"I know I have burdened thee for the rest of thy days," Hoban answered, muffled, "but I was afeard thou mightst be caught betwixt the Archbishop and those of his monks who do wish to be loyal to Rome. Yet here I have sprung about thee the very trap I did dread!"
"What, wilt thou berate thyself for doing what thou didst believe to be right? Oh, false man! Aye, I can believe 'twas concern for me that did bring thee here, as much as loyalty to thy King! Wilt thou tell me thou hast thereby done wrongly? Or didst thou come here only for adventure?"
Hoban was silent a moment, then answered, "Nay. I came out of faith, brother. And I would do it again if there was need, and no hazard to thee—for I do most truly believe in the Holy See and the Roman Church, though many say they are but child's tales. If they are, then am I still a child. Yet I do believe even more shrewdly in Their Majesties."
"Well, then, be still with this foolishness of remorse! Thou hast hurted me in no wise, but doth bear all the pain thyself! Would I could share it with thee! Pride of place matters naught, 'gainst thy soul—and I see that if sin was there, 'twas venial at worst. What matter advancement in the order!"
"If thou dost truly believe that," Hoban said with a wry grin, "thou art either a most lamentable excuse for a monk, or a most holy one."
"Most lamentable as a monk, belike—yet I am glad enough to be a good brother."
Chapter Nineteen
"Yon comes Romanov!"
Rod followed Tuan's pointing arm. Another barge had come into sight around a bend in the river, its deck filled with men and horses.
"He was your enemy once." Rod smiled. "Nice to see him coming to support you, isn't it?"
"In truth, it is!" Tuan turned to look out over the plain with a happy sigh. "So were they all, all our enemies, save my father! When Catharine did reign alone, we did defend her from their charge—thou and I, and our allies." His face clouded. "Still, some stand against me."
"There seems to be hope that the younger generation won't, Your Majesty. You never know—you just may really unite this country yet."
"Not if thou hast so poor a taste for kinging," Brom jibed by Tuan's belt. "For one who bore so long a face about the dangers of war herein, thou art happy enough to be a-field!"
Tuan grinned, straightening and squaring his shoulders. "I ever did feel more easy with harness on my back! And my conscience, too, is easy, for it rests secure in knowing that I have done all I can to preserve the peace!"
"Maybe too much," Rod pointed out. "Couldn't we maybe have pulled off a little sneak attack before the Archbishop gathered his troops?" He saw the appalled looks on the others'
faces, and held up a palm to forestall their objections. "No, no, don't tell me—it wouldn't have been honorable."
"I must admit there's some value to that viewpoint. Lord Warlock," McGee said, "especially in a medieval culture."
"Yeah, well, it didn't do us too much good to kidnap the fly in the monastery's ointment, did it? Brother Alfonso notwithstanding, the Archbishop's still gathering troops."
Tuan nodded. " 'Twas foolish, but I had hoped that, left to himself, he might repent and seek truce."
"Aye, 'tis odd." Brom scowled. "One would think he'd listen to his heart and his conscience, now that his evil angel is gone."
"Maybe he is listening to his heart—and who says he has a conscience?"
McGee braced him with a hand on his arm. "Charity, Lord Warlock, charity."
"Aw, can't I be a realist for once?"
Why start now? Fess's voice said behind his ear.
Rod frowned. "Odd echoes on this hilltop. Of course, it could be that Milord Archbishop has a backup Vice to tempt him. Could we ask Brother Alfonso about that?"
"Not unless thou dost wish to wake him," Brom rumbled, "which I would not countenance."
"Oh. He's really notwithstanding, huh?"
"Lying prone," Brom affirmed, "in sleep ensorcelled—and with one sitting by at all times, to be certain that sleep endures."
Rod nodded. "I don't suppose you could put in a few nightmares?"
The Archbishop came into his study with quick strides and quick glances, his agitation plain for anyone to see.
One of the glances fell on Lady Mayrose, who sat reading at a desk, head bent over a book, the sun striking a halo from the burnished gold of her hair. The Archbishop stopped, feeling a moment's awe at her beauty, and the beginnings of peace. She looked up with a radiant smile, then saw the look on his face ' and stared, appalled. "Milord Archbishop! I had not thought thou wouldst object if I—"
"Nay, nay!" The Archbishop waved the notion away. "I delight to see thee, milady!"
She relaxed a little. "Then what doth trouble thee, my lord?"
"Ah, 'tis the reports of our… 'scouts,' I believe the word is. Men who ride out to espy the enemy's troops." He turned away, wringing his hands. "And, oh! I had not thought the King would bring so many against us!"
Behind his back, Lady Mayrose's eyes narrowed.
"They will break our poor troops, they will maul them! And even should our forces prevail, there will have been so much slaughter! Oh, sweet Heaven!" He buried his face in his hands. "Can there truly be right in this course I have taken? Can the supremacy of the Church in Gramarye truly be worth the shedding of so much innocent blood?"
"My lord!" the lady cried. "I am appalled that thou canst doubt!"
The Archbishop looked up, surprised.
"When the King doth come against thee with so vast a force?" Lady Mayrose hurried toward him. "How canst thou think this battle to be any doing of thine? 'Tis only because the rule of kings is so godless that such bloodshed doth happen! Nay, but think!" She caught his hands between her own. "This battle will end battles! When the King hath knelt to thee and acknowledged the rule of God, there will be no more wars, no more spilled blood!"
"Yet how if…" the Archbishop swallowed. "How if the King be slain?"
"Why, then, 'tis thou must rule! The lords have acknowledged thy guidance already, have they not? Who else should govern, save the Church!"
The Archbishop stood immobile for a moment; then a gleam came into his eye.
Lady Mayrose saw it, and waxed poetic. " 'Tis thy duty to thy fellow man to press forward in this holy and righteous cause! Nay, 'tis thy duty, above all, to thy God, to be bloody, bold, and resolute!" She let the wrath grow, knowing how beautiful she was when she was angry. "Laugh to scorn the power of man! Thou wilt prevail, thou must prevail, for thou art God's voice in this kingdom!"
"Thou art the very soul of courage," the Archbishop breathed, clasping her hands tightly and gazing into her eyes. "Nay, 'tis even as thou dost say! We shall press forward; we shall prevail! And when the rule of God hath triumphed, all men of Gramarye, for a thousand years, shall bless thy name!"
She blushed and lowered her eyes (she did it so well!). "If I but strengthen thine arm, my lord, I care not for the opinion of men."
"Yet I must."
There was something about the way he said it that made her look up again, her heart beating wildly in her breast, and she saw the look of deadly seriousness in his eyes. "I must tell thee of this latest rule that I have proclaimed," he said, low, but with total conviction. "Since the tyranny of Rome be ended for we of Gramarye, we need not abide by those precepts of theirs that have been for so long absurd! Men must not demand interest for the lending of money; men must not give hugely to the Church, in expectation of fewer years in Purgatory—and clergy must be free to marry!"