Not getting even a foothold psychically, I turned to Internet investigation. The number of genealogies which include boys who may have died at the age of ten or twelve in 1483 is daunting; and these are only the boys from well-known families. Obviously the numbers for which records do not exist make the task, at best, a guess.
In the end I had to confront King Louis himself.
“C est l’omme que …”
He continued in French. Normally the mind translates any language, often even the idiom and grammar, to modern English. The fact I have a smattering of schoolboy French allowed Louis to talk schoolboy French to me, to his own advantage and my disadvantage. I put a stop to it, but it was quite remarkable he was able to influence my mind in this way.
“You do not like the language of France?”
“I do not like you hiding your meaning in any way.”
The King shrugged.
The way with Louis had to be direct.
“Why did you have doubles of the Princes put in the White Tower?”
“It is only fair, you take you replace, not so?”
I waited, and so did he.
“The truth.”
“Many English do not like Richard, especially those who had to flee to France.”
“And?”
“They would kill him of course.”
“Not too many children dislike Richard enough to kill him; and at the price of their own lives.”
“You have heard of my cages perhaps? They can be used for the parents as well as the sons.
They change the mind.”
I had indeed read of Louis’ cages, specially made of iron or sometimes wood, not unlike those which caused such outrage when the Americans used them at Guantanamo Bay, but Louis’ cages were much more cramped. He also used specially designed heavy shackles, designed to make all movement difficult and painful. Many victims were caged for months or even years, Louis once caged his best friend and companion, Philippe de Commynes, for nine months. Afterwards Philippe served him loyally for the rest of the King’s life.
Louis did not use conventional torture in the conventional way. His torture was mental, and he played mind games.
It was as far as I would get with the Young Gentlemen. I hadn’t found their names because they had truly lost them, perhaps they had even lost their souls. I returned my attention to Louis, promising myself I would return to him again hereafter.
“You did not trust Morton to work on the Duke of Buckingham?”
“Only a fool trusts.”
King Louis XI started to laugh, and continued to laugh until the image faded.
***
Chapter 34 – Return to Thomas
The next priority was also a relief from being in the company of Louis. After that last interview I needed a shower, the longest shower I’ve ever taken. There was one advantage, for me, over the French king’s contemporaries, I could go out, and listen to the music of Duke Ellington, while I smoked in the garden. At least, for the time being, it washed the taint of the man clean away.
It was a pleasure to return to Thomas, and I brought a feast with me; since I could, why not?
“Thomas, it is now time to make choices. Do you wish to leave this place?”
I spoke after our main course principally of chicken, accompanied by grape juice. He looked at me. The answer was obvious, but my intention was to bring his mind to the matter in hand.
“My lord, after you showed me I need not stay, the only reason I’m still here is I knew you would return.
While you were not here I studied the painting you left, of Our Lord, Saint Mary and Saint John. I will face my fate, but first I wish to hear what ingenious device you bring.”
I returned his smile, and admit taking some pride in what I laid out for him.
“You will have realised I am not from your world. The easiest way to put it is my world grew, after very many years, from what has been done, by you and the brothers, in the present world.”
Before I could go on Thomas interrupted,
“So what we have done, the death of the King and the Prince, ends well?”
“No, it most certainly does not end well. England loses France, lawful rule and the Church. England goes on to great power in the world, bringing many good things, but also a blight caused by the bad. In the world there is a loss of honesty, honour and a sense of God’s presence; there is and has been very great suffering. There always has been great suffering, of course, but it is no exaggeration to say hundreds of millions of people have died in war in the last hundred years.”
Thomas sat open mouthed.
“Then there cannot be many left.”
“To the contrary, more than ever before. But the world is greatly troubled. Some even fear the end of days.
I bring you the chance to undo what you have done. If you do take that chance it must be your choice and for your reasons: not for the future or for me.”
There actually were tears in Thomas eyes,
“So much have I prayed. Tell me, how can I go back?”
“It will not be easy, if you follow my scheme it starts with you being buried alive.”
I laid out for Thomas what I had arranged in the well.
Thomas muttered soundlessly, his lips moving but no sound came out. He rocked back and forth and made tiny gestures with his hands such that I began to worry for him.
At length, his eyes came back into focus and he looked at me calmly.
“I have seen what you have done. It is ingenious my lord, but what of you?”
“I will wish you give me less reverence. I shall stay with the reality I have, the world from which I came.”
“But it will no longer exist if I do not take the Princes.”
“You already have taken the Princes. If you go back and do not take them the World will go both of two ways; it will carry on to where I came from and it will go a new way, with you in it. Worlds are not only made by cause and effect, they are made by belief. What is a miracle but the triumph of belief over cause? The world from which I came will continue as long as people choose to believe in it.”
We both sat silent for a while.
“I will go back, I will direct myself out of the way, I will not take the Princes, and I will do all this because it is right that I should. If it were not right I should die under the rubble, but I have seen this will not happen.”
With the decision made a weight lifted from me.
“I have another delicacy to offer. It’s made of a layer of shortbread, topped by a layer of strawberries, topped by thick cream, topped by shortbread, and so on. When you leave them for a few hours each layer seeps into the others.”
And I produced this sweet like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
When we finished there was yet one more delicacy.
“You will not have experienced this before, it’s called coffee.”
And I poured him a large cup, black, strong and sweet.
“It is best to sip it.”
“There is one more thing I must ask.”
I produced the paper, ink and pen from my bag which he had declined before, when I asked him to set out his ritual.
“I want you to write down the conjuration by which you took Prince Richard to Circe. I want you to explain it in such a way that a man of fair understanding and good courage will be able to bring him back. Make this into a letter to be delivered to Margaret, duchess of Burgundy, that she shall be able to bring him back.”
“This ‘coffee’ wonderfully clears the head.”
I nodded and waited.
“But where is the need for the conjuration to bring the Prince back if the Prince was not taken?”
“In my world, where you did take the Princes from the Tower, he was brought back, and by Duchess Margaret. We must now see to it she is able to do so. I ask you to write the letter out twice. The first copy I ask you to give to Jacob the smith with instructions to take it to Hertford Castle, from there a messenger
may take it to Burgundy; or if you prefer you can take it to Holborn, from where you can find a messenger yourself. You must do this before you do anything else.
The second copy I ask you to give to me, so I may send it if any mischance befalls the First.
For your means to pay I give you these.”
I handed Thomas twelve coins, they were ‘Angels,’ minted by order of Edward IV and worth 6/8d, half a mark or a third of a pound. In 1483, £4 would buy nine months labour of a skilled craftsman, it would give Thomas some freedom.
The symbol of the coins was not lost on Thomas, and he looked at me with due solemnity. He began to write without another word. It took four more cups of coffee before Thomas declared himself satisfied.
I took a stick of sealing wax from my pocket, sealed both letters with a flame from a candle, and returned one letter to Thomas. I’d impressed the wax on both letters with a seal which had been in my possession for many years, one for which there’d never before been a use. The seal was masonic, and called for the aid of any who recognised it; I did not know if it would be recognised at this early date, but I thought it might be.
As I handed one letter back I made a point of great importance,
“You must send this letter on its way before you take any action what so ever to change the course of what you have done. There is power in intention and in the course of events. This letter must stay in the world where the Princes were taken from the Tower. If you do not send it soon enough Duchess Margaret may never be able to bring Prince Richard back to my world. Do you understand?”
Thomas nodded and took the letter; I could see he did understand.
Before we parted, Thomas asked me once again,
“Will you not come with me?”
I’d thought about it carefully, and answered him truthfully,
“In the world from which I come I have a wife, and I have a daughter. Even if no-one else cares for me I care for them… and I have a book to write.
Thomas simply said,
“If you have need of me you will know where to find me.”
We embraced and the scene was gone.
The next day I returned. The room was empty, exactly as it had been before, but now there was no Thomas. I sat on his chair and meditated. He had done as he said he would. There would be no need for the letter in my pocket.
***
Chapter 35 – Return to King Louis
It is much easier to change history to what you know has happened than to change it to what you know has not. There was still one thing to be done to secure the world we know, before I should give my mind to the world we don’t know.
History records King Louis XI died on 30th August 1483. I wanted to be sure it happened.
I went to Plessis-les-Tours, in Touraine, ‘the spider’s nest,’ earlier in the month of August. Louis had been ill since 1480, and I’d watched him implore the traveling hermit, Robert of Calabria, to save his life. Robert’s answer was to assure the King that in God alone lay the power to lengthen his days. It reminded me of the story in Johannes Nider’s Formicarius and gave me the line I should take.
In the last weeks Louis was closely guarded but alone except for Philippe de Commynes, who had become his constant companion. I had only to avoid Philippe to have Louis on his own.
I found the King sat in bed, the windows were covered by thick drapes but the room was well lit by many candles. He saw me immediately.
“You remember me, the man who was in your head?
I have come to warn you, you will not live beyond this month.”
Louis clutched his cap, fondling the metal badges of saints set all around it.
“The saintly hermit, Robert of Calabria told you, only God can save you. Yet you prefer magic and witchcraft such as you practiced against King Edward IV. Your idols will not save you now.
“That Edward, I hate him, I destroyed him, and soon I shall take his country.”
“You shall not live long enough.”
“I have the ring of Saint Zenobius.”
“Not even the great bishop of Florence can help you while you trust in magic. Yet you cannot turn to God with so many sins in your heart, can you Louis? What terrible thing happened when you were a small child, to turn your heart from God to the Devil?”
The King had begun to tremble and I pressed closer.
“You practise deceit when honesty is the virtue.
Remember your murdered father,
Remember Charles the Bold you cheated and destroyed, simply because you could, against your honour and duty,
Remember the good people you caged,
Remember the innocent noblemen you executed,
Remember the son you neglected.
Remember my words; they are the last thing you will remember when you die.”
His face was twitching now, his whole body shaking, convulsed in a seizure, I had done enough. Even so I added a little more before I left the room,
“Your relics turn to ashes; you cannot use the power of good against Goodness itself. You are as a child shouting against the darkness you yourself have chosen.
Remember my words Louis, they are the last you will remember when you die.”
Lest it be suggested I did too much, it is said of Louis:
“Cruel and unsympathetic in disposition... he had more than 4,000 people put to death during his reign. One of his political enemies, Cardinal de Balue, was kept shut up for many years in an iron cage as a punishment for his offences. Both his first and second wives suffered much from his harshness and neglect, and he made but little effort to bring up his son Charles in a way befitting the future King of France.”
“A cry of thankfulness”, it is said, “went up from every heart in France when his death was known …”
From ‘The Death of Louis XI of France.’
Louis was indeed dead by the end of the month. With his going, with the Princes out of reach of the French, and the assassins programmed to kill King Richard no longer in the Tower; History could go the way we know it to be.
***
The Necromancer - PART III
Chapter 36 – A Brave New World
Some philosophers think, in every moment, countless choices are made by all of us. Each of these choices, so they say, creates a new world; the reality of each world being slightly different, according to the consequences of the choices we made. Some choices make greater differences than others, but mostly we aren’t aware of the differences and, as consequences unfold, we think the reality of the world we are in could never be otherwise. We most certainly do not think it already is otherwise, in countless ways, in countless different worlds, each with their own realities and, at least to start with, countless different versions of ourselves.
The idea is too big, and the brain rebels against it; much better, much easier, to think of a single-pointed sole reality in the one and only world which exists, the one we experience now.
Thomas daydreamed his way into the world of Odysseus, brought to life in Homer’s Odyssey. Ever after, the power of the great witch Circe stuck to him, making it possible for him to move outside his single-pointed world.
Each of us does the same in our dreams. In dreams our subconscious is the master and each subconscious mind knows the true nature of reality and the many worlds. Our conscious minds hide from this; otherwise we would never see through to the end the consequences of our own choices. These consequences are very often bitter and always end in death.
Perhaps this is why we like stories and storytelling. We truly would like to escape the consequences of our choices, at least for a short time. Please just remember the writers of history are also storytellers; the one thing of which we can be sure is that our pasts are never quite as we suppose them to be. What of science, that purports to give us the inner workings of a single-pointed World reality? Have you noticed the world given by science constantly changes? It works well enough at a big enough and crude enough level, so long as it works as a s
tory in which we can all believe – ask any quantum physicist. How about the contradictory realities of the worlds of religion, with differences between each other, and each giving a somewhat different set of realities of the single-pointed world than the realities of science.
You do need to deal with the consequences of your choices: but what if you find yourself in a world full of deceit, selfishness and dishonour; all the consequence of choices made by other people long ago?
Yes, it was your choice to be here; but is it not rather too much to ask you to cope with so much error and wrongdoing, which never truly was yours?
So ran my thoughts about the brave new world Thomas created by not taking the Princes out of the White Tower. He would be his own redeemer, and perhaps the redeemer of any who chose to go with him. How appropriate it was he should carry the portrait of Christ on the Cross, with saints Mary and John.
Yet it worried me there were still problems in that world, problems posed by the still dangerous Bishop John Morton, and by the French agent Legley. There was also another matter, the execution of the innocent William Hastings, and the disgrace of the equally innocent Mistress Shore; I hadn’t mentioned this to Thomas since he had taken no part in their downfall.
It is in human nature to dislike injustice. I am not so evolved that I can rise above it and ignore it. Whether it was wrong of me or reaching too far, this part of the book is about tinkering with Thomas’ new world and trying to right the wrongs which I very much feared were still there.
***
Chapter 37 – An End for Bishop Morton
I could not bring an end to Bishop Morton in the reality of my past. In my world I already knew he went on to be Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Chancellor, he would even get the cardinal’s hat King Louis had promised; and I knew the year of his death. In the new world opened by Thomas not taking the Princes it was a very different matter. Here there was as much freedom as in my own present, maybe more.
First I had to go through the entrance I made for Thomas, down in the space behind the well in Hatfield; I went through the first entrance there and found myself in the Bishops garden at Holborn. My thoughts had to stay narrow: this new world had to become real; maybe not too real, the entrance at Ely Place went only one way.
The garden in summer was full of scents and the buzz of insects. There had been rain that morning; although the sky was now clear, droplets still clung to the petals of a white rose as I studied it intently. There were gardeners in another part of the grounds, they might have been a hundred yards away and they didn’t disturb me, as I concentrated on the rose. There was the brown mark of rot on one of the petals: I set my mind to removing it, by this my influence over the new world could be told.