The Quest for Saint Camber (19 page)

He picked up a black cloak with capelets and slung it around his shoulders.

“You're just damned lucky no one bolted this morning, when you were distributing ashes. I hope you realize that. You and I both know that if you'd wanted to, even that brief contact—long enough to trace a cross on a man's brow—would have been long enough to take over just about any mind that approached that altar rail. Fortunately, they don't know that. And Ash Wednesday only happens once a year.”

Duncan sighed, shoulders slumped dejectedly, and Morgan started to move quickly out of Arilan's way as the Deryni bishop glanced at the door, but Arilan stepped on the squared cross of the Transfer Portal in the center of the room instead.

“Very well, then,” Arilan said. “I'll leave you now. I may or may not be back in time for the privy council meeting. If I'm not, please give Kelson my regrets. Now that I've gotten
your
explanation of why you did what you did, I have to try to explain it to some other people who already look on the two of you with a somewhat jaundiced eye.”

“The Camberian Council,” Duncan breathed. “Well, I don't suppose it can make matters any worse.”

“Not for you,” Arilan replied, without a trace of humor in his voice. “And as for you,” he went on, for the first time even acknowledging Morgan's presence, “I'd better not
ever
find out it was you who put him up to this.”

Morgan only shook his head, truly afraid of Arilan in that instant for the first time in his life. But Arilan only gave him a final, stern look, then bowed his head and closed his eyes to make the Portal connection—and disappeared. Only when several seconds had passed did Duncan heave a great, shuddering sigh and sign for Morgan to lock the door.

“I'm sorry you had to witness that,” Duncan said, rising woodenly to begin unknotting the girdle of violet silk binding his waist. “He was waiting for me when we came back from Mass. Poor Shandon never knew what hit him.”

Across the room, the younger priest still slumped against the vestment press, oblivious to what had gone on. Morgan went to him, checking for a pulse and extending his own controls to override what Arilan had set, then glanced at Duncan.

“No harm done, though it was damned inconsiderate of Arilan to leave us his dirty work to finish up. Shall I put him through the motions while you finish changing?”

Duncan's muffled assent came from inside the alb he was pulling off over his head. Smiling mirthlessly, Morgan returned his attention to the unconscious Shandon, shifting one hand to the man's brow.

“All right, Father, you've napped long enough. You're not to remember anything that's happened since you came back from Mass. Not Bishop Arilan's presence, or what he did to you, or any of the conversation that took place—or even these instructions. When I tell you to, you're just going to open your eyes and finish unvesting. I came in while your back was turned. Be aware of your heartbeat now and, when you've counted ten, wake up and follow the instructions I've just given you.”

He released the man then and went to help Duncan do up the buttons of the plain black cassock he had exchanged for his more formal purple one.

Part of your new, low profile?
Morgan sent silently, as Shandon stirred and began taking off his own vestments, as if there had been no interruption whatsoever.

“I suppose I should be glad you got here at all,” Duncan replied verbally, one eyebrow raised in wry disapproval as he wrapped the cassock's plain, black silk cincture around his waist and let Morgan help fasten it. “Assisting the priest to dress is no substitute for hearing Mass, though. What
am
I going to do with you?”

It was an old game they played, though Morgan could sense the edge of leftover turmoil beneath the familiar banter. But they must keep it up for Shandon's sake.

“Why, continue to pray for me, I should imagine. I—ah—didn't get as much sleep as I should have liked. You were right about the Vezaire port.”

“Hmmm, I dare say.”

Duncan thrust his arms distractedly through the sleeve openings of a black, fur-lined mantle that Morgan held for him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he picked up his jewelled pectoral cross, kissed it, and looped its chain over his head, though he tucked the cross itself inside his cassock so only the chain showed. He was cool and distant now that Arilan was gone, his mind close-shuttered, almost as if he were angry with Morgan.

“Is the king waiting for us?” Morgan asked, to get conversation rolling again.

“Yes. He and Dhugal are poring over maps in the library. He was disappointed you didn't join them for Mass. Father Shandon, we'll be in the library for the rest of the morning. After that, we'll be at a privy council meeting. Alaric, are you coming?”

Not until they were outside the sacristy and moving along the ambulatory aisle that ran behind the high altar did Morgan dare to speak again.

“You're shutting me out, Duncan,” he murmured. “Don't do that to yourself. It's Arilan who put you out of sorts, not I. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I think Dhugal and Kelson should know what's happened, first. Then all four of us can talk about it. Arilan is right in one respect, though. I
didn't
think out all the consequences of what I did, before I decided to do it. And maybe I did let my love for Dhugal cloud my duty to my church. God, what if it eventually puts one of those other priests at greater risk?”

He stopped short in the shadow of a doorway leading to a side chapel and simply started to shake, eyes tightly closed and clasped hands jammed hard against his teeth.

“God, what have I done, Alaric?” he managed to whisper, for an instant transported back in memory to the hot flames leaping up around him. “I may have put them nearer the fire!”

Himself deeply shaken, Morgan laid both arms around his cousin's shoulders and simply held him close for several seconds, trying to ease comfort past Duncan's static, brittle shields.

“You don't know that, Duncan,” he murmured. “At this point, you don't even know who they are. And there isn't going to be another fire.”

“What if there is?”

“We have enough to worry about, without taking on all the ‘what ifs' as well. Let's go on to the library, shall we? This isn't the best place for a discussion.”

“You still haven't explained
why
he did it,” someone said an hour later, not for the first time, when all seven of the presently filled seats on the Camberian Council were occupied and Arilan had made his report. His fellow councilors were
not
happy with his news.

“I've told you, I don't know,” Arilan replied. “I'm not certain
he
knows, though I'm sure that Dhugal was a strong motivating factor. As a Deryni, I must point out that there
are
pluses to this entire matter, of course. Having two more Deryni openly at court and as strongly under the king's protection as they are can only help our overall cause. As a bishop, however, I'm appalled. And I can tell you that Cardiel is not exactly overjoyed, either.”

Barrett de Laney, senior to any other member of the Council, touched bony but agile fingers lightly to the co-adjutor's wand lying on the ivory tabletop before him. The spring sunshine washing the faceted dome of the Council chamber flooded the chamber with purplish light and danced rainbow flashes off the head-sized crystal suspended from the center of the arched ceiling, but Barrett could not see it—though he could feel its warmth. The emerald eyes had been blind for more years than most of his fellow councilors had been alive. He cocked his head in Arilan's direction, however, seeing with Deryni senses far more clearly than mortal eyes had ever seen.

“What will Cardiel do, Denis?” Barrett asked. “Will he try to take Duncan's mitre?”

“I don't think
he
will.” Arilan glanced at the table, running a fingertip along one of the bands of gold set into the ivory surface. “Unfortunately, it isn't entirely up to him. Bradene is senior archbishop.”

“Bradene is in Valoret, preparing to convene the synod,” said a voice at Arilan's left elbow—Kyri, the youngest of the three women at the table. “He has been occupied with cleaning up after Loris and running the affairs of the Church in the northern half of the kingdom. He has two vacant bishoprics, with no one to see to the care of the souls resident in them, and several bishops under disciplinary consideration. To me, that suggests that Bradene will follow Cardiel's recommendations for matters in the south. So, what will Cardiel recommend?”

Arilan shook his head. “I can't answer that. He wouldn't
initiate
a move to take Duncan's mitre, but he might allow himself to be pressured into such an action if enough of his bishops were adamant enough. He's come to love Duncan almost like a son, even knowing he's Deryni—in fact, he's fascinated by our powers. But he's an archbishop, first and foremost. He'll do what he feels is best for the Church. A lot will depend on how the other bishops take the news.”

“That's all at least a week away, then,” said Laran ap Pardyce, from the other side of Kyri. “What about immediate repercussions? Will Cardiel suspend him?”

Arilan shrugged. “He did mention the possibility—though that was last night, in his first anger at what Duncan had done. I think he was as much hurt as angry that Duncan didn't consult him first. Early this morning, though, when he'd cooled down a bit, he said he'd wait and see how public reaction went, that perhaps just a voluntary suspension of public function would be sufficient, at least for now. I think he means to talk to him this afternoon. Kelson called a privy council meeting for noon.”

Tiercel de Claron, seated across from Arilan and Laran, tilted his high-backed chair slightly onto its back legs, looking thoughtful.

“What about your Deryni priests in human clothing, Denis?” he asked. “Are they safe?”

Arilan nodded. “For the present. They're all very young, though. Not one is over twenty-five. I'd planned to ordain two more at Easter.
Damn
, why couldn't Duncan have waited!” he exploded, slamming a fist on one arm of his chair. “In another few years, he could have had a see of his own, and then
both
of us could have been ordaining Deryni priests. Even if he keeps his mitre now, they'll probably never let him ordain—for fear of just that result.”

“Perhaps, then,” said a slender, ageless-looking woman seated two chairs right of Arilan, “you had best turn your energies to making sure the law changes to allow Deryni to be ordained, rather than continuing to work around the law.”

Arilan glanced at the woman almost guiltily. He might have known that Sofiana would come up with that argument.

“If I knew how to do that, don't you think I
would?
” he said. “Do you think I
like
having to live the way I've lived for the past twenty years, knowing how much more I
might
have done, but not daring, for fear of losing all? And we've gotten the death penalty removed, for God's sake! I'd hardly call that ‘working around the law.'”

“Perhaps what Sofiana is saying,” said Vivienne, farther to Arilan's left, “is that now you have an admitted Deryni within the episcopate—as well as yourself, who are unknown to all but him and Cardiel. And I gather that this Bishop Wolfram was not wholly antagonistic to the notion that Duncan might be Deryni, when he sat on the tribunal last week. That's possibly four, then, counting Duncan himself, who could probably be counted upon to support a change in the law.”

“I've already suggested that Duncan not go to Valoret,” Arilan replied. “At least not in the beginning, until I can ascertain which way the wind is blowing. We have some bishops to replace, however, and some of those remaining were all too eager to support Edmund Loris, not a twelvemonth ago. Still, I suppose it's a start.”

“Of course it's a start,” Vivienne muttered, pausing to cough into a wadded square of embroidered linen. “Miserable catarrh! You start working on that, Denis, and keep us advised on further developments. Now I want to know about this other Deryni who spoke for the Duke Mahael yesterday. Al Rasoul, was it?”

Wearily Arilan nodded. He supposed that in the larger scale of things, a Deryni priest-
cum
-bishop
was
no more important than the latest posturings of a Torenthi ambassador, even if that ambassador
was
Deryni.

“He defies mere verbal description,” he said, leaning his head against the back of his chair and reaching to either side for his neighbors' hands. “It's easiest if I show you. You really had to be there to appreciate it, but I'll recreate it as best I can.”

As he sank into easy trance, focusing on the crystal above their heads, he felt the calm of the familiar link envelop him like a cloud, warm and comforting, and he closed his eyes to let the images flow.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

Ye have set at naught all my counsel
.

—Proverbs 1:25

Arilan returned to Rhemuth Castle in time for only the tail-end of the privy council meeting, but he was just in time to follow Cardiel and a very subdued Duncan into a private withdrawing room afterward, where Cardiel gave the younger bishop a royal dressing down in Arilan's presence.

“It isn't that I didn't know what you were, Duncan. I've known for some time what Denis was, too. I suppose I thought you realized that my overlooking of that fact was a personal act of conscience, and that I could only continue to overlook it as long as you played your part. When you chose to make it public, it became a concern of my office, not just my conscience.”

When Duncan only continued staring at his folded hands, Cardiel went on.

“Well, fortunately or unfortunately, the law is not clear at this moment just what I should do with you next. We've been successful in rescinding the death penalty for doing what you did in letting yourself be ordained, but the Statutes of Ramos still say it's illegal for a Deryni to be a priest.”