The Warlock Heretical (18 page)

at them both.

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Finally Tuan looked up at Sir Maris. "Thou didst well to bring us the man hard on the event." Sir Maris bowed.

"How many others," Tuan asked, "hadst thou not told us of?" Sir Maris froze with his head down, then slowly raised it. "Three, Majesty. One was a spinster who swore the

ghost of a farmer had sought to seduce her, and only her rosary had warded her; another was a cooper who did so

well imitate his own casks that he was quite filled up with ale. The third was a poor, simple lad, who swore a

pouka, a glowing horse, had pounced upon him, and given chase till he came within sight of the lights of the

town."

"And all three had been the only ones who had seen the spirits?"

"Aye, and ..." The seneschal hesitated.

"Thou hadst reason, with each, to doubt that the sights he or she had seen were truly there." Catharine gave him a

brittle smile.

"I had, Majesty," he admitted.

"Thou must never fear to be honest with us, Sir Maris," Than said, though he had to admit the delicate pause had

prepared Catharine just enough to prevent her rebuking the old knight—and incidentally rejecting what he had

reported. "Yet in this instance, others had seen it."

"Aye, Majesty, many others—and heard it, too."

Tuan nodded. "Henceforth thou must needs tell us all such occurrences, even if they be naught but the self conjured dreams of brain-sick fools. Our thanks, Sir Maris, and good night." The old knight bowed and retreated out the door.

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Tuan sat still for some minutes, holding Catharine's hand on his shoulder. Finally, he murmured,

"Runnymede

hath ne'er before been haunted, sweet wife."

"Never," she agreed, so softly he could scarcely hear. "What manner of evil is set loose upon us, my lord?"

"What manner indeed?" he replied. "And wherefore?"

11

"Oh, nay, my lord," Baroness Reddering protested. "We were quite . . . startled, when Old Adam told us the word

that did run through the parish."

"Old Adam?" The Archbishop frowned. "Was it not Brother Felix who spoke of it to thee?"

" Twas not." The Baroness looked up in surprise. " 'Twas Old Adam."

"I" truth?" The Archbishop looked up at old Adam. "And whence gained thou this intelligence, Adam?"

"From Brother Felix, milord, when he came to the gate," Old Adam said with grim satisfaction. "He would have

withheld it from me; yet I kept at him and at him, till he became so out of sorts that he did give it me."

"Well, I cannot truly blame him." The Archbiship sighed. He well remembered Old Adam's badgering. Yet the

irritation remained. "I could swear that only another so ill-tempered as thou could withhold a secret from thee.

Yet how is't he did not then come to bear my word to Her Ladyship?"

"Oh, for that I sent him packing." The comers of Old Adam's lips quirked in a very small smile. "There was no

need for him, certes, now that I might bear the word myself."

"Adam!" Lady Mayrose gasped, shocked, but the Archbishop only signed. "And my order to him was of no

consequence to thee? Nay, I see not; wherefore did I ask?"

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Old Adam started to answer, and the Baroness interrupted quickly. "Enough, Old Adam; thou art dismissed." She

waved, shooing him away. "My granddaughter will suffice to company me in Milord Ab— Archbishop's presence." She blushed slightly, inclining her head toward the Archbishop.

"As Thy Ladyship will have it," Old Adam grumbled, and turned to go. The Archbishop returned the bow, and the smile. "I thank thee, Lady, for bearing my new title in mind." Lady Mayrose turned to her grandmother. "Thou shouldst pension Old Adam, Grandmother, and send him to

dwell in some small cot far removed from us. I' truth, he doth grow so bothersome in his dotage that I scarce can

contain myself from shouting at him!"

" 'Twould yield thee no gain; he would not mind it," the Archbishop assured her. " 'Tis not age that doth make

him so, milady—he was ever thus. Even twenty years agone, when I was chaplain, was he sour and waspish."

"Then praise Heaven I was not born in this house," the lady said, and a shadow crossed the Baroness's face, so

the Archbishop spoke up quickly, to distract her from the memory of the circumstances under which her son had

left, and the woman who had caused them. "Yet why, milady, should this news of my new title have shaken thee,

when I had told thee aforetime what I bore in mind?"

"Oh! 'Tis one thing to speak of it aforetime, milord, and another to hear 'tis done." The Baroness seemed flustered. "Yet there was also this matter in thy declaration, that the King and Queen must needs be guided by the

Church."

"We had spoken of that also, Grandmother," Lady Mayrose reminded her.

"So we had; yet I had not thought His L— His Grace would proclaim it so."

"I could not do less, proclaiming my new office." The new Archbishop's face hardened. "For the Crown doth

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hold its dominion from God, and we clergy are God's voice among men."

"Yet the King and Queen will say their forefathers won dominion, not that it was given them by God," the

Baroness suggested.

"Not so! For they style themselves monarchs 'by the grace of God.' Their heralds so proclaim them at every

coming and going, in every royal progress, and in every proclamation!"

"Quite true, Lady Mayrose, quite true." The Archbishop nodded, his gaze wanning as he looked at her.

"And if

they are monarchs by the grace of God, then must they hold their kingdom in fealty to God—and therefore must

they be guided by the men of God."

"I do not doubt thee," the Baroness said quickly. "F truth, who am I, a worldly woman, to question an Archbishop?"

Lady Mayrose's eyes sparked, but she said nothing.

"Nay, I know that thou art right in thy making our Church apart from Rome's," the Baroness went on, moving to

lay a hand on the Archbishop's, but it hovered, then withdrew. "Thou must therefore be Archbishop—I know

this, too—and I doubt not thou hast the right of it in declaring that the King and Queen must needs be guided by

thee." She colored. "Yet I own, 'tis more that I believe in Father Widdecombe than in the doctrines."

"Or that thou dost believe them because Father Widdecombe doth say they are true?" The Archbishop's smile

warmed, but there was a trace of disappointment in his expression. "Yet must I caution thee, my ghostly daughter—is there no least smidgin of pride in this thy loyalty?" The Baroness blushed and lowered her gaze. Lady Mayrose smiled, amused. "Oh, never, milord! 'Tis only that

she doth sing thy praises from morn till night, and exclaim how marvelous 'tis to have an abbot, and now an

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archbishop, for her confessor!"

"I had thought as much." The Archbishop leaned back with a fond smile. "And I own I am warmed by thy regard.

Yet must I caution thee to eschew the sin of pride."

"I shall endeavor, Father." But the Baroness did not look up.

"And thou, Lady Mayrose?"

"I confess to some part in the sin my grandmother hath spoken of." Lady Mayrose smiled, too. "Yet, oh!

I am so

proud of thee, that thou hast had the courage and the sense to separate from Rome!"

"Truly?" The Archbishop looked surprised.

"Oh, vastly! The Pope's so blind, not to see how horribly the Crown doth abuse its authority! What! Will Their

Majesties turn the noble houses into serfs to their whims?"

"Well spoke." The Baroness regarded her granddaughter with pride, but also with apprehension. "Yet I own thou

dost astonish me, in view of . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"In view of my parents' folly? Nay, say it, Grandmother! They were good souls at the heart, but their minds bore

treason to their class! How they could espouse a course of action that would wreak their own downfall, I know

not—but I ken far less how they could e'en condone beliefs that would rob their own daughter!" Lady Mayrose

turned a smouldering countenance on the Archbishop. "And Rome doth aid and abet the Crown, and thereby the

downfall of the lords! Nay, milord, I cannot find a trace of good in the Pope! Praise Heaven thou hast had the

sense to send him packing!"

" 'Tis mayhap too strongly put." The Archbishop smiled. "Yet 'twas needful."

"Oh, thou art so brave and strong!" Lady Mayrose's eyes glowed into his. "And so wise, to see that only by

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guidance of the Church may the common folk of Gramarye be brought to happiness! For look you, the King's

men are forever trampling the grain in their haste to exterminate those who oppose Their Majesties' will, and

their judges are ever scourging poor folk who seek but to find food! And now, folk say, these proud princes do

speak of robbing the very bread from out the mouths of the poor by levying a tax direct to the Crown, atop those

brought by their lords!"

She didn't seem to have heard that, under the plan in question, the lords would no longer be required to send tax

money to Gramarye, and would be expected to lower their own taxes accordingly.

"'Tis only rumored," the Baroness murmured.

"Yet rumor hath basis, I doubt not. They will do that, and worse, and no man saith them nay! Oh, there must be

one who can bid these royal lions, 'Hold, enough!' And who can do it, save the Church?"

"Thou dost give me heart, Lady Mayrose." The Archbishop gazed into her eyes with total concentration.

"I own I

did begin to question the lightness of my course."

"Do not!" she cried. "Oh, my ghostly lord! Thou must not withdraw, must not give way, must not abate a bit of

this that thou hast done! Nay, thou must insist, and call all forces against them, if need be! For naught can save

the peasants save the Church—and thy good will can direct the Crown's strong arm in such a way as to bring all

poor folk ease, without pulling down the lords nor lessening their standing!" The Archbishop was nodding in agreement, more and more

vigorously. " 'Tis even so, 'tis what I feel within my heart of hearts! Yet how wouldst thou give answer, were one

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to ask thee where the gold shall be drawn to buy the peasant folk safe housen and stout clothes?"

"Why, from the coin held back from the Crown's foul greed! Nay, an but a part of the tribute every lord must pay

were held within his own parish Church, assuredly it would suffice the peasant folk!"

"Assuredly," the Archbishop agreed, with a rapt gaze that made all seem to dim save her. "And thou, how dost

thou think I should speak unto these o'erweening princes who do proclaim the limits of our ecclesiastical authority?"

"I would declare them fell and foul!" she said instantly. "I would hold them up for the ridicule of all the nation as

the things of pride and greed they are! I would declare them traitors to the Church and criminals 'gainst the word

of God! And I would call up all the truly godly lords, if need be, with all their horse and men, to school these

arrogant monarchs by force of arms!"

"Wouldst thou so," the Archbishop breathed, never taking his eyes from her. "Then thou must needs have a heart

of flame, and a will for right that would do credit to a saint." But the Baroness watched with misgiving, forgotten by them both.

Brom O'Berin had his own suite in the castle at Runnymede, and was careful to maintain the fiction that he

actually used it. No point in hurting Their Majesties' feelings, after all, so he did use it whenever he could—for

example, for receiving intelligence reports, some of them from humans. And for meeting with the Lord High

Warlock.

Not this time, though. It was an elf who faced him, nodding emphatically. " 'Twas a banshee in truth, dread lord!

At the castle of the Marquess D'Arrigato."

"A sennight agone, thou didst say?" When the elf nodded, Brom mused, "And none have died in that house."

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The elf nodded again. "I have never known a banshee to be wrong, save when one did haunt the battlements here

at Runnymede, these fourteen years past."

"Yes, well, we know about that, don't we?" Rod said. The banshee in question had been a projection from a

memory loop activated by remote control.

"Aye." The elf frowned. " 'Twas not even the banshee of the Plantagenet line."

"And their banshee had had plenty of opportunities, too. Well, maybe it was worn out. There've been a lot of

deaths in this family."

"'Tis the price one pays for births," the elf sighed.

"Yet the price ought not to be paid ere 'tis due," Brom rumbled, "and these cobblies which thou hast seen are no

more real than a will o' the wisp."

The elf looked up in indignation. "I have known many will o' the wisps, Majesty, and they were quite gentle

people, almost all."

Rod hoped he didn't meet the "almost." "But the other monsters you heard about were fakes?"