He hung the body upon the nearest thorn-tree. Then he amused himself by taking shots at the decaying bodies and the serpents. He had not been engaged in this pleasant occupation for more than an hour when he heard the sounds of hooves upon the woodland path. From the opposite direction, from Faerie rather than England, a dark figure upon a dark horse was approaching.

Lascelles spun round. “I am the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart,” he began …

65
The ashes, the pearls, the counterpane and the kiss

Mid February 1817

As Lucas and the others were leaving Hurtfew Abbey, Stephen was dressing in his bed-chamber at the top of the house in Harley-street.

London is a city with more than its fair share of eccentricities, but of all the surprizing places it contained at this time the most extraordinary was undoubtedly Stephen’s bed-chamber. It was full of things that were precious, rare or wonderful. If the Cabinet, or the gentlemen who direct the Bank of England, had been somehow able to acquire the contents of Stephen’s bed-chamber their cares would have all been over. They could have paid off Britain’s debts and built London anew with the change. Thanks to the gentleman with the thistle-down hair Stephen possessed crown jewels from who-knew-what kingdoms, and embroidered robes that had once belonged to Coptic popes. The flowerpots upon his windowsill contained no flowers, but only ruby-and-pearl crosses, carved jewels and the insignia of long-dead military orders. Inside his small cupboard was a piece of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and the thigh-bone of a Basque saint. St Christopher’s hat hung upon a peg behind the door and a marble statue of Lorenzo de Medici by Michael Angel (which had stood, until recently, upon the great man’s tomb in Florence) occupied most of the floor.

Stephen was shaving himself in a little mirror balanced upon Lorenzo de Medici’s knee when the gentleman appeared at his shoulder.

“The magician has returned to England!” he cried. “I saw him last night in the King’s Roads, with the Darkness wrapped about him like a mystical cloak! What does he want? What can he be planning? Oh! This will be the end of me, Stephen! I feel it! He means me great harm!”

Stephen felt a chill. The gentleman was always at his most dangerous in this mood of agitation and alarm.

“We should kill him!” said the gentleman.

“Kill him? Oh no, sir!”

“Why not? We could be rid of him for ever! I could bind his arms, eyes and tongue with magic, and you could stab him through the heart!”

Stephen thought rapidly. “But his return may have nothing to do with you at all, sir,” he offered. “Consider how many enemies he has in England – human enemies, I mean. Perhaps he has come back to continue his quarrel with one of them.”

The gentleman looked doubtful. Any reasoning that did not contain a reference to himself was always difficult for him to follow. “I do not think that very likely,” he said.