The Archbishop's jaw clenched. "Brother Hasty!"
Brother Hasty stood. "I saw this postulant, Hoban, linger at the edge of the field overlong, near the wild flowers and weeds, and I saw his lips move. When I came to rebuke him, I saw the ground had been hoed so thoroughly that it might as well have been plowed. I thought naught of it at the time; yet now…" His voice trailed off; he spread his hands.
"There can be no question of it." The Archbishop glared down at Hoban. "Brother Alfonso hath been taken, and 'tis this man who told the elves how they might encompass the deed. Belike 'tis also he who cleared the shield of Cold Iron from the north field and the garden wall."
Hoban protested. "I did not take the iron from the field or the wall, milord."
"Yet thou didst speak to the elves?"
Hoban stood silent. Then he said, "I came to be a monk. At the least, I will not lie."
"Why!" the Archbishop spat. "Wherefore dist thou betray this Order?"
"From loyalty to my liege lord Tuan, King of Gramarye." Now that it was out, Hoban's boldness came clear again. "I came hither at his behest, to discover what evil genius did move thee."
The whole hall strained in shocked silence.
"And I did discover 'twas Brother Alfonso who had tempted thee to defy Rome," Hoban went on. "This did I tell the elves, as I told them of his walks with thee in a garden ringed by Cold Iron. This I did, and naught more!"
" 'Tis enough to have destroyed him!" the Archbishop raged. "How durst thou speak of temptation! How durst thou claim loyalty to an heretic and a corrupted Church as thy defense!"
"Thou hast asked." Hoban's face was hard, hiding the dread he felt. "And I have answered with truth."
"As I shall pronounce thy doom!" the Archbishop shouted, his face livid. "Thou art guilty of treason to thine Archbishop and this Order! And thou hast aided in the death of a monk!"
He glared around at the assembly. "Doth any speak in his defense?" His glare dared them to say a word.
But slowly, quaking, Anho rose.
The Archbishop stared, furious, but grated out, "Speak, Brother Anho!"
"I plead…" Anho croaked. "I beg thy mercy for my birth-brother and… friend!"
"Bethink thee what thou dost say." The Archbishop's voice was like a glacier pushing up gravel.
"He may have done foolishly," Anho said, gaining courage, "he may have committed vile sin. Yet he did believe, with the whole of his heart, that what he did was right!"
"Why! How canst thou know this of him!"
"Why, for that I have known this man from his birth," Anho declared. "I have dined with him, worked with him, rejoiced with him, wept with him. I know him as well as a man can know another—and never have I seen the smallest part of malice in him, nor of deceit. He is a plain, blunt, honest man, who hath no understanding of churchmen's casuistry, nor any liking for it. He doth believe as he was bred to believe."
The Archbiship's eyes burned, but he made no comment.
"There is this, too," Anho said, less stridently, "as my teachers here have shown me: that no mortal who doth claim to be a man of God, ought ever take the life of another, for any cause but defense of his own life."
The Archbishop reddened, remembering that he had been one of the teachers who had so maintained. "Well enough, then," he said, "thine eloquence hath saved thy brother's life; he shall but be flogged twenty strokes, and shall dwell henceforth in a bare and barred cell, alone and in solitude, and shalt have naught but bread for his food and water for his drink. But thou shalt ne'er more be chamberlain of mine, nor hold any office save work in the fields!"
"Thou art gracious, my lord." Anho bowed, and his voice trembled. "Gracious and merciful! And I thank thee with all of mine heart!"
"The more fool thou, then," the Archbishop snapped, and gestured to several burly monks who stood by. "Go, take this fellow away, and his brother with him! Take him, and lock him in our darkest cell, and never let me see him more!"
The monks were silent as the warders led Hoban and Anho away, and many felt their hearts sink in sympathy.
Then they sat in silence, for the Archbishop sat before them, chin on his breast, brooding.
Finally he raised his head and croaked, "Well enough, then. Now shalt thou—"
"My Lord Archbishop!" A monk came running into the hall.
The Archbishop whirled. "What… Brother Lyman! What dost thou from thy post by the gate!"
But a severe young man came following in Brother Lyman's wake, resplendent in an embroidered doublet and scarlet hose, a scroll in his hand.
A murmur sprang up throughout the hall. The Archbishop's face froze. "How came this man here?"
"My lord… I had thought… thou wouldst wish…"
"Naught were to enter!" the Archbishop stormed, but the young man spoke in a calm tone that nonetheless carried throughout the hall. "I am an herald of Tuan and Catharine, monarchs of Gramarye, come to summon thee to audience with the Right Reverend Morris McGee, Father-General of the Order of St. Vidicon of Cathode."
The hall was instantly silent.
The Archbishop stared at the courier. Then he stretched out a hand. "Give me!"
The herald stepped forward and placed the scroll in his hand. The Archbishop broke the seal, unrolled it, and read. As he did, his face turned white. He set the scroll in his lap with a trembling hand and said, "The insignia of our Order is there, pressed in wax—yet it must needs be forgery! The Father-General bides on distant, storied Terra, and hath never come unto Gramarye!"
"Nevertheless, 'twas his hand gave it me," the herald answered.
"And 'tis thy tongue shall bear him his answer! That I declare him a false, prating imposter, a pawn of unscrupulous Tuan Loguire! Nay, tell him I shall meet him indeed—with an army at my back!"
Tuan and Catharine stood atop the gate tower, looking down into the outer bailey. It was chaos within order, men sitting by tents burnishing their weapons, horses picketed against the south wall, auncients and knights coming and going between the various bands, distinct in their liveries.
"At the least," Catharine said, "not a one of thine own thralls failed to come at thy call."
Tuan nodded. "They are brave and good men, and their loyalty warms mine heart. And our household guard hath done well in their welcoming, in but one day bringing the levies to think of themselves as one in spirit."
" 'Tis not a one of thine own soldiers should not be an auncient, my lord."
"Truth." Tuan smiled. "Yet do not let them know it, I prithee. They are of the King's Guard; 'tis enough honor for them."
Sir Maris limped up to them, bowing. "The couriers are returned, Majesties."
Tuan's smile vanished; he was taut in a moment. "Their reports?"
"Di Medici, Stuart, Marshall, and Borgia are gone, as our spies had foretold; we doubt not they are with the Archbishop."
"There was never cause to doubt our intelligence from Ruddigore. And the rest?"
"Ruddigore sends word that his troops already hold the Plain of Despard, betwixt the Crag Mountains and the Ducat River; the Archbishop and Di Medici shall not strike through to Runnymede without cost. Yet he doth call upon thee as his liege to come quickly, for the enemy could obliterate him."
"Why, so we shall," Tuan said, his face grim. "How does my father?"
"Thy good sire is already afield, marching through Durandal Pass to join with Ruddigore."
"How blessed am I in my parentage!" Tuan cried, and Catharine gripped his arm more tightly. "And the others?"
"All send word that they march, Majesty; their men were summoned and provisioned, and but awaited thy call."
"We gain more than lust for preferment," Catharine said, her eyes glowing. "Here are no boot-licking sycophants, but men who desire our rule!"
Tuan nodded, restraining a grin. "They have come to think they are better with us than without us, or I misjudge. Mayhap these past years have not passed in vain. Send word, good Sir Maris! Tell all my vassals of my pleasu
re, and bid them meet me at Despard Plain. There shall we mass to ride to the abbey!"
* * *
With Hoban's arm around his neck, Anho stumbled into the darkened cell. Only starlight showed them its confines, scarcely four feet wide and ten long, with but one narrow window at the end wall; but Anho had been guiding his brother from the whipping post through totally dark hallways, and could see the narrow cot well enough. He guided Hoban there, then stumbled as he helped him to lie down, and Hoban landed hard. A moan escaped his clenched teeth.
"Regrets, regrets!" Tears wetted Anho's cheeks as he knelt by the pallet and pulled a small earthen pot from his sleeve. "I had not meant to drop thee, brother!"
" Tis I must beg thy pardon, for so spoiling thy chances here," Hoban gasped.
"What—my post as chamberlain?" Anho shook his head. "I care naught. I came here to become a parish priest, brother, not a monk. 'Twas the Archbishop—Abbot then—bade me to the cloister, and I was no more joyous in it than the rest of the friars; they did not think me fit, nor do I. Brace thy nerve, now, for the apothecary was merciful and did bring thee salve the whiles they did whip thee—and, oh! brother! That beast of a monk who did lash thee!"
"He did but as he was bid, brother, and was true to his lord, even as I was," Hoban gasped. "Nay, I of all men could scarce complain… Aieee!"
"I had warned thee," Anho said with tears in his eyes. "In minutes, though, it will lessen the pain… Oh, dear Lord!" He threw his head back, gazing up toward heaven. "I give thee thanks from all that I am, for the life of my brother! Each day will I offer a rosary, all the years of my life, in thanks!"
" 'Tis a hard vow," Hoban muttered. "I had not known I was so dear to thee."
"Ah, little fool!" cried big brother, exasperated. "Dost not know that, of all the friends God gives us, those we are born with are most precious? Yet 'fool' I said and 'fool' I meant, for daring to act against our holy Order and our merciful Archbishop!"
"I know I have burdened thee for the rest of thy days," Hoban answered, muffled, "but I was afeard thou mightst be caught betwixt the Archbishop and those of his monks who do wish to be loyal to Rome. Yet here I have sprung about thee the very trap I did dread!"
"What, wilt thou berate thyself for doing what thou didst believe to be right? Oh, false man! Aye, I can believe 'twas concern for me that did bring thee here, as much as loyalty to thy King! Wilt thou tell me thou hast thereby done wrongly? Or didst thou come here only for adventure?"
Hoban was silent a moment, then answered, "Nay. I came out of faith, brother. And I would do it again if there was need, and no hazard to thee—for I do most truly believe in the Holy See and the Roman Church, though many say they are but child's tales. If they are, then am I still a child. Yet I do believe even more shrewdly in Their Majesties."
"Well, then, be still with this foolishness of remorse! Thou hast hurted me in no wise, but doth bear all the pain thyself! Would I could share it with thee! Pride of place matters naught, 'gainst thy soul—and I see that if sin was there, 'twas venial at worst. What matter advancement in the order!"
"If thou dost truly believe that," Hoban said with a wry grin, "thou art either a most lamentable excuse for a monk, or a most holy one."
"Most lamentable as a monk, belike—yet I am glad enough to be a good brother."
Chapter Nineteen
"Yon comes Romanov!"
Rod followed Tuan's pointing arm. Another barge had come into sight around a bend in the river, its deck filled with men and horses.
"He was your enemy once." Rod smiled. "Nice to see him coming to support you, isn't it?"
"In truth, it is!" Tuan turned to look out over the plain with a happy sigh. "So were they all, all our enemies, save my father! When Catharine did reign alone, we did defend her from their charge—thou and I, and our allies." His face clouded. "Still, some stand against me."
"There seems to be hope that the younger generation won't, Your Majesty. You never know—you just may really unite this country yet."
"Not if thou hast so poor a taste for kinging," Brom jibed by Tuan's belt. "For one who bore so long a face about the dangers of war herein, thou art happy enough to be a-field!"
Tuan grinned, straightening and squaring his shoulders. "I ever did feel more easy with harness on my back! And my conscience, too, is easy, for it rests secure in knowing that I have done all I can to preserve the peace!"
"Maybe too much," Rod pointed out. "Couldn't we maybe have pulled off a little sneak attack before the Archbishop gathered his troops?" He saw the appalled looks on the others'
faces, and held up a palm to forestall their objections. "No, no, don't tell me—it wouldn't have been honorable."
"I must admit there's some value to that viewpoint. Lord Warlock," McGee said, "especially in a medieval culture."
"Yeah, well, it didn't do us too much good to kidnap the fly in the monastery's ointment, did it? Brother Alfonso notwithstanding, the Archbishop's still gathering troops."
Tuan nodded. " 'Twas foolish, but I had hoped that, left to himself, he might repent and seek truce."
"Aye, 'tis odd." Brom scowled. "One would think he'd listen to his heart and his conscience, now that his evil angel is gone."
"Maybe he is listening to his heart—and who says he has a conscience?"
McGee braced him with a hand on his arm. "Charity, Lord Warlock, charity."
"Aw, can't I be a realist for once?"
Why start now? Fess's voice said behind his ear.
Rod frowned. "Odd echoes on this hilltop. Of course, it could be that Milord Archbishop has a backup Vice to tempt him. Could we ask Brother Alfonso about that?"
"Not unless thou dost wish to wake him," Brom rumbled, "which I would not countenance."
"Oh. He's really notwithstanding, huh?"
"Lying prone," Brom affirmed, "in sleep ensorcelled—and with one sitting by at all times, to be certain that sleep endures."
Rod nodded. "I don't suppose you could put in a few nightmares?"
The Archbishop came into his study with quick strides and quick glances, his agitation plain for anyone to see.
One of the glances fell on Lady Mayrose, who sat reading at a desk, head bent over a book, the sun striking a halo from the burnished gold of her hair. The Archbishop stopped, feeling a moment's awe at her beauty, and the beginnings of peace. She looked up with a radiant smile, then saw the look on his face ' and stared, appalled. "Milord Archbishop! I had not thought thou wouldst object if I—"
"Nay, nay!" The Archbishop waved the notion away. "I delight to see thee, milady!"
She relaxed a little. "Then what doth trouble thee, my lord?"
"Ah, 'tis the reports of our… 'scouts,' I believe the word is. Men who ride out to espy the enemy's troops." He turned away, wringing his hands. "And, oh! I had not thought the King would bring so many against us!"
Behind his back, Lady Mayrose's eyes narrowed.
"They will break our poor troops, they will maul them! And even should our forces prevail, there will have been so much slaughter! Oh, sweet Heaven!" He buried his face in his hands. "Can there truly be right in this course I have taken? Can the supremacy of the Church in Gramarye truly be worth the shedding of so much innocent blood?"
"My lord!" the lady cried. "I am appalled that thou canst doubt!"
The Archbishop looked up, surprised.
"When the King doth come against thee with so vast a force?" Lady Mayrose hurried toward him. "How canst thou think this battle to be any doing of thine? 'Tis only because the rule of kings is so godless that such bloodshed doth happen! Nay, but think!" She caught his hands between her own. "This battle will end battles! When the King hath knelt to thee and acknowledged the rule of God, there will be no more wars, no more spilled blood!"
"Yet how if…" the Archbishop swallowed. "How if the King be slain?"
"Why, then, 'tis thou must rule! The lords have acknowledged thy guidance already, have they not? Who else should govern, save
the Church!"
The Archbishop stood immobile for a moment; then a gleam came into his eye.
Lady Mayrose saw it, and waxed poetic. " 'Tis thy duty to thy fellow man to press forward in this holy and righteous cause! Nay, 'tis thy duty, above all, to thy God, to be bloody, bold, and resolute!" She let the wrath grow, knowing how beautiful she was when she was angry. "Laugh to scorn the power of man! Thou wilt prevail, thou must prevail, for thou art God's voice in this kingdom!"
"Thou art the very soul of courage," the Archbishop breathed, clasping her hands tightly and gazing into her eyes. "Nay, 'tis even as thou dost say! We shall press forward; we shall prevail! And when the rule of God hath triumphed, all men of Gramarye, for a thousand years, shall bless thy name!"
She blushed and lowered her eyes (she did it so well!). "If I but strengthen thine arm, my lord, I care not for the opinion of men."
"Yet I must."
There was something about the way he said it that made her look up again, her heart beating wildly in her breast, and she saw the look of deadly seriousness in his eyes. "I must tell thee of this latest rule that I have proclaimed," he said, low, but with total conviction. "Since the tyranny of Rome be ended for we of Gramarye, we need not abide by those precepts of theirs that have been for so long absurd! Men must not demand interest for the lending of money; men must not give hugely to the Church, in expectation of fewer years in Purgatory—and clergy must be free to marry!"
She stood. She had heard of this, but hearing it now from his lips, she was galvanized by the achievement of her purpose.
"There is no true reason why priests should not wed and father children," the Archbishop affirmed, "least of all we of St. Vidicon! I have writ, I have had it proclaimed!"
He was silent, staring into her eyes, and she thought her heart must burst, or she must swoon.
Then he said, "Wilt thou wed me? Wilt thou be my wife?"
Tuan scented the dawn wind and turned toward the sunrise. "At the least we've a fair day for our battle, Lord Warlock."
"Yes, and for once the family didn't come along for the trip!" Rod answered, with fervent relief.
Across the plain the rebel army was dousing campfires and folding tents. "They pull themselves into battle order," Tuan observed. "How fare our men, Lord Counselor?"
The Warlock Heretical Page 23