The Warlock Heretical (27 page)

have a son on each side."

"The very thing!" D'Auguste slapped the table. "Thus have our ancestors done, time without mind, whenever two

great lords did fight o'er the succession. March on the King's side, my lord, and fight as much as thou must,

though not more, and thou shall inherit thy father's title and land, if Their Majesties win." Ghibelli stared at him in surprise. Then his eyebrows drew down in suspicion. "Wherefore wouldst thou so

advise me, if thou art a King's man? Wouldst thou not wish me to fight with my all?"

"I own I would—yet I will rejoice to see thee in the battle line at all, for thou wilt do more good there than here,

with thine head in a basket,"

"Yet how if our sires win?" Glasgow demanded, but Ghibelli turned on him. "Art thou a slow-witted
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fool? They

will know why we have fought on the King's side; they have learned the histories of our houses and their conduct

in wars civil as surely as we! Hath it not ever been thus—that a house with two sons did send one to fight for the

suzerain and one for the rebel?"

" 'Tis so," Glasgow admitted. "Thou hast the right of it; our fathers must surely forgive the prodigals."

"Aye, and thus we may keep our heads on our—" Ghibelli froze at the thought. "Why, what a craven knave have

I become, that I would value my life above mine honor!" He spun to D'Auguste. "Thou hast spoken well and

wily, my lord, to tempt me from loyalty to my sire and class! Yet I have seen thee for what thou art, an equivocator and temporizer who doth leap to wherever the main chance doth fall! Get thee behind me, Satan!"

"I have spoken words of sound policy only," D'Auguste said quietly.

"Words of expedience, which are words of treason! This is truly why thou wilt declare for Tuan Loguire, is it

not?" And D'Auguste said, "No."

"Now how is this?" The Archbishop whirled, stabbing out an accusing forefinger. "Thou hadst told me our

brothers could move the folk to cry against the King, yet now the King's warlocks do counter each last move that

ours do make, and doth even turn them against our monks!"

He stood with his back to the windows of the solar, sunlight streaming down behind him, surrounding him with a

glow that hid his face in shadow. But Brother Alfonso didn't seem to be impressed; in fact, he had to hold his

face carefully immobile to keep the contempt from showing, and modulated his tone to conciliation. " 'Tis but the

sensible move in the game, milord, and we have but to counter it."
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"What, to counter a counter? Thou dost speak in riddles, Brother Alfonso! How may we do so?"

"By turning their own thrust against them, milord. They do seek to raise the folk against us clergy—and we may

raise them far more easily, 'gainst the witchfolk!"

The Archbishop lifted his head, a wary look coming into his eyes.

"If a great outcry 'gainst the witches rose," Brother Alfonso went on, "the King would scarcely dare to use them,

for fear of the mob."

"He would be wise," the Archbishop said, his tone grim. "The mob might quite easily turn against the witches in

truth. We might see folk once more burned at the stake, or buried with spikes of wood through their breasts."

Brother Alfonso shrugged. "Such are the hazards."

"Aye, and now, thanks to thy chowderheaded counsel, such a hue and cry could turn 'gainst us of the Order! Nay,

the mob might even rise against the monastery!"

"I think not, milord." Brother Alfonso's smile soured. "There is a way to safely advance such a policy. We may

show 'tis not witchfolk who are evil, but the King's witches only." The Archbishop scowled. "And how shall thou do thus?"

"Why, by interdicting only their leaders." Brother Alfonso smiled again, with malice. "Thou mayest simply condemn the High Warlock and his wife as heretics."

"Have you any particular reason for riding to Moltrane Village, Rod?" It was unusual to have your mode of transportation question your motivation for using it, but Rod always made

an exception for Fess. So did the horse, for him.

"Officially, to get a salami to chop up for dinner," Rod answered. "At least, that's what I told Gwen."

"Did she wish to know why you did not go to an inn in Runnymede? It is almost as near."
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"She didn't, which means she understands that I need to get away from it all for a while."

"It will scarcely take us an hour to go to Moltrane and back, Rod, even at my slowest pace."

"That's long enough—and frankly, I couldn't justify staying away much longer than that. Just between you and

me, Fess, I think this conflict is making Gwen a lot more nervous than any fight we've ever been in before."

"Because of her religious convictions, you mean?"

"Yeah, I think that's why. I didn't even know she had any."

"No doubt she hid them well, Rod, out of consideration for your feelings." Rod frowned, glaring at the back of the horse's head. "What do you mean by that?"

"She understands that you have an aversion to the outward show of religion, Rod, to its rituals and sacramentals,

and therefore restrains her own desire for them."

Rod stared.

"Rod?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. Fess, I don't have an aversion to liturgy—I just don't like religion!"

"You were reared a Catholic, Rod, and when the Faith takes hold of you as a child, it never truly lets go."

"Yeah, early brainwashing." Rod shuddered. "Well, I will admit I have a tendency to play it safe when I think of

the afterlife."

"More than that, Rod—underneath your show of agnosticism, you are a very religious man."

"What do you mean? I'm not even sure who Christ was!"

"That does not hinder your belief in Him."

Rod frowned. "I could take offense at that, you know."

"True, but you know that I do not intend any such offense— it is outside my program. Your programming,

however, is a product of the Church."

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"Is that why I all but hated it for a while?"

"Perhaps, but that only illustrates my point. You may have resented religion, Rod, and you may have rejected

it—but you have never been indifferent to it."

Fortunately at that point, they heard the tolling of a nearby chapel bell. Rod stopped. "That's the Moltrane chime. What's the matter? Flood? Fire?" Fess lifted his head. "My sensors do not detect any byproducts of combustion, Rod, so it cannot be fire. And we

have not had rain for two weeks."

"So it has to be foes. Gallop, Fess! They might need our help!" But the scene on Moltrane Common was peaceful enough. The peasants crowded around the church steps, with a

few late plowmen still running up. Rod reined in as he came even with the cottages, frowning. "All that just for

this? What is he, the monk who cried wolf?"

"He is reading aloud, Rod. Presumably it is a communication of great importance."

"I'm leery of communications from the Church, these days." Rod twisted the stone in his ring and pointed it at the

priest. The stone was a well-disguised microphone, extremely directional, and the elaborate setting hid an

amplifier circuit and miniature transmitter, feeding the signal into the earphone implanted behind Rod's ear.

"Boost your amplification, Fess— I want you to hear this, too."

"'. . . a traitor to Holy Mother the Church,'" the priest was reading, " 'and an infidel and unbeliever. He doth

practice his Art in contravention of God's will and the direction of the Church of Gramarye. Therefore do we

pronounce the heretics Rod Gallowglass, who doth style himself Lord High Warlock, and his wife Gwendylon,

to be no longer in communication with the Church of Gramarye, and as excommunicate, banned from all services

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and Sacraments, and no longer within our protection against the entrapment of the Devil. Yours in Christ, John

Widdecombe, Archbishop of Gramarye.'"

The priest rolled up the parchment with trembling hands, and the peasants burst into furious babbling. All Rod could say was, "I'm going to have to tell Gwen, aren't I?"

"You must, Rod. Personally. And, I hope, before anyone else can bring her that news."

"Yes." Rod gazed out at the crowd, frowning. "I hate letting her down at a moment like this, but I don't think I

should stop to pick up that sausage."

"I am damned! I am bound to eternal hellfire!"

"No you're not, darling." Rod knelt beside Gwen, pleading. "It's just a bunch of words."

"Words of an Archbishop! No! Do not touch me! 'Tis thou hast brought me to this, thou and thy pride, that would

not allow thee to bow to the man of God! No!"

"But I haven't changed what I believe!"

"Yet thou art excommunicated! And I with thee!" She spun about, her face in her hands.'

"Excommunicated!

Nevermore to have the Sacraments! Nevermore to receive God's grace! Oh, thou hast woefully wronged me now

and again, Rod Gallowglass, yet never so badly as thisl"

"But it wasn't me who did it, it was—"

" 'Twas done to theel And I am under its ban for being thy wife! Though aye, I must own I have done grievous

wrong to the Church also, in giving aid and support to Their Majesties 'gainst the Archbishop! Oh, what a vile

sinner am I!"

"You're a heroinel" Rod exploded. "Time and again you've been the only wall between the poor, good people and

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the greedy, selfish men who wanted to grind them into the dirt!"

"I cannot be good if the priests so execrate me!"

"But you didn't go up against the Church—you just followed where I led!"

"Aye, and shamed am I to have done so! 'Tis my soul, mine, and 'twas for me to decide whether to take God's

part or thine! How could I have been so blind as not to see thou didst stray into Satan's net!"

"It's the Archbishop who's going to the Devil!" Rod howled. "You know that! You've watched him move, step by

step, away from the Pope and toward the sins he himself preaches against!" Gwen stood transfixed, pale as a shroud, wordless, staring at him.

He didn't know whether she was going to break or rally, but he had to try something. "You are as good as any

human being

can be! You are patient, gentle, giving, and loving! You have never faltered for an instant in your faith in God's

goodness or my redeemability! Never in any way, as long as I've known you, have you done anything the Church

preaches against!"

"I have taken arms," Gwen whispered. "I have fought in wrath, I have slain men!"

"But only in defense of the people they were trying to kill! Only when you were caught between Commandments! Oh, sure, you've lost your temper now and then—but only a saint could have kept it, with our

four little imps! And the saints wouldn't have dared come anywhere near them!" Gwen stared at him in a silence that stretched on for so long Rod was afraid she would break, but he didn't dare

speak another word. He'd said all that he could; anything more might push her away from him forever. Then her shoulders began to shake.

Tears? he thought, in a panic. Or laughter?

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Her mouth curved, and she began to giggle.

Rod almost caved in.

The giggle swelled into laughter and she collapsed into a chair, sprawling helplessly as her howls of glee shook

the house. Rod found himself laughing, too, and couldn't help wondering why his cheeks were wet. He staggered

over and collapsed next to her, kneeling as he fell, arms outstretched, and she fell into them, rocking back and

forth with him in a gale of mirth.

Finally they quieted, and Gwen wiped her eyes as she gasped, "Aye, 'tis foolish, is't not? When I have seen this

very priest stray into sin, and do yet hearken to his words?"

"He excommunicated himself," Rod pointed out, "when he separated from Rome. He's the one who opened up

the heresy business."

"'Tis true." Gwen nodded. "Rome would call him an heretic, would it not?"

"The Pope and every soul in the College of Cardinals," Rod assured her. "So what are you, if you're heretical to a

heretic?"

"One of the faithful, to be sure." The amusement was fading into something grim. "We are still of the Roman

Church, my lord, are we not?"

"Sure," Rod said quickly. "We haven't repudiated it."

"And this was a most wily snare of Satan's, that did both

tempt and afright me into deserting the True Church." Owen's tone hardened. "Had it not been for thee, my lord,

I would have fallen into his net." •

"Oh, no, I wouldn't say I deserve credit—"

"Thou never dost," she cut him off. "Thou hast humility, among thine other virtues; how could I have
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thought

thee a sinner?"

"Uh ..."

"Be still," she commanded. "/ will number thy virtues, sin that thou wilt not. Yet, my lord ..." She turned to him,

frowning, puzzled. "How may we say which is right, when two churches each say it is sole and true? And how