“But… but… the Black Prince will inherit when Edward dies, and I do not believe him to be a demon.”
There is darkness afoot, Thomas. Darkness that I cannot fully fathom. All I know, all I can tell you, is that the ancient throne of the English kings, who are all descended from the line of David himself, will shortly hear the weight of the demon Crown Prince.
“What can I do?”
Prepare yourself, Thomas. The Demon-King will know you for what you are—
the weapon of God— and he will actively seek you out. Yours will be the ultimate battle. What he cannot do, even with his power, is to keep you for long from the casket that is yours by right.
Thomas frowned. Who could it be? His mind kept returning to the Black Prince.
Edward was old and not likely to live long. The Black Prince would succeed him…
but the prince as the devilish new Demon-King? Somehow that did not seem right at all.
And if the Black Prince did not live long himself? Then who? Richard… or
Lancaster himself?
I regret I cannot aid you more. The demon prince covers himself well.
Thomas remembered something that he’d been turning over in his mind for months. “Blessed Saint Michael… after I had spoken to the demon at the Cleft, I began to suspect that the demons are sorcerous shape-shifters, and that they take the place of men and women within our society. Is that correct?”
Yes. You have learned well, Thomas. Anyone you meet could he a demon. Their masks are thick . . . sometimes not even I can see through to the truth within.
“I can trust no one.”
No one, save your God. Thomas … why did you not tell me of this understanding in Domremy?
Thomas bowed his head. “I did not wish to share this information with the girl.”
Then you are a fool, Thomas, and too given to self-pride. Your silence has done you little good— -Joan already knew it, and she, unlike you, is Jar better at seeing through the masks that the demons disguise themselves with.
And with that, the archangel was gone, and Thomas was left alone in his cold, dark cell to consider the fact that Jeannette-grown-to-Joan might well be God’s favored weapon.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nones on the Thursday before the Nativity of
Our Lord Jesus Christ
In the fifty-first year of the reign of Edward III
(midday 23rd December 1378)
— THE NAMELESS DAY —
— II —
JOHN, DUKE OF LANCASTER, escorted King John to meet with the English King Edward in Westminster in fine style, as befitted the rank and power of all concerned.
Just before midday five barges drew up close to the steps leading down to the Thames from the Savoy Palace.
The barges were elaborately decorated: damasks and tapestries hung over the vessels’ sides, drooping almost to the waterline; gilded pavilions had been set up on the leading two barges, with cushioned and well-draped thrones under each for Lancaster and King John. Slightly less intricate and gilded pavilions had been raised on the final three barges, with seating for nobles and knights who would serve as escort, and from all five fluttered pennants and standards—a bright, riveting display of color, gaiety and power for the Christmastide celebrations of the Londoners.
From his windy, cold perch high on the parapets of the Savoy’s outer wall,
Thomas watched Lancaster and his retinue escort King John through the inner courtyard of the palace toward the river gate. Thomas was tired, but was nevertheless much calmer and stronger in spirit than he’d been for many weeks. St.
Michael’s visit—even though it had left many questions in his mind—had fortified him and renewed his resolve, and Thomas blessed the saint for his benevolence.
Lancaster and King John, like those who escorted them, were tiny, bright sparks far below, incongruous summer butterflies proceeding majestically along the flagged courtyard between the Savoy and the gate in the outer wall. Although all of the nobles and knights wore ceremonial swords belted about their velveted and furred robes, none wore armor, for there was no perceived threat from within the environs of London and Westminster.
Thomas smiled sardonically. No “threat”? But who knew what demons walked among them, smiling and bowing and scheming?
He leaned on the inner parapet, trying to glimpse faces among those who followed Lancaster and the French king. There was Hal, close behind his father, and Gloucester, who must have arrived earlier in the day from his own palace in London.
There was the bishop of London, the weak winter sun glinting off his jeweled mitre, and behind him a black-and brown-robed bobbing train of monks and friars.
Who among them were demons?
Thomas shuddered. Until he discovered the means by which he could tell demon from Christian, he must needs suspect all he met. Furthermore, he knew that as the demons knew him to be the soldier of St. Michael and of God, they would necessarily gravitate to him.
Everyone about him might be a demon!
His heart turned cold at the thought. The demons had been loose within Christendom for thirty years. In that time they could have assumed the identity … of anyone … anyone …
Horns sounded, breaking Thomas’ reverie. He looked down—Lancaster and his parry had entirely disappeared.
Thomas turned, strode the five paces across the top of the wall, and leaned over the river side of the parapet.
The two barges containing first Lancaster, and then King John and their immediate escorts, were just now pulling away from the steps, and the next barges drawing in so the rest of the retinue could board. With a minimum of fuss they embarked, and within a quarter hour the three barges joined the two awaiting them in the center of the river before all five began their stately progress west toward Westminster.
As he watched, Thomas suddenly became aware that the biting wind had chilled him to the bone. Shivering, and pulling his robes tight about him, he moved to the stairs and walked down to the courtyard.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He’d have liked to talk with Bolingbroke, but Hal had accompanied his father to Westminster. Katherine? No, Thomas wasn’t too sure he wanted to talk with her.
He didn’t want to be reminded again of the incident that had propelled him toward the Church.
So Thomas walked briskly toward the gates that led from the Savoy complex into the Strand, but was brought to a rude halt when the guards flanking each side of the gate set their spears to block his path.
“Your pardon, Brother,” one of them said, “but our Lord of Lancaster had requested that you remain within the palace grounds.”
Thomas gave a low laugh. “For my own safety, I suppose.”
Then he realized that the expression on all of the guards’ faces were ones of great discomfort, and he understood they were gravely embarrassed by their orders. It was not right to restrict the movements of a man of God, nor to imprison him without the orders of a prelate.
So Thomas smiled more genuinely, and bowed slightly. “I commend you for your loyalty and duty to your lord. Be assured that I realize this is none of your wishing.”
Their expressions relaxed, and one or two smiled.
“I wish you good day,” Thomas said, and turned and left them.
The wind bit deeper, strengthening, and Thomas glanced toward the sky. Heavy snow clouds were roiling in from the southwest. He grinned impishly; by now the Thames would be irritable and snappish, and doubtless kings and escort alike were clinging grimly to the arms of their seats and wishing they’d chosen to ride the distance to visit King Edward. Whatever shit and mud the horses’ hooves threw up would be vastly preferable to the white-crested wetness of the waves. Lancaster had done him a service in forcing him to remain inside the Savoy.
Seeking somewhere warm, Thomas entered the mam hall of the palace. It was huge, stretching a good two hundred paces from east to west, forty from north to south, and another good one hundred toward its soaring hammerbeamed roof.
Within the top third of the side walls ran a row of delicately arched gothic windows filled with jewel-like stained glass. The stone walls beneath them were covered with massive and beautiful tapestries, as well as the standards of Lancaster and his retainers.
There was a huge fireplace in the eastern wall, and another in the western, as also six open hearths that ran down the center of the hall. Both fireplaces and all the hearths contained fiercely burning fires: although there would not be a feast here for at least three days (not until Lancaster and his new bride celebrated their wedding feast here on St. Stephen’s Day) the fires were needed now to warm the furthest corners of the vast hall in time for the great gathering.