The Warlock Heretical (22 page)

"Even babes do swill ale, Papa!"

"Yeah, and some of them are alcoholics before they're fifteen. No, dear, nutritional value isn't the only factor."

"Thou and Mama! Thou dost conspire against us!" . "No, we just discuss the issues ahead of time." Rod watched the keeper rise and move to a third table. Popular man. "Good, here's dinner." The landlord set a bowl of soup in front of each of them and another bowl in the middle. Rod noticed dumplings,

and smiled as a mug thumped down in front of him. "Thank you, mine host." He laid a silver penny on the table.

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The host picked it up, raising his eyebrows, nipped it with his eyeteeth, and smiled. "Thank'ee, goodman."

"My pleasure," Rod said around his first mouthful of stew. "My compliments to whoever revived this old biddy

so well."

"My wife?" The landlord frowned a moment; then his face cleared. "Ah! Thou didst speak of the hen. Well, I'll

tell the

other of thy thanks. Good appetite to "ee!" He moved away again. Rod watched the keeper move to a fourth table.

Cordelia inhaled steam and smiled happily, then reached for a piece of bread. She smeared butter on it, then

looked up at her father with a happy smile that turned to a look of surprise. "What dost thou see, Papa?"

"A keeper," Rod said, his voice low. "You know, a forest warden who keeps an eye out for poachers. He's

chatted with people at four different tables in the last few minutes, but not enough for a real conversation with

anyone. Whups! There go the first set of people he sat with, out the door, and the second set look as though

they're trying to finish their meal fast."

"He doth spread word," she said, eyes wide.

Rod nodded. "Word about going someplace. I think maybe we'll tail along."

"Oh, goody!" Cordelia squealed, then scrunched her head down between her shoulders, glancing to either side.

"An adventure!" she said more softly.

A relatively safe one, though. Rod hoped she wouldn't mind.

Twenty minutes later they were strolling into the forest along a deer trail with newly flattened brush to either side

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of it. There was no one visible in front of them and no one behind them, but Cordelia was staring off into the

dimness of the leaves as though she weren't quite seeing it. "I hear curious thoughts before us, Papa."

"'Curious' meaning 'odd,' or meaning that the peasants aren't sure what's going on?"

"The last, Papa. Yet there is apprehension in it. ... Oh, Papa! 'Tis perfectly safe!"

"Maybe, but there's no sense taking chances." Rod picked up a dead branch, lashed some grass to it, and handed

it to Cordelia. "Go aloft, would you, 'Delia? You'll see more that way." The view from the Archbishop's study was delightful—a dozen troops of knights, each with a half-dozen men-at arms, practicing passages of arms in the meadow beyond the monastery wall under the noonday sun.

"Doth it not delight thine heart, my lord?" Brother Alfonso asked.

'T truth, it doth." The Archbishop beamed at the proud sight of the Duke di Medici in full plate armor, charging

across a field with blunted lance lowered as one of his knights rode against him.

"They will not be content with tilting forever," Brother Alfonso reminded. "They must needs ride, my lord—

against the King, or away to their estates."

But the Archbishop wasn't about to let his secretary's pessimism darken his day. "Peace, peace, good Brother

Alfonso. If they gain their desire without bloodshed, the more pleased will they be." The dark look on Brother Alfonso's face plainly denied the claim, but before he could say so, the Archbishop

gave a glad cry, pointing. "See! Another train doth come!" Then he frowned and peered at it. "Yet 'tis odd. I see

no proud flags, no glisten of mail . : ."

Brother Alfonso looked, too. "Those be mules, my lord, not chargers—save for the first, which is a palfrey." His

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eyes widened. " Tis a woman!"

"The Lady Mayrose!" The Archbishop exclaimed, his whole face lighting in a smile. His eye lingered fondly on

her form for a few minutes before he turned away toward his study door. "Ho, chamberlain! Brother Anno!"

The monk stepped in, bowing. "Aye, my lord?"

"The Lady Mayrose doth approach the gate with her train! Bring them in, bring them in, and conduct her to this

room!"

Brother Anho stared, shocked. "My lord! A woman, within—"

"Do as thou art bid, man!" the Archbishop stormed in sudden rage. "Must I invoke thy vow of obedience? Bring

her in, and conduct her here!"

Brother Anho swallowed, paling, then backed away, bowing, and turned. Brother Alfonso watched, with a slight smile.

"Ah, 'tis good of her to come!" the Archbishop said, rubbing his hands. "Yet what can have occasioned this

visit?"

"What indeed?" Brother Alfonso murmured. "And what could she have brought?" They found out a few minutes later, as Brother Anho appeared at the study door, pale and tight-lipped.

"My lord

the

Archbishop, the Lady Mayrose." And he stepped aside as the lady entered.

"Lady Mayrose, how good of thee to come!" the Archbishop seized the hand she preferred and swept it to his lips

for a kiss. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Why, to the troops who gather in thy meadow, Thy Grace," she answered, dimpling. "We had thought they must

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be provisioned, my grandmother and I, and therefore hath she sent me to conduct hither such poor provisions as

we can offer."

If Brother Alfonso had his own suspicions as to who had persuaded whom, he kept them to himself. He only

smiled broadly as the Archbishop turned to him with an expansive sweep of the arm, saying, "My secretary,

Brother Alfonso."

"Honored, milady." Brother Alfonso bowed. "I have heard so much about thee from milord the Archbishop."

"And I of thee, good Brother! I had oft wondered what pillar of strength could support the world weight which

lies upon His Lordship's shoulders!"

"Ay, thy tongue is gilded," Brother Alfonso said, with a true smile. "Yet I doubt not thou, too, hast given encouragement to this our good lord."

"What little I may, I give gladly," she answered. "In truth, the holiness of this house doth excite me, to know that

herein, men may be stirred to deeds of righteousness!"

"May we always be so," Brother Alfonso said piously. "Yet now, I fear, I must be stirred to the work of the

countinghouse, without which no enterprise can succeed in this sordid world, no matter how holy its purpose."

"Well said, Brother," the Lady said, amused. "I trust I shall have further converse with thee?"

"I trust thou shall." Brother Alfonso had moved to the door; he turned back with a bow. "By your leave, my

lord?"

"Why . . . that is to say, I ..." The Archbishop swallowed heavily, daunted by the prospect of being left alone with

the beautiful young lady. But she smiled at him roguishly with a challenge in her eye, and he felt a surge of indignation. "Nay, assuredly thou must be about the tasks to which I have set thee!" But his heart sank as he

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watched Brother Alfonso bow himself out of sight.

"La, my lord," the Lady Mayrose laughed. "Wouldst thou have me think an Archbishop afeard of a maid?"

The Archbishop laughed with her, but anger spurted within him at the challenge. He took her hand, conducting

her to the window and chatting a mile a minute, to gaze out at the gathering of troops. In the antechamber, Brother Anho looked up from his breviary, saw the Archbishop at the window with the lady

for all the world to see, and felt his blood run cold.

It was a contest on two levels, spoken and silent. Catharine and Tuan heard only a debate about the Church, but

Brom O'Berin, listening to the tug of thoughts beneath the words, felt a battle for information.

"Thou wilt not deny thou art a priest?" Her mind was wide open and alert for any associations that the term might

raise.

"Wherefore? 'Tis my pride." The friar smiled.

There had been nothing—not only the humdrum, daily images that filled a human mind, but nothing. A void, a

vacuum. Gwen frowned and tried again. "I am Gwendylon, Lady Gallowglass. Whom do I address?"

"I am Father Peron, my child."

So he was going to give her the pastor's patronization, eh? Well, Gwen knew how to ignore it. "I confess to

puzzlement, Father," she repeated. "How canst thou term Their Majesties 'heretics,' when they but hold to the

beliefs they have held all their lives?"

"There is flow and change in all things, child—and as conditions in the world change, so must the Church. This

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is why Christ gave to Peter the power to bind or loose in Heaven what he bound or loosed on earth—so that the

Church could change as it needed."

His eyes seemed to burn into hers, and a massive surge of fervor hit her. Gwen almost gasped at the strength and

suddenness of the wave. She rallied and countered. "Yet it is the heir of Peter from whom thou hast separated."

The priest reddened, and anger flowed with his zeal. "The Pope cannot know how matters stand on Gramarye.

The changes he doth declare for other worlds must not be binding here." His anger was daunting, making Gwen feel indeed like a child in front of a stern teacher. Inwardly she quailed,

but refused to let it show, and narrowed the focus of her mind on

only one area of his—fear of the Afterlife. "How dost thou know the Pope to be wrong, Father?"

"Why, for that milord the Archbishop hath said so." If he had any reservations or any anxieties, there was no

inkling of them; where thoughts should be, there was nothing.

Gwen frowned; certainly his fervor could not completely counter all his upbringing and his fearful religiosity.

"Canst thou not judge such a matter for thyself?"

"I am sworn to obey my lord the Archbishop. His wisdom in these matters must needs be greater than mine."

"Nay, thou wert sworn to obey the Abbot, not the Archbishop." A touch of exasperation showed in the man's face, but not in his mind. "Though he be Archbishop, he is Abbot

still, and what he doth pronounce right for Gramarye must needs be right indeed."

"Even if he doth oppose himself to the Pope?"

"Even so."

"Then is it not he who is an heretic?"

Father Peron flushed, and his anger hit like a padded sledgehammer. "Nay, 'tis the King who is an heretic, if he

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doth not adhere to the one true Church."

Deadlock. Gwen paused and changed the subject. "The Queen doth rule as surely as the King. Wherefore dost

thou speak only of His Majesty?"

"God is our Father, child, and doth rule all. Rulers therefore must be male. A woman's rule is abomination."

Catharine half rose, turning crimson and emitting ^ very strange gargling noise; but Tuan's hand tightened on

hers, and she had promised Gwen to hold her tongue, so she did. But Father Peron permitted himself a small

smile.

Gwen bit down on her own anger and managed to keep her puzzled frown. "Dost not revere sainted Mary,

mother of our Lord?"

"Aye, as the Ruler's mother—and I eagerly await the reign of Alain." Tuan was reddening now, too, but he held his peace. He could tell when someone was trying to get to him.

"Yet by thy lights," Gwen pointed out, "Alain will be also an heretic."

"I trust God shall send him wisdom, when he doth come of

age," Father Peron said piously. "If he doth not, he shall find himself opposed to all his barons—nay, to all his

people."

"Thou art confident of the future," Gwen murmured.

"Victory is the Lord's, child—victory is ever the Lord's." Father Peron's gaze seemed to pierce through to her

soul, and the flames of his fervor seemed to burn all about her mind. "Right will triumph—and the Church of

Gramarye is right."

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"There was no more that I could gain from him," Gwen said, when Father Peron had followed his jailers to a cell

that probably reminded him of home. "He hath the most excellent shield that ever I have known—save in my

husband, when he doth wish it." She shuddered at the thought, and changed the subject. "Yet he is most truly a

priest."

"A warlock in a monk's robe?" Tuan shook his head, pacing. "Is this not blasphemy?"

"Aye, for the clergy have ever inveighed 'gainst the witches," Catharine agreed.

" 'Tis only the parish priests who have spoken thus," Brom reminded her. "What the monks say amongst themselves within the cloister, we have no knowledge."

"Why should there not be one among them who hath our powers?" Gwen said with a shrug. "We have found

witchfolk in every county and every class; wherefor ought there not be one within the monastery?"

"A point," Tuan admitted, "yet still an odd one. Is he, mayhap, the one who hath called up other witches to side