Son of the Morning (9 page)

The priest composed himself. ‘Remain within. By the names of Saint Anthony, by Saint Eurgain and Saint Matthew, you will tell me, can animals be made from inanimate things? Can a frog grow from a lily?’

‘Poor Edwin,’ said the creature, ‘so pure in question, so contaminated of mind.’

‘How can the French be defeated?’ said Bardi.

‘Aren’t you on the side of the French?’ asked the demon. ‘Here’s Sir William Pole who disdains to call himself English.’ He gestured to Pole.

‘You know me, demon?’ said the fat man. He drew himself up, his show of arrogance undercut by the tremble in his voice.

‘All Hell knows you, merchant.’

Pole crossed himself. ‘We are Normans, masters of England, appointed by God.’

‘No, it’s the French who are appointed by God. I’m sure that’s what they say.’

‘Does the substantial form of the soul configure the prime matter of the body? Answer. Do not evade or try to trick me,’ shouted Edwin.

‘Stop your stupid questions, Edwin,’ said Bardi. ‘In war who will win, England or France?’ The banker’s face was taut with concentration.

‘How many skulls from one old saint’s head? How many enemies at each other’s throats all appointed by God? Does He smile to see His kings at war? Will you not release me?’

The coals on the demon’s skin shimmered and flared. Dowzabel lost vision and, when he regained it, the demon was gone. Instead, a beautiful woman stood in the circle, richly dressed in the tailored fashion of the French court.

‘How did I get here? Help me, help me!’

‘That’s a Valois princess!’ said Pole. Fear had set his legs jigging and he looked like a bear at a staff.

‘It is a trick, a trick of Hell,’ said Edwin.

‘A devil carried me here, help me,’ said the princess.

‘Do you think it could be true?’ Pole pawed at his beard, still dancing the Black Nag.

‘We cannot risk believing so. Either go or stay Pole, but quit your hopping,’ said Edwin.

The woman’s body dissolved into light, and this time a richly dressed child stood in the circle.

‘Help me. I was dragged here by a devil,’ he said, ‘I am Giuseppe, Prince of Padua. I will give power and money to the man who releases me. Be quick, the demon will eat me!’

‘Oh, think of the money!’ said Pole in a tone of great lament.

‘What is the nature of the Holy Trinity? Reveal it to me!’ To Dow, the priest seemed mad, spitting as he spoke.

‘Edwin, remember who funds your investigations and your idle life,’ said Bardi. ‘Command it to answer
my
question!’

That seemed to bring Edwin to his senses.

‘I command you, tell me how the war against France may be won!’ Edwin held up the lock of hair.

The little prince remained, wide eyed in the circle.

Edwin crossed himself. ‘He will need to be commanded in the name of a higher demon,’ he said, ‘we cannot do that without peril to our souls, but this boy is already damned.’ He took a paper from his pocket and began to read. When he spoke it was in a careful, badly pronounced Cornish that Dow could understand.

‘Command it in the names of the higher demons to reveal the answer I seek.’

The boy clamped his jaw, and stared past Edwin.

Edwin gestured to Bardi’s servant. He levelled a crossbow at the boy.

‘Command it!’ Then, in English, ‘Command it, I know you know the rite, I know you know it.’

‘He can’t command it, you fool. He can’t speak. The boy’s practically a mute!’ shouted Orsino.

The little prince looked at Dowzabel. ‘Command me,’ he said, ‘as is your right to do.’

I will give them nothing
, thought Dowzabel.

The demon’s voice sounded in his head. ‘You would see them burn and suffer? You would see high men cast down? Command me. My tongue is cursed to silence but you can undo it. Let them see you useful. You are the one.’

‘What one?’ Dow grunted the words.

‘The one who is lost.’

Dowzabel didn’t know what to do.

In whose name?
Now he spoke with his mind.

What is the name of the Lord of Light? What are the names of your Cornish fellows?

How wonderful, thought Dow, to speak with this thing just his thoughts.

I command you. In the name of Lucifer, in the name of Belial, in the name of Abbadon and Sabnock and Orobos. Reveal the answer I demand!

The prince’s form seemed to melt and turn in on itself, the demon grew up from him like a shoot from the bulb of a flower, the human flesh peeling away to reveal the fiery form below.

‘The boy has asked and I may reply. Take the banner.’

‘You can’t steal the Oriflamme,’ said Pole, crossing himself yet again. ‘It sits in the Abbey of St Denis, directly under the angel’s arse. There’s more relics in that abbey than the rest of Christendom combined. And besides, it can only be taken out of the abbey by the rightful king of France, or someone appointed by him. You need your money back on this demon, Bardi, by St Catherine’s queynte so you do!’

The demon spoke and its skin flared. ‘Scales and fire, wing and bone; so flies the banner of the English throne.’

‘What’s it talking about?’ said Pole, ‘speak sense, you abomination.’

The demon spoke again, ‘And the beast, whom I saw, was like a leopard and the dragon gave his virtue and great power to him.’

‘Do not corrupt the holy scripture with your voice, demon! It’s a wonder the Bible’s words don’t burn your tongue as you speak them!’ Edwin looked crazy, his eyes scrunched up to slits, sweat dropping from him like tiny stars falling through the torchlight.

‘A dragon,’ said Bardi, ‘The leopard is Edward! That is his sign. A dragon will give him his power. The pennant of the English throne – St George. The banner of St George, that’s the saint of the English Throne! Are you talking about the banner of St George?’

‘The banner of St George is the Drago,’ said the demon. Dow heard a voice in his head.
Let them believe that is what they seek. You will find something far more powerful that will tear down the thrones.

What?

The banner of all rebellions.

Bardi strode to the edge of the circle, his eyes wide. ‘Where can we find it?’

‘Let me from the circle. All your debts will be paid.’

‘Let the fellow out,’ said Pole, ‘all our fortunes depend on this.’ He stepped forward and backward now, like a boy trying to summon the courage to knock on a girl’s door.

‘No!’ said Father Edwin, ‘I have long experience of these fiends. He is working upon your mind, even through that circle. He will trick you and connive. He will use fair words and appear in many guises. But do not listen to him, he is a demon, shunned by God. I command you, in the names of all the higher demons, to reveal what you know. Where is the banner we seek?’

‘Some things are hidden to us.’

‘Holy things!’ said Edwin, ‘command him again, boy.’

I will not. How can I free you? How can I serve Free Hell?

Dow heard a voice in his head.
Hold fast and bide your time. There are great powers at work in the world. You move under the eyes of angels and devils. Move softly
.

‘Command him again!’

‘Where is the banner?’ said Dow.

‘I’m going to let him out!’ said Pole. ‘There’s profit in this!’

Orsino grabbed the merchant to restrain him.

‘By Christ’s balls send him back!’ said Orsino. ‘He’s working on us!’

‘Where is the banner?’ said Edwin.

‘Let him out. There’s gold and profit for the man who does!’ Pole tried to get free of Orsino and the Florentine threw him to the floor.

‘Where is the banner?’

Pole scrabbled forward but Orsino leapt on his back, holding him down.

‘For God’s sake, send it back. I can’t hold this fat pig forever unless you want me to cut his throat!’ said Orsino.

‘Send him back!’ shouted Bardi.

‘Not to the fire and the heat and the smoke,’ said the demon.

Edwin cursed and spat. ‘Even there,’ he said. ‘I complete the ritual by feeding you the blood of an unbeliever!’

Bardi signalled to Arigo, who said something in his native tongue. Bardi shouted back at him in English.

‘If I say do it, do it! I’ll pay your blasted penance!’

Arigo levelled his crossbow at Dowzabel.

‘Is it not a sin, by your religion, to kill?’ said the demon. Its voice was like the sizzling of water on coals.

‘He is a heretic and a devil worshipper – there can be no sin in his death. It will make Heaven smile,’ said the priest. ‘Satan’s ambassador has revealed this.’

‘And they always speak the truth,’ said the demon.

Dowzabel focused on the crossbow. He hated the man who bore it. He had contacted his uncle and offered him money to betray Dow. He knew the high men were evil the moment he’d seen them on their fine horses outside the priest’s house where he had been kept – waiting to drag him away from everything he knew, waiting to torture him and, now, to kill him.

The crossbow clicked and Dowzabel heard the bolt hiss. It did not strike him. The demon had snatched it from the air, its hand extending in a flare of fire.

‘I have been a long time hungry in Hell,’ he said. He put the bolt into his mouth and crunched it up in his jaws. ‘Boy, break the circle.’

‘Go back,’ said the priest. ‘We offer you an unbeliever’s blood. You are bound by the names of Holy God here displayed before you on the parchment, you are bound by our use of the key, you are bound by salt and by ritual. Accept the blood. Bardi, have your man shoot him again.’

Arigo put his foot into the stirrup of his crossbow, engaged his belt hook and began pulling back the drawstring. He was talking all the time; Dowzabel guessed he was telling his masters that a second bolt would likely only provide another snack for the monster.

‘You have not offered me the blood of an unbeliever,’ said the demon.

‘This child is a disciple of Satan,’ said the priest.

‘Of Lucifer,’ said the demon, ‘not Satan.’

‘They are the same!’ said Orsino. He now had Pole in an armlock.

‘I wish I could let you stand in the morning light to face the Lord of the Dawn and say such a thing.’

‘You lie and dissemble, demon,’ said the priest.

‘Why trust me in one thing but not another?’

‘I trust you when I bind you to the truth. When I call the names of God and strip your lies from you. The boy is a heretic and an unbeliever. His blood is the price you require to return.’

‘Not so. His faith is strong,’ said the demon, ‘and, more than that, it is true. It is you who are the unbelievers, who talk of love and practise hate, who praise the God of the poor and raise yourselves up in palaces of marble and gold. You said in your heart, “I will ascend to Heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God.” But here you are, my gentlemen, brought down to the depths of the pit.’ He gestured to the priest. ‘Here’s one who consorts with devils, here’s one who calls Hell’s gaolers and makes them skip to his command.’

‘Take the child’s blood.’

‘I will not. I
cannot
. Though I will take blood before I go. Unless you wish to release me.’

‘Let him out, Edwin!’ shouted Pole, ‘we need to find that banner!’

‘He is working on you, Pole. Go back to Hell, abhorred of God!’

‘Then blood, priest. Yours, his.’ He extended a fiery finger towards Pole. ‘An unbeliever’s. Or freedom. Give me my freedom.’

‘Never.’

Pole cried out: ‘We can buy remissions for this sin if my money is recouped. I’ll take you to Avignon and give the Pope so much gold he’ll carry us to Heaven himself. Let the thing free if it can help us! Make it swear not to harm us and what do we care what else it does in the world?’

‘It has your mind, Pole; they are persuasive even guarded by charms. Orsino,’ said the priest, ‘take this lock of hair – the demon cannot hurt you while you carry it. Enter the circle and cut the boy’s throat. The demon will take the sacrifice he is offered.’

‘I’ve got my hands full with the merchant! You cut his throat,’ said Orsino, ‘it seems to me that, one way or another, God wants him alive.’

‘I’ll do it.’ Arigo stepped forward.

‘No, Arigo!’ said Orsino.

‘Orsino, this is a thing of Hell. I believe in Jesus Christ. I am His servant. It needs to go back. The child is a heretic – God will smile on me for this.’

Arigo took the lock of hair from Edwin, crossed himself and walked forward, freeing a long knife from his belt. The demon put its finger to the rope that held Dow to the stake, burning it away.

Dow fell and swiped his hand on the floor, scattering the parchments and sending a spray of ash and salt towards the watching men. Orsino rolled away from the merchant, drawing his sword.

The circle was broken; the priest was down on his knees. A blaze of heat rushed over Dow’s head, he looked up to see sparks flying out into the night from the circle, swirling and turning to form the shape of a man. The demon was free.

8

In the lilac light of the first floor chapel at La Sainte-Chapelle, Philip of France stood holding the hand of his wife, Joan of Burgundy, called the Lame. They had retired from the banquet as soon as manners allowed. Philip squeezed his wife’s hand as she leaned upon her cane of oak and silver. In front of them, among the jewels of the altar, was a golden reliquary, an elaborate basket of wrought gold. It contained something far more precious – a substantial part of the crown of thorns worn by the crucified Christ. The one next to it, no less splendid, contained a piece of the true cross. Next to that lay the last cubit of the holy lance that had pierced Christ’s side on the cross. In alcoves all along the walls small statues of saints looked down. The saints were present in their likenesses. Philip could hear them singing praises to God.

The king and queen bent to touch the altar and kiss the relics.

‘The Navarre woman troubles me,’ said the King.

Joan smiled at her husband. ‘We are of God,’ she said, ‘He brings destruction to our enemies.’

‘The angel will no longer see me alone.’

‘But it will see you. Do not doubt God’s love for you, Philip. Look at how you honour Him, build Him splendid churches, house His saints’ bones in caskets of gold and precious stones. Look how you have warred on His behalf, how many of His enemies you have slain. Remember the story of Job. Those whom God loves, He tests. Now pray.’