Josse said in a whisper, ‘Are you sure of that?’
‘I am,’ Dee said. ‘It was given to your father — freely given, in thanks for a brave deed of rare loving kindness — and, as your father’s eldest child, it is now rightfully yours.’
‘I had an elder sister, but she died when she was a baby,’ Josse murmured.
‘Yes. Had she lived, the stone would have been hers.’
‘It does not have to be passed to a son?’
‘No.’ The Magister laughed. ‘The Eye is old, Josse. It comes from a time long ago when, before men elbowed women out of the seats of power, the female was accorded the greater honour. And the Eye holds ancient magic from the land of its birth, far away, whose northern borders touch the trade routes that wind out of China and lead to India and into the west, joining the great Silk Road in the mountains to the east of Persia. It was in Persia that jewellers worked the uncut stone, and skilled goldsmiths fashioned the Eye’s casing; they wrote a magic inscription in their own language.’
‘Aramaic,’ Josse said dreamily.
‘Aramaic,’ Dee agreed. ‘Do you know what the words say, Josse?’
‘No.’ He was bewitched by the Magister’s deep, dark eyes, and had the sense that, as he stared into their depths, he was being drawn down a long, shadowed tunnel.
‘The stone is a sapphire, which the Persians call saffir,’ Dee’s dream-voice went on. ‘They believe that the stone is formed from the elixir of immortality, the amrita. It is the life-giving milk of the Great Goddess whom they know as Ishtar, although she has many names. You see, Josse? Long ago, when mankind was in his infancy, the deity was adored in her female role. So, to answer your question, naturally the Eye does not ignore the Goddess’s daughters in favour of her sons. There is nothing to suggest that a woman may not inherit the stone.’
‘I see,’ Josse murmured. Then, recovering from his dream state, ashamed that this old sorcerer should have found him such an easy victim, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. ‘This Abbey is ruled by a woman.’
‘A fine woman,’ Dee agreed. ‘I confess I am greatly impressed by Abbess Helewise. She refused to be intimidated by the Prince, didn’t she? Even when he was on the point of erupting into a rage, she stood firm. I admire that in anyone, but it is as rare as to be virtually unique in a woman.’ He chuckled. ‘The only other lady who looks him straight in the eye is his mother.’
‘Do you have a wife, Magister?’ Josse asked, interested.
‘I? No, I regret not. Wedlock and sorcery do not sit comfortably together.’
‘But you like and admire women?’
‘Oh, yes. Our age does not value them as it should, and the world is the poorer for it. Power in the female form is our only hope,’ he murmured.
‘How so?’ Josse demanded.
The Magister’s eyes took on a clouded look, as if he were staring at something in the distance. ‘The power of men is a selfish power,’ he intoned. ‘It is a base and naked force which, once discovered, is akin to that of a small boy who finds he can cut off the head of a cat with his father’s sword. Because he can is no reason to assume that he should. Do you see?’
‘Er — aye.’
‘There is no future for us unless we acknowledge the female force,’ Dee went on. ‘The spark of the Great Mother, the nurturer, exists in all of us, would we but recognise it.’
Some hope of that, Josse reflected.
Dee, as if picking up on Josse’s unspoken thought, said, ‘One day, Josse — a day not far off in terms of the long history of this world of ours — one day it will change.’ The dark eyes suddenly turned to Josse, piercing him with a stabbing stare that was almost painful. ‘There will sit on the great throne of England a monarch who will be the greatest of them all.’ He spoke the words as if he were chanting. ‘Wise, astute, learned and just, beloved of the people, this monarch will be the child of a philanderer and a witch with eleven fingers.’ He paused. ‘And she will be a woman.’
For an instant Josse was sufficiently carriedaway by the Magister to believe him. But then, with a slightly uneasy laugh, he realised Dee must be joking. ‘That,’ he said, grinning, ‘would indeed be something to behold.’
Dee, regarding him with faint irony, did not answer.
‘So, Magister’ — Josse tried to sound business-like; there had surely been quite enough of this whimsical talk, and Dee, after all, must have brought him out here for a purpose — ‘what do you suggest we do now?’
Dee, appearing not to resent Josse’s lead back to the matter-of-fact, said, ‘As I told you, I do not believe that the Eye should fall into the hands of my master the Prince. Therefore I shall not let that happen.’
The Magister in his day-to-day form was, Josse realised, a different matter from the powerful sorcerer of the shadows; he found that it was quite easy to say to the former, now standing before him, ‘And just how will you prevent it?’
Dee smiled. ‘The Eye will come to you. I told you that, also. Provided you do not rush away to tell the Prince and offer your treasure to him, he will not know that you possess it.’
‘And he will cease demanding it of me?’ It sounded highly unlikely.
‘He will.’ Dee, it seemed, could see that Josse did not believe him. Smiling, he added, ‘It is not in his best interests to have the Eye. He has perils enough ahead, without the added danger of attracting the malice of a powerful amulet.’
‘But-’
‘I wish that you would pay attention.’ A mildly peevish note had entered Dee’s soft voice. ‘The Eye only works positively for its rightful owner, which is you. And your descendants. Unless, of course, you give it away of your own free will, which you may choose to do, although I do not advise it.’ He paused, then added, even more quietly, ‘I certainly do not advise giving it to Prince John.’ His eyes on Josse’s, he murmured, ‘If anybody steals the stone, removes it from your possession without your consent, it will do them no good; its unique powers will become inert, and it will be no more than a pretty bauble. Worse than that, I suspect it may actually work against a man who purloins it. So, Josse. Do you understand?’
Slowly Josse nodded. ‘Aye. But-’
Dee sighed faintly. ‘But? Go on, you may as well ask.’
‘You said that the Prince faced perils ahead,’ Josse whispered, as if the very trees in the Vale might try to overhear. ‘What did you mean? Will he succeed Richard and become king?’
Dee paused, then said, ‘King Richard has no child. If he does not beget a healthy son on Berengaria his wife, then the laws of our land state that he must be succeeded by his brother.’
‘Aha!’ But Josse’s brief moment of excitement was swiftly curtained as he realised that Dee had told him nothing that he had not already known. ‘If Prince John should reign,’ he said, wondering if he might be able to trick the Magister into a confidence, ‘will it be a dreadful disaster?’
Dee stared at him, his face impassive. Then, with the shadow of a wry smile, he said, ‘Wait and see. Just wait and see.’
17
In the morning, waking to the sheer normality of Yves yawning and stretching beside him, laughing at some light-hearted remark made by Brother Saul as he brought them mugs of some hot, pleasant-tasting drink, Josse wondered if the experiences of the previous night had been a dream.
In some ways, he would have been relieved if they had been. But he knew better. And, besides, his cloak was still soaking wet from the drenching he had received as he saw the Magister safely back to the Abbey gates.
In retrospect, surely it had been unnecessary for a man armed only with a knife to presume to safeguard a powerful magician. Dee, Josse was quite sure, was more than capable of looking after himself.