The Bishop’s Heir (60 page)

“The religious question of good and evil aside, barring Deryni from the clergy served the inheritors of the Council of Ramos very well,” he said. “It concentrated all spiritual authority in human hands, and a great deal of temporal authority as well—an action totally justified in human minds, since everyone knew that Deryni abuses of power had triggered the Haldane Restoration and its aftermath. However
we
may deplore it, using
merasha
thereafter to screen candidates for the priesthood was only a logical extension of what had already begun. It was the perfect vehicle for ensuring that our people would never regain power, for the effects of
merasha
on Deryni, to those who did not know better, would appear to be the wrath of God striking down evil Deryni who would dare aspire to the holy office of priest. All that was wanted was to ensure that it was used consistently.”

“A charge that was given to the bishops,” Jamyl supplied.

“Probably—at least in part. But since, in the greater picture, no individual bishop lives forever, I think it's worth considering that the Ramos Fathers might have set up some separate, secret, on-going body to be their deputies, to see that only humans rose through the ranks of clergy. Perhaps a small, elite religious order. Perhaps one that makes wine. Sheerest speculation, I suppose, but it bears further thought.”

Stefan snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “I refuse to believe that de Nore doesn't know what he's doing.”

“Oh, he may know
exactly
what he's doing,” Laran agreed. “That doesn't necessarily rule out a group to back him, however. Perhaps the secret is imparted to each new archbishop by some designated representative, whose job it is to ensure that his bishops use ‘specially blessed' wine at ordinations and that they know what to look for. However it's done, it works. We certainly have no Deryni priests or bishops.”

Even Denis could find no quarrel with that conclusion, though it almost seemed to anger Stefan. After what seemed like an eternity, Stefan slammed the heel of one hand against the arm of his chair and let out an explosive sigh. Laran only sat back in his chair, once again the cool and analytical physician, and glanced back at the flask of wine on the table beside them.

“Well, then,” Laran said amiably. “Whatever we may or may not have resolved while I played the professor at you—for which I apologize to all—young Arilan is probably right about de Nore declining to use his special wine on a regular basis. Even if it had no Deryni associations, the sedative effect could cause problems over a period of time. So perhaps his experience with
merasha
is limited enough that he would
not
notice a substitution of pure wine for tainted.”

“
Perhaps
isn't good enough,” Jamyl muttered, getting up from his perch on Denis's chair arm to begin pacing restlessly. “We're talking about my brother's life.” He paced a few more steps, thumbs hooked in the back of his belt, then paused to glance back at them.

“I don't suppose we dare just interfere directly with de Nore?” he asked. “It should be possible to induce him to switch the wine himself and then bury the memory.”

“Not wise at all,” Stefan said. “Any tampering with de Nore could conceivably invalidate Denis's ordination, if it were ever found out what we'd done.”

“What about someone on de Nore's staff, then?” Denis asked. “You already said you'd infiltrated other bishops' staffs to get samples of their wine. Doesn't that constitute tampering?”

“Of course,” Laran conceded. “But they're not ordaining you.”

“Well, here's another thought, then,” Denis went on, seizing on sudden inspiration. “De Nore only has a sip of the wine before bringing it down for the new priests to communicate. It's his chaplain who finishes it off and performs the ablutions. Maybe you could tamper with
him
.
He
doesn't have anything to do with ordaining me.”

Laran looked dubious, but Stefan slowly began nodding.

“The lad may have a point. What's the name of de Nore's chaplain? Gorony? It's
Gorony's
taste we have to fool, Laran—not de Nore's. And it's Gorony who's in the ideal position to make a switch. What would it take to keep him from noticing a slight difference in the wine?”

“For me, or for you?” Laran replied, giving Stefan an odd look.

Stefan snorted, a sly smile flashing across his face so quickly that Denis was never sure he really saw it. “We'll work on it,” Stefan said enigmatically. “Meanwhile, it's getting late, and we should be finishing up. I do think Denis should know what he's getting into if we don't succeed, however.” He picked up the flask of drugged wine. “Have you got a cup and some water, Laran?”

As Denis stared in horror, Stefan began working the stopper loose from the neck of the flask, Laran rising to leave the room briefly. Denis hardly saw him go.

Surely they didn't really expect him to take
merasha
without a fight, after what had happened to Jorian? He'd had the drug before, of course, in training, but this was different. This was the wine that had betrayed Jorian to his death!

“You may
have
to take it this way, if something goes wrong,” Stefan said, answering Denis's unasked questions as he took the empty goblet Laran brought and slowly poured wine into it. “At least if you know what to expect, you may have some chance of hiding your reaction. We'll give you something to counteract what we can, before you leave tonight. Is that about right?” He held out the goblet, a quarter-filled with dark, potent-looking wine, and Denis tried to imagine it as de Nore's chalice, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You need to add water now,” he managed to whisper.

Coolly Stefan took a second goblet from Laran, filled with water, and held it over the drugged wine, preparing to pour—then thought better of it and offered the water to Denis.

“You'd better do this. You know how much it should be.”

Hands shaking, Denis took the goblet and poured too much.

“You're going to have to add some more wine,” he heard himself saying, as Laran took the water from him and began rummaging in his physician's satchel for a drug packet. “I added a little more than I meant to.”

“How much would de Nore add?” Stefan asked, slowly pouring more wine until Denis signaled him to stop.

“I don't know,” Denis admitted. “I've never served Mass for him—or for any bishop. I think he'd deliberately go light on the water at an ordination, though, since so much depends on the wine …”

His voice had trailed off as Stefan set the flask aside, and he had to clasp his hands tightly in his lap to keep them from shaking.

“I'm afraid I have to agree with your logic,” Stefan said quietly, moving a little closer with the drugged cup. “Think before you drink this, now. How big a swallow would you normally take, and how small a swallow can you get away with, without arousing suspicion?”

Denis closed his eyes briefly, remembering de Nore's huge, jeweled chalice. It would have to be a noticeable swallow.

“Here it comes now,” he heard Stefan say softly, far closer now, as the rim of the goblet touched his lips. “Remember what I asked you.”

Almost without volition, Denis lifted his hands to steady the cup as Stefan tipped it for him to drink. He had never received communion by Cup as well as by Host, for that was reserved for priests and bishops. The wine was rich and fruity, and he was not sure whether he could detect any of the expected
merasha
aftertaste at all as Stefan took the cup away and he carefully swallowed. Laran had come around behind him while he drank and monitored his reaction with a cool hand laid along the side of his throat.

“Well,” Stefan murmured, handing off the goblet to an anxious Jamyl, “I'll confess I've never made a study of the size swallow priests take when they drink communion wine, but that seemed plausible to me.” His manner was casual as he sat back in his chair, but his eyes never left Denis's face. “Try to keep from showing any distress for as long as you can,” he said. “I would estimate you'll have an hour or more before you can safely slip away, if you have to do this for real. With any luck at all, though, that won't be necessary. Tell me, could you taste the
merasha
?”

He was tasting it by then, faintly bitter at the back of his tongue. He did his best to describe it, aware that Laran was delving deeper to catch every nuance of memory about it, but he could feel the drug gradually extending its tendrils of disruption into every corner of his mind, insidious and terrifying, even though he knew he was safe here. He lasted a little longer than Jorian had, but not nearly long enough to have gotten through the rest of the Mass and subsequent celebrations safely. The dose was a little lighter than those he'd had in training exercises, but that only made it ease him into thrall instead of hitting him like a mountain falling on his head. He tried not to imagine what it had been like for Jorian, who had been given to drink from the chalice a second time—and then given more wine in the sacristy, almost certainly from de Nore's private stock.

His head was throbbing and he could hardly see by the time Laran took pity on him and gave him the second cup, to counteract some of the effect of the first. He never knew how Jamyl got him back through the Portal and into bed. He woke briefly at noon the next day, his head still pounding, but rose only long enough to relieve himself and take another dose of the sedative Laran had sent with Jamyl. He was mostly recovered by the second morning and had time for only a brief visit with Stefan and Laran before be must head back for
Arx Fidei
, his leave now exhausted. This time, the two came to Tre-Arilan, gathering conspiratorially in Jamyl's little ritual chamber.

“I wish I could offer you more encouragement,” Stefan said, as Laran rummaged in his medical satchel and Denis watched apprehensively. “We have a plan that we
think
will work, but it's safer for everyone concerned if you don't know what it is.”

He took an empty cup and a flagon of water from Jamyl and held the cup toward Laran, who half filled it with wine.

“What's that?” Denis whispered. “I have to go back to school in an hour or so.”

“This is Laran's answer to Archbishop de Nore's nasty wine,” Stefan said, passing the cup to Denis. “We need you to check it for taste, because with any luck, you'll be drinking this at your ordination instead of de Nore's. Do you want to add the water, or shall I?”

“I'll do it,” Denis murmured, nervously adding the necessary amount. “What's in it?”

“Oh, this and that,” Laran said with a grin—the first time Denis could ever remember seeing him smile. “I think the effect is a fair approximation of what a human experiences after taking
merasha
, though. You shouldn't feel much.”

Denis
hoped
he wouldn't feel much, as Laran slipped into rapport to monitor again and he raised the cup to drink. It tasted about the same to him, even to a faint, bitter after-tang a few seconds after it went down—but then, his palate was not yet as well trained as he would like. At twenty, he was not yet a connoisseur of wines.

“Suppose Gorony
can
taste a difference, though?” he asked, as he waited for whatever effect was going to manifest. “Or suppose you simply can't make the switch?”

“Do you want to bow out?” Stefan countered. “There's still time for that, you know—though it may mean that Jamyl and his family will have to leave Gwynedd, if anyone ever suspects that the reason you left is because you're Deryni.”

Denis swallowed hard, knowing what Jamyl's loss in the king's council could cost the slim gains their people had made in the last decade.

“If I'm caught,” he whispered, “that will happen anyway. Jamyl, are you going to be there?”

Jamyl laughed uproariously. “Oh, yes, little brother. I'd hardly dare miss it, would I?” “You're part of the plan, then.”

“Part of the problem, part of the solution, I'm afraid.”

“We'll do the best we can for you, Denis,” Stefan went on softly. “God knows, no one wants a repeat of Jorian's fate. But if you're determined to become a priest—and we
do
need you so badly in that function—I'm afraid this is your only option.”

“Why can't I know what you're planning?” Denis asked. “It's my life. Don't I have a right to know?”

“It isn't a matter of ‘right to know.' It's a matter of the danger to the rest of us, if it doesn't work and you're taken. So far as we know, Jorian didn't break—and no one is saying that you would—but do you want to have to worry about that, in addition to everything, else? If everything goes as it should, there'll be no reason for you to expect anything odd or different is going on. And if it doesn't—well, you'll know that, too.”

That was precisely what worried Denis, but he had to admit that their logic was sound. What he did not know, he could not betray and Deryni senses fine-tuned to the possibilities of the situation should keep him somewhat apprised of how things were progressing. Jamyl would be there, after all. He hoped his brother had a plan to get away if it didn't work, though.

“All right,” he murmured around a yawn. “I'm game if you are. Will I hear from you before Candlemas?”

Laran chuckled and finally dismantled rapport, shaking his head as Denis yawned again. “You may—but don't expect it. Incidentally, how do you like reacting like a human?”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you that what you drank simulated the effect of
merasha
on humans. Feeling a little sleepy?”

Denis laughed and shook his head as he yawned again.

“I'm not going to nod off on my horse, am I?”