The crippled angel. Book by Sara Douglass

Sighing, Margaret struggled to her feet. Mary was undoubtedly already back at the

bedsides of the ill while she, Margaret, had overslept by hours.

She glanced at Jocelyn, wrapped in her blanket and breathing deeply in sleep. She did not

wake her: the girl had seen and done enough already.

Sighing yet again, and running her hands over her hair in a useless attempt to restore it to

some order, Margaret walked into the hall and the stench of death.

Mary‘s face was very still. She‘d listened for over two hours as Neville had talked. What

she‘d heard left her cold and numb…but not disbelieving, for so much of it fitted with what she

had seen of both Bolingbroke and Margaret, and with some of the strange dreams she‘d had

when she‘d imbibed too much of Culpeper‘s liquor.

Strange dreams…sent to her by Jesus?

Neville held Mary‘s hand, watching her face carefully. ―It took me many months to come

to terms with this knowledge,‖ he said in a very gentle voice, ―and I had not had to deal with it

all in one indigestible lump as you must now do. But, Mary, I am glad I have told you. I need so

much to have someone I can trust to talk to.‖

―I needed to know much earlier than this,‖ Mary said, her eyes downcast, ignoring

Neville‘s final remark. Of all the things that Neville had told her—demons, angels, and an

eventual decision that would either damn mankind or free it—Mary caught onto the one that was

closest to her own life. ―My husband…the Demon-King? How could you not have told me?‖

―Mary—‖

She waved her free hand dismissively. ―No, no, I know why you did not tell me. I thank

you that you have now…‖

She lapsed into silence. ―I cannot believe that our Lord Jesus Christ can be evil,‖ she

whispered finally. ―But I do believe that what you have told me of the angels, and this

strange-flowered place they inhabit, is evil. They are so cruel.‖

―In all of this,‖ Neville said, ―Christ‘s love and compassion has proved the rock that I can

cling to. When Margaret betrayed me, when I think of what Hal has done to gain the throne, and

of what he might do, when I discovered what was in that casket, and its import, then thought of

Christ comforted me. Even though,‖ his mouth quirked, ―he is indeed ‗demonry‘ personified…at

least as the angels define it.‖

Mary drew in a deep breath. ―There is a strange road before you, Tom. Before all of us.

Before England.‖

―Aye, that there is.‖

A silence fell between them. It was a comforting, companionable silence, both adrift in

their thoughts, yet glad of the other‘s presence.

―You wish to free Jesus?‖

―Aye.‖

―Then you must do it,‖ Mary said firmly, patting Neville‘s hand.

Neville looked at her carefully. ―But perhaps I have been misled by Jesus. Perhaps I do

not see the danger—‖

―No. There is no danger. Tom, there is something I must tell you.‖

Neville smiled, and raised an eyebrow slightly. ―Do not tell me that the angels have

confided in you as well!‖

Mary laughed softly. ―Nay. But…Tom, I had a dream one night, just before we left

Windsor to come to London. I had dismissed it as a phantasm of Culpeper‘s liquor, but now…‖

She stopped, then shrugged. ―I dreamed that I was loved, and that I loved, although

everyone in the world seemed set against me.‖ Mary hesitated, deciding not to tell Neville of the

frightful end of her dream. ―There was a lesson in that dream, I think,‖ she continued. ―Perhaps it

was sent by Christ. Tom, I cannot believe Christ evil. I cannot. That dream was no lie. Neither was yours, when Christ told you to love Margaret.‖

She paused. ―Love does not damn,‖ she whispered. ―It only saves. Oh, Tom, free him!

Free him!‖

―How?‖ he asked softly. ―He is trapped in heaven, and I have not the power to free him

from there.‖

She squeezed his hand, and sighed, and for a few minutes there was silence between

them.

―What must I do?‖ Mary eventually said. ―Now that I know, what must I do?‖

―Be yourself,‖ Neville said. ―Do what you think is right. There is nothing else that you

can do. But…do not tell Hal that you are aware of who he is, and of what battle is being fought

about you. That would be—‖

―Dangerous,‖ Mary said with a small smile, and squeezed Neville‘s hand. ―I know that.

My life teeters on a dangerous thread anyway, Tom. Now that I know of the bond between

Catherine and Hal, I can understand his longing, and his frustration in that longing. Now I

understand the calculation in his eyes when he looks at me. At least,‖ she touched her gown

where it lay over her belly, ―this canker in my womb means I need not share his bed any longer. I

could not do that, not now that I know of the men he destroyed in order to reach the throne.‖

Knowing that I may well be next, she thought, and knew she did not have to voice that

thought to Neville.

―Tom,‖ she said. ―How do you feel about Hal?‖

―There has been such a bond of friendship between us,‖ he said, ―and for so many years

that it will, I think, never break completely. Yet that friendship is now darkened. I watch Hal,

and wonder if sometimes his ambition clouds his judgement. I wonder what that might mean for

England, and for mankind. And I know that Hal watches me.‖

―And Margaret?‖ Mary said very softly. ―How do you feel for her? Especially

after…after…‖ What Neville had told her about Richard‘s and de Vere‘s rape of Margaret had

left her numb with disbelief. That Margaret and Bolingbroke could have been so

manipulative…that they had put both Neville and her through a horror so contrived…

Neville watched Mary‘s face carefully, knowing some of what she was thinking.

Bolingbroke and Margaret‘s manipulations had hurt Mary as well.

―Especially after her ‗rape‘?‖ Neville sighed, rubbing his eyes as if so tired he could

barely string two thoughts together. ―She and Hal caused me to love, and I do not regret that

love.‖

―But—‖

―But I do regret the manner in which it was achieved. The lies, the treachery. Of you,

sweet lady, as much as of me.‖ His mouth quirked. ―And of what could they have been thinking?

Did they truly believe that I would wave away the cunning manner in which they manipulated

my guilt as if it were of no consequence? That it would not affect the manner in which I love

Margaret?‖

―You do love her?‖

―Oh, aye, I do love her. But, Mary, oh sweet Jesu, Mary, how can I give her my soul on a

platter?‖

―Surely you can forgive her?‖

―I have forgiven her, Mary. I could not love her if I hadn‘t forgiven her. But that doesn‘t

mean I can willingly hand her my soul.‖

―Why not?‖

―Because to hand her my soul, to hand anyone my soul, requires a trust and a love and a

respect and an honour so complete that it consumes every fibre of my being. With

Margaret—with my love for Margaret—there is now a tiny hesitancy. But that single slight

hesitancy, that single scruple, will be enough to damn mankind. I cannot afford any hesitancy at

all.‖

Mary briefly closed her eyes, pitying both Neville and Margaret. Her hand groped for his,

and they sat a long while in silence, each lost in their own thoughts of Christ.

―Tom! Mary! Thank the Lord Christ.‖

Both Neville‘s and Mary‘s heads jerked up, and they pulled their hands apart. Margaret

stood at the door of the chapel, breathing heavily, as if she had been running, or perhaps

panicking.

She walked into the chapel, then stopped a few paces away from the bench where Mary

and her husband sat. ―What do you here?‖ she said. ―Madam, are you well?‖

―Well enough,‖ Mary said, smiling gently at Margaret. ―Tom and I came here to pray,

and talk a little. We did not wish to wake you.‖

Mary glanced at Neville, who gave a little nod, then she addressed Margaret again. ―Tom

and I have been talking.‖ She paused, holding Margaret‘s gaze. She was about to go on, but

Neville interrupted her.

―Of inconsequential things, Margaret,‖ he said. ―We needed some lightness after our

immersion in the death beyond this chapel.‖

He trusts Margaret so little, Mary thought, stunned, that he will not tell her that now I know of the battle between the angels and demons? And of the nature of my husband?

She looked at Margaret, and saw the unhappiness there. Lord Jesu, aid him to make the

right decision! Aid him to give his soul to this woman so that mankind may at last be freed.

Margaret looked between Neville and Mary, attempted a smile, failed, then spoke hastily

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