Avalon (12 page)

“We couldn’t have picked a worse day — cold, misty, thick fog rolling down the hillsides, couldn’t see your hand in front of your face — but we had heard about this stag, and we were determined to bring it down and win the undying admiration of the world. We got out on the moors, and followed this track that James’ father had shown him. We rode further and further into the hills — we should have turned back, but we kept going and going. The land got wilder, the hills higher, but we kept going.

“So,” he said, becoming part of the event once more, “we stop for a rest, and we’re sitting there, and we hear this sound — halfway between a snort and a growl. The mist is heavy and we can’t see a thing; we can’t even tell which direction the sound is coming from. But we know:
it’s the stag
! ‘Don’t move,’ says James. We hold our breath.

“A second later, something big and dark blows past us, and goes straight up the hill. We’re on it like a shot. The horses are stumbling on the slick rocks, and it’s getting steeper, but we’re desperate to keep up. We reach the top of the hill, and all at once the mist clears, and we see it. There it is! God in heaven, it is a magnificent beast — a champion stag with an antler spread out to there” — he opened his arms wide — “and a thick black mane like a lion. The stag stops and turns, and looks right at us. He knows we’re there, and he doesn’t care.

“Before we can loosen the straps and pull our rifles free, the stag disappears over the hill. Now, it’s down and down and down at breakneck speed. To this day, I don’t know why one of the horses didn’t fall and throw us on our fool heads. But we get to the bottom, splash across the burn, and it’s straight up the other side again.

“This time we have to go slower. The hill is higher, the rocks larger, and the footing more treacherous. We get to the top and the stag is waiting for us. Waiting for us!

“There is a tall rock stack behind him, blocking escape that way, and to the other side the hill becomes a ridge that falls away sharp. We have him. James says, ‘Go on, Cal. You can have the first shot.’ My rifle is in my hands already and I put it up and squeeze off a round.

“The sound is deafening. I’m shaking so bad I can’t see if I’ve hit him or not. The next thing I know the stag is coming at me — head down, those antlers a few inches off the ground. I don’t even have time for another shot before it crashes into me.

“The pony rears up and turns, trying to get out of the way. The antlers catch the horse in the belly just under the rear flanks, and I’m thrown from the saddle. The force of the charge pitches the horse clean over onto its back — it’s screaming and thrashing, hooves flying everywhere.

“The stag draws back, lowers its head, and makes to charge again — at me this time. Nostrils flaring, blood in the eyes, this beast is coming for me and there’s not a doubt in my mind but that I’m looking death in the face. My rifle is gone. I don’t know where it is. There’s no time to look for it anyway — the hooves are already churning. I see rocks and gravel flying. I see that great head tilt down and the antlers like a dozen spear blades tipped with blood sweeping towards me.

“I’m dead, and I know it. I can’t run. I can’t shout. All I can do is stand there and wait to be impaled.

“And then… and then I feel this hand on my shoulder. And James is there. He pulls me back and steps into my place. The stag is on us. I turn my face away. The shot explodes in the same instant. Smoke fills my nose and mouth and stings my eyes.

“When I look again, I see the stag on its knees — its hind legs are still driving, but the forelegs have collapsed. James shoots again, and the head falls to one side. The antlers catch in the ground, and that thick neck snaps. It sounds like a tree root breaking deep in the earth.

“Silence after that…”

Calum paused; the quiet of the book-lined room was complete.

“James saved my life that day,” he said at last. “He put himself between me and sure death. There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that he’d do it again. And I’d do the same for him — any time, any place. I’d do whatever it took, and I wouldn’t think twice about it.” He nodded, a quick downward jerk of his chin to underscore the sentiment. “Does that answer your question?”

Glancing up, Cal saw that Embries’ eyes were closed. At first he thought the old man had fallen asleep, but then he saw the thin lips moving rapidly, as if the old gent was reciting a private litany.

“Mr. Embries?” he asked. “Are you all right, Mr. Embries?”

Slowly, the golden eyes opened, and Calum saw in them a strange excitement that both stirred him and chilled him to the marrow. “Forgive me,” the white-haired old man breathed softly. “I was remembering another day a long time ago.”

Placing his palms together, he sat for a time gazing at Calum over the tips of his fingers, as if toting up the sum of a complex equation. Calum endured the scrutiny, returning the old man’s gaze with stoic silence. Finally, Embries lowered his hands and said, “Thank you for telling me that. It means more than you can know.”

“I’d do anything for James, Mr. Embries,” Calum reiterated stubbornly. “That’s my solemn vow.”

“Very well, first things first. He will need you to be present and available. Wrap up your affairs. You can leave your work for a while, I believe?”

“I suppose so — seeing it’s winter and things are slowing down a bit. I have two or three hunting parties scheduled around Christmas and New Year’s.”

“Cancel them,” Embries ordered.

“Sure. You got something else in mind?”

“Oh, I do indeed. There are one or two other details to explain, but let’s just say that it would be best if you remained unencumbered for the near future.”

“For James’ sake.”

“For James, yes,” Embries assured him, “and for Britain.” His eyes took on the strange excitement once more, and it seemed to Calum as if the man before him was looking through him — or beyond him — to something he found intensely, dazzlingly fascinating. “We will do great things,” Embries said, his voice the echo of a whisper. Cal was not even sure if the old man was talking to him.

Retracing his steps through the hallways and galleries as best he could, James followed one exit sign after another until he emerged into the light of day once more. He hurried across the courtyard parking lot, and headed down the street, not looking, not caring, where he was going. He walked for a time — the brisk, agitated walk of a man with weighty and troublesome matters on his mind.

Time and his surroundings blurred around him. With every step, his mind lurched over the same strange ground — the tangled legal terrain of a score of obscure records. In his mind, James saw them as red arrows on a map, and all of them were pointing towards the same inevitable conclusion: he was not who he thought he was.

How could it be
? he wondered.
What did it mean
?

He walked on, striking out across a busy street, heedless of the traffic. He came upon the entrance to a park, and swiftly continued in. As the tumult of his thoughts began to calm somewhat, the first questions gradually coalesced into another: why?

Why is this happening
? he demanded.
Why me
?

Unexpectedly, James received an answer — so clear and loud he first imagined someone had spoken aloud.
Because
, said the voice, which sounded very much like Embries’,
you were born for this
.

This so surprised him that he stopped in his tracks and looked around. The pale sunlight had faded into a pewter haze overhead. The wind was colder, and a ground fog was beginning to form. Four or five pathways fanned out before him through the mostly empty park; there were few people around. The path he happened to be standing on was deserted, so he continued on, pushing his hands into his pockets and wishing he had thought to bring his coat.

To warm up, he began to jog.

His leather-soled shoes slapped the pavement hard; he could feel the jolting impact with every step. He passed some people bundled up on park benches; they regarded him with the kind of look reserved for suspicious strangers running in street clothes. James didn’t care. It felt good to run, to felt the cold air burning in his lungs. This, at least, was real, he thought. After all that he had heard in Embries’ office, he needed something tangible, something physical; he needed sweat and cold and an ache in his side and a blister on his heel to anchor him to reality once more.

The rhythm of running changed the flow of his thoughts; the questions spinning in his head grew sharper, more focused. Instead of asking the vague and amorphous
why
? the question became:
why does this upset me
?

All that Embries had showed him, when added to what he already knew, made perfect sense. And it wasn’t as if the news was particularly scandalous — maybe once upon a time, but not now; anyway, everyone even remotely concerned was dead now, except James. If no one else cared about his parentage, why should he?

He thought about the legal wrangle over the estate.
How many times
, he asked himself,
in how many months, have you wished for something amazing to turn up? If once, then a thousand times
, came the reply. A letter, a will, a bolt from the blue — anything to turn the case his way. Now, here it was, the miracle he had secretly hoped would save his home and livelihood. James stood to inherit one of the few great estates left in the entire country. Why be upset about it? Why not embrace it, welcome it, seize it with both hands and shout Hallelujah! like any normal person?

He had no answer. The plain fact was that he
was
upset. He could accept his parents’ deception; he could accept his new identity and, insofar as it promised to secure his home and all he held dear, he could even welcome it. Yet there was something about all this that filled him with unspeakable trepidation. He felt sweat trickle down his sides, and it was the cold sweat of pure, undiluted dread.

It seemed to James that the very air swarmed with uncertainty and menace — as if a great weight hung over him on a fast-fraying rope.

It must be fear, he concluded at last. Was he not behaving like a frightened man? Running, desperately trying to escape from the peril he felt closing in around him.
But what was it
? he wondered. What was there about this situation that frightened him so much it had him running like a madman through the park?

When James finally stopped to look around, the sun was already past midday and the shadows were growing long. The sky overhead had a darkly threatening aspect, and a light breeze was kicking up the few dry leaves on the path which had become little more than a muddy track through unmown grass. He was sweating from his run, and was feeling the cold begin to bite. He decided it was time to head back. First, however, he had to figure out where he was.

With quick steps, James returned along the path and reached the place where he had departed from the pavement. Making his way to the nearest street, he left the park and walked quickly towards the closest junction, thinking to find a street sign or two to help orient himself. As he approached the intersection, however, he glimpsed, out of the corner of his eye the motion of a dark shape coming up behind him, and recognized the black Jaguar. The car stopped as he turned around; Rhys jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door. Cal and Embries were inside.

“We thought you might be getting cold, sir,” Rhys said. “Would you like to come with us?”

James nodded, and slid into the backseat with Embries, who held out his coat. “Thanks,” James said, pushing his arms into the sleeves. The car slid silently into the street traffic. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Oh, I have a nose for these things,” Embries answered. James could not tell if he was joking.

“Would you like some lunch or anything?” asked Cal from the front seat. “We brought you some sandwiches.” He held up a white paper bag.

“Thanks,” said James, accepting the bag and dropping it on the seat beside him. “Maybe later.”

The car glided along the streets, and it soon became clear to James that they were not returning to St. James’s Palace. “Where are we going?”

“There is a man I would like you to meet,” Embries said, “if you have no objection.”

“Not at all. Bring him on.”

They proceeded smoothly through the city. Nothing was said of James’ inheritance, or what they had discussed in Embries’ office; each man occupied himself with his own private thoughts. After a while, the Jaguar turned onto Earl’s Court Road and headed south, passing one busy high street and then another, and on until they finally passed the Stamford Bridge Stadium where they turned down a side street lined with modest Victorian town houses. Rhys slowed the Jaguar and parked on the street in front of a white-painted double-fronted house at the end of the row. “Here we are,” said Embries, as Rhys opened the door.

The small square of lawn was well kept, and the property surrounded on all sides by one of those tall wrought-iron fences that looks like a rank of spears, with the shafts painted glossy black and the spearheads painted gold. A brightly polished brass plaque on the side of the house identified the place as The Royal Heritage Preservation Society.

James read out the inscription as Cal joined him at the iron gate. “Oh, great,” sighed Cal. “Aren’t these the we-love-our-Teddy nutters?” he asked as Embries came to stand with them.

“They have a quasi-political wing, yes,” Embries admitted diplomatically. “The Save Our Monarchy Coalition has an office here, I believe. However, following the demise of both Debrett’s and Burke’s Peerage the RHPS are the best remaining authority on the nobility,” he said, pushing the gate open. “In fact, the best of Debrett’s and Burke’s staff ended up here. I know one of the editors, and I’ve asked him to do a little nosing around for us. Shall we go in?”

They opened the door and entered a narrow blue-carpeted vestibule. A receptionist smiled at them as they came in; she was talking on the phone, and rang off as they came to stand before her. “Mr. Collins is expecting us, I believe,” Embries informed her.