Gods and Pawns (44 page)

“The man led me up a mountainside,” said Sir Francis. “A mountain of golden stone, only thinly greened over with little gnarled holm oaks, and with some sort of herb that gave off an aromatic perfume in the sunlight. And, what sunlight! White as diamond, clear and hot. The sunlight of the very morning of the world. Transparent air, and the dome of blue overhead so deep a man could drown in it.

“Well, the path was less than a goatpath, and we climbed for the best part of an hour, through thorns half the time, and how I cursed the fellow! He kept pointing out a little white house, far up the mountainside, lonely and abandoned-looking. But I followed him, very surly indeed as you may imagine by the time we’d gained the house at last.

“Up there it was a little better; there was a great old fig tree that cast pleasant shade. I threw myself down in the coolness and panted, as an eagle sailed past—at eye level, sir—and the sea so far below was nothing but a blue mist, with little atomies of ships plying to and fro.

“I could hear murmuring coming from the house, but no other noises at all, not so much as the cry of a bird, and the drone of the insects had ceased. It was all very like a dream, you know; and it became more so when I got to my feet and went inside.

“There in the cool and the dark, a row of antique faces regarded me. They were only the heads of statues that had been ranged along a shelf, but upon my life I took them for persons at first, perhaps interrupted in conversation.

“My guide introduced the old man and his daughter. He’d been a scholar, evidently—dug amongst the ruins and through forgotten places to amass his collection—penniless now, and selling off the better pieces when he could find buyers. She was a beauty. Very Greek, gray-eyed and proud. Brought me a cup of cold water with all the grace of Hebe.

“Well, we commenced to do business. I’d a well-lined purse—stupid thing to carry in such country, of course, but some god or other protects young idiots from harm. He sold me the scrolls at once. His daughter brought out a few painted urns, very fine some of them, and I bought one or two. I had my man ask if there were any more. They talked that over between them, the father and his girl, and at last she signed for us to follow her.

“We went out through the back of the house. There was a spring, trickling from the rock, and a sort of pergola joining the back of the house to a grotto there. It was all deep in vine-shade, with the little green grapes hanging down. Blessedly refreshing. That Achaean charmer led me back into the shadows, and I was upon point of seeing whether I might coax a kiss from her when—there—on my life and honor, sir, I tell you I looked on the face of God.”

“What did you see?” said Lewis, enthralled.

“I think it must have been a little temple, once,” said Sir Francis. “It certainly felt sacred to me. There were figures carved at the back of the grotto, into the living rock; Bacchus with all his train of satyrs and nymphs, coming to the rescue of Ariadne. Primitive, but I tell you, sir, the artist
could do faces
. The revelers were so jolly, you wanted to laugh with them—and, oh, the young Divinity, immortal and human all at once, smiling so kindly on that poor girl, seduced and deserted on her island! Holding out his hand to save her, and, in his compassion, granting her the golden crown of eternal life.

“It was a revelation, sir. That’s what a God ought to be, I said to myself: wild joy in flesh and blood! And, being flesh and blood, generous enough to preserve we wretched mortals from death’s affliction.

“I was desperate to buy the panel, but it wasn’t to be had; no indeed. The girl had brought me in there simply to show some few small bronzes, stacked on the floor for want of room in the cottage. I sought by gestures to convey I wished to break the figures free of the wall; she understood well enough, and favored me with a look that nearly froze my blood. You’ll think me a booby, sir, but I wept.

“I never close my eyes at night but I see that grotto still. I have had the god’s likeness made many times, by some tolerably good painters, and bought me several images of him; yet none can compare with his countenance as I saw it on that bright morning in my youth.

“And I cannot but believe that, for a brief moment on that morning, I escaped this world’s confines and walked in the realm of the ineffable.”

“An enchanting story, my lord,” said Lewis. He looked down at the bits of paper before him, fragments of some long-dead mortal’s imagination.

How different their perception is, from ours. How I wish…

“Not the story I came in here to tell, alas,” said Sir Francis, looking sheepish. “The past rules the present when you reach my age; you’ll understand in your time, my boy. I, er, haven’t quite been able to arrange the party. Not the initiation party into the Order, in any case. Paul’s been ill, and our friend Dr. Franklin sends his regrets, but he’s otherwise engaged—still trying to salvage something from this calamity with the Americans, I’ve no doubt.”

“I quite understand,” said Lewis.

“And Bute’s quite taken up with his gardening now…Montagu sent word he’d certainly come, but for the entertainment he owes his guest—you’ve heard of Omai, the wild South Seas fellow? Captain Cook brought him back for show, and he’s been feted in all the best homes.
I
said, bring him with you; we’ll initiate a noble savage! But it seems his time’s all bespoke with garden parties…well. You see how it is.”

“Quite,” said Lewis. “Perhaps another time, then.”

“Oh, indeed! In point of fact, sir…” Sir Francis turned his head to peer at the doorway, then turned back and spoke with lowered voice. “I had contemplated something else, a rather more exclusive affair entirely. We haven’t had one in a while; but now and again the need presents itself, and you being such an agreeable pagan, I thought…”

Lewis, scarcely believing his luck, put down the brush and leaned forward.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain mystery we spoke of in the garden, would it?”

“Yes! Yes! You understand?” Sir Francis looked desperately hopeful.

“I believe I do, my lord. Trust me, you may count on my discretion,” said Lewis, setting a finger beside his nose.

“Oh, good. Although, you know…” Sir Francis leaned in and spoke so low that if he hadn’t been a cyborg, Lewis couldn’t have made out what he was saying. “It won’t be quite as, er, jolly as the services at the abbey. Perhaps we’ll have a little dinner party first, just to warm us up, but then things will be rather solemn. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m sure I shan’t be,” said Lewis.

When Sir Francis had left, after several winks, nudges, and hoarse declarations of the need for
utter secrecy
, Lewis jumped up and did a buck-and-wing down the length of the library.

There were certain comings and goings over the next week, nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary to the unsuspecting observer, but significant. Sir Francis packed his present mistress, the children and their nurses off to Bath, with a great many sloppy kisses and endearments. Guests arrived at odd hours: Sir Francis’s half-brother John, and another elderly gentleman who turned out to be a Regius Professor of Civil Law.

Lewis, placidly piecing together ancient carnal acrobatics, scanned the household as he worked, and picked up more snippets of information. He learned that the seamstress had been given a great deal of last-minute work to do, because someone’s costume hadn’t been tried on in three years and didn’t fit anymore. A young pig was driven over from an outlying farm and made a nasty mess in the kitchen garden, about which the cook complained; then Sir Francis himself went down and slaughtered it, somewhat inexpertly, judging from the noise and the complaints of the laundress who had to get the blood out of his garments.

The gardener was sent off with a shovel and wheelbarrow, and was gone all day, and grumbled when he returned; the footman and butler loaded a table and several chairs into a wagon, and drove them away somewhere.

Lewis was applying Parch-Fix to a codex purporting to tell the secrets of the Vestal Virgins when he heard the trumpets announcing a coach’s arrival. He scanned; yes, a coach was coming up the drive, containing five…no, six mortals.

He set the brush down and closed his eyes, the better to focus.

Jingling ring of metal-shod wheels on gravel, with dreadful tooth-grinding clarity. The hollow thunder of the horse’s hooves slowing to distinct
clop-clop-clop
, like the final drops in a rain shower, counterpointed by slippered feet crossing the marble floor of the entry hall in the house below.

Boom!
Sir Francis seemed incapable of using a door without flinging it wide.

“Ladies! Ladies, my charmers, my beauties, welcome, welcome one and all! Dear Mrs. Digby, it has been an age! How d’ye do? By Venus and her son, my dear, you’re looking well!”

“La, bless you, my lord, and ain’t you the ’oney-tongued flatterer!”

“Never in the world, sweetheart. Sukey! Pretty Bess! My arm, ladies, pray step down, mind your gown there—welcome once again—ah, Joan, you did come after all! We’d have missed you sorely. A kiss for thee, my love—and who’s this? A new rose in the bouquet?”

“That’s our young miss. Ain’t been with us long. We reckoned she’d do for—”
And here the voice dropped to a whisper, but Lewis made it out:
“For our you-know-who.”

“Ah!”
Sir Francis likewise resorted to an undertone.
“Then a chaste kiss for you, fair child. Welcome! Where’s Mr. Whitehead?”

“I’m just getting my hat—”

“A word in your ear, my lord—’e ain’t well. ’Ad a fainting fit and frighted us something awful. Sukey brought ’im round with a little gin, but ’e’s that pale—”

“I know—I know, my dear, but—Ah, here you are, Paul! What a rascal you are, swiving yourself into collapse with a carriageful of beauties! Eh? I declare, you’re like a spawning salmon. Couldn’t wait until tonight, could you?”

“’Ere then, dearie, you just take my arm—”

“What nonsense—I’m perfectly well—”

“Bess, you take ’is other arm—come now, lovey, we’ll just go inside for a bit of a lie-down afore dinner, won’t we?”

“Perhaps that would be best—”

“Yes, let’s give this rampant stallion a rest before the next jump. John! Have Mrs. Fitton send up a restorative.”

“At once, my lord.”

The voices louder now, because everyone had come indoors, but more muffled and indistinct. Lewis pushed back from the table and tilted his head this way and that, until he could pick up sounds clearly once more. There was Sir Francis, whispering again:
“—looks dreadful, poor creature. We ought to have done this sooner.”

“’E looked well enough this fortnight past, when ’e was down to London. My sister’s ’usband, ’e done just the same—sound as a bell at Christmas, and we buried ’im at Twelfth Night. Well, we must just ’ope for the best, that’s what my mother used to say, my lord. What think you of the girl?”

“A little obscured by the veil, but she seems a pretty creature. She’s observed all the…er…?”

“Yes, my lord, you may be sure of that. And you ’ave a boy?”

“A capital boy! You shall meet him presently.”

“Oh, good, ’cos I didn’t care for t’ other young gentleman at all…”

Lewis sneezed, breaking his focus and sending a bit of Vestal Virgin flying. “Drat,” he muttered. He got down on hands and knees to retrieve her from under the table and wondered once again, as he did so, just what exactly had happened to his predecessor.

Any unease he might have felt, however, was being rapidly overpowered by a certain sense of hopeful anticipation. A dinner party composed almost entirely of old men and nubile and willing ladies! Was it possible his perpetual bad luck was about to change, if only for an evening’s bliss?

He had repaired the Vestal Virgins and was busily pasting the spine back on a copy of
A New Description of Merryland
when Sir Francis’s butler entered the library, bearing a cloak draped over his arm.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but my lord requests your presence in the garden. You are to wear this.” He held up the cloak, which had a capacious hood.

“Ah! A fancy dress party, is it?” Lewis took the cloak and slung it around his shoulders. The hood fell forward, blinding him. John, unsmiling, adjusted it.

“If you say so, sir. You want to go out by the east door.”

“Right-ho! I’m on my way,” said Lewis, and trooped off with an eager heart.

In the garden he encountered a huddle of other cloaked figures, and was greeted by the foremost of them, who in speaking revealed himself as Sir Francis: “That you, young Owens? We’re just waiting for the ladies, bless ’em. Ah, they approach!”

Indeed, a procession was winding its way around the side of the house. Lewis saw five cloaked figures, and the foremost carried a torch held high. The gentlemen bowed deeply. Lewis followed suit.

“Goddess,” said Sir Francis, “We mortals greet you with reverence and longing. Pray grant us your favor!”

“My favor thou shalt ’ave, mortal,” said she of the blazing torch. “Come with me to yon ’allowed shrine, and I shall teach thee my ’oly mystery.”

“Huzzay!” said the old Regius Professor, under his breath. He gave Lewis a gleeful dig in the ribs. His elbow was rather sharp and Lewis found it quite painful. All discomfort fled, however, when a little cloaked figure came and took his hand.

They paired up, a lady to each gentleman. Sir Francis took the arm of the torch-bearer, and led them away through the night in solemn procession, like a troupe of elderly Guy Fawkes pranksters. The line broke only once, when one of the gentlemen stumbled and began to cough; they stopped and waited until he recovered himself, and then moved on.

Lewis, checking briefly by infrared, saw that the procession was moving in the general direction of the high hill crowned by the Church of the Golden Ball. Most of his attention was turned on the girl who walked beside him. Her hand was warm; she was young, and shapely, and walked with a light step. He wondered what she looked like.