Crimson Night Part 13

Simon turned back to his father, noting that for the first time in his life, his father seemed uncertain when he looked at him. Gone was the towering bully that raised his hand at the slightest provocation. Now Payton seemed small, shrunken with indecision.

Finally, his father collapsed into his seat at the high board and drained his tankard of ale dry. Only after he signaled a serving wench to bring him more drink did he finally address Simon. "The sins of disobedience and vanity run deep within you. You must you must go to church and ask G.o.d to forgive your heinous conduct this afternoon. Spend the entire night on your knees."

Church Simon nearly laughed aloud but it would do no good to let the old fool know he was all but signing his own death warrant by sending Simon to church. Instead, he simply bowed and said, "As you wish, sire."

Without even glancing at Roger, Simon stalked out of the great hall, ignoring the curious stares of the servants.

"Husband, I wish a word with you."

Simon gave his wife a glance of withering contempt and wrinkled his nose in distaste at the odor of her unwashed body, the reek not at all covered by her cloying lavender scent. "There is nothing between us worth discussing."

"Sir, please." Alice put an entreating hand on his forearm, hastily withdrawn at the black look in his eyes. "I I must speak with you."

Simon wrapped his rabbit-lined cloak tightly around his body, cursing the vile January weather and drafty, poorly lit hallway. On the other hand, perhaps he should give thanks for the dim lighting. The last thing he needed to see well was his wife, a small pudding of a woman who reminded Simon of a pear flat at the top and gradually spreading into a wealth of unattractive flesh.

Matching him to this repulsive creature was the worst thing Payton and Roger had ever done to him. As the youngest son, Simon had thought he might never marry. After all, he had no fortune or t.i.tle to offer a bride.

Then, Alex Joyes had moved onto an estate near their lands. Master Joyes, a prosperous London merchant, received the small manor and rich lands after he was clever enough to cancel a large royal debt In exchange, the queen gave him an estate and the ambitious merchant immediately set about enn.o.bling his family through marriage.

He had three daughters and enough gold to dower each one quite generously.

Two of his daughters, at six and eight, were too young. Besides, they both showed promise of great beauty so Simon had no doubt his shrewd father-in-law would send the maidens to court where they might snare a great name.

That left only his eldest daughter Alice. Originally, Alex tried to match her with Roger but he'd already been betrothed to a French girl; the marriage was due to take place in another five years. As for Simon's other brother, Michael, he was a priest a career Simon might have wanted for himself fifty years ago. That left Simon bought and sold between the two fathers after Alex made Payton an offer for more gold than the Baron had seen in ten years.

Simon had not fought the marriage because he realized how badly his family needed to rebuild their crumbling fortunes. What did it matter that his wife's appearance turned his stomach? There were serving wenches and peasants to serve his needs, and the gold would improve his life.

Now that Simon had discovered that he would not see so much as one farthing of his wife's dowry while his father lived, he did not even bother displaying to his wife the cold courtesy he'd given since their wedding six months ago.

"Say whatever you must so I may be about my business," Simon snapped, but Alice simply stood there, her lower lip trembling so hard each of her double chins quivered.

"Sir, our marriage," she finally said timidly. "We must must consummate it," she finally choked out, a red stain almost obliterating the dark moles on her cheeks.

For the first time that day, Simon threw back his head and laughed, feeling a mean pleasure when his wife's watery blue eyes filled with tears. "That is what you pester me for? Stud services? Go and speak with my father I have not been paid yet. He has your gold get him to lie with you."

"Please," Alice cried. "I want "

Finally, a way to relieve the enormous frustration within him, Simon grabbed one flabby arm and pushed his wife into a dark alcove.

"What do you want a man between your blubbery thighs?" Simon's speech was deliberately crude, to further upset this harridan he'd been matched to. "The stable is full of young lads willing to do anything for a gold crown. See if one of them can keep their c.o.c.k hard at the sight of you. Or better still, wait until the blackest part of night when they'll see nothing at all."

"You are cruel," Alice sobbed.

"How am I cruel?" Simon demanded. "Did I not cut my own leg and smear our nuptial sheets with blood so your reputation would not suffer? You are lucky to have a husband at all. If my family were not so wretchedly poor, even my father would not have sold me into marriage with an elderly crone like you."

"I am not old!" Alice shouted and winced when Simon whacked her across the mouth.

"Lower your voice. Do you wish the entire household to know I am repulsed by the thought of bedding my wife?"

"I am not old," Alice repeated, apparently impervious to insult. "The midwife examined me and said I am still capable of bearing children though I be four and thirty. Don't you want a son?"

"What in the name of G.o.d would I do with a son?" Simon asked incredulously. "Rear him to accept his place beneath whatever sp.a.w.n my idiot brother eventually produces? Tell him to put a brave face on it and pretend it does not matter his life is over before he draws his first breath? Do you think I would wish all that has happened to me on a son of mine? Shall we both sob into our beers when Roger and his sons live soft while we toil?"

Giving his wife one last slap, Simon turned from her and stormed out of the house, too engrossed in his dark, bitter thoughts to notice the frigid temperature on the long walk to the small village church.

G.o.d had played a marvelous jest on him, Simon thought gave him brains and beauty and ambition, but had him born the youngest son to an impoverished family of barely pa.s.sable lineage. What good was a sharp mind when his father wouldn't even send him to university? What did it matter that he had a handsome face and smooth tongue when there was no money to send him to court so he might advance himself? Again he thought of his father and Roger the two of them sitting in the great hall looking down on him, trying to convince Simon he should be grateful for the opportunity to spend the rest of his days shackled to that wretched lump of a woman they'd betrothed him to should fall at Roger's knees and thank him for allowing Simon to do no more with his life than be his brother's steward.

It won't happen, Simon vowed. He'd had enough of this enough of freezing winters on the moors that must be suffered through without adequate food or clothing, enough of slaving in behalf of a lack-wit brother most of all, he had enough of other people controlling his life.

The key to everything was money. With gold, the estate could be rebuilt, he could go to court maybe obtain a position in the queen's household. If he had money, he could make a better match for himself once his current wife met with an unfortunate accident. Money would open all roads give him prestige, a suitable wife, children.

Six months ago, his golden opportunity had arrived. Even now, Simon could smile at the thought that the day he dreaded mightily his wedding day might wind up being the most profitable of his life.

The only bright spot of the day was the friendship Simon struck up with his new father-in-law. Perhaps Master Joyes felt some sympathy at Simon's situation, because he made it a point to introduce him to Sir John Wolcott. The man was ten years Simon's senior and he'd been a captain under Thomas Windham for five years. From that wily explorer, Sir John learned all he needed to about raiding Spanish ships and navigation and saved his earnings until he was able to buy three ships of his own. Now all he needed was the gold to finance his first voyage.

And Simon could provide that gold if not for his father! Simon's eyes narrowed did the old man think this was over? Oh, no. Simon was getting his gold one way or another.

He threw open the double doors to the church and saw his old nursemaid, Adelaide, spreading a creamy lace cloth embroidered with looping vines and leaves across the stone altar.

"What happened to ye?" she demanded and rushed over to her former charge so she could examine the purple welt on his cheek.

"What do you think?" he asked bitterly. "Where is Father Bain? I am to keep vigil tonight so I may atone for the grievous sin of talking back to the pompous a.s.s that sired me."

"And I'm sure ye talked to him in just that manner!" Adelaide snapped, her voice still full of the heather and burr of the Scottish lowlands she'd come from, along with his mother when she married Payton. She gave Simon an affectionate tug on his earlobe. "When will ye learn to keep that fresh mouth of yers shut?"

"Where is Father Bain?" Simon repeated patiently.

"Old Daisy Geedes lies dying and he went off to give her the last rites. Dinna fret, he'll be back soon. Now, what did ye and yer father quarrel over?"

Briefly, Simon told her of the argument, growing more agitated as he recounted the incident.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n them both!" he snarled, completely unmindful that he was in the house of G.o.d. He pushed his hand through his thick chestnut hair, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. "Shortsighted fools they are incapable of seeing past the next month, the next meal even. If they spend the gold on refurbishing that overgrown barn, what happens next year when we need new livestock? If we invest the money, it returns to us in the form of more profit."

"Yer father is a man for doing things as they were always done what his father did is what he shall do and he expects Master Roger to do the same. He doesna like change, dearie. As for yer brother, 'twill be a cold day in h.e.l.l before he respects an idea from yer mouth. Jealous of ye from the day ye were born, he was."

Simon nodded and let his old nurse ramble, repeating a story he'd heard hundreds of times before how his mother had loved him from the moment he was pulled out of her. Since his mother died when he was three after she miscarried her fourth child, Simon had no memory of her and could only take Adelaide's word that she'd favored her handsome little boy with his chestnut curls and gold eyes like hers over his plain, ill -favored brothers that resembled their father.

After she died, it was Adelaide that took over his care, insisting Payton hire tutors for her young charge and then standing guard over him when he might have evaded his studies in favor of hunting or riding. If it had not been for Adelaide, Simon might have grown up as dull-witted as his brothers. Instead, he learned history, philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, French, and Italian. Always, she impressed upon him that the only thing to free him from the bleak moors and a life of sheep raising was his mind and his looks.

So here he was as educated and handsome as many men far better born than he was and sitting in a small village church, trying to find some way out of the h.e.l.l his father was trying to condemn him to.

As Adelaide continued her work, Simon glanced about the church, thinking that here was something his father was willing to spend gold on. The pious old man made every effort to buy his way into heaven and had supplied the church with jeweled candlesticks, a solid-gold crucifix with two large rubies on either side, and a Jesus carved from ivory, but his true extravagance was the stained-gla.s.s windows. The rare, priceless gla.s.s, with its rich shades of blue, violet, rose, and green, had been shipped from Venice.

Simon scowled at the priceless objects, thinking them another example of his family's stupidity. To be an admitted, much less a fanatic, Catholic as his father and brother were was to ensure your decline and fall under suspicion. Why had they not adopted England's church? Simon did not see the pope helping them out of their desperate straits. Then again, if his father had abandoned the church, Simon might not have met Father Bain.

As though thinking of him were enough to summon him, the priest walked briskly into the church, smiling at Adelaide before he noticed Simon lounging on the altar step.

like Adelaide's, his white brows furrowed in concern when he saw the bruise on Simon's cheek. "What was it this time, son?"

Father Bain laughed heartily when Simon told him he must spend the night in church. "So Payton sends you here? At least no one will remark about your absence when we set about our work. Adelaide, return to the cottage and start my meal."

Simon almost smiled when he thought of why the priest had retained Adelaide as his maid after he no longer needed a nurse. She might be as old as Simon's new bride but that in no way detracted from her buxom good looks her hair was as black as Simon remembered from his childhood and her flashing green eyes and broad smile would make any man happy.

Adelaide departed, giving Simon a firm pat on the cheek.

Simon watched Father Bain remove a gold-and-jeweled candlestick from the altar and stick a fresh beeswax taper in it. Then he followed Father Bain into the confessional, where Simon pulled the plush Turkish carpet back to reveal a trapdoor.

Together, he and the priest traveled down the dark, narrow staircase, Simon making sure to pull the trapdoor shut behind him in case anyone should wander into the church while they were downstairs.

Simon found himself remembering the first time Father Bain had taken him into this secret pa.s.sage. Then he'd been a mere fourteen years old and sent to the church to ask forgiveness after a fight with Roger that nearly left his elder brother dead. It did not matter that the drunken fool had forced Simon's favorite horse over an overgrown hedge and killed the stallion with his foolishness. No, Payton had thrashed him a solid two hours and then directed the head groom to beat his youngest son when his arm grew tired.

He'd walked down to the church with his eyes all but slitted shut but his head was high and he was unrepentant. The priest had taken one look at him and asked if Simon was ready to beg G.o.d's forgiveness. It was at that point Simon had changed his life forever.

He had met the priest's eyes and snarled that G.o.d was no ally of his. G.o.d said his father was right to beat him and he must respect his elder brother even if he was a fool and a drunkard. Simon had wanted nothing to do with such a deity and renounced Him forever.

He had expected Father Bain to rail at him, perhaps run to his father, but the priest had simply held his eyes for a few moments. When he saw the young man was serious, Father Bain put his hand on his shoulder and said, "Follow me into my true temple, lad."

Even now, Simon could still remember how he had shivered at his first sight of that cellar room the walls and floors completely covered in black silk, the few candles that cast long, frightening shadows about the room, the stone altar where a black cloth was draped in symbols Simon hadn't understood then. Most of all, Simon had been drawn to the marvelous ma.n.u.scripts housed carefully in a sagging bookshelf in a corner of the room.

Father Bain had taken Simon's face between his hands and said, "Sometimes G.o.d does not grant us what we desire in life. But there are other forces that will give you everything you ever wanted if you but learn to control them."

Thus, Simon's apprenticeship had begun. He had deliberately misbehaved so he would be sent to church and had spent years learning to read the Latin ma.n.u.scripts, the lunar phases, and the spells set down in the Legementon by a.s.sisting Father Bain in his rituals.

Now the priest turned to him and asked, "You are ready for tonight?"

Simon nodded. Both of them had known there was little chance Simon would convince his father to part with the money, so two weeks ago they'd started making preparations.

"You have abstained from women while the moon waxed?" Father Bain demanded, and Simon nodded.

"Only taken two meals during that time?" Another silent nod and Father Bain asked, "What did you do this morning?"

"I went to the river and when the sun cleared the horizon, I cut off the head of a virgin white c.o.c.k. Then I threw the head in the river and drank the blood."

Simon made a face of disgust at the memory. Sometimes he thought that, for all their sonorous ritual, he and Father Bain were no better than the midwives in the village that begged the devil for favors and offered him goat's blood. But the spells had produced positive results, so what did he care if he had to drink a little blood to achieve his desired end?

"Then you are ready." Father Bain sighed. "But, Simon, you must understand.

The magick you undertake tonight is not easy. And you do not ask a minor favor causing the death of another is a fearful undertaking. Son, the devils will take possession of your soul if you slip for an instant. Are you certain you wish to go through with this?"

Simon paled, remembering an incident from a few years earlier. A Jesuit had visited their estate a good friend of Father Bain's, a renowned sorcerer. He and Father Bain, with Simon providing minor a.s.sistance, had summoned a spirit that first appeared as an extremely handsome man, speaking in a melodious voice. But the Jesuit hadn't properly consecrated his instruments and when his rod had touched the spirit, it changed into a hideous apparition part goat, part man with great running sores and boils all over its body and it thundered at them, cursing in a language unknown to Simon.

He shuddered, remembering how it merely had touched the Jesuit and instantly the man's face wrinkled, became almost like crumpled parchment, while he danced about madly, a puppet controlled by a devil master.

Only Father Bain's quick thinking had saved him and his apprentice that evening. He had shouted for Simon to toss him the silver bowl filled with holy water. He had flung it at the devil and thundered out the License to Depart.

Though the thing had vanished, none of Father Bain's best efforts could exorcise his friend of the devils within his body. In the end, Simon had taken his sword and cut the unfortunate man's head off. He and Father Bain had buried the body in a remote cove beneath one of the isolated cliffs nearby.

Simon would not allow himself to believe the same could happen to him tonight. In his bones, he felt what he was doing was right. No power in the physical world could thwart the power his father had over him, so he must appeal to the spirits. Otherwise, he would remain nothing all his life.

"I am ready," he said quietly, and Father Bain held his eyes a long time before finally nodding.

"Here," he said and thrust a hazel stick into Simon's hands. "Take it and consecrate it. Think of your hate for your father as you do it and return to me after moonrise."

Simon sat by a roaring stream, thinking the biting wind and familiar fog settling over the moors suited his bleak mood, and carved the long hazel branch into a rod that would serve him later. He had no worry of anyone coming upon him and disturbing his meditation. It was far too cold for anyone to be venturing about.

Though his hands were red with cold, Simon no longer felt the pain in them.

He did as Father Bain suggested and concentrated on his rage while his knife shaped and carved.

He also thought of what would happen after he succeeded. Though Father Bain had never mentioned it, Simon found it helped to imagine achieving the desired end. Perhaps the devils saw the images in his mind and these helped them carry out his bidding. So he imagined Payton dead and buried. He wondered how long his father would lie in the great hall probably a few days as it was winter and there was no urgency to getting him underground. Had Michael taken final vows yet? Could he perform the eulogy for his father?

Most of all, Simon imagined Roger. Without Payton, Roger would be as lost as a dog without his master. Simon had no worry he could manipulate Roger into giving him what he wanted. Though he might bl.u.s.ter a bit, it would take only a few hours to talk Roger out of the gold. With luck, Simon could join Sir John in Whitby by the end of the week and they'd sail by the end of the month. Though the winter sea promised to be choppy, both men were eager to set off for Algiers.

Simon looked up, startled, when a long dark shadow fell across the hazel rod.

A quick glance at the sky showed his thoughts had so preoccupied him he missed sunset.

Simon reached into a silk bag at his waist and withdrew two pointed steel caps that he attached to both ends of the rod, and then magnetized it with a lodestone.

Rising, he held his rod outstretched to the moon and said the prayer to consecrate his rod. "Nomine dei impero vobis ut meae voluntati pareretis et omnia quae destruere volo dilaceraretis ac ad Chaos redigeritis."

He pulled his cape about him, holding it over his mouth and nose to ward off the stinging wind and snow that had started falling. Within a relatively short time, he was back in the church and descending the steep stairs to the temple.

Father Bain was already there and gave Simon a brief glance of acknowledgment before handing him a black robe. Without a word, both men removed their clothing and changed quickly into their magick robes, uttering the words that would charge the garments.

Next came what was perhaps the most important work of the evening the drawing of the magick circle. An improperly drawn circle was the first thing a devil looked for when it answered a magician's summons. The smallest break in the circle and a daemon could enter, destroying the only protection a magician had against it. Father Bain had told Simon many tales of careless magicians putting one foot over the barrier of the circle and at the very best they simply received a strong shock that hurled them around the room. At worst, the devil might maim whichever parts of the body ventured into unprotected s.p.a.ce perhaps even kill the pract.i.tioner if the wound was grievous enough.

Simon dipped the tip of his ceremonial sword into a small alabaster pot filled with mandrake ground into a fine black powder. On a large s.p.a.ce in the center of the room, he used the sword while he walked counterclockwise to draw a circle that was exactly nine feet in diameter. A few inches underneath he drew a second circle that was eight feet in diameter. In the rim between the two circles, he placed silver bowls filled with holy water that had Saint -John'swort floating in it. The water and herb would repel any devil bold enough to try and enter the circle. Once again, he dipped the sword into the mandrake and wrote in the circle names of power for extra protection Adonai, El, Yah, and Eloa.

Father Bain entered the circle through a small gap Simon made for him, bringing with him all the implements they would need for the evening's work, and quickly shut the hole once he was safely inside. Now Simon, as master of the ceremony for tonight, anointed the circle, swinging a brazier filled with the juice of laurel leaves, camphor, salt, white resin, and sulfur to purify the s.p.a.ce.

Next, continuing in the Latin tongue as he'd done to consecrate his rod, he made proper obeisance to the elements of north, south, east, and west, ending the preliminary ritual by begging protection for his circle. "I beseech thee, O Lord G.o.d, that Thou wilt deign to bless this Circle, and all this place, and all those who are therein, and that Thou wilt remove from us every adverse power and preserve us from evil. Amen."

Simon couldn't be sure if the sulfuric fumes swirling around his head were addling his mind, but he thought he saw his mandrake outline take the form of a thin band of yellow light, transforming it into a true magick circle that would grant protection from the spirit he was now ready to summon.

First, however, the sacrifice must be made. Simon turned his attention to the goat Father Bain had brought into the circle and quickly cut its throat, offering it to the spirit he planned to beseech. Next, he lit a small gold brazier filled with coriander, hemlock, sandalwood, and henbane.

The foul fumes made Simon gag and splutter for a few moments before he was able to begin the conjuration. He turned to the east corner of the circle and shouted, "I conjure thee, O Spirit Flauros, appear forthwith and show thyself to me, here outside this circle, in fair and human shape, without horror or deformity and without delay."

Nothing happened except Simon had to swallow hard against the nausea building within him. Blinking his eyes to clear the stinging sensation from the smoke around him, Simon repeated the incantation, using a firm voice that belied the sickness that was getting worse with each moment When the stubborn spirit again refused to show, Simon began a more potent conjuration. "By the Seal of Basdathea, answer all my demands and perform all that I desire. Come peaceably, visibly, and without delay."

The dark walls of the stone cellar blurred, swirling into a confusing ma.s.s, and Simon had the curious feeling of standing in s.p.a.ce. He could not see or feel the floor beneath him but he knew this was a trick of the spirit. It wanted him to flounder about, and hopefully blunder out of the circle where it could destroy him.

Simon felt a cold touch of steel on his palm and looked down, seeing a steel sigil with the Second Pentacle of Saturn carved into it. Father Bain must have pressed it into his hand so he'd have some protection against the spirit he'd successfully conjured.

A fierce pain stabbed in Simon's abdomen and he knew he must give Flauros his commands quickly before he collapsed on the floor.