realised, she liked most in the world. This world, anyway. They were all safe, for the time being.

She gave every one of them an enormous hug, leaving the last and biggest for Pamarchon, who wrapped his arms around her and nestled his head against hers. ‘I’m so happy to see you again.’

‘As am I.’

They were interrupted by a discreet cough in the background.

‘Oh, yes. Introductions. If you don’t mind I will dispense with your formalities. I don’t like them, and I’m not in the mood. Pamarchon, son of – someone or other. Henary, scholar of Ossenfud.’

‘Welcome back, my Lady,’ Henary said. ‘You have led us a merry dance for the past few days. I am glad to see you looking so well.’

Catherine acknowledged Henary with a warm smile, then turned to Pamarchon.

‘I no longer need your protection, Pamarchon, son of Isenwar,’
she said. ‘Our truce is at an end. When I came to you first, you thought me a mere servant, yet you treated me with consideration. You not only followed the dictates of kindness but went far beyond them. You have given protection according to your position. I offer you my thanks. What must happen here cannot be changed. But I will not fulfil my part in hatred.’

‘It seems that I am not very good at seeing the truth in women’s hearts, or am too trusting of their words,’ Pamarchon replied. ‘I briefly thought the woman I loved most in the world was a mere boy; I thought the woman I hated most in the world was a mere servant. One I love because of who she is, the other I hate only because of what she has done. Separate person and deeds, and my hatred dies like a plant deprived of water.’

Rosalind sighed. They were off again. But the others seemed highly satisfied.

‘The deeds and the person will be separated at the end.’

‘Deeds and those who commit them are not always the same.’

‘One can be many and yet—’

‘Enough. Enough, you two,’ Rosalind interrupted. ‘I know you enjoy it, but don’t we have more urgent things to do?’

They scowled at her, but Henary came to her support. ‘She is right; we must summon the domain. You are aware, Catherine, that time is short. The assembly begins at dusk.’

‘I will take care of it,’ she said.

‘By what right? You are no longer the Lady of this place. You have no more authority than the servant you were not so long ago.’

Catherine gave him what Rosalind thought was a very nasty look.

‘Jay! Go as quickly as you can to the Chamberlain. Say he is to ring the bell for a trial. Tell him who and where, and say it must begin within the hour. Then go to Gontal and tell him. You will not get a good reception, but I’m afraid you will have to put up with that.’

‘Then should I come back here?’

‘As you choose.’

‘It’s just that I have to prepare.’

‘For what?’

‘I am to defend Lady Catherine.’

Now it was Henary’s turn to be astounded. ‘Whose idea was that?’

‘We agreed,’ Catherine said. ‘Who has been chosen for Pamarchon?’

‘I have. I could not refuse,’ he said.

*

It was a hastily assembled procession, but a large one. First came the Chamberlain, hurrying through the thickets with only a few followers. Next a gaggle of servants from the house, then ever more people from the nearby fields, abandoning their tools to see what was going on, and villagers from the settlements all around. Finally Gontal arrived, bringing with him his soldiers. Bit by bit, more than a hundred gathered.

No one, though, dared step into the circle except Gontal.

‘What exactly does all this mean?’ he asked, then stopped as he realised who everyone was. ‘Catherine. I am glad to see you restored to us, lesser in rank but whole in person.’

She eyed him coolly but did not reply.

‘The choice and acclamation of the new ruler of Willdon must take place at dusk,’ Henary said. ‘You will present yourself as next in line, I have no doubt. One of these will do so as well. One will take on the guilt that lies between them and so, purified of any taint, the other will offer themselves. Both have claimed the privilege of Esilio, as laid down in the Story, and their wishes cannot be ignored.’

Gontal’s eyes flickered between Henary, Pamarchon and Catherine, trying to work out whether there was any way of stopping what he considered to be a devious piece of trickery. He grunted and walked swiftly over to the Chamberlain. They had a hurried,
quiet conversation; Gontal’s face darkened, and he stamped his foot in frustration. Then he walked back.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I imagine I must be the judge of the proceedings.’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Pamarchon and Catherine together.

‘Then who? Who has a better right than I?’ He smirked at the crowd gathering around. ‘Let any with greater authority than I present themselves to judge this matter.’ He called in a loud voice, ‘I command them to come forward!’

No one answered, all were looking at him anxiously. Except for Rosalind, who suddenly took a few steps and then started gesturing, speaking to nothing.

*

To say that what happened next caused terror and chaos would be to understate matters considerably. Rosalind ran over to an empty part of the clearing and could be seen speaking fluently and quickly, making gestures of command and respect. She was talking to nothing, but as she spoke she was illuminated by a faint, heavenly light. Only Jay had ever seen anything like it before; only Henary had ever heard of such a thing. He knew enough of the Perplexities to realise his worst nightmare was coming true. What had he done? He had never really believed in it, even after his conversation with Rosalind. His curiosity had set this in motion. Now it could not be stopped. Gontal had spoken in the circle, summoning one greater than himself, someone with more authority, knowing that no one on earth could have any such authority. His presumption had been answered.

He could not hear what Rosalind was saying; it was too fast and quiet, too far away. But he heard her last words. ‘Please come,’ she said, then stepped back.

Henary’s stomach curdled as a shape appeared and took on a solid form. Cries of lamentation went up; where there had been only a faint light, a figure, a man, was now standing, resplendent
in red robes, tall and powerful-looking. He did nothing, said nothing, but smiled at Rosalind. They felt the power of his glance as it swept over them.

All fell onto their knees in reverence; a collective groan went up; some screamed and began sobbing in shock. Many covered their eyes, and those who did not looked in awe at the way that Rosalind, now revealed as a woman of great spiritual power, perhaps even the Herald of Doom itself, approached the spirit without fear. They had all seen it, they had witnessed with their own eyes something they would have dismissed as madness otherwise.

The spirit, meanwhile, appeared sombre, frightening in his authority and wrath. He held up his hands when he saw the crowd that was kneeling in fear of him, and made a gesture that seemed to be an order to step back from his presence. They obeyed without question, scarcely daring to look. Only Rosalind stood her ground, taking her eyes off him briefly as the light behind him flickered and then vanished.

Gontal was trembling, Pamarchon terrified, Catherine stood stock still. Henary looked as though he was about to be violently sick.

‘Master,’ Jay whispered, for fear that the spirit would hear. ‘What is happening?’

‘It is the end, Jay. The day spoken of, when the god judges us. He returns, and either sets us free or destroys us utterly.’

‘That’s a myth, an allegory. You said so yourself.’

‘I was wrong. This is my fault. I meddled with things I should have never ever touched. That manuscript foretold it all. You on the hilltop, the coming of the Herald, the return of Esilio. And next, the judgement.’

‘Rosalind? She is the Herald?’

‘The messenger who prepares the way for the return of the god.’

‘You knew this?’

‘No. I wanted to prove it was nonsense.’

‘It’s not possible,’ Pamarchon said.

‘Why not?’

‘Well … she agreed to marry me. If all went well.’

‘If what went well?’

‘The trial.’

‘Which trial? Your trial, or the trial of Anterwold? Did she say?’

‘This is not in the Story,’ Gontal objected. ‘These are just superstitions. There is not a single text which states anything like this. You know this, Henary. You have studied them as well as I have.’

‘This may be older than the Story,’ Henary replied. ‘Far, far older.’

56

‘Well? What do you think?’ Rosalind asked enthusiastically as she examined Lytten’s bemused expression.

For a long time, Lytten could think of nothing to say. The smells were real, the warmth was real. The sunlight through the tall trees was real. ‘This is … very peculiar,’ he said lamely.

‘You sort of get used to it after a while. Professor, could you do me a favour? I think it’s normal to go into the am-I-dreaming routine. I did. But you aren’t. So please just concentrate on what is important. You may be here for some time, as the light has gone out, so you might as well make yourself useful.’

Lytten looked. True enough, the light he had just walked through wasn’t there any more. ‘Angela said something about opening it up at dusk, I think. Where am I?’

‘You are in Anterwold. To be precise, at Willdon, in the stone circle of Esilio. Do you remember that?’

‘Of course. I thought it up as a sort of sacred spot. I never figured out its precise importance, though. I didn’t get round to that bit.’

‘It acts as a sanctuary. People are safe from the law here. They throw themselves on the judgement of Esilio, the all-wise. That’s you.’

‘Me?’

‘Who else is going to pop up out of nowhere in the middle of his own shrine? Apparently your coming has been foretold for generations.’

‘But I’m not.’

‘Are you sure? As you’re here, you might as well play the part. We have two people accused of murder, and they are
appealing for judgement on which one is guilty. They will naturally expect you to take charge of things. So, tell me now. Who did kill Thenald?’

‘How should I know?’ Lytten said, still looking around him at the scene he had somehow entered.

‘You must. You wrote it.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I never wrote that bit. I sketched it out years ago, but I can scarcely remember it.’

‘You’ve got to remember, Professor,’ Rosalind said desperately. ‘You’ve got to. If this goes wrong, all sorts of horrible things are going to happen. There may be a war. We have soldiers here, and outlaws around us. It’s all your fault.’

‘Why is it my fault?’

‘It is your fault because you never finished it. You’ve been writing that book of yours for years, and now it’s fed up waiting and is trying to finish itself. You should tidy up loose ends. Agatha Christie does.’

‘But I’m not Agatha … Listen. I’ve had enough of this. This is simply absurd. I don’t believe any of it.’

‘It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s what they believe that counts at the moment. You have now appeared out of thin air. You can guess how that seems. Your word is law. As long as you don’t make a mess of it. Who is Esilio, anyway?’

‘No idea. He’s just a sort of foundation figure. Like Solon the lawgiver for Athens. A mythical character who gets everything going.’

‘According to Henary, the Story says he reappears, and when he does all sorts of things start to happen. Like the end of the world. You judge your creation and destroy it if you find it wanting. You can see why you’ve scared the life out of them.’

Lytten snorted. ‘Just because people believe things it doesn’t mean they happen. Esilio’s not meant to be a god, anyway. I try to avoid gods. Tricky characters.’

‘You’d better tell them that. But please will you help now you’re here? Listen to what they have to say? It might jog your
memory. You can see for yourself they are all real people. Prick them and they bleed, you know.’

For the first time, Lytten smiled. ‘Do I have any choice?’

‘Yes. You have a choice between seeming like a god and seeming like a right idiot.’

*

His face fixed in an impenetrable mask, Lytten walked around the stone circle, out to the edge where ever greater numbers of people were gathering. They stiffened with fear as he approached. They had seen his appearance with their own eyes. They were terrified that, if they said or did anything wrong, he would raise his arms and bring the vengeance of the heavens down upon them. This was the day of judgement. Everybody now knew it was true.