Lammas Night (66 page)

He heard Ellis shuffling paper again, and he glanced aside dully, forcing his fingers to uncramp and let the clan badge hang on its chain, rubbing absently at the indentations the medal had made across his palm. High overhead, the drone of aircraft began to intrude once more—wave after wave of new bombers coming in, with the tiny, darting shapes of the defending night-fighters and raiders alike lit by searchlight spears. Explosions jarred the city to the east again, punctuated by the ineffectual but reassuring chatter of the Ack-Ack guns, but something in Ellis's manner with a second sheet of paper made Graham ignore the sounds of war and gaze at him in question.

“I said there were several items you should be aware of,” the brigadier murmured, uncreasing a yellow cipher flimsy and flattening it against the heavier teletype paper. “This came in just before I left to find you. Grumbaugh penciled out a rough translation and said to tell you it had been hand carried from Bletchley Park. I suppose that means it's an Ultra intercept?”

Graham found his vision blurring, and he had to brush at his eyes with an awkward hand as he nodded. Grumbaugh would not have entrusted even Ellis with Ultra material unless it were very, very important. Dared he hope that news could have come so soon?

“Read it for me, will you?” he whispered.

The brigadier cleared his throat. “It's from the German general staff to the officer in charge, Air Support Operations, Holland. Usual amenities, etc., etc.,
Heil Hitler
. ‘As of this date, you are authorized to begin the dismantling of the air-loading equipment at all Dutch aerodromes.' There's more, but that's the crux of it.”

It took a few seconds for the significance to penetrate Graham's benumbed mind.

“Dismantling? In Holland? But that's one of the main staging areas for the invasion!”

“That's right, son.”

“Then it's off!” Graham murmured. “The invasion is off. We've won!”

“We've won this round, at any rate,” the old man returned gruffly. “There will be no invasion
this
season, which was what we feared the most. And if our lads continue to pound the Jerries up there”—he glanced up at the planes and the tracer-filled sky—“it won't come at all.”

“Then—was today necessary?” Graham breathed after a long pause. “Tell me, Wesley. I have to know. Did I kill all those people—my prince and my own son and nephew—for
nothing
?”

Ellis shook his head, the old eyes misting at last. “We'll never know for sure, Gray,” he whispered. “If today had gone differently for us, perhaps it would have gone differently in other ways as well. Everything pointed toward what was done today. We have to believe there was a reason for that.”

“A reason,” Graham repeated numbly.

Slowly, he took the last signal from Ellis and read it for himself, the penciled words slightly blurred in the moonlight, the printed German clearer but hard and cold. He scanned the words again, shaking his head.

When he had read it through a third time and still had divined no answers, he began methodically shredding it into tiny pieces, his mind going back over the past months. When none of the pieces were larger than his thumbnail, he opened his fingers and watched the bits float to the river like faded, obscene confetti. For just an instant, his hands caught the reflection of the burning city and seemed to glow red.

Slayer of kings and slain for kings am I.…

He bowed his head then, stifling a sob in his throat, but he did not weep. Clenching his fist to hold the blood he had shed, he paid homage to all the dead who, down the centuries and the seven-years, had given life itself to keep this island safe. With the bombs falling all around and the fires blazing in the nearby docks, he stood arm in arm with another man who had lived the grief and hope before.

Together they watched until the morning light: one warrior old and scarred by other wars, the other man of lesser years, but also, in this leaden dawn, a man no longer young—both, in that brightening moment, worn but faithful servants of the sacred king.

A
FTERWORD

The characters depicted in this story are purely fictional, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is quite coincidental. However, the historical setting and chronology for the summer of 1940, the months of Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain, are real. So are the secret units of Britain's MI.6 and their parallels in Berlin, which were concerned with utilizing the occult sciences to further the progress of their respective sides in the war. The use of astrology, the Nostradamus prophecies, and pendulum dowsing by both sides is a matter of record. The
Thule Gesellschaft
was but one of the German occult orders that attempted to use black magic against the Allies, though its activities on Lammas night itself are unknown. Hitler
was
an initiate of this group and
was
at the Berghof on Lammas night.

The details surrounding the Lammas working against Hitler are conjectural but are based upon the best information now available, more than forty years after the fact, when nearly everyone who was involved has passed on. At least one New Forest coven did go down to the sea and raise a cone of power for that purpose at least three times that summer. Dion Fortune and some of her associates did engage in an occult operation involving the visualization of archangels guarding Britain. Other groups may have done more or less than that.

Where descriptions of various occult practices diverge from published material currently available, particularly regarding witchcraft, one should remember that before about 1950 and the pioneer work done by Murray, Leland, Gardner, and others, little was written down or otherwise codified concerning native British occult traditions. Thus, it was necessary to construct a suitable background for the Oakwood group based upon what seems fairly universal in present published material on the Old Religion and what was told to me by British occultists of various persuasions concerning what it was like in 1940. To the best of my knowledge, there is no group precisely like the one headed by Alix and David Jordan and no Oakwood Manor with its magical maze. Nor do I know for a fact that any joint gathering of British occultists was held to coordinate a common working for Lammas of 1940—though it seems to me that there should have been and certainly could have been.

Concerning historical precedents for using magic to prevent the invasion of England, I quote from the section on Sir Francis Drake in Doreen Valiente's
An ABC of Witchcraft Past and Present
, which was one of the early catalysts for this project:

Sir Francis Drake is known in all English history books as the man who delivered England from the Spanish Armada. Not so well known is the fact that in his native Devonshire he is reputed to have belonged to the witch cult
.

During the Second World War, at the time when England seemed in imminent danger of invasion, a large gathering of witches took place in the New Forest, to work a rite to protect the country. It was recalled then that similar rituals had been carried out in past years against Napoleon, and before that against the Spanish Armada. (The ceremony against Hitler took place at Lammas 1940; and the writer has known personally two people who took part in it.)

Many legends have gathered about Drake and his defeat of the Armada. That of Drake's drum is well known; and its ghostly beat is said to have been heard during both the First and the Second World Wars. In the West Country, Drake is told of, in winter evening fire-side tales, as a particularly active ghost, who has been known to lead the Wild Hunt on dark nights of wind and storm.… Other stories say that, because he practiced witchcraft in his lifetime, Drake's soul cannot rest. This is why his ghost drives a black coach and four about the Devonshire lanes on stormy nights
.

Another version of the story says that Drake sold his soul to the Devil in return for the defeat of the Spaniards, and this is why his soul is doomed to wander. Both tales are basically versions of the same thing, that Drake belonged to the Old Religion
.

Regarding Drake's actual involvement and that of the Order of the Garter, I stand by what the characters have said. What they have stated as historical fact is true to the best of my knowledge; where they have speculated, so must we, for no one knows for certain. Similarly conjectural is the material on the deaths of Thomas Becket and William Rufus, which was partially developed from Hugh Ross Williamson's
The Arrow and the Sword.

As for the theory of the sacred king, I refer the reader to Margaret Murray's
The Divine King in England
. Like Brigadier Ellis, I can only suggest that each must draw his or her own conclusions to decide whether or not the seven-year cycles continue and whether there are still those who serve the sacred king.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks are due to the following good folk from both sides of the Atlantic without whom the author's task would have been far more difficult:

Technical advice on military and protocol matters: 1150784 W/O R. A. Pearson, former Sunderland rear gunner serving in 201, 228, and 204 Squadrons.

Astrological expertise: Erin Cameron, B.A.

Consultant on vintage motorcars: Scott MacMillan.

Additional invaluable advice from: Doreen Valiente, John and Caitlin Matthews, Dolores Ashcroft-Nowicki, Michael Howard, Jim Alan, and the many others who also gave their assistance so graciously but who, for various reasons, wished to remain anonymous.

About the Author

Katherine Kurtz was born in Coral Gables, Florida, during a hurricane. She received a four-year science scholarship to the University of Miami and graduated with a bachelor of science degree in chemistry. Medical school followed, but after a year she decided she would rather write about medicine than practice it. A vivid dream inspired Kurtz's Deryni novels, and she sold the first three books in the series on her first submission attempt. She soon defined and established her own sub-genre of “historical fantasy” set in close parallels to our own medieval period featuring “magic” that much resembles extrasensory perception.

While working on the Deryni series, Kurtz further utilized her historical training to develop another sub-genre she calls “crypto-history,” in which the “history behind the history” intertwines with the “official” histories of such diverse periods as the Battle of Britain (
Lammas Night
), the American War for Independence (
Two Crowns for America
), contemporary Scotland (The Adept Series, with coauthor Deborah Turner Harris), and the Knights Templar (also with Harris).

In 1983, Kurtz married the dashing Scott MacMillan; they have a son, Cameron. Until 2007, they made their home in Ireland, in Holybrooke Hall, a mildly haunted gothic revival house, They have recently returned to the United States and taken up residence in a historic house in Virginia, with their five Irish cats and one silly dog. (The ghosts of Holybrooke appear to have remained behind.)

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1983 by Katherine Kurtz

Cover design by Andrea Worthington

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3757-0

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

www.openroadmedia.com

EARLY BIRD BOOKS

FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY

BE THE FIRST TO KNOW—