Further consolidation was also accomplished during that summer’s campaign. Hrorik, Sighere’s middle son, so distinguished himself in battle that he became a chief vassal of Cinhil in his own right, receiving most of the lands of his father’s former earldom of Eastmarch as his holding. Sighere’s youngest son, also named Sighere, was granted the new earldom to be called Marley, carved out of the northern portions of old Eastmarch, for he had also served Cinhil most valiantly. In all three of Sighere’s sons, Cinhil counted himself fortunate. He could not conceive of more loyal and powerful allies to hold this newest extension of his kingdom.
But for Sighere himself was reserved the greatest honor of all: to be created a duke—the first ever in Gwynedd—and to receive for himself and his heirs the royal Duchy of Claibourne, so named for the principal city of the northwesternmost portion of old Kheldour. Duke Sighere also became Viceroy of the Kheldish Riding, that office to become the hereditary due of the Dukes of Claibourne for as long as Sighere’s line should last. Rhendall, now held by Ewan, would be the secondary title of the Claibourne dukes, borne during the duke’s lifetime by his eldest son but functioning as a separate earldom under that son so long as father and son both lived. On Sighere’s death, Ewan would become Duke of Claibourne as well as Earl of Rhendall, until he had a son to administer the lesser title. Of course, the viceregal office also went with the ducal inheritance. Sighere had great reason to be pleased as the summer days began to shorten.
And in Valoret, the weeks and months passed as quickly for Camber as they did for his king, if with less dramatic excitement than what Cinhil daily faced in Kheldour. The shift from spring to summer brought Queen Megan’s condition to the notice of anyone with the eyes to see, her blossoming happiness the delight of all who loved their usually sad-faced young queen. Evaine, too, began to show unmistakable signs of impending motherhood, to be delivered shortly past Christmas. Rhys, physician to both women, could hardly decide whether he was more pleased with the improved health and spirits of Megan or the splendid progress of the son his wife carried beneath her heart.
Of course, Megan’s son would be another heir for Gwynedd—and God knew, they needed another. But thought of his own son brought a tremor of excitement to Rhys’s mind whenever he thought about him. In fact, he sometimes found it difficult to reconcile his own joyous wonderment with the utter calm and serenity which Evaine increasingly displayed. Her entire outlook took on a mellowness which was quite alien to the Evaine Rhys knew so well. Even Joram ceased the occasional sharp comments which he and his sister had sometimes exchanged in the past.
Camber, too, noticed the change in his daughter, and the corresponding change it wrought in Rhys and Joram. He cherished his time with Evaine and tried to be a sounding board for both his sons’ wonder, helping his daughter ease into this new phase of her life and becoming less demanding of her time as the child within her grew. Many hours they spent together, father and daughter, sometimes translating the ancient records and discussing what they had found, speculating on the enigmatic ward cubes, but more often simply relaxing in each other’s minds.
Together they explored the implications of the role Camber had chosen to assume. The matter of sainthood they especially considered, not only from its impact on Gwynedd’s future but from its possible effect on Camber himself. Almost, they could justify the public side—if not to Joram’s satisfaction, at least to their own. But Camber continued to brood on the inner morality, and what effect the common acclamation of Camber as saint might have on the living Camber’s mind. There was simply no way of knowing. He hoped they would never have to know.
Cinhil’s absence allowed them far greater freedom than they would have had, to meet and plan and try to decide what to do. Little by little, pieces of information did begin to sift together.
For example, through a chance encounter with Dom Emrys, the abbot of the Order of Saint Gabriel, who had come to court to complain of encroachments on the Order’s fields near Saint Neot’s, Camber learned that Queron Kinevan had left the Gabrilite Order in April. Emrys seemed still to be surprised at this, for the Healer-priest had held an enviable reputation both in his community and in the secular world. Emrys could offer no explanation as to why Queron had left or where he had gone.
From another source, Rhys discovered that Queron had been involved in the purchase of a partially fortified and much ruined manor called Dolban, which lay on the road which ran northeast out of Valoret along the river toward Caerrorie. Further investigation revealed only that Dom Queron had been seen in the area once or twice, no longer wearing the white robes of his former Order, and that extensive building activity was now being carried on behind the restored walls of Castle Dolban.
That last fascinated Camber, for he could not imagine where Queron had gotten the money to pursue such a project, the priest having previously sworn vows of poverty to his Order; but increasing pressures at court prevented him from pursuing the investigation overmuch. Even though Cinhil was still in Kheldour, and not expected back until mid-September, the council—or such of it as was in residence—was required to meet twice weekly and send detailed reports to the king. The queen was increasingly unable to sit through the meetings, her time coming due about the same time that Cinhil was expected home; and Anscom, who had always handled a great portion of the ecclesiastical liaison, had suffered recurrent illnesses throughout the summer, and was more often absent than present.
As the archbishop’s condition worsened, Camber felt obliged to spend more and more time at his side, not out of duty, but out of genuine affection. The long years of battling a recalcitrant digestive system had finally taken their toll on the aging prelate. Even so skilled a Healer as Rhys could do little other than to ease Anscom’s discomfort—and that, Camber could do as well as he, and Anscom preferred Camber’s touch.
Accordingly, and at the insistence of Anscom, Camber sent Rhys and Joram out, ostensibly to visit Caerrorie but in fact to survey the situation at Dolban. They camped near the manor for nearly a week in mid-August, disguised as itinerant merchants, observing the comings and goings of various workmen and questioning those they dared.
They learned that the manor had been bought through a factor named John, who had paid in gold. A bailiff named Thomas now paid the laborers and dealt with the villagers who brought increasing amounts of supplies for the manor’s upkeep. For the gold and silver which the bailiff dispersed, the peasants were asked not to talk about what they saw inside—though, under Rhys and Joram’s careful prodding, some allowed as how the buildings looked like monastic ones. Certainly, the manor’s old chapel had been restored and, some said, greatly enlarged. Vast amounts of fine-cut stone and timber had been brought through the gates at midsummer, and one old carpenter told of a great statue of a hooded man which stood close beside the new rose-marble altar.
If there was a master of the place, then it was surely the small, wiry man in gray robes who sometimes walked the rampart walls at night. The man’s description fit Queron to perfection, right down to the fat reddish-brown Gabrilite braid hanging down his back. Rhys and Joram never saw him themselves, but the man they had Truth-Read for the information could not have lied. Queron was surely at Dolban.
In a last effort to gain more insight before returning to report to Camber and Anscom, the two paid a quick, nighttime visit to Caerrorie to check on the tomb. Elinor was away for the present, gone with her new husband and the two boys to visit her new in-laws; but Umphred, Caerrorie’s old bailiff, admitted the two young men quite readily.
Yes, visitors had continued to pray at the dead master’s tomb, Umphred told them. And many left gifts of flowers and prayers still. He even took them there, through the secret passage which had always connected the family chapel with the main house. But no one had approached the young master Davin’s mother with any proposals to build a shrine, so far as Umphred knew. Nor had anything been changed about the tomb itself. Did Father Joram and Lord Rhys really think their father had been
a saint?
They never did get to check the actual tomb closely, though Umphred insisted that it had been undisturbed. On their way back to Valoret, close by the road from Caerrorie, they found several illicit Camberian shrines, evidently erected by the common folk, who had good reason to remember their late lord with love; and they brought back several copies of prayers and devotions to “Saint Camber” which had been left there and in the chapel near the tomb.
But, again, it was impossible to determine from this slender evidence whether these were isolated items or part of an organized movement. The hand on several of the prayers looked a great deal like Guaire’s, but Camber himself could not be sure. Too many others had handled the parchment, and Guaire’s hand was not particularly distinctive.
Nor did Camber have a chance to pursue the matter further, for on the night of the first of September, Anscon of Trevas died in his arms—the culmination of several months of worsening bouts with nausea and loss of weight and finally vomiting of blood. He died peacefully enough, under the circumstances, suffering no pain under the relieving hands of his Deryni comforters; but they could not cure him.
Camber, as Bishop of Grecotha, celebrated Anscom’s Requiem Mass—one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do. It had not been deemed meet, in that hot and humid September weather, to delay burial until the king might return; even a preserving spell had time limitations. So Anscom was laid away in a vault beneath the cathedral floor but two days after his death.
More momentous to Gwynedd than Anscom’s funeral, however, which had not been entirely unexpected in light of the archbishop’s known failing health, was the election of his successor. The unanimous choice, with some reservations, was one Jaffray of Carbury.
Jaffray, one of Gwynedd’s six itinerant bishops, and a former member of the Gabrilite Order, had been under consideration for a titled see for some time, being Deryni and moderate in his politics and a man in whom even humans placed a great deal of trust. He had been very popular all through the Purple March, which was his current assignment. He seemed to have a knack for bringing together dissident factions—a not-unwelcome talent for the years ahead.
Unfortunately, Anscom had not necessarily been considering Jaffray for Valoret, since, if he must predecease Camber, he had hoped to ease his friend’s burden by nominating someone in whom Camber could confide his true identity. Any other arrangement might open the way for the Servants of Saint Camber to press their suit, if the new archbishop did not know why it should be denied.
But any other candidates Anscom might have considered grooming for the primacy were years away from having the necessary experience for so critical a position, and Anscom had simply run out of time. One absolute requirement for any successor was that the man be Deryni. Under no circumstances would Anscom surrender the primate’s chair to any human priest, no matter how otherwise qualified. The survival of his people might one day hinge on the strong intervention of a Deryni advocate in Valoret.
And so Anscom had ended up choosing Jaffray by default: Jaffray, who was at least Deryni and otherwise qualified, but who could not be relied upon as a confidant for Camber. In the final week before his death, Anscom sent the name of his nominee to Cinhil in Kheldour. By the time Cinhil’s approval came back, Anscom was dead. Archbishop Oriss of Rhemuth convened the Council of Bishops and presented the name of Anscom’s nominee. When he announced that King Cinhil had approved, the bishops also approved.
Camber had some doubts, for the same reasons as Anscom, of this man whom he did not know, either as Camber or as Alister—but he had no alternative suggestions, so he, too, must say “yea” with all the rest. And because Jaffray did not and must not know of Alister Cullen’s true identity—both Camber and Anscom had feared Jaffray’s and Queron’s former ties with the Gabrilites—he would not know to be wary of the Servants of Saint Camber, whenever they might rear their heads. Camber dared not tell him.
Nothing untoward happened during the first week of Jaffray’s tenure. No one came to court from Dolban; and once the king returned, both to mourn Anscom and to recognize Gwynedd’s new primate, normal activities of the court quickly resumed. For the next few weeks, Camber was so caught up in a succession of meetings and conferences with Cinhil that he almost forgot to worry.
Megan’s son was born in late September—named Rhys, for the Healer who had brought him safely into the world—and Cinhil, pleased at the new baby’s perfect form and health, declared a week of celebration. Megan recovered much more quickly than after the previous birth, and seemed to thrive on Cinhil’s mere presence in the same city again. The new little prince grew stronger with each passing day.
It was more than a month after Anscom’s death that the new archbishop summoned his first consistory, bidding the attendance of as many of his brother bishops and masters of religious orders as could attend. Their meeting place was the same chapter house where Camber had first faced the Michaelines as Alister Cullen—only now Camber sat as only one of eight bishops present, in the last of three episcopal chairs to Jaffray’s left, not Chancellor of Gwynedd within these walls, but Bishop of Grecotha only, and junior to every other prelate present.
Joram sat behind and slightly to his left on a backless stool. Each bishop was entitled to a single attendant, and Joram was Alister Cullen’s logical choice, as confidental secretary. But other than Joram, there was not one man in the chamber whom Camber had known before he became Alister Cullen.
The morning session went routinely enough. During the first hour, Archbishop Jaffray received the homage and credentials of those abbots and priors who had been unable, for one reason or another, to attend his enthronement a few weeks earlier. After that, following a short address in which Jaffray outlined his expectations for his tenure, he invited preliminary discussion of possible successors to the bishopric left vacant by his election to the See of Valoret.
Camber listened a great deal and said little. The entire morning was quite uneventful. At noon, the entire company adjourned for a light midday meal.
But the afternoon session held a different promise, which Camber noticed soon after he reentered the chapter house following their break. It was not immediately apparent as he crossed the tiled floor, for he was initially absorbed in a merry conversation with the wire-thin Bishop Eustace, who sat next to him and could make light of almost anything. Joram followed a few respectful steps behind, chatting casually with Eustace’s secretary.
However, as Camber took his seat, still chuckling at one of Eustace’s wry comments, he made an automatic scan of the room and realized that the chamber was nearly filled to capacity, where there had been only half that number in the morning. Men in the habits of most of the great orders of Gwynedd were crowded onto the tiered seats behind the thrones of his colleagues, white and brown and black and burgundy and blue among the purple of the bishops. Crevan Allyn and a handful of his Michaelines had slipped into places on the first level, directly behind Bishop Dermot O’Beirne. On the second tier, closer to the dais, sat Dom Emrys and a score of Gabrilite priests.
Camber had just glanced behind him to confirm that a similar array of clergy lined his side of the round hall when the archbishop’s chamberlain rapped on the floor with his iron-shod staff for silence. All came to their feet as Archbishops Jaffray and Oriss entered and took their places on the dais.
As the room settled down again, Camber saw Jebediah slip in and join Crevan and the other Michaelines, strangely wearing the garb of only an ordinary Michaeline knight—no badge of his secular office. Jebediah flashed what Camber took to be a curious glance in Camber’s direction; but before Camber could speculate on his meaning, the chamberlain was rapping for attention again, his voice strong in the silence which his staff commanded.
“Your Grace, Reverend Lords, brethren of a new religious order beg leave to present a petition.”
An icy chill slid down Camber’s spine as the great doors swung back, and suddenly he knew, beyond any doubting, just who was a
bout to enter.
He felt Joram stiffen and mentally bristle beside him as a gray-robed Queron Kinevan strode slowly into the chamber, flanked by several other gray robes whom Camber had never seen before—and Guaire of Arliss.
Now Camber knew where Queron had gotten the money for his building project at Dolban, and what that project must be. How could he have forgotten that Guaire was wealthy in his own right?
He watched with curious detachment as Queron paused in the precise center of the chamber to bow deeply, hands folded piously out of sight in deep sleeves, then approached the dais to kiss Jaffray’s ring. The former Gabrilite nodded respectfully to Dom Emrys as he straightened from his obeisance to the archbishop and backed off a few paces. Behind him, Queron’s companions sank to their knees and bowed their heads. Several, including Guaire, wore the beginnings of a Gabrilite-style braid like Queron’s.
Joram caught his breath and sat forward in horrified fascination as Queron withdrew a scroll from his sleeve and began to unroll it. Without betraying all, there was nothing he or his father could do to stop Queron Kinevan.
“My Lord Archbishop, worthy Reverend Fathers, I will speak plain,” Queron said, glancing at his scroll and then letting the hand which held it fall to his side. “I and my brothers seek your blessing to form a new religious community, dedicated to the service of a yet-unrecognized saint. We have already established his first shrine at our monastery of Dolban, and would build a second here in the cathedral where his body once lay. Eventually, we would have his burial place enshrined as well, so that all may visit his relics and benefit from his sanctity. To that end, we here present formal petition for the canonization of the late Earl of Culdi, Camber MacRorie.”
The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy Page 75