Harold left his shop and house in the care of his guild and look the road to Coventry astride his big, smooth-gaited
mule, followed by his body servant and a pack animal. As befitted a noble in-law of the High King of Ireland, Emmett’s train was much larger—a dozen servants and armed retainers and no less than eight heavy-loaded pack mules. O’Malley’s spotted stallion was the first of the famous Irish leopard-horses Harold had ever seen.
The shoulders of the big horse were loaded and straight, the chest was deep and powerful, the quarters broad. Like all the better specimens of its breed, the destrier stood nearly seventeen hands at the withers and weighed a good fifteen hundredweight; the neck was comparatively long and the head comparatively small, a testament to the rich Arab heritage of the breed. Mane and tail were long and show-white and the back was indented as if nature-designed to hold the richly tooled saddle fitted with brass and silver. Though the skin beneath was black, the stallion’s base hair color was an off-white and the odd-sized and -shaped spots were a very dark gray. He was high-spirited and Harold’s mules were terrified of him.
The old Archbishop sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “Travel was pleasant in those days, Bass; for all that the roads were no better than Emmett had complained, there were no bands of robbers to contend with between here and Coventry and such highwaymen and footpads as may have worked the area were no doubt intimidated by Emmett’s well-armed and clearly pugnacious Irishmen.
“When first I saw him who later became King Arthur II, he was all but dead, only sallow skin and bones, his head and body covered with sores from the leeches. I doubted then that even the longevity boosters could save the boy. Nonetheless, I began to dose him with them, ten a day for a couple of weeks, by which time he had recovered sufficiently to begin to eat broth and syllabubs.
“King Henry had been so frantic upon my arrival that he had hardly inquired my name; at that point I think he would have allowed a being with horns and cloven feet to try to cure Arthur, since all the vast assemblage of physicians and surgeons had frankly despaired. Nor were they at all happy that I had succeeded where they had failed; indeed, they had me hailed before an ecclesiastical court on a charge of sorcery and witchcraft.
“There was no possible way that I could have explained the compounding of the longevity boosters to a tribunal consisting of a Renaissance bishop, two abbots, and two monsi-
gnors^but that never became necessary, fortunately. King Henry’s men surrounded the monastery where I was being held prisoner and solemnly promised to raze the entire complex unless I was delivered—safe, sound, and whole—to them. Once I was free, the cloak of royal protection was cast over me.
“Of course, the clergy appealed to everyone of power from the Roman Pope on down, and the Physicians’ Guild made no secret of the fact that they were out for my blood after I had informed their representatives that much as I would have liked to do so, I could not share with them the formula that had cured the Prince.
“The upshot of it all was that sly old Hal, knowing that there was little likelihood of the Church’s hounding me were I one of their own, had me whisked off to Canterbury— where the Archbishop then had his seat—ordained a priest, and then advanced to a monsignory. In this world, clergy are allowed, nay even encouraged if they demonstrate a talent, to dabble in alchemy and all matter of arcane pursuits. I then was publicly rewarded for saving the life of the Prince of Wales with the post of Court Alchemist.
“Close as Arthur and I became during his long reign, Hal and I were even closer friends, confidants, by the time he died, nine years later. He was a level-headed and completely practical man, Bass, but open-minded, for all. Though he often put on great shows of piety for public consumption, he actually was an agnostic and he recognized the Church for what it truly is: this world’s most powerful and wealthy political force.