The Archbishop lifted his head, turning to frown at Brother Alfonso. "What dost thou say?"
"Why, I but offer thee a goad with'which to prod this arrogant monarch, that he may show his true colors. But think, good milord—is not the Church of Gramarye the True Church?"
"Thou knowest it is!"
"Then what is he who doth deny it?"
The Archbishop stared at him, eyes widening. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Thou hast the right of it, Brother Alfonso. He is an heretic."
The monk behind the wrought-iron gate frowned. "What dost thou here?"
He seemed overly suspicious, but Hoban answered anyway. "I have felt a calling toward the sacred life."
The monk stood still a moment, then threw the latch and swung the gate open. "Enter and follow. Brother Miles!"
Hoban stepped in and saw another monk sitting beside the wall, looking up from his breviary. He closed it and tucked it into his sleeve as he rose, looking up inquiringly.
"Take this good man to the Master of Postulants," the porter said.
Brother Miles nodded and turned away, beckoning. Hoban followed.
The monk led him into a small building not far from the gate, into a plain whitewashed room with two straight chairs and some pictures of starving saints on the walls. "Sit," he advised, and left.
Hoban sat, gazing about him, rather daunted by the sterility of the little chamber. But as he sat, waiting, he began to feel his tension ebb away in spite of the lie he was living, and the plain white walls began to seem not sterile, but clear. In fact, by the time the Master of Postulants came in, he was feeling so much at peace that he didn't even think of his mission.
"Bless thee, fellow." The Master sat in the other chair. He was tall and lean and lantern-jawed, with the supressed eagerness of a pointer sighting a pheasant. "What is thy name?"
"I am called Hoban, Father." Hoban rose.
"Sit, sit." The priest waved him back toward his chair. "I am Father Rigori. Thou dost believe thyself to have a vocation?"
"I think that I may, Father." Hoban was amazed to realize he was telling the truth. "How may I be certain?"
"By living among us a few months, good youth." The Master's eyes glowed. "Yet say to me what hath put this thought into thy mind."
Hoban remembered, with a touch of guilt, his reaction to his brother Anho's first visit home, his own wondering if perhaps he, too, should seek the holy life. He should have acted on the thought. " 'Twas my brother, Father. When first he came home from these halls, I thought perchance his road should also be mine."
"Thou hast a brother here?" The Master almost jumped on it.
"Aye, Father. He is called Anho, and our village is Flamourn."
"I know him." There was a trace of doubt in the Master's face. " 'Tis two years he hath been among us; he is a deacon now. In truth, he will go to a parish in a year's time. Wherefore hast thou been so long in coming?"
Hoban hung his head. "Ah, Father! I am but a strong back on two legs, not a man of wit!"
"There is a great deal to learn, I own," the Master agreed, "yet 'tis far more a matter of zeal than of studies. When last cometh to last, 'tis for thine heart our Lord doth care, thy faith and thy charity. Wit matters little to Him; yet he who would lead a flock must needs have some understanding of God's Word."
"I wish to learn," Hoban said fervently.
"Then belike that will suffice." Father Rigori nodded. "Zeal alone may drill into thy brain the truths thou must needs con." He stood up. "Much more could I tell thee of thy life among us, good Hoban, yet I trust thy brother can tell thee more. Come, thou art hereby a postulant among us; I shall take thee to Anho."
He turned away, and Hoban followed, his heart leaping in his chest at the thought of seeing his brother; between his religious zeal and his delight at the thought of seeing Anho, not once had he thought of his mission for the King, nor of the Lord Warlock.
He had more of the same waiting for him, when he saw Anho.
"Ho, Brother brother!" Anho cried, clapping him on the shoulders. "Art thou so lonely for me, then, that thou must needs follow me even unto holiness?"
"He is thine for the nonce," Father Rigori said. He drew a saffron bundle from his robe and laid it on the cot. "Clothe him, Brother Anho, and guide him through the places a postulant must know."
"But he hath already seen the fields, Father, as he came near!"
Father Rigori smiled. "Thine humor will light us all, Brother Anho. Nay, but show him also those places he hath come to find—an thou knowest where to find the abbey." Rigori bowed and turned away.
"I dropped both my jaw and mine hoe when they told me thou hadst come." Anho picked up the saffron packet and shook it out; it was a monk's robe. "Strip off these clothes, brother, and don the cloth of the Order! What wrought this change of heart in thee, lad? Had the lasses tired of thy great thews and hot breath?"
Hoban grinned, stripping off his smock and leggings. "Eh, Anho! Thou dost wrong me! Ne'er did I touch a lass more than was seemly."
"Aye, but only for that thou couldst not keep thy mind on any one of them long enough! Thou didst ever see another more comely ere thou hadst fondled more than a kiss!"
"Kissing doth come before fondling, brother," Hoban corrected, pulling the robe on. "Yet 'tis not that book I have come to con."
"I' truth? And what could take thy mind from the lasses?"
There was an undertone of seriousness to the question. Hoban looked up, frowning. " 'Twas thyself, brother, when thou didst come home to sojourn—thyself, and the aura of peace and contentment thou didst bring."
"Ah." There was sympathy in Anho's gaze. "And art thou still so restless within thine heart?"
Hoban turned away, flushing.
" 'Tis well thou hast come," Anho murmured, "for with thy striving spirit, thou must needs else have become a drunk or a bandit."
"Leave off, Anho."
"I cannot now, Hoban, for the depth of thy feeling is of import here." Anho smiled. "Thou hast a need to feel that the world is different because thou art in it, hast thou not?"
"Aye, and the sprouting of crops is not so great a difference, brother."
"Nay, for if thou didst not plow that field, surely another would." Anho's smile turned merry again. "Fear not, brother! For the crops we raise in God's field can be nurtured only by those who have the gift of it! Between us, thou and I, we may sow the Word of God in many sinners and raise them to God's good harvest, eh?"
Hoban looked up at his brother, a glint in his eye. "Mayhap we shall, my sib, mayhap that we shall."
"I doubt it not!" Anho clapped him on the shoulder again and turned away, leading. "Come, we shall show thee the refectory, wherein thou shalt feed, but not hugely; and the abbey, wherein thou shalt pray at all hours, and far more than thou mayest wish! This, the dormitory, thou hast already seen—'tis where thou shalt sleep, but not long."
"Thou dost daunt me. Is the life so hard as that?"
"It is, brother, it is. Yet thou art hard enough for it, I warrant." Anho turned, the glint in his eye now. "Yet 'tis not hardship might deter such an one as thee. but boredom. Come, let us give thee thy first lesson—with vespers."
Chapter Twelve
Rod woke up to the sound of a bird trilling. He levered himself up onto one elbow, blinking around until things came into focus. The trilling, it turned out, was coming not from a bird, but from his daughter Cordelia.
She looked up brightly when she saw his head lift. "Good morn, Papa! Is't not a beautiful day?"
"If you say so," Rod grunted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "But much as I like being away from it all, sweetheart, I must admit that I prefer a civilized mattress."