The Sorceror's Revenge (34 page)

             
‘I don’t remember…’ Sebastien frowned.  ‘How did we get here?’  He screwed up his forehead.  ‘I think there was a river and I was playing on the bank…but I cannot recall what happened.’

             
‘Papa will tell you when we get home,’ Iolanthe said.  She put her arm about his shoulders.  ‘Once we are safe Papa will fetch our mother.  A horrid man has held her prisoner for a long time, but soon Papa will rescue her and she will be with us again.’

             
‘Mama…’ Sebastien wrinkled his forehead.  ‘What does she look like?’

             
‘She has hair the same colour as mine and her eyes are green…sometimes they are blue like the sky.  She is very beautiful and she smells nice,’ Iolanthe told him.  ‘I had another brother once, but Papa says he was not truly my brother and I should forget him.  He used to pull my hair and be unkind to me.  You will not do that, Sebastien?’

             
He shook his head solemnly, his little hand reaching for hers.  ‘I am frightened,’ he said.  I cannot remember anything before I saw you the first time I woke.’

             
Iolanthe’s fingers grasped his hand.  She felt a pang of love curl through her, a feeling of wanting to protect her brother always.

             
‘You must always do as I tell you and I shall love you best, better than Mary,’ she told him.  ‘If you do what I say I shall look after you and protect you – but we are both safe with Papa, because he loves us all.’

             
‘I shall love you, Iolanthe,’ Sebastien promised her.  ‘You will not let anything happen to me?  I am afraid of the dark.  Nurse says that if I am not good Jenny Greenteeth will get me. I do not want to live at the bottom of the river and be covered in weed like her.’

             
‘I thought you could not remember anything?’

             
‘I remember nurse taking away my candle and leaving me in the dark.  She hurt me…’ Sebastien pulled back his sleeves and showed her the dark bruises on his arm.  ‘This is what she did to me if I was not good.  You won’t let her hurt me again?’

             
‘If anyone tries to hurt us I shall tell Papa and he will stop them,’ Iolanthe said.  Her faith in Papa was complete and absolute.  ‘He told me that no one would ever take me away from him again – and I won’t let anyone hurt you, because you are my brother.’

             
Sebastien crept closer to her side as the lumbering wagon, which had shaken and bumped them over deeply rutted roads for many leagues, at last drew to a slow, steady halt.  Voices were heard outside, and the sounds of heavy gates being drawn back.  Then the wagon moved on for a short distance and stopped once more.  The door was opened and a man came to help them down, taking Iolanthe’s hand to help her first and then holding out his arms to Sebastien.

             
‘Come to me, my son.  You are home now and safe with your sisters.’

             
Sebastien hesitated for one instant, then moved into the strong arms that lifted him down to stand by Iolanthe’s side.  They looked at each other in awed silence as they were taken through an imposing front door into a huge hall.  Shiny tiles of a kind that neither child had ever seen covered the floor, and the  stone ceiling soared high above them, held by thick buttresses.  Iolanthe looked up and Sebastien’s eyes followed her direction. The ceiling was decorated with figures of what looked like chubby children draped with gilded or crimson cloths over their loins, and wings sprouted from their backs. The furniture was ornately carved and sometimes gilded, and here and there carpets covered parts of the floor.  A row of white opalescent statues formed a little colonnade, and they were all of semi-naked men and women – and one of a creature half man and half goat.

             
‘Follow me, my children,’ Papa said and they obeyed, hands clutching at each other, as they struggled to take in the strangeness and grandeur of their surroundings.  Papa led the way through several rooms, each furnished with unfamiliar items that kept them silent and respectful.  After passing through a series of rooms, Papa led them up a short flight of stone steps to a large hall.  Beyond the hall, there was a door, and as they walked dutifully behind Papa it opened and a girl came running out.  She flung herself at Papa, and he lifted her in his arms and kissed her.

             
‘Father, you are home.  Have you brought Mama?’

             
‘Not this time, Mary – but here are your sister Iolanthe and your brother Sebastien.’

             
‘I have a brother also?’  The girl turned to look at them.  She was wearing a short tunic of green velvet and Sebastien thought she was almost as beautiful as Iolanthe, but not quite.  ‘I am glad to see you,’ she said and then turned to Papa and broke into a torrent of words that Sebastien could not understand.  He glanced at Iolanthe and saw that she did not understand them either – and it made her angry that their sister could talk to Papa in a language that she did not know.  Papa said something to her and she blushed and turned back to Iolanthe.  ‘I have longed to see you, my sister – and my brother – but you must forgive me.  I sometimes find it hard to say what I feel, except to Papa.’

             
‘Mary is learning many lessons, as you must learn to speak French.  She wants to say how happy she is to have you here.  She loves you already and hopes that you will love her – as I do.  Sebastien, you must love both your sisters.  Your Mama will be here soon and she will teach you all to love one another, as well as many other things, but for the moment you must manage with your tutors and your nurses.  Tomorrow I return to England.’

             
‘Must you go so soon, Papa?’ Iolanthe asked, and her hand held Sebastien’s so tightly that he almost cried out. He wondered if she was as frightened as he felt. ‘Can you not stay for a few days?’

             
‘Perhaps one day longer,’ Papa said and Sebastien felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.  He was still feeling very strange, almost as if he had become someone different.  He was glad that his life had changed, because he knew that he had cried a lot in the place where he was before. Especially at night when the nurse took his candle away and told him that Jenny Greenteeth would take him down to the bottom of the river with her if he were naughty.  He could not remember his mother, but if she were as kind as Papa and as pretty as Iolanthe and Mary, he would be happy. He thought he had known someone he called Father but the man was a distant, remote figure.
             

‘Please, you must come and meet Marta and Cedric, and Mr Barchester. We lived in France for a long time and I learned to speak the language, but not as Papa wishes me to and so I have a tutor. Mr Barchester is English and very clever. He teaches me many things that I did not know before I came here – and then there is Lelia, our nurse…’ Mary held out her hand to Sebastien, but he clung to Iolanthe, remembering her promise to protect him. Mary looked at him uncertainly as her hand fell to her side.  Sebastien was sorry, because he did not wish to hurt her, but everything was so strange and so new and all he had to cling to was Iolanthe.

             
‘Is the nurse kind?’ he asked as Mary led the way into a chamber of smaller proportions than the others they had seen.  It was a comfortable room, the walls panelled with wood and painted with pictures of animals and flowers.  ‘Does she hurt you at night when it is dark?’

             
Mary looked at him for a moment and he thought there was sympathy and understanding in her eyes.  ‘No one hurts us here,’ she said.  ‘Papa would not let them.  Marta used to hit me once but now she is kind.  She obeys Papa in all things, as do all the other servants.  Papa is a great man.  No one dares to harm us for he would punish them.’

             
‘I told you we should be safe now we are with Papa,’ Iolanthe said and Sebastien saw a look of jealousy in her eyes.  He sensed that she did not like to hear Mary talk of Papa that way.  Iolanthe thought that Papa was hers.  She was willing to share him with Sebastien if he did what she said, but he could sense the coldness in her as she looked at Mary.

             
How strange that Iolanthe should not like their sister.  Sebastien thought that he might like her very much if he were allowed to, but for the moment he must cling to Iolanthe and do everything she told him.

46

Niccolai sat in his private chamber, his latest journal open before him on the board.  He had been writing but he lay down his pen with a sigh, his fingers going to his temples.  He placed the tips against the pulse spots and massaged in little circles.  Sometimes when the pain was this bad the only remedy was to take a sleeping draught and let his mind clear.  Yet there was much he needed to do, things that could not be left unattended – and he must return to England at the earliest possible time for he believed that the woman he loved might be in danger.

             
He rose and went into his mixing room.  The shelves were crowded with jars and pots, containing many ingredients. Cassia and camphor, dried rhubarb, incense, rue, which was a strong purgative, musk, myrrh, rosewater and rare herbs jostled with tincture of digitalis and mercury, also belladonna and ground bark. He began to measure the ingredients he needed for the cure that would ease the throbbing at his temples.  At times the pain was almost blinding and he cursed for he could hardly keep his hands steady.

             
‘Are you ill, Papa?’

             
Mary’s soft voice made him turn his head to look at her.  ‘Why are you here, child?  You should be with your brother and sister.’

             
‘They are quite happy without me for the moment,’ Mary said.  ‘Cedric sent me to tell you that a messenger has come.’

             
‘I can see no one for the moment.’  He cursed as his hand trembled and some of the powder was spilled from the spoon he held.  ‘Forgive me, child. I should not use such language before you.  It is my stupid hand.  When the pain is bad in my head, my hand shakes and I may make a mistake in the measure.’

             
‘May I help, Papa?’ Mary asked, her eyes dark with concern.  ‘Tell me what to do and I shall do it exactly.’

             
‘You wish to help me with my work?’ Niccolai smiled at her.  ‘Very well.  This is the spoon I use for measuring.  I already have some of the ingredients I need, but now I require a level spoon of the ground feverfew and three drops of this liquid…’

             
‘This one in the blue bottle?’ Mary said, for she could not make out the lettering.  ‘Do I measure three drops into the spoon, Papa?’

             
‘Yes. It is made from a special poppy and often called the sleeping juice.  Add it to the mortar and watch as I grind the ingredients together.  Now I shall add water and leave them the ingredients to infuse for a while.’

             
‘Will the mixture help the pain, Papa?’

             
‘Yes, in small doses, but the tincture we used can be dangerous, Mary.  If too many drops were used it could cause death.’

             
‘Oh, Papa,’ Mary looked at him in awe.  ‘How do you know just what to use?’

             
‘It has taken me years to discover the secrets I know, Mary, and my work is hardly begun.  As yet there are too many ills that we cannot cure and I fear there always will be. As soon as I find the answer I seek there is another problem waiting to be solved.’

             
‘Cedric told me how hard you work,’ Mary said, her eyes soft with compassion.  ‘He says you will kill yourself if you do not take more care.’

             
‘Cedric is a worrier,’ Niccolai said and laughed softly.  ‘I think you are a better cure than all my medicines, Mary.  My headache is lifting and I shall not need the cure after all.’

             
‘When I am older, will you let me help you, Papa?  Will you teach me to make the cures for you?  I am not clever like you, but I would like to help people, as you do.’

             
Niccolai touched her head, his heart lifting as he saw the earnest way she looked at him.  He knew that she was not the child of his body, but she was his in spirit, his to mould and shape as he would.

             
‘Are you sure you wish to learn, Mary?  It is not always a happy life.  You will see people in terrible pain and with symptoms that would make your stomach turn – and not everyone will thank you for what you do.  Some people think that I am the Devil in human form; they fear me and believe that I am a sorcerer.’

             
Her eyes widened in disbelief.  ‘How can people be so foolish, Papa?  You are a good man and you always try to help others.  I want to be just like you.’

             
‘Well, you may help me sometimes with my cures,’ Niccolai said.  ‘Now go and tell Cedric I will come in an hour.  The messenger must be given food and drink, and then I shall see him.  For the moment I have something more to do.’