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  "So the king was sacrificed, his blood spilled on the earth, and a new king crowned, usually on a seven-year cycle. Later, kings were no longer sacrificed every seven years, but a substitute was slain, as long as the king was strong. The idea of the king's divinity persisted in our notion of rule by divine right. There may even have been instances of the divine sacrifice in historical times. The death of your distant ancestor, William Rufus, was almost certainly a sacrificial slaying. There were undoubtedly others later on. But I didn't mean to digress too far from old Edward Three and the Garter."

  William shook his head bewilderedly. "You're more than a little wonky, Gray. A garter can just be something to hold up a stocking, you know. It doesn't have to be some magical—"

  "Still not convinced, eh? What did I tell you about covens the last time we talked?"

  "The idea of twelve plus one?"

  "Um-hum."

  "What about it?"

  'Think about the organization of the order: twelve knights for the King and twelve for the Prince of Wales. That's twenty-six: two covens. There are also twenty-six poor knights and thirteen canons, making a total of five covens in all. I'd guess that to be more than coincidence."

  "But it's a Christian order, founded on classic Christian principles."

  Graham smiled and shook his head. "The principles are universal at their heart, William. In the beginning, the reverence of the Garter Knights for the sovereign of their order put even God in second place. Read the order's original statutes of institution sometime. For the first century or so after the founding, the knights entering the St. George Chapel at Windsor for meetings of their order would make their obeisance to the sovereign or his stall and then to the presence signified at the altar. They believed that the God Incarnate was among them in the person of their king. This kind of reverence for the monarch, to one degree or another, extended at least into the reign of James I."

  William shook his head. 'Why am I even listening to you? This is utter rubbish!"

  "Is it? What else was Christ's crucifixion but a sacrifice of the divine king?" Graham retorted, determined not to let up. "King of the Jews and Son of God—God Incarnate. And I could name you dozens of other divine king sacrifices from the traditions of other religions—Osiris, Tammuz, Mithras. ... If one believes in any of those, including Christianity, how is that so different from believing that the king assumed the godhead at his anointing and then stood in the stead of the god during his reign? It all goes back to the times when the king was priest as well as ruler, making sacrifices on his people's behalf—and the sacrifice was not always just incense and sheep."

  "But that was then."

  "Yes, but we certainly do retain elements of the old priestly ordination in our present coronation ceremony—the anointing, the vesting with priest-like clothing. It's still sometimes referred to as the sacring of the king. Perhaps it's even significant that to this day, only Knights of the Garter are permitted to hold the canopy over the king during his anointing. Think back to your brother's coronation—or your father's, if you can remember it. An interesting custom, don't you think?"

  William had actually stopped breathing as Graham hammered home his final points, and now he let out his pent-up breath in an audible sigh as he sank back in his chair. All the fight was gone out of him. After a moment, he remembered the cigarette between his fingers and stubbed it out distractedly, but Graham could see him eyeing his Garter star from quite a new perspective as he pushed his glass aside.

  "Oddly enough, it does make a certain kind of sense," William murmured when he glanced up at Graham again.

  "It also carries the potential for a great deal of controversy and scandal, were your knowledge to become known," Graham said quietly. "That's why I've never told you any of this before." He sighed. "On the other hand, it does seem somehow right that you should finally know. Maybe I've realized that from the beginning. Perhaps that's why I fought so hard to force you into being what I knew you could be when that spoiled, arrogant young Lieutenant Victor first came under my command," he continued with a wan smile. "Perhaps we even knew one another in some previous life and unconsciously I recognized the bond."

  William smiled self-consciously, still a little nervous but obviously pleased at the idea.

  "Do you really think so?"

  "It's possible." Graham flashed on a mental image of William's horoscope, suddenly making a previously unnoticed connection with an aspect of his own. "Now that I think about it, our charts do tend to confirm that. My south node falls in your first house. It's a little wide, but it certainly fits. Odd that I never noticed it before."

  "What are you talking about? Noticed what?"

  Graham shook his head and grinned. "Sorry. I keep forgetting that such things mean nothing to you. Such a configuration is often a sign of a karmic tie—some connection from previous lives. I'll bring both charts and show you next time we meet. On the other hand"—he shrugged—"perhaps it doesn't mean a thing. Astrology is no more infallible than any other science."

  "Or art?" William returned with a tiny smile.

  "Or art," Graham agreed, though suddenly he felt uneasy,.

  Apparently restless, William rose and moved nearer the fireplace to stare unseeing at the bric-a-brac there, one hand in a pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, nervous gesture. After a moment, he half turned to Graham again.

  "This—tie of the Royal Family to the—the old faith. Do you think it still exists today?"

  "Not consciously, for the most part, especially for the royals themselves," Graham answered, wondering what he might unwittingly have said to elicit William's growing restlessness. "I think it persists for the people in the mystique of royalty, however. That's why your appearances and speeches are so important, even though they may not seem that way, compared to more dramatic action. You're a part of the same royal line which anciently gave us sacred kings. In that sense, they become very much your people, and you their prince."

  "But it's my brother who's king, not I."

  "Yes, but blood is blood regardless of the order of birth. That makes you rather special."

  *Then you think—"

  A discreet rap at the door cut William off in npiid-sentence, and he mouthed a single-word expletive under his breath before clearing his throat with a nervous cough.

  "Yes?"

  It was Wells, who inclined his head apologetically.

  "I beg your pardon, sir. There's a Mr. Grumbaugh on the line for Colonel Graham." He shifted his glance to Graham. "He says you're to pick up a message at the Admiralty straightaway, colonel."

  Graham rose at once. "Tell him Tm on my way, please, Mr. Wells. And have my driver bring the car around, if you will."

  As Wells withdrew and Graham tossed off the last of his cognac, the prince drifted a little closer.

  "What's on, then? Is Grumbaugh a part of your—Drake thing, after all?"

  Graham nearly choked on his drink. "Good heavens, no! It's probably some ciphers we're expecting. Ultra—you know. They won't release them to anyone but me." He set down his glass and began struggling with the collar of his tunic. "Grumbaugh's working the late shift tonight. I told him to ring me if the word came through. He's the only one who knew where I was dining this evening, and I told him any interruption had better be urgent—so I suppose it is."

  "Well, I suppose you'd better see about it, then, hadn't you?" The prince stuck out his hand. "At any rate, I'm glad we had a chance to talk—even if we were interrupted. Incidentally, may I ask a favor?" he added as Graham's hand touched his.

  Graham, his one hand clasped between the prince's two, had a sudden premonition of impending crisis.

  "What favor is that?"

  "I'd like to be with you when you do that Drake thing you talked about."

  Chapter 7

  FOR AN INTERMINABLE INSTANT, GrAHAM COULD ONLY stare at William in dumb disbelief. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the feudal symbolism of his hand between the princ
e's and the obedience the implied relationship suggested. He realized, too, that William had very likely intended the connection, rightly anticipating that what he asked would put Graham on the spot.

  But why had William asked such a thing and with the weight of such compulsion? Graham had not even been sure the prince believed most of what they had been dicussing.

  No formal oath of feudal allegiance bound the two of them, prince and man, as it might have done in medieval times. Graham was not William's vassal in any technical sense. But Graham now realized that a hint of such a link had been building between them for some time—perhaps even from the beginning. The mystique of the royal was far more than the coolly reasoned historical theory he had voiced so glibly not minutes before. William was his prince, in the fullest sense of the feudal relationship expressed in their clasped hands.

  Yet there were other obligations that must take precedence even over the wishes of a prince. William had asked the impossible. If it was Graham's duty to serve this man, it was also his duty to protect him. A magical operation was no place for the uninitiated, especially a royal duke. Besides, Graham was not alone in what was planned. He had others to protect as well, who stood in similar relationship to him.

  "Sir, I—can't allow that," he whispered formally. "You're putting me in an extremely awkward position by even asking. It isn't entirely up to me, in any case. There are others to be considered."

  "Your—superiors will be there?" William murmured.

  Graham nodded, not wanting to even imagine what Alix— or David!—would say. But the blue eyes did not waver, and the royal hands slackened their grip not at all.

  "Gray, I'm sorry. I know it isn't fair of me to ask. It isn't just a passing fancy, though. I couldn't begin to tell you why, but it's—important that I be there."

  "William, I—"

  "Will you listen!'" William hissed under his breath, his eyes oddly desperate. "I promise I won't interfere. And you know I'll be discreet."

  As Graham continued shaking his head, searching for words to persuade William that it simply was not possible, Wells appeared at the door again, Graham's coal and hat in hand.

  "Colonel, your car is ready."

  "Gray, please!" the prince repeated. "At least promise that you'll think about it, that you'll ask the others. That's all I ask."

  "All right, I'll think about it," Graham returned in a low voice, though he knew he had no intention of relenting even if the others agreed.

  "Thank you," the prince murmured under his breath, then continued in a slightly louder than normal voice as he gripped Graham's hand in an ordinary handshake and released it.

  "Good night, then. A pity we've had to cut our evening short, but duty calls and all that. Do ring me next week, when you get the chance. I hope they let you get some sleep tonight."

  As Graham shrugged into his coat, he wondered how he would sleep even if he had the time. Of all the possible outcomes of this evening's dinner, this was one he had not expected.

  To cap his evening, there were no ciphers awaiting h!.a at the Admiralty. The summons turned out to be a ruse. A young subaltern led him to the door of an obscure office on the second floor and then left him despite his low-voiced protests and demands for an explanation. When he entered the office, he understood why.

  He knew whose aide the attractive WRNS rating was and also her real function as resident clairvoyant to the powerful man she served. He followed her into the next room without question and sat down to wait, taut with expectation when she left him. He tried not to think about William.

  The distinguished-looking naval officer who shortly entered wore a captain's four cuff rings on his uniform sleeve and a gold staff aiguillette on his shoulder, but it was not that which brought Graham to his feet at once. The two of them held equal military rank and were almost of an age, but they generally moved in quite different circles. The man noted Graham's mess dress with a raised eyebrow and a bemused lift to one comer of his mouth, too tired to really smile. He gestured with the manila envelope he took from under his arm as he perched on the comer of the bare desk top.

  "So, I hear it took a royal duke to get you out of battle-dress. Have a nice dinner, did you, colonel?"

  Graham took the man's measure with faint amusement, catching the slight twinkle of response in the light eyes.

  "So, it must have been your aide who put Gmmbaugh on the panic to get me here, sir," he replied, warming to the other man's charisma. "I assume it was important enough to intermpt a glass of very fine cognac."

  "Well, now. Gray, if you don't want to know what I've arranged about Buckland—"

  Graham held up both hands in surrender and shook his head, grinning broadly. "I yield to your lordship's impeccable sense of priorities. Were you able to get permission?"

  "I was." The man pulled a sheaf of forms from the envelope and fanned through them as Graham moved closer to look on. "You should find all the authorizations in order. I had to pull a few strings, but most of them are quite untraceable. It's set for the fifth of July, as you requested."

  "Perfect. I do appreciate it, sir."

  "Not at all. You were quite right about parts of the estate being used as a storehouse for naval supplies, by the way. That made things considerably easier. If explanations are necessary, 1 shall say it's for a top-level meeting of some of your agents—

  which is true, in a sense, I suppose—though if anyone asks why you picked the middle of a God-forsaken moor, I don't know what I'll tell them. I shan't inquire why you really want it, though I can guess."

  Graham replaced the forms in the envelope and slipped the lot inside his coat with a smile. "I'm sure your guess is at least close to the truth, sir. And I do appreciate everything you're doing to help. This may make the difference, come August first. Thank you."

  The man shrugged, but he also smiled. "All a part of the service, old man." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I must go. Some engineers are supposed to tell me whether my poor old ship can be refitted by the end of the year. I suppose you heard about the beating she took."

  "Some rumors about a stubborn captain did cross my desk," Graham replied with a congratulatory nod. "You're back to sea, then?"

  "On one ship or another, probably for the duration—at least that's what I hope for. I'll be doing convoy duty for a while. Anyway, good luck."

  He stuck out his hand, somewhat to Graham's surprise, and Graham clasped it with a slight bow before leaving the office. As he made his way back to his car, he found himself comparing the man he had just left with William. Somehow the similarity disturbed him. It was one thing for this man to be an aware scion of the old line; it was quite another for a prince of the blood to be wanting the same kind of knowledge and beginning to use the weight of his rank to get it.

  "I told you, I don't know why he wants to be there," Graham said wearily as he and the others relaxed in the library at Oak wood three days later, after their Midsummer working. "As far as I can tell, it came right out of the blue. I think even he was surprised. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place, but at the time, it seemed quite logical."

  David Jordan, Lord Selwyn, the master of the house, moved into the pool of moonlight streaming through the closed French doors and gazed into the summer night. Beyond him, the precisely trimmed hedges of the garden's boxwood maze stood out in bright-honed planes of silver and inky shadows. In the center of that maze, though only the roof top could be seen from anywhere on the grounds, lay the place where they had worked: by day, a trellis-sided gazebo twined with roses and ivy; by night, some nights, their temple and magical working place.

  When Selwyn did not speak, Graham rose and joined him. Behind them in the room, the two women poured tea and arranged sandwiches and biscuits by candlelight; the three younger men, Richard, Geoffrey, and Michael, divided their attention between the coming food and the conversation in progress between their elders. The brigadier leaned casually against the wall beside the doorway, watching
and listening to Graham and Selwyn but saying nothing, pipe smoke curling lazily in a slight draft that managed to sneak past the door frame.

  "You mentioned congruencies in your two charts," Selwyn said after a moment. "What in particular?"

  Graham sighed and rubbed at a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He had participated in the working this evening, but the tension of being constantly on guard against a contact from Sturm had left him far more exhausted than usual.

  "Well, just for openers, we both have the same ascending degree and sign: nineteen degrees Cancer rising—less than half a minute apart, in fact—and we both have Scorpio moons in our fifth houses, also very close."

  "How close?"

  "About eight degrees. We also both have angular suns in water signs, and we both have Pisces in the midheaven, less than two degrees apart, with our suns strongly aspecting it. The thing I flashed on while I was talking to him and which Vd never noticed before was my south-node placement in his first house—a possible karmic link. We also have Pluto and Neptune in our twelfth houses, referring to occult matters." He paused a beat. "Maybe he should be allowed to come."

  "Would it be physically safe for him in terms of the military situation?" the brigadier asked. "I've heard rumor of something big brewing at Plymouth."

  Graham smiled wanly. "I wish I knew where you get your intelligence, Wesley. You're quite correct, however. Right now, a sizable chunk of the French fleet is anchored at Plymouth and wondering what the bloody hell it's going to do once the annistice is signed." He glanced at the others and lowered his voice so only Selwyn and the brigadier could hear. "I assume you know what's being considered, David. Your ship was mentioned in some of the dispatches."

  Selwyn propped himself wearily against the door frame and closed his eyes. "I'm to pick up a shipload of Royal Marines next week and stand by for orders to proceed to Plymouth and seize the ships by whatever force is necessary to keep them from surrendering to the Germans." He looked up at the moon. "Bloody war! Since when are we supposed to fight our allies?"