Alleyne made a skeptical sound. "Your pardon, Father, but divine intervention is a bit of an antiseptic term to describe the worst disaster in human history. And I fail to see how anything could be worse."
Dmwoski smiled, invincibly courteous. "God's lessons sometimes appear harsh, to our fallible perspective; consider Noah. Or consider what our Lord himself suffered at Gethsemane; without shedding of blood, there is no remission of sin. I always thought that the Flood was a metaphor, but after the Change, who knows? Without the Change, we might have destroyed ourselves altogether, or used genetic engineering and other forms of meddling to abolish genuine humanity from within, perhaps removing death itself, until there was no limit to the cruel empires of pride and lust that we could erect. God knows; I do not. And how will the Change be seen many generations hence? This particular space of years does not gain any special significance because our lives happen to occupy it, remember."
"That's more or less what many another preacher you hear these days says, some of them-no offense-quite cracked. It's also what Pope Leo proclaims," Nigel observed.
Dmwoski nodded. "However, Martin Luther-an intemperate and hasty man, but far from a fool-once remarked that humanity is like a drunken peasant trying to ride a horse. We mount, fall off on one side, remount, and fall off on the other. God was undoubtedly telling us something when He sent the Change, but I doubt that His intent was that Holy Church should repeat all the many sins and errors we so painfully repented. We are called, I think, to revive the best of our long tradition."
Alleyne spoke up again, a smile in his voice: "I gather you won't be telling anyone Slay them all, God will know his own, then, Father. That's reassuring."
The churchman raised a hand, acknowledging the point with a rueful lift of an eyebrow. "The Albigensian Crusade was, I will admit, not the Church's high point."
"Or burning any witches," Astrid added dryly.
Dmwoski pointed an admonishing finger at her. "No. Mind you, my daughter, your remarkably young Old Religion is patently false, erroneous, conducive to sin in some respects, and-frankly-rather childish."
Eilir stuck out her tongue, put her thumb to her nose and waggled her fingers defiantly: the two monks chuckled. Plank spoke:
"Yet if mistaken and childish, not altogether evil or utterly damnable: as Rule's twisting of holy things is. A truth perverted is more terrible than any simple mistake, for such evil draws power from the good it warps, and discredits it by association."
"Exactly," Dmwoski said grimly. He hesitated, then went on: "I gather you can tell us definitely that the Holy Father did not survive? Rule has been spreading various tales purportedly from the Tasmanian ship that brought you here from England."
"No, I'm afraid he died in the Vatican, when it was overrun and burned about a month after the Change," Nigel said. "I led a mission to Italy four years ago on King Charles' orders, primarily to remove works of art or store them safely-a gesture, and a frustrating gesture, since there was so much: In any event, there are groups of civilized survivors in Italy, not just the scattering of neo-savages you find in France or Spain. Some small enclaves in the Alps, a clump of towns and villages in Umbria, and a somewhat bigger clump in Sicily around Enna. Several hundred thousand altogether. They all agree that Pope John Paul refused to leave Rome himself, although he ordered some others out of the city just before the final collapse; the Swiss Guard escorted them. Cut their way to safety, rather."
The clerics sighed and crossed themselves. "He is with the saints now. There is still some organized presence of the Church there in Italy, then?"
"Yes; at least one cardinaclass="underline" what was his name, Alleyne? We met him briefly in Magione."
"A German name, Father Dmwoski: Yes, Cardinal Ratzinger; he was in charge, and had regular links with the other parts of Italy and southern Switzerland."
"Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger?" Father Plank said, giving Alleyne a keen look as the younger Loring nodded.
Nigel went on: "There was talk of a general Council once regular sea-travel resumes further afield, to discuss the implications of the Change. Talk of reunion with the Church of England, too. And about eighteen months before we left, we heard that the College had been summoned, though it was expected to take some time-the largest surviving group of Catholics is in South America, of course, and conditions there are chaotic at best and a nightmare at worst. So you gentlemen should have a new pope by now, probably the cardinal we met, though God alone knows when we here will have regular communications with Europe again. I'm sorry we can't give you more details, but we had other priorities."
Both the clerics looked pleased; the abbot nearly rubbed his hands, and Plank went on:
"Cardinal Ratzinger is an extremely sound man, a theologian of note, with a special devotion to our own St. Benedict. Mother Church is in good hands, then. That's very good news indeed, Sir Nigel, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts."
My oath, though, that was a strange visit, Nigel thought as he inclined his head in polite acknowledgment.
He'd always liked Italy before the Change; friends of his had lived in Tuscany, or Chiantishire as it was sometimes called, although he'd found their playing at peasants in the over-restored farmhouses that had once housed real ones rather tiresome. And after the Change, the empty parts of the peninsula were simply more of the all-too-familiar dangerous wilderness, the ruined cities an old story by then. The living Umbrian towns, though:
It was very strange to see the Switzer pikemen under the walls of the Badia: that gave me a bit of a chill. I half expected Sir John Hawkwood and the White Company to come over the hill next, or at least Sigismondo Malatesta and a troop of condottieri.
"The Church spanned the world before air travel," Dmwoski said stoutly. "Before telegraphs and steamships, for that matter. We have free bishoprics in Corvallis and Ashland and here at Mount Angel, and others within reach- Boise, and the Free Cities in the Yakima country. We Benedictines have carried the torch through a Dark Age before. Succisa Virescit -'pruned, it grows again.' We will knit the threads once more, here and all over the world; the more reason to resist the damnable pretensions of the antipope in Portland."
He shook back his shoulders. "And so, back to the immediate problem."
"If you could tell me exactly what forces you have available, then?"
"We can commit twelve hundred troops; all our knight-brethren, four hundred heavy infantry and the best of the town and country militia," Dmwoski said decisively. "That will leave enough over to hold these walls, at a pinch. And I will lead the force we commit, of course. But we cannot sally effectively unless the enemy can be drawn off from their investment of the town, most particularly their heavy lancers. We do not have the numbers to fight them in the open field by ourselves, and we have no cavalry to speak of. And whatever we do must be done before they bring in more men from elsewhere."
Nigel fought down a yawn and shook his head. "Drawing them out of their camp and into the field we can manage," he said. "This will require careful coordination, though. We have to draw them off, but not so far that we're out of supporting range of your force, or we risk being defeated separately."
"Very careful coordination." Dmwoski smiled. "And clear heads. I suggest we begin tomorrow with my staff, after Lauds."
The older monk rose to lead them to their beds. Dmwoski's hand rose to sign the Cross.
"Pax Vobiscum."
Castle Todenangst, Willamette Valley, Oregon