"We will give you our full support." Cumbrae nodded, thinking comfortably to himself, How hungry he is for glory, and restrained an avuncular urge to pat him on the shoulder. The idiot is welcome to my share of the cannonballs, just as long as I can get my hands on the prize. Then he looked speculatively at Captain Ryker. It only remained to arrange that the Sonnevogel lead the squadron through the heads into the lagoon, and in the process draw the main attentions of Franky's culver ins along the edge of the forest. It might be to his advantage if she were to sustain heavy damage before Franky was overwhelmed. If the Buzzard were in command of the only seaworthy ship at the end of the battle, he would be able to dictate his own terms when it came to disposing of the spoils of war.
"Captain Ryker," he said with an arrogant flourish, "I claim the honour of leading the squadron into the lagoon in my gallant little Gull. My ruffians would not forgive me if I let you go ahead of us."
Ryker's lips set stubbornly. "Sir!" he said stiffly. "The Sonnevogel is more heavily armed, and better able to resist the balls of the enemy. I must insist that you allow me to lead the entry into the lagoon."
And that takes care of that, thought the Buzzard, as he bowed his head in reluctant acquiescence.
Three days later they put Colonel Schreuder and his three companies of seasick musketeers ashore on a deserted beach and watched them march away into the African wilderness in a long untidy column.
The African night was hushed but never silent. When Hal paused on the narrow path, his father's light footfalls dwindled ahead of him, and Hal could hear the soft sounds of myriad life that teemed in the forest around him. the warbling call of a night bird, more hauntingly beautiful than ever musician coaxed from stringed instrument, the scrabbling of rodents and other tiny mammals among the dead leaves and the sudden murderous cry of the small feline predators that hunted them, the singing and hum of the insects and the eternal soughing of the wind. All were part of the hidden choir in this temple of Pan.
The beam of the storm lantern disappeared ahead of him, and now he stepped out to catch up. When they had left the encampment, his father had ignored his question, but when at last they emerged from the forest at the foot of the hills, he knew where they were going. The stones that still marked the Lodge within which he had taken his vows formed a ghostly circle in the glow of the waning moon. At the entry to it Sir Francis went down on one knee and bowed his head in prayer. Hal knelt beside him.
"Lord God, make me worthy," Hal prayed. "Give me the strength to keep the vows I made here in your name."
His father lifted his head at last. He stood up, took Hal's hand and raised him to his feet. Then, side by side, they stepped into the circle and approached the altar stone. "In Arcadia habito! Sir Francis said, in his deep, lilting voice, and Hal gave the response.
"Flumen sac rum bene cognosco!"
Sir Francis set the lantern upon the tall stone and, in its yellow light, they knelt again. For a long while they prayed in silence, until Sir Francis looked up at the sky. "The stars are the ciphers of the Lord. They light our comings and our goings. They guide us across uncharted oceans. They hold our destiny in their coils. They measure the number of our days."
Hal's eyes went immediately to his own particular star, Regulus. Timeless and unchanging it sparkled in the sign of the Lion.
"Last night I cast your horoscope," Sir Francis told him. "There is much that I cannot reveal, but this I can tell you. The stars hold a singular destiny in store for you. I was not able to fathom its nature."
There was a poignancy in his father's tone, and Hal looked at him.
His features were haggard, the shadows beneath his eyes deep and dark.
"If the stars are so favourably inclined, what is it that troubles you, Father?"
"I have been harsh to you. I have driven you hard." Hal shook his head. "Father, -" But Sir Francis quieted him with a hand on his arm. "You must remember always why I did this to you. If I had loved you less, I would have been kinder to you." His grip on Hal's arm tightened as he felt Hal draw breath to speak. "I have tried to prepare you and give you the knowledge and strength to meet that particular destiny that the stars have in store for you. Do you understand that?"
"Yes. I have known this all along. Aboli explained it to me.
"Aboli is wise. He will be with you when I have gone." "No, Father. Do not speak of that."
"My son, look to the stars," Sir Francis replied, and Hal hesitated, uncertain of his meaning. "You know which is my own star. I have shown it to you a hundred times before. Look for it now in the sign of the Virgin."
Hal raised his face to the heavens, and turned it to the east where Regulus still showed, bright and clear. His eyes ran on past it into the sign of the Virgin, which lay close beside the Lion, and he gasped, his breath hissing through his lips with superstitious dread.
His father's sign was slashed from one end to the other by a scimitar of flame. A fiery red feather, red as blood.
"A shooting star," he whispered.
"A comet," his father corrected him. "God sends me a warning. My time here draws to its close. Even the Greeks and the Romans knew that the heavenly fire is the portent of disaster, of war and famine and plague, and the death of kings."
"When?" Hal asked, his voice heavy with dread.
"Soon," replied Sir Francis. "It must be soon. Most certainly before the comet has completed its transit of my sign. This may be the last time that you and I will be alone like this."
"Is there nothing that we can do to avert this misfortune? Can we not fly from it?"
"We do not know whence it comes," Sir Francis said gravely. "We cannot escape what has been decreed. If we run, then we will certainly run straight into its jaws."
"We will stay to meet and fight it, then," said Hal, with determination.
"Yes, we will fight," his father agreed, "even if the outcome has been ordained. But that was not why I brought you here. I want to hand over to you, this night, your inheritance, those legacies both corporal and spiritual which belong to you as my only son." He took Hal's face between his hands and turned it to him so that he looked into his eyes.
"After my death, the rank and style of baronet, accorded to your great-grandfather, Charles Courtney, by good Queen Bess after the destruction of the Spanish Armada, falls upon you. You will become Sir Henry Courtney. You understand that?"
"Yes, Father."
"Your pedigree has been registered at the College of Arms in England." He paused as a savage cry echoed down the valley, the sawing of a leopard hunting along the cliffs in the moonlight. As the dreadful rasping roars died away Sir Francis went on quietly, "It is my wish that you progress through the Order until you attain the rank of Nautonnier Knight."
"I will strive towards that goal, Father."
Sir Francis raised his right hand. The band of gold upon his second finger glinted in the lantern light. He twisted it off, and held it to catch the moonlight. "This ring is part of the regalia of the office of Nautonnier." He took Hal's right hand, and tried the ring on his second finger. It was too large, so he placed it on his son's forefinger. Then he opened the high collar of his cloak, and exposed the great seal of his office that lay against his breast. The tiny rubies in the eyes of the lion rampant of England, and the diamond stars above it, sparkled softly in the uncertain light. He lifted -the chain of the seal from around his own neck, held it high over Hal's head and then lowered it onto his shoulders. "This seal is the other part of the regalia. It is your key to the Temple."