The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy

by Katherine Kurtz

  Nor was Eustace content to stop at that. Garrulous as ever, he noted that even Joram seemed to have gained a certain resignation with his recovery from the previous afternoon’s ordeal. Of course, Eustace was quick to point out that Joram’s sister and brother-in-law, present, so he understood, in the gallery with the queen and various other of the nobility, could hardly be expected to appear as resigned as Joram, not having had the benefit of witnessing the previous day’s remarkable testimony. But if today was anything like yesterday, Eustace had no doubt that they, too, would soon be convinced of the sanctity of Camber MacRorie.

  Eustace was. So were at least three of his esteemed colleagues. Surely Evaine MacRorie Thuryn, devoted daughter of the late earl, as everyone knew, could not for long deny her father’s saintliness in the face of such conclusive evidence; and all knew of the Healer Rhys Thuryn’s lifelong loyalty to the man who had become his father-in-law. Why, the queen herself had been Camber’s ward before her marriage to the king. How could any of them doubt that Camber had been a very holy man?

  A trumpet fanfare silenced further verbal speculation, much to Camber’s unqualified relief, and then king and primate-archbishop were simultaneously entering from opposite sides of the hall to the chanting of a spirited Te Deum. As all rose to bow, the two passed to the dais with their several attendants, the king in a robe of somber but formally cut forest green, the state crown of leaves and crosses gleaming on his white-winged raven head. Jaffray, not to be outdone, had donned full ecclesiasticals for today’s session, down to the jeweled cope and miter, where the day before he had been content with the purple and simple skullcap of any other bishop.

  The point was not lost on the assembled company as the two men sat, Cinhil a trifle before the archbishop. Though this was Cinhil’s hall, it was still Jaffray’s court. As Primate of All Gwynedd, Archbishop Jaffray of Valoret held total precedence in matters spiritual.

  The morning’s business progressed smoothly enough at first. Following Jaffray’s introduction and a brief summary of what had been established the day before, Queron presented two of his brother Servants of Saint Camber who had accompanied him on a certain visit to Camber’s tomb at Caerrorie and had them relate their findings—or lack of findings—to a spellbound court.

  The two men told a chilling story: how they, with Queron, had secretly gained entry to the MacRorie family chapel one dark, moonless night the previous summer and stolen into the crypt where lay the tomb of their revered master. Queron had countered the standard Deryni-set spells customarily placed on a Deryni grave to protect it from grave robbers, and then the three of them had pried open the door to the tomb.

  But when they had lifted the lid of the sarcophagus and held their torches close, fully expecting to see the lead-wrapped coffin of the Earl of Culdi—there was nothing there! The tomb was empty!

  The audience breathed sighs of wonder, as if that information had never been explored the day before, so caught up were they in the unfolding story. Queron noticed the effect, but did not dwell upon it, turning instead to a scholarly examination of his two witnesses: How did they know that Camber had ever been in the tomb? Perhaps the tomb had always been empty.

  But, no, one of the witnesses reminded him—one Charles, who had been a baker in the village below Caerrorie at the time of Camber’s death. He had seen the burial with his own eyes, the day Camber’s body came home from Valoret. Of course the tomb had been occupied.

  Further, neither of the men could explain how the body might have been removed by any human agency—human here being taken to mean mortal, as opposed to supernatural. Nor could they discern any motive for some secret removal by Father Joram MacRorie, as the young priest had claimed. On the contrary, the same Charles had seen Father Joram and the Lord Rhys come to visit the tomb several months ago, he having been sent by his brethren to watch for any sign that someone knew the body was no longer there. Why, after so long, should Joram and Rhys come disguised to look at the tomb, if they had known that the tomb was empty as Joram claimed? Charles could only conclude that Joram and Rhys had not known.

  On that point, Queron rested this portion of his argument, there being no way to determine whether Charles’s subjective judgment had or had not been valid. Rhys, having been thoroughly briefed by Camber when he attended Joram the night before, denied any knowledge of the removal of Camber’s body by Joram or anyone else, deriving moral justification from the fact that they had not moved Camber’s body, but Alister’s. His denial also tallied with Joram’s implication that he had worked alone, at his father’s command, such a request obviously having been made before Rhys had become a member of the immediate family.

  Queron even questioned the expectant Evaine on the matter, feeling that perhaps Camber might have confided something of his burial wishes to her, as well as to Joram. But of course, Camber had not; and Evaine could truthfully say that she had neither moved nor known of moving her father’s body. Since the Lady Evaine had no connection with any of the other evidence which Queron proposed to present, and since she was obviously in a delicate condition, Queron permitted her to retire once more. Camber could not help a small smile of satisfaction, deftly shielded behind one hand ostensibly raised to cover a yawn, as Evaine curtsied innocently and made her way back to the gallery with the studied gravity so often exhibited by very pregnant ladies. Had Queron only known her true part in the matter of “Saint Camber,” he would not have been so quick to be so gracious.

  All of this took half the morning; and those who had not been present the day before and seen the arcane presentations of evidence were beginning to fidget with boredom by the time Queron had finished his cross-examination regarding the disappearance of Camber’s body. But the next presentation brought evidence new to all the observers save those who did not wish to talk about it. From a door by the left-hand fireplace entered at Queron’s summons one Lord Dualta Jarriot, his garb proclaiming him a Knight of the Order of Saint Michael.

  Dualta approached the thrones stolidly, bowing with formal correctness to Cinhil before kneeling to kiss the archbishop’s ring. He avoided the king’s gaze, being very much aware that he was disobeying Cinhil’s direct command by coming here to testify and praying that Queron could indeed protect him from the king’s wrath when it was all over. Naturally, Cinhil dared do nothing to stop him now.

  Queron did not employ any Deryni pyrotechnics in his initial examination of Dualta, confining himself to a normal question-and-answer format while he established Dualta’s identity and his connection with the incident about to be related. Because of the number of other witnesses who had been present, Queron admitted that he was unable to repeat his energy-draining technique of the day before and show what Dualta had seen; but he did reveal that he had, with Dualta’s consent, earlier Truth-Read Dualta’s testimony and found the young knight to be telling the literal truth.

  But he would let Dualta tell his story. The young man was not Deryni, but he did have remarkable recall, having been trained to the Michaeline military discipline which was as legendary in its field as Gabrilite training was to Deryni. Queron was certain that the court would find Lord Dualta’s testimony of interest.

  So was Camber.

  The hall grew hushed as Dualta related the events leading to his “miracle”: how he had entered his vicar general’s chamber with an unnamed companion to find Cullen unconscious, apparently striving against some overwhelming force which seemed to be affecting everyone in the room.

  Camber noted with curiosity that Dualta, too, had refrained from mentioning Cinhil by name as yet. It could only mean that Queron was saving Cinhil’s identity as a tour de force; for there was no way that this testimony could be completed without revealing the unnamed observer.

  Rhys and Joram had tried to ease the stricken man’s distress, Dualta continued, but it was obvious that what fought for him was far stronger than they. Lord Rhys had hinted that it was some vestige of the evil Ariella, which had been continuing to threaten Cullen e
ver since he had defeated her that night at Iomaire.

  Then Cullen had stopped breathing, his face slowly going blue as Rhys and a horrified Joram lowered his body to the floor and began to breathe for him, trying to keep him alive.

  And as Dualta told his tale, it was as if he had slipped back to that time somewhat the way that Guaire had, though without the apparent aid of Queron or any other agent, now recalling his own part as though the struggling victim again lay before him in the hall which had become no longer hall but bishop’s bedchamber in his mind’s eye.

  “O God, if Camber were only here!” Dualta cried, falling to his knees and reaching out his hands in supplication. “O God! Camber could save the vicar general!”

  For a few seconds, Dualta knelt there as though transfixed, his audience frozen with him in anticipation and gasping as his expression changed from despair to awed wonder.

  Then Dualta was describing what he had seen in a low, trembling voice, how Cullen’s face had misted over for just an instant and then begun to shift, had seemed to change to the face of Camber MacRorie, as if the one had been superimposed over the other!

  The apparition had not lasted long, Dualta finally told them. Rhys, his hands on Cullen’s chest, had seemed least affected by what had happened, seemingly accepting the intervention as an assistance so that he could resume his healing work on his patient. As the Healer had closed his eyes and bowed his head, apparently entering his healing trance, the image had faded, the mist dispelled, and the familiar features of Alister Cullen reasserted themselves. Joram, stonily observant while the apparition occurred, had collapsed with his face in his hands and wept when it was all over.

  Dualta’s face was whiter than the belt he wore, and his eyes still stared at a spot on the floor before him, where some who watched could almost fancy that they also saw what he still saw in the eyes of his own memory. His hands hung in the air, as if he gripped the arm of someone else kneeling there beside him. He turned his head slightly, as if in response to what that person had said, then swallowed and released his hold on air.

  “The Lord’s Name be praised!” he whispered fervently, crossing himself and then clasping his hands in reverence. “He sent the blessed Camber to help us!” he cried. “The Lord sent Camber to save His servant Alister!”

  As he bowed his head in thanksgiving, Queron moved quietly beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder, bending to speak a few words in his ear which the spellbound audience could not hear. In a few seconds, Dualta raised his head and looked at Queron, then at the king, the archbishop, the watching audience. He flashed a nervous, self-conscious ghost of a smile as he got to his feet with Queron’s aid.

  “I pray you to forgive me, Reverend Lords, Sire,” he murmured earnestly, especially beseeching Cinhil as he straightened his mantle with shaking hands. “I had not intended—”

  Jaffray waved his hand in negation. “No apologies are necessary, Lord Dualta. Your testimony has been quite enlightening, thus far. Dom Queron, do you intend to have Lord Dualta continue at this time?”

  “I am not certain, Your Grace.” Queron bowed and turned slightly toward Cinhil. “Sire, we come here to a very delicate matter, for the next portion of the testimony can be better told by another witness of whom Your Highness is doubtless aware. I can, of course, ask Lord Dualta to continue, if you wish, but …”

  Cinhil had been following the entire examination to this point with tight-lipped concentration, his eyes at least half the time covered by one hand, as if to shade them from the light—though there was precious little in the hall other than from torch and fireplace. Of course, Camber knew that Cinhil was not trying to hide from the light—and he was sure that Queron knew that, too. Jaffray, who also knew what Queron was doing, did not make a point of turning to stare at the king; but he did not have to, for all the other bishops and, indeed, everyone else in the hall were staring for him.

  Camber’s heart went out to the king. Queron had set this up quite mercilessly. There was no way that Cinhil could avoid testifying now. Queron would make the matter as graceful as possible, but he would not relent.

  “Your Highness?” Queron asked softly, as if unsure whether Cinhil had heard his question.

  Cinhil toyed with a signet ring on his thumb, still managing to appear nonchalant.

  “I was not aware that the king had any jurisdiction in the archbishop’s court,” he countered, not looking up.

  Archbishop Oriss looked at Queron, then at Jaffray, who still had said and done nothing, then at Cinhil.

  “Sire? Is this witness known to Your Grace?”

  Cinhil nodded slowly, not daring to lift his eyes and thus risk meeting those of any other who had been there. Camber wondered whether Queron and Jaffray had set this up deliberately, baiting Oriss to do their dirty work for them and so force Cinhil to testify—for Cinhil would not lie, no matter what it cost him.

  With a sigh, Cinhil turned his face toward Oriss.

  “He is well known to me, Archbishop.”

  “Then should we not hear from him?” Oriss persisted.

  When Cinhil did not answer, Eustace, sitting beside Camber, cleared his throat and stood.

  “Sire, forgive me, but I do not understand what is happening here. I am a simple man. I do not like intrigues and mysteries. If there is another material witness, then he should be made to come forth. Friendship with Your Grace should not grant him immunity from speaking the truth in so important a matter.”

  “You are certainly correct, Bishop,” Cinhil began evenly, making one last, game try to avoid the issue while he still had the nerve. “It should not. But—confound it, man!” He looked up at Eustace with eyes blazing. “You must be aware of my mixed feelings about Camber. I was that other witness! I had not wished to be drawn into this dispute!”

  There were many gasps of surprise, for up until that instant, most of the men in the hall had not guessed that Cinhil himself was the unnamed witness. Amazement rustled through the hall like an errant wind, gradually subsiding when Cinhil did not speak further. After a moment of awkward silence, Queron essayed the breach.

  “Your Highness, I must apologize. I did not intend for you to be forced into this testimony against your will.”

  Camber nodded to himself and restrained a bitter smile, knowing that that was exactly what Queron had intended.

  Queron returned his attention to Jaffray. “My apologies to Your Grace, as well. I should not have mentioned this. With your permission, I should like to ask Lord Dualta to—”

  “No.”

  Cinhil’s word was not loud, but it cut Queron off as effectively as though it had been shouted. To the sound of low-voiced murmurs of surprise, Cinhil stood, curtly signaling with his hand for them to remain seated when they would have risen in respect. Removing his crown with steady hands, he laid it gently on the cushion of his throne. Awed silence followed him down the three shallow steps of the dais as he turned to face Jaffray. Without his crown, in his somber robes of near-black green, he looked almost like the ascetic monk he had always wished to be.

  “I am prepared to give my testimony in this matter, my Lord Archbishop. Since I do not speak from the throne, you may dispense with regal titles for the duration of this examination.”

  Jaffray half-stood and bowed, then resumed his seat, glancing at Queron.

  “I think we need not place His Grace under oath,” he said, half questioning, and then shaking his head as Queron minutely shook his. “Dom Queron, you may proceed with the witness.”

  Bowing deeply, Queron turned to face Cinhil. This was the witness he had been waiting for, who would confirm all that had been said, even in his understandable reluctance. In fact, that very reluctance would make his testimony all the more telling, for Cinhil had not been exaggerating when he had spoken of his mixed feelings regarding Camber. Cinhil was truly the unimpeachable witness whom Queron had promised, for all that he did not physically wear his crown. Camber could almost read Queron’s triumph in his very stan
ce. God, if he but knew what he was really doing!

  “I shall try to make this as brief as possible, Father—if I may call you by that title without causing undue pain. All here know that you were once a priest.”

  Cinhil winced at that, as Queron had intended, reminding all that this was at least one reason Cinhil had for not wishing any honor for Camber. Queron glanced at the floor, considering his next barb.

  “Very well, Father. You affirm, then, that you were, indeed, present in Bishop Cullen’s chamber on that night before the Blessed Camber’s funeral?”

  “Yes,” came Cinhil’s whispered reply.

  “And that you witnessed something quite out of the ordinary concerning Bishop Cullen on that night?”

  “Yes,” Cinhil said again.

  “Excellent,” Queron said, scanning his audience and gauging their response. “Now, Father, please tell these Reverend Lords what you saw that night, in as much detail as you can remember. We wish specifically to hear of anything relating to Camber.”

  Cinhil closed his eyes and swallowed, then looked at the floor and began to relate what he believed he had seen.

  His initial testimony did not take long. Glossing over what Dualta had already related, for Dualta’s recollection differed very little from his own as far as sequence of events, Cinhil dwelt instead on his own reaction to the alleged miracle: his white-faced disbelief at first, and then his growing awe and almost fear as he realized that he was not mad, and that the others had seen the same thing.

  “I did not want to believe it,” Cinhil whispered, “even though Dualta had stated what I suppose we were all thinking. I told myself that we must have been mistaken, that miracles do not happen any more. Even Lord Rhys would not commit himself; and Healers are probably the closest thing we know to miracle-workers on an everyday basis. He said that Bishop Cullen seemed to be out of danger, but he declined to speculate on how that had come about. When I asked whether it could have been through Camber’s intervention, he said he was not qualified to judge.