"Who then?" Je'howith asked sharply. "The woman? "
Braumin shrugged and wound up shaking his head. "IfJilseponie would accept the nomination…"
Je'howith began resolutely shaking his head.
"As your Father Abbot desired, by the interpretation of Master Francis," Braumin pointedly added. "Then I, and Francis and many others, would back her with all our hearts."
"I am not so sure that Brother Francis' heart remains strong on this issue," Je'howith said slyly.
"We could rally enough support without him," Braumin insisted; though in truth, he didn't believe his declaration. He knew that Francis was indeed leaning against Pony's nomination now, and that without Francis-or even with him-selling the idea of a mother abbess at all, let alone someone not even formally affiliated with the Church, would be no easy task!
"And you would tear the Abellican Church apart," Je'howith insisted.
"And better our Church of Avelyn might be for that!" Braumin snapped back. "But no, fear not, forJilseponie has declined the offer. She will not be the next leader of the Abellican Church."
"Who then?" Je'howith asked. "Does young Braumin reach so high?"
Indeed, Braumin had been considering that very thing, though while his closest friends, Castinagis and Viscenti, had thought it a wonderful notion, even Brother Francis had hesitated. Francis had been very blunt with Braumin, telling him that he was too young and far too inexperienced to be accepted by the other leaders, and far too naive to handle the realities of the politics that would accompany such a position.
IfJe'howith had given him any hint of softening, though, Braumin might have continued to consider the try.
"You are not nearly ready," Je'howith said, and Braumin recognized that the man was speaking sincerely. "Perhaps if you backed me and I was elected, I would consider taking you as my protege."
"No," Braumin returned without hesitation. "It will not be you, Abbot Je'howith."
Je'howith started to say something, but paused and sighed. "There is Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce in Entel."
Braumin bristled visibly, shaking his head.
"He will be a strong candidate," Je'howith replied.
"His ways are more attuned to those of Behren than those of Honce-theBear," Braumin pointed out; and it was true enough, and everyone in the Church knew it. Entel was Honce-the-Bear's southernmost major city, on the coast in the northern foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle, a mountain range that separated the kingdom from Behren. Entel's sister city was, in fact, Jacintha, Behren's seat of power, located on the coast in the southern foothills of that same range, a short boat ride from Entel.
"Even so, if we, who have witnessed the drama of the last weeks, do not present a unified front, Abbot Olin will likely win the day," Je'howith replied.
"But you-as I-do not think him a wise choice."
Je'howith shrugged.
"There are many masters of St.-Mere-Abelle qualified in experience and in temperament," Braumin suggested. He saw that Je'howith was obviously not enamored of the idea. "Fio Bou-raiy and Machuso."
"Bou-raiy is not ready, and is too angry; and Machuso spends his days, every day, with peasants," Je'howith said. "Better another-Agronguerre of St. Belfour, perhaps."
Braumin had no answer; he hardly knew the abbot of that northernmost Honce-the-Bear abbey, St. Belfour in the wilds of the kingdom's Vanguard region.
"Yes, Abbot Agronguerre would be a fine choice," Je'howith said.
Braumin started to ask why, but he stopped short, recalling an image from the previous year's College of Abbots, the only time he had ever seen Abbot Agronguerre of St. Belfour. The man had been sitting right beside Je'howith, chatting easily, as if the two were old friends.
Only then did Brother Braumin appreciate that Je'howith had led him to this point purposefully. Je'howith hadn't held serious thoughts of becoming the next father abbot. Of course not, for his ties to the King were too great and many of the other abbots, involved in continual power struggles with regional dukes or barons, would outright oppose his ascent.
"There are other masters at St.-Mere-Abelle-" Braumin started.
"Who will not even attempt to gain the post if Brother Braumin and his friends, the very monks who witnessed the demise of Markwart, were to throw in their votes for an abbot of a different abbey," Je'howith interrupted.
Brother Braumin chuckled at the absurdity of it all and admitted to himself that Francis had been correct in assessing that he, Braumin, was not yet ready for the politics of the position of father abbot.
"Go and ask Master Francis, if you wish," Je'howith offered, "or any of your other friends who might know of Abbot Agronguerre. His reputation for fairness and gentility is without reproach. True, he is not a forceful man, not a firebrand, as was the younger Markwart, but perhaps the Church is in more need of stability now, of healing."
Braumin nodded as Je'howith played it out, as he came to understand the man's interest in Agronguerre. For Agronguerre would undoubtedly support Je'howith, would protect the abbot of St. Honce's interests in the coming years. Agronguerre was abbot of St. Belfour, after all, in wild Vanguard, which was ruled by Prince Midalis, Danube Brock Ursal's younger brother; and Braumin knew enough of that situation to recall that it was a tight bond in the northland, a friendly camaraderie between Church and Crown.
"He is a good man of sterling reputation," Je'howith insisted, "and he is not a young man, not much younger than myself. Understand that I am asking you for our mutual benefit. Even without your backing, or that of Brother Francis, I could throw the College into turmoil by announcing my intent to try for the office. Perhaps I would not command the votes to win, but surely I could persuade many away from you-or whomever it is that you choose to back-enough so that either Abbot Olin or the Abbot Agronguerre would gain the position in any case."
"Then why do you speak to me of it? " Braumin asked.
"Because I fear that Olin will take the post, and will try to strengthen the ties between the Abellican Church and the pagan yatol priests of Behren," Je'howith replied.
And Olin would not look so kindly on Je'howith and his close ties to the King of Honce-the-Bear, Braumin thought.
"So allow the memory of Father Abbot Markwart its peace," Je'howith said, "as it should have, given the man's decades of honorable service to the Church."
Braumin's lack of retort was all the confirmation Je'howith seemed to need. "And support me as I support Agronguerre," the old abbot went on.
"And when he dies, if you have proven yourself in the position of abbot of St. Precious-an appointment I will support-and if I am still alive, then I give you my word now that I will back your own ascent to that highest level, Brother Braumin."
"I will learn what I can of Abbot Agronguerre," Brother Braumin agreed, "and if he is all you say, then I agree to your choice." He nodded and bowed slightly, then turned to go and join his friends.
"One thing you should know as well, Brother Braumin," Je'howith remarked, turning the younger monk back around. "At last year's College of Abbots, Abbot Agronguerre did not agree with Father Abbot Markwart's damning decree against Master Jojonah. He even expressed his concerns to me that we might be too quick to condemn Brother Avelyn, given that we did not know the extent of the man's actions in league with, or against, the demon dactyl."
Braumin nodded again and began to consider that the meeting with Je'howith had gone much better than he could have ever hoped possible.
Pony saw the final exchange between Braumin and Je'howith, the latter surely no friend of hers! She had heard nothing of their discourse, though, and so she watched Brother Braumin closely as he turned and started away, noting the apparently satisfied spring in his stride, a gait that only increased when he spotted Pony and headed straight for her.
"Jousting with the enemy? " she asked.
"Trying to smooth the trail," Braumin replied. "For surely it is filled with deep ruts since Jilseponie will not heed our call."
P
ony laughed at the man's unrelenting pressure. They simply could not hold any conversation without Brother Braumin pushing at her to ally formally and openly with the Church, with the new Abellican Church that he and his companions had determined to bring into being. " If you believe that the road would become smoother and easier if I accepted your invitation to bid to become mother abbess, then you are a fool, Brother Braumin," she replied.
"You have the deathbed blessing of a father abbot."
"A fallen father abbot," Pony reminded, "a man I brought to that deathbed."
"One who found a moment of clarity and repentance in his last moments of life," Braumin came back. "And that moment will be honored within a Church that espouses penitence."
Pony chuckled again at the brother's unrelenting idealism. Could he not see the fallacy of his own prediction, that the College of Abbots would become so enmeshed in attempts at personal gain that Markwart's last statement, and Francis' interpretation of it, would be viewed with skepticism or even dismissed outright? But they had already been through this argument a dozen times at least, and Pony had no heart for it again. Nor the time, for a moment later, Duke Bretherford entered the room and announced the arrival of King Danube Brock Ursal.
Danube swept into the room, Constance and Kalas flanking him and a line of Allheart knights in shining armor behind them.
"My time is limited, for the tides will soon be favorable," he said, motioning at the large oval table set for the gathering. As one, the monks and the nobles-and Pony, who still wasn't sure exactly how she fit in or where she was supposed to sit-headed for their seats, then waited patiently and deferentially as King Danube took his own.
"Grace us with the blessing," the King bade Abbot Je'howith, a slight against Braumin, Talumus, and particularly Francis that was not lost on Pony.
Je'howith gladly complied, calling for God's blessings in these troubled times, for His guidance that His Church might put itself into proper order to erase the errors of the past year.
Pony listened carefully and marveled at how well the old man avoided specific judgments in his prayer, at how he gave no indication of who it was he thought had made those vague mistakes. Yes, Je'howith was a crafty one, she reminded herself. She-and, to her thinking, Braumin and the others would do well to follow her lead-didn't trust him in the least.
"What are your plans? " King Danube asked immediately after the prayer was ended. He looked to Braumin as he spoke, but his bluntness had obviously caught the monk by surprise, and Braumin quickly turned to Francis for support.
"We will convene a College of Abbots as soon as it can be arranged, obviously," Abbot Je'howith interjected, "perhaps in St. Precious rather than St.-Mere-Abelle. Yes, that might prove wise in these troubled times."
The other monks around the table didn't seem to agree at all. "The College is always held at St.-Mere-Abelle," Brother Viscenti pointed out rather sharply.
"But, perhaps-" Je'howith started.
"We have not discussed the location," Brother Braumin put in, "and now is not the time to announce any such change as you propose."
Brother Viscenti started to respond again, as did Brother Francis, while Brother Talumus and some of his St. Precious entourage began talking excitedly about the possibilities of such an honor. But then suddenly King Danube slammed his fist on the table and leaped up from his seat.
"I have warned you!" he began. "All of you, to put your house in order. Can you not see the fear on the faces of the people you pretend to serve? Can you not understand that your foolish bickering will rip this kingdom apart, spiritually at least? Well, I shall have none of it!"
"Brother Braumin and I have come to agreement concerning the next father abbot," announced Je'howith, obviously uncomfortable at the startling outburst and likely regretting his suggestion of a change of location for the College.
King Danube settled back into his seat, staring at Braumin for confirmation, as were many surprised Abellican monks.
"We have come to… an understanding," Braumin began. "My choice, and Father Abbot Markwart's-repentant Father Abbot Markwart'schoice to lead our Church sits beside me," he explained, patting Pony's shoulder. "But, alas, Jilseponie will not heed our call at this time, and so Abbot Je'howith and I have found some common ground."
"And will the rest of us be enlightened concerning that ground?" a scowling Master Francis put in.
"Of course," Brother Braumin replied. "We made no decisions-such are not ours to make-but merely discussed the matter and tried to find some agreement, a proposal shaped between us that I might bring to my colleagues and Abbot Je'howith to his."
Francis nodded, indicating that Braumin should go on.
"We must speak privately about this," Braumin answered and turned to the King. "But the College of Abbots will succeed in its task of appointment, and of the correct appointment for the times. I assure you, your Majesty."
"As we have come to agree on the new abbot of St. Precious," Je'howith added, surprising everyone. "Master Francis, with great generosity and foresight, has abdicated the post, and plans to nominate…" He paused and motioned to Francis.
"I had th-thought that Brother Braumin," Francis stuttered, obviously caught off his guard. "Once he has been formally proclaimed as master…"
"Yes," they heard Brother Talumus say with enthusiasm.
"Immaculate Brother Braumin will become interim abbot of St. Precious within the week," Abbot Je'howith insisted, "and we will formalize that appointment as soon as we have heard any assenting or dissenting arguments."
King Danube looked at Braumin, and the monk shrugged. "If asked to serve, I would not refuse," he said.
Danube nodded, apparently satisfied with that. He paused then and put his chin in his hand, his gaze drifting off to nowhere in particular. All the rest of the people around the table likewise quieted in deference to the King, and Pony understood then that Danube was in control here and that the brothers of the Abellican Church would do well to disturb him not at all. The less King Danube needed to turn his gaze toward the Church, the better the Church would survive.
Danube remained apparently distant for a long while-Pony got the distinct feeling that the man was testing the patience of those around him, waiting to see if anyone would dare to speak. Finally, he sat up straight and stared at Pony.
"And is your decision-or shall I call it your compromise? — Brother Braumin, that it will be a man or a woman who heads the Abellican Church? " Danube asked.
Pony, embarrassed as she was, didn't turn away but met Danube's stare.
"Unless Abbess Delenia of St. Gwendolyn makes a bid for the position of mother abbess, it will be a man," Braumin answered.
"And Abbess Delenia would have no chance of assuming leadership of the Church, even should she so desire it," a bristling Abbot Je'howith was quick to add.
The man's tone made Pony glance his way, trying unsuccessfully to determine whether he was upset because of the mere suggestion that a woman might head the Church or because King Danube had asked the question of Brother Braumin instead of him.
"So you have refused the offer, then," Danube said to her as she turned back to him. "The Abellican Church hands you one of the most powerful positions in all the world, and you turn it down? "
"Brother Braumin and others offered to sponsor me as a candidate for mother abbess," Pony corrected, "but many others within th^e Church would have rejected such a proposal. It is a fight I choose not to wage, and the leadership of the Church is a position I do not feel that I have earned."
"Well said," said Je'howith, but Danube cut him short with an upraised hand.
"You underestimate your charisma, Jilseponie," the King went on, "and your accomplishments and potential accomplishments. I doubt not at all that the Abellican Church would fare well under your guidance."
Pony nodded her thanks for the somewhat surprising compliment.
"But perhaps Je'howith's and the others' loss might become my gain," the King went on. "Sin
ce you have chosen to reject the offer of the Church, I ask again if I might somehow persuade you to accept the barony of Palmaris."
Pony looked down and sighed. Everybody wanted her in his court. She understood the attention-she was a hero among the common folk now, and those common folk had been doing more than a litde grumbling about the King, and especially about the Church, of late-but she could not believe how much faith these leaders were willing to place in her. "What would I know of ruling a city, my King? "
Danube burst out into laughter-too much so, it seemed to Pony and to several others who, she noticed, were glancing nervously around, particularly Duke Kalas and Constance Pemblebury, who were both scowling.
And when she thought about it, Pony wasn't surprised. Kalas, after all, had hinted at some amorous feelings for her, and Constance was the King's favorite. Had Danube's exaggerated laughter just put Pony into the middle of some intrigue with those two?
She sighed and looked away, back at Brother Braumin, who was staring at her nervously.
Pony gave in and started laughing as well.
"So you agree that your statement was absurd?" Danube was quick to ask. "What would Jilseponie know of leadership indeed!"
"No, your Majesty," Pony replied. "I laugh because I cannot believe…" She stopped and just shook her head helplessly. "I am not suited to be baroness, or for any other rank you wish to bestow upon me," she said, "as I am not suited to be mother abbess of a Church whose policies and intricacies I hardly understand."
"Nonsense," Danube declared, but Pony was shaking her head even as he barked out the word. "Nobility runs in your blood," the King went on, "if not in your lineage, and your ascent to the court of Honce-the-Bear would prove most beneficial."
Still she shook her head.
The King stared at her long and hard then, another uncomfortable moment, and then he gave a helpless sigh. "I see that I shall not convince you-no, Jilseponie Wyndon, you are one of extraordinary character and determination."
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