west.”
Will’s voice sharpened in impatience.
“I did not say he came from the west country, just that he has spent time there. Doing what, I have no idea. His family is said to be wealthy with friends at court and he has been educated to an unusually high degree for a priest. I am told he speaks Greek, Italian and Spanish with equal fluency.”
Luke’s ears pricked.
“Spanish? That is interesting. I wonder that he is content to take on such a small, unimportant parish when with those accomplishments he could have the pick of the London livings.”
Will shook his friend’s arm.
“We waste time, Luke. Even now they could be putting my sister to pains, and you stand there bumbling on about the priest. You introduced this doctor. Get them out of their prison. You know what they will endure. Can you not envisage them tied to hurdles and dangling at the end of the rope? Do something. Do it now. Save my father and sister.”
Leaving Luke staring after him, Will turned and shouldered his way out of the door.
This, of course, was the one thing all elemancers feared. Bound as they were to do good where and when they could, such kindness left elemancers in danger. Those of a malevolent disposition would twist anything charitable and bring evil knocking at the most innocent of doors. Sunderers hid their foul deeds under a blanket of darkness and vanished. There was no protection for elemancers. The common belief was that all magic was evil. Thus, the ability to perform white magic, by definition, conferred the ability to perform black magic. The punishment was the same whether the magic be good or bad.
Luke wished that Elemagus Dufay were here or that he could make telepathic contact with him. He pondered on the Queen Mother’s comment, speculating on the timing of this French visit.
Who could possibly have reported the change in Bertila’s appearance? Then he remembered Goodwife Brook’s remark about Bertila having lost her scar. And Frayner had been into that house to look at Edith’s body. Could it really be as simple as that? There could be no other explanation. The scar had been eradicated for almost twelve months and nobody had made any kind of protest. Luke frowned. He could bear to know why the supercilious priest had been given the Hampton living if he was so well connected, unless he had been put here for some fell purpose. Which led to another question. The Quaynes lived in Hampton Wick, not Hampton, so, in theory, Frayner had no authority over them.
That, however, was no help to Corbin and Bertila at this moment. Luke could not hold back his fears any longer even though he knew it would do nothing to help his friends. There was a time for logic, and a time for allowing dread and terror full sway and coming to terms with it. His legs gave way and Joss nosed him towards the settle before he fell to the floor.
He pictured Bertila’s anguish and thanked God that witches were not tortured in England as they were in the rest of Europe. For a girl of Bertila’s reserve and timidity, the examination of her naked body for the Devil’s teat would be horror enough. The great love between father and daughter also ensured that their distress would be heightened by not knowing what tribulations the other suffered.
Of course, there was one person whose aid he could invoke. Luke ran up the stairs slamming his bedroom door shut behind him. Making a heroic effort to calm his breathing and cease the tumult in his head, he snatched the small vial of rose, musk and ambergris from its hiding place beneath a floorboard. The strength of the plea he sent to Queen Anne Boleyn had her responding so quickly he could hear the tremor in her voice.
“Master Ballard, what is amiss?”
“Your Grace, I must beg for your aid in the matter of my friends.”
Her voice adopted an icy tone. “Explain.”
Luke did, his stumbling story so unlike his usual manner that he felt some of Queen Anne’s ice thaw.
“You have our
Will’s voice sharpened in impatience.
“I did not say he came from the west country, just that he has spent time there. Doing what, I have no idea. His family is said to be wealthy with friends at court and he has been educated to an unusually high degree for a priest. I am told he speaks Greek, Italian and Spanish with equal fluency.”
Luke’s ears pricked.
“Spanish? That is interesting. I wonder that he is content to take on such a small, unimportant parish when with those accomplishments he could have the pick of the London livings.”
Will shook his friend’s arm.
“We waste time, Luke. Even now they could be putting my sister to pains, and you stand there bumbling on about the priest. You introduced this doctor. Get them out of their prison. You know what they will endure. Can you not envisage them tied to hurdles and dangling at the end of the rope? Do something. Do it now. Save my father and sister.”
Leaving Luke staring after him, Will turned and shouldered his way out of the door.
This, of course, was the one thing all elemancers feared. Bound as they were to do good where and when they could, such kindness left elemancers in danger. Those of a malevolent disposition would twist anything charitable and bring evil knocking at the most innocent of doors. Sunderers hid their foul deeds under a blanket of darkness and vanished. There was no protection for elemancers. The common belief was that all magic was evil. Thus, the ability to perform white magic, by definition, conferred the ability to perform black magic. The punishment was the same whether the magic be good or bad.
Luke wished that Elemagus Dufay were here or that he could make telepathic contact with him. He pondered on the Queen Mother’s comment, speculating on the timing of this French visit.
Who could possibly have reported the change in Bertila’s appearance? Then he remembered Goodwife Brook’s remark about Bertila having lost her scar. And Frayner had been into that house to look at Edith’s body. Could it really be as simple as that? There could be no other explanation. The scar had been eradicated for almost twelve months and nobody had made any kind of protest. Luke frowned. He could bear to know why the supercilious priest had been given the Hampton living if he was so well connected, unless he had been put here for some fell purpose. Which led to another question. The Quaynes lived in Hampton Wick, not Hampton, so, in theory, Frayner had no authority over them.
That, however, was no help to Corbin and Bertila at this moment. Luke could not hold back his fears any longer even though he knew it would do nothing to help his friends. There was a time for logic, and a time for allowing dread and terror full sway and coming to terms with it. His legs gave way and Joss nosed him towards the settle before he fell to the floor.
He pictured Bertila’s anguish and thanked God that witches were not tortured in England as they were in the rest of Europe. For a girl of Bertila’s reserve and timidity, the examination of her naked body for the Devil’s teat would be horror enough. The great love between father and daughter also ensured that their distress would be heightened by not knowing what tribulations the other suffered.
Of course, there was one person whose aid he could invoke. Luke ran up the stairs slamming his bedroom door shut behind him. Making a heroic effort to calm his breathing and cease the tumult in his head, he snatched the small vial of rose, musk and ambergris from its hiding place beneath a floorboard. The strength of the plea he sent to Queen Anne Boleyn had her responding so quickly he could hear the tremor in her voice.
“Master Ballard, what is amiss?”
“Your Grace, I must beg for your aid in the matter of my friends.”
Her voice adopted an icy tone. “Explain.”
Luke did, his stumbling story so unlike his usual manner that he felt some of Queen Anne’s ice thaw.
“You have our
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