Tuan turned away toward his knights, face somber. "And what hast thou gained hereby, Lord Warlock?"
"Some dumb mistakes on their part, I hope, Your Majesty. An angry general doesn't think too clearly."
Tuan turned, then nodded slowly. "I should have known thou hadst reason. Yet I am saddened to lose this last chance at peace."
"Yeah, but you gave it your best shot. Your conscience is clear now—so go enjoy the battle!"
Tuan stared at him, then slowly grinned. "Well, I must own there will be excitement in it, at the least." He turned back toward his men, head high, eyes glowing. "Come, Lord Warlock! If we must fight, let us do it well!" He spurred his horse and broke into a canter.
Rod followed him, subvocalizing, Okay, so I let myself go. At least I couldn't have made things worse!
Let us only achieve victory as quickly as possible. Rod, Fess answered. The shorter the battle, the fewer the dead.
Rod pulled up between the King, who was rattling off commands to his couriers, and Father McGee, who was fixing him with a whetted gaze. "Have we proved well enough that the locals can't resolve their own dispute?"
"Yes, damn it!" Rod snapped. "Oh… sorry, Father."
"Think nothing of it. I would like to dam the stream of this quarrel, myself." McGee turned toward the rebel line. "In fact, I think I will… Ho!" He kicked his horse and galloped out into the space between the armies.
"What the— Come backl" Then Rod covered his face with his hand and moaned.
"What doth the Father-General?" Tuan stared, flabbergasted. "Hath he gone mad?"
"No, Your Majesty—only enraged."
"You impious renegade!" McGee was shouting as he galloped. "You Judas goat!"
The Archbishop whirled, startled, then saw the monk's robe and paled.
On a hillock at the rear the Lady Mayrose paled, too, and kicked her palfrey into motion, charging down into the troops, shouting, "Make way! Let me through! I must come to him, ere all is lost!"
The troops made way for her out of sheer surprise.
The Archbishop gulped air.
"Wilt thou so let a monk upbraid thee?" Di Medici demanded. "Come, milord! Thou wilt let thine authority be rent asunder! Thou must needs rebuke him!"
The Archbishop closed his mouth, jaw firming, and galloped out to McGee. "False priest, give way! Who art thou to chastise thine Archbishop?"
"Thou knowest full well who I am!" McGee roared in anger. "I am Morris McGee, Father-General of the Order of St. Vidicon of Cathode! Kneel to thy senior, false prelate!"
His voice carried very well—to both armies. Every man, knight or peasant, stared, his jaw gaping.
"He hath done it!" Tuan cried. "He hath made all understand the falseness of this schism!"
But the Archbishop countered. "Thou art an imposter, false man! Belike thou art not even a priest! None have ever seen the Father-General of the Order; never hath he come to Gramarye!"
"Yet now he hath!" McGee thrust a fist at the Archbishop, and a circlet on his ring finger flared in the sunlight. "Here is my ring and my seal!"
Only the Archbishop could see the narrow band of copper with the integrated-circuit chip in its tiny alligator-clip setting; but the knights in the front lines of both armies saw the blood drain from his face. " 'Tis the very signet," he whispered, "the ring made by sainted Vidicon himself! Oft have I gazed upon its impression in our books and our seal!"
The King's men didn't know what was going on, but they got the impression that things were going well. They cheered.
Their yell rang in Di Medici's ears with the sound of crumbling victory. He looked about him in desperation, thinking to ride out in force, but saw the doubt in his soldiers' faces and knew they would fold when the King's knights charged. As a last hope, he turned to the platoon of monks. "Up, men of cloisters! Thy master's beset! Come, follow me to his succor!"
The monks looked at one another, then back at the two clerics in mid-field. They didn't move.
"I shall impale any man who doth not march!" Di Medici shouted, and his sword hissed out of its sheath.
The monks eyed it with dread. Then Father Rigori stepped forward, and one after another, the others followed.
The Lady Mayrose galloped past them up to the Archbishop's side, and drew rein. "Be mindful, my lord! Of all the iniquities of the Roman Church! Of the corruption the Pope doth allow!"
"The Holy Father cannot enforce the commandments," Father McGee bellowed in answer, "for Christ said, 'Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's!'"
"The Pope doth allow usury!"
"The Church hath never approved more than moderate interest!" McGee insisted.
"He doth sell indulgences!"
"The Holy Father hath said that only prayer and good works—faith, hope, and charity—will hasten our journey to Heaven!"
Di Medici towered over him on a rearing horse. McGee spared him a single contemptuous glance, then turned back to glare at the Archbishop.
"Come, knights!" Di Medici bellowed, livid. "Come, my lords Florenzo and Perdito! School me these prating shave-pates, and bring them to heel!"
"Be still!" both clergymen bellowed, turning on him, and back in the line, the counts gave him only apprehensive looks in answer.
"The First Estate bids thee retire!" the Archbishop bellowed in full fury. "Godly matters are past thy comprehension!"
Di Medici gave him a long, narrow stare, then nodded and turned his horse away—and with a sinking heart, the Archbishop realized that, no matter what the outcome of this battle would be, he had lost Di Medici forever.
He turned back to save what little he could. "Rome cares naught for Gramarye, and would issue commands without understanding!"
"The Pope is so deeply concerned for thy nation, that he sent Father Uwell on an emergency mission, and told him to bring back as much knowledge about Gramarye as he could," McGee shouted back, "and now hath sent me, to issue directives based on understanding!"
Lady Mayrose clasped the Archbishop's armored fingers tightly. "But think, my lord! If Rome is right, you cannot have mel"
The Archbishop stiffened, alarm inflaming his face. Then he looked about him in desperation, and for the first time realized that his horse stood surrounded by his own monks. "Father Rigori!" he cried in glad relief. "Brother Hasty! All my brothers and sons! Seize this imposter!"
But Father McGee bent a stern eye on them, and they turned to meet his gaze.
"Wilt thou not heed me!" the Archbishop raged. "Seize him!"
Slowly McGee raised his fist, and all the brothers could see his ring.
"Thou hast sworn obedience!" the Archbishop shouted in desperation. "I command thee by thine own vows!"
"We are sworn to the Order, milord," Rigori answered, wooden-faced, "and therefore to the Father-General. Our loyalty to him must supersede our fealty to thee."
And slowly he knelt, bowing his head. In a slow wave, the others followed his example.
"Thou hast never truly believed my doctrines," the Archbishop whispered, ashen-faced. "In thine heart of hearts thou hast ever wished to be loyal to Rome and to the Crown, but did lack the courage to say it!"
Rigori kept his head bowed, and did not deny it.
"Cowards!" Lady Mayrose wailed. "If thou shalt not bring down the imposter, I shall!" She yanked the mace from the Archbishop's limp fingers and turned, swinging it high to strike the Father-General.
A shriek like an avenging angel's split the air, and a small figure on a broomstick shot down out of the sky. The mace jerked itself back in Lady Mayrose's hands, almost pulling her off her horse, then spun down toward her head. She screamed, wrestling with it, trying to hold its cruel barbs away from her face, and the Archbishop shouted in fright, leaping to her aid, catching at the mace.