“There’s naught to fear,” said a voice from
somewhere near the furnace. “I mean no harm and I have disturbed
nothing of yours.”
“Master Hugh?” Mirielle stood perfectly
still, trying to locate him. Beside her Minn began to purr. The
sound convinced Mirielle that Hugh had spoken a simple truth. She
need not fear her visitor. “How did you come inside without
unfastening the latch? And why have you neglected to light one of
the lamps?”
“It seemed to me likely that you would seek
respite in your own special place,” Hugh replied.
“But, the latch -”
“Perhaps I flew in the window.”
“You could not. The shutter has a similar
latch on it.” Mirielle responded to the humor in Hugh’s voice, and
then she caught her breath. “When you spoke just then, you sounded
like my dear Cerra.”
“Your teacher?”
“Yes. Master Hugh, you may be able to see in
the dark, but I have never learned that skill. Let me strike the
flint.” She knew where it was. She knew where everything in her
room was, for she kept the place neat and clean, as Cerra had
explained was necessary for the practice of healing—or for
alchemical experiments or the study of magic.
Mirielle’s fingers found the pieces of flint
where they lay on the table, but before she could strike a spark
every oil lamp in the room burst into light and the fuel piled
inside the furnace flared with joyful, dancing flames. A kettle
with water in it that she had left atop the furnace began to bubble
and boil. Hugh stood beside the furnace, clad in the same plain,
dark robe he had worn to the meal in the great hall.
In his hand was the staff that had caused
concern to the watchman, Mauger, at the outer castle gate. Mirielle
remembered how Hugh had made a point of unfastening the staff along
with the saddlebags. The staff was at least five feet long. It was
crooked in places, as if it had been made from a sapling that had
branches growing out of it. The branches had been cut off, the bark
had been stripped, and the wood cured by a process that made it
hard as metal and turned it to a dark reddish-brown. The staff was
highly polished, but it was undecorated.
“I knew you at once for a mage,” Mirielle
said.
“As I knew you, Mirielle. I believe we have
much to teach each other.”
“Will you show me your true face, Master
Hugh?”
“I will, if you will tell me why you greeted
my friend and me with a face not your own.”
“You are very like Cerra. She always required
an equal exchange for everything she taught me.”
“In nature a balance must always be
maintained.” Hugh paused, awaiting her explanation.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mirielle said. “These are
dangerous times. I hide my face from strangers because it is the
safest course. The disguise prevents problems from arising.”
“Great beauty can be a curse.” Hugh nodded
his understanding.
“Those who know me here at Wroxley see me as
I am,” Mirielle said. She raised her left hand in the gesture so
familiar to her. “This affects only strangers.
“Now, Master Hugh, I have fulfilled my part.
Show me your face.”
“See it, Mirielle.” Hugh stood very still,
his left hand wrapped around his staff.
His face changed as though a veil was slowly
being drawn aside, allowing Mirielle to see skin of a hue similar
to vellum that had become slightly yellowed with age. Hugh’s
cheekbones were high and wide, his eyes almond shaped and dark. His
hair remained black and straight. Hugh’s chin was round and his
mouth bore a humorous quirk to which Mirielle responded with a
lifting of the corners of her own lips. She could not tell his age.
Hugh was both old and young at the same time.
“It is a pleasant face,” she said, “but I
perceive that you come from some distant land, for it is a face
unlike any I have ever seen before.”
“It is the face of a friend.”
“I know that. Hugh, I saw a vision of you and
Sir Giles before you reached our gates.” She explained about the
crystal globe and the scene in it. “All of my previous visions have
foretold important changes in my life. Thus, I believe that you and
Sir Giles will be the agents of the next change. What have you come
here to do?”
“You will want to know something about my
homeland.”
“I am curious about it,” Mirielle admitted,
willing for the moment to let him avoid a direct answer to her
question. She would learn what she could from him and then ask
again.
“If you will draw some of the boiling water
from the kettle on the furnace,” Hugh said, “I will prepare a
beverage which we can drink while we talk.”
Using her long-handled dipper Mirielle filled
two wooden cups with the hot water and set the cups on the table.
Hugh reached inside his robe to pull out a metal box engraved with
a winged dragon. He opened the hinged lid, revealing a supply of
dried leaves. A scent she did not know wafted toward Mirielle’s
nose. Hugh put a few of the leaves into each cup and instructed
Mirielle to stir the water for a moment.
“To be certain the tcha is moistened,” he
said. “Now, let it steep for a while. In my land, we drink tcha
after a large meal, to aid the digestive process.”
They sat together on the bench beside the
worktable, with Minn curled up at Mirielle’s feet. When Hugh told
her the brew was ready Mirielle sipped the hot tcha.
“An unusual taste,” she said, taking a second
sip. “Not like any herb I know, but clean and fresh. Master Hugh, I
believe this tcha must be a stimulant.”
“So it is. But it is never harmful.” He
regarded her in silence for a time. Mirielle found she did not mind
his gaze. There was nothing lascivious in it. Hugh wanted only to
know her as Cerra had once known her. She drank the tcha and felt
herself relaxing, her previous concerns about Hugh’s purpose at
Wroxley fading. Minn purred contentedly, the room was warm, and
when Hugh began to speak Mirielle could see in her own mind the
scenes he described.
“My homeland lies far to the east,” Hugh
began. “You in the western world call it Cathay. It is a beautiful
land and large enough to contain within its borders every aspect of
nature. There are mountains and wide rivers, lush green gardens and
barren deserts, steaming jungles and places where snow piles high
in winter and lasts well into the following spring. And we have
built great cities. In all my travels I have never seen a palace to
equal the one in which the emperor of my land lives. We employ the
use of many wonderful machines and inventions unimagined by those
who live outside the Middle Kingdom.
“I was born into a family of scholars. My
education was extensive in many subjects but my greatest interest
has always lain in the Ancient Wisdom, which concerns the methods
by which objects can be transmuted from baseness into
perfection.”
“Then you are an alchemist as well as a
mage,” Mirielle exclaimed, fascinated by these revelations.
“The study of the one art leads inevitably to
the other and both together are but a small portion of the Ancient
Wisdom,” Hugh said. “From the contents of this room I think you
already know it is so.”
“How did you come to England from a land so
far away?” Mirielle asked.
“Let us prepare another cup of tcha and I
will tell you.” Hugh paused, waiting until Mirielle emptied their
cups of the damp leaves, rinsed them, and refilled them with hot
water. Again he sprinkled the dried tcha leaves onto the water.
When the brew was ready to drink, Hugh resumed his story.
“Most men of the Middle Kingdom believe that
all knowledge is contained there, in that blessed land,” Hugh said.
“Thus, there is no need to look outside our borders, for nothing of
any importance exists in the world beyond. In my youth, before I
learned the value of silence, I was often in trouble, for I could
not accept the limitations of that belief and I did not hesitate to
say so. If there is no purpose to the lands outside the Middle
Kingdom, I asked, and nothing worthwhile there, then why were those
lands created at all? Since they were created, I reasoned, then the
man seeking knowledge will want to explore foreign lands and to
learn what he can from the people who live in them.
“And so,” Hugh went on, “I persistently
begged my father for permission to travel, that I might seek new
truths and new knowledge. It took many years of persuasion before
he agreed to let me go. We parted with sadness, for he was aged by
then and we knew we would never see each other again. Still, he
understood my compelling need to learn all I could and in his heart
I think he envied me the experiences I would have.”
“I, too, have sometimes yearned to travel to
distant lands,” Mirielle told him. “In which direction did you go,
Master Hugh?”
“Southwestward on a trader’s ship,” Hugh
said. “Though the scholars of the Middle Kingdom do not concern
themselves with other lands, our merchants do. I voyaged first to a
place called Hind, where I dwelt for a dozen years. Then I traveled
farther west to Baghdad and lived there for another dozen
years.”
“Baghdad is a place I have heard of,”
Mirielle interrupted this account. “The Saracens rule there.”
“So they do, and they have many wise and
learned men in their schools. When I had learned all I could from
their physicians and mathematicians, and from their astrologers and
alchemists, I joined a caravan bound for what you English call the
Holy Land. Though your Christian crusaders have conquered that land
from the Saracens, still, neither side balks at trade with avowed
enemies. The goods carried by the caravan I was with were welcomed
in Jerusalem and it was easy for me to enter the city with my
traveling companions. It was in Jerusalem that I first met Sir
Giles. We became friends and when he decided to return to England,
he invited me to travel with him.
“I have acquired more learning than I ever
dreamed existed before I left my homeland,” Hugh finished his
story, “but with knowledge came the realization of how little I
know, of how much I have still to learn. A wise man in Jerusalem
told me it is always so, that there is no end to learning. I hoped
to discover yet more knowledge here, in this damp and cold northern
land.”
“Master Hugh,” Mirielle asked, “with all your
studies and your remarkable travels, have you learned the secret
yet? Are you able to change base metal into gold?” The question was
a trick, and if Hugh was all he claimed to be, he would recognize
the trick and give her the correct answer. Mirielle did not really
doubt Hugh’s honesty, but Cerra had repeatedly emphasized the need
for caution where her art was concerned. She was impressed by the
solemnity with which Hugh now looked into her eyes.
“As you profess to be a student of the art,”
he said slowly, “surely you know that the tale of making gold is
but a parable for the true end of alchemy, which is the perfection
of the human soul. All efforts, all experiments, and all true
knowledge lead to that goal, which is more valuable than the purest
gold.”
“I do know it.” Mirielle let out the breath
she had been holding. “It is among the earliest lessons Cerra
taught me. She died too soon, leaving me half-taught, and I have
been forced to experiment on my own. I have had some slight
success, along with too many failures.”
“For a woman to engage in this effort is
unheard-of in my land.” Hugh frowned.
“But, not altogether unknown in other lands,”
Mirielle said. “In Wales, where I was born, there are many women
who know more than just the simple herbal healing they are careful
to practice while others are watching. Some people call those women
sorceresses, but disapproval does not stop them. Cerra believed I
was born with a talent for the art.”
“I would like to learn what you know of the
local herbal lore,” Hugh said, his eyes on the bunches of lavender
and rosemary and other herbs hanging above the worktable. He turned
his attention to the mortar and pestle on the table, then to the
retorts and the alembic on the shelves.
“Master Hugh, I propose an exchange of
information.” So enchanted was she by his story and by the
possibility of acquiring valuable new knowledge that Mirielle had
all but forgotten that he would be leaving within a day or two at
most. She knew only that she had found a friend, a possible
teacher, one who understood how she craved learning. As she was
beginning to understand was Hugh’s custom, he did not give her a
direct answer but instead made a remark that at first hearing
seemed to have no relevance to her request.
“My true name,” Hugh said, “is Hua Te. In
this land it would be best if you would continue to address me as
Hugh.”
“Thank you, Hua Te.” She tried to say it in
the same way that he did and when he smiled at the sound she smiled
in return. Then she did remember that he would not stay long at
Wroxley Castle, and she thought about Giles, and her smile
disappeared. “Master Hugh, what is your purpose here?”
“I cannot tell you all of it, for it is not
my story,” he said. “I can promise that in the beginning many
questions will beguile your thoughts. As events unfold those
questions will be answered.”
“Is it Sir Giles who has some particular
reason for coming to Wroxley?” For a little while, intrigued by the
tale Hugh was recounting, Mirielle had been able to push Giles to
the back of her mind. Now the image of the tall, bearded man with
the seductive voice returned to disturb her.
“My friend’s intent is the restoration of the
proper balance,” Hugh said. “From what I know of you I cannot think
you will have any objection to that goal.”
Mirielle looked down at her empty cup, trying
to formulate a response that would not implicate Brice in
wrongdoing. She wanted to explain to Hua Te that, while she did not
fear for her personal safety, if Brice were turned out of Wroxley,
or if he were imprisoned or worse, then she would have no place to
go save to a convent, a prospect she dreaded. Nor did Mirielle want
to see Brice harmed, not when he had been so consistently good to
her.