The Warlock Heretical (36 page)

"Thou dost stand convicted of high treason," the King declared. "Hear now our judgment: That thine estates shall

each be diminished, arid thy loyal neighbors' increased, and that thou shall have one day and night to make such

peace with God as thou canst, ere thou dost go to the block, to have thy heads hewn off from thy bodies."

Their glares held the resignation of fatalists now; they had gambled, and they had lost. But the courtiers around

them

were impressed at the King's mercy; noblemen or not, he could have insisted they be drawn and quartered.

So they were almost scandalized when Count Ghibelli stepped forward from their ranks and cried,

"Mercy! I cry

mercy for my father!"

"Be still!" Di Medici hissed furiously, but Tuan turned to the young nobleman and nodded gravely.

"My lord Ghibelli, thou hast well and faithfully served us in this coil. Speak; we attend." Ghibelli fell to one knee, and Marshall and his other companions stepped forward beside him, falling to their

knees also. "He hath offended grievously," Ghibelli pleaded, "yet I beg thy gracious mercies! Let not our fathers

be slain! Grant them, at least, the opportunity for penance and remorse, we beseech thee!"

"A lord must not beg," Di Medici grated.

Tuan met Catharine's glance, then turned slowly back to Ghibelli, nodding. "It shall be as thou dost ask; this

boon, at least, we may grant. Thy sires shall retire to the monastery they have so lately supported, or to a well guarded hermitage at a castle remote."

"Thou art merciful." Ghibelli bowed his head. "I thank thee from all that I am!"
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"Thou shall be greater henceforth," Tuan answered, and the crowd stiffened, suddenly knowing what would be

said. It was the rule of the game, after all, for the young lords had sided with the Crown. Tuan fulfilled expectation. "Take up each his father's demesne and powers. Thou, Count Ghibelli, art hereby

created Duke Di Medici; thou, Guelph, art now Duke Borgia. Each will take up the rule of thy diminished

acres—and I charge thee to hold them in better fealty than did thy sires!" The crowd roared its approval.

"There is danger in it, my lord," Gwen noted.

"Yeah, but there's a chance it'll work, too." Rod didn't sound terribly happy. "They just might not take the chance

on their families' losing any more land."

But the crowd was quieting, for Di Medici had stepped forward. He said it grudgingly, but he said it. "I thank

Thy Majesties for the safety of mine house. And . . ." He glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye.

"I accord

thee honor, my son, for thy prudence."

The young man glanced at Tuan with apprehension, but Catharine spoke.

"Be certain, my lord, that, although we would lief have thee loyal from devotion, we will be glad of thy faithfulness out of prudence."

"I thank Thy Majesties." Ghibelli didn't hide his relief too well. "And I hereby pledge thee my firstborn son as

hostage."

"Easy to offer, since the kid isn't even born yet," Rod grunted.

"I* truth, Ghibelli is not even betrothed," Gwen agreed.

But the King was shaking his head slowly. "Thou hast committed no treason, Milord Duke; there is no need of a

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hostage as yet."

Ghibelli and all his party looked up, surprised, then turned to one another. Tuan frowned and glanced at Catharine:

Out of the throng came the Comte D'Auguste, bowing. "Majesties!"

"We hear thee, D'Auguste," said Tuan.

"Majesty, I crave a boon!"

" Tis granted." Catharine smiled. "Thou hast not even to ask it; we grant it thee in light of thy selfless support of

our cause."

"And," Tuan said, with his first smile of the day, "as evidence of our delight at the birth of thy son." The whole room went into an uproar again. Even the young lords looked startled.

"I didn't even know the countess had gone into labor!" Rod said.

"Aye, my lord, in the wee hours, and the babe was born three hours agone." Gwen smiled.

"Why do I bother trying to set up intelligence networks?" Rod sighed.

"Indeed," Catharine cried, and the room quieted. "In truth, we regret that the turmoil bred by the Abbot hath

prevented us from honoring thy new heir as befits his station. Yet be assured we shall, when all order is restored."

"I thank thee, Majesties." The warm glance D'Auguste exchanged with Tuan was his welcome to the fraternity of

fatherhood. "And the boon I crave is for my boy."

Tuan frowned; this was unexpected. "Thou hast but to say it."

"That when the boy hath seen fourteen years, Majesties,

thou wilt accept him into thine household to be trained as a squire!" The courtiers roared, and Tuan and Catharine exchanged a startled glance. Then Catharine nodded, and Tuan

mirrored her movement as he turned back to D'Auguste.

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The crowd quieted to hear his answer.

"Thy boon is granted, and gladly," Tuan called, and the crowd cheered. Later, as the setting sun turned the view from the solar windows into an enchanted landscape, Tuan demanded,

"We are honored, certes, and I feel that we may truly have made great progress toward welding this land into a

whole—yet why would he ask it? And the child scarce three hours old!"

"We had said we had no need of hostages," added Catharine. "Wherefore would he thus hedge us into accepting

one?"

"I think," Gwen said with a smile, "that D'Auguste can think of no place in which he would as lief have passed

his growing years than here in thy castle."

Rod nodded. "Right. He wanted to make sure his son would get into the best school, so he made his reservation

early."

The next night Rod stood in the shadows behind a pillar in the refectory of the monastery. He was there at the

Father-General's invitation, and everyone knew of his presence, but he felt it was politic to be as unobtrusive as

possible.

Not that anyone had any attention to spare for him—for the Father-General sat in the great chair on the dais, and

the Abbot stood before him, bound in chains.

Father McGee fixed his gaze on the Abbot, intoning, "You must know, Reverend Father, that you can no longer

be Abbot in this place."

"I have sinned grievously, I know." The Abbot bowed his head. "Yet worse, I have shown a weakness of

judgment that hath severely hurt this our Order, and could have caused its demise."
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"So it could have." The Father-General nodded. "Indeed, the Gramarye Order can never be one single

again— though, all things considered, it may be better that way." The monks glanced at one another uneasily, but none dared speak.

"In the eyes of the King and Queen," the Father-General said, "you and your secretary are guilty of high treason."

"I have owned I have sinned," the Abbot said. His eyes were downcast, but his voice was clear, if subdued. "I

have sinned mightily before God and man, and am deserving of the worst of punishments thou canst mete out."

"Yes, for you succumbed to temptation. But your secretary, Brother Alfonso, is even more deserving of such

punishment, for he it was who showed you the lures of power and pride." Somehow, even now, there was

sympathy in McGee's eyes. "He we have given over to the secular arm; of him, there was no doubt." Damn straight, Rod subvocalized. Just catch Tuan giving him up!

He has not even waked yet, Fess answered.

And never will, if Brom has his way!

He fails to mention that Brother Alfonso was truly afuturian agent, masquerading as a monk, Fess answered.

No wonder he fails to! He promised me he wouldn't!

"I deserve no less," the Abbot stated.

McGee lifted his head slowly. "He has pronounced his own sentence." He looked out over the hall and cried, "If

anyone wishes to speak in this man's favor, let him do so now!" The hall was still, each monk glancing uneasily at the other.

Then, hesitantly, Anho stepped forth.

McGee looked down in surprise. "Speak."

"I am Anho, brother of Hoban," the monk declared, "of he who came here as one of us, but did spy for
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the king.

When he was found out, this captive was Abbot, and showed mercy to him, though he was convicted of treachery

to the order—for which we all rejoice, now that Hoban's crime has been found to be no crime. May not mercy be

shown to him who was merciful?"

Slowly, McGee nodded. "Well said, Brother Anho." He turned to the erstwhile Abbot. "And therefore shall I

grant you life."

The Abbot stared at him, thunderstruck.

"Yet even though you have proved yourself unfit for the high office you held," McGee said, "you will always be

a potential focus of power and heresy. So I judge that you must retire to a life of solitary meditation in a well guarded hermitage, far beyond the ken of all in Gramarye."

The Abbot nearly collapsed with relief. "I thank you, my lord, for your generosity and clemency!" He may not be so thankful when he finds out just how far away the Father-General has in mind, Rod muttered as

Anho and a robust monk escorted the former Abbot away.

Let us trust that he will not care, Rod. He may be sincere in his desire for solitude and meditation. A self-flagellant? Rod frowned and nodded slowly. Yeah, I suppose he's got it in him. The Father-General cleared his throat, and the room quieted. "Of the Lady Mayrose I must also speak. I have

conferred with the King, and we have agreed that she shall be imprisoned for life, and shall live the life of a

penitent. His scouts even now search for some abandoned tower in the wilderness." Rod had a notion that Tuan's 'scouts' had known exactly the right tower for the purpose, before he even thought

about it.

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"Her grandmother, out of love for her, has agreed to be her keeper," the Father-General went on, "and there shall

be stalwart guardsmen to ward her."

A few of the monks shuddered at the thought of so young a lady having to spend her whole life in such confinement. Rod could see them wondering if it was really preferable to death.

"Brother Anho," McGee called.

The young monk glanced quickly to left and right, then stepped forward. "Aye, my lord?"

"You alone, young Anho, have shown the courage, and devotion to truth and to the Order, that should characterize all our monks," the Father-General said. "Therefore I declare you henceforth Abbot of this order for

the term of five years, at which time your brethren shall cast ballots to choose whether to keep you in office, or

select a new Abbot."

Anho paled. "My lord," he stammered, "I am not worthy—"

"No good Abbot ever thinks he is," McGee said gruffly. "Step up here!" Anho came up, with faltering step, and McGee stood, stepping aside. "Sit down in that chair, now. . . . Yes, I

know it's hard, but you didn't ask for this, did you? Now!" He turned, facing the monks. "Come up here, one by

one, and swear to obey your new Abbot!"

They didn't even stop to think about it; they immediately started filing up. Anho stammered out his acceptance of

their

loyalty, one by one. But he gained confidence as the line stretched onward. The Father-General lifted his head, caught Rod's eye across the room, and winked. Behind them in the abbey, the red-eyed monks chanted matins, lulling the night. Above them a dark shape

stooped, swelling as it came closer.

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Before them the former Abbot gawked upward, staring at the descending spacer.

"Oh, he knows what it is, well enough," McGee said. "You forget, Lord Warlock, that my monks have always

kept the knowledge of technology alive within the cloister."

"No, I don't," Rod said. "Poor guy must be all the more scared, now that he knows what he's going to ride in."

"I have enough faith in the man to earnestly believe that he will rejoice at the opportunity to spend the rest of his

life in prayer."

"He should." Rod tasted bitterness at the back of his tongue. "When you think of the misery he caused by letting

his monks imitate hauntings, the soul-searching anxiety of people doubting their Church, the deaths he could

have caused—all because religion is such a great way to gain power!"

"You have cause for bitterness," McGee agreed. "But please, Lord Warlock, remember that it wasn't the Faith

that committed those actions—it was a man who used that Faith for his own worldly purposes!"

"All right, so religion by itself isn't to blame," Rod admitted. "But the only way to keep it 'unworldly,'

Father, is

to limit it to being a set of beliefs, without a separate meeting place or ministers."

"A faith without a Church?" McGee shook his head, smiling. "That's an old argument, Lord Warlock—that

religion is fine until it becomes organized."

"It may be old, but I never heard of it being totally disproven. Once religion becomes organized, Father, it turns

into a ball in a game; it can't be the referee anymore, and you can't rely on it as a rule book." The Father-General's head and shoulders hunched in a smothered laugh. "So faith is a sort of sport? I think