"What? Good Lord, Strange! Do you never look into a newspaper?"

Strange looked a little put out. "My studies take up a great deal of my time. All of it in fact. And besides, you know, in the past month I can plead distractions of a very particular nature."

"But we are not speaking of the past month. There have been Johannites in the northern counties for four years."

"Yes, but who are they?"

"They are craftsmen who creep into mills at dead of night and destroy property. They burn down factory-owners' houses. They hold pernicious meetings inciting the common people to riotous acts and they loot marketplaces."4 "Oh, machine-breakers machine-breakers. Yes, yes, I understand you now. It is just that you misled me by that odd name. But what have machine-breakers to do with the Raven King?"

"Many of them are, or rather claim to be, his followers. They daub the Raven-in-Flight upon every wall where property is destroyed. Their captains carry letters of commission purporting to come from John Uskgla.s.s and they say that he will shortly appear to re-establish his reign in Newcastle."

"And the Government believes them?" asked Strange in astonishment.

"Of course not! We are not so ridiculous. What we fear is a great deal more mundane in a word, revolution. John Uskgla.s.s's banner is flying everywhere in the north from Nottingham to Newcastle. Of course we have our spies and informers to tell us what these fellows are doing and thinking. Oh, I do not say that they all believe that John Uskgla.s.s is coming back. Most are as rational as you or I. But they know the power of his name among the common people. Rowley Fisher-Drake, the Member for Hampshire, has brought forward a Bill in which he proposes to make it illegal to raise the Raven-in-Flight. But we cannot forbid people to fly their own flag, the flag of their legitimate King."5 Sir Walter sighed and poked a beefsteak upon his plate with a fork. "Other countries," he said, "have stories of kings who will return at times of great need. Only in England is it part of the const.i.tution." Sir Walter sighed and poked a beefsteak upon his plate with a fork. "Other countries," he said, "have stories of kings who will return at times of great need. Only in England is it part of the const.i.tution."

Strange waved a fork impatiently at the Minister. "But all that is politics. It is nothing to do with me. I am not going to call for the re-establishment of John Uskgla.s.s's kingdom. My only wish is to examine, in a calm and rational manner, his accomplishments as a magician. How can we restore English magic until we understand what it is we are supposed to be restoring?"

"Then study the Aureates Aureates, but leave John Uskgla.s.s in the obscurity in which Norrell has placed him."

Strange shook his head. "Norrell has poisoned your minds against John Uskgla.s.s. Norrell has bewitched you all."

They ate in silence for a while and then Strange said, "Did I ever tell you that there is a portrait of him at Windsor Castle?" "Who?"

"Uskgla.s.s. A fanciful scene painted upon a wall of one of the state rooms by some Italian painter. It shews Edward III and John Uskgla.s.s warrior-king and magician-king seated side by side. It has been almost four hundred years since John Uskgla.s.s went out of England and still the English cannot quite make up their minds whether to adore him or hate him."

"Ha!" exclaimed Sir Walter. "In the north they know exactly what to think of him. They would exchange the rule of Westmin-ster for his rule tomorrow if they could."6 A week or so later the first issue of The Famulus The Famulus was published and, owing to the sensational nature of one of the articles, the entire run sold out within two days. Mr Murray, who was soon to publish the first volume of Strange's was published and, owing to the sensational nature of one of the articles, the entire run sold out within two days. Mr Murray, who was soon to publish the first volume of Strange's The History and Practice of English Magic The History and Practice of English Magic, was filled with a happy antic.i.p.ation of making a very large profit. The article which so thrilled the public was a description of how magicians might summon up dead people for the purposes of learning useful information from them. This shocking (but deeply interesting) subject caused such a sensation that several young ladies were reported to have fainted merely pon learning that The Famulus The Famulus was in the house. was in the house.7 No one could imagine Mr Norrell ever approving such a publication and so every body who did not like Mr Norrell took a particular pleasure in buying a copy. No one could imagine Mr Norrell ever approving such a publication and so every body who did not like Mr Norrell took a particular pleasure in buying a copy.

In Hanover-square Mr Lascelles read it out loud for the benefit of Mr Norrell. " '. . . Where the magician is deficient in skill and knowledge and this must include all modern magicians, our National Genius in such matters being sadly fallen off from what it was in former times then he or she might be best advised to conjure up the spirit of someone who was in life a magician or had at least some talent for the art. For, if we are uncertain of the path ourselves, it is best to call on someone in possession of a little knowledge and who is able, as it were, to meet us halfway.' "

"He will undo every thing!" cried Norrell with a wild pa.s.sion. "He is determined to destroy me!"

"It is certainly very aggravating," remarked Lascelles with all the calm in the world, "and after he swore to Sir Walter that he had given up magic when his wife died."

"Oh! We might all die half of London might be swept away, but Strange will always do magic he cannot help himself. He is too much a magician ever to stop now. And the magic that he will do is evil and I do not know how I shall prevent him!"

"Pray, calm yourself, Mr Norrell," said Lascelles, "I am sure you will soon think of something."

"When is his book to be published?"

"Murray's advertis.e.m.e.nts say that the first volume will appear in August."

"The first volume!"

"Oh, yes! Did you not know? It will be a three-volume work. The first volume lays before the public the complete history of English magic. The second volume furnishes them with a precise understanding of its nature and the third provides the foundation for its future practice."

Mr Norrell groaned aloud, bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.

"Of course," said Lascelles thoughtfully, "as mischievous as the text undoubtedly will be, what I find even more alarming are the engravings . . ."

"Engravings?" cried Mr Norrell, aghast. "What engravings are these?"

"Oh," said Lascelles, "Strange has discovered some emigrant or other who has studied under all the best masters of Italy, France and Spain and he is paying this man a most extravagant amount of money to make the engravings."

"But what are they of? What is the subject?"

"What indeed?" said Lascelles with a yawn. "I have not the least idea." He took up The Famulus The Famulus again and began to read silently to himself. again and began to read silently to himself.

Mr Norrell sat for some time deep in thought, chewing at his fingernails. By and by he rang the bell and sent for Childerma.s.s. East of the City of London lies the suburb of Spitalfields, famed far and wide as a place where wonderful silks are made. There is not now, nor ever will be, silk produced any where else in England of so fine a quality as Spitalfields silk. In the past good houses were built to accommodate the silk merchants, master-weavers and dyers who prospered from the trade. But, though the silk that comes out of the weavers' attics nowadays is every bit as remarkable as ever it was, Spitalfields itself is much fallen off. Its houses have grown dirty and shabby. The wealthy merchants have moved to Islington, Clerkenwell and (if they are very wealthy indeed) to the parish of Mary-le-bone in the west. Today Spitalfields is inhabited by the low and the poor and is much plagued with small boys, thieves and other persons inimicable to the peace of the citizens.

On a particularly gloomy day when a cold, grey rain fell in the dirty streets and pooled in the mud, a carriage came down Elder-street in Spitalfields and stopped at a tall, thin house. The coachman and footman belonging to this carriage wore deep mourning. The footman jumped down from the box, put up a black umbrella and held it up as he opened the door for Jonathan Strange to get out.

Strange paused a moment on the pavement to adjust his black gloves and to cast his glance up and down Elder-street. Apart from two mongrel dogs industriously excavating a heap of refuse, the street was deserted. Yet he continued to look about him until his eye was caught by a doorway on the opposite side of the street.

It was the most unremarkable of doorways the entrance to a merchant's warehouse or some such. Three worn stone steps led up to a ma.s.sive black door of venerable construction, surmounted by a great jutting pediment. The door was much papered over with tattered playbills and notices informing the reader that upon such-and-such a day at such-and-such a tavern all the property of Mr So-and-so Esq. (Bankrupt) would be put up for sale.

"George," said Strange to the footman who held the umbrella, "do you draw?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Were you ever taught drawing? Do you understand its principles? Fore-grounds, side-screens, perspective, that sort of thing?"

"Me, sir? No, sir."

"A pity. It was part of my education. I could draw you a landscape or portrait perfectly proficient and perfectly uninterest- ing. Exactly like the productions of any other well-educated amateur amateur. Your late mistress had none of the advantages of expensive drawing-masters that I had, yet I believe she had more talent. Her watercolours of people and children would horrify a fashionable drawing-master. He would find the figures too stiff and the colours too bright. But Mrs Strange had a genius for capturing expressions both of face and figure, for finding charm and wit in the most commonplace situations. There is something in her pictures, altogether lively and pretty which . . ." Strange broke off and was silent a moment. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. Drawing teaches habits of close observation that will always be useful. Take that doorway for instance . . ."

The footman looked at the doorway.

". . . Today is cold, dark, rainy. There is very little light and therefore no shadows. One would expect the interior of that doorway to be gloomy and dim; one would not expect that shadow to be there I mean the strong shadow going from left to right, keeping the left-hand of the doorway in utter blackness. And I believe I am right in saying that even if today were sunny and bright, a shadow would fall in the opposite direction. No, that shadow is altogether an oddity. It is not a thing that appears in Nature."

The footman looked at the coachman for some a.s.sistance, but the coachman was determined not to be drawn in and stared off into the distance. "I see, sir," said the footman.

Strange continued to regard the doorway with the same expression of thoughtful interest. Then he called out, "Childerma.s.s! Is that you?"

For a moment nothing happened and then the dark shadow which Strange objected to so strongly moved. It came away from the doorway like a wet sheet being peeled from a bed and as it did so, it changed and shrank and altered and became a man: John Childerma.s.s.

Childerma.s.s smiled his wry smile. "Well, sir, I could not expect to stay hidden from you for long."

Strange sniffed. "I have been expecting you this past week or more. Where have you been?"

"My master did not send me until yesterday."

"And how is your master?"

"Oh, poorly, sir, very poorly. He is beset with colds and headachs and tremblings in his limbs. All his usual symptoms when someone has vexed him. And no one vexes him as you do."

"I am pleased to hear it."

"By the by, sir, I have been meaning to tell you. I have some money at Hanover-square for you. Your fees from the Treasury and the Admiralty for the last quarter of 1814."

Strange opened his eyes in surprize. "And does Norrell really intend to let me have my share? I had supposed that money was gone for good."

Childerma.s.s smiled. "Mr Norrell knows nothing about it. Shall I bring the money tonight?"

"Certainly. I shall not be at home, but give it to Jeremy. Tell me, Childerma.s.s, I am curious. Does Norrell know that you go about making yourself invisible and turning yourself into shadows?"

"Oh, I have picked up a little skill here and there. I have been twenty-six years in Mr Norrell's service. I would have to be a very dull fellow to have learnt nothing at all."

"Yes, of course. But that was not what I asked. Does Norrell know know?"

"No, sir. He suspects, but he chuses not to know know. A magician who pa.s.ses his life in a room full of books must have someone to go about the world for him. There are limits to what you can find out in a silver dish of water. You know that."

"Hmm. Well, come on, man! See what you were sent to see!" The house had a much neglected, almost deserted air. Its windows and paint were very dirty and the shutters were all put up. Strange and Childerma.s.s waited upon the pavement while the footman knocked at the door. Strange had his umbrella and Childerma.s.s was entirely indifferent to the rain falling upon him.

Nothing happened for some time and then something made the footman look down into the area and he began a conversation with someone no one else could see. Whoever this person was, Strange's footman did not think much of them; his frown, his way of standing with both hands on his hips, the manner in which he admonished them, all betrayed the severest impatience.

After a while the door was opened by a very small, very dirty, very frightened servant-girl. Jonathan Strange, Childerma.s.s and the footman entered and, as they did so, each glanced down at her and she, poor thing, was frightened out of her wits to be looked at by so many tall, important-looking people.

Strange did not trouble to send up his name it seemed so unlikely that they could have persuaded the little servant-girl to do it. Instead, instructing Childerma.s.s to follow him, Strange ran up the stairs and pa.s.sed directly into one of the rooms. There in an obscure light made by many candles burning in a sort of fog for the house seemed to produce its own weather they found the engraver, M'sieur Minervois, and his a.s.sistant, M'sieur Forcalquier.

M'sieur Minervois was not a tall man; he was slight of figure. He had long hair, as fine, dark, shining and soft as a skein of brown silk. It brushed his shoulders and fell into his face whenever he stooped over his work which was almost all the time. His eyes too were remarkable large, soft and brown, suggesting his southern origins. M'sieur Forcalquier's looks formed a striking contrast to the extreme handsomeness of his master. He had a bony face with deep sunken eyes, a shaven head covered in pale bristles. But for all his cadaverous, almost skeletal, aspect he was of a most courteous disposition.

They were refugees from France, but the distinction between a refugee and an enemy was altogether too fine a one for the people of Spitalfields. M'sieur Minervois and M'sieur Forcalquier were known everywhere as French spies. They endured much on account of this unjust reputation: gangs of Spitalfields boys and girls thought it the best part of any holiday to lie in wait for the two Frenchmen and beat them and roll them in the dirt an article in which Spitalfields was peculiarly rich. On other days the Frenchmen's neighbours relieved their feelings by surliness and catcalls and refusing to sell them any thing they might want or need. Strange had been of some a.s.sistance in mediating between M'sieur Minervois and his landlord and in arguing this latter gentleman into a more just understanding of M'sieur Minervois's character and situation and by sending Jeremy Johns into all the taverns in the vicinity to drink gin and get into conversations with the natives of the place and to make it generally known that the two French-men were the proteges of one of England's two magicians "and," said Strange, raising a finger to Jeremy in instruction, "if they reply that Norrell is the greater of the two, you may let it pa.s.s but say to them that I have a shorter temper and am altogether more sensitive to slights to my friends." M'sieur Minervois and M'sieur Forcalquier were grateful to Strange for his efforts, but, under such dismal circ.u.mstances, they had found that their best friend was brandy, taken with a strict regularity throughout the day.

They stayed shut up inside the house in Elder-street. The shutters were closed day and night against the inhospitableness of Spitalfields. They lived and worked by candlelight and had long since broken off all relations with clocks. They were rather amazed to see Strange and Childerma.s.s, being under the impression that it was the middle of the night. They had one servant the tiny, wide-eyed orphan girl who could not understand them and who was very much afraid of them and whose name they did not know. But in a careless, lofty way, the two men were kind to her and had given her a little room of her own with a feather-bed in it and linen sheets so that she thought the gloomy house a very paradise. Her chief duties were to go and fetch them food and brandy and opium which they then divided with her, keeping the brandy and opium for themselves, but giving her most of the food. She also fetched and heated water for their baths and their shaving for both were rather vain. But they were entirely indifferent to dirt or disorder in the house, which was just as well for the little orphan knew as much of housekeeping as she did of Ancient Hebrew.

There were sheets of thick paper on every surface and inky rags. There were pewter dishes containing ancient cheese rinds and pots containing pens and pieces of charcoal. There was an elderly bunch of celery that had lived too long and too promiscuously in close companionship with the charcoal for its own good. There were engravings and drawings pinned directly on to every part of the panelling and the dark, dirty wallpaper there was one of Strange that was particularly good.

At the back of the house in a s.m.u.tty little yard there was an apple tree which had once been a country tree until grey London had come and eaten up all its pleasant green neighbours. Once in a fit of industriousness some unknown person in the house had picked all the apples off the tree and placed them on all of the windowsills, where they had lain for several years now becoming first old apples, then swollen corpses of apples and finally mere ghosts of apples. There was a very decided smell about the place a compound of ink, paper, seacoals, brandy, opium, rotting apples, candles, coffee all mingled with the unique perfume exuded by two men who work day and night in a rather confined s.p.a.ce and who never under any circ.u.mstances can be induced to open a window.

The truth was that Minervois and Forcalquier often forgot that there were such places as Spitalfields or France upon the face of the earth. They lived for days at a time in the little universe of the engravings for Strange's book and these were very odd things indeed.

They shewed great corridors built more of shadows than any thing else. Dark openings in the walls suggested other corridors so that the engravings appeared to be of the inside of a labyrinth or something of that sort. Some shewed broad steps leading down to dark underground ca.n.a.ls. There were drawings of a vast dark moor, across which wound a forlorn road. The spectator appeared to be looking down on this scene from a great height. Far, far ahead on that road there was a shadow no more than a scratch upon the road's pale surface it was too far off to say if it were man or woman or child, or even a human person, but somehow its appearance in all that unpeopled s.p.a.ce was most disquieting.

One picture showed the likeness of a lonely bridge that spanned some immense and misty void perhaps the sky itself and, though the bridge was constructed of the same ma.s.sive masonry as the corridors and the ca.n.a.ls, upon either side tiny staircases wound down, clinging to the great supports of the bridge. These staircases were frail-looking things, built with far less skill than the bridge, but there were many of them winding down through the clouds to G.o.d-knew-where.

Strange bent over these things, with a concentration to rival Minervois's own, questioning, criticizing and proposing. Strange and the two engravers spoke French to each other. To Strange's surprize Childerma.s.s understood perfectly and even addressed one or two questions to Minervois in his own language. Unfortunately, Childerma.s.s's French was so strongly accented by his native Yorkshire that Minervois did not understand and asked Strange if Childerma.s.s was Dutch.

"Of course," remarked Strange to Childerma.s.s, "they make these scenes altogether too Roman too like the works of Palladio and Piranesi, but they cannot help that it is their training. One can never help one's training, you know. As a magician I shall never quite be Strange or, at least, not Strange alone there is too much of Norrell in me."

"So this is what you saw upon the King's Roads?" said Childerma.s.s.

"Yes."

"And what is the country that the bridge crosses?"

Strange looked at Childerma.s.s ironically. "I do not know, Magician. What is your opinion?"

Childerma.s.s shrugged. "I suppose it is Faerie."

"Perhaps. But I am beginning to think that what we call Faerie is likely to be made up of many countries. One might as well say 'Elsewhere' and say as much."

"How far distant are these places?"

"Not far. I went there from Covent-garden and saw them all in the s.p.a.ce of an hour and a half."

"Was the magic difficult?"

"No, not really."

"And will you tell me what it was?"

"With the greatest good will in the world. You need a spell of revelation I used Doncaster. And another of dissolution to melt the mirror's surface. There are no end of dissolution spells in the books I have seen, but as far as I can tell, they are all perfectly useless so I was obliged to make my own I can write it down for you if you wish. Finally one must set both of these spells within an overarching spell of path-finding. That is important, otherwise I do not see how you would ever get out again." Strange paused and looked at Childerma.s.s. "You follow me?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Good." There was a little pause and then Strange said, "Is it not time, Childerma.s.s, that you left Mr Norrell's service and came to me? There need be none of this servant nonsense. You would simply be my pupil and a.s.sistant."

Childerma.s.s laughed. "Ha, ha! Thank you, sir. Thank you! But Mr Norrell and I are not done with each other. Not yet. And, besides, I think I would be a very bad pupil worse even than you."

Strange, smiling, considered a moment. "That is a good answer," he said at last, "but not quite good enough, I am afraid. I do not believe that you can truly support Norrell's side. One magician in England! One opinion upon magic! Surely you do not agree with that? There is at least as much contrariness in your character as in mine. Why not come and be contrary with me?"

"But then I would be obliged to agree with you, sir, would I not? I do not know how it will end with you and Norrell. I have asked my cards to tell me, but the answer seems to blow this way and that. What lies ahead is too complex for the cards to explain clearly and I cannot find the right question to ask them. I tell you what I will do. I will make you a promise. If you fail and Mr Norrell wins, then I will indeed leave his service. I will take up your cause, oppose him with all my might and find arguments to vex him and then there shall still be two magicians in England and two opinions upon magic. But, if he should fail and you win, I will do the same for you. Is that good enough?"

Strange smiled. "Yes, that is good enough. Go back to Mr Norrell and present my compliments. Tell him I hope he will be pleased with the answers I have given you. If there is any thing else he wishes to know, you will find me at home tomorrow at about four."

"Thank you, sir. You have been very frank and open."

"And why should I not? It is Norrell who likes to keep secrets, not I. I have told you nothing that is not already in my book. In a month or so, every man, woman and child in the kingdom will be able to read it and form their own opinions upon it. I really cannot see that there is any thing Norrell can do to prevent it."

1 Famulus Famulus: a Latin word meaning a servant, especially the servant of a magician.

2 Sir Walter is voicing a commonly-held concern. Shape-changing magic has lways been regarded with suspicion. The Aureates Aureates generally employed it during their travels in Faerie or other lands beyond England. They were aware that shape-changing magic was particularly liable to abuses of every sort. For example in London in 1232 a n.o.bleman's wife called Cecily de Walbrook found a handsome pewter-coloured cat scratching at her bed-chamber door. She took it in and named it Sir Loveday. It ate from her hand and slept upon her bed. What was even more remarkable, it followed her everywhere, even to church where it sat curled up in the hem of her skirts, purring. Then one day she was seen in the street with Sir Loveday by a magician called Walter de Chepe. His suspicions were immediately aroused. He approached Cecily and said, "Lady, the cat that follows you - I fear it is no cat at all." Two other magicians were fetched and Walter and the others said spells over Sir Loveday. He turned back into his true shape that of a minor magician called Joscelin de Snitton. Shortly afterwards Joscelin was tried by the Petty Dragownes of London and sentenced to have his right hand cut off. generally employed it during their travels in Faerie or other lands beyond England. They were aware that shape-changing magic was particularly liable to abuses of every sort. For example in London in 1232 a n.o.bleman's wife called Cecily de Walbrook found a handsome pewter-coloured cat scratching at her bed-chamber door. She took it in and named it Sir Loveday. It ate from her hand and slept upon her bed. What was even more remarkable, it followed her everywhere, even to church where it sat curled up in the hem of her skirts, purring. Then one day she was seen in the street with Sir Loveday by a magician called Walter de Chepe. His suspicions were immediately aroused. He approached Cecily and said, "Lady, the cat that follows you - I fear it is no cat at all." Two other magicians were fetched and Walter and the others said spells over Sir Loveday. He turned back into his true shape that of a minor magician called Joscelin de Snitton. Shortly afterwards Joscelin was tried by the Petty Dragownes of London and sentenced to have his right hand cut off.

3 It has already been described how Lt-Col. Colquhoun Grant's devotion to his scarlet uniform had led to his capture by the French in 1812.

4 The common people in Northern England considered that they had suffered a great deal in recent years and with good reason. Poverty and lack of employment had added to the general misery which the war with the French had produced. Then just when the war was over a new threat to their happiness had arisen remarkable new machines which produced all sorts of goods cheaply and put them out of work. It is scarcely to be wondered at that certain individuals among them had taken to destroying the machines in an attempt to preserve their livelihoods.

5 There could be no neater ill.u.s.tration than this of the curious relation in which the Government in London stood to the northern half of the Kingdom. The Government represented the King of England but the King of England was only the King of the southern half. Legally he was the steward of the northern half maintaining the rule of law until such time as John Uskgla.s.s chose to return.

6 Naturally, at various times pretenders have arisen claiming to be John Uskgla.s.s and have attempted to take back the kingdom of Northern England. The most famous of these was a young man called Jack Pharaoh who was crowned in Durham Cathedral in 1487. He had the support of a large number of northern n.o.blemen and also of a few fairies who remained at the King's city of Newcastle. Pharaoh was a very handsome man with a kingly bearing. He could do simple magic and his fairy supporters were quick to do more whenever he was present and to attribute it to him. He was the son of a pair of vagabond-magicians. While still a child he was seen at a fair by the Earl of Hexham who noted his striking resemblance to descriptions of John Uskgla.s.s. Hexham paid the boy's parents seven shillings for him. Pharaoh never saw them again. Hexham kept him at a secret place in Northern England where he was trained in kingly arts. In 1486 the Earl produced Pharaoh and he began his brief reign as King of Northern England. Pharaoh's main problem was that too many people knew about the deception. Pharaoh and Hexham soon quarrelled. In 1490 Hexham was murdered on Pharaoh's orders. Hexham's four sons joined with Henry VII of Southern England to attack Pharaoh and at the Battle of Worksop in 1493 Pharaoh was defeated. Pharaoh was kept in the Tower of London and executed in 1499.

Other pretenders, more or less successful, were Piers Blackmore and Davey Sans-chaussures. The last pretender was known simply as the Summer King since his true ident.i.ty was never discovered. He first appeared near Sunderland in May 1536 shortly after Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries. It is thought that he may have been a monk from one of the great northern abbeys Fountains, Rievaulx or Hurtfew. The Summer King differed from Pharaoh and Blackmore in that he had no support from the northern aristocracy, nor did he attempt to gain any. His appeal was to the common people. In some ways his career was more mystical than magical. He healed the sick and taught his followers to revere nature and wild creatures a creed which seems closer to the teachings of the twelfth-century magician, Thomas G.o.dbless, than any thing John Uskgla.s.s ever proposed. His ragged band made no attempt to capture Newcastle or indeed to capture any thing at all. All through the summer of 1536 they wandered about Northern England, gaining supporters wherever they appeared. In September Henry VIII sent an army against them. They were not equipped to fight. Most ran away back to their homes but a few remained and fought for their King and were ma.s.sacred at Pontefract. The Summer King may have been among the dead or he may have simply vanished.

7 Consulting dead magicians may strike us as highly sensational, but it is a magical procedure with a perfectly respectable history. Martin Pale claimed to have learnt magic from Catherine of Winchester (who was a pupil of John Uskgla.s.s). Catherine of Winchester died two hundred years before Martin Pale was born. John Uskgla.s.s himself was reputed to have had conversations with Merlin, the Witch of Endor, Moses and Aaron, Joseph of Arimathea and other venerable and ancient magicians.