Star of England

by Hyarrowen

The Treaty of Troyes has been signed, and history looks set to take its course. But the next day, people begin to go missing, and among them is Montjoy. Henry follows, with a friend of Montjoy's, on a quest that surpasses all his previous adventures. Henry V, 1989 film; H/M, est. rel. Sequel to 'Jumping o'er Times'. Rated M for brief mentions of historical crimes against children.

2. Chapter 2

A/N For the purposes of this fic, I've Hotspurred Christine and her family, i.e. brought them forward by a generation. The chance to set Henry up to cope with an astrologer-sorcerer and his writer-feminist daughter was not to be missed.

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Chapter 2

His uncle barged ahead of him, sans apology, on the second landing. Henry yelled in anger and frustration and fairly shoved him up the stairs. Behind him, baying like hounds, his soldiers were hot on his heels. The tower stair was packed full of snarling, sweating humanity.

Exeter abruptly stopped. There was a door in the stair wall, lit by the guttering light of Bates' torch. 'The key!' It was passed up to him, but the door was barred on the other side. He didn't waste a moment; 'Get back! Give me room!' and they crowded back a pace or two.

A panting hush. Raised voices on the other side of the door. Then Exeter hurled himself against it, like a human battering-ram. On the fourth assault it lurched and gave way. Henry growled with impatience. Exeter forced it wider open, the wood splintering and cracking. Henry and his soldiers charged through it, an unstoppable flood, and he took in the scene before him in a raking glance.

They were in a round room, with work-benches covered in instruments of learning. There was a throne-like chair. Stars painted on the ceiling. Rush mats shoved back, and what looked like a Zodiac design on the floor. And in the centre of the room, a little group of people. Montjoy – oh God, at last, Montjoy! - standing stiff and straight with tension, a little boy at his side. Hastening towards him, a black-haired youth – it could only be Gilles de Rais - holding the arm of a young girl. In the surprise of their attack, Montjoy whirled suddenly, and sent the little boy sprawling towards one side, to a man in a scholar's gown. Tommaso, for sure.

Henry locked eyes with Montjoy for a brief second. Then there was a howl behind him.

'Harm her and I'll kill you!' Christine had raced up the staircase (how had she got there?) and now she shoved Exeter aside – the big man actually staggered – and braced herself to spring out onto the Zodiac floor. But de Rais took a tighter hold of the girl, and now he had a knife at her throat. She tried to shrink away, her eyes wide, but made never a sound.

'Do as I say, old man!' shouted de Rais.

Tommaso gave Christine an anguished look. His eyes flickered to a workbench. She lunged towards it as he lifted his staff and slammed it down again. There was a roar. The workshop rocked, or so it seemed. A whirlpool of wind – and into it leaped Christine, with something in her hand, and a heartbeat after her was Henry.

The world spun dizzyingly about him, a fierce wind buffeting him. Another translation, worse even than the one that had sent them into the past. That had been a dizzying fall, an impossible distance, but this was a gyre. The shouts of his friends trailed away beneath him. Vast empty spaces, echoing and dark, stretched away all around. He was flung about like a bird in a gale for what seemed like forever; closed his eyes as his guts roiled, his ears sang. Then he forced them open again. Dark. Dark. And all the time his hand stayed locked around the hilt of his sword.

Stars, fierce pinpricks of light, danced before him. They came nearer and nearer, and exploded past him.

-x-

At length the swirling dark steadied, settled. He was sprawled on his side, dizzy, his sword clattering away, his hands flat on the planks of the floor. Quick footsteps came up to him, paused. 'We've visitors! This one looks like a warrior!'

'Steady! They might be harmless for all we know!'

The footsteps raced away. Henry fought down his nausea and confusion. Where had he been taken, by another spell, sending him off who-knew-where, into what dangers – and without his retinue this time?

His hand went searching for his sword. It was gone. But the dagger was there on his belt. He did not draw it, not yet, but struggled to his knees, his feet, still braced for action, though the extremity of battle was beginning to leave him.

Other voices were shouting out now. Gasping for breath, he threw swift glances round him, sure that these would only bring him bad news. It was deep twilight; a strangely dark sky, with just a few bright stars overhead; a thin, waning moon. Timbers and ropes. Men, yes – in tunics, barefoot for the most part, and every one of them looked like a hardened warrior.

The timber planking was a deck, Henry realised. He was on a ship. The deck was moving in a slight swell. The ship had a single giant sail, and a pennant above.

No sign of Montjoy, nor of de Rais and the little girl. Nor of any of his men – but he'd darted out in front of them, of course. Foolishly, because now here he was, alone on a ship full of strangers – the first translation without his men.

The fire of battle had left in its place a braced ferocity, like that which he'd felt before Agincourt. He was poised ready to fight; but still kept his hand away from his dagger. He'd fight with words while he could.

There was the sound of someone scrambling to their feet just behind him. He whirled round, but it was only Christine, dishevelled, dazed, and with a grim look to her. She was his only familiar mark in this strange place. He moved back a pace, for solidarity.

Up on the afterdeck, someone was showing the sword to a man in a leather tunic, the man who had given him the order to leave them alone. There were gestures, and quick, low speech. He heard a name. Jason.

'Jason?' Christine muttered, but was looking around the while, for something, someone. Her daughter. There was no little girl to be seen, no Montjoy, no de Rais.

The man in the leather tunic was descending the steps from the poop, and she ran forward to meet him. 'Marie? Have you seen my daughter, sir? Is she here?'

Henry stifled an exclamation and followed her instantly. It meant leaving the scant shelter of the rail, but he could not protect her otherwise.

'Your daughter, lady? No. You're the first visitors we've had in many a long year.'

She made a sound of despair. 'We followed her, she and two men. I must find her,' and she looked about as if to rake her out of the twilit air.

'Steady, madame,' said Henry, and laid a hand on her arm. She seemed ready to search the ship single-handed, and he could not let her do that. 'She's not here – but these gentlemen may be able to help. Sir,' he addressed the man, obviously the captain, 'we're here by some strange spell, in pursuit of my enemy and his hostages. We must find them, and quickly.' So close, they'd come so close. 'In God's name, we entreat your aid!'

'Maybe. If it's witchcraft your enemy has used, and he has a child as hostage, I may be willing to help. But tell us first: who are you?'

'Sir, I am Henry of Monmouth, King of the realms of England and Ireland. This lady is Christine de Pisan. We came here from her father's workshop near Paris.'

Christine was silent now, though she'd been the first to speak. She was gazing around her at the ship, the square sail, the men in their tunics, with a look of dawning comprehension and amazement. She seemed to lose the first edge of her heedless courage, and shrank back a pace or two, close to Henry.

'I've been through many a translation before, to my cost, but this is the first time I've encountered men,' continued Henry, to show that he was familiar with such magics.

'And women!' came a voice from among the crew. A tall young woman, her hair caught back in a knot. There was another woman, too, shorter, sturdier, every inch the warrior.

'Not now, Atalanta,' said the captain good-naturedly, and Christine drew in another sharp breath. 'Well then, King Henry, Christine de Pisan: I bid you welcome aboard the Argo.'

-x-

They were coping remarkably well, all things considered, thought Henry; he because he had seen wonders enough in the last few months, and Christine because nothing mattered to her at all except finding her daughter.

Henry imagined for a moment the tumult that must be reigning in the tower workshop as his men grappled with the fact of their disappearance. And yet; they had been half-prepared for such a thing, especially those who had suffered sorcery before. His commanders would be bracing themselves to deal with this turn of events; might be forming a plan even now. If so, well and good. If not, they were not the men he thought they were! For his own part, his task was clear, to pursue de Rais wherever he went, and to bring him down – and by God's grace he had the means to do that, in the form of the talisman that had led him to this place.

So after the first surprise and exclamations had been iterated and reiterated, and after Jason had formally named himself, Henry asked, grasping at the shreds of normality and with all the courtesy he could muster, 'We are off the coast of Greece, then, perhaps?'

'No, King Henry. Greece is far behind us. You've come up into the night sky!' That simple statement floored him, and Christine was silent too, all eyes, so after a moment Jason continued, 'We sail the River now.' He gestured at the ocean around them; it looked far too big to be a river. It glowed with seafire, curling in the waves and shimmering in their wake. Henry had never seen that before – but Jason was still speaking. 'Once in a while a traveller will come up from the world below, to sail with us for a time. It is always a great sorcery. The power is almost unattainable. Tell me, how did you come by it?' He looked at them narrowly.

'It was no power of mine. Madame Christine's father is an astrologer-sorcerer. We were in his workshop, in hot pursuit of my enemy, when the spell swept us up.'

'There is a Zodiac floor,' she put in. 'Marie and her captor, and King Henry's friend, they were further in than us. If I'd been but a moment or two quicker - ' Frustration was plain in her voice.

'Your father's workshop, you said.' A stern reminder. 'Again I ask: how did he get his power?'

'It was not his power that sent us here!' She was past consideration of courtesy, of their position here on this great ship; her face was set, her hands clenched into unwomanly fists.

'King Jason,' said Henry quickly, 'Tommaso da Pisano had the learning. But de Rais – my enemy – had the power. And how he came by it is something I cannot prove – but other children have been stolen.'

'Ah.' Jason drew in a long breath, let it out slowly. 'If children's lives have been taken...' And at last Henry remembered the story of Jason's own children; it was writ plain on his face for a moment.

There was a heavy pause. Then Jason addressed his crew, who had gathered round, listening. 'Well, my friends. I say that we help this king and this woman; take them as far as we may towards the Zodiac. How do you vote?'

'Aye!' The answer was loud and decisive.

Jason grinned fiercely. 'Well said! Tiphys, turn now, back to the north!'

Some of the crew ran to the hatch, jostled there briefly and disappeared below; others to the ropes. 'North it is!" sang out Tiphys, and leaned on the steering-oar. Long oars rattled out from the sides of the ship; paused a moment, dipped and dug into the water. The Argo turned, almost spun, in her own length, pitching as she crossed the grain of the waves. The sail swung round, hanging idle for a moment as it spilled the wind, then re-filled, slanting at an angle to the long hull.

'I think it strange, though,' continued Jason, 'that if you came here by a spell of the Zodiac, you did not go straight there. We're far away here, in the south of the sky.'

'We were just a little too slow getting to the workshop,' said Henry. 'De Rais and our friends were towards the centre of the floor, but we were right at its edge. They'll be there in the Zodiac, I'm sure. But I think there's another reason why we're here on your ship.'

He fished beneath his light armour, and pulled out the silver pendant that he had worn thus for days. It was the pendant that Montjoy had designed, long ago in the land of the sail-backs, and it was made in the form of a ship. This ship, in fact. The Argo, with the star Canopus picked out with a diamond.

He handed it to Jason, who inspected it gravely while Henry explained, 'Montjoy had it made for us. It helped us to come home from the past.'

Jason's face broke into a smile. 'Why, that's a beautiful thing!' He looked to Henry for permission, and passed it from hand to hand among his crew. Christine took it in her turn, and gave it a cursory glance. 'A man who can create such a thing is well worth the pursuing.'

'He is my heart's true friend, and I will not rest until I find him,' said Henry simply, and they accepted this without question or comment.

Someone brought up a rower's bench from below for Henry and Christine to sit, and Jason and the Argonauts – the Argonauts! - gathered round them again, on coils of rope or leaning on the rail or perched in the rigging. 'Tell us your story, then, and make it a good one!' said Atalanta, and there were nods all round.

'Butes, I think our guests would be glad of a meal,' said Jason to another man, short, stocky, cheerful-looking. Then he turned back. 'You look weary, King Henry. You've been through a battle, I think? And you said you've been through translations before.'

He told in brief the tale of their journeys through the past, the creatures they had fought, the dangers they had evaded. When he came to the comet and how they'd escaped it at the last moment, someone said, 'One of Discordia's, that, no doubt,' and there were mutters of assent. Then he went on to relate the story of de Rais' abduction of Montjoy and of Christine's family, and their pursuit of him across France; and the attack at Fontainebleau brought appreciative nods from the Greeks.

The food Butes had brought them was very welcome; bread, and olives, and fish stew in red pottery bowls, with honeyed fruit afterwards. Henry, mindful of the tale of Persephone, scanned his dish of fruit, trying not to be obvious about it, and saw Christine doing the same. Oranges he recognised, and there was a golden-skinned apple, cut into slices, and grapes, of course. But he could not see any pomegranate seeds, and so, relieved, he dug in his spoon.

It was all refreshing, delicious, if not quite what he had been used to. He ate with a will. He had not eaten since the night before, and down in the world below, dawn would be breaking soon. He wondered what they were doing now, down there in the château. Exeter would have his troops well in hand, Gloucester would be working on the counter-spell already, he was sure of that. They had learned so much in their journeys through the past. Not least, that they should never give up.

Christine was speaking; she seemed unconcerned about asking questions, and Henry was relieved, for he had no wish to display his own ignorance. And Christine was a scholar born, it seemed.

'Sir, there's so much I don't understand about this place. We're among the stars, you say, and this is the Argo, which we know as a vast constellation. But there are other stars above us. Is that the firmament itself?'

'Nauplius is our navigator. He can explain better than I!'

Nauplius came and sat down next to them. He was a big man, bearded, with dark hair which seemed to have gleams of blue and green in it. His voice was deep as the sea.

'The firmament is as far above us as we are above the world below. But those stars you see are the translunary fires, the further stars, set there by the Lord God on the first day. Some you might see from the world below if you know where to look. We folk of the sky-country can navigate by them; see there.' He pointed over the starboard bow; Christine was listening intently. She looked along his arm to a bright star, hanging low in the north. 'Up above the Lady Andromeda's domain. You can see that one from below, although it's very far off. There are others, too, some closer to us.' He gestured above the sail, where a cluster of stars, more indistinct, covered a patch of sky the size of the full moon. 'I'll teach them to you, King Henry, in case you need them.' He pointed them out, one after another. 'They're fixed; they have not the power to move, as do the planetary gods.'

'Gods?' Henry's mind grappled with the concept. A few hours earlier he'd been leading an attack on a castle; mundane work indeed!

'Under God Himself, yes,' said Nauplius. 'The Lady Moon is freest of them all. Most of the rest stay near the Zodiac, their highway, going about their duties there. My father Neptune does the same, though he's so distant you'll never see him below.' His father, Neptune. Henry, after a moment's startlement, bowed his head a little, and Christine did the same. Nauplius acknowledged this courtesy with a smile and continued, 'But we're headed towards the Zodiac now, and you may meet one or another of them. We star-folk stay in our own domains for the most part, but we have old friends scattered around the sky.'

'And enemies too, if I remember rightly. What of them?' asked Christine.

'Yes, there are enemies,' said Jason soberly. 'We've some notable fighters, though, and the Lord Mars is indefatigable. You'll find as many friends as enemies, and as many more will be indifferent. Go carefully, King Henry, be courteous, hold to your quest, and you've as good a chance of winning through as any.'

Christine stirred suddenly at that, and made to speak, then seemed to change what she had been about to say. 'Sirs, ladies. I must ask this; forgive me. In our world below, your adventures happened many a hundred years ago. To us – your pardon! you are long dead. Yet here we are, in your company. Does that mean that we're dead? My daughter? Montjoy?'

'No, madame, you are not, though I cannot answer for them. But mortals can step between one world and another, if they're careful, and lucky. You might well be among them.'

Henry let go a breath that he hadn't known he had been holding. There was, perhaps, a way back, then. But he did not forget that she had, perhaps, had another question. What else had she intended to ask?

Away to their right, a shoal of silver darts broke the surface of the water and vanished beneath again, distracting him. 'What are they?' asked Henry, peering out across the rail. Would he have to go that way?

'Flying fish!' answered Nauplius. 'That's Lord Volans' domain; we're on good terms with him, as long as we're careful where we fish. And that's the Mountain beyond.'

Henry could just make it out, flat-topped, covered in pearly cloud, looming distant over the (wine-dark, his mind supplied) sea.

Christine was now in conversation with Atalanta, over on the other side of the ship; but the talk was winding down, and Jason said at last, 'Well, guests, you should sleep now; you've had a long day, King Henry - and the lady will no doubt be glad to rest! Go below now, and when you awake you'll be close to our destination – the Unicorn's land, which is as far north as the Argo can take you.'

A unicorn. Well, it was no greater wonder than any he had seen so far.

The hatch was just astern of the mainmast; down a wide ladder were the rowers' benches, and a space with long tables. Butes dragged one of these aside for them, and pallets and bedding were brought out. Henry lay down, with Christine but a couple of feet away, and put his sword – which Jason had given back to him - close to hand.

There was a small lamp burning, hanging by bronze chains from a beam above. In its dim light, Henry watched Butes and the rest go back up the ladder, and turned his head back to see Christine looking at him.

'This is real, isn't it,' she said softly. 'The Argo. I can't quite believe it, but it's real.'

'Yes, madame,' he answered with careful civility. 'I have found in the past few months that it's all real – and that the only way to stay alive is to remember that.'

'I knew nothing of what was planned for you – and if I had known I would have done what I could to prevent it. I am not your enemy, King Henry. We have common cause.'

Henry sighed. 'I know. Sleep now. Tomorrow we'll talk again – but I have a journey to go on if I'm to find de Rais, so I must sleep too.' A journey across the sky. How could he even contemplate such a thing?

Having ended the conversation thus, he turned on his side, and waited while her breathing settled into a steady rhythm. Then he worked a hand into the breast of his cote, and felt for the talisman. He'd been unwilling to show it while the talk on deck had circled the subject of sorcery, but now he had his chance; propped on one elbow, he let it swing from his fingers, and waited. Would it work in this strange country?

Yes. North, the way they were heading. He tucked it away again, and lay back down. He listened while to the water rushing past the Argo's hull and the voices of her crew, and drifted away into darkness shot with fire and the clash of arms.

-x-

Again Montjoy felt that faint, familiar touch. It sustained him in the dreadful journey that he was now undertaking, with the roar of wings about him, hearing all the while the distant echo of shouts, of the clash of arms. It seemed that it had been going on for hours now.

Marie, crushed close against him by a hard arm, turned her head a little so that she could breathe more easily. He angled his shoulder away to give her an inch or two more room. 'Be strong,' he whispered, and she nodded just a fraction.

He had barely had time to think since de Rais has burst into their prison cell. Yet he himself had far more reason to be strong than before, for Henry was hot on their trail; had followed from Troyes - God alone knew how!

Dragged from their prison cell, forced up the spiral stair at a run with Gilles' dagger at Marie's throat, with the noise of explosions, of wild shouting in his ears, he had no idea who, or what, or why, until he saw Exeter burst into the workshop, with Henry but a step behind. De Rais had snatched up something that shone golden in the torchlight, and yelled at Tommaso to set the spell.

He'd known they were going somewhere strange, but not where. All he knew was that he and the child must stay together. So he clutched at Marie while the spell was worked, and while it hurled them far from the workshop into realms unknown, and all the while repeated senselessly to her, 'It'll be all right. It'll be all right.'

Darkness, shot with whirling fires. Then solid ground beneath his feet; he staggered and fell. So did they all, even de Rais, but he scrambled up again, and Montjoy followed suit more slowly.

De Rais was staring round, as if he was expecting someone. Montjoy took in all he could see. They were on a grassy hill, with a huge scaffold close by, and some vast triangular instrument poised on top of it. The golden thing in Gilles' hand was shining, as if it gained more power from being close to it. Far away to one side, a huge ocean, and a monster like a sea-serpent breaching the waters.

He was afraid; of the monster, of the country they were now in, and of de Rais most of all. But now there was a roar, and the air shook with the sound of it. It went right through him to his very bones. Even de Rais was surprised, and let go of Marie as he turned. And a lion sprang at them - bigger even than Half-tooth! - and roared again, and they scattered as best they could.

The lion had de Rais down, and might have killed him there and then, but he had an ally as well as enemies. There was a thunder of wings – the wings that carried him now - and something struck the lion with a staff, and knocked it flying, and cursed it back to its own domain. It snarled – and spoke.

'Discordia! You've no more right than I to be in this place. But I will obey the law, as you do not. Take heed. My liege-man follows you. In straight combat he might defeat even you. Do not harm these people!'

Discordia, goddess of strife. There she was, standing in front of the Lion now, wings spread, staff in hand. Christ be our aid, thought Montjoy; but also Henry? Henry is still following?

She laughed at the lion; taunted him. 'Your precious liege-man half belongs to me anyway. Are you so sure he will not join me?'

'Yes, for he knows his duty, as you do not! And there are others who will watch over these people. Be warned, Discordia!'

She curtseyed gracefully, then shrieked, 'I thank you, little Lion. Now get you back to your own fields or you'll have me and my brother to reckon with!'

'Word will get out, Discordia. Have a care, you and Lord Pluto both. Be strong, my friends!' he called out. 'My liege-man is in the sky-country even now!' But Discordia raised the staff to him again, and he gave her a contemptuous look, turned his back on her, and loped away.

Discordia laughed gleefully, a horrible sound, and de Rais bowed to her and said, 'My Lady. You answered my call. I am in your debt, you know that. How may I serve you?'

'I'll think of ways, little one, you may be sure. Spread your discord and your fear in the world below, that'll do for a start. But we'll need to be away from here before word gets out. Where would you go?'

He glanced at his prisoners – no longer troubling to hold onto Marie, now he had such an ally, and murmured in Discordia' ear. She hissed in satisfaction. 'It may serve; it may well serve. Well, I'll take you there, if you should wish it.'

'It's more than I could hope, Lady.'

'Tush, tush,' she said, and chucked his chin; then lunged about, swept an arm about both Montjoy and Marie, caught de Rais up too, and sprang into the sky. And in the turmoil of the Lion's attack and Discordia's appearance, neither of their captors had noticed when Montjoy had fallen across the golden thing that de Rais had dropped, and when he staggered to his feet again, kicked it as far away as he could.

-x-

It was, Henry thought, many hours later when he awoke and sat up. Christine was still asleep beside him, and yes, they were still on the Argo, with the lamp swinging on its chains in little circles, sending shadows chasing around below-decks. The motion of the great ship had changed, the easy pitch and swing turning short and choppy. They were coming towards land. He ran his fingers through his hair, and went softly to the wide ladder, climbed up it and out onto the deck.

Despite all the hours that had passed, there was no hint of dawn in the sky; it still looked to be at the last moment of twilight. The crescent moon rode high over the mainmast; but not as high, thought Henry, gazing upwards, as in the world below. It seemed larger, nearer; it shone with a clear bright sheen.

The great sail was part-reefed, and a concourse of the crew was up near the prow. 'Greetings, King Henry!' A clear voice; Jason, of course. 'Come break your fast! Are you rested?'

'Very much so, I thank you.' He climbed the steps to the foredeck, and there was Butes, who handed him a plate with bread and soft cheese. 'I am far better fed than on any of my previous adventures,' he said as he accepted it gratefully. Endless, tasteless meat of this monster or that; it had been a trial.

'You'll need your strength today,' said Butes cheerfully. 'Eat, now!'

'Tell me, if you will, ' he said, between bites. 'I've been here many hours, I think, but there's no hint of daybreak. It's midsummer in France now, and the nights are short. Does the sun not come here?'

'No, never. Do you not know the tale of how his father Jove barred Phoebus from the night sky? You must steel yourselves for night until you return home.'

That was difficult to comprehend, and he continued his meal in silence while he grappled with it.

He was finishing when Christine appeared, and spared a moment to acknowledge her. She seemed enviably self-possessed, and had a look of determination. She also looked far less rumpled than he felt; how did she do that? He left her to her meal, and with the aid of Butes, packed up a satchel of his needs for the journey; mostly foodstuffs, with a little pot of salve and a roll or two of bandages; and he was provided with a cloak.

'There's no chance of a horse, I suppose?' he asked, already sure of the answer.

'Far to the north, and there are many domains they cannot cross.' said Nauplius. 'You'll go quicker on foot.'

Now Henry felt confident enough to pull out the talisman. It pointed north and a little east now, after so many days of leading him westwards. Nauplius watched with great interest. 'If that heading is true, it'll lead you across the Hydra's sea. You know the Hydra as the Sea-Serpent, I think. It's an ocean bigger even than the one we sail – and we cannot take you there. You'll need to go round to the north first, to get to the Zodiac, and see where your talisman takes you from there. You'll go through the Unicorn's land, and the Little Dog's, before you get to the Zodiac.'

They went to stand at the prow. Up ahead Henry could make out, against the darkling sky, a coastline of low wooded hills, with open glades and meadows, and in the distance, the looming bulk of hills against the night.

'I've never seen a unicorn,' said Henry. 'Is it likely to be my friend or foe?'

'It's possible you'll never meet him. He's a shy beast, not easily seen. But his country is a kindly one.'

There was a wide shoreland between it and the Argo; white sand, waving sea-grass and winding creeks. It was towards one of these creeks that the Argo was headed, her sail rattling in a lively breeze, her prow cutting through the waves. Shining spray flew over them once or twice.

Perhaps a quarter-hour later, the sail and mast were lowered and they were rowing up the widest of the waterways. Tiphys, at the steering-oar, sang out, 'Slow now, slow now,' and a few moments later the keel softly scraped the bottom. Up on the poop, Jason gave an order and the anchors dropped fore and aft; the oars stilled and stout poles rattled out in their place. The Argo shifted a little, once or twice, and settled. Her present voyage was done.

Down amidships a couple of the crew ran out a gangplank to a sand-bar in the creek. Henry set his shoulders and crossed the fore-deck. Things had been easy for him so far, for all the amazement (firmly suppressed, for fear that he would be entirely overset) he had felt at his position. Now the real test was about to begin.

He was fully prepared for a dispute with Christine. Surely she would insist on going with him? She had not been behindhand up till now; but there she was, sitting up on the poop near Tiphys, studying something in her lap. She raised her head once, and gave him a long steady look, and acknowledged his farewell. But that was all.

Puzzled, but relieved he did not have a battle on his hands at the outset of his journey, he descended the ladder from the prow to the maindeck.

Jason was by the gangplank. 'Go well, King Henry,' he said seriously. 'Come safe through your adventures. We'll look forward to hearing your tales when you return!' He gripped Henry's hand for a moment – all wiry strength and calluses – and clapped him on the shoulder.

Henry sat on the rail, swung his legs over the side and put his foot onto the first slat of the gangplank. Looking back at at all those figures from legend, he said, 'Thank-you again, my lords, my ladies. Take care of the lady Christine, I beg. I'll be as quick as I may.'

Christine herself was still on the poop-deck, looking searchingly ahead at the land of the Unicorn. But she spared a glance for Henry, and gave a distant nod before resuming her gaze.

He sighed in exasperation, and went carefully down the slanting gangplank, dropping past the line where the planking of the hull changed from dry to wet, soaked with the water of the River. A few slats further, and his boot splashed into the shallow water lapping over the sand-bar. He tested his footing before trusting all of his weight to the sand; almost he expected to go crashing through the sky-floor, dull mortal that he was. But it was solid beneath his feet, supporting him as easily as it did the great weight of the Argo.

A further moment's pause while he settled his sword-belt and satchel to his satisfaction, then he lifted his hand to the Argonauts and to Christine, set his face towards the shore, and left the shelter of the great ship. Ahead, across a wide beach, was the park-like land of the Unicorn, with its little glades and meadows, and small hills rising up towards the more distant highlands.

He climbed up the beach, white sand shifting under his feet as if it were the mundane sand of the world below, and at its head, where close-cropped turf ran down to meet it, turned back to see the Argo being poled off into deeper water. She look very small now across the width of the beach. The painted eyes on her prow seemed to regard him, to search and question him. Why did he think he could do this thing, march across the very heavens in pursuit of his enemy, of his true love, of innocence personified?

'Great tasks await you,' there was a whisper in his mind. 'Do not waste time.'

Was the ship herself speaking now?

All he could do was follow that advice; and since he'd never been one to waste time it suited him well.

A last cry of farewell floated over the beach; he acknowledged it, turned and set off northwards, following the further stars that Nauplius the navigator had pointed out to him.

-x-

It was easy going at first, across springy turf dotted with wild-flowers, past shadowed spinneys of small, graceful trees, with little streams of crystal water running down from the west and criss-crossing his path every so often. Colours were apparent close by, but faded off into monochrome in the dim light. At first he was exceedingly wary, glancing left and right, listening hard for approaching hoof-beats, but as time went on and the lord of the domain made no appearance, he lost his first edge of extreme caution. The sound of the waves breaking on the shoreline receded as he left the River behind.

Even the skies of the Unicorn's domain were beautiful, with rosette clusters of the further stars, and faint veils glowing around them. They and the crescent moon helped to light his way very adequately.

An hour, two, climbing gently all the while, and he stopped beside a streamlet to rest and eat a bite to keep his strength up. There were ferns growing down beside the stream-bed, and small lilies in the turf. Wild roses and honeysuckle scrambled about, and small birds hopped and chirped among them. Truly it was an enchanted forest - which was hardly to be wondered at, considering where it was.

He was almost ready to go on when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of swift footsteps behind him – too light for a unicorn, surely? He scrambled to his feet and looked around, to see two women come marching up from the south. Wild thoughts of nymphs or dryads flashed through his mind; they were too collected to be Maenads, God be praised! And as they descended the slope of the valley, following the path he had taken, he recognised them. Maenads might perhaps have been easier to deal with.

One, carrying spear and satchel, striding out confidently, was unmistakably Atalanta. And beside her was another woman, dressed similarly in a short chiton and cloak, a dagger at her waist, and shod in hunting-boots. Her dark hair was caught in a knot, and her stride was as determined as Atalanta's. Henry stared at her for a moment, trying not to believe it; but this was none other than Christine de Pisan.

'King Henry!' Atalanta greeted him as they splashed through the little stream. 'Like it or not, you'll need a friend on this journey, and there's someone who has a greater reason to make it. So I've brought her to you, and you can continue on together.'

He tried not to gape. The sight of a woman of his own kind, in a short tunic – he blenched at the glimpse of a bare knee as Christine scrambled up the near bank – had him at a loss for words. Then he caught himself; 'Your pardon, Atalanta, I beg. I've no wish to insult either of you, but this journey is full of hazards. I can protect myself, I believe; but not a woman too!'

'No mother needs to be protected when her child is at risk,' said Atalanta sternly.

Christine added with determination, 'Even so complete a soldier as Henry of England may need someone to guard his back from time to time – and not just in battle! I've been studying my father's almanac, and there's matter in it that might help us, I believe. So here I am, and I'll not slow you down in any way. Rather, you'll have trouble keeping up with me! I'm armed as you see, and I'll not hesitate to fight' – as Atalanta handed her the spear - 'if it should be necessary.'

'So you see, King Henry,' Atalanta told him, 'it's a comrade I bring you, not a burden. You've no need to fear being hindered in your task. Go now, you're wasting time.' She pointed an imperious hand to the north.

'I'd rather go alone,' reiterated Henry.

'I thought you'd say so,' snapped Christine, 'and I'd rather not go alone, but I will if I have to. Atalanta - ' she turned to her, ignoring Henry - 'fare you well. I thank you for your aid.'

'Go well, Christine. May the Blessed Virgin watch over you on your way. Come back safe to the Argo, and your daughter with you!' She embraced Christine briefly, gave her the satchel, and turned to go.

'You're leaving us?' asked Henry blankly.

'Yes. I must return to the Argo. We folk of the sky-country may not blithely hop from one domain to another. That would be but a short step to Chaos once more. I'm overstepping my bounds as it is; if the Unicorn found me in his lands I'd as like as not be skewered for my presumption. You small mortals may creep where we fear to stride.'

Henry looked from one woman to the other. The brief hope faded that Atalanta would take Christine back to the Argo - or journey with her - or better yet, accompany the two of them if Christine refused to return. But no. Christine was hefting the spear experimentally in her hands, testing its weight and balance. She would not turn back. And it was not so long since he'd been bested by two women in concert; Princess Katherine and her waiting-woman Alice had made short work of him in Troyes. He had very little experience of women.

He exhaled in annoyance. He'd been properly out-manoeuvred. 'Come with me, then, if you must, madame! Be prepared to march and fight and make hard decisions. I'll not be held back by you.'

Christine and Atalanta exchanged complicit smiles, annoying him still further.

'Wisely said, King Henry. Now, be on your way, and I'll get back to my shipmates; maybe they'll have re-floated Argo by now!' Atalanta lifted one hand, turned, splashed through the stream again and departed at a swift lope, and they called their thanks and farewells after her, Christine cheerful and Henry dazed.

Henry looked after her, then back at Christine, with equal irritation. 'God be my aid,' he said simply, and gestured towards the north. 'We must not waste any more time.' He started up the valley-side, hoping mightily that they would not encounter the Unicorn as they went. He set a swift pace, shooting a challenging glance at Christine. She shouldered her satchel, took a firmer grip on the bronze-headed spear (taller than she was) and matched him stride for stride.

-x-

After a while a fine, sweet rain began to fall, and they twitched the hoods of their cloaks up. Henry squinted up at the heavens. 'I had not expected rain in the sky-country,' he said. Anything to break the ringing silence between them, even if it was only to talk about the weather. 'But it's coming in from the west, just as it does in the world below.'

'Drifting in from Orion's land, I don't doubt,' replied his companion, pointing to the west. He peered, and far away could make out a mass of uplands, covered with a gathering of nebulous cloud. Not so high as the Mountain that Nauplius had shown him across the River, nor was the cloud so bright. 'Rainy Orion, after all,' she continued.

'Rainy Orion?'

'Yes, that's what the ancients call the constellation. Are you not familiar with the classics?'

'Evidently not, madame,' he said shortly. 'I had other concerns in my youth.' His father's wars, and his own entertainment.

There was a mutter from his side which might have been, 'We heard about those,' but he pretended not to hear. They were silent again for a while; but now Henry was beginning to wonder whether Christine might not be less of a liability than he had at first assumed. If she knew her way around the sky-country she might yet pull her weight on this quest.

The rain passed over, and when they next stopped to rest he took out the talisman again. Christine watched with close attention as he held it dangling from his fingers, and waited for the faint tug. It pulled him more east than north now. 'That way,' he said, and she was on her feet again in an instant, scanning the copses and glades ahead to find their best path. Henry had to acknowledge her determination. He chose the path that looked likeliest to him, and took up position on her right, to have his sword-arm free if need be.

'I wish I had such a talisman to lead me to Marie,' she said. 'But I do not have the power, and truly didn't know such power existed.'

'Nor did I know that I had the power. I knew I had power temporal, and power spiritual in some theoretical sense. But I didn't know it was a real living thing until quite recently,' he said – or was it long ago it was that he'd demonstrated it in the land of the sail-backs? 'And it's two-edged, like most things in life.' But he had no intention of revealing to Christine the drawbacks of the power spiritual – not yet.

'You may be sure I envy you that power, two-edged or not. Apart from my almanac, all the guidance I have is your talisman, and I can only trust that it will take me to Marie as well as Montjoy.' She sighed, but lifted her chin, and continued the march with unabated speed.

'Yes, you mentioned an almanac. What of it?'

'I snatched it up in my father's workshop.' She pulled a small, leather-bound book a little way out of her satchel. 'It charts this sky-country, among other things, and will doubtless be useful – but it cannot tell me where Marie is. For that, I have to follow you.'

Henry remembered the little almanac belonging to Dr. Colnet that had been their guide in their adventures in the past. They had referred to it constantly. Now there was another such that he could consult – though he knew such rarefied knowledge was not something he could make use of without an interpreter. And here was his interpreter.

'Your daughter,' he said, when they'd been walking for a while longer. It was best that they continue talking – and he was aware that most parents loved to talk about their children. 'I caught just the briefest glimpse of her. Tell me about her! How old is she?'

'She's my eldest,' and a mother's love was plain in her voice. 'She'll be nine years old on her next saint's day. She was a happy child when her father was alive. It hit her very hard, but she's been looking after her brother. I think it gave her a feeling of responsibility.'

'She didn't weep or scream, there in the workshop.'

'No, she wouldn't! She won't let anyone see what hurts her. She has too much pride. I don't mean that as a sin...'

'You mean she's brave.'

'Yes. Yes, she is. I am proud to sinfulness of her – of both my children! But her pride will serve her well at this time, and in times to come – if we find her.'

'We'll find her.' He added quickly, to divert her mind, 'What do you plan for her future?'

'I hardly know! Marriage may be out of the question now; I can give her no dowry. A nun, maybe, if any nunnery will take her. Or if we can keep the family together, she may be able to work as a copyist or a painter – if she does not follow in my footsteps as a writer!'

An odd thought fleeted through Henry's mind. If they won through, could he offer this scholarly family security? Could he offer them a home? Not entirely from altruistic motives, though he had to admit a certain respect for Christine. She and her father had knowledge and skills that England might need. He had already spoken to Montjoy of his hope to found a school of astrology. With Montjoy himself, the King's Enchanter who had brought them out of the past, at its head and his brother Gloucester over all – and the de Pisan family, with all their learning and determination, could be a great asset.

'And your son? We saw him, there in the workshop, I think.'

'Yes. Jean. At least he's safe. He's six years old. It'll be easier for him to find employment, though it'll be a while yet before he can support himself. I hardly think he can support the rest of us too. So many friends have fallen away since I was widowed.' Bitterness tinged her voice for a moment. 'He'll have to take whatever position he can find.'

'He'll be safe with my kinsmen for now, at least, and your cousin too; you may be sure of that.'

Well, the family might be glad of security in England. But that was far in the future, and here they were in the midst of his wildest adventure yet. There were all the hazards of the sky-country to negotiate first – and a hazard that had nothing to do with the sky-country.

What did de Rais have planned for them? He wondered about this for a score or so of paces; then asked: 'Tell me, did you know de Rais at all?' Blanchlyverer had told them what little he knew. Christine would surely know more.

'Why, no, a casual acquaintanceship at best, but he's young, after all, and I'm an old woman to him. Our degree was very different, too. He's heir to the largest fortune in Europe, and to two great lordships. I'm but the daughter of a court astrologer, who has to earn a living with her pen.'

'Were there rumours about him? Gossip?'

There was a pause, as she searched inwardly. 'He was lately come from his estates in Brittany and the Loire.' Brittany, thought Henry, remembering how he'd sent Bedford to the Duke there. That had been a lucky choice; the Duke would no doubt be glad to get his hands on a few of de Rais' seigneuries.

But Christine was still speaking. 'People found him disquieting. There was talk of a marriage contract that had fallen through. I cannot remember the details. But to back out of so advantageous a marriage contract was unusual.' Henry made a non-committal sound, for he'd bolted – there was no other word for it! - out of an even more advantageous marriage. Christine paused for a moment, as though the same thought had occurred to her, then went on: 'And he'd come and go. Most of the nobles clustered around the court, around Queen Isabeau particularly, because that was where advancement could be gained. Well, I did so myself!' she acknowledged ruefully. 'But though de Rais spoke to the Queen once or twice, he didn't really seem to care – or perhaps he had more pressing matters to attend to, out there in the west. He didn't seem to care about much apart from himself.'

'Too much too soon, and never had to work for it,' supplied Henry.

'Yes, that's part of it. But there was something else. As if he was looking down on all of us. Laughing at us.'

'Did he ever go near Montjoy?'

'Not that I remember. Far beneath his notice.'

'Good.' De Rais was doomed anyway, if Henry ever got his hands on him; but the manner of his dying was open to question. 'Why do you think has he done this?'

'I know not, King Henry. Why do you do what you do?'

'It is my duty.'

'Some would say it's the duty of all Frenchmen to rid our land of you.'

'Many would say that. But only de Rais has taken it this far. What does he gain from defeating me?' He paused, and answered his own question, as persuasively as he could. 'No doubt it's the freedom to go his own way. Your king can barely control his nobles, his son; my rule is stronger and de Rais would no longer be able to do as he pleases if I were king of France. You've seen what he does even now. If he could have his own way in all things, what then for France?' He saw his words strike home. 'But maybe that's not his reason. Maybe he does this simply because he can.'

'Maybe,' she said reluctantly, and lapsed into silence.

-x-

The River lay far behind them now, but after a while they came to another shoreline. Pausing again at the crest of a seaward hill, they looked out across a vast ocean, extending far into the distance on their right, indigo waters and inky sky meeting and merging at the edge of sight. Flocks of sea-birds wheeled and called all the while above them. Waves, gleaming with seafire, broke on the shore at the foot of the cliff, but the waters were calmer far away to their right, losing themselves among winding creeks like the one up which Argo had rowed. Further off were distant salt-flats.

'The Hydra's sea,' announced Christine, with some satisfaction at her knowledge. 'Here, look.' She pulled out her father's almanac, and opened it at a double-page spread showing a celestial map. 'The Argo cannot not sail it, so we must go around. It's a mighty domain – the biggest in the heavens, maybe. But we're almost at the northern end of it. Jason could bring us thus far. We must be nearing the border of the Unicorn's land now, and once we've crossed the Little Dog's, we can turn east.'

'That will take us to the land of the Crab,' said Henry, casting an eye over the map. 'The sign of homecoming,' and he was pleased that Christine seemed surprised at his knowledge. 'Maybe that's a good omen!' He twisted one of the rings he wore; silver and pearl, which they had made to invoke that sign.

Christine added, 'But we have a way to go through the Unicorn's land still. Since I am self-evidently no virgin – and, forgive me, I somehow doubt that you are – we must make haste.'

Henry fairly gasped at this, but before he could think of a response, Christine was already moving off northwards. Henry hurried after her.

'I left my virginity behind me many years ago,' he said in some indignation, 'though I was never as promiscuous as the stories would no doubt have it! And lately, not at all!'

'Your wilder days, yes, we all heard the tales of you slumming it in the taverns of London.'

'I don't doubt they were exaggerated, madame, and I'm sure they left out the main point of the exercise.'

'Which was?'

'To know my people. All of them, not just the nobles and churchmen. To know myself.'

'And to have a good time the while?'

'That, too!' He tried the charm that had won round Princess Katherine, and was rewarded with a reluctant smile. Lucky that she had no idea of the real reason; good God, he'd been young then! But now she sobered, and her mouth set in a straight line. She increased her pace. 'I should not have spoken lightly of such matters.'

'Why not? The whole of Europe is very familiar with my history, it seems.'

'Not for your sake, King Henry, but for Marie's. De Rais has her.'

Henry felt suddenly sick, not just at the thought of de Rais, but at the remembrance of threats he'd made long ago at Harfleur. Empty threats, but he had spoken them nonetheless. 'Montjoy is with her, and he'll protect her with his life. And be very sure, too, that I'll kill de Rais when we find him, whether he's harmed them or no.'

'If I do not reach him first,' she said grimly. 'But you're right; I had forgotten she's not alone with him. I must trust to Montjoy, then. He's a good man, and kind. That's sometimes worth more than many a proud knight who thinks only of ransoms.'

'You know him, then!'

'Yes, of course. Why would I not? And Marie and Jean have met him, too, once or twice. That's why I know he will protect her.'

Henry was struggling a little with the idea. He had almost forgotten that Montjoy must have a life wholly unknown to him; friends, family, long years of travelling and diplomacy. They had had so little time just to sit and talk, as they grappled with the necessities of their journey through the past (and latterly, grappled with each other, as his earthier side acknowledged.) Now he wanted to hear more about Montjoy's life in France.

'This was at court, I take it?'

'Yes. He gave me what help he could. When my father disappeared, I had to cast about for ways to make a living. For after my husband died - ' she paused for a moment, braced her shoulders, and went on. 'There was a dispute over the will, and I spent all my ready money in trying to gain my rightful legacy. But I lost the court case.'

'You spent your money? Was there no brother, no uncle, who could aid you?'

'None – and my father had vanished. I am the head of my house now. My children – my daughter! - and my cousins all depend on me.'

Henry tried to imagine it: a woman, fighting for her own in a world ruled by men. 'The king..?'

'Could not help me. Could barely help himself. But I'd lived at court because of my father's position. And I had some skill with my pen, and some scholarship. So I began to write. Poems, ballads, an allegory or two, and they grew into something more. They were popular, maybe only because it was a woman that wrote them, but they were the best I could make them! And Montjoy – well, he was not often at court, but when he was, we'd talk sometimes. I enjoyed our talks; he'd travelled so widely, seen so much. And he was never driven by the need for power.'

'Gentle Herald,' murmured Henry, with a private smile.

'What..?' A tiny pause. 'Yes, he was. And sometimes he'd take some of my poems with him, when he went abroad. My cousins would write them out and illustrate them, to save the cost of a clerk. He took some to Italy,' and Henry's mind suddenly wanted to cry out Why didn't you bring me poems? though he knew the answer. 'I liked to hear him talk of Italy, although I can barely remember it. I was younger than my son is now when my father brought us to France. Well, we made some extra money that way, and it brought in orders for my books. It was a struggle, but I kept us all fed and housed, and safe. Until now.'

'Life is always a struggle.'

'What can a king know of that?'

'Oh, I know. Don't doubt it. I was held hostage as a child, I and all my brothers and sisters. Taken here and there by an untrustworthy king, and knighted by him just to show that he could. Then in my father's reign there was rebellion after rebellion. We were always on a knife-edge - and I became something of a rebel myself! And because of who I was, the eyes of the world were always upon me.'

They were quiet for a while; the ground ahead was rising steadily, and further to the north were hills, low at first and then rugged. The many streams running down to greet them had little waterfalls now, and they stopped at one of them to drink and re-fill their water-bottles. When the slope eased off, Christine said, 'He grew more thoughtful, you know, after he met you.'

'Montjoy, you mean?'

'Yes. When he came back from other courts, other kings, he'd tell me about them; how life was lived there, what intrigues there were, whatever he thought might be useful to me. But he said very little about you, even though I asked him. He'd look at the nobles of our court, and at King Charles, and he'd look sad. And he seemed very little surprised after the battle.'

'Just sad,' supplied Henry.

'Yes. We were all sad.'

Another slope, steeper. From its top they could see that the land ahead was more rugged, with wooded hills and dales like a choppy sea stretching away to the north and west. Christine said, 'We're through the Unicorn's domain, I believe. Atalanta said he's a shy beast, though fierce. So I'm not surprised we haven't seen him. And I cannot think that the Little Dog will have any quarrel with us – I like dogs! - and in any case he might be away hunting with Orion.'

'With Orion!' Henry looked across towards the west, to the mighty hunter's rainy uplands, and once more pictured him striding across his domain. 'Will we meet him, I wonder? And what will we say to him, if we do?'

'I can scarce imagine it myself. But unless we're in a dream – and we've agreed we're not - here we are, almost at the boundaries of his land.'

'I've never known a dream last so long or be so real. But you're familiar with the world of astrology; have you heard of this happening to anyone else?' He remembered, on that very first night in the land of the sailbacks, asking much the same thing of Montjoy.

'No, never, though Jason said it has happened. I think it would be possible for those who have the learning. But the will - the means by which the power is gained – has been lacking, until de Rais.' She stopped, and pulled out the almanac. 'See. Here's Little Dog's land. Nauplius marked up the map for me.' Henry saw the words 'Canis Minor' written small, and hills drawn in by a later hand.

'We're here?' Henry pointed to a boundary-line on the map.

'Yes. Nauplius drew in the hills, and some other constellations – birds and animals, and strange engines too! I hope we do not have to go south; there are constellations there that I don't know at all.'

There were little pictures; a clock, and instruments of learning that looked vaguely familiar, and creatures he could not recognise. The lettering was Greek. He had never learned Greek. He traced with relief the path they were taking; north and east to the Zodiac. There he knew most of the names, at least.

'The Crab. Yes. I've called on him before. And the Lion. No, Lions,' for there was a little lion to the north of the greater one. 'I'll be glad if our path lies that way, not south.'

'So will I.' She fished in her satchel, and brought out some of the food from Argo. 'I must rest a little and eat, my lord. I am not used to this exercise.'

Henry was glad enough of the chance to sit for a while, but did not say so. 'I'll carry your satchel and spear for a while,' he offered chivalrously; and did so when they set out again up the rugged ridge.

This was good hunting country, Henry thought, with crags and climbing woods, and streams, always streams, running down from Orion's domain, and little tarns here and there. There were signs of quarry too; he wondered how that worked. Were the beasts immortal, did they breed, or die and rise again? Unless he could ask the Little Dog personally, he would probably never know.

They were climbing another steep slope up the edge of a hanging wood now, and from politeness Henry didn't talk as they scrambled among the mossy green boulders. He looked back once or twice, half-expecting to see the Little Dog come nosing up the rocky hillside towards them. Then the slope eased off, and they stopped on the rocky summit – Christine sinking down onto one of the boulders – to allow her to catch her breath. Henry leaned on the spear, glad of its support though he would not sit down, and he gazed round at the tumbled hills, the flatter lands to the south, and the vast, dark sea.

'You were telling me about Montjoy,' he prodded, carefully casual.

'Yes.' She heaved herself to her feet and fell in beside him. The hill was the southernmost bastion of a long ridge that flanked the shoreline. There was some sort of low woody growth on it, windswept by the sea, but there were paths through it, made by the lord of the domain no doubt, and they followed one of these. The bushes reached almost to Henry's waist as he brushed through them, and they released aromatic scents as he did so; herbs of some kind, then. He thought he recognised rosemary, at least. On his left, to the west, the ridge fell steeply down into a wooded valley with a swift-flowing noisy stream in it, and beyond that, the land rose again, on the first step of its way up to Orion's rainy highlands.

She continued, 'When he came back the last time, to Troyes just a week ago, he looked grieved indeed. We went through the preparations for the treaty and your betrothal, and he hardly said a word except on matters of state. He'd go to the stables when he was not working, seeing to his horse, he said, but I think he just wanted Reynard's company.'

Henry blinked once or twice. His own days had been equally blank. He'd had his military duties to occupy him, but his own future, sharing a life with a sweet lady whom he could not love, had seemed bleak indeed. The effort he'd made to woo her, to make her laugh, to allay her fears, had been genuine, but his heart had been elsewhere.

'Well, he'll have our company soon enough,' he said stoutly, 'he and your daughter both.'

'I pray we may. The children are all I have left of Etienne. We'd been so happy, all of us, with our family and our house.'

They'd lost their home, their money, the centre of their lives. How many, at Harfleur and afterwards, had done the same? Here were all the women of France, speaking to him through one woman's voice.

'We'll get them back. If it's possible for a man to do it – I'll do it.'

'If Henry of England promises it, who am I to doubt it?' she asked wryly.

'And if I fail, you may well succeed in my place.'

That stopped her. There was a short but satisfactory silence behind him. Then her footsteps began again, with renewed determination.

She had been prepared to undertake the chase alone. Why was she surprised that he believed her capable of success? Six months ago, maybe, he would not have done so. But he had learned so much through his journeys in the past; learned that people were capable of the most surprising things.

As he was himself. Here he was, marching across the night sky. Ahead lay the Zodiac. A little over a day earlier he had been leading an attack on a castle, humdrum work indeed; but now he was half-expecting to see one of Orion's hounds come loping up the hillside to his left, and on his right was the immense shoreline of the Hydra's sea, with its waves hushing ceaselessly in serried lines of bright foam.

'The seafire is beautiful,' Christine said after a while; 'I've read about it, in travellers' tales from the Mediterranean, but never seen it till we got here.'

'It's as well it's there,' said Henry; 'it's a dark sky above, not like in the Unicorn's country. We wouldn't see much without it.'

Dark and rather desolate. One or two of the further stars shone almost at the zenith, but out over the ocean were only small isolated spindles and swirls of light; and far away to the east, a three-armed glow, which put him in mind of the triskelion of the Isle of Man.

- No, he wouldn't think about the Isle of Man. It had been a holding of the Scroop family, one of many belonging to them. He put the thought of the Scroops from his mind, and marched on.

-x-

They were nearing the northern end of the long ridge now, and the ground ahead began to fall away to meet the littoral of the Hydra's sea. The gradient was easy at first, then steepened as the path they were following rolled off the end of the ridge, dropping down among rocks and shrubs and brackens. The soil was more sandy now, and sometimes fell away under their feet. Henry grabbed at a wiry shrub to save himself, and felt suddenly more cheerful when he saw what it was. Even in the half-light of the sky-country it was unmistakeable.

Christine, just behind him, heard him laugh, and asked, 'What?'

He plucked a sprig, and held it up. 'Planta genesta.' The yellow broom-flowers were surely a good omen. He tucked it into the fastening of his cloak. 'Would you like some, too?'

'I thank you, no,' she said tartly, and Henry smiled. He was somewhat out of his depth with this lady, but he'd just scored a minor point.

The air was growing warmer, and when they'd negotiated the last hundred yards or so of the slope, he remarked on this. 'Because we're lower down, perhaps? But the air was cool around the Argo, and that was at sea-level.'

Christine paused in thought for a moment. 'I might be wrong,' - indeed? thought Henry - 'but we're getting close to the ecliptic now, the equator of the night sky. If we draw an analogy between the world below and the night sky, we might expect it to be warmer here. The Argo is a southern constellation after all – and I've never even heard tell of the Mountain or the Flying Fish. They must be closer to the southern pole.'

'We've come a long way, then, since we arrived in the sky-country.'

'Yes – thanks to Jason and his crew! But they understand quests, of course – and Jason understands the tie between a parent and a child.' Marie was never far from her thoughts – and this he could understand, since Montjoy was never far from his. He could feel the talisman, stowed safely away in his cote. When they reached the bay where the Hydra's sea curved round to the east, he would question it again.

-x-

Orion's uplands were far behind them and to their left now, and the last shower of drifting rain slackened off. They descended the last slope of the Little Dog's land and gazed out across a flat landscape; salt-marshes, wandering creeks, and a level turfy plain extending north and east a great distance into the dark. Henry laid the spear on the ground and felt for his talisman; Christine was leafing through the almanac.

'East,' he said, with satisfaction; that tenuous thread linking him and Montjoy was still at work! And they would have easier walking from now on, and a clearer view all round. There were slow-flowing streams enough to provide them with water, but they were not so frequent now as they had been close to rainy Orion. But there were still one or two in sight, winding down from the north. 'What does your map say?'

'Past the Crab's land we come to the Sextant – that's a new one to me, one of those instruments of learning that Nauplius told me of. Beyond that, the Cup and the Crow. And the Hydra's sea to the south all the time; that's a huge domain!' She sighed, shut the book, and put it away. 'It will take an age to reach the other end of it.'

They gazed out across the flat shore-land of the Crab dispiritedly, at its waving grasses and sea-birds, soaring or squabbling in flocks, or probing the wet sands left by a receding tide.

Tide. He looked up. There was the narrow crescent moon, away to the north. What would the Moon look like, up here in the sky? Another question that might never be answered. He pictured a swift goddess, bow in hand, hunting the further reaches of the night.

'We'd best get started,' he said, and they filled their bottles at the stream that seemed to mark the boundary of the Little Dog's domain, and set off.

-x-

Maybe two hours later, they turned the last inlet of the sea. There were great tracts of seaweed on the damp sand, and among them crowds of scuttling crabs. They had come to the sign of Cancer; to the Zodiac.

'This is the ecliptic, the highway of the planetary gods,' said Christine. 'We might encounter more than star-folk here.'

'Friend or foe?'

'They could be either. It depends who we might meet. And you know the tales of the old gods,' and she did not add and how capricious they are but her meaning was plain enough. 'This almanac doesn't chart the planets' movements for each year. We'll need to be wary.'

'Onward, then - warily.'

They turned eastwards along the grassy turf just above the beach, Christine casting thoughtful looks at the crabs below, and made good progress, for they had left the crags and dells of the Little Dog's country behind them. Away to the north, the ground sloped upwards to distant mountains; Christine referred to the sky-map and said, 'The Lynx's country. That's a constellation I've not heard of, but Nauplius said he's had news of it from the Twins. And beyond it is the Bear, and further still the Dragon.'

'Here there be dragons,' said Henry grimly. 'Let us hope it doesn't come to that.'

They were getting weary now, as they'd walked for what felt like a very long day. When Christine stumbled over a tussock of grass, Henry said firmly, 'We need to stop and rest. Sleep if we can. There are no great dangers that I can see here – but the Lions' country is next, and though they might be our friends, they're fierce beasts when all's said and done.'

Christine was not eager to rest, but she had to admit the need, and when they came to a cluster of boulders she sank down and rested her back against one of them, though with no good grace. Here they shared food and water. Then Henry climbed the boulders and spied out the land once more, while Christine studied the almanac again.

He clambered back down to her. 'What are you looking for in that?' he asked, indicating the book.

'Anything and everything that may help,' she sighed. 'You've the talisman to lead us to Montjoy, but when we find him – when we find them – what then? If de Rais may be defeated in simple battle, that's all to the good. But if they're in captivity? Might we release them somehow? So I've been hoping to find something that may aid us, but it's more difficult than I'd thought.'

'If anyone can find it, you can.' Henry was determinedly hopeful. 'There must surely be something in there that can help us.'

'May it be so,' she said, laying the book aside.

Then, after reciting the evening prayer, Christine lay down on the springy turf and pulled her cloak over her. She struggled to find a comfortable position, but in the end she dropped into sleep with her head pillowed on her satchel.

Henry stood watch a while, staring into the east under the light of the further stars. Now that he was, to all intents and purposes, alone, the strangeness of their situation threatened to overwhelm him once more. A quest the like of which he had never heard (though God knew the last few months had been strange enough!) But to chase a monster – for de Rais was a monster, not a man – across the sky, though myth and fable and legend... who would ever have thought that his life would bring him to such a point?

And in company with an enemy, who though a woman was formidable by any measure; and in quest of his own true love. But that was the love of a few short weeks only. When he found him (his mind would not countenance if) when he found him, then, would the magic, the love, still be there?

The talisman, made in the name of the Lady Venus, told him that it would. And so, if he were honest with himself, did the memory of the time they'd spent together, and the long dance they had danced before that, from his audience-chamber in London through campaign and battle and magic upon magic.

For so plain a king to end up on so wild a quest!

He smiled a little at the incongruity of it, turned back to the cluster of boulders, and lay down beside Christine de Pisan. The grass, short and wiry, made a comfortable enough bed for a soldier; his cloak kept him warm, and he laid his sword close to hand.

The sound of the waves of the Hydra's sea made a gentle lullaby. He dropped into a doze, as he had done so many times on campaign. For a while the sound of the water sent him drifting back to the camp on Castle Hill, with its rippling stream and rocky slopes. Even in his sleep he was reminded of his loss, for he dreamed of his herald, who had saved them time and again in their struggles to return from the past. He relived kisses, exchanged on starlit evenings in the secret glade at the top of Castle Hill - under different stars from the ones they journeyed among now! - and in his sleep he touched the breast of his cote, where the little scales, talisman of Venus, of true love, were safely tucked away.

-x-

Hours later, he was half-woken by a soft noise of some sort. He raised himself, sleep-filled and groggy, and gazed around; got up and made his way to the other side of the little knot of boulders, hand on sword-hilt.

Nothing. But there was the noise again, a quiet cooing. Pigeons? Doves? Surely not. He continued round the clustered rocks. The night was wide and dark around him; the moon had set. But there was enough light from the further stars that when he reached the southern side of the boulders, he could see the Hydra's ocean; and there, stepping softly towards him across the waves, was a woman!

A quick breath in, a quick breath out. He stared.

She was dressed in a sheer silken gown embroidered with flowers, her golden hair blowing in an invisible wind, star-foam about her feet. On her head was a delicate crown with a blue gem, shining with its own light. Doves flirted in the air above her. Yes, it was the doves that had made the noise he heard. Transfixed, he gazed at her as she approached, smiling at him, gentle and seductive as a summer evening. He could not imagine a more beautiful woman.

'King of England,' she said, and stepped lightly onto the turf in front of him. Her voice was all that her appearance promised.

He knelt, and bent his head. He had not done this for years, not for anyone other than God and His Son.

Her hand touched his shoulder like an accolade. Warmth spread through him. 'Get up, get up, King Henry. We have no time for that. I must be on my way.'

'My Lady.' He stood with bent head, then dared a glance at her.

She smiled. 'Do you know me, then?'

'With such beauty, I think you can be none other than the Lady Venus.'

'Good. Then we know each other. And you are here in the service of love, which is my domain.'

'Love, yes,' and he stammered a little, 'though – your pardon, Lady! - not for any woman.'

'That matters not, King Henry. You seek your true love, do you not? So Rumour has told me. Love is my charge; and you and and your beloved have called on me before, so long ago that I was scarce aware of myself.'

'Yes. Yes, we did. But now our enemy has him. Lady, I fear for him.' He fumbled in the breast of his cote for the copper scales. 'I have this. I hoped it would lead me to him. But the sky is so wide and strange. To tell the truth, I hardly know where to turn.'

She took the talisman from him, and cast a critical eye over it. 'It is well made. You have my signs there, and a little of each of you. It will serve.' She stroked her fingers over the gem in the fulcrum, and it glowed with a faint spark of its own light. 'Now, Henry, prepare to go on your way. You have a great evil to defeat. Remember, yours is not the only love here. There is a mother's lost child too. I would not have you forget her.'

'No, Lady, I will not,' he whispered, and she smiled.

'Here comes the mother herself,' she said, and Henry glanced round, and there indeed was Christine, coming round the knot of boulders, with a hand on the hilt of her dagger.

'I heard voices - ' she said, and stopped short at the sight of the Lady Venus.

'Christine. Welcome,' said the goddess, and when Christine curtsied low, laughed, drew her to her feet and kissed her cheek. 'Be of good cheer. If the tales I've been hearing are true, you've a great way to travel yet – but you've a fine knight at your side, and a will strong enough to surmount any number of obstacles.'

'Tales, my Lady? If I may ask - '

'Rumour has it that your enemy called on Discordia, and she answered him. She'll cause trouble if she can! And Rumour also says that they went east, and are hidden in some fastness there. But your daughter was alive and whole when they reached that place, and had a good friend at her side. I think they mean to use your love to lure you to them; be bold, but take care!'

'I can do both, my Lady,' said Christine firmly.

'The friend. My herald?' asked Henry almost at the same time.

'Yes, your herald. Take heart, be strong, and you'll win through!' She smiled at him. 'Now. I can delay no longer. I must be on my way. As above, so below, and it would not do for the planets to halt in their courses. You will meet others on your travels; some will be your friends, and some not. Be careful! Christ and His Mother be your aid!' She touched his cheek with warm fingers, and smiled to see him blush, and trod serenely up into the air, accompanied by her doves, leaving star-foam briefly in her wake, and a departing scent of violets.

'Lady, farewell!' called Henry, and she half-turned and blew him a kiss.

Shaken to the core, he stood clutching the little scales, gazing at the soft-gleaming figure; then braced himself. It was a wonder beyond wonders that they had encountered her; but he had work to do.

'Well, we have our marching orders,' he said. 'East. And they're together. It could be worse.'

'Yes,' she answered, the smile dying from her face. 'It could be worse.'

And he mentally kicked himself, but said, 'We may as well take it that it's morning,' though the sky was as dark as ever. 'I don't know about you, but I won't get back to sleep now. Come, eat, and we'll be on our way.'

He was not hungry, but forced himself to eat some bread and an apricot from his satchel. Sitting on a handy rock, he tried to assess the reason for his reluctance to eat, and after a little thought, found it.

'This darkness.' He gestured round at the perpetual deep twilight of the sky-country, at the muted colours close by, fading to grey or silver further off. 'It saps my sense of time. My body thinks it's still the middle of the night.'

Christine considered this. 'Yes, it's hard to keep track. It's been, what, two days now?'

'Two sleeps, at any rate, though I think the time we spent on Argo was morning by our reckoning. Well, the English winter is dark enough, but this perpetual night is beyond my experience – though I have a Scottish captain who says that in the far north the sun hardly rises at all in the winter.'

'Close to the Pole, yes.'

'It's one reason why he came south, he says. And after a couple of – days – of this, I can hardly blame him.'

Reluctant though his stomach was to accept the food, he made himself finish it, stood, and tried the talisman again. The blue gem still glowed with a soft light at the pivot, and nudged him, eye and heart and mind, a little south of east now.

'Along the shores of the sea.' Christine traced the heading across the map. Then, deliberately, 'Your true love lies that way.'

Henry cocked an eyebrow at her as he stowed the talisman away. So she wanted to have the conversation, then?

'The Lady Venus has found me out,' he remarked, 'and who am I to dissemble in the face of her wisdom?' He slung his satchel over his shoulder. 'But I knew it anyway, long before now. And so did you, I think.'

They started their new march, Christine groaning softly to her herself at first, then moving more easily. 'I wondered, all that time we were crossing France. You were driven. I could see it in everything you did. Oh, you gave reasons of policy, but you were afraid the whole time.'

Should he tell her that he was always afraid, that the demands of kingship, that ate up men, well-nigh consumed him too? No. Montjoy knew, and his closest kinsmen. Scroop had known, and used it against him. No-one else would ever know.

'It was not my love for Montjoy alone that drove me, you may be sure of that.'

'But he was the real reason you were afraid.'

'Yes. You would move mountains for your daughter. You would have done the same for your husband. So I, with Montjoy.'

'And Princess Katherine?'

'She was afraid, too - and of me. Since we were to be wed, and at the time I could not in all conscience back down from that, I made the best of it that I could. We spoke only for that brief half-hour in the palace at Troyes. She lost her fear of me – and I of her, perhaps! But I do not think her heart will be broken after so short an acquaintance. And God knows, so sweet a lady deserves better than the half-heart I could give her! She was willing enough to do her father's bidding, and will not go short of a husband now that I'm gone from the picture.'

'A sweet lady indeed, and a sorrowful. If you knew the tale of her early life... I was tutor to them all for a while, you know. Her father's malady struck before she was born. The factions fought over her; she was Queen Isabeau's pawn. All the children were, for while.'

He listened in some discomfiture as Christine told the tale; the royal children half-abandoned at St-Pol, scratching for food while their mother spun her plots; their abduction in company with the Duke of Burgundy's son and their rescue; and always, death after death from one cause or another. No wonder Katherine had been willing to listen to his clumsy attempts at wooing her – and if Christine had been tutor to her, no wonder she had held her own in that wooing!

He said slowly, 'I suppose it could have been a happy enough marriage. But she would have married King Henry, not Henry of Monmouth.'

'And Montjoy?'

Something in the two names, so close together, lit a small spark in his mind, but he put it aside for a moment. 'Broken-hearted, like me. You saw that.'

'Yet he refused to go to England with you anyway.'

'He would not consent to it. Would not agree to share my bed when I should have been with Katherine.'

'Ah, that's like him. You're lucky, Henry of Monmouth. I hope you know that?'

'Of course I know.'

'For many a gentlewoman at court would have been happy to catch his eye, but he was always a little elusive. His travels were his outward excuse, but I saw a little deeper.' She laughed. 'Well, maybe some of the other ladies saw what I saw; we watch, because it's so hard for us to act.'

Henry tried to imagine having to do that, but could not. 'And I act, because I cannot do otherwise.'

'O, poor king.' Friendly-mocking, as though she were testing how far he would let her go.

'Be thankful you do not share that condition, madame,' he said, mock-chidingly in his turn. 'You have perhaps ten people in your little ship, to steer through rough seas. Magnify that ten thousand times, and then ten more, and still you do not know how great is the ship of state.'

That stopped her. She seemed to look inward for a moment (perhaps doing arithmetic in her head?) then shook herself, and said, 'No wonder you're like a boy on an adventure, a knight on a quest. There are few tales of Arthur's deeds, once he became king, are there?'

'No. But I've had adventures enough in my lifetime, and never more so than in the last few months.'

'When you found your true love, in the proper chivalric tradition.'

'Oh, I'd found him long since, but could not speak of it – no, I've no wish to end up in one of your books, so don't look at me like that!' For her expression had suddenly turned thoughtful, and she acknowledged his insight with what could only be called a wry grin. 'But yes, back there in the past we had our chance.'

'Tell me. Tell me what you did there – oh, not with him,' as Henry gave her a mock-reproving look. 'But you've seen wonders that I can barely guess at. I would love to hear more of them.'

Henry swept an open hand slowly round at the twilit sky-country that surrounded them – the shore-lands of the Crab, the short turf across which they marched, the sands and the rock-pools and the winding creeks, to point out that they were surrounded by wonders beyond imagination, and she laughed a little. But then he told her something of their adventures, and of Montjoy, Montjoy woven like a bright thread through all. He said little of how they'd unpicked her father's spell, but spoke rather of the blue moon in the land of the sail-backs, of their flight from the comet and the killing of the tyrant (at which she went to speak, but prudently held her tongue) and of the little tiger-cubs that Montjoy had rescued. At which she laughed again, and said, 'So like him!'

'Yes. He missed them dreadfully after we came back, and so do I. If we win through, I'll find him another pair of cubs, maybe lynxes from Norway, since it would be difficult to have tigers or lions roaming about the palace in Westminster...' He smiled at the idea of two lynx-cubs, stealing their bedding as Fierce and Scar had done. 'But I'm running ahead of myself. Even if we win this battle, he might still think it his duty to stay in France, after all – though not if I can persuade him otherwise!

'Well, we fought our way back from the cubs' home, through earthquake and flood, and found ourselves in Brittany, on the north coast there. I thought our troubles were over, and I was wrong. We said our farewells, there at St-Malo,' and now both he and Christine were blinking back tears.

And for the first time, she reached out and tentatively took his hand. 'We'll find them. God is surely with us; we'll win through.'

He returned the clasp of her fingers, and forced a smile. 'Yes, we will.'

-x-

The tide of the Hydra's sea was at the low of the ebb, and as they went on eastwards, great tracts of sands were uncovered on their right, to the delight of the foraging crabs. Henry glanced that way now and then. Where was the Hydra, he wondered? Lurking somewhere in the depths, or at the other end of its immense ocean? He had faced and fought monsters enough in the last few months, but the Hydra had given even Hercules pause, and Henry was very aware that he was no Hercules.

The ground began to rise slowly to a grassy plain, dotted with trees, which reminded him again of the land around Castle Hill, long ago in the past. They must be crossing the far south-western corner of the Lions' country now; would he meet with them, and what would they say or do? Though to be sure, he'd behaved well enough towards those tiger-cubs and their pride, and that might count in his favour. He smiled again at his memories; how quickly they'd ingratiated themselves! How Montjoy had loved them!

But no Lions appeared. The grass gradually thinned out and was replaced by sand, covered here and there with mats of small flowers. Up ahead was long slow slope, and at its crest was a strange shape – a tall triangle, shining softly golden of its own light.

'What is it?' he asked Christine, his voice low.

'The Sextant. Another constellation we don't know, but Nauplius told me of it.'

Climbing up the slope towards it, they could see that it was mounted on a frame of heavy timbers which lifted it high above their heads; and it pointed at the further stars, a glowing spindle prominent among them. The instrument itself was huge, twice as tall again as the frame, and was a sixth-segment of a circle, made of some metal which looked like brass. Henry, peering up at it from the footing of the framework, saw there were gradations marked along its lower edge.

Foreboding filled him. So very like the hourglass, the key to the spell that had sent them hurtling into the past. Surely it could not be coincidence that the Sextant looked so very alike?

And his suspicions were soon confirmed. 'What's that?' Christine pointed at something small lying half-hidden in a patch of vegetation, and went over hastily and picked it up. 'Not a sextant. It's a quadrant, and a very fine one. What's it doing here?' She brought it back, examining it as she did so.

A moment later, she reached his side, and he could see that it was a quarter-circle of some golden metal, a hand-span across. There was a grid of some sort incised upon it, following the curved edge, and Roman numerals. Two tiny tubes were aligned down one side. Henry stared at it. It too had gradations marked on the curving edge. The metal, he was sure, was brass. He drew in his breath, and swiftly crossed himself.

She turned it over, and he flinched. There in the angle was a familiar heraldic device, unexpected in this place: a chained stag.

'What is it?' he whispered, though he believed he knew.

'It's a quadrant. You can tell the time by it, when the sun is up. You sight through these tubes, and the hours are marked along the edge. It's a very fine one; it must have been made for someone important.' Her finger traced over the stag. 'Why is it here, though? We haven't seen the sun here.' She held it out to him. 'What do you make of it?'

'No.' He took half a step back.

'What? Why not?' Surprised, she stared at him for a moment, then glanced down at the quadrant. It gleamed dully in the half-light of the sky-country.

'I've – seen something like this before. It was very evil. It crawled in my hand. It sickened me.'

'King Henry.' She took his arm and shook it, her eyes suddenly hard. He did not back away further, but stood his ground, glaring. 'I'll have none of this. You survived your last encounter with such a thing Therefore you'll survive this. It may lead us to de Rais.' Her voice rose. 'To Marie. Take it!' She snatched at his hand, slammed the quadrant into it, and horrors took him.

All the visions crowded back that he had fought when he held the hourglass. He cried out, closing his eyes, his arms going up to shut out the sights. They were within his head and he could not escape them. He fell to his knees, calling 'God! God!' Not only those familiar horrors, but new ones too. King Richard, whom his father had murdered – for the stag was his – and yet more malice.

For there was Henry Scroop. A smiling face, a kiss from full lips, sweet love-words breathed into his ear. An intimate touch, confident and knowing, working his body, which responded eagerly. He cried out in remembered ecstasy and new revulsion. Fell in a huddle on the sandy ground, curled in a ball, the quadrant burning his hand, for he could not loose it – and as his body coiled tighter on itself he felt the little copper scales inside his cote dig into his breast.

Montjoy.

God.

He felt the ghost of the cross he had drawn on his body.

Panting, he crossed himself again, then worked one hand – the hand with the silver ring – into the cote, and touched the scales. There they were, tiny, warm against his thudding heart. His own beloved, who had carried the hourglass safely through the past; who had finally healed the wound Henry Scroop had dealt him.

His heartbeat slowed. His breathing steadied.

Something splashed on his face. Tears, perhaps. No, there was too much for tears. It was cool and fresh, not bitter salt. It brought him back to himself. He opened his eyes and slowly uncurled himself, groaning, and at last he could open his hand. The quadrant fell with a soft thump onto the sand.

Christine was kneeling down beside him, water-bottle in hand. Her eyes, wide and anxious, met his. 'King Henry? I am sorry. Truly, I am. I didn't know...'

'I meant it, madame, when I said that thing was evil,' he responded stiffly. 'Give me that bottle,' and she passed it across to him and he took a long drink. The water steadied him, brought him back to himself. He handed it back and sat up fully, sighing.

Christine sat beside him, trying not to hover anxiously; her hands kept fluttering towards him and every time she pulled them back. He remembered wryly that she had been married for ten years. She knew to be wary around hurt men.

'That quadrant is the key to the spell,' he stated, making his explanation insultingly simple. 'We had something like it in our journeys through the past. Your father, madame,magicked it, but lost it to one of my men. So we mastered it and turned it to our own needs; my chaplain and I, and my friends. It nearly felled me. This was as bad.'

She waited.

'Do you know how these things came to have so great a power?' he asked.

'No. To me, it's just a brass quadrant. I've seen many such, though none so fine.'

'Then I say to you, lady, that others than you have lost children. Children have died, and horribly.'

He mouth opened. She looked around wildly, and was halfway to her feet when Henry caught her arm and dragged her back. 'We'll find her, if she's with Montjoy. But you have to stay with me to do that.'

'My father! My father would not harm children!'

'No. I believe you. But de Rais would. I know that now. So he took your children to have a hold over your father.'

'And Montjoy? Why did he take him?'

'Who knows? Maybe he guessed that Montjoy brought us home from the past. Maybe he guessed at the affection that lies between us, and planned to control me that way. For I would brook no chaos in France if I became king there. The nobles would toe the line, like it or not.'

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, 'You called out another name just now.'

Henry sighed, and looked away, though her knew her question was not prurient but solely directed at finding her daughter. He knew which name he'd called. 'Scroop.' The memory of that knowing hand stirred him again; but at least he had not utterly disgraced himself. His climax had been remembered only, not actual, yet it had been humiliating enough. His cry of joy, of fulfilment, still echoed in his ears - and she had heard it too.

'Your lover, who betrayed you,' she said. 'Oh, don't look like that. I lived at court. I heard the tales.'

'Is there anyone in the world who doesn't know?' he asked bitterly. 'Yes, we were lovers. I thought I'd found my soul-mate, and he betrayed me and tried to cut my throat, and I had him publicly hanged. That's all you need to know about Henry Scroop.'

'No. We need to know more. What connection did he have with this?' She picked up the quadrant.

Henry eyed it grimly. It looked so innocent in her hand, a small, beautiful thing, with its couched stag. 'King Richard,' he said.

'Your father deposed him and had him killed.' Henry winced. But Christine continued, indifferent to a foreign king's suffering, 'What of it?'

'Richard was interested in magic. In geomancy and astrology. When I returned with him from Ireland, Scroop's father met us with the news of my father's landing, I could see that Sir Stephen was sorely distressed.' He remembered it well, though he'd been little more than a boy – landing at the haven with the remnants of Richard's army, the grim castle watching over them, and the Yorkshireman almost in tears. 'Sir Stephen was with the king when he died. They say he wept. That he was inconsolable. And maybe – maybe – Richard gave him a keepsake.' He eyed the quadrant.

Christine tilted it in her hands, staring at it as though to drag its secrets from it by the power of her gaze. She asked slowly, 'Are you saying that you're not the first king to have a member of that family as a lover?'

'How can I tell? But from Richard, to Stephen Scroop, to Henry Scroop, to France; that's not so hard a chain to follow. I sent the son' – even now he disliked speaking his name - 'to France often enough. So his treachery must be older even than I thought. Well, I found him out, and he's long gone. But his malice, and maybe theirs, is in that thing.'

He scrubbed his hands over his face. 'No matter now. We need to take it with us. Keep it with you, and study it; that's what Montjoy did with your father's damned hourglass.' She winced. 'Yes, my lady, we mastered that, between us, and unspoke the spell he made. And I've broken that thing too now, though it did its best to break me. Ask yourself what you would have done next, if I'd been witless and grovelling now, as it wanted.'

'My lord, again, I am sorry.' Chagrin in her voice, and she could not meet his eyes.

'You could not know. You fear for your daughter. But think before you act, next time.'

She offered the quadrant to him tentatively, but he said, 'I don't want it. Put it away,' and he felt easier as soon as it was in her satchel and out of his sight.

'I need to rest now,' he said. 'And eat, too.' His tone indicated that he would brook no argument.

After half an hour or so, he felt able to continue, and heaved himself to his feet. They began to descend the long desert slope beyond the Sextant, in a silence that was far from companionable.