Lammas Night (27 page)

With a shake of his head, William allowed himself an exasperated sigh. Even if this was the right line of reasoning, he was not going to follow it out here. If he lingered much longer, Wells would begin fretting and come to look for him—though what danger Wells might see in his solitary meditation in a deserted cathedral was beyond William's fathoming. Wells sometimes took his body guarding duties far too seriously.

He sighed and ran his hand along the length of the tomb slab as he moved a few steps closer to the altar, then bowed his head and said another prayer for his brother's health and strength: Gray had said that prayers were a form of magic. If so, then it was not inappropriate that William offer up such magic here, with his hand still on the tomb of one who was said to have lived by it.

When he had finished, he nodded respect to the altar and went back along the tomb, stroking the age-scarred stone a final time. Then he strode out through the choir door and down the nave, ready to face the final farewells of the verger, canon, and other officials who undoubtedly would have assembled by now. Such was expected of royals, part of the job. He did not really mind.

C
HAPTER
11

Graham slept aboard Lord Selwyn's ship after he collected Denton and left the prince and did not stir until nearly dusk the next evening, when the brigadier came aboard. Later, the three men dined privately in Selwyn's cabin and rehashed the previous night's work. After the earl broke out another bottle from his private stock, the discussion settled down in earnest.

“I'd say the Queen definitely meant to give him some kind of magical acknowledgment,” the brigadier finally said when Graham had reiterated his Drake recall twice, in trance the second time to enhance his memory. “But if you're to be a modern day parallel, I don't see how we're going to manage that for you. One can hardly walk up to the King of England in this day and age and say, ‘Your Majesty, we need a grand coven, and we'd like you to publicly acknowledge Sir John Graham as your man in black. Could you put it on the BBC tonight, please?'”

Selwyn snorted, and even Graham chuckled at the lunacy of that, but the mood lightened considerably as they continued their discussion.

“What about those Garter Knights?” the brigadier asked when they seemed to have exhausted their speculation on the Queen.

“Leicester, Howard, and Burghley,” Selwyn said, leaning back in his chair to pluck a thick volume from one of the shelves behind him. “I did a little reading while you were asleep, Gray. You came up with some interesting correspondences, for a man who supposedly has little background in this period.”

As Graham shifted uneasily, Selwyn opened the book to a place marked by a folded sheet of ship's stationery and opened the sheet, holding it at arm's length until he could find his reading glasses.

“Let's see. We know quite a lot about Leicester, of course: Sir Robert Dudley, the Queen's favorite of long standing. He was admitted to the Garter in 1559, the year after Elizabeth became Queen. I believe they were less than a year apart in age. Created Earl of Leicester in 1564, died in 1588, within a month of the Armada victory. He was known to move in court circles that included a number of persons with occult interests: John Dee; Sir Francis Walsingham, of course; ah, the poet Edward Dyer, a known student of the occult; and Sir Philip Sidney, whose father was also KG. Philip was a follower of Dee, by the way.”

He looked up over the top of his glasses. “Any of that suggest anything to either of you?”

“Perhaps,” Graham said thoughtfully. “Interesting that Leicester should die so soon after the Armada. How old was he?”

“Well, he wasn't young, at least for that time,” Selwyn replied, making a rapid calculation. “Fifty-five, or in his fifty-sixth year. So was Elizabeth.”

Graham raised an eyebrow. “That's also interesting. Eight-sevens. It could fit a regnal cycle. That year was certainly critical for Elizabeth in other respects.”

“It was also seven years after Drake's knighting,” the brigadier offered. “Just for curiosity's sake, when did Drake die?”

Selwyn smiled. “Seven years after that, in January of 1596.”

The brigadier puffed several times on his pipe and nodded. “Go ahead. Let's hear about the others.”

“Very well. Charles, second Lord Howard of Effingham. He was admitted to the Garter in 1575 and later created Earl of Nottingham; lord high admiral and technically in command at Cadiz and in the sea defense against the Armada, though Drake was his second and probably actually ran the show. By the way, his father, William, the first Lord Howard, was also lord high admiral and KG; and his wife was the daughter of Lord Hunsdon, another KG, who was also the Queen's nephew.”

As Graham whistled low under his breath, the brigadier snorted.

“A close-knit lot, weren't they?”

“So it would seem,” Selwyn agreed. “And all of them were very close to the Queen. Burghley—William Cecil—was her principal minister for more than forty years; admitted to the Garter in 1572. Incidentally, you mentioned Sir Christopher Hatton as being present, Gray. He wasn't KG at the time of Drake's knighting, of course, but he
would
have been by the time of the Armada.”

“You're joking!”

“No, admitted to the order in 1588. He was already Chancellor of England by then. If we assume that he was installed at St. George's-tide, as was usually the case, then by the summer of 1588, we have at least four Garter Knights who witnessed Drake's knighting and possible reception of a mandate which went with the retrieval of the Queen's garter. Hatton was another favorite of the Queen, by the way, and another gentleman with known interests in the occult.”

After a moment, Graham tilted his chair on its back legs and gazed abstractedly at the ceiling. “Leicester, Howard, Burghley—and Hatton. Are any of their descendants KG today?”

“There are two with the Cecil surname, but I'd have to check with Black Rod to be certain of the exact connection,” Selwyn replied. “The Marquess of Salisbury might be a direct descendant, but he's also nearly eighty years old. I don't know about the Marquess of Exeter. I've never heard anything to link either man with the old faith, however.”

“Then that's probably because there
isn't
anything,” Graham said with a sigh.

“Perhaps. Anyway, I've made you lists of both the Elizabethan and present-day holders just in case they might be useful. You might as well take them.”

“Let's get back to the Queen and her very interesting garter, then,” the brigadier said as Graham slipped the lists into his pocket. “Is it possible that she let Drake keep it? Could he have shown it as the sign of his authority when he summoned the grand coven seven years later?”

“No, later in the day she gave it to the Frenchman to send to the Due d'Alencon,” Selwyn said emphatically. “All the accounts agree on that. Incidentally, the presence of our four KG's isn't noted specifically in any of the accounts I had at hand, but that doesn't mean they weren't there. Given their relationships with the Queen and the importance of Drake's exploits, it's quite probable that they would have attended her that day to see what was going to happen to him. Burghley was her chief minister and would have been concerned about offending the Spanish and starting a war prematurely, since Drake had been privateering against Spanish ships and ports. Leicester and Hatton were her favorites and very jealous of the Frenchman's suit on behalf of d'Alencon as well as being jealous of one another. In addition, Hatton was Drake's friend and patron; therefore, he had a personal interest in Drake's fate. Howard was lord chamberlain of the royal household, as well as a man with long-standing ties to the sea. In fact, I can't conceive of them
not
being there under the circumstances.”

“What about the other details?” Graham asked. “Was I fairly close on those?”

“Damned close. I even rang up a few experts to be certain. The few discrepancies are mostly sequential, and fall well within the realm of different historical interpretation. The fact that the lost garter was reported at all makes it a significant point, and very likely more than meets the eye.”

“Which means I couldn't just have dreamed it up,” Graham said, his sigh conveying relief and uncertainty.

Selwyn took off his glasses and laid them precisely on the table before him, gazing across at Graham with an expression of pride and just a little awe.

“Gray, did you ever seriously think you had?”

They worked on into Saturday night, but mostly they went in circles after that. All of them were convinced that the sequence Graham recalled from the
Golden Hind
was significant for their purposes, but a useful coordination continued to elude them. Graham left them on Sunday at midday after too little sleep and spent the rest of the day in travel.

Monday morning was booked solid with appointments, including a last-minute request from his immediate superior to attend an eleven o'clock meeting at Whitehall in his behalf. Muttering under his breath, Graham put on a proper uniform and had Denton drive him over. He hoped fortune to call Alix and check on her progress with his list of king-slayers, but he never had the chance.

Nor did he ever discover precisely why his presence had been so urgently required at the meeting. He recognized colleagues from naval intelligence and the Air Ministry, but the topics discussed never touched even remotely on an area of Graham's particular expertise or his boss's. The meeting was mostly a rehash of things he already knew. To amuse himself, he studied the others present and tried to decide how seriously they were taking it, a detached part of him jotting down salient points of the proceedings. The dual function helped to take his mind off the fact that his tie was slowly strangling him.

One man, a major's crowns on his shoulder straps, caught Graham's attention fairly early on. His precise military function was as nebulous to Graham as that of most of the other men in the room, for that was the nature of gatherings of combined intelligence services; but outside the military, Graham knew very well what Thomas Collier did. Collier was the grand master of an old and well-established occult fraternity whose aid Alix had tried to recruit, without success, not two weeks ago for the Lammas working. Graham knew him only slightly from meetings of this sort and nods in the halls, but he knew the man's magical tradition very well and was himself a high-grade initiate, though no longer affiliated with any of the group's lodges in England. Collier had no idea of Graham's connection with Alix or the occult world.

The man's presence rankled Graham all through the meeting, though neither of them said a word. Awareness of Collier's refusal to cooperate became increasingly irritating. Graham had gained no new insights into leverage since his Hyde Park failure, but by the time the meeting was over, he had decided to go ahead and approach Collier if he could manage it at all discreetly. He must face the possibility that the Drake mandate might
never
be understood—and Collier
might
respond to Graham where Alix had failed. Even if Collier refused again, Graham was reasonably certain he would keep silent, if only for the sake of the oaths they had both sworn in times past.

When the meeting broke up shortly after one, Graham contrived to leave at the same time as his quarry, nodding amiably as they rode up in the lift together with several other officers and staying near him as they approached the main doors. Outside, the sky was looking sufficiently ominous that Graham was glad to see Denton waiting by the Bentley at the curb. A glance at Collier confirmed his hope that the major had not thought to have himself driven.

“Well, if it isn't Germans, it's rain, eh, major?” he said genially, glancing up at the clouds and then at Collier with a friendly smile. “I hope your driver didn't go far.”

Collier shrugged. “I'm afraid I walked, colonel. The weather looked fine when I left.”

“Yes, it
will
do that, this time of year. Rotten luck. May I offer you a ride, then?” Graham said, gesturing toward his car, where Denton was already opening the door. “You're just over at Wellington Barracks, aren't you?”

“Why, yes, thank you very much. Are you sure it won't be any trouble?”

“Not in the least,” Graham said as he slid in beside Collier. “Denny, the major is going to Wellington Barracks.”

“Right, sir.”

They settled into the Bentley's comfortable back seat, and Denton eased them into traffic headed south along Whitehall. After a few seconds, Graham turned casually to his companion.

“I'm given to understand we have a mutual acquaintance, major,” he said in a conversational tone, watching sidelong as Collier turned unsuspecting eyes in his direction.

“Oh? And who is that, sir?”

“The Countess of Selwyn. I believe she called on you at your home a few weeks ago.”

Collier stiffened just a little, though he covered his uneasiness well.

“Lady Selwyn? Why, I know her slightly, colonel, but I can't imagine what she could have told you about me.”

“Can't you?” Graham leaned forward and touched Denton on the shoulder. “Take the long way around, please, Denny.”

As they circled Parliament Square, heading into Broad Sanctuary and Victoria Street, Graham cranked up the glass partition, closing them off from Denton. Collier was definitely pale now, hands white-knuckled on the edge of his attaché case.

“I don't understand, colonel,” the man whispered in a last, desperate attempt to evade. “If this is some kind of security ploy to test my loyalty—”

“You know it isn't, major—at least not an official one,” Graham replied softly. “Surely you realize that I'm putting myself in a far more precarious position than yourself, by revealing myself to you.”