Saint Camber (44 page)

“Oh, no, Your Grace. I have not asked him yet. I—in truth, I hesitate to approach him. That is why I came to you. If he should scoff—”

“Scoff? Why should he scoff at a request made in sincerity?” Camber asked. “Is it a matter of faith? If it is, I can tell you that he is aware of your spiritual growth. I have kept him apprised of your progress.”

Guaire lowered his eyes. “Your Grace has not the whole of it,” he murmured. “I fear my faith has grown in ways you have not foreseen, nor would approve. I am near to taking holy orders, Your Grace.”

“And you think I'd not approve of that?” Camber shook his head. “Guaire, perhaps you have misread my earlier words. I counseled only that you not rush rashly into vows which would forever change your life. If you have found your way, and are happy in it, then I am happy, too.”

“Do you truly mean that?”

“Of course. Tell me about your new-found vocation. What order have you chosen?”

“It—is a newly forming order, Your Grace.” He glanced up fearfully. “And I beg you not to press me now for names and places, for I have already sworn vows of discretion. Promise you will not.”

“I promise,” Camber agreed. “But tell me what you can.”

Guaire took a deep breath. “We—we plan to devote ourselves to a new saint, Your Grace. We will seek permission to establish his first shrine in the cathedral here in Valoret. We plan to petition the Council of Bishops for his immediate canonization. There is ample evidence of his miracles.”

“A new saint?” Camber arched a bushy eyebrow, hiding a shiver of foreboding which darted across his mind. “There are channels through which one goes, Guaire. Of which saint are you speaking? I was not aware of any great upsurge of miracles of late.”

Guaire bowed his head, tongue-tied now that the moment had come to reveal his plans.

“Come, now. Don't be shy,” Camber insisted. “Who is it?”

“It—it is Lord Camber, Your Grace.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves
.

—II Timothy 2:24–25

Camber's head shot up in horror at the name. At the same instant, behind Guaire, he saw Joram's involuntary start.

God!
Had he heard aright? Camber? Guaire
could
not have meant
him, Camber!

“Your Grace cannot be that surprised,” Guaire continued, mistaking Camber's horror for startled ignorance. “Surely you have heard how his cult flourishes at Caerrorie. The numbers are somewhat less since the onset of winter, but daily, since his death, scores of pilgrims have flocked to his tomb to seek his intercession and blessing. We would establish his first shrine there, except that his family opposes any mention of his sainthood. I beg your pardon, Father Joram.”

He chanced a look at Joram, who was standing pale and mute, hands supported against the writing desk behind him, then returned his attention to Camber.

“But even they cannot deny the miracles, Your Grace,” Guaire concluded, in a whisper which somehow managed to sound defiant.

Camber swallowed, fearing to ask further, yet knowing that he must. He did not dare look again at Joram, for fear of what even Alister's face might betray.

“Did you say—miracles?”

Guaire nodded gravely. “Do you not remember how I came to you the night of his funeral, after you found me mourning by his coffin and brought me to Brother Johannes? I told you of my dream—how
he
appeared and asked that I carry on his work.”

An icy chill rippled down Camber's spine at the emphasized
he
, and he wiped a hand across his face in consternation, trying to remember exactly what Guaire had told him that night. In the past months of hard work, he had almost managed to forget the incident. He certainly had believed Guaire to have forgotten it, for the young man had never mentioned it again after that night.

What was he going to do? Whatever had he been thinking, to couch his comfort in a form which could be so misinterpreted?

“Do you not remember, Your Grace?”

Guaire's hesitant voice broke through his numbed thinking, and Camber looked back at the earnest young face, schooling his own features to calm. The temptation was great to reach out and read Guaire's mind right now—to probe relentlessly for the names, the details of all involved in what had just become a waking nightmare—at least to Truth-Read him.

And yet, the last would do no good, for Guaire
was
telling the truth—at least, the truth as he perceived it. And the first temptation was equally unacceptable, since Camber—or Alister Cullen—had given his word that he would not pry. Besides, all moral and aesthetic squeamishness aside, if he did break his promise and tamper with Guaire's mind to learn what he wanted, there was a distinct chance that the very tampering could arouse suspicions he would rather not raise about Alister Cullen, if not Camber himself.

He could not afford that; and the possibility was very real. If there were other Deryni involved in Guaire's formative religious movement—and here, his meeting with the redoubtable Queron Kinevan became greatly suspect—then Camber had to assume that all of them, human and Deryni alike, were probably in periodic close communion of minds. Guaire, like any other human working closely with Deryni—especially a master like Queron—would have grown more sensitive to Deryni contacts in general. And while an adept like Camber might delve deep enough to hide the signs of his probing from Guaire's human awareness, he could not be sure of deceiving another Deryni.

But what
could
he do? Guaire was here and now. If Camber dared not use his Deryni abilities to change Guaire's mind, he wondered whether there was, perhaps, some
logical
way to convince Guaire that his miracle had been no miracle at all, but only the dream Camber now wished it had been. Success on that front would not solve the problem, would not end the burgeoning order devoting itself to “Saint Camber,” but it might at least provide an opening wedge.

And Guaire
might
let fall some additional clues about his Order's plans. Anscom could be alerted; and he, who knew Camber to be no martyred saint, would stall and delay any official recognition of a Camber cult for as long as he could—perhaps indefinitely.

Determined to do just that, Camber gathered the shreds of his logic around him and looked at Guaire again, at the same time sending Joram a stern admonition not to interfere, to let him handle this.

Camber coughed self-consciously. “Aye, I remember, son,” he finally managed to murmur. “But surely you don't really believe that Camber appeared to you that night? You said yourself that it was a dream.”

Guaire looked past him, eyes unfocused on the flickering fire as he retreated to some inner recall.

“I remember it as being dreamlike,” he said slowly, “and yet, there was that about it which was no dream. Just before he appeared, I remember waking and being very aware of the room around me: of Brother Johannes snoring in his chair—and that, in itself, was strange—of the warmth of the fire, the wavering light, the smells and textures of the bedclothes around me. His coming was no less real than those.”

“Dreams can be very vivid,” Camber said tentatively.

“Aye, but I do not think this was a dream,” Guaire insisted, turning his gaze back on Camber with its full intensity. “I think that he was there, in some mystical way I can't explain. I think he came back from beyond. I think he continues to guide and inspire us, to the good and aid of all mankind. Do you not agree that these are the kinds of things he would have done, had not the mad Ariella slain him? To urge us to carry on the work he started?”

Camber squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “These are the kinds of things he always espoused,” he had to agree. “But he was no saint, Guaire. He was a man, like other men. He had strengths and weaknesses, and the same kinds of temptations which assail us all. Being Deryni, perhaps his temptations were even greater than we dreamed. I do not think he was a saint, Guaire.”

“No? But you admired him.”

“Yes.”

“You admired him so much that you took his name in religion as your own, that his memory might live on.”

“That is true,” Camber conceded, wishing desperately that he had done no such thing. “But that hardly makes the man a saint.”

Guaire bowed his head. “I know it is not always easy to see these things, Your Grace—especially when one has been so close to a man, as you were to him.” He looked up, a beatific smile on his lips. “But you'll see. God willing, you and many others—even his children—will come to know his greatness as we have. That is one reason we wish to build his shrine in the cathedral, where his body lay before its last journey, so that all may pay him reverence. One day, his tomb at Caerrorie will be a shrine as well. To some, it is already. I only wish that Father Joram would permit us freer access, even if he does not yet believe.”

He turned to gauge his effect on Joram, but the young priest had half turned away, face buried in his hands as he tried to get his emotions under control. With a shrug, Guaire stood and smiled again at his master, compassion glowing in his eyes.

“Camber touches him,” he said softly, “and, in time, will touch all men. Forgive me for pressing the issue, Your Grace, I see now that my request was premature. I'll not speak to His Grace the archbishop, and you need not petition him on my behalf. God will find a way, when it is time.”

“Guaire—”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

Camber stood, trying to decide how he was going to phrase this. He dared not actually forbid Guaire to pursue his apparent goal, for Guaire was not bound to him by any formal vows of obedience; nor did Camber think such would have held him, if they had been sworn.

Guaire must have sensed the drift of Camber's hesitation, for his next words and actions took the matter forever out of Camber's control. Dropping to one knee, he took Camber's hand and dutifully kissed his ring. His head remained bowed, but his voice was steady, leaving no doubt of his resolve.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I see that I've put you in a difficult position. I regret that. As you know, it had been my intention to continue serving you as Camber bade me, but I see now that I can better serve him in other ways.” He looked up, meeting Camber's eyes squarely.

“I must leave your service now, Your Grace. I hope you will not take it amiss, but each of us must follow his own conscience, and my goal is clear now. You have shown me where my duty lies.”

“Guaire, it isn't necessary to leave,” Camber began, knowing that if Guaire did leave, it would be even more difficult to follow the progress of the incipient Camber cult. “I will not interfere with your work. If you wish to take vows with this new Order—what did you call it?”

“I did not, Your Grace, but it will be called the Servants of Saint Camber,” Guaire said calmly.

“The—Servants of Saint Camber,” Camber repeated, controlling a tendency of his voice to crack with the words. “If—if you wish to do that, I shall not stand in your way. Men of many orders can work together for me. While I may not agree with your aims, I respect your right to try to do what you think you must. I should hate to think that I have driven you away by my inflexibility.”

“You have not driven me away, Your Grace,” Guaire said, getting to his feet and glancing at Joram again. “Nor has Father Joram. But it's time I went. There are things which must be done, which I can help, God willing it be so. My brothers and sisters have the right to expect my undivided attention. 'Tis time I made a full-time commitment to Camber's cause.”

“Very well, then. If you must, you must,” Camber replied. “But think about what you are doing, and why. You could be mistaken, you know.”

“I do not think so, Your Grace. May I have your leave to go now? I'll gather my belongings and be away by noon.”

“You have it, son, and my prayers that God will guide you in the right paths,” Camber whispered.

Guaire bowed and turned to go toward the door. As his hands worked the latch, Camber made one last, desperate appeal.

“Guaire—”

“Your Grace?” Guaire paused in the doorway to look at his bishop a final time.

“Guaire, I don't know who your friends are in this venture, but please pass this on to them for me. I think you're wrong. I think you're deluding yourselves, building hopes on idle wishes. Your intentions to follow in Camber's tasks are noble, and I think he would have been pleased; but do not make of him something he was not.”

“Good-bye, Your Grace,” Guaire whispered, and turned away to disappear behind the closing door.

With so inauspicious a beginning, the rest of the morning could hardly have been expected to go smoothly; nor did it. No sooner had Guaire had time to get out of earshot than Joram erupted in appalled horror.

What had Camber been thinking, to let Guaire leave? The man must be brought back, his mind probed to discover the exact threat of this new order calling itself the Servants of Saint Camber. Servants of Saint Camber, indeed! It was blasphemy for such an order even to be contemplated. Guaire had witnessed no miracle!

But Camber remained calm, even in his own dismay. Forming a close but emphatic link with his son, he insisted that Joram review all the same alternatives which he himself had considered while he talked with Guaire, making him see precisely why they could not afford to interfere overmuch.

Camber's son and his very good friend must have supremely logical reasons for opposing Camber's canonization—though, obviously, those could not be the real ones—but even ordinary methods of resistance must be employed prudently. On no account must Camber's own part reach the point where Alister Cullen came into question. The chancellor-bishop was getting on far too well with the king just now to risk any hint of scandal.