Hands still upraised, Sozomenos began to intone the creed: "We bless thee, Phos, lord with the great and good mind, by thy grace our protector, watchful beforehand that the great test of life may be decided in our favor."
All the clerics in the High Temple repeated the words after him. They came echoing back from the dome, as if the image of the good god picked out in mosaicwork there were also saying them. A tight smile on his face, Rhavas joined in the creed. Sozomenos had ways of showing which side he was on, sure enough.
But then the ecumenical patriarch said, "The task before us is nothing less than to decide whether that is still an appropriate summary of belief for us in this day and age. Think well on it, my colleagues: has goodness failed?"
"Of course not!" The prelate who boomed out that response was a plump, red-faced man in regalia almost as magnificent as Sozomenos'. He seemed much more accustomed to it than the ecumenical patriarch did, too; he wore it as if entitled to it, not as if surprised by it. Rhavas did not know him. He must have risen to prominence since Rhavas went to Skopentzana, and by his accent came from the westlands, which had not suffered barbarian attack, and which had had only a limited share in the current civil war. Since he knew little of suffering, he thought the same had to be true for the Empire of Videssos as a whole.
Fool. Fat, pompous fool, Rhavas thought. You'd sing a different tune if you ever set eyes on a Khamorth.
More than a few other ecclesiastics were nodding along with the pompous prelate. His was the comfortable road, the safe road. If they went along with his views, they wouldn't have to change their own.
Sozomenos held up a hand. "Do not decide too soon. Consider that you may be mistaken. Consider that we all may be mistaken. Consider well, my friends, my colleagues. Decide on the basis of the faith of our holy scriptures, not on account of your own prejudices."
Rhavas heard that with astonished respect. He knew Sozomenos disagreed with him—disagreed with him down to the very core. Yet the ecumenical patriarch could not have presented the case more evenhandedly. He urged, he invited, the assembled ecclesiastics to settle it on its merits, not on their preconceptions. Rhavas wondered whether he could have, would have, done the same had some other prelate come before him with a doctrine of which he so strongly disapproved. He had his doubts.
Would it matter, though? That plump, powerful prelate rumbled, "This is all a waste of time, most holy sir."
"Time spent studying the faith is never wasted, very holy sir," Sozomenos replied. "We shall examine the truth, we shall define it, and we shall refine it. May the lord with the great and good mind . . . and, ah, any other interested deity . . . aid us in our deliberations. So may it be." He lifted his hands to the heavens once more.
"So may it be," intoned most of the ecclesiastics in the High Temple. Several of them, however, spat in rejection of Skotos instead.
A couple of men who stood by the outer wall did not, to Rhavas' eyes, seem to be ecclesiastics at all. It was not so much that they dressed in nondescript mufti. It was the way they watched the proceedings. They were more interested in the ecclesiastics as people than as priests or as theologians.
Who are they? What are they doing here? Rhavas wondered. Are they keeping an eye on things for Maleinos? But the Avtokrator would surely have priests here to keep him up to date on what was going on—and to help keep things from going wrong.
One of the strangers happened to meet Rhavas' gaze. Swords might have clashed, there in the quiet under the dome. Power rang off power. Whatever else he is, he's a mage, Rhavas realized.
The man leaned toward his comrade and whispered something to him. The other layman stared at Rhavas. He was also a sorcerer. Rhavas did not think of himself as any such thing. How his power might seem to a pair of wizards . . . He would find out.
He did not fear them. He had cursed mages before, cursed them and watched them die. If he had to, he could and would do it again.
"Dig up the heretics' bones!" a monk shouted.
In an instant, the cry filled the High Temple. It echoed from the dome, as the creed had before. Phos himself might have condemned heresy.
Sozomenos raised a gnarled hand. Silence fell. In due course, even the echoes faded. "Whoever shall not agree with what this synod decides, whoever shall fail to accept it, will be a heretic indeed," the ecumenical patriarch said. "But until someone says that he will not accept it, we are all brethren together. This being so, I expect we shall all act toward one another as toward brethren. Do I make myself plain?"
No one told him he did not. The sway he held over Videssos' unruly ecclesiastics made Rhavas marvel once more. Could I ever lead them so? He hoped the answer was yes, but was too remorselessly honest with himself to find that likely.
"Question, most holy sir, if I may?" Even the plump prelate from the westlands was polite with Sozomenos.
"Go ahead, Arkadios," the patriarch replied. "Questions are always welcome. They help clarify the faith."
"It seems to me, most holy sir, that the question before us here does not clarify the faith, but rather undermines it. If we do not take the good god's ascendance on faith, what have we got left?"
"Well said!" The words came from half a dozen men scattered all over the High Temple.
"I shall not try to answer that. Instead, I shall yield the floor to the prelate who caused this synod to be convened," Sozomenos replied. He gestured toward Rhavas. "Here is the very holy Rhavas of Skopentzana. I trust he will be able to give you what you require. Very holy sir?"
"Thank you, most holy sir." Rhavas got to his feet. He bowed to Arkadios. "Very holy sir, my view is simple. A faith that goes unexamined, unquestioned, is in fact no faith at all. Only examination yields truth. We have gone a very long time without a proper examination of what we believe. The times we live in argue that this examination is long overdue."
Arkadios snorted. "You want to bow down to the dark god"—he spat between his feet—"and you are looking for a synod to tell you it's all right."
"No. That is not true." Rhavas shook his head. "I have never wanted anything less in my life. But I have the nerve to follow the truth wherever it leads me. Can you say the same?"
"I know what the truth is. I don't need any fancy examination to tell me," Arkadios declared. "And I don't need somebody who hides corruption behind a lot of fancy phrases."
Rhavas bowed again. "Thank you, very holy sir. Your objectivity does you credit."
"Do you mock me?" Arkadios demanded angrily. "Do you dare mock me? You have your nerve, all right, you heretic dog!"
"That will be enough of that." Sozomenos did not raise his voice, but had no trouble making himself not only heard but heeded. "Arkadios, you were the one who first resorted to personal attack. You cannot—or at least you should not—be surprised if you find it coming back at you. And if you resort to it again, you will find you are not too prominent to be expelled from this gathering. Do I make myself plain? Please apologize so we may proceed."
The prelate from the westlands bowed his head. "I am truly sorry, most holy sir." For a wonder, he sounded as if he meant it.
Even so, he did not satisfy Sozomenos. "You need not apologize to me, for I did not suffer under your harsh words. The very holy Rhavas, on the other hand, did."
Arkadios turned red with anger. He managed a most perfunctory bow toward Rhavas and muttered, "Very holy sir, I'm sorry."
"I'm sure you are." Rhavas answered one untruth with another. He bowed to Sozomenos once more. "Most holy sir, I believe the relevant passage from which we should begin our discussion is the third verse of the thirtieth chapter of our holy scriptures. I will quote it for the benefit of any who cannot call it to mind without help."