“But poor Nicole, whose only sexual experiences had been brutal rapes done upon her in the German prison, her courage failed her at the sticking point and she could not force herself to go through with the arrangement. The man was your husband, Madame Moray, and when he saw her anguish and terror, he gave her his bed and slept himself upon the hard floor.
“Later, when he had been told by Angelique of the tribulations of Nicole and her father, he arranged to sell certain of his personal possessions to the high-ranking officer, a Brigadier Estilles, I believe, and give the value—hundreds of thousands of francs, it was—to Nicole for the proper care of her father. Nicole’s last sight of that selfless man was of him still asleep in the grayness of the dawn, wrapped in a blanket upon the cold floor.
“Both Nicole and Angelique have many times sworn before God that as le Capitaine Moray lay there sleeping, there was a dim, glowing radiance about his face and his head, such as the saints owned. And already, one hears, many of those who this day have been touched by him attest that a good, warm tingling of the power of grace has passed from his hand to them, and one of those so attesting is a priest of God, Father Arsenne.
“Madame, it is very possible that your good husband is truly a saint.”
VII
A little before sundown, Captain Wahrn Mehrdok stalked into the quarters of the priests, saying, “Mosix, chase this passel of parasites out of here or come outside with me. We two need to talk . . . alone, if you please.”
The old priest feared Wahrn or any other man who had proved that he could or would stand up to parochial authority, and he was not about to go outside his comfortable home into the darkening countryside with the captain. Grudgingly, therefore, he told the six younger priests and acolytes to leave, but signed them all not to go far.
When the last of the six had shuffled out, Captain Mehrdok took one of the now-vacated seats at the dining table, used his belt knife to take a thick slice from the veal roast, slapped the slab of meat between two slices of pale-brown wheaten bread and took a big bite before beginning to talk.
“Cat-killed or not, this is tasty veal, Mosix. Don’t look so damned surprised—we all heard of how you holy-mouthed half that calf carcass out of Djim Dreevuh’s wife. I’d advise you to savor this veal fully, because it may well be the last food you get without working for it—physically working, Mosix, not just running your mouth, you and the rest of your crew.”
Mosix drew himself up, his eyes shining his wrath. “You lie, Wahrn Mehrdok, for the council would never . . .”
The captain swallowed his mouthful of bread and veal, then grinned. “The entire council has, as of last night, read the significant parts of the old journals, the written records of our fathers and theirs, Mosix, and precious few of them are stupid men, you know it and I know it. So don’t expect too very much support to be voted you in council, from now on.
“And another thing. Once we’re sure that the men who rode into the so-called shrine-city and out again are gone for good, as they seem to be, since there’s no recent traces of them in the ruins, I am going to take a large hunting party into there and root out the she-bear and the two big cats we know of, as well as any other big, dangerous beasts we can find. That much done, we’re going to start doing what we should’ve done donkey’s years back—mining the ruins for metals and anything else still usable—whether you like it or not. Is everything clear now, Mosix? You and your sons and nephews have lost your power, your hold over our people.”
“Sacrilege!” hissed Mosix, in cold rage.
“Cowflop,” remarked Wahrn good-naturedly, as he drew his knife and severed another thick chunk of the roasted veal, then dipped himself up a mugful of barley ale from the broached cask. But ail things considered, Wahrn Mehrdok was not a brutal or a callous man, and there was a hint of gentleness in his voice as he spoke again, even a bare hint of sympathy for his old enemy, the priest.
“I’ve been called many things over the years, Mosix, by you and by others, but nobody has ever been able to truthfully call me an insensitive man. It’s gonna be hard on you and the younguns, at first, I knows that; none of you has ever put in a decent day’s work in all your life, nor your daddy and his, afore you.”
Mosix stiffened. “I have labored all of my life in the Vineyards of Our Lord . . . eeek!” He squeaked and would have flinched away, had not his right wrist been suddenly pinioned in the iron grasp of the captain’s horny left hand.
Laying down his hunk of veal on the scoured boards of the table, Wahrn easily opened Mosix’s clenched fist and rubbed the hand for a moment with his greasy fingers.
Grinning and shaking his head, the captain remarked, “Well, what ever kind of work you claim to do or have done, old man, it’s not the kind what the rest of us does, for your palm is ever bit as soft as my good wife’s bottom. But by this time next year, if you live that long, those hands of yours is gonna be near as tough nor mine.”
With his hand back, Mosix regained most of his poise and his cold hauteur, as well. “No matter what you claim as fact, Wahrn Mehrdok, I well know that the Council of the Guardians never will force any of us holy men to labor like common farmers in the fields. We all will just wait until the next council is convened and then . . .”
Wahrn nodded and laughed merrily. Still laughing, he fished a staghorn whistle from out of his pocket and blew a piercing blast on it, then twomore shorter ones. “It just so happens, Mosix, that the full council is waiting outside. I had me an idea that you’d want their word on this matter from them, personal, not brought to you by me. Do we convene right here or go over to the Council Chamber?”
The wave of Guardians burst through the door, bearing two priests before them like flotsam on the crest of a breaker. One of the shaken men made to apologize to the eldest priest for the failure to halt the intrusion, but was silenced after only a syllable or two by an impatient wave of Mosix’s hand.
When all of the council were packed into the room, standing about the dining table still bedecked with a barely begun meal, Wahrn said, “All right, boys, let’s have the vote again, where Mosix can hear it and know it’s our decision, not just mine alone.
“Are we all in agreement that Mosix and his ilk have battened off the hard labor of us and our daddies long enough? Are we all in agreement that it’s high time that they went to work themselves, if they want to eat, that is? Further, are we all in agreement that in the next few years, we means to concentrate on breeding up our herds, hunting wild meat and foraging for wild plants, slowly slacking off on real farming?”
Every Guardian raised his right hand to a chorus of “Yeah,” “Damn right, cap’n,” and the like.
The first sergeant stated, “It’s what our grand-daddies and theirs should oughta have done long years back, ’stead of swallerin’ all the swill churned out by Mosix’s kin for so long.”
“The Lord and His Holy Governor will most assuredly strike you dead for such sacrilegious blasphemies, Kahl Rehnee,” Mosix snarled warningly. “Best recant such words now, for the sake of your immortal soul.”
“That’s your final word on the matter, High Priest?” asked the first sergeant, in mock humility. When the priest stiffly nodded, Kahl laughed and said, “Well, in that case, I’ll just take my chances, if you don’t mind and . . . even if you do mind. The Lord Jesus we read about in those books you and your daddies kept locked away for so long just don’t sound like the kind as would come down on decent mens just on account of them bucking a passel of greedy, lazy, lying priests from off of their backs, nosirreebob, He don’t. He sounds for to be a all right kinda feller. Too damn bad you and yourn didn’t try to be more like the Lord over the years, Mosix. And as for the ‘Holy Governor,’ you’ve done knowed all along and we’alls just found out, it ain’t been one since the Great Dyings, no kinda one. You lied to us and to our daddies and theirn about that and about a whole heap of other things, too, damn you, and all just so you could live high on the hog without doing no work. You old louse, you, you should oughta just be grateful we didn’t all vote to feed you and your boys to the fuckin’ pigs ... if they’d’veet the kinda shit you’re made out of.”