The Mindwalk Pavilion

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Prince Bayezid sat looking out of the narrow window. It was a cold country, colder than a desert at night. The snow made everywhere seem bright, and he was reminded of the bright warming sun at home. He shivered a little. It was disappointing that he had not been able to take their challenge, he was confident that he could have successfully captured the crown, especially as a mere chit of a girl could do so.

He sighed. How constantly his thoughts kept returning to the 'mere chit'. Those beautiful eyes, like emeralds, no, not emeralds, they were more like the warm deep green of a palm leaf, waving over an oasis, alive and vibrant. They glittered with intelligence, and from her reaction he knew she'd heard his telepathic communication. She'd made no response, but that might be a demonstration of her self control rather than inability to do so. He assumed that since she had prevailed over the challenges of the Mindwalk, then her abilities must be considerable.

The way her cheeks had reddened when she'd seen him studying her. He'd noticed that she hadn't looked away though. Sighing, Bayezid tried to concentrate.

His father had seemed to expect him to be taking the challenge, despite the news of Mary's death having taken several days, if not longer to reach them. Suleiman had summoned Bayezid and explained what he required him to do. Spurred on by his father's desire for haste, Bayezid's ships had prepared and left as quickly as possible, and he'd felt that the Sultan had begrudged them even the time needed to take on sufficient supplies for the voyage.

Further, he'd insisted that Selim accompany them. Bayezid detested his brother, and he knew his dislike to be mutual. Fortunately they had been able to travel in different ships on their way here. Bayezid knew that Selim desired to be Sultan in his father's stead, and that he Bayezid, was an obstacle to that goal. He did not trust his brother at all, and he trusted his 'bodyguard', and incidentally his lover, Murad, even less. Murad was very beautiful, but Bayezid had seen him fight. Whichever foul gutter Selim had found him in, it must have been a vicious and dangerous place, though, reflected Bayezid, perhaps less so when Murad left.

There had been no instructions as to what he should do if he failed. Failure in a Sultan's son was a fatal disease. Could arriving too late to take the challenge be considered failure? He did not think that logic would play much part in the answer to that. Perhaps there was another way to gain power here, a not unattractive way. Those eyes.

He was not sure that his father had had time to consider his plan properly. Bayezid had thought of little else on the journey. If he controlled the Celts, it would open up a whole new front from which the Romans could be attacked. Both Roman factions were already stretched maintaining an uneasy stalemate. Much of their forces were committed to defending the threat that Suleiman presented to the East.

Suleiman and his advisors believed that this was why neither faction would attack the Celts. Any armies that they might commit to such aggression, would leave them weakened and ripe for attack from the other faction, and /or Suleiman's warriors.

Reasoning such, he had three possible actions now. To return was almost certainly to die. It was probable that even if he went into hiding or into exile, that his father would hire assassins to find and strangle him. He could stay and wait out the three years grace period. During this time he would be vulnerable from assassination, particularly if his father died during that time. Again his thoughts strayed to Selim and his deadly companion.

The third option was to marry Queen Boudica. It pleased Bayezid that his decision to woo her was based on sound logic, and not because he could not stop thinking about her serious, exquisite, and utterly beautiful countenance.

He must find out more about her. What was she like? What did she like? Did she already have a lover? He sensed that this was not the case. If the Queen had a lover, it was likely the dwarf. He could not remember her name, but she was a Duchess apparently. He had been watching everyone during their initial meeting. The interpreter was actually unnecessary, for Bayezid had learned enough of the Celtic language to follow the conversation with ease. But by having everything translated, Bayezid had created useful time.

The dwarf. Bridget. His mind released the useful name. He had watched how Bridget looked at Boudica, watched over her, would be more accurate. Boudica's attention had been largely focused on him, and his followers, but her unguarded glances had sought out the dwarf. Despite this, Bayezid was not discouraged, he sensed that the two women were intimate, but there were many different expressions of intimacy. Nevertheless, he would need to know more about Bridget also. It might prove useful to befriend her.

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Selim disliked Albion. Despite his thick clothing, and a large fire, he felt cold. He stared into the flames, sitting so close that his clothing was in danger of singeing.

That the Celts had produced a new Queen before they arrived did not much surprise him, it had taken nearly two weeks to sail from Constantinople, and that was after the news of Mary's death had crossed Europe to reach them. His father's plan sounded odd, a strange gamble, and doomed to failure by the distances involved. Even if Bayezid, or Selim, had secured the throne of Albion, coordinating any action between the far East and West of Europe, would be a nightmare.

Selim doubted that Suleiman was ignorant of these facts, so he was looking for an ulterior reason for their expedition. It troubled him to suspect that they had been sent on a wild goose chase, to removed them from Constantinople whilst something important was happening there. Selim could not think what might be happening behind his back. Perhaps some rival was even now being positioned as heir apparent.

But Selim and Bayezid were Suleiman's only two remaining sons, and Selim did not think they would both be set aside. Indeed, he felt that his own political manoeuvrings had recently gained him favour at the expense of Bayezid.

Taking a long draught of beer, he pulled his face. That was another reason he disliked Albion so much. Setting aside what he feared, Selim concentrated upon what he suspected, namely that his father had sent both of them away on this trip, with the expectation that only one would return. He could not know for sure if this were indeed the case, but that was not going to stop him making it happen. With some thought, he might be able to lay blame for his brother's unfortunate death at the Celts' threshold.

Selim decided that he should plan carefully. Despite not knowing Bayezid's intentions now that the role of King was denied him, Selim thought that he could likely make an accurate guess as to his brother's thought patterns. They would not be making any immediate return to Suleiman, he had time to plan carefully. In the meantime, he would endure the Mithras forsaken climate and the piss that the Celts called beer.

He looked over to the large bed, where Murad lay naked and snoring beneath a mound of rugs and heavy cloths. There were no calls on his time. Selim shoved back his chair, and made his way to the bed. Shrugging off his coat, the prince slid in beneath the mound and snuggled up to the love of his life.


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Doctor John Dee and Brian Peters were in Dee's study, as was Ahmet Kemal. Kemal had approached Dee as the Ottoman party had been withdrawing to the quarters provided for them. He'd correctly identified Dee, though the two had never met. They were now discovering many shared interests, and the conversation, which was largely conducted in Latin had already touched upon alchemy, mathematics and cartography. Unlike Peters, Doctor Dee soke no Turkish. It soon transpired that Kemal had in his possession both a fair Latin translation, and an Arabic original of The Book of Seventy by Jabir ibn Hayyan.




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It occurred to Boudica that she didn't know much about the history of the Mindwalk Pavilion. There simply wasn't very much written about it, and the members of the Council were happy that this was the case. She thought about what she did know. It was a place where people could meet astrally. Those that met there were always Celts as far as she knew, and further they were all known to one another. The same families kept producing offspring capable of entering the Mindwalk. She wondered why that was.

She knew that Brian Peters knew more than anyone else about the Pavilion, and this despite Edward Carrick being the oldest amongst them. She would have to ask him to tell her the history.

She had not discussed the nature of her challenge with anyone, not even Bridget, who she feared would find it too strange and alien to properly understand. Though, Boudica admitted to herself, she wasn't sure that she understood much of it herself. What she remembered, was how vast the Pavilion had appeared to her.

The Council met in the Chamber of the Inner Pavilion, and that is where she had arrived when she'd worked out what Beatrice had been alluding to with her 'we're now here' comments. She hadn't seen anywhere else. Was that because there was nothing besides the Chamber to the Mindwalk?

Boudica wondered if she could enter the Mindwalk by herself, and resolved to try and find out as soon as possible. Though with what had happened with David Morus, and now the arrival of the Ottoman's and in particular, Bayezid, she was beginning to feel that she might not have any spare time to do much at all.

As if to drive home that point, her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of William Cecil. He explained quietly that he had interviewed David Morus, and with Boudica's assent he took her through the time leading up to Morus' attack.

"I suspected something of the sort." Boudica told him,when he'd finished his report.

"I went to see him myself."

"Morus?"

"Yes. Don't worry, I was quite safe, I doubt he'll ever walk again unaided."

Boudica shared most of her conversation, and Cecil listened attentively.

"So it seems that though Dafydd carried out the attack, it was Pawl Llewellyn that was behind it. He seems to have expertly manipulated Dafydd, playing on his love for you by suggesting that you'd be gone from him forever."

Boudica nodded gravely.

"Poor Dafydd. Is it wrong that I feel sorry for him?"

"Not at all Your Majesty, your compassion does you much credit."

Cecil paused, as if deciding how to continue,

"Do you wish to move against Pawl Llewellyn? It would be very difficult to prove he has committed any actual crime. He could simply say that yes they discussed the possibility of your making a foreign match, but that it was all at Dafydd's instigation."

Boudica sighed,

"Yes, I realise that, and further if I moved against him, I would have the enmity of Morwenna, and the rest of the family too in all likelihood. No, we need them. I don't want to start creating divisions the moment I am made Queen. We shall have to let it go."

It was Boudica's turn to hesitate.

"Cecil."

"Your Majesty?"

"I am not going to sign that Death Warrant."

Cecil looked grave.

"I think that with all the disruption caused by the arrival of the Ottomans, it could be conveniently 'forgotten' for some little time, though eventually you will either have to sign it, or else formally pardon him, which would cause a lot of dissent, or commute the sentence."

"Thank you Cecil, I will consider what to do for the best, but I won't have him executed. He scared me, and he hurt Bridget, but ..."

"I understand Your Majesty."

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