The Warlock Heretical (17 page)

defend it."

"And so would most of the lords, but not out of religious conviction."

"True enough," Catharine stated, looking only faintly relieved. "If they could bring us down, they might once

again become each a prince within his own domain, as they were in my grandfather's time." Rod hadn't realized it was as recent as that; suddenly he was understanding the depth of the barons'

resistance

more clearly than he had before. "Of course, they'd be wrong. If the Abbot can bring down a king, he can

certainly undercut the lords, one at a time."

"So we end as we began." Tuan smiled sourly. "He would rule."

"Oh, yes. Make no mistake, Your Majesties, what you have here is an embryo theocracy, a 'government by God.'

It isn't, of course—it's government by clergy, who only cite God to justify what they want to do. Governing

comes naturally to priests. That's the whole underlying, reason they invented priesthood in the first place: to give

them power over the peasants."

"Power?" Tuan frowned. "How could preaching Holy Truth grant them dominion?"

"Because even you, with all the King's horses and all the King's men, can't control a man's thoughts—but a priest

can, simply by telling him it's a sin to think about certain things. What's worse is that they tell him what's right to

think about— and if people start thinking about something, they're apt to do it. Such as having a Holy War

against the ungodly—to which position I think you have just been elected." Catharine stared, appalled.

Tuan saw, and gave her a sad smile. "Thou didst not see, my sweet? If we oppose Holy Mother the
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Church, we

must needs be most ungrateful children."

"Assuredly our people would not believe such of us," Catharine whispered.

"Oh, but they will," Rod assured her. "A religious man never has to worry about what his opinion should be—he

just asks his minister."

"But they can then make the people do whatever the priests do wish!"

"And the priests will obey the Archbishop." Rod nodded. "You want to really rule effectively? Take holy vows

and proclaim yourself Archbishop."

"Yet the priests do say the Word of God shall make all folk free!"

"It makes them free, all right. But the peasants? No more than they ever were. In fact, it's the perfect tool for

keeping the masses in their places. You just tell them that it's right to stay in the class they were born into, and

wrong to try to move up the social ladder, and the vast majority of 'em will stay put. They won't even fuss too

much when food is short or they don't get new clothes, because you tell 'em that their suffering now means less

suffering after they die. 'Pie in the sky, by and by'—but never pie here on earth, right now. So the priests may try

to alleviate human misery, but they also keep people from trying to help themselves."

"Yet that is a central cause of the Abbot's quarrel." Tuan interrupted. "He doth wish to see to the distribution of

all alms, that he may ease the suffering of the poor."

"Yes, and make them totally dependent on him. Then he'll have the rabble at his command." Tuan winced; he had managed to weld the beggars of Runnymede into an army once, himself. "Thou dost not say

the Church gives only to get!"

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"Oh, I'm sure that's not how it starts, but after a while even the most spiritual priest has to realize that he has an

awful lot of grateful people who will do whatever he tells them to. That's when he starts to become worldly."

"Nay, Lord Warlock!" Catharine held up a hand. "Thou dost exceed even my spleen! Dost say the Church ought

have no power?"

"Well, I hadn't wanted to be so blunt about it, but now that you ask, yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Yet the Church cannot do God's work if it hath no power in the world," Tuan objected.

"Sure it can—by praying and teaching. It's supposed to persuade its congregations to behave rightly, not force

them to." Rod shook his head. "It's bad for the Church to have worldly power, Tuan. Power corrupts, and the

Abbot, now the Archbishop, is aiming for absolute power. The priests are the ones who invented the term

'hierarchy'—it means 'sacred government.' Or 'government by the holy.' But when they start governing, they stop

being holy. Absolute power corrupts the priest absolutely, just as surely as it corrupts a knight or a merchant."

"Or a king?" Tuan demanded.

Rod shook his head. "Your power isn't absolute, Your

Majesty—your barons see to that. And the Abbot has always done his share. In fact, if your power was absolute,

the Abbot couldn't have gathered an army the last time he challenged you!" Tuan turned away, gazing about him at the garden. Then he nodded. "Thou hast the right of it, Lord Gallowglass.

In this we must oppose the Church outright."

Rod breathed a huge sigh of relief; Tuan had come out of his religious miasma. He exchanged a quick look with

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Catharine and saw the same relief in her face, coupled with gratitude. He smiled back, staggered at the realization

that for the first time he finally felt he was really her ally.

"Still, you should be tactful," he said, turning back to Tuan. "Don't give the people any reason to believe you're a

demon; the new Archbishop will give them all they need for that." Tuan gave him a sardonic smile. "Well said, Lord Warlock. In this 'tis only needful to deny his claim." Catharine frowned. "Must we not do more than that?"

"I am sure that we shall," Tuan returned, "yet 'tis poor tactics to begin a battle with a melee. 'Tis enough for him

to see our pickets."

"And exactly what 'its' are you planning to pick?" Rod watched him out of the corner of his eye.

"Naught but a mild rebuke, should he wish to construe it so. Our heralds shall proclaim that, though the Queen

and I govern in all worldly matters, we acknowledge the right of the Abbot of the order to govern his monks and

rule on all matters of faith as are open to question."

"Uh ..." Rod bowed his head, rubbing his chin. "I think you might want to be a little more, uh, forceful."

"Nay." Catharine stepped to Tuan's side, taking his hand. "He hath chosen well, Lord Warlock, for by referring to

'the Abbot of the Order,' he doth refuse to acknowledge him as Archbishop, or as having any authority over

Gramarye; and by acknowledging his right to judgment in all matters that are 'open to question,' he doth refuse to

recognize any breach with Rome."

Rod lifted his head slowly. "Very delicately done; it's as much what you don't say as what you do. But maybe too

delicately; do you really think anybody will understand the significance of it?"

"Oh, you may be sure that the lords will," Tuan replied, "and the Abbot. Be sure."

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"Which they will, of course," Rod told Fess as they galloped home through the dusk. "And so will all their

descendants. I'm so glad Tuan's going to put it in writing."

"He must, so that it may be copied for heralds to read throughout the land," Fess answered. "It will thus become a

part of the common law."

"Yes, whether Tuan realizes it or not—and will no doubt be incorporated into whatever constitution eventually

gets written or compiled."

"Separation of Church and State," Fess mused, "a point vital to democracy. You could not have arranged it better

yourself."

"And the fact that I didn't only makes it better." Rod grinned. "Remind me to keep a copy."

"'. . . in all matters spiritual, or relating to the ghostly world.'" The scribe set down the parchment and looked up

at Their Majesties in expectation.

Tuan gave a slow nod, and Catharine pronounced it "Excellent. Each word is in its place, and not a one is

spared."

"Even so; it saith neither more nor less than we do wish." Tuan looked up at the scribe. "Copy that as thou hast

read it, and give it to thine apprentices to make a score ere morn. I shall direct the master-at-arms to take them

from thee."

The scribe bowed. "Even as thou hast said, Majesties." He stepped backwards through the door, then closed it.

Tuan rose with a sigh, setting his hands against his back and leaning backwards to stretch. "Well, 'tis done, and

mine heart is lightened thereby. Come, let us to our bed."

The hardness of her anger softened into a smile, and she came to him, taking his hand. He returned her smile as

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they turned toward the door.

Sir Maris stood in the doorway.

Catharine and Tuan stopped, their smiles fading. Then Tuan squared his shoulders against the weight of responsibility settling back onto them. "What matter is so urgent, Seneschal, that thou must needs come to our

solar at so late an hour?"

" 'Tis a peasant frighted, Majesty."

"Only frighted?" Tuan frowned. "Come, Sir Maris! There must needs be more, or thou hadst no need to come to

us."

" 'Tis even as Thy Majesty doth say." Sir Maris bowed his

head. "Yet I pause to tell thee of the matter in his tale that doth alarm me. I prithee, attend to his words, that thou

mayest judge for thyselves."

"Why, then, bring him in." Tuan exchanged a commiserating glance with Catharine and went back to his chair.

She stepped around to stand at his right, one hand on his shoulder. Sir Maris stepped back from the doorway, beckoning, and a frightened peasant came in, shoulders hunched,

twisting his hat in his hands.

"Be not afeared," Sir Maris commanded. "Thou art in the presence of thy sovereigns, whose only concern is thy

protection and welfare."

If the peasant had reservations about that statement, he didn't let them show, but only bowed as low as he could,

possibly to hide the look on his face.

"Come, come, man, ere thou dost topple!" Tuan beckoned impatiently. "What is thy name and place?"
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"Piers, Majesties." The peasant straightened up. "I am an hostler at the Inn of the Red Cask."

"Well enough, then, Piers," Tuan said. "Say to us what hath frighted thee." Piers swallowed, twisting the hat tighter. " 'Twas an hour agone, Majesty, as I did wend my way home."

"So late?" Catharine asked. "Where wast thou at such an hour?" The peasant blushed. "I ... some comrades of mine . . . we . . ." Tuan realized he had run out of words. "Thou and thy friends did seek sport?"

"Of a manner. We did drink ale and tell tales, Majesty."

Tuan glanced at Catharine, then back at the peasant. "Art thou wed?" Piers swallowed again and nodded, eyes downcast.

"Then where didst thou drink?" Catharine demanded.

"In a clearing in the wood ..."

Catharine turned away and rolled her eyes up, but Tuan kept a straight face. "And what did befall thee on thy

ways home?"

Piers took a deep breath, then told them, faltering, ashamed. Once, when he fell silent too long, the King muttered, "Nay, it surely must have been of Hell! I, too, would have feared," and Piers took heart enough to tell

them the rest of it.

Finally his voice dwindled and he stood twisting his hat, eyes still downcast, finished.

The audience chamber was quiet. The King looked down at his folded hands; the Queen gazed at Piers with pity.

He glanced at her quickly, swallowed heavily, and looked down at his mangled hat. The King looked up. "Then these watchmen brought you to Sir Maris?" Piers nodded. "Aye, Majesty. And I would have followed wheresoe'er they did lead."

"Be sure thou wouldst have," Tuan said, then lapsed into brooding again. Catharine broke the silence this time. "Thou hadst drunk much ale? And told stories of ghosts and spirits?"

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Piers hesitated.

"Be truthful," she commanded.

"Aye to the drinking," he said, as though it were pulled out of him, "but nay to the tales."

"Then what didst thou speak of?"

Piers swallowed.

"Was't women?" Tuan demanded.

Piers nodded.

"Still, thou hadst been drinking, and deeply." Tuan looked up at Sir Maris. "But the watchmen saw the spirit?"

"They did, Majesty."

"As did all the folk who lived along those alleys and streets, belike." Tuan's mouth tightened. "Nay, the word will

be all over the town, even now. Is there any question of the watch's truthfulness?"

"Nay, Majesty. All are good men; all were sober. All four picture the spirit in the same way, as they tell the tale."

" Twas real, then, as much as any spirit may be." Tuan nodded. "I thank thee, Piers." He slid a gold piece from

his purse and tossed it.

Piers caught it, saw its color, and stared.

"Thank thy name saint for thy life," Catharine said with some asperity, "and stay with thy wife o' nights henceforth."

"I will, Majesty," Piers murmured, nodding and bowing, "I will."

"See that thou dost. Now go directly to thy home."

The peasant bowed again and hurried out, away from their dread presence. The chamber was quiet, the King staring into the flames, the Queen staring at the King, and the seneschal gazing