The light faded in a frosty crackle of sound and was gone. There was no sign of Paul at all now, but Maeve stooped to see that an apple lay at her feet, with a neat slice down one side where something seemed to be stuck in the meat of the fruit. She picked it up, seeing a piece of folded paper had been wedged into a the small slice in the side of the apple.
She slipped it out of the fruit, opening it quickly and leaning into the wan moon light to get a look at it. It was very dark, and she could barely make out the characters, but was able to discern the message.
“New variation,” it read, with the word heavily underlined. “Lambert warned and flees in the night! Dodo fails! New Pushpoint: “A Loose twine… by the water’s edge. DO SOMETHING!”
She stared at it for some time, stunned by the development. Something had happened and her mind raced to unravel what it was. It soon became obvious to her that she had found the correct horse and foiled the plot to delay Dodo and his men. If that were the case then he would be riding south at this very moment, perhaps well past the farm site where she had found the Arabian, and closing in on Lambert’s villa at Leodium. But the words on the note clawed at her: “Lambert warned and flees in the night! Dodo Fails!”
“Do something,” she breathed aloud, shivering with the residual cold still lingering in the air nearby. It was a Spook Job, she reasoned. They don’t have the fuel to risk another full breach of the continuum here to make a re-entry, so they ran a Spook Job instead.
“And I have to do something,” she said aloud again her mind racing along the limitless Meridians of Time, frantically trying to answer the single question burned in her mind. “But what?”
Part VII
The River
“And a man cannot ever step twice into the same river, for other waters are ever flowing on to him. It's not the same river and he's not the same man.”
Chapter 19
The Bishop was roused from restless sleep by heavy hammering on the door. He had retired soon after matins, but his dreams had been fitful. Now he started awake with fear, a strange presentiment sweeping over him, mixed with the lingering remnant of a dream. There was danger at hand, mortal danger in the night. Men were coming to seek his life! Instinctively, he reached for the sword that lay by his bed, groping for the hilt, reassured to grasp it. Yet he was no fighting man. What could he do?
The sound of knocking at the door grew louder, more insistent, more urgent. Then there came a hard shudder and he heard the door give way, breaking open on failed hinges and crashing to the hard stone floor below. He rushed out of his room, already hearing fearful cries from his family in the lower rooms.
“Landebertus of Tongeren!” A harsh voice echoed in the hall, resounding up the stairs.
The bishop steeled himself, making the sign of the cross and whispering a silent prayer. He looked at the sword in his shaking hand, and realized the folly of it, setting the weapon down, resigned. “I shall not die with the sin of blood on my hands,” he said softly. “No, I shall meet my fate, steadfast in the Lord, and his will be done.”
A swarthy man came rushing up the steps, breathless, eyes wide with urgency. Seeing him, the bishop fell to his knees, eyes upward as if searching the heavens for aid and succor. Yet fear disturbed his prayer, an emotion so strong so as to wrench a cry from his soul, and he wept.
“Take me unto thy bosom, O Lord,” he cried.
“What man? I have come with dire warning!” The stranger stooped, taking hold of the bishop’s nightgown, shaking him. “Asleep in my farm I was, when with fitful dreams I was taken, and behold, a vision came unto me, an angel as it were! And I was told I must ride hither, with all speed to give this warning. Men are on the old Roman road, even as we speak, and bent here with evil hearts, intent upon thy death. Get up, my bishop, and flee now to safe ground while you may! Three horses have I, tethered at the gate, enough to carry you and your domestics safely away from this place. Hurry man! Get up and don warm clothing, I will rouse your household and see that they are safely mounted. Quickly now, ere fell deeds take the lives of all your family as well!”
The bishop stared, dumbfounded, through teary eyes. “Then you are a friend to Christ and servant of the church?” he quavered.
“I am a friend to fate and the one true God, indeed!” said the man quickly. “Come now, I urge you. Take flight to the river, and there you may cross safely at the old ferry site not far from here. Once across there is no other way for your enemies to follow. It is Dodo of Heristal that comes in the night, with fell retainers by his side and hatred in his heart. He boasted that he would avenge the death of his relatives, slain by your command for the desecration of church property, and more, for the slander you have spoken of his sister. All this the angel spake unto me, but said fear not, the Lord’s is with thee this night.” The stranger smiled, helping the bishop to his feet.
“Dodo is nigh at hand, I fear, but by heading east to the river you may yet evade him. I will remain here and tell him you have fled south, away from this place. So may he be deceived and the work of this, thy holy see, preserved with thy life, and the lives of all those well loved by thee in this house.”
It was enough to rouse the bishop from his fretful fit, and he straightened with newfound resolve and strength. By the grace of the Lord, and guided by this stranger, he held fast to a thin coil of hope. Minutes later he was the last to come down from his chambers, to find his family securely huddled on the backs of the waiting horses. “Bless you, bless you,” he said in thanks, making the sign of the cross as he mounted the last of the three horses, a gray mare with sad, sorrowful eyes.
“I had hoped to bring you a mighty steed, father, so that you might fly like the wind this night,” the man said quietly, “but these three are all I could find, and may they prove your salvation.”
“As God wills it,” said the bishop.
“Then go now, quickly! You have labored along the banks of this river many long years, and you know the way well. Flee east, thence north along the river to the ferry. Stay off the road, for Dodo and his retainers will surely come by that route. And may God be with you!”
The bishop rode off on the gray mare, leading his domestics away into the shadows of the night. The stranger watched him go, smiling, relieved, as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.
“Go, and live,” he whispered, with just a hint of disdain in his voice now. “Go and preach your creed as you will for the little time that remains to you.”
The story he had told the bishop was true, for it was not long after the serving wench fled with the Arabian that a messenger appeared to him in the firelight while he paced in his home, restlessly trying to decide what he must do. Was the woman truthful? Would she indeed lead Dodo and his men to this place? The messenger came, appearing like the angel he had spoken of, then vanishing in a blue mist. Yet he left behind a scroll, and the farmer had opened it, his dark eyes wide as he read the strange characters there, speaking softly to himself. At once he knew what he must do, and he immediately put the scroll to the fire.