“C-C-CONTROL!” Teodorico shouted, raising his arms. The crowd quieted. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “ENOUGH! The time has come to put this matter to rest. I have the authority to take what I please in all jurisdictions.”
Confused murmurs echoed in the church, sprinkled with some nervous laughter.
“How so?” Abbot Herewinus asked skeptically.
Teodorico turned to Victor and nodded, sending his aide into a flurry of activity behind the group of Romans as he and some other courtiers gathered items.
Teodorico turned back to the crowd. “I must apologize for my subterfuge these past few months. Difficult times call for difficult choices. I did not wish to distract or unfairly influence the council proceedings with my newly elected office, so I kept it secret. I had hoped the council would peaceably arrive at the logical conclusion by now. I see now I have no choice but to force matters to break this deadlock that continues to keep the Cup of the Last Supper hidden from the world.”
“New office?” Count Fulk said, frowning.
Teodorico extended his arms, allowing his courtiers to remove his crimson garment and replace it with a white one. A tall white mitre replaced his red skullcap and an even larger ring replaced the one on his hand. “I am Papa in Pectore—the pope in hiding.”
Victor stepped forward and dramatically held before him a large scroll.
He read, “It pleases the Holy Roman Emperor Henry, the fourth Salian to the throne, to announce Teodorico, formally Archbishop of Albano, as Pope Theodoric of the Opposition, the Antipope, in opposition to the false Pope Paschal in Rome.” The crowd gasped. As Victor continued reading the article, angry murmurs escalated. “All matters spiritual are invested in Pope Theodoric by divine right through his Grace Emperor Henry...”
Victor continued for some time with cryptic legalese until his superior cut him off.
“That will suffice, hmm?” Teodorico said. “I believe they grasp the situation, hmm, yes?”
Victor stopped and turned the document so the crowd could see its dense text and many and various wax seals. Even from a distance all could see a large sweeping signature at the bottom of the document.
“You lying snake!” Abbot Herewinus’ normally gentle face contorted into a mask of rage. “We do not recognize you as any kind of pope!”
The angry buzz in the church erupted. A pounding started in Patrick’s head and he rubbed his head. The Cardinal Guard looked agitated. Only Sir Lucan remained calm, watching the drama with calculating eyes.
“E-Enough!” Teodorico shouted, pounding his crozier on the flagstones.
The crowd quieted once again and Teodorico stepped out into the open space of the church. He slowly turned, thrusting out his fist so all could see the giant glittering ring of his office.
“I am the only pope that matters, hmm? The pope backed by an Emperor. Let me remind you what world you live in, yes? A world in which your safety, your commerce, and your livelihoods all depend on living peacefully with a giant. And as God’s true recognized representative on Earth, I hold your souls in my hand!” Teodorico made a point to look every noble and benefactor in the eye as he slowly made a circuit about the semicircle, turning his fist into a claw, held up cup-like. When he came to a stop a good distance before the Greensprings group gathered about Chansonne, he addressed them. “If you don’t believe in the power of God, then you very well believe in the power of the emperor and his armies, hmm, yes?”
The nervous rustling of bodies almost drowned out the murmurs.
Teodorico said his next words without stutter and stabbed a finger to the floor to emphasize each word. “So bring me the child now!”
Sir Wolfgang, Mother Superior, and Father Hugh exchanged concerned glances. When they looked to the other benefactors and saw them hang their heads and look away, the Greensprings trio slowly nodded to one another.
“No!” Katherina and Aimeé cried together, holding Chansonne tight.
“I’m sorry, but this is a different matter,” Sir Wolfgang explained. “We have to think of the greater good here. This man can bring an army down upon us. Sir Patrick, please, take the girl to Teodorico.”
Aimeé turned a shocked look to him.
“Sir?” Patrick hemmed at Wolfgang.
“Being a leader means making difficult choices and carrying them out. You know what can happen if we don’t do this. Do your duty.”
With thoughts of Greensprings burning, Patrick turned to Aimeé and held his hand out.
“Patrick!” Aimeé cried, pulling Chansonne closer. “You can’t be serious!”
“We can appeal to Pope Paschal, the real pope, and win her back, but Wolfgang and the others are right. We must do this for now.”
“In the meantime he will visit all manner of crimes upon her!” Katherina shouted.
“You can’t!” Aimeé added, giving him an accusing look more hurtful than any look she had given him yet. The sensation of having betrayed her wound its way through his intestines. A sharp pain stabbed Patrick behind his eyes and a white light temporarily blinded his vision. His hands shot to his head and he rubbed his temples. Words like ‘duty,’ ‘love,’ ‘righteousness,’ and ‘danger’ bounced inside his skull like a trapped sparrow.
“Must I do everything myself, hmm?” Teodorico shouted and strode forward, his fresh white robes making a whisking noise.
He snatched Chansonne by the wrist and dragged her from the crowd. “Come, girl, take up the cup as is your destiny!”
Shocked with disbelief at the maneuver, no one initially moved to intervene, and the few who did froze when the Cardinal Guard took a step forward.
“Patrick!” Aimeé pleaded. “Do something! This can’t be right!”
Patrick’s heartbeat pounded in his head, crowding out the words. Events slowed to a crawl: Chansonne’s frantic struggle to escape the old man’s grasp, Aimeé’s face contorting into a mask of horror and anger, the guards and knights fingering their hilts.
Patrick squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision, but when he opened them, things had only become more surreal. Events slowed down even more. Voices were distorted, as if coming from underwater. Aimeé’s green eyes turned blue and blood covered her from head to foot. Blood also covered Chansonne.
The pounding in his head suddenly ceased, as did his breathing when he saw the Other walking through the crowd behind Teodorico, looking at him expectantly.
Patrick rolled his eyes skyward, and whether voiced the words or merely thought them, he said, “God in Heaven, please give me the strength to do the right thing.”
The cup on the altar hummed.
“Stop fighting me!” Teodorico shouted at the girl, and events returned to a normal pace. They had almost arrived at the steps of the altar. “Go up there and take the cup, now!”
Chansonne struggled so much the old man dropped his crozier with a loud wooden clack and commenced to drag her with both his hands.
She bent over and bit his hand.
“D-d-damn you!” he shouted, eyes bulging.
He released his hand, only to draw it back with the intention of striking her. She cowered under his shadow.
Before he could vent his fury, however, Patrick’s hand grabbed him by the wrist and swung him around.
Patrick punched him in the face, sending him sprawling.
The only thing more profound than the initial gasp from the crowd was the following shocked silence filling the church.
That is, until Teodorico regained his bearings and sat up from the floor in a pile of white robes, shouting through a spray of blood, “S-s-seize him!”
As a unit, the Cardinal Guard came forward.
“And bring the girl to me, hmm?” Teodorico added, dabbing at his lips.
Patrick drew his sword with one hand and Chansonne grabbed the other, hiding behind him.
“What do you think you are doing, Sir Patrick?” Teodorico hissed. “Do you really think you can change the natural order of things, hmm?
Who do you think you are? This is going to happen. The only difference now is I will see you hanged!”
The Cardinal Guards gathered about him in a half-circle. Though they outnumbered him by a dozen, they still looked to one another with trepidation, not in a hurry to make a move on the Knight of Cups, Savior of Avalon.
“Patrick, what are you doing?” Wolfgang demanded.
“I’m very sorry, sir, but I’ve listened to my heart,” Patrick explained, blinking sweat out of his eyes. “I’ve prayed and asked for guidance.”
“And this is what you came up with?” Wolfgang said, either exasperated or angry.
Teodorico struggled to his feet, wiping the last of the blood from his mouth.
“So be it,” Teodorico sneered. “If you wish to die alone, then we shall dispense with the trial and simply cut you down where you stand, hmm, yes? Guards!”
The red garbed men-at-arms drew their weapons.
“He won’t be alone,” a voice behind Patrick said, along with the sound of a sword rasping from its scabbard.
Though Patrick knew the voice, it still came as a surprise when Geoffrey stood next to him with a naked weapon. The Cardinal Guard hesitated, divided over who posed the bigger threat.
“Geoff,” Patrick said. “You may want to sit this out. Play by the rules now and you may still escape any stain my actions have caused.”
“Paddy, my boy,” Geoffrey smiled, taking a swordsman’s stance. “When have I ever played by the rules?”
Patrick shrugged. “Excellent point.”
“Sir Wolfgang, hmm?” Teodorico called. “Tell your men to stand down and take responsibility for their actions, hmm, yes?”
“Patrick, look at me,” Wolfgang said.
Patrick chanced a glance over his shoulder. Wolfgang, Father Hugh, and Mother Superior watched him with grave concern. His stomach bunched into serpentine knots.
“Is this truly the answer God has given you?” Wolfgang asked with deadly earnestness.
“Aye, it is,” Patrick said, and another bead of sweat dripped from his forehead.
His attention snapped back to the soldiers before him.
More swords slithered out of their sheaths and boots struck the stone floor as Sir Wolfgang, Sir Corbin, and a handful of other Avangarde joined them, shoulder to shoulder.
“God has spoken,” Mother Superior declared. “It is obvious now why the cup came to Greensprings. We are to protect it.”
Teodorico’s eyes bulged. “A-a-arrest them! A-a-all of them!”
Though they currently outnumbered the Avangarde, the Cardinal Guard fidgeted.
Teodorico shouted, “Sir Lucan, motivate your men, hmm?”
Lucan calmly came forward, drawing his sword blithely as he meandered through the bodies of Cardinal Guard until he stood before Patrick.
Patrick gripped his sword, bracing himself.
Lucan appraised him, smiling. “You Avangarde say, ‘Fight strong, live stronger.’ Honestly, I did not understand what that meant. Until today. You showed me the strength of living, as opposed to the strength of fighting. This could not have been an easy decision. I commend you, and...” He turned and took a step backward, now standing next to Patrick, facing the Cardinal Guard “I feel inspired.”
The church buzzed anew and a weight partially lifted from Patrick’s shoulders.
Jakob, Josef, and Charles started to cross the floor to join Lucan.
“Lads, you might want to stand back,” Lucan admonished. “There’s no telling where this wind blows.”
Jakob puffed out his chest. “Sir, I’m sure you’ve noticed we are no longer squires and can make up our own minds.” The other two nodded to Lucan.
“Very well, have it your way, bo... Gentlemen.”
Oddly, Teodorico’s rage did the opposite of what Patrick expected, turning into a mask of contained calm. Perhaps it was the reassuring river of new Cardinal Guards entering the church. But just then, an equal number of black and white surcoats filed through another church door, backing Patrick and his group. Teodorico’s calm was short-lived.
Civilians scattered to the sides, clearing a space between the two regiments.
“Teodorico,” Mother Superior reasoned, “you do realize you’re outnumbered? Outside this church, if not already inside. This is ill-advised.”
“I say we arrest him, and find out what the emperor is willing to do to get him back,” Count Fulk suggested.
Favorable murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“N-n-no one is being arrested, least of all the pope, hmm?” Teodorico scoffed, then addressed the crowd at large with a booming voice. “And I am the pope.”
“I’m taller than you!” Brobrosius’ voice came from somewhere within the crowd.
Laughter erupted in the church and Teodorico’s face turned livid.
“Quiet!” Sir Wolfgang called, quelling the crowd, though some snickering lingered. “We will not detain him. He is not worth shedding blood in this church, nor the bloodshed that would follow.” He turned towards the angry pontiff. “Just leave, Teodorico, and take your politics with you.”
Teodorico assessed the crowd with a cold eye.
“This isn’t the end of this,” he said frostily, and without stutter. “I will bring brimstone and hellfire down upon this place.”
No one laughed.
#
Lucan mounted the stairs and followed the battlements toward the tower doorway. Before he reached it, however, he noted Sir Patrick in the courtyard conversing with the maidservant. He could not hear their words, but the French girl’s smile and the glint in her eyes spoke volumes. Patrick kept his usual guarded demeanor, but even he had a hint of a smile as he embraced her.
Painful fingers constricted Lucan’s heart. Instinctively, he clutched the object dangling at his chest beneath his garments.
“Sir Lucan,” a voice said, startling him.
Sir Corbin stood in his path. Lucan held his breath.
“Lucky you moved into the keep earlier this month,” Corbin said smiling, jerking his head toward the other side of the battlement, where servants had begun dismantling the pavilion city for departure. “Otherwise you would have a very awkward move right now.”
Lucan cleared his throat and also smiled. “Yes, lucky indeed.”
Corbin held out his hand. “Thank you for your support. There will be a meeting with the Greensprings leadership tomorrow. We’d like to see you there.”
Lucan took his hand. “My pleasure.”
Corbin beat his breast as he departed, stating, “Fight strong.”
“Live stronger,” Lucan replied, and continued on his way.
Inside the tower, he mounted another set of stairs and entered the apartment he had come to occupy. In the dying daylight, he immediately went to the table where he kept his wine.
He drew himself up just short of the table.
No, I shouldn’t, he told himself. Bad things happen when I drink. I lose control.
After a moment he growled and reached for his goblet after all, but found it missing.
Before he could contemplate what had become of it, the sound of methodical clapping came from behind him. He whirled and drew his sword.
“Calm thyself, Sir Ferocious.” Lilliana laughed, sitting on a strange trunk in the middle of his room.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I’ve come to congratulate you on a performance well done,” she said. She stopped her clapping and picked up his goblet, which rested on top of the trunk. “I think you missed your calling. You should have been a thespian.” She took a drink as she stood and approached. Her eyes narrowed at him. “You were acting, right?”
“Of course,” he said, sheathing his sword. “They have invited me to their war council. They are convinced I have switched sides.”
“Excellent,” Lilliana purred. “You will be in the perfect position when the relic arrives.”
Lucan scoffed. “I do not believe for one instant it
will come. Even the young King Henry would not be so foolish as to give up such a treasure.”
Lilliana tsked. “It is coming, I assure you. I can be very convincing. Besides, never underestimate the efforts of a young man struggling to get out from his father’s shadow.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Lucan said.
“Have faith. It is worth the try, anyway.” She shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work, you will still be inside Greensprings to eliminate at least one key person, preferably Sir Patrick, making it easier to take the girl and cup by force.”
Lucan’s back stiffened. “So, not just a spy, but an assassin, as well.”
She gave him a coy smile and sipped her wine.
“And what if,” he growled, “I refuse to be a killer—an honorless murderer?”
Lilliana approached him from the side and whispered in his ear. “Then we will tell the emperor it was you who took the relic, and not his son. With your unique nature—” She trailed one of her talon-like fingernails across his cheek. Blood trickled from the thin red line her nail left behind, finally causing him to wince. “I’m certain the emperor will find an imaginative way to torment you for a hundred years... or more.”
The wound on his cheek closed up almost as quickly as her nail created it, and the fresh blood dried up and flaked away.
“But it needn’t be like that,” she finished, her demeanor turning more cheerful as she tossed the empty wine goblet at him. He caught it from the air. “Do what is asked of you and you will get what you want: an end to your suffering.”
Lucan contemplated the cup, wishing to fill and drain it repeatedly.
Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2) Page 35