Gideon's Angel (24 page)

“I have and I will,” I said, feeling a little foolish.

“Then upon the word and honour of Brother Ashmole, we shall proceed.”

And then followed a bizarre interrogation by the lone voice, with Ashmole whispering the set response in my ear and me repeating it aloud.

“Where lie the keys to your Lodge Door?”

“They lie under the three-cornered pavement.”

“What are the keys to your Lodge Door made from?”

“It is not made of wood, stone, iron or steel, or any sort of metal, but the tongue of a good report behind a brother’s back as well as before his face.”

“How many lights are in your Lodge?”

“Three. The sun, the master, and the square.”

And so it went. Finally, I felt the blindfold being undone, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the darkened room, lit by but three candles upon a centre table. Far from a roomful of redcoats, there were but five men standing around the table. The master of the Lodge came forward, a man of my own age with a flaming ginger moustache. William Lilly then whispered into my ear the word of the Masons and gave me the secret grip. I swore an oath to never reveal the secrets that had been bestowed upon me and Lilly directed me to kiss the bible that lay open upon the table.

And that was it. Smiles all around as the solemn mood lifted like a passing summer storm cloud. Lilly and the others clapped me upon the back and welcomed me into the brotherhood. A brotherhood I scarcely understood anything about. Another set of doors were opened and we entered a further room, already laid out with sweetmeats, pies, cheese, and wine.

And all eyes were upon me.

“I do not know what to say, gentleman. Other than to thank you for accepting me into your midst. I must admit, I would not ever have expected to be in the same room with some of you.”

Lilly’s sad, drooping eyelids arched high as he laughed. “The Craft brings together all sorts, joined in fellowship. Fear not. Brother Ashmole has confided your news and we recognise the risk you take in coming here. Let me introduce your fellow Lodge brothers. I am William Lilly and these gentlemen are Thomas Wharton, William Backhouse, and Robert Childe.” All three men gave a slight bow as they were named.

“May I bring in my guest now?” asked Ashmole.

“Yes, of course. Have
Senor
da Silva brought upstairs,” said Lilly. “And now,” he continued, gesturing to the table, “I suggest we take our meal and begin discussing the situation that our brother Tread–
Falkenhayn
finds himself in.”

I had passed from stranger to confidant in less time than it takes to sneeze. And now these men, still blank pages to me, had undertaken to share my troubles or at least safeguard me from harm. I was dumbstruck.

“Let us get down to business,” said Lilly as he poured out the wine. “I learned last night that Mister Thurloe’s spies are well aware of an impending plot against the Lord General’s person. Unfortunately, his hounds are on the wrong scent. You see, the French ambassador has claimed that
you
, Richard, are the chief conspirator, here as a rogue agent.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“But as we have been advised by our friend and brother Ashmole, it is a group of rogue Fifth Monarchy men who are seeking to do murder, as discovered by our brother Falkenhayn. And these Monarchy men—it has been alleged—are in league with spirits of the ether.” Lilly raised his hands as Mr. Wharton began to object. “I know that this point is open to contention, based as it is only upon the word of Mister Falkenhayn. But I must tell you that from the details given me by Messieurs Ashmole and da Silva, combined with my own recent astrological figures, I believe that we are facing a threat not altogether of this sphere.”

Da Silva, who had just shuffled in and sat himself down at the table, was nodding vigorously in agreement. Wharton was frowning with scepticism while the others remained unreadable.

“Come now,” urged Lilly, “we are all occult philosophers here in this room. We have all seen or read of the possibilities. And remember Doctor Dee’s visitations with the spirits. Not least our own Holy Book that details many such encounters. I must tell you that the enemy is known to possess at least one Pentacle of the Moon for conjuring. Monday, I needn’t remind you, is the full moon.”

Wharton leaned forward. “You mean that these Fifth Monarchists are performing conjurations—of angels and spirits?”

“They are raising demons!” I said, unable to contain myself further. “And I have seen and faced them in the last few days.”

A silence descended upon the table. The brothers of the Craft cast glances, one to another, some in full belief of the threat, others unable to decide.

Lilly rose and went to a cabinet at the side of the room. He returned with a rolled-up piece of velvet and took his seat again. “If we are facing an attack by the supernatural, by beings of the ether, then Thurloe’s men and the army will never even see it coming. We must fight fire with fire. The enemy may have pentacles of his own to summon evil, but we have something more.”

He unrolled the round piece of cloth, the size of a brass charger, and upon it was painted in painstaking detail a glorious calligraphy: a series of golden circles, hexagons, and Hebrew words. “Behold, gentlemen, the Grand Pentacle of Solomon.”

The others all craned or stood to see the device as Lilly held it open upon the table.

“And, gentlemen... one of us must learn to use it.”

Chapter Fifteen

T
HE HEAVY SILENCE
around the table was broken by the sound of Robert Childe’s stomach rumbling its discontent. And the silence made me despair that I would find help even among these men of magic and mystery. Not one had volunteered to fight against Fludd’s demons, and Lilly, master of the Lodge, had not even offered to take up the gauntlet. But then, someone did finally rise and speak his mind.

“This is
my
task, gentlemen,” said Roderigo da Silva, looking straight into my eyes. “As a man of God it falls to me and no one else here.”

Nods all around the table.

“We are physicians and astrologers, whereas you are clergy, sir,” said Lilly, somewhat awkwardly. “I mean, that is to say... clergy after a fashion.”

Da Silva inclined his head in recognition of the fact he was no Christian. “I do have some knowledge of the grimoires and of Kabbalistic teachings as Mister Ashmole will himself attest. More importantly, I have my faith. I am not afraid.”

I looked from face to face as my new brothers studied their plates and twirled their glasses. “And what will the rest of you do?” I asked. “Consult the stars or say a prayer?”

“Brother Falkenhayn,” said Lilly as he stretched out his hand to stay my outburst, “we are still discussing the point.”

“If I could show you the wounds of my comrade, inflicted by a hellish beast not a week ago, would you believe me then, gentlemen?”

“I believe you now,” said Elias Ashmole, raising his voice for effect. “And though it may be small help I will accompany you and
Senor
da Silva in meeting the enemy when we must. I can still wield a sword.”

This rather visibly unmanned the others and Doctor Wharton quickly spoke up to save his honour.

“The best course of action is for myself and Mister Lilly to pay call upon John Thurloe and convince him of the threat to the Lord General’s safety. We do, after all, have some influence with the Council. Influence that is not universal even at this table.”

Lilly nodded vigorously in agreement. “Then we have our plan. Brother Ashmole and Mister da Silva will accompany Brother Falkenhayn in directly searching out the Fifth Monarchy men while the rest of us will make a mission to the spymaster’s office. Now, gentlemen, let us fortify ourselves for the days ahead.”

It was mid-afternoon by the time we went our ways. Da Silva asked Ashmole and me to accompany him back to his shop that we might put meat on the bones of our thin plan of attack. I couldn’t help feeling the suspicion that even Roderigo da Silva did not really know how we were going to defeat Gideon Fludd or the entity that he was playing with. It was almost as if now that he had taken the responsibility for the fight, the reality of the challenge had struck him hard. Back in da Silva’s house, I watched as the Jew unrolled the pentacle scroll upon his work table and traced his fingers along the myriad of inscriptions that encircled it.

“I have but little time to learn the invocations for this pentacle,” he said, his voice heavy.

“And what would these invocations accomplish?” I asked.

“Pentacles serve two main purposes,” said da Silva. “They can raise spirits both good and evil, and they can keep one safe in the presence of these beings of the ether—of heaven and hell. But one must know what to recite and when, otherwise the pentacle is nearly useless.”

“But how can we use this to stop Fludd and his demon?”

Da Silva’s look chilled me. “I don’t know if we can stop them. The power of this Grand Pentacle should trump whatever Pentacle of the Moon that Fludd is using... but I have never undertaken such a thing as this.”

Elias looked at me, his face written with worry.

“
Senor
, you must learn to wield this,” I said. “We have little else at our disposal and even less time to find it.”

Da Silva nodded. “I can set up a ring of sanctuary to keep the evil ones at bay. That is documented well enough. But I have never tried to raise the spirits of the ether. I never dared to. Never had to.”

“To create a magic circle would be help enough,” said Elias, encouragingly.

“You must know now, gentlemen,” said da Silva looking up at both of us, “that I will not conjure any demon, black spirit, or creature—even if it might help our cause. My religion forbids this and you must not ask me to do such a thing.”

“What else can you think of then?” I asked. “Weapons that will do them hurt?”

Da Silva shut his eyes briefly, as if gathering the will, then started turning pages in one of the great books that he had pulled up from underneath the table. “Yes... yes. I remember in the Talmud there is teaching on charms of protection. If this Gideon Fludd is conjuring a demon like Andras, the creature is bound by the Moon. That means that the metal silver will be of aid to us.” The wine merchant was flicking through the pages in a fury, mumbling to himself.

Ashmole brightened. “He is correct. Of the precious metals, silver rules the Moon and those agents that are bound by it. If we had some musket balls of silver...”

“Ah!” Da Silva stabbed at the page he had finally found. “We can use the Tetragrammaton and indeed all the names of God as talismans against Andras and his minions.”

“I don’t understand!” I said, my voice betraying my impatience.

Da Silva grabbed my arm. “It is powerful intercession. The letters themselves spell out the name of Jehovah, if applied properly to... to your sword... or your coat—to anything! These will banish evil for they cannot stand in the sight of the Almighty.” Da Silva was on fire, caught up now with the revelation that we did indeed have some small armoury at our disposal. He looked at me again, worried.

“You say this demon’s malignants pursue you and have attacked already?”

“They have sir.”

Da Silva nodded, reached down under the table and rummaged for something. A moment later he handed me a small lump of chalk.

“Take this. I use it for marking my wine casks but you can use it to mark out a protective circle around you if you find yourself under attack again. And you shall need an incantation to recite once you stand within.” He hurriedly scribbled on a scrap of paper that he snatched from under the book. “I write this in English for you, you understand?”

I took it from his shaking hand and read it aloud. “
Be split, be accursed, broken and banned, you son of mud, son of an unclean one, son of clay, in the name of Morigo, Moriphath and his seal
.”

Da Silva nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, you must not let even a toe outside the circle and you must repeat the text until the creature flees.”

Ashmole gave me a look that spoke both apprehension and disbelief. He was getting further and further away from his comfortable world of numbers and science. I folded the paper and thrust it and the bit of chalk into my breeches pocket. “I am not a Jew,
senor
. Will it work for me?”

“It matters not,” replied the rabbi. “You are a child of the Lord nonetheless. Now memorise the words. It won’t do to fumble with the paper when you are facing a demon.”

I silently read the words of the incantation again. Somehow I could not even imagine reciting the prayer or curse or whatever it was if the black dog came at me again. But it seemed I had little else to fight with.

“Mister Ashmole,” said da Silva, turning his attention to the astrologer, “we need pure silver—I have some but not enough. This I can bless as we cast it into pistol balls.”

Ashmole nodded, recovering his enthusiasm for what lay ahead. “I can get this. Do you know a silversmith or goldsmith we can trust and do the deed this day?”

“I do. Mister Falkenhayn, we will have need of your sword—and yours too, Mister Ashmole. We need to have them silvered along the blade.”