The Joys of My Life Read online

  The important thing was that they were no longer keeping watch. Josse nudged Ninian and together they raced from the shadowy street, across the open space and into the huge cathedral.

  Josse looked around him. Torches blazed in several places, giving sufficient light to illuminate the long nave. He noticed immediately that much work had been done in the time that he had been away. He realized that the gap through which they had just entered was in fact one of the doorways, only as yet there was nothing but a gaping space. Apart from the other entrance, the encircling walls were now complete and in many places already stretched high above his head. In some places the rib stones of the vaults had already begun to creep out along the falsework supporting them. Looking up, Josse was awestruck all over again at the sheer scale of the construction. It was going to be utterly magnificent.

  Ninian nudged him. ‘Where does that lead to?’ He indicated a low arched doorway deep in the shadows.

  ‘I don’t know. Why?’ Josse whispered back.

  ‘There’s someone hiding there. I’m sure I saw movement.’

  ‘Come on. We’ll creep round, keeping our backs to the wall, and see who it is.’

  It seemed to take a long time to make their slow and careful way to the doorway. As they approached, Josse drew out his long knife. They slowed their progress to a crawl, and Josse stared into the darkness behind each pillar before drawing level with it. They reached the arch and went on past it, investigating for some way on the far side. They found nothing.

  ‘He’s probably gone through the doorway,’ Josse murmured softly. ‘We’ll follow.’ Ninian nodded.

  Josse went through the doorway and found himself at the top of a spiral staircase. The light from the nave behind him did not reach far and soon he was descending in pitch darkness. A light would have helped, for the steps were slippery and in places uneven, but it would also have alerted anyone beneath to their approach. He crept on, his right hand clutched on the hilt of his knife and his left maintaining a steadying contact with the wall. Ninian was right behind him. The boy’s presence was both reassuring and something else to worry about.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs. Edging forward, Josse peered out. There was a glow of light and by it he saw that they were in a crypt. Slowly, silently, they moved forward towards the light. Presently Josse made out the sound of soft chanting.

  They emerged from the aisle that led from the entrance – it appeared that the layout of the vast crypt followed that of the cathedral above – and a dimly lit space opened out before them. There was a well and, beyond it, a dark opening leading to a further chamber. The source of both the light and the chanting appeared to be within. They crept on.

  The further chamber, although lit only by a circle of lanterns about five paces in diameter, gave the appearance of being enormous. The vaulted ceiling arched over their heads, supported on massive pillars spaced at regular intervals. The circle of light appeared to surround a depression whose surface was bumpy and uneven, like the floor of a cave. A subterranean cave, Josse thought with a shudder, for now they must be deep under the ground, in the very womb of the earth.

  One voice was chanting and it came from a figure that stood with its back to Josse and Ninian. It was tall, and the broad shoulders were hunched over a bent back. It was clad in a black cloak or robe whose folds swept down to the floor; it was bareheaded, the lantern light catching glints from the snow-white hair that flowed down to the shoulders. It – he – was intent on what he was doing. Before him on the rough floor was an object made of dark wood. The goddess had returned to her proper medium, but the wrong hand had brought her here.

  Ninian gave a sharp, quickly suppressed intake of breath and said in Josse’s ear, so softly that it was as if he mouthed the words, ‘Philippe de Loup.’

  The crooked back and the white hair suggested someone old, and Josse had imagined a man still in his full vigour. ‘You are sure?’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes.’ Ninian spoke with impatience. Then, ‘Josse, we must stop him! She is not his to position or even to worship, for he has forfeited his rights.’ Then, vehemently, he added, ‘The guardianship of the Knights of Arcturus is over.’

  Slowly Josse nodded. Then cautiously he began to move forward. Ninian was right beside him. They were ten paces from de Loup. Eight. Five. Josse raised his knife. Ninian had a dagger in his hand.

  Josse was about to announce their presence and demand the figure when, very slowly, de Loup turned round to face them. ‘Ninian de Courtenay,’ he said in a low, strangely beautiful voice.

  Even in that moment of extreme tension, a jolt went through Josse; Ninian used his mother’s name, not that of his stepfather. Suddenly it seemed to him that Joanna was there beside him, her spirit standing guard beside her lover and her son.

  Ninian pointed at the figure. ‘You cannot have her,’ he said, his voice high with strain and making him sound even younger than he was.

  De Loup laughed. ‘But I do have her,’ he remarked. ‘I have brought her to a fitting resting place.’

  ‘It is not for you to decide what is fitting!’ Ninian cried.

  Now de Loup looked angry. ‘Is it not?’ he said coldly. ‘It is for a stripling of a lad to decide, is it? A callow boy who thinks he knows everything is to dictate to grown men whose ancestors found her, worshipped her and guarded her for a hundred years?’

  ‘You are not worthy of those ancestors!’ Ninian shouted. ‘She gave you power but you have abused the gift. You have descended into vice so vile that it is not to be spoken of in this sacred place, and it is only your wealth and the presence in your number of the rich and influential that keeps you immune from the laws of the Church and the State!’

  If de Loup was angry, then Ninian was incandescent with rage. He stood straight and slim beside Josse, blue eyes catching the light and blazing like the heart of a flame. In a strange moment of detachment, Josse thought, I wish his parents could see him. In very different ways, they would both be so proud.

  Incredibly, Philippe de Loup was laughing. ‘So, lad, what are you going to do?’

  Ninian stepped over the circle of lanterns and up to de Loup. ‘I am going to take her to the place where she wishes to be.’ He put his dagger in his belt and, bending down, swiftly picked up the black figure, cradling her in both hands. Josse, moving forward with him, raised his knife and pointed it at de Loup’s heart.

  ‘You have another protector, I see,’ de Loup said, regarding Josse out of dark, hooded eyes. ‘You, sir, are going to see the boy and his treasure safe back to this new place?’ He made the suggestion sound risible.

  ‘Aye,’ Josse said firmly. ‘I am.’ He kept the knifepoint up and Ninian stepped back outside the circle. Backing away, still facing de Loup, he moved with Ninian towards the stairs.

  Just then a group of dark figures appeared out of the shadows, quickly crossing the floor until they formed a circle that echoed the circle of lanterns. But there were spaces among the figures; there were thirteen lanterns and only eight men. They had trapped Josse and Ninian in the space between them and the lights.

  De Loup said pleasantly, ‘Let me present the remaining Knights of Arcturus. We are but nine now, I fear; one betrayed us, two died at Châlus and—’

  ‘One of those was King Richard!’ Josse burst out. They were trapped; there was nothing to lose. Perhaps if he revealed what he knew and told de Loup that others were in on the secret, he might at least buy them some time. At most, make a bargain. ‘He was seen leaving the Île d’Oléron,’ he hurried on. ‘He was careless, for he let the boatman who ferried the three of you out to the ship see his face. The boatman is a loyal subject of Queen Eleanor and he told her what he saw.’

  De Loup was chuckling quietly. ‘And I suppose she has sent you, sir knight, to ensure that the secret never emerges?’ Then, his face darkening, he spat out, ‘Fool! Fool of a man, to believe the word of a peasant!’ He winced suddenly as if in severe pain, putting a hand to his head. Then, dark eyes
on Ninian, he said, ‘You all but killed me, boy. You cracked my skull and something has happened to me—’ He broke off. ‘But, as you see, I still stand.’ Then he made a movement with his right hand and as one body the eight knights stepped forward. One pace, two, three and then Josse and Ninian were face to face with their adversaries.

  Josse tried to take in the quality of their opponents. Many of them were old and in a separate part of his mind he thought, the Knights of Arcturus are doomed, for no young men are rising up to replace them. He reckoned he could take on several of them and, switching his knife to his left hand, he drew his sword.

  He heard Ninian cry out in the same split second that de Loup rushed him. He swung up his sword but de Loup leaped to one side. He wrested the figure out of Ninian’s hand – the boy could not hold on to her one-handed and he held his knife in his right hand – and, leaping through the circle of knights, de Loup flew across the floor and away up the stairs.

  The knights closed in. Josse and Ninian fought back to back. Horribly aware that Ninian had only one weapon, Josse swung his sword in wide circles in front of them both, trying to keep the knights back. One went down, crying out and clutching at a slash across his chest from which there instantly welled a line of blood. Another leaned forward to stab at Ninian and Josse caught him a heavy blow on the back of the head with his sword hilt. He too went down. Ninian was suddenly fighting hand to hand with another, and Josse caught the flash of white teeth as Ninian bit into the knight’s hand and the knife he had been holding fell with a clatter to the floor. Then the knight’s cry changed to an agonized grunt as Ninian’s knee drove into his testicles. In addition to the courtly pursuits, then, squires were still taught to fight dirty. His blood singing from the thrill of the fight, Josse laughed aloud. A knight leaped on him from his left and a blade flashed up towards his throat; with a curse, Josse elbowed him away and drove his sword into the man’s chest.

  Four down, four to go. Josse wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his wrist and assessed his remaining assailants. He and Ninian had made some progress towards the stairs and now they managed to edge round so that the four knights still on their feet were on the far side of them. Now, backing steadily away, they could keep the quartet covered with their three weapons.

  Two of the four knights were very old and already lagging back. One was breathless, blue around the lips and clutching his chest. The man beside him, equally old and bald-headed, round-bellied and limping, stopped to help him. Josse raised his sword and lunged towards the last two. One stepped hastily back; the other dodged and, his own sword raised, ran straight at Josse. Ninian’s dagger flew through the air and landed at the base of the knight’s throat. With a cry that quickly turned to a gurgle as the blood spouted out of him, his sword fell from his hand and he fell to his knees.

  ‘Come on!’ Josse shouted, grasping Ninian’s shoulder; the boy was standing transfixed, horrified eyes wide as he stared at what he had done. Then, for still he did not move, ‘De Loup’s got the figure!’

  That was enough. Ninian, white-faced and looking sick, bent to retrieve his dagger from the dying man’s throat, wiped it on the cloak that pooled on the ground and ran after Josse up the steps.

  As they emerged into the nave, the sight that met their eyes was so unexpected, so amazing, that they skidded to a halt. It appeared that the lanterns arranged below in the crypt had, by some extraordinary magical means, risen up through the solid floor to rest here on the ground above. Now, though, the circle of light was much bigger, stretching right across the wide nave, and instead of thirteen points of light there were now perhaps a hundred.

  As Josse stared, he realized something: the light encircled the labyrinth.

  There were dark-clad figures round the circle’s perimeter – thirty or forty. He cursed himself for his stupidity: the Knights of Arcturus must have followers, adherents, perhaps, and had brought them to form a guard up here while they placed the figure down below. He and Ninian had fought off a group out of which more than half were so old and doddery that they barely counted; this was a different matter entirely.

  One of the figures turned away from the light and, facing Josse, walked towards the place where he and Ninian stood against the wall. Josse raised his sword and stepped forward. His mouth was dry and he was filled with dread, but his arm was quite steady. Then he saw that the man approaching him was unarmed. From within the circle behind him, white light had started to pulse.

  The man said, ‘We know why you are here and what you have just done. We are grateful, for without your intervention we would have had to deal with the intrusion into the sacred place beneath. They were an abomination and neither they nor any deed done by their corrupted hands could be allowed to remain here.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse said, unable to look away from the circle of light and the white mist that seemed to be rising up within it, forming itself even as he stared into a cone shape. ‘What is it?’ he whispered, and the man smiled briefly.

  ‘Power,’ he said simply. ‘This is our most holy place. We know now that we must share it with the men of the new religion, for they are stronger than us and far, far more numerous. We have had our time; now we must retreat into the shadows. But we will not go without honouring she who we hold most sacred. She was worshipped down there in the cave that hollowed out the earth where the crypt now lies. She was there from the beginning, she is there now, and she always will be. Our last great act of homage now begins and with it we leave the very best of ourselves to remain here in this holy spot for as long as the world lasts.’ He paused, staring intently first at Josse then, with a start of recognition, at Ninian. He added softly, ‘You may stay. But keep back!’ He gave them a low bow, then, turning, went back to his place in the circle.

  The cone of light was soaring high above their heads and its fast spinning was accompanied by a noise like the wind blowing across harp strings. The combination of light and sound was hypnotic and Josse felt himself rapidly detaching from the real world and entering some strange place that he neither recognized nor even began to understand . . . until he saw Joanna.

  Her face was pale and there were greyish circles round her dark eyes, as if she had just undergone some ordeal. She looked thin, although her face seemed fuller than he remembered and her breasts pushed against the fabric of her deep blue robe. He thought she had stars in her hair.

  She was intent on what she was doing. In the way of dreams, he was suddenly right beside her. She turned, gave him a tired smile and said softly, ‘Dear, lovely Josse.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ he asked through his tears. He thought he knew.

  ‘It is time,’ she murmured. ‘This is what they have been preparing me for – they tell me this is what I was born to do, for Mag Hobson, my mother, was one of the greatest of my people and she conceived and bore me for this purpose.’

  ‘Do you want to go, sweetheart?’ It was so important to know! If she gave just one little hint of hesitation, he would . . . he would . . .

  What would he do? What could he do?

  But her face was serene and the smile had spread, illuminating her face. ‘Oh, yes, Josse,’ she whispered. ‘I have to – it is the only way.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘It is not without reluctance, for I love you deeply and I shall miss you and the children – it is only because I know you will look after them so well that I can leave them.’ She raised her hand and wiped her face.

  ‘Will we ever see you again?’ He was weeping openly now.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She tried to smile. ‘Meggie and . . . my daughter already sees me and speaks to me; this may be the gift that I leave to those of my blood. I hope so.’

  ‘And me?’ He could not stop himself asking, although he feared the answer.

  ‘Josse, I don’t know.’ She leaned against him as she always did and he put up his hands and stroked the length of her smooth brown hair. ‘I have asked my people the same thing but they cannot tell me. It is the first time that it has happened, for one su
ch as I to love someone who is bound entirely by the limits of the earth.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said.

  ‘And I you.’ She managed to smile. ‘And love doesn’t die – that is the one rule of the universe that cannot change.’

  ‘Find me, if you can,’ he whispered.

  ‘I will.’ She stretched up and kissed him, long and deeply.

  Then she was gone.

  Now the vision was different. He knew he was back in the cathedral but it was subtly altered, as if his dreaming mind accepted that what he was seeing could not occur in a real place. He saw the figures standing like statues round the circle of light, every head raised, all eyes staring at the central point, every voice singing a chant of praise. Beyond them, the cone reached up, up to the high ribs where soon now the ceiling would soar up there above the wide nave, enclosing the space beneath and closing out the elements, the heavens and the stars. For now, though, the cathedral was still open to the night sky.

  The vortex of white mist swayed and flowed, and within it could be glimpsed the central void. But all at once it was not empty; there were people in it. Josse stared at the figures. Sometimes they seemed to be a woman and a huge bear; sometimes it was a man who supported the woman as they twisted and turned, driven upwards, always upwards, by the power of the vortex. There was a flash of white light – so dazzling that it seemed to force its way right through Josse’s eyes and inside his head, momentarily blinding him – and he thought he saw within his mind the image of a huge swirling tower of luminous brilliance that stretched from the zenith of the heavens above down, down through the space where one day the cathedral roof would be, down through the very centre of the labyrinth, down through the solid stone floor to the crypt below, into the heart of that strange cave-like depression, to bury itself at last in the earth far, far below.

  Within the light danced the figures of Joanna and the Bear Man. They were a part of it now, as he knew they would always be. Other images flowed alongside them, forming, dissolving and forming again: a black woman in a horned headdress who rode on the crescent moon; the same woman, eyes closed in bliss and long, graceful hands clasped in the age-old symbol of protection across her pregnant belly; a child, as dark as his mother, sitting on her lap with a star in his hand.