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A typical day in the life of Marcus Rabinus, 1236 AD, Malinbois.
Looking down on the covenant from his perch on the roof of the central tower, the old Magus saw some small signs of activity. Looking to the west tower he could see the light from a lantern shining from a window of the ground floor laboratories. That would be Maria Medica, no doubt still reading, having forgotten to go to bed. No other lights were on in the towers, as far as he could see. Looking south east, Captain Guy was sitting outside his quarters, rag in hand, polishing his armour. Along the exterior walls, the flickering of torches betrayed the position of the sentries - the Bears this morning, if he remembered correctly.
Casting an eye further afield, Marcus could see the flickering of candles in the Chapel of St Raphael - Friar Jean-Pierre would be preparing for Lauds. A pale grey light on the horizon, over the sea of trees to the East reminded Marcus of the time - it was the false dawn that heralds the rising of the sun. A few quick words, and the Magus stood bare to the world - or that is what it felt like to him. Without his Parma magica, the world seemed an overwhelming place, enough to make an old Magus like himself to feel as defenceless as the day he was born. Fitting, really, on today of all days. The world seems a different place now. In the faint light most would have trouble seeing, but not Marcus. He could see every last shade of green in the magical forest that surrounded the covenant; the pale colour of the young birch leaves, the vibrant green of the abundant hazel and beech, the rich deep green of the leathery elm, all seemed alive to him now. The gentle chirping of the birds was now obvious - they must have been there before, but he never noticed. He could distinguish blackbirds, robins, the occasional lark, even the harsh cawing of the ravens that had become prevalent since the arrival of Queen Fitheach.
The rim of the sun breached the horizon, sending before it a brilliant display of orange and red fire, mixed with shafts of purest gold, just as a blackbird took up a full throated trilling call, as if to welcome the sun. Marcus watched for as long as he could, hand shading his eyes from the brilliance of Helios, enraptured, as he always used to be, by the spectacular sunrise. The chapel bell tolled quietly in the distance, its gentle tone harmonising beautifully with the dawn chorus of birds, calling the covenfolk to Mass. Marcus waited unmoving, to fully appreciate the beginning of this glorious day. Suddenly, the piece was shattered by a shrill female voice. The language was unfamiliar to Marcus, but as he reached for The Book to translate, he located the source of the sound, and stopped. Fionn would not be happy if he found out that Marcus had eavesdropped on a domestic between him and his apprentice. No doubt Brigit was berating her master for forgetting to do the dishes again.
The moment lost by the interruption, Marcus commenced the complex phraseology of the ritual that re-established his Parma magica, a routine now, after 60 years. Just to finally ruin the peaceful mood that witnessing the dawn had imbued in him, the whining screech of Mordaleus' forge warming up cut through the air, shattering the early morning peace like glass. Having completed the ritual, Marcus climbed once more into Basket, grumbling about the alchemist and his toys, and directed the magical wicker craft to fly over towards the chapel, so Marcus could join the short line of people filing inside for Mass.
After Mass, Marcus was last to leave the small chapel. Although he had the greatest respect for Jean-Pierre, he found his sermons a little dry and superficial. This was of course because the good friar had to pitch his sermons at his audience, who, being covenfolk in the main, were not well versed in the intricate logic of the Cathar faith that Marcus found so appealing. Despite that, Jean-Pierre's homily about forgiveness had seemed to strike a chord, despite the desperate wailings of the insane Charles coming from the nearby valetudinarium. He waited long enough to invite the friar to his quarters for dinner tonight, and then flew back to his laboratory in Basket. As he crossed the battlements he could hear Brigit, still yelling at Fionn. Now a third voice was involved, the deep tones of Mawredd, Fionn's familiar. It seems that not even a monster like that was safe from Bridget's scathing tongue. Perhaps he would wait until later to ask Fionn to the soiree tonight.
All around the covenant there was activity. The covenfolk were hanging out washing and preparing the midday meal in the summer sunshine out in the courtyard. The turb was changing shifts, it was now the Wolves' turn to take sentry duty. The sounds of iron against anvils rang out from both Saeed's and Francois' laboratories. The flying Magus suddenly looked up, alerted by the thunder of huge wings, and saw the huge eagle that was one of Id's Heartshapes launch itself from the balcony on the South tower and flap off east, towards the Island of Leucate, likely as not.
Marcus landed at the foot of the west tower, and then shrunk Basket and put it in his pocket. He entered the tower and poked his head around the door leading off the stairs, wishing Maria a good morning. Whistling a cheerful tune, he descended the stairs to his sanctum. Leaving his cloak and staff in the hall, he proceeded into the dining room where Andru, his manservant, had laid out breakfast. There was no sign of Gemaric, but Rubeta sat in his chair, burping happily in his sleep. No doubt Richenda had been slipping him scraps again, and he'd eaten himself into a stupor. Dislodging the dreaming toad, Marcus rested his bulk into his chair and started to demolish the remains of breakfast. Gemaric had eaten all the bacon again - the lad was growing, but he ate like a horse. Marcus, of course, could not berate him over it, no matter how gently, else Gemaric would starve himself for a week in self-imposed punishment. Still, improvements were being made with him, and he was turning out to be quite a successful apprentice.
His fast broken, Marcus gently kicked Rubeta in the side to wake him, and while the sleepy animal was rousing himself, muttered a spell to clean the cutlery. Andru was getting old now, and Marcus felt responsible for him, who had come with him to Malinbois from Phoenix Covenant. He then led the reluctant familiar into his laboratory to start work. Gemaric was within, seated at one of the benches grinding pigment for the next few pages of the Book. As Marcus entered, the apprentice stood up quickly, almost guiltily, knocked his stool over, which in turn toppled over a shelf of glassware. Speaking as fast as he could, Marcus rushed through a spell to try to catch as much as possible before it broke, but was successful in rescuing only a choice few from breakage. Cursing his clumsy tongue, he turned to look at Gemaric. The apprentice was mortified by the destruction he had caused, and hid his face in his hands. Marcus took three deep breaths, trying to compose himself before speaking to the apprentice, but before he had a chance to utter a single word, Gemaric had already curled himself up into a rock. The old Magus let out an exasperated sigh - even the boulder squatting before him managed to look guilty. "Let him be, Marcus." The toad's deep guttural voice was rarely heard, but he obviously wanted to save Gemaric from Marcus' wrath, so Marcus let him be. Letting out another sigh, Marcus set the shelf back upright and restored the saved alembic and flasks to their position, then sang a gentle song to the pieces of glassware, calling them all together. As they began to move into a pile, Rubeta pushed over a dustpan with his nose, and the mess was cleared up in no time. Marcus set the Book down on its lectern, after unlocking the clasp from around his wrist with a touch. He then crossed to the bench to fetch the inks that Gemaric had prepared before his accident and set to work illuminating the page intended to bear a map of the local area; the map would form the focus of an Inexorable Search that he intended to imbue the Book with, all the time pointedly ignoring the boulder in the middle of the laboratory.
Three hours passed, Marcus' annoyance disappearing with the simple delight caused by the intricacies of illumination - it reminded him of his days at the monastery, the smell of vellum mingling with the smells of sepia and leather bindings. His reverie was broken by a tap at the door - Andru bringing the mid-morning meal. The smell of fresh-baked bread and spiced sausage was enough to entice Gemaric out of his broodings, and he unfurled himself, transforming back into flesh. As the young lad approached the table, the horny ridges of Rubeta's mouth clamped around Marcus' leg, warning him to be civil. Although now immune to the toad's venom, the wounds inflicted by the familiar were painful nonetheless, and sufficient incentive to forgive the boy. Gemaric hovered near to Marcus, mouth working hesitantly, trying to find the right words. Marcus ignored him for a bit, letting him suffer, until the teenager's grumbling stomach threatened to have him burst out in laughter. To cover his mirth, Marcus turned to his apprentice. "Consider the incident forgotten, Gemaric. Sit, eat. However, you will be more careful in future, and I want you to go to Saeed tomorrow and ask him to show you how to blow glass. You will replace every piece of glassware that you broke." The lad ducked his head deferentially, then took a seat and started to stuff the soft white bread into his mouth, cutting off a chunk of sausage as he chewed. Shaking his head ruefully, Marcus stood, rescued the remainder of the sausage from his apprentice's ravenous hunger, and crossed to inspect the morning's work.
Satisfied, he turned back to the table to see Gemaric with Rubeta on his lap, being fed with pieces of bread while having his eye-ridges scratched. The boy was obviously not as dim as he appeared - currying favour with a familiar was a sure-fire way of avoiding a master's anger - that was Marcus' own trick with old Belisarius. "To work, boy! There is much to accomplish before tonight." The words caused Gemaric to start, and he leapt to his feet, forgetting about the ensconced familiar. Maybe next time the toad will feel less inclined to help the lad, judging by the look on the amphibian's face. Marcus could feel the momentary annoyance of his bufine friend, thanks to the Silver Cord that bound the two, but this was quickly replaced by anticipation as he waddled off to the corner of the lab to the small fungal forest that lurked there - perhaps he had missed some beetle grubs last night.
Meanwhile, Marcus had withdrawn the oak-wood box in which he kept his current work from beneath the bench. Gemaric stepped forward, to get a closer look. Marcus reached within, and carefully withdrew the silk-wrapped package and laid it onto the workbench.
"For the rest of the day we will work upon this amulet for Laurent." The old Magus unwrapped the parcel. "Now the amulet has spent seven days resting between a sapphire and a disc of gold. Why is this?"
A moment's thought is all that was required from Gemaric "Gold is known for its powers of Protection, Master, and Sapphire is sovereign against malefic magic."
"Good, I am gratified that you are beginning to remember what I have been telling you! Now, the amulet is nearly finished - having been inscribed with the appropriate symbols, it must be polished. As with the gemstones on the Book, the polishing paste must be made from a number of carefully chosen ingredients. Now, tell me what should be used... start with the liquid base."
"Fox Blood, Master?"
"Well done. Not only effective against magic, but also rather appropriate for our Redcap, don't you think? What should be ground into the paste?"
The apprentice thought deeply before answering, ticking off the ingredients on his thick fingers as he named them. "Cypress bark, three berries of a rowan, and roots of a young gorse. Three ingredients, for Mercury, the planet of Protection, is given the number three by Aratantis. The ingredients should be harvested in the hour of dusk on a Wednesday, and ground with amalgam of quicksilver..."
"Wait, wait! You go to fast. You've got it wrong." Seeing the youth's face drop, Marcus hurries on. "Don't worry, you're nearly there. Rowan is effective against spirits of evil, and warding off ill-fortune, but not appropriate to the task ahead. You are correct when you speak of the need for three ingredients, but there is something you are forgetting. The last two pawns of vis that we saved to empower the item? They must also be employed in the paste. And I would use cypress leaves, not bark, or all this charm will ward off is a bad cold. Now, run and fetch the ingredients - and be careful with that raw Vim vis! It's not that easy to get hold of! While you are grinding the paste I shall question you on the correspondences to the Form of Mentem..."
The lesson continued for the rest of the morning. Marcus droned on at his apprentice, making him repeat over and over the metals, gemstones, herbs and sigils that are most effective in influencing the minds of man, until Andru arrived with the lunch, so the apprentice and his Master retired to the dining room. The starter was a creamy onion soup with garlic and herb dumplings. Then, the remnants of the previous night's roast was served with a rich raspberry and wine sauce that accentuated the juniper-flavoured gamy taste of the wild boar. It was accompanied by tiny roasted larks stuffed with goose-liver pate, and mashed turnip and cabbage finished off the main course. A raisin-filled lardy cake completed the meal, served with freshly whipped cream.
As the two sat finishing off the rest of the flagon of wine, Gemaric asked Marcus about the morning's work.
"Master, if you don't mind me asking, why is it that we are making this Ward against Magic for Laurent? The vis is from your own stores, and I would have thought that it would have been employed in finishing the Book."
"Ah, the Book will be many years in completion. This item for Laurent is in way of payment of a debt. At the Tribunal, I wagered him that if he could get Archmagus Abaddon to dance with Lady Odette, I'd give him a season of my time. He did better than that - he got Abaddon to read her poetry, so I promised him two seasons!" Marcus chuckled at the memory. "Next year you'll be working on another project for our Redcap."
The noise of scraping from under the table caught the attention of Gemaric. Rubeta, who had been licking out the remaining cream from the earthenware bowl, had managed to get the thing wedged tightly on his head, and was having great difficulty in removing it. The ridiculous sight of the toad with a bowl on his head, droplets of cream running down his back, was enough to send the pair into paroxysms of laughter. The familiar attempted to dislodge the bowl with one of his hind legs, but succeeded only in managing to roll himself over onto his side, provoking fresh howls of laughter from Marcus and Gemaric.
"You should both be ashamed of yourselves!" Brigit, Fionn mac Mathgen's apprentice stood at the door to the dining room, hands on hips looking most disapprovingly at the giggling men. She strode into the room and carefully knelt down next to the struggling toad, mindful of her belly, which was swollen with child. "You poor thing!" She said to Rubeta as she helped him out of his predicament, and then lifted him up onto the table. Gemaric rushed to help as she stood, and then hovered around the stern young apprentice.
"Well get the young lady a chair, Gemaric! Don't leave her standing." A chair was fetched, and Brigit gratefully sat down.
"I just came to fetch Gemaric, Master Marcus, if that's all right." As she talked, she scratched Rubeta along his eye-ridges, and he responded like a cat. "It's our reading afternoon, and Abul is meeting us in the Library where Helena has promised to show us some of the rarer books in Malinbois' collection."
"I hadn't forgotten, Brigit. I've made sure that Gemaric is free for the whole afternoon." As he spoke he glanced at his apprentice, and saw him roll his eyes towards Heaven. Quickly, to suppress the ensuing giggle, he said "So, how much further has the child to go, Brigit?"
"Only another month and a half, Cerne willing. The little imp is already causing me as much grief as his father does. I don't know how I'm going to cope with both of them!"
"I'm sure that Fionn will rally around once the kid's been born. He's good like that."
Marcus stood, clapping his hands together. "Well, don't let me keep you two youngsters. Mistress Helena will be waiting. Brigit, you and Fionn are coming tonight, aren't you?" She nodded in the affirmative, and then allowed the awkward Gemaric to escort her out.
Marcus looked at the toad, still trying to remove the remaining cream with his long tongue. "Well old boy, looks like it's just you and me, this afternoon. Just like the old days, huh?" With a reproachful look, the toad hopped down off the table and went into the laboratory in search for mice. Marcus followed him, still chuckling. The Magus spent most of the rest of the afternoon polishing the amulet for Laurent. When he sat in his lab, most often when he was alone, he could feel a strong affinity with it, almost as if it was calling out to him. Moments of solitude like these were few and far between these days, not that Marcus had any regrets about taking an apprentice, but the reflective mood that the sunrise had put him in came back to haunt him as he worked. As he formed himself a pestle and mortar out of the stone surface of the workbench (one of the advantages of a lab specialised for the Transformative Art was that one rarely needed to fetch equipment - most could be made on the spot, or encouraged to flow towards you in a sinuous motion), he started to reflect on the last few decades of his life. Like at Phoenix, things had started well. The covenant prospered, and the other Magi were likeable. Things were also hard - there were no end of troubles, from the Fay, Bishop Orris, the Threat of the Devourer - Malinbois had seen it all. Nevertheless, the covenant had pulled through without resorting to the assistance of others. Doissetep would have loved that - if we'd gone running to them! This is what had prompted him to propose the non-involvement of the remaining Magi Conditores in the affairs of the covenant. We had no help in what we did - it's about time that the younger Magi stood on their own feet and took responsibility for their actions. Now only he was left here - Fionn had retired to the island of Leucate, Odette had moved out nearly a score years ago, and the rest of the Founders were dead and gone. Times were changing - with Imanitos in charge, there was no longer room for doddering old Magi like him anymore.
Midafternoon, Andru brought him more wine and a plate of rich cakes that Richenda had made. In an attempt to dispel his maudlin mood, Marcus first read some spiritually uplifting poetry written by Sister Anna of St. Doucelines, and then, at the pleading of Rubeta, decided that he had had enough enlightenment for one day and transformed himself into a toad to go on a worm hunt on the covenant lawns. This simple earthly pleasure did much to lift up his spirits (Rubeta always knew the right things to do - that was partly what made him a familiar, after all), especially when the simple vermicidal activity ended up a full blown hunt as the pair uprooted a grass snake from its home in a rabbit-warren. The pursuit through the undergrowth was exhilarating, but tiring; and it was the sound of the Compline bell that reminded him that he was throwing a dinner party that night. He transformed back into human form and raced the now-dogsized Rubeta back up the hill, beating him by a mere whisker.
The muddy, grass-stained Magus descended to his basement and washed and changed whilst Andru took cutlery and crockery down to the cave-garden that Marcus had created. Marcus dressed himself with care, putting on his finest clothes. He wore grey hose, and an open-necked pale-blue tunic, which was belted at the waist with a tooled leather belt. Over this he put a darker blue mantle, then finally a sleeveless navy-blue over-mantle. He then painstakingly trimmed his beard, discovering in the process a piece of worm that he had missed. Having ensured that everything was as neat as it could be, he turned his attention to the toad. Rubeta has to endure an unceremonious dousing in water and a good scrub before Marcus was satisfied.
Just as he felt ready, he heard the bell, signifying the arrival of his first guest - probably Imanitos...
Later on that evening, Marcus surveyed the scene. The table was largely clear of the victuals - Richenda had done him proud, and her marvellous food had been devoured with great gusto by all present - excepting the largely abstentious Friar, of course. Seven courses, each more sumptuous than the previous, each carefully tailored to the tastes of his guests. Imanitos sat chatting with Maria, no doubt trying to win her over on some little political scheme of his. Having him elected as disceptator was just what was needed to give the Council of Malinbois a good kick start again. Poor Maria looked utterly bored, and toyed with the fruit rind before her. Marcus subtly directed Rubeta to rescue her with a mental prod - he couldn't have people not enjoying themselves at his party. Odette and the Friar were talking to Brigit about the importance of Baptism and bringing up a baby within the bosom of the Church; Fionn was looking on, pleased to see Brigit in a bit of discomfort for a change. Gemaric was talking to (or rather at) Laurent - the redcap had been plying him with drink all evening, and the youth was uncharacteristically talkative. Laurent was suggesting teaching him how to play cards - Marcus could already see the greedy glint in the con man's eyes as he lead the staggering apprentice over to a large flat rock suitable for the purpose. Looking back to the table, it could be seen that Rubeta had been successful in catching Maria's attention, and the two were having a discussion about medicine - the toad (surprisingly) had a firm grasp of the subject, and was eager to learn more from an expert. Imanitos' predatory eyes were looking around for another victim, and they rested upon Marcus himself. As the younger Magus moved into Gemaric's empty seat and refilled Marcus' goblet, the older Magus wondered what would happen during the next forty years with Imanitos leading the covenant. Marcus fully intended to be here to find out...