«What would you require of me, to make a reconciliation with the Church?»
«Do you repent of your deeds?»
«Of the execution of Septimus de Nore — no. But I regret that I was obliged to bypass the authority of the Church, in my pursuit of justice».
A long silence fell between them as the archbishop considered. Then:
«I am willing to accept that statement as an act of contrition», he said. «However, I would require a more public act of penance».
«How public, and what sort of penance?» the king countered, warning in his eyes.
The archbishop again considered, not flinching from the king's gaze.
«For penance — thirty lashes, as you ordered given to Father de Nore», he finally said, holding up a hand to stay the king's protest. «I would allow, the use of a simple leather scourge of four unknotted thongs, rather than the weighted strands customarily used in the flogging of a criminal. But you shall accept this purging in the presence of the full cathedral chapter, assembled within the privacy of the chapter house at the cathedral».
«And you will lift the interdict, and the excommunication?»
«I will», the archbishop replied. «I shall personally receive you back into the bosom of Mother Church and grant you absolution, at which time you will receive Holy Communion, as a sign of your reconciliation. Do you agree?»
Donal closed his eyes for a long moment, then nodded.
«When can it be done?» he whispered.
«A preparation of three days' fasting should be sufficient», the archbishop allowed. «Bread and water only. I suggest you spend it in seclusion. You may have two men to accompany you for the purgation. I should warn you that I shall allow Oliver de Nore to be present with my monks».
«Do not press me too hard, Archbishop!» Donal warned.
«The affront was against his brother», the archbishop replied coolly. «He has a right to be present. But he shall not lay hand on the whip. My monks shall see to that».
Donal let out an explosive breath, then gave a nod.
«Agreed.
«Then, three days hence», Archbishop William said. «And have I your word that you shall abide by these conditions, I shall lift the interdict immediately upon my return to the cathedral».
«You have it», the king replied. «This should be Holy Week. I would not subject my people to any further deprivation».
«A commendable sentiment, Sire. Then, I shall expect your presence on Thursday evening — after Mass and the stripping of the altars, I think. Perhaps an hour after that, when those keeping vigil have mostly gone. That should ensure the privacy you require. We shall await you in the chapter house».
«As you say, Archbishop».
The king told no one of the accommodation he had reached with the archbishop, though by morning, with the interdict lifted, it could be surmised that some arrangement had been agreed. He canceled all public appearances for the next three days and kept to his private chambers, seeing no one. Limited to bread and water by the terms of his fast, he found his perceptions sharpening at first, and spent a great deal of time considering, as fully as possible, the many interlocking ramifications of the past several months since Twelfth Night.
Most wide-reaching, of course, was the rift he had created between Church and state, by his defiance of canon law — though that was about to be rectified. More personally troubling was the act that had started the unfortunate chain of events. With Krispin dead, not only had he lost a son, but the intended protector for his firstborn.
It was a deplorable state of affairs, and had haunted him increasingly as the weeks passed, for he was growing no younger. The aftermath of Krispin's murder had underlined how precarious was the safety of anyone possessing powers unlike the rest of humankind; pretty Alyce de Corwyn was still excommunicate, and Jessamy had become a pitied recluse, still mourning the death of her son. With the right preparation, young Brion would have powers not unlike those of a Deryni — and might also fall victim to those who hated such things, if he had not protection and guidance.
For that, the king decided he must provide another protector. And as he contemplated this need, a possible plan began to take shape in his mind.
It was Holy Thursday, the night the king was to present himself at the cathedral, that the Lady Jessamy MacAthan also made her way there, first to attend the Maundy Mass, with its washing of the feet. But then, as the stripping of the altars began, with the solemn processions of the Reserved Sacrament to the altar of repose, she slipped down into the crypt to pray beside her son's tomb.
She had found herself visiting the graves of her children with increasing regularity in the past months, for she had begun to sense that she would not be long in joining them. She now believed a canker to be festering in her womb, and guessed that the affliction very likely would be mortal. At times, when she lay awake in the night with the dull pain gnawing at her innards, she even wondered whether God was punishing her for bearing this, the last of her children, and the only boy among them. Even more, she worried that the boy's father had not been her husband.
«Dear, dear Krispin», she murmured, lifting her head to run a caressing hand across the top of the marble lid, now carved with his name and the years of his brief life. She had brought spring wildflowers to adorn the tomb for Easter, as she had done for her other children buried here, and she shook her head in sad resignation as she inhaled deeply of the flowers' clean fragrance.
«I thought I might find you here», came a low voice from the doorway behind her.
She had not heard his distant footsteps, over the murmur of chanting voices in the cathedral above, but she knew his presence, and only half turned her head toward him, resenting his intrusion.
«Good evening, Sire. I am surprised that you would come here at this hour».
«You did».
He came and knelt beside her, bowing his head briefly in prayer and then crossing himself before turning to sit on the kneeler beside her, facing the only exit from the chamber.
«I miss him, too, Jessamy», he said after a moment.
She sank down to also sit, hunkering down in the lining of her cloak, for it was chill in the royal crypt.
«All the same, was it wise for you to come here, being excommunicate?» she asked.
«I, too, have children buried here», he replied. «And shortly, I go to make my peace with the Church. Besides, I left two good men standing guard upstairs. No one may enter save by going past them. And your maid is keeping vigil before the altar of repose — and will do so until I rouse her, or you do».
«Then, you came here specifically to see me», she ventured.
«In part. And to avail myself of the witness of only the dead».
«Then, you chose well, for I shall soon be among them», she said.
«What?» He kept his voice low, but his surprise was unmistakable.
«I have a canker in my womb. I doubt I shall see the autumn».
His silence was like a wall between them.
«I am very sorry to hear that», he finally said softy.
She shrugged. «I am sorry to have to say it. I had hoped for many more years. Sadly, I am not to be granted that». She shrugged again and sighed.
«But that is not why you came down here to seek me out. Nor, I think, was it to visit my son — our son».
«No». He turned his face slightly away from her, scuffing at the grit under his boot. «I go later to meet with the archbishop and his monks, to purge myself of my guilt in executing our son's killer — not the man's death, but the going outside canon law to do it. I have been fasting for three days. It is true that fasting sharpens the mind».
«I have long told you that», she murmured, smiling faintly as she leaned her head against the side of her son's tomb.