The Scepter_s Return см-3

by Dan Chernenko

  Would he use it for as small a thing as stopping a nasty quarrel? Grus nodded to himself, there in the darkness. Lanius didn't like unpleasantness. It was untidy. And he might well feel he owed Grus enough to make sure the other king got at least some peace now that he was king no more.

  "Thank you," Grus murmured. He wasn't supposed to speak after lying down, but he wasn't pious enough to get upset at breaking a small rule, either. If one of the other monks had caught him at it, he would have had to do something unpleasant for penance, but the brothers nearby were all snoring.

  He nodded again. Now he was pretty sure he had an answer to his riddle. The world wouldn't have ended even if he hadn't gotten one – hardly! – but he still felt better knowing. Maybe he wasn't so different from Lanius after all. He rolled over and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Lanius was amazed at all the correspondence Grus had dealt with. Letters addressed to the other king kept coming in weeks and months after Grus went to the monastery. Now Lanius had to deal with them.

  Some of them didn't get dealt with; Lanius wasn't the administrator Grus had been. He consoled himself by thinking people would write again if anything really important fell through the cracks. Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't. Either way, it made him feel better.

  He did try to read everything that came in addressed to Grus. One letter, in a scrawl just this side of illiteracy, talked about how a boy named Nivalis was flourishing. It also complained – deferentially – that payment for the boy's expenses was overdue. It was signed by a woman named Alauda.

  "Well, well," Lanius said, and then again, "Well, well." He'd never heard of Nivalis or Alauda.

  So Grus had another bastard out there, did he? Did he? If he did, he must have fathered the boy when he was down in the south fighting the Menteshe. It wasn't impossible. Before sending money to a woman who might be trying to deceive, though, Lanius wrote to Grus in the monastery.

  The answer came back as promptly as such things could. Please pay her, Your Majesty, Grus wrote. The boy is mine, and I promised her she would not want. I do not care to be forsworn on something like this, and the expense is not large. And besides, who knows what Nivalis may grow up to become?

  There was an interesting thought. The boy would know his heritage. His mother would make sure of that. He might come to the city of Avornis for an education, or to serve as a soldier. If he had any reasonable part of Grus' abilities, he could prove formidable. Avornis needed formidable people; there were never enough to go around.

  And so Lanius wrote back to Grus, saying, Have no fear. I will make sure your obligations continue to be met. He ordered the treasury minister to send Alauda the usual payment. "Yes, Your Majesty," the man replied. Unlike Petrosus, he'd never given Lanius any trouble. "I delayed until I learned what your intentions here were."

  He was smart enough to see he could have gotten into trouble for acting as easily as for not acting. Not acting could be mended. If he'd acted on his own, that would have been irrevocable, and would surely have landed him in hot water if he'd guessed wrong. He might not have been brave, but he'd been sensible.

  "Fair enough," Lanius said. "From now on, the woman Alauda is to have her usual allowance, and you are to continue your usual discretion about it." He'd been so discreet, Lanius had had no idea that Sosia and Ortalis and Anser had another little half brother.

  "Just as you say, Your Majesty, so shall it be," the treasury minister promised. "As long as I have instructions, I shall carry them out to the best of my ability." Without instructions, he would sit there and look up at the ceiling and gather dust; that was the corollary. But he was a useful and reasonably able official. Expecting someone in his place to have imagination, too, was no doubt asking too much.

  "We'll let it go at that, then," Lanius said. Alauda and Nivalis were taken care of. Lanius wondered what the boy was like. Grus had never said a word about him. The other king had always been able to keep secrets. Had Grus ever seen his newest bastard? He might have been able to, traveling to or from the wars with the Menteshe. If so, though, he'd never given the slightest sign.

  In due course, another letter came from the monastery. Thank you for your generosity toward this boy. It shows you deserve to use the Scepter of Mercy, Grus wrote. Thank you also for using it to help bring peace among the monks in this place. Nothing less than the Scepter of Mercy, I am sure, could have eased the strife that flourished here.

  Lanius looked at that and slowly shook his head. Grus had no great amount of book learning. He was no scholar, and would have laughed at the idea of becoming one. But, as he always had, he saw how things worked. He got to the bottom of them. And when he did, he was rarely wrong. He certainly hadn't been this time.

  Still bemused, Lanius summoned Hirundo. "What can I do for you, Your Majesty?" the general asked.

  "Did you know Grus had a bastard son a few years ago?" Lanius asked.

  To his surprise, Hirundo laughed. "Oh, yes. We were both in the tavern when he saw the boy's mother. Matter of fact, I saw her first. But he took a shine to her, so I backed off – he was king, after all. I've never set eyes on the boy, mind you, but I liked his mother."

  "No one ever said anything about it," Lanius said.

  "What's to say? These things happen." Hirundo shrugged.

  Since Lanius knew it was only luck that none of the serving girls he'd bedded had conceived, he couldn't very well argue with that. He did say, "A king's bastard makes for… certain problems, you might say."

  "Oh, no doubt about it," the general replied. "But Grus isn't king anymore, and it doesn't sound like he wants to be king anymore. Since that's so, I expect you'll be able to handle anything that comes up. Odds are nothing will – the boy'll likely be grateful for as much of a head start as he can get in life."

  "I hope you're right." Lanius eyed Hirundo. A general could make for… certain problems, too. If Hirundo had risen in Grus' name, he and his longtime friend might well have prevailed. And if he'd rebelled in his own name, he also might have won. He was and always had been popular with the soldiers.

  But he seemed content not to wear a crown. Maybe, watching Grus, he'd seen how much work being king really was. Lanius wondered what Hirundo would have done if he thought Grus wanted to retake the throne. That, fortunately, seemed to be one thing he himself and Avornis didn't have to worry about.

  Hirundo probably knew what he was thinking. A general also had to be a courtier. But if he did know, he gave no sign of it. He just dipped his head and asked, "Anything else, Your Majesty?"

  "No, I don't think so," Lanius answered. Hirundo sketched a salute and left the room. Lanius sat there scratching his head. "Nivalis," he murmured. It wasn't a bad name – and, to his ear at least, it didn't sound the least bit kingly. That made him like it better.

  Another day at the monastery, not much different from the one that had gone before. The one that came after probably wouldn't be much different, either. Grus didn't worry about it. He'd seen enough ups and downs. Steadiness, right now, suited him.

  Some monks who'd spent much longer behind these frowning walls still couldn't abide it here. Petrosus wasn't the only one who schemed to get a royal order, or an ecclesiastical one, releasing him from his vows and letting him return to the secular world. Ortalis wasn't the only one who paced the courtyard and the hallways like an animal in a cage too cramped to suit it.

  A break in routine came when Pipilo summoned Grus to his office. Grus tapped at the open door. "You wanted me, Father Abbot?" he asked respectfully. Monks were supposed to respect their abbot. Grus did respect Pipilo. He knew how hard being in charge of any community was. Pipilo did a good job of running the monastery, and deserved respect for it.

  He nodded to Grus now. "Yes. Come in, Brother, and close the door after you." When Grus had, Pipilo said, "You do surprise me."

  "Have I done something wrong?" Grus didn't believe he had, but he often discovered the rules here by bumping into them. From what he he
ard, he wasn't the only monk to whom that happened.

  But the abbot said, "No, no, no – not at all. Just the opposite in fact. I grow more amazed day by day at how well you fit in here."

  "Thank you, Father Abbot." Grus couldn't resist adding, "I said I would."

  "Yes, so you did," Pipilo agreed. "But people say all kinds of things. Some prove true. Some…"

  Grus laughed. "Anyone would think you were a man who had some small experience in ruling men, Father Abbot."

  That made Pipilo smile. "Maybe not as much as you, Brother, but yes – some. You were always a man who did so many things. Here, there aren't so many things to do. I thought you would be restless and bored. I thought you would want to go back to the secular world so you could do more."

  "If this had happened to me a few years ago, I would have. I'm sure of that," Grus said. "No more, though. I'm content here."

  "I see that," Pipilo said. "But how? Why?"

  "What more do I need to do?" Grus said. "After all I've done, anything else would be an anticlimax. I'm not King of Avornis anymore, but my daughter is still married to the king. My son… Well, my son won't get any better than he is, no matter what I do. But my grandchildren are growing up, and my bastard boy is still arch-hallow. My family is as well set up as I could make it."

  "And you have that other little bastard," Pipilo observed.

  "Yes, I have Nivalis, too, though I'll never get to know him," Grus said. "I am sorry about that, but I wouldn't have gotten to know him even if I'd stayed king. My wife never quite found out about him." He took some modest pride in that, and knew it deserved no more.

  "Congratulations – I suppose," the abbot said dryly. "The way it looks to me now, it's a shame you're older than I am and came to the monastic life so late. Otherwise, you'd be my likely successor. I told you that once before. I mean it more than ever now."

  "Kind of you to think so, Father Abbot, but I told you I'd turn down the honor any which way," Grus replied. "That's part of why I don't mind being here, too. I've had a bellyful of telling people what to do."

  "Have you really?" Pipilo sounded surprised again. "Most people never get enough of that."

  Grus shrugged politely. "Maybe not, but most people don't get as big a dose as the one I had, either."

  The abbot eyed him, then also shrugged. "I don't know whether I should believe you, but I do. And how do you like taking orders instead of giving them?"

  "Not very much," Grus admitted. "No, not very much at all. But now that I know the routine and fit into it better than I did, people don't have to give me as many orders as they did when I first came here. I know what I need to do, and I do it."

  Ortalis hadn't figured that out yet. He still tried to buck the monastery's routine. That, of course, landed him in more trouble than he would have had if he'd gone along at first. But Ortalis had never done anything the easy way, and it didn't look as though he would start now.

  Pipilo must have known how Ortalis loved strife, for he asked, "Do you have any hints for dealing with your son?"

  "Sorry, but no." Grus spread his hands, palms up. "If I did, don't you think I would have used them myself?"

  "I meant no offense, Brother," Pipilo said. "I asked for the sake of peace and quiet here in the monastery. I know you prize them; I value them no less."

  "I wasn't angry," Grus said. "I just know I didn't do as well with Ortalis as I wish I had. I truly don't know how much any one person can be responsible for what someone else turns out to be. I don't think anyone else knows, either, and I do think anyone who'll tell you he does is lying. But however much one person can be to blame for another, I'm to blame for Ortalis. I'm sorry. I wish he'd turned out better. But he is what he is, and that's all he is."

  "It's remarkable how much he's calmed down toward you the past few weeks," the abbot said. "For that matter, you and Brother Petrosus seem to be getting along better, too. I'm glad to see it. Feuds in a place like this can cause a lot of trouble, because people can't get away from one another."

  "I'm glad to see it, too," Grus said, and said no more than that. He couldn't prove Lanius had used the Scepter of Mercy to make sure he and Ortalis and Petrosus didn't feel the way

  Pipilo had described; the king hadn't answered his comment about that. But nothing else made sense to him. Neither Ortalis nor Petrosus was one to back away from a quarrel. Come to that, neither was Grus.

  "May I ask you one more question, Brother?" Pipilo said.

  Grus bowed to him. "How can I refuse the holy abbot of this monastery anything at all? Don't I owe him obedience?"

  "Quite a few of our brethren have no trouble refusing me any number of things," Abbot Pipilo replied with a laugh. "I have no doubt you could be among them if you chose. Well, here is my question, and do with it what you will. Suppose a river galley came up to the monastery tomorrow with an order signed by the arch-hallow or the king, saying you were released and could return to the world. What would you do then?"

  "What would I do, Father Abbot?" Grus echoed. "I would be very surprised, that's what."

  Pipilo sent him a reproachful stare. "You answer by not answering. Please don't evade, but tell me straight out – would you stay or would you go?"

  "Yes," Grus answered, which made Pipilo stare more reproachfully still. Grus held up a hand, as though to ward off those sorrowful eyes. He said, "The truth is, I don't know what I'd do. And the other truth is, I don't expect that river galley, and I do think you'll be wasting your time if you expect it."

  "All right, Brother," Pipilo said. Grus wasn't sure it was all right; the abbot liked things just so, and fumed when he couldn't get them that way. He went on, "I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that. You may go."

  "Thank you, Father Abbot," Grus replied. Any man who said he supposed he'd have to be satisfied was in fact anything but satisfied. Grus knew that perfectly well. He wondered whether Pipilo did, or whether the abbot hid resentment even from himself. Grus dared hope not; Pipilo knew well how other men work, and so he ought to have at least some notion of how he worked himself.

  Bright sunshine in the courtyard made Grus blink until his eyes got used to it. Sparrows hopped in the garden. The monks argued about whether to shoo them out or not. Some said they ate grubs and insects, and so should be tolerated. Others insisted they stole seeds, and so should be scared off. Both sides were loud and excitable, no doubt because the question that roused the excitement was so monumentally trivial.

  Petrosus let them stay when they hopped near him. Grus would have expected him to drive them away. He was the sort who drove away everything that came close to him. If he let the little birds come close, to Grus that was as near proof as made no difference that they really did some good in the garden.

  The next day, a river galley pulled up to the monastery. Grus felt Pipilo's eye on him before the abbot went out to see why the ship had come. Grus shrugged, as though to say he'd had nothing to do with it – and he hadn't. He wondered what he would do if that galley bore a release from this new life he'd entered. He shrugged again. He still didn't know, and tried not to worry about it.

  One thing he did know – his heart didn't leap and fly at the thought of escaping the monastery. He didn't hate the idea, but he wasn't passionate about it, either.

  If he had been passionate, he would have been disappointed. The galley came not to let anyone out of the monastery but to put someone into it. The new monk was a baron – or rather, a former baron – named Numerius. Grus didn't remember his face; he wasn't sure they'd ever met. He did know Numerius squeezed his peasants for more than their due and paid his own tax assessments late and often only in part. Now he'd gone too far or done it once too often, and Lanius had made sure he wouldn't do it again.

  He came up to Grus. He was a big, blocky man with a red blob of a nose and a bushy brown beard streaked with gray. "I heard you were in here," he said. "I figured that other fellow wouldn't give me any trouble." He sounded accusing, as though his sudden arriv
al at the monastery were somehow Grus' fault.

  "Seems you were wrong, then, doesn't it?" Grus said. "By all the signs, Lanius makes a perfectly good king."

  "I figured he was just a figurehead," Numerius said. "That's all he ever was."

  "Now that you mention it," Grus said, "no."

  "Huh?" The deposed baron gaped at him. "Come on. You know better than that. You called the shots. That weedy little bugger did what you told him."

  "He did when I took the crown," Grus admitted. "But he was only a boy then, on the edge of turning into a man. As time went by, he gave more and more orders, and they were usually good ones." He didn't admit how much that had worried him when it first started. Instead, he went on, "You shouldn't be surprised he can go on by himself now that he's the only king."

  "Shouldn't I?" Numerius rumbled. "Well, I bloody well was when his soldiers swooped down on me. I never had a chance." He spat in disgust.

  He wasn't the first baron who'd discovered the Kings of Avornis were serious these days about holding on to royal prerogatives. Several of his colleagues were in this very monastery. Maybe they could form a club.

  Pipilo had let Numerius talk with Grus. Now, though, he said, "Come along, Brother. Time for you to get your robe and learn what will be required of you in your new station in life."

  "I don't want to be a bloody monk!" Numerius roared.

  "Your other choice was to be shorter by a head. I'm sure of it," Grus said. "I may be wrong, but I'd guess you didn't want that, either."

  By the way Numerius glared at him, he would have been happy to see Grus shorter by a head. When Abbot Pipilo spoke to him again, his voice held more than a little sharpness. "Come along, Brother Numerius. I told you that once, and I am accustomed to obedience. No matter what you were before you came here, you are only one brother of many in this monastery. Many who are here came from a station higher than yours. Brother Grus is a case in point, and he is contented with his lot. Come along, I say."