The Necromancer's Grimoire (8 page)

“But Richard had no intention of fighting.” Nadira did not phrase it as a question. She knew it was true.

“Of course not. He wanted to be there where the excitement was; he wanted to write about it. He wanted to meet the men involved, talk to their clerks. See the women.”

“Women?” Nadira twisted in his arms until she was facing him. “Women in an army?”

Montrose laughed quietly. “You have never been to war.”

“No. I hope never to be. But women?”

“Plenty of women. If you have enough coins. Richard did.”

“Not fighting women, then.” She sighed with understanding. “I was confused for a moment.”

Montrose buried his face in her hair. In her ear he said, “Some were very feisty. I would say some were definitely ‘fighting women'.”

“Bah. Not what I meant. So you went. Alisdair and Garreth, too?”

“Yes.”

“And where was this battle?”

“Bosworth. I had the luck to be between His Grace and a bolt from a crossbow.” Montrose kissed her cheek. “It earned me a small farm far to the north and a minor title.”

“An arrow bought you a farm.” Nadira went over the map of his body in her mind. Yes. She remembered a large raised scar the size of her hand in the shape of a star below his left shoulder. In the darkness she slid her hand over his side and around his back until she could feel it.

“Not an arrow. A bolt. They are different. Hmmm,” he said, “There. You have found it. There, under your hand, is the making of a lord.”

“Surely you were wearing mail,” Nadira asked softly, exploring the scar with her fingers. “This is rather large.”

“The chirurgeon enlarged it to remove the point. I was wearing 
plate
; this bolt was shot from very close range. Went between the plates where they joined my shoulder with a leather strap. Not from the enemy, either.”

“There is a story here. Getting you to tell it is like pulling teeth.”

“We were on a small rise over the fields. The duke was dismounted and not in his battle armor. He was going over a map with his captains. I was assigned to his personal guard. His Grace gestured behind him for someone to bring his horse that he might return to his tent and ready himself for the coming fight. I took the animal's reins and as he stood to accept them, the bolt took me from behind. I fell forward onto the duke, knocking him to the ground.”

She pulled back and tried to see him in the darkened room. “No. Truly?”

“Oh yes. I assure you, I thought I was dying. Blood filled my mouth and throat, and poured from my nose. With every breath I struggled for air. I cannot describe the pain…”

“Ah, do not try.” Nadira had her hand to her throat, imagining the wound. “It pierced your lung, then.”

“Yes, and it felt worse when they pulled it out later. His Grace was certain I would die, and called for the priest to come. I was given last rites.”

“Last rites?”

“Something men do when they think the end is near. As you can clearly see, I survived. His Grace the duke considered my recovery a miracle, and since the bolt had been intended for him, he saw me as proof of God's favor and the answer to his many prayers that he was backing the right man for king.”

“I see,” she murmured. “Was he?”

“Yes. King Richard was slain, Henry Tudor took the field, became king. His Grace was greatly honored with many rewards. I was greatly honored with a farm.”

“And the assassin?”

“Found and cut down.”

“And now I understand that strange wheezing sound that echoes your snores,” she teased.

He nodded. “I get short-winded sometimes, but there are no other lasting effects.”

She remembered when bandits in the mountains attacked them, and after he saved her life how he leaned so heavily on the pommel of his sword, gasping. And near Rome after his fight with the French soldiers in the empty field. He had gone down on one knee that time, breathing so hard she could hear him from the road. She turned her head and lay her ear against his chest, listening to his breathing and the beat of his heart.

After a moment he said softly, “What do you hear, little one? What does my body say to you?”

“It says ‘Let me sleep, that I may travel easier on the morrow'.”

“That is not what I hear.” He pressed himself gently against her.

“Shall we listen to that?” She responded with an encouraging squeeze.

He kissed her on the top of her head and cupped her breast with one large hand. “No,” he answered. “My body is not my master.” He paused, stroking her as tenderly as one would touch a bird. “As neither am I yours.”

The next day they set out on their journey to the sea, where a ship waited for them to cross the wide straights between the Romans and the Turks. Derrick left them for Venice and Lionel for somewhere unspecified that Corbett would not tell. Only Calvin remained of the Templar's retinue, and he was tasked with the care of DiMarco.

Nadira sat firmly behind Montrose on his horse. Behind her rode Garreth, and behind him, William. DiMarco sat one of the packhorses, his hands bound to the saddle and his horse bound to Calvin. The book and the chest of vials were safely packed in straw within thick leather satchels on either side of Corbett. Nadira caught a glimpse of the old knight every now and then when the road curved around the gentle hills. In the distance she could see the mountains that broke up the horizon and met the sky with smoky blue hues.

The road was wide and well-maintained. They met many other travelers both coming and going from the great city. It was still early in the year for the farmers, and the surrounding fields were poised between the wet end of winter and the fresh start of spring. It was muddy going in some places, and Nadira clutched Montrose with both hands when their horse slipped and skidded.

“Careful,” she murmured to the animal, and hoped he heard her. A deep ditch flanked the road and Nadira did not want to end up in its cold waters.

She heard Montrose chuckle deeply. “He will not go down.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

Montrose squeezed his knees and leaned to the right. The horse took a few steps toward the center of the road where the footing was more firm. “Better?” he asked her.

She sighed. “Better.”

The others had moved toward the middle of the road as well. She saw Corbett's horse with the fat satchels that held their treasures just ahead of them.

She longed to touch the book again and look at the beautiful glass vials with their mysterious contents of many colors. Corbett had shown them to her before packing them away.

“Do not touch them. Promise me here and now that you will not touch them.”

She had promised reluctantly. She sighed and Montrose turned his head toward her.

“Are you weary from the ride?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Why do you sigh?”

“I am at all times impatient. It is a flaw in my character.”

He turned back to the road. “You wish that the whole world would whirl as fast as your thoughts. I know.”

“That may be true.”

“You have flown. Now to walk is to have you tied to the earth, fluttering like a wounded sparrow.”

She smiled though she knew he could not see her. “How very lyrical, my lord. I begin to see that Richard was not the only brother with the heart and soul of a poet.”

She heard him snort, but knew he was pleased.

Corbett chose their campsite early in a copse of cypress above a slow-moving river. He selected a dry spot near the road, but above and behind an outcropping of grey boulders that would hide them from traffic. He suggested mildly that Montrose take his hooks and lines and go with Garreth and Alisdair down the hill to spend the afternoon fishing. None of the men gave argument and Nadira watched them laughing and joking as they made their way down the steep bank to the river. She cast a sly glance at the knight. He nodded toward DiMarco sitting beneath the tall cypress and joined him there as soon as the Englishmen were out of sight. William hovered nervously until Corbett sent him for firewood with a few coins. Just down the road a cluster of plaster houses with red tile roofs promised some food and fuel. Nadira imagined the farmers might also sell some fine bread and cheese to a hungry friar.

“We shall have some privacy,” he murmured to her as William made his way toward the houses. “Let us do this thing quickly. We will discover whether we need the
Grimoire
or if you are sufficiently skilled without it. Calvin will stand watch and warn us should we be disturbed. Are you certain you can travel without an elixir? Did the
Hermetica
grant you this boon?”

“I have once without wishing for it. This will be my first attempt at instigating a journey.”

“Lie here, then. I will guard you.”

Nadira arranged herself carefully, trusting that the old knight would watch over her body. She relaxed and projected her intent into the blue sky above, then closed her eyes.

All problems can be solved, all hurts healed,
she told herself
. This must be true, else why do we have minds to think? Why not live as animals do, day to day thinking only of food and water and warmth? As people we are given the tool to solve the puzzles of life. And death.
She frowned.
That is the key. The fear of death causes so much pain. What if this fear disappeared like a mist warmed by the sun? Would it ease grief? Remove thoughts of vengeance?
Perhaps.

She brought the image of the
Hermetica
to mind, and held it there, reminding herself of the power of its knowledge.
Seek ye the river's edge
it had told her.
I want to cross the river
, she thought.
Help me
.

The veil of darkness lifted from her eyes and she saw green pastures spread out before her to a far blue horizon. She blinked several times to bring the colors into focus and tried to recognize the place. She asked,
where am I?
But there was no answering voice, no
whoosh
sending her to an explanation.
I have not tasted an elixir today
,
perhaps that is why this feels different
. She turned herself slowly in a circle to take in the panorama of this field and as she turned there was a flash of movement to her left and there appeared a man, smiling.

Nadira reached out to determine if he was merely an apparition or an actual being. Her hand touched solid flesh and the man laughed aloud with joy
. A denizen, then.

“I am Nadira,” she said slowly, knowing that all languages are understood in this place.

The man looked her over and his straight white teeth parted with a gleaming smile. “Do you not recognize me, Nadira of Barcelona?”

She blinked again, as this sometimes helped bring clarity to her visions. He was a handsome man in his middle years, clean-shaven, his hair a very light brown and cut in the style of the university students. He was taller than she and slender. His eyes were a vivid icy blue and his face nearly beamed with happiness. He wore the clothing of the northerners, very like Lord Montrose and Alisdair when they were not in battle dress. She tipped her head to the side trying to place him. Not one of the monks from Coix. Not a merchant. Not a ship's captain.

He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “I shall help you.” At once his face took on a sadder countenance, and as she watched it seemed as though his features slowly changed from fair and whole to darkly bruised and broken. His lips swelled and his teeth shattered. His blue eyes faded as the lids swelled shut and purpled as she watched. Nadira recoiled, her hand to her mouth in horror before the realization opened her eyes wide.

“Richard!”

Immediately his features returned to their wholesome beauty, pink and healthy, his teeth straight and white. “Ah, my little princess. You know me now.”

“I wish I had known you before.” She opened her arms for him and he embraced her, squeezing her and kissing her firmly on her cheek before releasing her again, his hands still on her shoulders, looking at her.

“You are as lovely as I remember, though your hair is shorter now. Where is that long braid? What is it with these strands?” He fingered her hair, letting it fall back on her shoulders.

“Your brother carries that braid inside his brigandine,” she answered before looking around her. “And sometimes in his boot. Tell me how it is you are here. Or perhaps, where is here? Am I in the land of the dead? Is this paradise?” She looked around with more interest now. She had achieved what she had desired. She had traveled without an elixir.

“You
are
in the land of the dead, but it is not the heaven you may have read about or been told.” Richard took her hand in his. It was soft and warm like William's. “Walk with me for a while.”

Nadira locked her step with his and they sauntered over the grassy field. A bright sun shown down upon them and a fresh breeze lifted the strands of her hair and blew them around her face. “This is very like Andalusia,” she said to him. “I was in heaven as a child and did not know it.”

Richard squeezed her hand. “This is my heaven you are sharing at the moment. It can be anything I desire. Wait and I will show you.” They stopped and as she looked about her the landscape changed, becoming darker and colder. Hills grew up among the grasses, trees sprouted out of the ground growing thirty years in a few seconds. Soon they stood in a leafy forest, the bright sun a mere memory. Filtered light spangled the ground before their feet as Richard led her forward again. “This is where I grew up. I played in this wood until I was put in long pants and sent to university.” He tilted his head and smiled at her with such love that Nadira had to
stop and put her hands to his face.

“Richard, you are so sorely missed by all. Even now your brother is in agony for your sake. His heart is quite broken and I fear it will never heal. I wish he were here to see you. It is he who needs to be walking with you in the wood. As much as I rejoice to see you whole and well here in this beautiful place, I cannot have peace while he suffers so.”

Richard's eyes lost their merry twinkle. “I have felt his pain, and many times I have tried to come to him and tell him I am happy here. I have entered his dreams, but he casts me out as soon as I enter. I cannot speak to him. His grief colors the ether around him and creates an impassable wall that I cannot penetrate. If I brought him here he would not see a grassy plain or a cool shaded wood as we do. His fear and guilt would create a hellish environment full of war and disease and death. There would be no comfort in his visit, Princess. None. This is why I called for you.”

“You called for me? Can the dead do that?”

“We call, but not all can hear. I have been asking for you, but you did not respond before. That is why I was so excited, and though your eyes did not recognize me at first, your heart did. That is how you can be here so easily, otherwise you might find it difficult to travel without a guide. Because I was calling for you, you came. Do you understand?”

He embraced her again. “I want to thank you for your kindness to me in my last days. You gave me what I needed so badly and you gave it so freely and sincerely. Until your soft hands soothed my hurts I had not known a woman could touch more than a man's flesh. Your eyes contained so much of your gentle soul that my pain was eased just looking into them.”

Richard smiled shyly. “Every woman I knew in my life had been a fool, Nadira, always whining and complaining or prattling on about silly matters. You showed me something important I did not learn from books. We wrong all of humanity by keeping women from the halls of learning. The emptiness of their minds is then filled with superstition or unhealthy religion. It is only now, here in death, that I know this.”

“But you must know that all women are not so reduced to poverty of the mind.”

“And I do know this now. I see the women of Greece and Egypt and Anatolia. I can see the women in the convents of Bavaria and Prussia and the wealthy ones in their towers. And here is what I was sent to tell you. The women of Elysium are calling for you, but you are not listening. Just as Robin will not hear my voice, your love for him is deafening you to their call. They have sent me to find you and send you to them. They will welcome you and it is there you will find all your answers. They have the knowledge and wisdom you seek. It is yours already, you must merely show yourself to them, yet you travel to Istanbul instead.”

Nadira dropped his hands. “My love for him?”

Richard's face became serious. “It should not be so. Love should never be an obstacle but always a companion of hope. I admit I do not understand what they mean, for I am not a woman. They say that they cannot penetrate your wall of emotion to get their message to you. If you would read the book again they could speak,” Richard took back her hands. “Or taste the elixir of Elysium. That would take you to them as well.”

“I may.” She thought about DiMarco's vials and this reminded her why she was here. “How much time do I have?” she asked.

“Time has stopped, Princess. We can linger in this place for an eternity and you will still return at the moment you left. Do not rob me of your company so soon. I have something else to tell you.”

Nadira put her hand on the arm he offered her and they continued down the path. They strolled in silence for a long time before Richard said very softly, “Massey is in Alexandria.”

“No!” Nadira covered her ears with both hands, though she knew she was not using them to hear Richard's words. “Stop! Do not tell me this! I don't want to hear this.”

“One cannot unhear what one has heard, Princess.”

“Even here,” she cried, “you cannot release the idea of vengeance.” She stopped and fell to her knees in the soft leaves.

Richard knelt beside her. “Tell my brother. He has been begging you for this information. He is a man who never begs, yet you refuse his pleas.”

“And you will be satisfied if he is killed trying to avenge your murder?”

“Massey cannot kill him.”

“What? The dead know all things?” Nadira snapped at him, “I have learned that nothing is predestined, and the idea of destiny is a crutch for those who refuse to direct their own lives!”

“Do not be angry with me, Princess.”