"Mend thy ways!" the preacher cried. "Cease to follow these false monarchs—or, I warn thee, the ground shall shake!" And he turned to hurry away into the forest, his face burning with embarrassment—and with anger at the young man with the hard smile who was, he was certain, the warlock who had held the earth still with his mind, when the preacher had sought to shake it.
Chapter Fifteen
Lutes and hautboys wove a tranquil melody, calming the spirits of all who entered the great church in Runnymede. The choir's voices rose to fill the nave as Their Majesties came in, arm in arm, their two sons walking before them with gravity far beyond their years. Footmen preceded them; maids came behind. A third of the household came to mass in the cathedral; the others attended in the chapel.
The royal party sat, and Catharine clasped Tuan's hand tightly, smiling. He smiled back into her eyes. For a few brief minutes the peace of God touched their souls.
Then the choir finished with a triumphant "Alleluia!" and the priest cried from the pulpit, "Dearly beloved in Christ!"
Catharine and Tuan spun about to stare at him. What had happened to the Introit? To the Confiteor, the Gloria, the Epistle, and Gospel?
"There will be no Mass in this Church on this Sunday," the priest announced grimly.
Tuan frowned, and Catharine's face darkened as a huge hubbub erupted all about them.
The priest grimly waited it out, then unrolled a parchment, declaring, "I must read to you a letter from our Most Reverend Archbishop!"
Catharine nearly bolted from her chair, but Tuan restrained her with a hand on her arm. "Let him speak. We are not yet despots—and 'tis better to have it said openly."
She subsided, fuming, while Alain and Diarmid stared up at them, frightened.
"Dearly beloved," the priest read, "it is with great sadness that I pronounce Tuan and Catharine, erstwhile King and Queen of this land, heretics against the Word of God and the Church of Gramarye, and do therefore declare them excommunicated from all services and Sacraments of our Church."
The hubbub turned into a roar this time, and even the footmen seemed to shrink away from Their Majesties. Catharine was on her feet, fists clenched tightly, face white, and Tuan was beside her. " 'Erstwhile!' " the Queen said grimly. "How dare he say 'erstwhile'!"
But the priest was waving for quiet. As the crowd subsided, they could hear him crying, "… and hear me out, ere I am silenced! His Grace the Archbishop doth say, 'I hearby call upon all good men and true, whose souls are devoted to God, to abjure this false prince and come to me here in my house in Ruddigore, to join in a holy march against these heretics who do tyrannize our fair Isle of Gramarye!'"
Now Tuan's face swelled with wrath; now, finally, he bellowed in rage, "Art thou done?"
"'Thine in Christ,'" the priest finished, coolly if quickly, " 'John Widdecombe, Archbishop of Gramarye by the grace of God.'"
"Say, rather, by the word of John Widdecombe!" Tuan thundered. "If thou hast finished, thou wilt doubtless leave this church, and thou shalt not say Mass!"
"In truth, I would not stay in the presence of an heretic," the priest stated, rolling up the letter with trembling hands. "Silence me if thou must, Tuan Loguire, but thousands of monks shall cry thine iniquity throughout the land!"
"I know some who shall not," Tuan called back, mastering his temper with difficulty. Eyes narrowed, he turned to the seneschal. "Sir Maris! Ride with all haste to the chapter house nearby, and beseech Father Boquilva to come say our Mass!" He turned to Catharine and said, more softly, "Now shall I not scruple to 'use' them!"
His answer was the glow in her eyes, and the clasp of her hands on his.
The noble hostages filed back into their hall, and for once there was no badinage of insults between the two parties. They took their places and sat, faces dark, gazing at one another with foreboding. No one spoke, perhaps because D'Auguste was absent, comforting his bride.
Finally Maggiore broke the silence. "My lords, it is war."
Ghibelli nodded heavily. "How can it be aught else, when the Archbishop doth excommunicate the King?"
"Yet 'tis plain that Rome doth not," Chester answered, "and that there be two orders of St. Vidicon now, not one."
"Aye, there is a St. Vidicon of Rome, and one of Gramarye. PestV Marshall threw his hands up in exasperation. "How can there be two Saints Vidicon when only one was martyred?"
" Tis a rebellion among the priests," Glasgow growled, "and fools we are not to have seen it."
"My sire hath declared for the Archbishop," Marshall said, glowering. "I had thought his example showed that the Archbishop was right in embracing change, and Their Majesties were wrong in.their foolish obstinacy."
"Aye," Graz agreed. "Yet if the Archbishop's priest will not say Mass in the presence of the royal heretics, but Father Boquilva will most willingly accord them the Sacraments…"
"Aye," Ghibelli whispered. "Who is the true heretic, eh? The King, or the Archbishop?''
He whirled to stab a finger at D'Auguste as the young lord came into the hall. "Riddle me that, eh? Thou, who dost ever believe thyself knowledgeable in all things—tell me! Who is faithful to God—His Majesty, or His Grace?"
D'Auguste froze, startled. Then he came forward, frowning. "I cannot see how he can be 'His Grace' when he hath cast us all into so much confusion of spirit. Yet the question for us, milord, is much more to the point: Who shall we march with? The King? Or…"
"Our mourners," Graz said softly.
They were all silent, staring at each other, the sudden fact of their own mortality shrouding their souls—the realization that they could die at the headsman's block, though none of them had yet seen twenty-five.
"Who hath declared for the Church?" Glasgow muttered.
"Thy father, Duke Stuart," Ghibelli answered, "and my sire. With him march Earl Marshall and Count Borgia."
There was no sign of relief on any face, but several nods; the young lords had heard only what they had expected.
"For myself," Ghibelli said slowly, "if my lord father doth willingly allow me to go to the block, I care naught." He swallowed, belying his own words. "At the least, I hold him blameless—nay, honorable and right, to uphold the rights of our estate. I doubt me not an my death will pierce him to the very heart and fuel the fires of his vengeance; he will be doubly determined to bring down this upstart Loguire. Tis for the good of the House of Savoy, and of all the great lords."
The room was silent.
Then Guelph said, "Thou hast the right of it—for myself and my sire. Yet what of our souls, eh? How if Father Boquilva be right and the Archbishop wrong?"
"Aye." Ghibelli met his somber gaze. "I have no great wish to suffer the tortures of the damned for all eternity, for no better reason than that my parent adhered to an heretical cleric."
"Yet," said Chester, "mayhap the Archbishop is right. What of that, eh? And we who adhere to Rome and the King might therefore burn without end."
"Oh, thou hast little concern!" Ghibelli exploded. "Thou wilt have the fullness of thy three score and ten ere thou dost face the Judgment! Thou wilt know the end of this quarrel, and which Church is true; thou wilt have time to recant and repent, an thou hast need of it! Yet we whose sires rebel, we go to the block on the instant, as the King doth saddle his mount!"
"Aye, I have a part free of care," Chester answered, meeting his gaze, "if I am not slain on the field."