Chapter One

Enoch and England

Book One


Enoch. Suddenly the very name was a sunburst in my soul. I'd dwelt so completely on the fact that his death was a lie, that Richard had lied to me, that I hadn't been fully aware till this moment of the portent of that lie. Enoch lived, that was the miracle, as remarkable as if I'd learned that my father and mother awaited me at Wanthwaite. . . . There was a long hazardous road ahead with Enoch, and I wasn't ready to ride it yet.

Meantime, it was enough to know that he breathed the same air I did, knew dawn and sunset, hope and despair. He might hate me forever, but I was still glad he lived.

Now I must face the physical dangers at my heels. I walked to Sea Mew and mounted. Hamo and Bok, dressed as gardeners, mounted as well.

Had the death knell stopped ringing, or were we beyond its reach? Above, an invisible lark trilled its song.

"Where is the closest port where we might sail with safety?" I asked Hamo.

Surprised at my purposeful tone, he thought a moment. "Bordeaux. It's the queen's favorite city, but she rarely goes there."

"Which way?"

He pointed directly toward the sun, where it already rested at a blinding angle on the topmost branches, and beyond to the long slope to the sea.

"Stay low as we cross the mead," I ordered.

Once again the world transformed itself, not from rain to tears or to diamonds, but to sunstruck sea spray.

I bent and whispered to Sea Mew. "It's time to swim the channel, darling. Hoyt!"

Ears raised with jo