"From Skopentzana? He's come all the way from Skopentzana?" He heard exclamations like those from near and far, even from the women's galleries. He thought he caught flashes of motion from behind the grillwork in the balcony as women crowded close to get a better look at him.
Most reluctantly, Kameniates asked, "And what would you, Rhavas of Skopentzana?" He might have ignored Rhavas even yet, but he couldn't ignore that buzz of excitement and interest.
"I would call for the convocation of a synod of priests and prelates and monks and abbots to examine the premises of our holy faith, as is my right as a prelate," Rhavas replied proudly.
That set off a fresh buzz. Men and women chattered among themselves. Videssians who weren't professional theologians were passionate amateurs. As soon as Rhavas talked about looking at how the faith was put together, he had their interest, if not their support.
"And how do you propose to alter the definitions we have accepted for so long?" the ecumenical patriarch inquired of him, as if he did not know. Kameniates might not make much of a theologian, but he was a clever bureaucrat. He knew what would likely draw popular backing, and what would not.
Rhavas also knew that if he said, I want to cast out the worship of Phos and start giving reverence to Skotos instead, his audience would become a mob and tear him to pieces right there on the floor of the High Temple. Kameniates, no doubt, would cheer them on, if he didn't join in and grab one of Rhavas' ankles for a hearty yank of his own.
He didn't say that, then, even if it was what he meant. What he did say was, "I would like the assembled ecclesiastics to consider how our view of the constant struggle between dark and light is to be measured against events, and what support there is in the holy scriptures for the alterations I shall propose."
At that, Kameniates looked alarmed. Being no great scholar, he wouldn't know off the top of his head what texts might support Rhavas. He did know Rhavas had the gift for scholarship he so conspicuously lacked. If the prelate of Skopentzana implied there were texts to bolster his views, then that might well be so.
People started buzzing again. Unlike the patriarch, they didn't know what Rhavas had in mind. Some of their guesses were good, others wildly foolish. But they didn't sound furious and outraged, the way they would have if he'd been more explicit. They sounded . . . intrigued.
Kameniates heard that, too, and looked even less happy than he had when he answered Rhavas' call. He said, "I see no good reason to change the doctrines that have served us well for so long, and—"
"Is the truth not reason enough?" Rhavas broke in loudly.
By the patriarch's expression, it wasn't. By his expression, it didn't come close. But men started calling, "Yes, by the good god!" and, "What are you afraid of, most holy sir?" After horse racing, theology might have been the most popular spectator sport in Videssos.
"Yes, most holy sir, what are you afraid of?" Rhavas jeered.
Kameniates turned very read. "I fear nothing—nothing, do you hear me?" His voice rose to an angry shout. "Do you want your synod, your cursed synod, Rhavas? Well, by the lord with the great and good mind, you can have it! Do you want to be anathematized and excommunicated? You can have that, too, and you will. I told you as much before in private, and now I say it in public. To the ice with you, you vile heretic, and the sooner the better!"
Now the men around Rhavas stared at the ecumenical patriarch in astonishment. Like most bureaucrats, Kameniates was not normally a man of strong character. Such an outburst from him shook his congregation like an earthquake. Remembering the earthquake that had shaken Skopentzana down, Rhavas wished he'd found another comparison, but he couldn't help that now.
And Kameniates' fury was only approaching its peak. He pointed toward the entranceway. "Get out!" he cried. "Get out, I say! You are banned from the High Temple until the synod that condemns you—and it will."
Rhavas thought about cursing and killing the patriarch then and there, just for the sake of the chaos it would cause. He thought about it, but then shook his head. Why kill Kameniates when he'd just goaded him into promising to convene that synod? If Kameniates fell over dead now, a new patriarch wouldn't be in place for weeks, if not for months. When he was, he wouldn't necessarily feel bound by his predecessor's promises. Rhavas would have to figure out how to irk him into doing what he wanted.
Instead of giving Kameniates death, then, Rhavas gave him his most elegant courtier's bow. Kameniates gaped, plainly not knowing what to make of that. "Let it be just as you say, most holy sir," Rhavas told him. "If you fear to go where the truth may lead you until you have the force of a synod all around you, well, that may be a pity, but it is also your privilege. My own view is that you are a coward, but I suppose I could be wrong."
Kameniates got redder yet. Rhavas smiled; he hadn't thought the patriarch could. Kameniates was too angry to do anything but gobble incoherently. Guessing the only thing that could inflame him further would be to leave quickly and quietly, Rhavas started to do just that.
He hadn't taken more than a few steps, though, before a man asked him, "Very holy sir, where do you think our present doctrines are mistaken?"
"After civil war, after disaster in the north, I'm surprised you need to ask that question," Rhavas replied.
The man frowned. "What do you mean?"
"About what you think I mean," Rhavas told him. "Look at the state of the world, such as it is. An answer will come to you. If you are honest with yourself, I expect it will be the right one."
He left the fellow expostulating in his wake. But he hadn't gone far before another man asked him almost the identical question. He gave this one almost the identical answer. Where the first man had floundered and refused to follow Rhavas' response to the only place where it could lead, the second man took the point at once. He took it, but he didn't like it. Turning pale, he exclaimed, "You can't mean that!"
"With all proper respect, sir, I not only can, but I do," Rhavas said. "And now, if you will excuse me . . ."
He gave his explanation twice more before leaving the High Temple. He didn't linger to see whether those men understood him. In the end, what difference did it make? Some people knew what he was saying. They would spell it out so even fools could see. And gossip spread faster than wildfire.
No one followed him back to his lodging. That was a relief. He wondered how long he had before people would, and how long before rocks and softer, smellier things started flying in through the window. Then he wondered if such things would content the people who disagreed with him. They might try to set the tavern and the rooms over it on fire instead.
Those who set fires were madmen. Everybody knew that. Fires ranked right up there with earthquakes as the worst things that could happen to a city—and fires came far more often. With so many open flames in a place like Videssos the city, it was probably a miracle they happened as seldom as they did. When a fire got loose, any kind of breeze could push it faster than people could put it out. And if a fire got loose when a gale was blowing . . . Rhavas shuddered. Great swaths of a city went up in flames at times like that.
Of course, those who set fires to prove their theology were not likely to care if a quarter of Videssos the city burned, as long as Rhavas' ashes were among the rest. Rhavas bared his teeth. As a matter of fact, he felt the same way about those who disagreed with him. If he burned them all, though, who would be left to worship along with him?
When he walked into the taproom, Lardys sent him a quizzical look. "You don't look so real happy, holy sir," the taverner remarked. "Feel like a mug of wine to take out some of the kinks?" Before Rhavas could answer, he added three words torture couldn't have pulled from him most of the time: "On the house."