A/N: And so we come to the final chapter of this tale. I don't want to put comments at the end, so I'll do it here. Thank you to everyone who has followed this story from the moment that Rich woke up at Hampton Court and found a new world opening up before him. To my reviewers, thank you again for your kind comments - always much appreciated. While this is the end of this story, I've left plenty of scope for one-shots, so perhaps there may be more tales set in this universe. But for now...
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Last Gleaming
I am, once again, in my favourite place - seated at my desk in my study, watching as the snowflakes tumble down to coat the already thickly covered ground of the gardens outside. How long have I been here now? This must be my eighth winter in the House - and my work to establish the Sister House for Seconds has borne such fruit that all of the young men whom we first taught are either alongside a Silver Sword, or installed in the more prominently located Dovecotes. The word that is coming back to me of their work is most complimentary, and I feel quite safe in believing that Sir Thomas More was indeed correct in his suggestion that I might be best situated as a teacher.
It has been an interesting journey, learning the best means of imparting knowledge to the young men who have come into the House all unaware of that other, darker world that lies beneath our daylight existence; and some of those young men who have come to us have struggled to accept that such darkness is truly real - though none have, as of yet, been obliged to visit the Grand Master's study to hear those words that remove their memories of us. For that, I am grateful. We have made errors along the way, of course, which is regrettable - but an error is only a bad thing if one fails to learn from it. We have endeavoured to make sure that we do so, and I think I am safe to say that we have never made the same mistake twice.
Perhaps the strangest thing is the overall quiet that seems to have settled upon us - for no demon of any great rank has attempted to overturn that growing peace in Europe, and even our neighbours to the east in the Ottoman empire seem less willing to demand to expand beyond their established borders, leaving even the most gratuitously bellicose of Princes bereft of anyone to fight. Even the determination of Cardinal Borromeo to expand his counter-reformation seems to have blunted its edge - perhaps a result of Lilith's interference with the preaching of Cardinal Faraldo - for both are excellent examples of truly faithful princes of the Church these days: austere in their manner of living, kindly to those in need and charitable to the destitute. They no longer demand the death of 'heretics' but instead look towards common ground - something that seemed quite impossible a scant few years ago, and I find remarkable even now. While it has been a way of life in the House for generations, tolerance seems to be quite the order of the day beyond our walls; something that I suspect no man either within the order or without could ever have foreseen - which begs the question: how much of the strife that accompanied religious disagreements was caused by the anger of men, compared to the influence of demons looking to instil chaos for their own gain? It is, I fear, impossible to know - and I have whiled away far too many evenings amongst the papers of the Great Archive attempting to find out.
There are sixteen students with us these days, rather than the eight we first admitted, and the recommendations that accompany them from their masters at the Universities that send them have never failed to be correct. I find that I do not have anything like a sufficient amount of time to spend teaching them as I should like - though I have taken steps to ensure that I meet each of them at least once each week. Their outlook is remarkable, and reminds me of my own youth - when I was rather more rambunctious than I should have been, and thought myself immortal. It is always a pleasure to speak to them - unless, of course, they have been misbehaving. Which they do - quite regularly. Such is the way of young men.
I only have to look in the mirror to know that the rejuvenation that I experienced in the light from the Jerusalem Chalice has largely dissipated, for I am quite the greybeard, and those lines and creases upon my skin have deepened again. I do not mourn that lost youth - for there is little benefit in doing so; and to wish myself young again would be to overturn all the latter years of my life - those years when I became a better man, and left behind the vile creature that I had been. Even those darkest days, after my suffering in Luzern, seem but a distant memory that has lost its power to haunt me, and I no longer fall into those frozen reveries that caused my colleagues to send to Cromwell to comfort me. I have not forgotten it, of course - but now I speak of it as I speak of all of those misadventures that I endured as a Second, and the nightmares have long ceased to break my sleep.
Cromwell has delegated all the operations of the Spies to me, alongside the Master of the Spies, who also reports to me - and I am now the first to see all papers that come in from the Dovecotes. Thus the papers before me upon my desk this day are from Cecil, though they were received nearly three weeks past, as I am reviewing prior to archiving them, and they bear excellent tidings in some respects, but sad ones in others. Edward is nineteen now, and Queen Jane stepped aside as Regent on All Saints Day, taking instead the title of Queen Dowager, and giving her son full control of his Kingdom. It was, alas, not a moment too soon, for she took ill a few weeks afterwards, just as Advent was beginning, and passed away mere days before the Christmastide celebration was due to commence. The celebration of the Christ Child was thus most muted, as all mourned her loss - both in the Palace, and across the Realm. Cromwell sent a letter expressing our joint condolence to the King, and we both spent time in the House Chapel to offer up prayers for her soul; and we both shed some tears for her loss. She saved our lives more than once; and, even though we are no longer present at Court, we loved and respected her as our Queen.
Somerset's health is also somewhat precarious, but Prince Hal and the elder Dudley Brothers have rallied round. Northumberland was made Lord Chancellor during the autumn just past, and he has - as we hoped - proved his loyalty to be unimpeachable, while Hal's ongoing development in the arts of diplomacy have enabled him to look to communications with foreign courts during their joint mourning. The two younger Dudley boys have shown a range of useful skills to Edward's government, and continue to learn their craft in the offices that we once oversaw together as Lord Chancellor and Lord Privy Seal.
Infernal activity is at a respectable level - quiet, but not too quiet. Hawk is kept busy, and both he and Cecil keep watch for any threats that might come at them, even though it seems as though no such threat shall ever come again. One of my students, a highly intelligent young man from a minor Palatinate in the midst of Northern Europe who possesses a slight squint but a quick mind, is showing great promise as a suitable successor should Cecil ever opt to retire, and I am hopeful that he shall depart for London next year to complete his apprenticeship in the field. Though I think nothing can possibly prepare him for the fact that he shall have to report as much to Elizabeth as to Dudley.
A knock at the door rouses me from my contemplations, and Peter shows in Cromwell. It is clear that the years have caught up with him just as they have with me - for that greyness has returned, as have the infirmities that caused him such concern before the light from the Jerusalem Chalice rejuvenated us both; and God, he has become shockingly thin. Not that he seems discontented by it, for he smiles with a cheerfulness that I rarely saw when we walked in the precincts of the palace, but that I see here almost constantly.
"Are you ready to turn all upside down, Richie?" He asks, as he seats himself opposite me.
"It shall be most interesting, I think." I admit, "There has - to my knowledge - never been a woman within these walls before; and now one comes to join the Masters."
We lost Bianchi nearly two years ago, and Pelletier came to replace him - but I have been hoping for some time to expand my group of fellow Masters, and the newest shall arrive in two days' time. How far she has come from her days as a chilblain-pocked drudge in the lowest halls of a Palace - for the newest Master to arrive to instruct Seconds is the Lady Margarita de Altamira. I have already set aside an appropriate apartment with sufficient space for her, and for the Marquess Ricardo de Altamira - formerly Dickon Garlant - and I am most keen to meet them after so many years apart.
"Perhaps now we shall be able to expand our searches to include young women - for grand families are beginning to come to value educating their daughters more enthusiastically than they once did." Cromwell adds, "It shall not be easy - for young women of good blood are required to do one thing, and one only: bear sons for a suitable husband." He knows that I have been trying to find female students for nearly five years now, but with no success: for no family seems prepared to permit their daughters to be taught by men.
"If Molly can demonstrate to the young men of this House that a woman can truly be a Second, then that shall be a start." I agree, "For no amount of stories of the brilliance of the Lady Cassandra can resonate quite like the voice of a female Second who is still living." I pause, for I can see that Cromwell is looking rather saddened, "What is it?"
He looks up at me, "Ermine was lost to us a week ago." He sighs, "A Revenant was terrorising villagers in the passes of the Carpathian Mountains, and he was attempting to locate and destroy it. He was ambushed and slaughtered; though Hare was close enough to intervene and prevent the Revenant from infecting Ermine and making him one of the cursed. Thus he was able to restore Ermine's gauntlets and Swords to the House. They shall be delivered from Padua on the morrow."
"The spies are reporting that there are difficulties with revenants in that region more widely, Tom." I add, "I assume that efforts are to be concentrated there for a time?"
He nods, "I have asked Fox, Eagle and Wolf to join Hare and seek out these creatures. The Court Silver Swords have been advised to be vigilant for fear that this might be a feint - though I think it likely that it is not. It is not unknown for Revenants to grow numerous in a region for a time. It has happened before, and we have culled them in response. Thus we shall again."
"There is something else." I add, "I have become far more adept at reading you than once I was. Though I shall not be your equal, I think."
He smiles, briefly, but then his face falls again, "Forgive me, Richie. I had not wished to speak of it to you - but in remaining silent, I have committed a great disservice. During the latter part of the autumn, I began to experience pains in my side that have grown ever worse, and the Physicians have identified that it is caused by a growth of some kind. I think that, in not speaking to you of it, I hoped that it might subside and then I would not have to - furthermore, I did not wish to cast a shadow over our celebrations of Christmastide. But, today, I was advised that the sickness is mortal - and I am not likely to see the spring."
I cannot speak. For a few moments, words will not form, and I stare glassily at him. No; that cannot be. It cannot…it cannot. We were rejuvenated - we were granted life…
"No - that is not so. It cannot be so…" Somehow, the words force themselves out of my mouth.
"I am not afraid, Richie." He says, "No - my sadness is not for myself - but for you, for I knew that this would pain you. I have lived a long life, a good life - and I have achieved great things. I did so with you at my side for so many of those years; and my sadness is not that I must leave it - but that I must leave you behind. My consolation is that it is but for a while - until we are reunited in God's House."
I think that he is attempting to console me - though I know full well that he is not lying in stating that he has no fear of death. All Silver Swords face the prospect of being removed from this life from the moment they wake, to the moment they return to sleep, and I am sure they dream of it just as often. Besides, he has felt that warmth of Heavenly love, and he is more assured than most of what lies ahead when he parts that final veil and departs the mortal world.
Should I be shedding tears? Perhaps I should - but they refuse to rise. The words are in my head, yes - but they are not yet in my heart. Until that occurs, I can imagine that the physicians are being pessimistic - that it is a mere sickness that shall pass when the weather warms. Yes - that is what it is…it has to be.
"I am not felled yet, Richie." Cromwell says, determinedly, "And there is still much to be done. Mourn me when I am gone - not while I am still here. The flesh may be weak, but the spirit is still willing, and thus we shall stand together and face this as we have faced all that has gone before. We have a new Master to welcome, do we not?"
"Indeed we do." I agree, forcing my shock aside. Even if it is but a mere pretence, I can imagine that what I have been told is incorrect. So that is what I shall do.
We have not seen Molly since she travelled to London with the late Queen Maria of Iberia to attend King Edward's coronation. While she is certainly older, and her hair is also growing grey, she carries those years with a calm dignity that befits an aristocrat. That she is as low-born as Cromwell means nothing in such circles as ours - and her rank of Marquesa is richly deserved. Nonetheless, I still recall the first time that I saw her - thin, scrawny and fearful. Hands reddened with blisters and chilblains, the very mark of the lowest of all servants. It masked her magnificent intelligence - and it was mere chance that we discovered it and were able to release it to fulfil its fullest potential.
Dickon is a tall greybeard not that different from me. He walks with a stick now, but his pride in his wife is not remotely diminished. Their two sons, Thomas and Michael, are both prosperous merchants in the Low Countries these days, as the recent death of King Miguel enabled a number of jealous noblemen to oust those in the court considered to be 'foreigners' before the new King was able to consolidate his hold upon the throne and curb them. As Jackal's retirement had prompted Molly's - and a most capable replacement of Iberian birth was already present to take her place, it was a simple matter to travel away from Iberia, and thus she has come to us. And most welcome she is, too.
I have spent some time preparing the ground for her, teaching our students of the remarkable plan that she and Jackal devised to keep the various court factions under control. If they know that she is a most capable Second in her own right, then they are more likely to treat her with the respect that she deserves. The fact that I trained her shall also help. I hope.
We are supping in Cromwell's inner Parlour tonight, as he is keen to welcome her. He has not spoken again of his illness, and I do not intend to raise the matter either, though I note that he eats almost nothing. The intention is to welcome our new Praeceptor, not complain about our various infirmities.
"Joaquin is proving to be very capable, Magister." Molly reports as Bernhard pours out some claret into her cup, "I have noticed that those young men who are coming from the Sister House are well trained and able to begin work almost immediately. All that is left to complete their learning by the time they enter service is the accumulation of experience."
"I am advised as much myself." Cromwell agrees, "The High that Was, and his predecessor, saw from our experiences the importance and value of a well-trained Second. Wolsey was the first to receive such tuition - and, until recently, he was also the last. I would be proud to consider the work that has been done here to be our greatest legacy. Even greater than all that we did to bring down Lamashtu."
She nods, "I consider my contribution - no matter how small - to have been one of my proudest achievements. It was a true honour to be a part of that great enterprise. Indeed, but for that, I would have lived out my days in a scullery."
"And that," I finish, "Would truly have been a waste."
"What am I to teach, Magister?" she asks me.
"Save that for when we are in front of students, Molly. In private, you are 'Molly' and I am 'Richard'. We are seconds both and - to my mind - therefore equals."
Molly laughs, "What am I to teach, Richard?"
"As you spent so much time in the Library at Grant's Place, I would ask you to impart your knowledge and understanding of Wolsey's index - for I am told that you employed much the same system when you established a similar library in your House at the Alhambra. It is used now in the Great Archive, and a tutor who is well versed in its operation is badly needed. I would have done so myself - but I am much occupied with the operation of the House as an institution, and thus I am not able to spend more than a few short hours in front of our students at most widely spaced intervals."
Dickon looks concerned, "Forgive my question," He says, quietly, "but is it likely that the students shall be less than respectful to her?"
"If they are," Cromwell advises, calmly, "Then they shall discover very quickly that disrespect of a Praeceptor is no more tolerated because that Praeceptor is a woman than it is if the Praeceptor is a man. As it is not possible for you to wear the tunic of a Praeceptor, for it is considered male attire, you shall wear a black gown under your Praeceptor's robes, Molly. You are, in all things, equal to your male colleagues - and any who attempt to suggest otherwise shall be reminded most firmly that they are incorrect. You have earned the right to that respect through your intelligence and skill - and are one of several ladies who have taught me much about the capabilities of a woman."
Molly looks rather quizzical at such a statement, though I know that Cromwell is thinking of his late wife, and of the remarkable Anne Boleyn - both of whom were most intelligent and - to his mind - thus worthy of respect. I think it is safe to say that no Master would treat Molly so - for all of them hold the Lady Cassandra in the highest regard. No, it is the students that might need such reminding; though I hope that they shall not.
Over the next two weeks, I am relieved to find that my hope is correct. We have all done what we can to lay the ground for our new Master - for I still consider Cassandra to have been a greater Second even than I - and the young men that we teach regard Molly with remarkable respect; for she, unlike they, has served with a Silver Sword in the Court of a King. Besides, her knowledge of Wolsey's Library is rivalled only by Cecil's and mine, and she is more than able to answer any question that is put to her with both confidence and clarity. She is proving, in fact, to be a natural teacher.
In the main House, a young Castilian has won the Ermine blades - though Cromwell was most disappointed that one of the other candidates disregarded his decree that climbing the outside walls to reach the highest tower would no longer be permitted. Fortunately the fool did not fall, but he was seen by one of the patrolling masters, and thus failed on two fronts. Prior to that moment, Cromwell had never been obliged to use that spoken phrase to erase a failed student's memories of the House. He was not at all pleased to have to do so over a failure to obey one of his own rules.
I have not raised the matter of his illness with him since he mentioned it to me prior to Molly's arrival - and he has not raised it either. Consequently, I have managed to put it to the back of my mind, and even tell myself that it is indeed a false diagnosis. While we still dine together, he seems to imbibe nothing more than a few spoonfuls of broth - and grows ever thinner - but still I force myself to think that it is merely a reduction in his appetite owing to his age. He has, after all, almost certainly passed his allotted three score years and ten.
But it is not.
I am supping with my fellow masters, having dined with them today for the first time in years, as Cromwell sent word that he was feeling unwell and did not intend to dine today. Our talk is of the progress of our most talented students, for there are two that are proving to be excellent, and we are engaged in a cheerful argument over whether or not they are ready to be apprenticed in the field.
"I would suggest, in the first instance, the Paris Dovecote for Michael." Pelletier says, "I should have preferred to apprentice him in a Court, but there is no place yet for him."
"In which case is it worth waiting?" Vermeulen muses, "I agree that Michael shall be an excellent Court Second - and experience has taught us now that such a posting requires different skills to those suitable for a Dovecote."
Molly is nodding, clearly in agreement with that assessment.
"What is your opinion, Richard?" Pelletier asks, for we are in private and I have made it clear that use of my title is not welcome in such circumstances.
I open my mouth to reply, but am prevented by a sudden hammering upon the door of my apartments, which Peter hastens to open. Without is the Sword Master, breathing quickly from exertion - for he has clearly been running.
He does not need to speak - there is only one reason why he would have come in such haste. I do not even pause to fetch a cloak, despite the late February chill. Even as I depart, my fellow Seconds are silenced, for they know, as I do, why I have been summoned.
I do not want to go…not into that bedchamber. I know what I shall see within, and I fear it more than I have ever feared anything in my life. He is dying…he is slipping away…and I cannot bear to watch it.
My thoughts continue to race as we arrive at the Grand Master's quarters. The other Masters are all gathered, as is expected, in the outer Parlour, their expressions sad to a man. As was the case with Vaqué, I am granted admittance to the rooms beyond by virtue of my rank of Magister - not that they would have stopped me had I lacked it.
There is one physician, who watches quietly, alongside the Secretary, a new man by the name of Wilhelm who has been there only four years. His eyes are sad, for he has proved as loyal and discreet as Eduardo, and he holds in his hand the leather wallet that contains Cromwell's last wishes. Both men move aside for me, and Wilhelm ushers the physician from the room. He knows that I wish to be alone with the Raven.
God above - how is it that he has weakened so suddenly? We dined but yesterday - and it was only today that he did not wish to dine; though perhaps that was because he was abed, and thought that all he needed was rest. He is still there; propped up a little on several pillows, and looks across at me with a faint smile as I approach. So thin...so hollow cheeked. He has looked that way for some weeks - but until now, I forced myself not to see it, as he was able to walk, and did not look as frail as he does now. He has not the strength to reach out, so I seat myself upon the bed alongside him and take his hand, as he once sat upon a bed alongside me when I was most in need of the comfort of a friend.
"I think it is time, Richie." He says, faintly, "But I am glad that you are here. I should not have liked to go without farewells."
I cannot think of anything to say; but I think he knows it, for he smiles at me, "Wolsey came to me last night in a dream." He continues, "My slate is clean, and I am content to go to God, knowing that he shall welcome me."
"I beg you…do not go." The words are barely audible, for my throat is now so tight with anguish that it is a dreadful effort to speak them at all, "Do not leave me. Please…"
"Were it possible, my dearest friend, I would obey you. Truly I would - but God calls me home now, and His call is the stronger." He pauses, and swallows, a little painfully, "I am glad of the life that I have lived - and the friendship I have shared with you. Did we not have the best of times?"
"I think we did." I agree, my voice still low, "There were times that were unbearable, but they were few in comparison to those that were magnificent." The words end in a slight hiccup as I attempt, vainly, to suppress a weak sob.
"Ah yes," he agrees, "I remember that first fight you witnessed - and the discovery that the victim we had saved was Tom, all unaware of the fate that had been set for him - and how helpful he was to us when first we encountered Zaebos. How it was that he could see that revenant move when all others could not is something I never understood. Have you made a record of it? Perhaps one day one of your scholars shall be able to discover it."
"I shall do so." I promise him, "There is much of our adventuring that is not recorded - and I think that shall be my task henceforth."
"Most assuredly. It would not do for all that we discovered to be lost - for want of being written down. It is a long story - I think perhaps you would be wise to dictate it. It has been many years since you were obliged to write long documents." he chuckles weakly, but then coughs painfully and for a longer time than I should have liked. I attempt to offer him a sip of cordial, but he shakes his head with a slight grimace, "Forgive me, but I am unable to tolerate it - I should not like to spend what little time I have left with my head over a pail."
We talk on - of Wolsey, of More; and of that Titan, King Henry: a man who ruled our lives with his capricious, but iron, will - and who was never a man to be crossed. Only More did not fear his rages - and only Jane truly understood how to manage his temperament. We loved him, and we hated him - but he was our liege Lord, and we served him willingly and to the best of our skill.
Our reminiscences move on to those escapades that we thought so fearsome at the time: my first experience of the sovereign specific, the moment when I first heard the extraordinary music of his raven blades. My humiliating enchanted enslavement by the Lady Midday - and that spellbinding moment when Cromwell became the vessel for the Gemfire to defeat an abomination that would have destroyed us all. Such times...such remarkable times...I think I spent much of them in a state of near terror, though the distance of years has turned those horrors into mere foolish scrapes that give us both cause for amusement, and we both laugh over them.
And then I begin to cry.
"I do not ask you not to mourn, Richie." Cromwell advises as I weep over him, "For I know that I would ask the impossible - as I would mourn for you if our positions were reversed. We are David and Jonathan - and my bond with you has been one of the best things in my life." I am obliged to strain to hear him.
There is enough room to do so, and I lay myself down alongside him, for I know that he is sinking now, "As it has been for me, Thomas Cromwell. You saved my soul as I saved yours - and I shall never forget it."
"As brothers." He says, faintly, sounding very, very tired.
"Brothers." I agree, though again the word fights to escape my narrowed throat.
"I shall pass your regards to Tom."
"I should appreciate that."
"Thank you, Richie."
I want to reply, but he has drifted off to sleep. I rest my head upon the pillows, close to his, and watch in silence as he breathes quietly, and ever less. I remember Henry's ghastly cry in his last moments, before he sank into his final slumber. But there is none of that now. Just peace - until, after an hour or so, he breathes in sharply, just the once - and his last breath leaves him.
I should call someone, I think. But I cannot move - for it is as though he is but sleeping, and I have no wish to wake him. Somewhere behind me, a door opens, and one of the physicians enters. Can he not see that the Grand Master should not be disturbed?
"Magister?" he asks, very quietly.
"Go away." I do not want him here. His presence speaks of a reality that I do not want to face.
"I need to…"
"Get out!" I raise my head a little to shout at him. No - that is not fair, I do not want to wake Cromwell…
To my relief, he flees, and I resume my silent vigil.
I do not know how long I remain there, or even if I sleep, for there is only the dimness of the candles, and I did not see how low they were when I first came here, so I cannot guess how much lower they are now. I remember a time when I lay abed, broken by misery and horrors almost beyond endurance, and he spent so much time watching over me. Now I want to do the same for him. So I shall. I am his Second - to the end…
The door opens again, and I raise my head to demand again that the intruder depart with all haste - but I am silenced, for it is not the physician.
"Richard?" Her steps measured, Molly comes into the chamber, her eyes tearful, "Why are you still here? The physician needs to come in."
"He is not required."
"He is." She answers, softly, "You know he is. He must declare…"
"He can declare what he likes. He is not required."
"The Raven has flown, Richard." She says, "It is time to let him go. You have been here for nearly four hours. The Masters cannot select the successor until you emerge."
"I cannot leave him, Molly." My anger is receding now, as the pain comes forth to take its place, "I cannot do it. If I do, then he is truly gone, and I cannot bear it…he never abandoned me…never, ever. I am his Second…always…"
It is more than I can endure, and the tears that come are prefaced by an anguished wail akin to that which emerged from me when my voice was released after the destruction of Leraje. It hurts. It hurts so much that I cannot move - I can barely even breathe. He is gone. Cromwell is gone. And I am alone…he has left me here all alone…
"Come back!" I am screaming at him now, "Do not dare to leave me! Come back! I cannot be alone! I cannot! Not after all that we did! All that happened to us! Do not dare to leave me, damn you! Come back!"
But, of course, he does not. Instead, I slump over his mortal remains and continue to wail like a wounded child. God alone knows how long I stay there, but eventually I am forced to stop, for there are no tears left in me, and Molly gently persuades me to rise. For now I must accept it, even though I cannot bear to. I must go - for there is nothing left that I can do for my Silver Sword.
Thomas Cromwell is dead.
And I am alone.
The faces of the Masters are sad, as Molly gently guides me from the bedchamber. They cannot have missed the dreadful noise that I was making in there in the midst of my hopeless anguish - but there is no scorn. They all know that we were closer than brothers. Those who served in the Courts, and worked with Seconds themselves, look at me with greater sympathy still, for they understand my pain.
"He is gone." I manage, eventually; as though they needed me to speak. The Sword Master steps forth to assist Molly in guiding me to a chair, while the remainder offer their condolences - for they are grieving also. I do not want to stay - but equally, I cannot bear to leave. To do so is still an abandonment, and I cannot bring myself to do it. But I must, for the Masters must now choose amongst themselves for a successor, and Wilhelm must pass him the leather wallet that contains the last wishes of the High that Was.
The High that Was. The title granted to the predecessor of the present Grand Master. I used it without thought for Vaqué - but now I must use it for Cromwell. I clench my fists tightly, forcing my nails into my palms. Not now. No - not here. I shall have the rest of my years to mourn, and I shall. But for this time, I must be strong. I must be a Grand Master, and stand in my friend's stead awhile until his successor is appointed.
"Shall we return to your quarters, Richard?" Molly asks, gently, "If you can, I think you should rest."
I doubt that I shall do so - but she is right. I cannot remain here while the Masters deliberate - though I am sure that I shall be summoned to greet a new Grand Master before the new day is out.
"I shall advise my colleagues, Richard." She says, as we walk slowly back to the Sister House, "There is no need for you to do so if you do not wish to."
I am grateful for that. I need privacy; time to reflect upon what has occurred. Even though I knew that it was going to happen, I refused to accept it - and thus I have come to this moment all unprepared. Once returned to my quarters, I retrieve Shadowsight from its mount upon the overmantel of my fireplace, and cradle it in my arms as I wander through to the bedchamber. Quite why I think it shall show me that which I most wish to know, I do not know - for it shows me only what is to pass in the mortal world. Not the world that lies ahead.
He gave me this sword. Presented it to me as a gift at the height of summer while we awaited the birth of a prince and prepared ourselves to protect him with our very lives. It is all that I have left of him now, for his remains are being washed and coffined by others, and I have no place in that procedure. Drained of emotions and utterly exhausted, I sink back upon my bed and allow sleep to claim me. Perhaps I might be fortunate, and follow him into death…
My wish, of course, is not granted - for it is not my place to seek my own end. When I wake, the sun is streaming in through a gap in the thick curtains, and Peter is nearby, "Forgive me, but I have a letter for you. I would not have brought it - but it is from Agnes."
She uses the family seal herself these days, of course. He knows it, and he knows her writing.
My baby daughter is well grown now, and shall soon be taking her first steps into womanhood. I note from her letters that she has grown into an intelligent, thoughtful young woman; with a great facility for languages, as her letters are as often in Latin or French these days as they are in English. She speaks of family, and her lessons - as she always does. She knows nothing of my loss, of course.
Cecil's accompanying letter, however, gives me pause. He, too, does not know that I have been bereaved - but the comments that he makes are not of Cromwell, but are of Agnes, whom he has now met frequently, and talked to on many occasions.
I think that it would be a truly lost opportunity if we did not admit Agnes to the House for Seconds. Now that the Lady Altamira is present, there would seem to be fewer obstructions to her doing so. She is most intelligent, Richard - her thirst for knowledge is deep, and her keenness to learn all but limitless. It would be a waste of her talents to lock her away in a marriage to a man who would not accept her sharp mind. Thus I submit to you, as a Serving Second, a prospective Student for your consideration.
God - oh, God, to have her here. With me. Learning to be what I am - the first female Student of the Sister House for Seconds. Of my blood. Cromwell shall…
Shall…
I droop over the letter with a faint groan, the pain in my chest sudden and sharp. Cromwell shall say nothing - for he is not here. He is dead.
With a mighty effort, I force myself to push it aside and depart from my bedchamber, "Peter, could you call Praeceptor Altamira, please? There is something I wish to discuss with her."
The air is clear in the Chapel today, when normally it would be thick with incense. Father Fischer knows that the man whom we are committing to God this day would not appreciate a fog that is Popish in origin. Instead, he leads the cortège into the Chapel to the strains of an English hymn that Cromwell particularly appreciated.
The last few days have passed in something of a blur; that quiet calm I felt as I set down the letter and asked Peter to fetch Molly so that I could discuss the possibility of accepting Agnes to my House lasted no more than a day, and I crumbled once again under the burden of my grief. That the Masters had selected a new Grand Master drove home that dreadful truth of my loss, and I was unable even to meet him for three days. Fortunately, he is a kindly, understanding man and has accepted my childish behaviour with sympathy. Thus I was able to make myself participate in his investiture just a day ago - for the new Grand Master is always invested before the old is laid to rest.
While students are buried in the cemetery, Grand Masters are interred in a large vaulted undercroft below the Chapel. Some, however, those who have earned great renown, are laid in tombs in one of the Chantry chapels. This Grand Master shall have one honour that is greater still, for his tomb shall be set in an as-yet unused Chantry - and it shall be his alone. Only one other Chantry has been used so - and that was for Lion, the previous Silver Sword whose blades were retired.
I could not bring myself to deliver a eulogy - a ceremony of funerals in the House that is not reflected in those that I attended in England - so instead the new Grand Master, Demetrios Pavlidis, shall do so. A thick-set man from the shores of the Aegean Sea who once bore the Hare blades, he steps up into the pulpit, and looks to me with a sympathetic smile. As he speaks, I find that my mind cannot settle upon his words - and instead I sink into a quiet reverie, thinking of our work together as Silver Sword and Second - that moment that I made a choice and changed all that I was. All that I could be. Much as my heart aches this day - I would not have had it any differently. I am quite convinced that I should have long since been dead, and labouring in a place of torment far, far away from God's love.
Thank you, Thomas Cromwell. Thank you for saving my life more times than I can remember. For saving my soul. I was a truly dreadful man before the fates brought us into that office at the same time, and I chose to aid you. I do not know how much more time is allotted to me upon this Earth - but I shall live them to the best of my ability in your name, and ensure that no Silver Sword is ever obliged to walk alone…
There is a hand upon mine, and I turn to see Molly, her eyes kind, "The service is at an end, Richard. It is time to lay the coffin within the tomb."
It is painful, deeply painful, to watch as the polished oak coffin is carefully lowered into a vault in the floor of the Chantry. A table tomb shall be built atop it in time - but for now it is an opening in the ground, and this is the last that I shall ever see of the dearest friend I ever knew. Still unable to speak, I reach out to take a handful of earth and cast it into the grave. I think that Fischer is speaking the words of the Requiem Mass, but I do not hear them. Instead, I remain where I am, while the other Masters reach for their handfuls of earth, then carefully step around me to cast them alongside mine. Indeed, I stay there long after everyone else has departed, and the sexton is waiting for me to go so that he can close the grave. But still, I cannot move - for, once I do so, I shall be utterly alone...
"Poppa?"
Slowly, I raise my head. How long has it been since I last heard that? How is it that I am hearing it now? I must be imagining it, but I turn - and see a young woman in a rather dusty travelling gown standing alongside the Hawk. Robert Dudley has returned to the House to escort my daughter here. Even though I had not answered Cecil's letter, she has still come.
"Agnes?" Why am I asking? It can be no one other than she. Who else would call me 'poppa'?
She does not speak, but comes to me, as I hold out my arms and enfold them about her. Did she know? Did she guess that to see her now is the only real balm that can ease my bleeding heart?
"I am truly sorry for your loss, Magister." Hawk says, quietly, "Our journey was undertaken in the belief that you would not refuse Cecil's recommendation - though I think it was the Lady's insistence that sealed the decision. Had we known that you were facing a loss as great as this, then we would have left sooner. I took it upon myself to escort her personally, as we are well known to one another, and I had no wish for her to be escorted by a stranger. Equally, I must confess that I had hoped to speak again with Magister Cromwell before returning to London - though I am saddened that that is not to be."
"You are here now." I mumble into Agnes's hair as I hold her tightly, "And I am more grateful than you can know that you have brought my daughter to me."
"I came to learn, Father." She says, her voice muffled in my robes, "Though if that is not to be, then I shall instead remain here and see to your welfare and comfort."
I look up to see that Hawk is shaking his head, "Do not allow her to do that, Magister. She has a true gift for learning and research - Cecil recognised it and did what he could to nurture it. The Lady Altamira must be most keen to admit female students - and Madame Rich would be ideally placed to be the first such student."
Now that she is here, I find that I am able to be led away from the vault - though I am unable to stop myself from looking back it several times before I consent to depart. He was my friend. My dearest friend and a man to whom I could give my truest loyalty and love. I shall never forget him - even if I must remain on this Earth for ten years or more. I promised him that I would record all that we did, so that his exploits would never be forgotten - and so I shall. He laid a duty upon me. A duty to be his Second - and I shall not waver from it. Though he is no longer by my side, I shall still give him cause to be proud of me.
For I am the Second to the Raven.
Epilogue
MEMORANDUM
To: Praeceptor Kemény, Master of Historic Studies
From: David Moreau, Lead Archivist
Extension: 65779
Date: 13 September 1976
Further to your query, please see attached historical summaries and documentation pertaining to Magister Thomas Cromwell, the last to hold the blades of the Raven. The larger texts concerning his life are available for perusal on microfiche, and the relevant files will be brought to your study later today. I have booked out the reader for you, and that will be delivered at the same time.
Please note that the documents have not been transcribed from the original Secretary hand, and have not been paraphrased into modern English. Translations are under way, but are not yet complete. If you require assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me. My extension number is noted above.
D. Moreau
Catalogue number: DXW-539572-XZ-99199
Record date: 12 October 1957
Subject: Records of the House - 1560: Summary
15 February: Grand Master Cromwell dies of (presumed) Pancreatic Cancer.
22 February: Master Cromwell interred in the Chapel of St Michael the Archangel. By the Decree of Grand Master Pavlidis, the Chapel is to be set aside as a permanent memorial. The retired 'Raven' blades are mounted beneath the portrait of Cromwell as the High that Was.
15 March: Admission of first female student to the House of Seconds. Miss Agnes Rich enters under the sponsorship of the Second to the Hawk, Sir William Cecil, 1st Baron Burleigh, KG.
17 June: Bull retires to the House to assume the vacant post of Praeceptor.
5 August: Bull blades won. New Bull enters the Habsburg Court in the service of the Holy Roman Emperor.
Catalogue number: DXW-539572-XZ-99202
Record date: 12 October 1957
Subject: Records of the House - 1563: Summary
20 March: Outbreak of Plague in Milan. Students and Faculty of both Houses evacuated to Padua.
14 May: Plague subsides. House reopens.
31 August: First female student, Agnes Rich, passes all tests and examinations with distinction. Declines immediate posting to the Great Archive prior to a Court post becoming available in order to assist Grand Master Rich with assembling a written record of the life of the Raven. Posting thus deferred until the project is completed.
23 November: Jackal Blades returned to the House. Former Jackal retires to open first Duiventil in the Levant, located in the city of al-Salt within the Ottoman Empire.
13 December: Lady Margarita de Altamira dies suddenly of an unidentified complaint, likely to be an aneurism.
Catalogue number: DXW-539573-XJ-76162
Record date: 12 October 1567
Note: Written letter from Agnes Rich to William Cecil: Second to the Hawk
My dear friend, William.
I write with a heavy heart to advise you of the recent passing of my father, Richard Rich; Grand Master of the House of Seconds and the Second to the Raven.
I was with him at the end, and thus was tasked with ensuring that his final wishes were acted upon. His passing was peaceful, and we were granted the opportunity to spend time together as he awaited his time. He was not taken ill, but instead the weight of years pressed upon him until the weight was too heavy for him to continue to bear.
We talked often of his younger days, when he first took up the burden of a Second; and he spoke of his adventures with the late Grand Master Cromwell. I think that he was determined to ensure that the written records we had produced were as complete as he could make them, for he remembered incidents that he had previously failed to mention, and thus I added them to that which had already been prepared. Perhaps I shall add my own reminiscences of my years in this House - though I think that is a tale for another time.
It was found that Grand Master Cromwell had decreed that, when my father's time came, he would be laid to rest in the same chapel - and it was also my father's wish that this be so. Thus, he was interred alongside the mortal remains of his Silver Sword, and an equal table tomb has been commissioned to match that of the man with whom he has been reunited in God.
In the weeks that have followed, I have laboured long, and - I must admit - with many tears, to bring together my father's reminiscences of his days at the Court of Henry - both those that we had initially prepared, and those that I wrote as we talked together in his last days. Furthermore, the scribes in the Archive have worked with patience and care to create a fair copy of those reminiscences to be handed to you for inclusion in the Library at Grant's Place. I hope that you shall read them, for they tell of the destruction of the demoness Lamashtu in most remarkable terms, and in reading them, I found myself close to my father again.
It has been arranged that his sword, and that of the late Thomas Wyatt, shall be mounted below a portrait of him that shall be set in the Hall of the Masters opposite the portrait of Grand Master Cromwell, so they are even now together upon the earth as they are in Heaven. Father used to joke to me that he looked forward to being reunited with his former mentor, Thomas Wolsey, and I pray that this is so.
Now that my work within the Archive is done, I am to transfer from Milan to Brugge, where I shall begin work alongside the Second to the Hare prior to assuming the post myself in due time. I view this with anticipation and fear in equal measure - but I am sure that my father is watching me from Heaven, my mother at his side, and is pleased to know that I shall follow where once he stepped. I think he had hoped that, as I was of his blood, his sword would hear my voice as it heard his - but, though he taught me the words that summoned it, it would not hear me.
It is my great hope that, as they were brothers in this world, now they are brothers in the next - and I pray that they are sharing in that Heavenly reward in return for their struggles and triumphs. I am truly glad that I was granted the opportunity to come to know my father - for I saw him but little in my childhood - and I shall always be grateful to you for ensuring that my childish words were passed to him in the years after he departed England.
Again, I urge you to read the papers that I have dispatched to you - for they shall serve both as a reminiscence of one of the most celebrated of Silver Swords, and the most celebrated of Seconds, and as an instructive text for those who shall study for years to come. While my father is no longer alive, his words are set down for all to read - and shall serve, I think, as a fitting memorial for a man who made a choice that saved his soul.
Yours with friendship,
Agnes Rich.