Saint Camber (31 page)

One of his most immediate tasks was the selection of his successor as vicar general. He spent nearly three days at that, interviewing candidates and others and learning more with each passing hour about the inner workings of the ecclesiastical mechanism of which he had lately become a part.

Much of his learning was on the strictly verbal level, from what people actually told him. That was important, and its value not to be denied. However, with his Deryni skills, he was also able to glean information from his human cohorts which they never intended to volunteer, sometimes to their detriment. Even the Deryni often gave off unsolicited surface information, which any of their race might read without undue effort—or detection.

But the human candidates were ripe for deeper probing, wanting only the touch of a master to release all to a questing mind. From them, Camber gained a great deal of insight into how Alister Cullen had been seen and would be expected to function in the future. He did not often go unbidden into others' minds, but in this case, the end surely justified the means. He was making a selection which would affect the whole of Gwynedd for many years to come.

He settled finally on the brilliant and human Crevan Allyn, a polished soldier as well as a pious priest, who had served outstandingly under Jebediah during the war effort. Crevan had been one of the unheralded masterminds behind the planning involved in putting the Michaelines safely underground during that year of hiatus during which Cinhil trained for kingship and Imre tried to track them all down. He had no enemies that anyone knew of, no vices, no taint of unorthodoxy. He did have that sort of intuition and perspective which allowed him to move with the times, flexible in the lesser things while remaining true to what could not be compromised, no matter what the temptation. Also, King Cinhil liked him.

That last was vitally important, and had carried due weight in Camber's deliberations. In fact, another man of almost equal talent had been eliminated from consideration precisely because of the fact that Cinhil did
not
like
him
.

But Crevan, increasingly in Cinhil's favor, and human, could perhaps command a growing trust as Deryni influence waned. This was the sort of man the Michaelines, and Gwynedd, would need in the years ahead, as they trod the increasingly precarious path which all Deryni needs must travel, now that Cinhil would be settling down to get his kingdom in order.

Already Cinhil was gathering human allies to his side, some of them with far older grudges than his own against the race which had kept them from lands and titles and riches throughout the Interregnum. Cinhil's restoration had already brought the scions of several formerly powerful families back to court. A few of them who had fought for Cinhil in the war would be confirmed in their old titles along with young Davin, when Cinhil held his first formal postwar court on Friday afternoon. The human Crevan, though in deep sympathy with his Deryni brethren, hopefully would not have to face the kind of opposition that a Deryni vicar general eventually might.

But there was another, even more important factor in Crevan's selection; and that was that Crevan, as the unique human individual that he was, could be subtly guided by Camber himself, in ways which even he would never suspect, unless Camber was entirely heavy-handed. In addition to the obvious ties of Michaeline brotherhood and obedience to a bishop's higher rank, Crevan would be bound by more invisible links of Deryni crafting. Camber made sure of that during his last interview with Crevan, after informing him of his intention to name Crevan as his successor.

His touch was subtle but irresistible; and Crevan left none the wiser. Nor would any other Deryni be able to detect the signs of Camber's binding, without forcing Crevan to the question and destroying the man in the process. No one would lightly enter the mind of a Michaeline vicar general against his will, human or not.

The announcement of Crevan Allyn's selection was made to the assembled Grand Chapter, minus Joram MacRorie, on Thursday evening. It was followed by a solemn Mass of Thanksgiving, celebrated by the vicar general-elect and assisted by the incumbent. At the homily, an appropriately humble Crevan addressed the Order quietly but with great feeling, briefly outlining his yet-tenuous plans for the beginning of his tenure.

Afterwards, Camber dined with his successor and eight other of the highest-ranking officers in his Order, including Jebediah and Nathan. During the course of the meal, plans were completed for installing Crevan as vicar general on Saturday at noon, the day before Alister was to be elevated to the episcopate. The part of Camber that was Alister drank in the evening as bittersweet dregs, for Alister had known only the life of the Order of Saint Michael for many, many years.

The next day brought all of them to Cinhil's hammer-beamed great hall to vie for places in the crowd which assembled to witness the king's recognition of his newest nobility. Eighteen heirs, from earls and barons to lesser lords, ranging in age from sixty years to six months, came forward in serried processions, banners and regalia gleaming richly in the torchlit hall, there to kneel in homage to the king from whom all honor flowed, at least in theory—though some of the lords being confirmed today could have bought and sold Cinhil's personal holdings, had they thought to take such a course.

Young Davin was among them, of course, next to the last of those who would be confirmed in their titles today. He was accompanied by his family: his mother, Elinor, Cathan's widow, who would act as regent for the earldom until he should reach his majority at fourteen; his uncles, Joram and Rhys, brilliant in Michaeline blue and Healer's green; and his Aunt Evaine, whom he adored. His younger brother Ansel, heir after him, carried a blue velvet cushion bearing a scaled-down earl's coronet. The
gules/azure
banner of Culdi was carried by his cousin, James Drummond.

Only his aunt and uncles paid particular attention to the blue-garbed men who stood ranked to one side, among a host of other clergy, or to one particular Michaeline who watched the boy Davin with haunted eyes. Fortunately, it was the incipient vicar general, and not the incumbent one, who elicited attention among those who wore or watched the blue. Crevan Allyn played his part to perfection, never guessing how he helped screen Camber from too close a scrutiny as Camber's grandson came forward in his turn, to kneel tremulously before the king.

The seven-year-old Davin was grave and dignified as he placed his small hands between those of the graying king. After reciting his oath of fealty in a clear, piping voice, he stared solemnly into the royal eyes as Cinhil gave the return oath to protect and defend young Davin and his new-come earldom.

Nor did the lad flinch as Cinhil gently dubbed him on shoulders and head with the great sword of state, which the constable, Lord Udaut, had already handed to the king a full sixteen times in the past hour. Only when Cinhil raised him up and kissed him on either cheek did his composure waver—for the king's beard and mustache tickled, and Davin had been long enough solemn for so young a child.

He fidgeted a little as Queen Megan buckled the jeweled earl's belt around his little waist. But when Cinhil took up the small coronet and lifted it a little above Davin's head before settling it on the sunny hair, Davin stood without a quiver, his pretty face going a little pale. He made his final obeisance with the gravity of one many times his years before backing into place to witness the final oath-taking.

Shadows were long, the light diffused with the coming sunset, by the time the ceremony and attendant court had been concluded, but Camber tried to linger a little as people came pouring out of the great hall. While making small talk with his brethren, he surreptitiously watched his grandsons and their mother being escorted to a group of horses and servants waiting to conduct them to quarters which had been arranged in the city, managing to bow gracefully as Evaine came to extend a formal dinner invitation which both of them knew he could not accept. Even had he not been committed to a night-long vigil with Crevan, in preparation for the transfer of office the next morning, still he would not yet have dared to face Elinor and the boys in so intimate a surrounding. There was no need to involve them in his intrigues. Later, perhaps, when the boys were grown …

He thanked Evaine graciously and, as she moved away to join Rhys and the others, returned his attention to the men who had waited while he spoke to her. He even managed to exchange a few words with Joram before they all dispersed, when Joram came to offer his congratulations and obedience to his new superior, who stood at ease at Camber's side.

Then the young priest adroitly turned the conversation to the topic of the present vicar general's health, suggesting that Father Cullen, to satisfy the anxiety of many who were concerned for him, might like to consider inviting the Healer Rhys and his lady to dine with him the following evening, the night before Cullen was to assume his bishop's miter. In fact, since Cullen had not seen his illustrious physician for several days, and had still been recuperating when Rhys left, Joram
insisted
upon the event, and would himself make arrangements and join them, to ensure that Cullen did not try to avoid the issue. Once Cullen left the loving attention of his Order and friends to pursue his new duties in Grecotha, he would be on his own, but the Michaelines could at least guarantee that he
started
his new assignment in good health.

Camber, after the expected feeble protests, accepted the invitation gracefully, secretly delighted at the ease with which his son had turned a much-desired meeting of father and children into an ecclesiastically expedient dinner engagement, and before decidedly partial witnesses. Days had passed since he had last been able to talk with any of these three who loved him most; and there were many details yet to be decided, before he left for the relative isolation of his new see in Grecotha. He allowed a resigned smile to shape his mouth as he and Crevan headed for the archbishop's private chapel to begin their night's vigil.

The investiture of Crevan Allyn went off without incident the next morning, and it was with some relief that Camber finally put away the last of the vestments he had worn and started back to his own quarters with Joram. Again, he had managed not to be the principal celebrant at the accompanying Mass, thereby avoiding—at least technically—the exercise of priestly functions to which he was not entitled.

But the moral issue he had been putting off for several weeks now would soon have to be faced—tomorrow, in fact, when Bishop Cullen would be required to celebrate his first Mass. Camber was glad that he and Joram would have some time this afternoon to discuss the matter in depth. And dinner tonight would bring the added comfort and insight of Evaine and Rhys.

But an afternoon of such soul-searching was not to be his. No sooner had he and Joram stepped from the cathedral doorway than he was met by one of the king's pages, conveying Cinhil's invitation to ride out from the city for the afternoon. Apparently, Cinhil had decided that the former vicar general needed physical activity to occupy his mind and body; for no excuse of fatigue or pressing duties or prior commitment elsewhere could persuade the page to let him decline the invitation.

Half an hour later found Camber riding out of Valoret at the king's side, hard pressing the tall bay courser he rode in order to keep up with Cinhil's fleet Moonwind. Eight mounted knights accompanied them, for it was not seemly that the King of Gwynedd should ride out unattended. But the riders hung back a score of lengths to the rear, giving their royal master the illusion of privacy he wished. The effect was as if the two men rode alone, only a cloud of dust and the muffled sound of following hooves reminding them that they were guarded at reasonable call.

After an initial gallop, the two rode at a gentle canter for some minutes, each man alone with his thoughts in the breeze which their passage stirred in the warm summer air. When at last they pulled up in the shade of an oak grove to let the horses blow, the knights stood by just out of earshot. For all practical purposes, they were alone. Camber wondered what was on Cinhil's mind, for him to insist so strongly on this meeting, but he knew better than to speak first and break the mood.

Cinhil let the reins slide through his gloved fingers and lie slack on Moonwind's neck as the stallion stretched to steal a mouthful of grass. Oddly, the king had begun to acquire a taste for riding since the war, and appeared far more at ease astride a horse than Camber had ever seen him.

For several minutes, the only sounds were the rustlings of breeze-stirred leaves and the soft, horse noises of snuffling breath and muted harness jangle. Leather creaked, a rich, comforting comment on the laziness of the summer's day, as Cinhil gave a contented sigh.

“So, we have a new master of the Michaelines,” Cinhil finally said. “How does it feel to be just plain Father Cullen, if only for a few hours?”

The king's smile was open and friendly, genuinely curious, and Camber allowed himself to relax just a little.

“I feel a little naked, if the truth be known, Sire. And sad, too, in a way,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the high pommel and echoed Cinhil's sigh. “I shall miss my Michaelines. The Order has occupied some of the best years of my life.”

“Aye, that's probably true—though you have many more good years ahead, I'll warrant.”

“God willing,” Camber agreed idly.

“And your successor—he is a competent man,” Cinhil replied, after only a slight hesitation. “I've had numerous occasions to speak with him since we returned from Iomaire, and I confess I am impressed. I was a little surprised you chose a human, though.”

Camber gave Cinhil one of Alister's sidelong glances of appraisal. “Are you disappointed, Sire?”

“Disappointed? Nay, of course not. But I thought—I thought that you would surely choose another Deryni,” he finally blurted, at last betraying his anxiety. “You weren't jesting, were you, about wanting to help me?”