King Javan’s Year

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Perhaps Father Faelan has availed himself of other confessors in the city, if he felt the need,” Javan observed. “Not that such a man can have much to confess. His attention to his duties has been exemplary—which comes as no surprise to me, having known him at Arx Fidei. His gentle piety continues to be an inspiration to all with whom he comes in contact. I can think of no higher praise for any priest.”

  “You suggest he has confessed himself to priests outside his Order?” Paulin said sharply, ignoring the praise. “That is a blatant breach of the Rule, as you well know, Sire. No doubt the temptations to relax proper discipline are far greater at Court than in a monastic setting—which is precisely the reason I stipulated monthly retreats as a condition of his assignment.”

  Javan allowed himself an almost indolent shrug, wishing he had not mentioned other confessors. “I do not know that he has transgressed thus, my lord. Nor is it my place to comment, no longer being of your Order.”

  The oblique reminder of Javan’s defection did nothing to mollify Paulin’s growing anger.

  “Whether or not he has availed himself of a foreign confessor,” he said coldly, “Father Faelan’s failure to present himself for the required retreat is a breach of his vow of obedience. If you had forbidden him to go, he would have been obliged to inform Father Ascelin, which he did not do.

  “Therefore I must conclude that this is Faelan’s decision, at least in part—though I find it appalling that so exemplary a priest should suddenly throw away everything he has achieved in his years with our Order. If he is truly set upon defying the instructions of his superiors, I shall be obliged to recall him to his community for discipline.”

  “I have not forbidden him to go,” Javan said coolly. “Nor shall I command him to do so. I have made it clear that I shall support him in whatever decision he makes in this matter.”

  “I see,” Paulin said. “You have encouraged him in this—”

  “Here, now!” Robear rumbled, no longer able to keep silence.

  “I wish to hear this folly from Faelan’s own lips,” Paulin said, ignoring Robear. “I fear that his exalted status as the king’s confessor may have gone to his head. In part, I must blame myself for that. He was far too young to be burdened with such a weighty responsibility. Spiritual direction is all the more urgent, to assist him in recognizing the error of his ways. I shall go to him immediately.”

  “You shall go nowhere unless I give you leave,” Javan said sharply. “If you wish to see my confessor, you may do so in my presence, unless he himself requests otherwise.”

  “Sire, this violates numerous points of canon law,” Paulin muttered.

  “Nonetheless, it is my decision. Sir Robear, please ask Father Faelan to attend me, if he wishes to do so. Inform him of the identity of our guests, and say that I do not command his presence. However, if he intends to address Father Paulin’s inquiries at all, as I think he must do eventually, I suggest it might be best done here.”

  “You take entirely too much upon yourself, Sire,” Paulin muttered through clenched teeth, as Robear made a brisk bow and went out. “How dare you presume to dictate how I shall deal with my priest? Faelan will do as I command. He comes and goes at my bidding. If I say that he dies, then he dies!”

  “You have not that authority,” Javan stated flatly. “You are my subject, and I will not brook defiance from you or any other subject. Now, mind your tongue, if you wish me to oblige you by allowing this interview with Father Faelan.”

  He knew, as soon as Faelan came into the room, that both he and the priest had made a mistake. As was his usual wont, Faelan was immaculately turned out, his black habit neatly brushed, his cowled scapular falling in precise folds, his tonsure gleaming newly shaven on his bowed head.

  But gone was the gentle diffidence that had marked his first few weeks at Court, as he came out from under the shadow of his arrival, and before his first return to Arx Fidei. Cowed apprehension was in his every movement, in the very set of his shoulders, as he first bowed to the king, then came to bend his knee before his religious superior. Paulin permitted him to touch his lips to the abbot’s ring on his hand, but stayed him from rising when Faelan would have gotten to his feet.

  “I am surprised to see you here, Father,” he said coolly. “It was my understanding that you should have reported to Arx Fidei some days ago, for your monthly retreat.”

  “It—was not convenient that I leave Court at this time, your Grace,” Faelan murmured, eyes miserably downcast.

  “And is the Court’s convenience any reason to shirk your religious duty?” Paulin replied. “Did the king forbid you to go?”

  “N-no, your Grace. It was my decision.”

  “It was your decision to be willfully disobedient to your superiors,” Paulin said. “That is a grave sin, Father.”

  Closing his eyes, Faelan drew a deep breath. “I—could not face the prospect of—what transpired before, your Grace.”

  “Why, whatever can you mean, Father?” Paulin purred, warning in his voice. “Were you ever used other than for the good of your immortal soul?”

  “I—am certain that was the intent, your Grace,” Faelan said lamely.

  “But you presume to judge otherwise?” Paulin asked. “That is the sin of pride, Father. I fear you have fallen far short of the mark. Disobedience and pride are grievous sins. For the good of your immortal soul, I order you to return to Arx Fidei for a period of fasting and reflection, that you may come to see the error of your ways and find contrition in your heart. Personally, I have always held that obedience presents even more of a challenge to most young priests than chastity. Fortunately, both these virtues can be reinforced through appropriate discipline and—”

  “I would rather die,” Faelan whispered, his words almost inaudible.

  “What was that, Father?”

  “I said I would rather die than go back!” Faelan repeated, his head jerking up with a start, the dark eyes wild and frightened. “I will never submit to that again. Never! I would rather—”

  “I did not ask what you would rather do,” Paulin said coldly. “I ordered you to—”

  “You order no one in my hall, my lord!” Javan said, finally having heard enough. “Father Faelan has made it clear that he does not wish to return to Arx Fidei. The subject, therefore, is closed.”

  “If he does not go back, then he places himself outside the protection of the Order,” Paulin said. “Furthermore, such willful disobedience by a priest toward his superior is grounds for immediate suspension. If he defies the suspension, excommunication will follow. Is it worth it, Father?” he said, rounding on the quaking Faelan, who had collapsed onto his haunches, face buried in his hands. “Is your loyalty to a secular king who has forsaken his own holy vows and would lure you from your own, or to the Order to which you willingly gave the care of your immortal soul?”

  “That’s enough!” Javan said, coming to his feet to interpose himself between Paulin and the trembling Faelan, one hand upflung to warn Albertus against intervening. “It becomes increasingly clear that your real quarrel isn’t with Faelan; it’s with me. Believe me when I tell you that Father Faelan had no part in my decision to leave your Order. He was and is a good priest, but you have driven him to this. Most reluctantly, he finally told me what was done to him before you let him come to Court. I find it appalling that you would sacrifice so good a man merely to get at me.”

  Paulin drew himself to his full height and looked down his long nose at Javan, Albertus sidling closer, one hand on the hilt of his sword—and Charlan and Robear fingering theirs—then exhaled on a long sigh.

  “I see that the situation is even more serious than I imagined,” he said quietly. “Rot, quite obviously, is at the very root of this Court.” He turned a disdainful gaze on Faelan, still cowering at his feet.

  “I offer you one remaining chance to save your immortal soul, Father,” he said. “Submit to the authority you swore to uphold when you made your holy vows to the Ord
o Custodum Fidei. Come away with me now and let Brother Albertus take you back to Arx Fidei for spiritual counseling. From this moment, because I greatly fear for your spiritual health, I relieve you of your priestly duties, until such time as your superiors may judge you fit to resume sacerdotal function.”

  Faelan’s body recoiled as if struck a physical blow, but he did not raise his head.

  “If you refuse this most generous offer,” Paulin went on, his voice drawing out the phrase in dreadful anticipation, “I shall take immediate steps to excommunicate you.” He turned on Javan. “And if, in defiance of suspension and excommunication, Father Faelan attempts to exercise any part of his priestly office, I shall ask the archbishop to place the entire Court of Gwynedd under interdict. He will do this and impute the blame to you, since you personally would be responsible for allowing Faelan to defy the bans of suspension and excommunication in your Court, he having been your confessor.”

  “I will appeal to the archbishop myself, Vicar General,” Javan said coldly. “There will be no interdict.”

  “No Custodes priest will serve you, until you make your peace with the Order,” Paulin warned.

  “There are other priests, other Orders,” Javan said. “I will temporarily seek another confessor from among them.”

  “You are free to seek, but you will not find.”

  “Be that as it may,” Javan said, though he felt less certain than he hoped he sounded. “I take Father Faelan under my personal protection. He has transgressed no civil law. If you believe he has defied canon law, I require that you present concrete evidence as to his error. Other than declining to return to a place where grievous hurt was done to him without cause, I find no fault with him. Nor would any honest man.”

  “That is not for you to judge,” Paulin said. He planted his hands behind his back and glared down at Faelan. “Be aware, Father, that your own willfulness has brought your fate upon you. At the setting of the sun, you will be declared excommunicate, with all the opprobrium that can be focused upon so pitiful a sinner as yourself, but it is you who have already separated yourself from God and His Church. When you eventually come to your senses and repent of your errors, Mother Church will joyfully receive you to her bosom, but until that time, you have consigned yourself to outer darkness. I also remind you that, should you die without having sought reconciliation, you approach the throne of heaven already damned.” He made Javan a curt nod. “Sire.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, Albertus at his heels. Robear looked ready to charge out after him—and did—and Charlan was glaring murder in his eyes, but Javan’s concern was only for Faelan.

  “Father, I’m sorry,” he murmured, sinking to his knees beside the huddled priest, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. I shouldn’t have asked you to come here. I should have realized that Paulin would know how to cut you to the quick without even drawing steel.”

  He was appalled to find that Faelan was weeping silent, choking tears, his head weaving back and forth in anguished denial.

  “It isn’t your fault, Sire,” he managed to choke out. “I have failed in my vocation. I should have held my tongue when I first came to you and simply served you as best I could. I should have borne my burden silently. And yet—”

  “And yet?” Javan whispered.

  Faelan sniffled miserably and raised his chin, but he could not bear to look Javan in the eyes. “And yet, it did give me joy to offer up the Mysteries in your behalf, Sire. At the abbey, when first we met, I cared for you as I cared for any of my brethren, but as your tutor, I also came to treasure the intellect you brought before me to be trained. I never had a finer or more eager student.”

  The raw emotion pouring from Faelan almost overwhelmed Javan, and he had to blink back tears.

  “That should have been enough for me—I know that now,” Faelan went on haltingly. “Perhaps it was pride that led me to answer the summons when you became my king and sent for me. I should have realized, when they put me to the question—” He shook his head.

  “But I have failed you. As your confessor, it should be my role to help you in your work. Instead, I have become an occasion of contention between you and the Order to which I had offered up my heart and soul. That they should turn against you, and ask me to do so as well—” He shook his head. “I—do not know if I can bear this, Sire. To lose my priesthood and to be excommunicated, barred from all solace of the Sacraments—”

  “Keep heart, my friend,” Javan murmured, himself sick at heart. “You have a refuge here for as long as you need it, and you are still a priest forever, regardless of what Paulin may say. While, as king, I cannot allow you public exercise of your office until this is resolved, you are free to celebrate in private, within your own quarters. If it causes you no distress, I would also be pleased if you would continue to celebrate Mass privately for me there, with selected members of my personal staff.”

  “And risk interdict, Sire?”

  “Someone would have to find out first, wouldn’t they?” Javan retorted with a grim little smile. “But come. I don’t need to hear Mass until Sunday. Maybe this will be resolved by then. Meanwhile, why don’t you go back to your quarters and lie down? Sleep would do you good.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Faelan said miserably as Javan helped him to his feet. “I will never find peace until this shadow is lifted from me—and Father Paulin will never relent.”

  “I agree that the shadow needs to be lifted,” Javan said, reaching out with his senses, “but I think you’ll find that you can sleep.” He touched controls at the edge of Faelan’s mind and sent a wave of drowsiness rolling briefly over his consciousness, bracing his arm around Faelan’s shoulder as the priest swayed on his feet.

  “Shall I help you sleep, Faelan? Just briefly, you can remember all that you have been to me besides my confessor. Will you let me help you in this?”

  He saw in Faelan’s eyes when the memory surfaced, in a blink and a brief unfocusing of the dark gaze. Then those eyes were turning to him again in fearfulness but also in trust and in full knowledge of what Javan was and what he could do, Faelan’s taut shoulders relaxing against his arm.

  “Aye, my liege,” he whispered. “Sleep would be a mercy. I place myself in your hands.”

  “Good man,” Javan murmured, setting his free hand across Faelan’s eyes as they closed. “Deep sleep. And remember none of this.”

  A moment only it took to set the controls. Then he was giving the priest into Charlan’s hands to walk him back to his quarters. He went with them as far as the door. Outside, the fuming Robear had been watching Paulin and Albertus retreat down the great hall, the two of them pausing occasionally to speak to other black-clad Custodes before disappearing through the doors at the far end. Robear turned as Javan emerged, casting a look of query after Charlan as the younger knight led Faelan away by another route.

  “Is he all right?” Robear murmured.

  “He will be, after he’s slept a bit.”

  Robear shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. “Paulin was rough on the priest. What did he do to him, before they let him come to you?”

  “Assorted tortures, in the name of religion,” Javan said briefly. “You don’t want to know details.”

  “Probably not. Will Paulin really excommunicate him?”

  “I expect so. Would you place me an observer or two and see if he does?”

  Robear nodded. “I’ll see to it. He said sunset. You’ll be in your quarters, when I have something to report?”

  “Aye.”

  Without further word, Robear sketched him a salute and headed off down the great hall. Javan, after watching him for a few seconds, went off in the direction Charlan had gone with Faelan.

  An hour after sunset, Archbishop Hubert joined Paulin of Ramos in the sacristy of Rhemuth Cathedral, as the latter was taking off the vestments he had worn to pronounce Father Faelan’s excommunication. It was Paul
in who had presided over the ceremony, but Hubert and Archbishop Oriss had been in prominent attendance, as were several dozen Custodes brethren and most of the cathedral chapter. Albertus and one of his knights stood guard outside the sacristy door, for Paulin had not been at all certain the king would permit the excommunication to take place.

  “My Lord Archbishop,” Paulin said formally as Hubert came into the sacristy. Father Lior was just lifting a black cope from his shoulders from behind. “Thank you for attending. The presence of yourself and Archbishop Oriss ensures that the excommunication will be heeded. I confess myself still somewhat amazed that the king permitted it to proceed.”

  He was left wearing a very plain alb over his black Custodes habit, with black stole and cincture stark against the snowy white. Hubert likewise was funereally clad in a plain priest’s cassock rather than his customary purple, relieved only by his ring and pectoral cross. The expanse of black made the archbishop look less ample than usual, but only just, as he gave Paulin an indolent shrug.

  “Despite his defiance of canon law in this particular instance, the king understands it well enough,” Hubert said as Paulin pulled off his stole and handed it to Lior. “Faelan, by his own actions, had already excommunicated himself. It would have served no purpose to stop the formal declaration of that excommunication. Besides that, I do not believe the king wishes to force any public confrontation with your Order at this time. He has enemies enough at Court. Open warfare with so powerful a faction is hardly in his best interests.”

  “Perhaps not, but he has declared war on us,” Paulin replied. “He certainly has declared war on me.”

  He had been pulling off the black cincture cord from around his waist, and now looped it around both his hands and tugged it taut, as if he wished it were around a royal neck. “The insolence—”

  “He is yet young,” Hubert murmured, calmly taking the cincture from Paulin and starting to coil it up. “I will try to reason with him. There are those of us he cannot eliminate from the circles of power, and he must be made to realize that it is in everyone’s best interests to reach an accommodation. This business of Father Faelan is not in anyone’s best interests, as it will further polarize the Court—especially if the disciplines imposed on Faelan should become general knowledge.”