Being the true and complete testament of Jeremy Northam of his long life and many adventures, written for the instruction and edification of his heir. Read well and learn so that you may avoid the mistakes that I have made. Let it be God’s Will that I write nothing but what is true.
It was the year of Our Lord, one thousand, seven hundred and forty two. I had been summoned to an estate. The master of the estate, a Lord Northam, someone whom I did not know, had sent one of his servants to fetch me. The Master was quite ill and would perhaps not last the next day. It was a grave matter, according to the servant. I ignored the pun, in poor taste as it was. The unintended punster was quite insistent that I had to come with him to see his master.
I had no desire at all to visit a stranger, especially a sick one. But the man was adamant as stone and quite convinced me it would be in my best interests in attending him. He hinted that I was in line to the estate. I had no prefiguration of any title or estate in my family. My family encouraged me in this matter hoping there would some recompense or reward even if I was not in line to the title. These things had been known to happen; as we shared the same name I could entertain some hope in the matter. Thus encouraged I entrusted myself to the care of his servant.
We traveled by carriage all night. The wind whipped and rain pelted through the open windows of the coach. Occasionally, lightning tore through the sky and thunder rolled through the hills. It set a funereal air to the enterprise.
Near morning, we arrived at the estate. I was seen in and taken to a room where I changed into dry attire. A fire was roaring which made the room quite comfortable. My earlier misgivings were allayed. The servants all seemed quite deferent to me.
As the sun crested the hills and brought light to the window, the same servant arrived at my door. “The Master will see you now, if you please.”
“Yes,” I said. “Show me the way.” I followed the man, now seeming more certain of himself, being in his usual environs. We came to a bedroom and entered.
On a large bed lay a wizened old man. His hair was all white and in disarray, his skin like thin parchment barely disguised the skull beneath, and his eyes were rheumy. In short, he was at Death’s door and staring into the abyss beyond. He waved the servant out of the room so that it was only the two of us. "Come closer," he mumbled. His scaly hands were like claws. He held one hand out, closed tightly on something. "Take it," he murmured then was wracked with a fit of coughing.
I put my hand under his as he released something into my hand. It was warm and metallic. I looked at it as he hacked. It was a ring, frankly an ugly ring, even in the now bright morning light it had no beauty or brightness. It held stones of undistinguished appearance. The band was silver and worked in an ancient Celtic design but of very poor workmanship. Or so it seemed to me.
The master finally quit coughing. He looked up at me with rheumy eyes. "Don’t be fooled by its aspect. That ring has been in our family for thousands of years. It looks old because it is old."
I was surprised. “Sir, you say our family?” I asked
He smiled, “Yes, lad, our family. Listen, you are my closest living male relative. As such, you are the proper heir to the Northam Estate, worth some eight thousand pounds. This land is entailed and must go to my closest male relative. The estate consists of the village, Vicarage, and the surrounding farms. But, of more importance than that is the ring you now hold in your hand. I want the ring to go to the holder of the land.”
His eyes cleared for a moment and a broad smile appeared. "You find yourself the victim of extraordinary good luck, just as I found myself at your age.” His claw like hand gripped my wrist. He had surprising strength. “Listen, this is a ring of power. Wear it at all times. If you lose it, if you give it away, you will fade away, just as I am about to." He had another coughing fit.
Continuing his story, "The three stones are an amethyst, purple representing the royal ability to command; ruby representing the color sanguine, of passion, that the ring controls; and last, chalcedony, white for the purity of women, the subjects to the ring."
This story he was relating was beginning to sound like something these new popular novelists would dream up; men traveling to lands of midgets and giants, indeed. Would he be telling me of witches and their familiars next? On the other hand, if this really was a ring that had some unearthly power I wanted to know what kind? "Uncle, what does the ring do?"
His face was lighted by that smile again. “I am not your uncle. I am many generations removed from you. You are descended from my loins in unbroken line. As I said, I received the ring when I was your age; that was in the Year of Our Lord 1252.”
I know my mouth gaped open. I took a step back. The poor man had to be influenced by some night vapor. He was not himself. Half a millenium?
“Yes, lad. It has given me life for that long. I have used it wisely and so it has granted me long life in return.” He coughed and looked pale. "But be careful, use it unwisely and it will desert you. Be discreet. Be vigilant. I never made open use of the ring’s power. Remember, use it discreetly. No one must learn you have it or guess its power or it will desert you."
“Is that it’s only power? To grant a long life,” I asked unsure whether to believe what I was hearing.
“No, lad,” he said. "It was created to do something quite different. It gives longevity in the use of its function. It gives you power over the mind of women. It will release the inner passion of a woman or even fill her with passion, even if she is as cold as marble, this ring will heat her heart and loins. But first, you have to learn to use the ring. You have to direct the ring with your mind when you tell a woman what you want her to do. The stones will glow and you will feel the power of it sending your will to her. Learn to master the ring and you will have power over women. But each use of it carries a bit of peril for use it unwisely and the ring will withdraw its benefit. I have been wise in its use and it has granted me five hundred years."
"Wise? How?" I asked.
"You will learn.” Another cough before he continued, “Listen, when you pass you must give it to your direct descendent. Promise me you will obey these rules. Swear it on the ring."
"I swear on the ring," I said. I felt a strange buzzing in the hand holding the ring.
He sat up in the bed looking almost young again. "I grant you this ring," he said with surprising power to his voice, a voice that seemed to belong to a young man.
As he pronounced the last word, I felt the ring hum in my hand. It felt hot. I was about to look to see what was happening when he gasped. I was startled. His eyes opened wide as if surveying a vast expanse, looked at me in approval, then closed. He fell back onto the bed. I knew he was dead. I ran out of the room and found servants. I hurried them to his room. The ring seemed to be burning my hand. I opened my hand and looked at it. The stones glowed with an eerie light.
In truth, I was afraid of it. I stuffed the eerie band into my coat pocket. There was a great commotion in the master’s room as servants rushed in then turned and rushed out. Soon, the commotion died down and the head servant came out. He bowed to me. “I understand that the master has left you his estate.” I nodded, dumbstruck by this sudden change in my fortune. “Welcome, your Lordship. We will prepare for the burial. There is a family tomb here. I will send to the village for the Vicar to say the words.”
I nodded. “I am sorry but this is all so sudden. I don’t know quite what to do. Yes, please take care of everything.”
He nodded. “Burnstone has said you traveled all night. It is now morning and you must be famished. I have informed the cook and asked him to prepare some breakfast. Please come with me, your Lordship.”
He led off and I followed, my mind working feverishly but accomplishing little other than forming questions for which I had no answer. 'Your Lordship,' that sounded so inappropriate addressed to my person.
He led me to a table already set with a good country breakfast: fresh baked bread still warm from the oven with a good marmalade, sausage from the local farms, and strong tea. I dined and felt replete once again.
I greeted the Vicar on his arrival, seeking to at least appear Lordly while feeling out of my situation entirely. He congratulated me on my good fortune, to which I could only agree. He said some words over the body and the servants carried the remains to the family tomb. I watched as the former Baron was laid to rest in the tomb and the great stone door closed up. The Vicar said his condolences and congratulations, each in proper proportion, and set off back to the village.
This is the prelude to my narrative of the strange gift which I had been bestowed. You know of the gift. Now I must tell you of its power and effect. You will decide if the gift was of good or evil.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2007, 2009, 2011, 2012