Page 20 of Harmonic Pleasure (Mysterious Arts #6)

“ H ere we go.” Farran stepped out of the boat they’d taken down from further upriver.

It was apparently the sensible option, rather than weaving through the limited number of roads.

Greenwich was very much of the water, and the Thames in particular.

He turned to offer his hand to Vega, who was dressed for a sensible walk in the grounds.

It was a Saturday, and Vega was clearly not particularly a morning person.

Not that Farran could blame her. She’d mentioned not getting home until nearly two that morning.

He’d met her at eleven with a cab to take them to the river, and then the boat.

They’d decided that it was better that rather than trying to juggle his own daytime obligations on a weekday.

She’d yawned twice on the way out, but she promised she’d perk up.

Farran had also made a point of bringing a small picnic in his satchel, or at least strong black tea and some sandwiches in wax paper.

“I thought we’d start here, where the old palace was,” Farran said.

It was an entirely ordinary sort of thing to say, given the history, but that was not actually his aim.

Anywhere under the former grand palace of Placentia or Pleasurance, whichever name you used for it, had certainly been dug up and turned over dozens of times.

But not terribly recently. On the other hand, there was always a chance that some item had come to rest in a vault or cellar or crypt, or whatever underground architectural feature might apply.

Vega nodded, following along with him, walking beside him but not terribly close, as others there to see the park split off into their own particular directions.

Farran, however, had prevailed on some acquaintances, and thus they had permission to walk through the grounds of the Royal Naval College that had taken over the space. .

The porter at the gate looked at the written invitation, back at both of them, and then shrugged. “The young men have their ways. You won’t be a bother, then?”

“Of course not.” Farran put on his best and most practised expression. “We appreciate the chance. I’m trying to confirm if a particular illustration matches the building sufficiently. We won’t be terribly long. Should we come back out this way, if we want to go into the park, or just walk up?"

The porter considered that judiciously. “You come back and let me know, if you would, sir.”

Farran agreed that was sensible, and then they set off on a walk, glancing around at the buildings. Farran waited until they were around a corner, then paused. “I’ve the talisman, or whatever we call it. It might work better if you carry it? An ungloved hand. Or your hand on it in a pocket.”

Vega nodded once and held out her palm. Farran pulled the piece of his pocket, and the silk bag he’d stored it in, slipping it onto her skin.

It didn’t feel like it was doing much to him, but he had actually tested it in the auction house storage vaults on Friday, and he was confident it reacted to both meteoric iron and items made in the right century or so.

She slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, then considered. “May I have your arm, then?”

When he blinked at her, she leaned in and whispered, “It’ll make a better show from the windows, if anyone looks out. A couple having a pleasant time.”

“As you say.” Farran nodded. “My thought is to make a serpentine circuit, loop back through the middle. Then we can let the porter know we’re done and go by the church, then up into the park.

The older sites I’m most interested in are up there, but, well.

There have been people here for a very long time. ”

“Lead on.” Vega said. They made a steady round of it, down along a path beside the Thames, looping back through the main paths between the college buildings, around the other side, and back.

The second time through there, Farran made a point of pausing and sketching something, a vista that had buildings at interesting angles.

The porter looked them up and down, as if they had actually done what had been asked, and that might have been a pleasant change in his day.

Farran gave him a small tip in thanks. The right amount meant he’d be pleased, not curious.

Farran followed up promptly by asking if there was a pub or tea shop nearby they should choose over others.

That got them directions— he knew the publican, of course— and then directions to the St Alfege’s Church, not far up the street.

“Who exactly was St Alfege? I’m afraid I’m not very religious.” Vega kept her comment until they were out on the street, a bit shy.

“I’m not either, not like that? But in this case, it’s a historical reason, as much as anything?

He was archbishop of Canterbury in 1012, and he was martyred, as the official hagiography says, by the Vikings.

There’s an entire story about how he wouldn’t let himself be ransomed and so they eventually killed him.

And then, there’s a tale about a cut piece of wood, immersed in his— pardon, are you delicate about historical murders? ”

Vega blinked, stopped walking, and then stared at him. “I get enough crudity in other places. People lose track of their tongues sometimes. Historical murders? I mean, obviously there was one. Is this the sort that involves objects where they oughtn’t to be?”

“No, actually. There’s a tale about someone putting a cut stick in a pool of his blood, and fresh blossoms and leaves coming from it. Though, as the tale goes, he was stoned to death. You can tell him in iconography by the fact he’s carrying stones in his chasuble, at least in some sculptures.”

“Again, not my forte.” Vega considered. “Like St Sebastian and his arrows?”

Farran beamed. “Just like that. It’s rather useful, actually, if you’re looking at manuscripts. Both for identifying who’s portrayed, but also for dating them. Sometimes the depictions focus on different things at different times. It’s a bit like dating maps.”

“Dating maps?” Vega sounded startled. “And the church?”

“Supposedly where he was killed. Built on the site, rather.” They were almost there.

“As to the maps, there are lists of how you can date a map, narrowing down which names are used for what. You start one place, check an earlier spot on the list, until you find a beginning and ending point. Then you work back and forth until you find the spot in the middle.” He shrugged and gestured up at the church just ahead.

“Rebuilt in the 18th century, if you want the architectural history, I have notes. Also, where a number of the Tudors were baptised.” He found that less interesting, though it made sense, given the proximity of the palace.

Vega shook her head. “Thank you, no, unless there’s something particularly striking. You like the history, then?” Farran couldn’t tell whether she was making pleasant conversation or whether she might actually want to know.

“The thing that interests me about objects is that someone made them in a particular time and place. Often for a particular reason, even if that reason was ‘I broke my plate and I need something to eat supper on’,” Farran said.

“This, though, this is a new bit of history to me. I know a fair bit of Oxford and the countryside, and I’ve picked up other places.

” He carefully circled around naming Trellech directly.

He didn’t think anyone was close enough to hear, but caution was sensible.

“And St Alfege?” They had come to the doors, then, which were open. Farran held one for her, and let her go inside.

Speaking quietly, Farran offered the explanation.

“He’s buried in Canterbury Cathedral. He has been since 1023.

There’s a story that Thomas Becket was praying to him, when Becket was killed.

A saint for martyrs. And there’s a tale that the killing blow was given to him by a Christian convert, to end his suffering.

I don’t know what I think of that, honestly. ”

Vega shook her head, then shivered. “I don’t either. I am not much made for martyrdom, certainly.” She hesitated. “Well, not for most of the ordinary causes.”

Farran considered her and the things she’d said. “For your family, if they needed it?” He added, “I would. I’d rather not, of course. There’s no after, then. You can’t do things for them.”

“Yes.” Vega’s shoulder twitched once. “Your family line. Are there others?”

“Uncle Cadmus has no children. I was an only child. There are some more distant cousins, but they don’t know the house and the land.

” Farran shrugged. “I feel like I ought to make sure there’s another generation, if that’s what you’re asking.

If I can. Not the way some families do, but maybe not as different as I’d like to claim. ”

That made her laugh softly and relax a bit.

“Like that for me, but I do have many aunts and uncles and cousins, so it’s not a particular weight on me in specific.

But making sure the family can go on, yes.

” She glanced around the stonework. “There’s nothing here that particularly calls to me, but I can feel the history of it, if that makes sense. ”

“Well, there’s a spot further up where they found some Roman artefacts in 1902,” Farran offered. “Or do you want to sit down and have something to eat or drink first? Once we’re into the park, it’s just what I brought.”

“The park, please. We can stop for a drink on the way back, perhaps, if there’s time.

” Farran appreciated Vega knew her own mind about that sort of thing, and wasn’t shy about making her preferences clear.

Some people, men and women both, dithered no end about it, until everyone was starving and upset.

Together, they made their way out of the church, through the curve of the street, and to a great wrought-iron gate.

“St Mary’s Gate,” Farran said. “And we just follow the path up from here.” They walked for a little, following the main path diagonally south east through the park.

Part way there, though, Vega stopped. “Can we go this way?”

“Of course.” Farran let her take the lead, turning right, back toward the rest, along a smaller path. They ended up in a stretch of meadow, with low bumps of what might, a long time ago, have been more in the way of hills.

“Do you know what this was?” Vega’s question sounded more urgent.

“There are some notes about it being an Anglo-Saxon or maybe a Roman burial site. There were some excavations in the 1700s, but nothing was kept safe.” Farran disapproved of that, and he let it be obvious. “But yes, possibly the right period.”

Vega nodded, turning to better speak quietly. “I can feel the tug. Is that the age? Would it be different if it were the right metal?”

“Pass it to me, do you mind?” He held his hand by his side and she pressed it into his fingers, holding it there until she was sure he had it safely in his grip.

Then he nodded. “The age. Erm. You might hear it as a different pitch? There should be something distinct. For me, this is sort of rumbly, like the bark of a tree, and the metal is smooth. In my head, I mean, not my fingers.”

“In your head.” She shook hers, then added, “I believe you. All right. Not here, then, but it’s an excellent test. Where were we going?”

“There’s a bit of a Roman temple that way. Or we can go up toward where the caves are. I don’t know how much walking you want to do.” Farran did some calculations, quickly. “About a mile and a half up, if we do both. And then maybe a mile back to the dock.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” She sounded amused, and Farran glanced at her face. “I like a walk. Not as much when I’m in the city, but when I’m in the country, ten miles is a light day.”

“Well. All right. This way, then.” He gestured to the path that would take them back across the park.