As the last of the goods was taken ashore, Sindabaya joined MacKinnie and his staff on the quarterdeck. “We guard more than the true faith,” the priest said. He waved his hand to indicate the city and the harbor. “For all time that we record, the Temple has been the source of wisdom and hope for the people of this world. When other cities fall, we hold the means to build them again. If the Temple falls, what will be the source of knowledge? When God brought men to this place from the stars above, He set the Temple to watch over them and give them truth. That is our burden, and we will not fail.”
MacKinnie watched an officer drive one of the slaves into his place in the ranks, and said nothing. Sindabaya noted Nathan’s expression and grimaced. “The world has changed. Once they went singing to their tasks. Ships brought wealth to be laid at the steps of God’s Temple. Now few ships come, and the barbarians wait outside the walls, and my officers beat the convicts as I watch. But there is no other way! They will not work without blows, and the work must be done! The Temple must be saved!” He turned to the group on the deck and raised his hand in blessing, watched them narrowly for a moment, and left the ship.
Deluca climbed carefully to the quarterdeck as MacKinnie watched the Temple party drive men and ayuks, both overloaded, down the stone streets toward the warehouses.
“Now that they have inspected your ship,"Deluca said, “it is lawful for you to leave it. Will you visit the Lord Archbishop?”
MacKinnie nodded, selecting Longway, Kleinst, and Todd to accompany them. Deluca assured them that his own merchant’s guard would be sufficient, and would escort them back to the ship after their interview.
“But you will need our guards,” Deluca told them. “The streets are no longer safe. Thieves have banded together in great numbers, and attack even armed men. Our own guards are trustworthy only when together, yet there is nothing to steal and no place to buy food with what gold can be found. The city feels no hope for the future. Only the Temple has the will to fight. The people of this city once ruled the world, but now they are ruled by the Temple.”
They walked along the broad waterfront street. MacKinnie noted the empty dockyards, warehouses with the doors standing open, and everywhere the beggars and crowds of surly men who had once been longshoremen and sailors, owners of shops, landholders of small farms outside the walls of the city. It was little better away from the waterfront. They moved through a series of narrow, twisting streets overhung with buildings, lined with nearly empty shops. Men lay in rags even in the center of the smaller streets, and often they blocked the way.
They emerged from this maze of alleys to broader streets, each with a stone-line ditch running down its center. The ditches were partially filled with refuse, but surprisingly little for so primitive a system.
“The men on Temple charity carry away the garbage,” Deluca explained, “and bring barrels of water to wash the sewage away in the few dry weeks of the year. There is heavy rain in this city almost daily, but it never lasts long. This is the cleanest city on Makassar.”
MacKinnie remembered Jikar, which was swept daily by the Guild apprentices, but said nothing. Batav was cleaner than he expected a primitive city to be, certainly more so than the garbage-strewn warrens of South Continent.
There were people in the streets. Some wandered through the ground-floor shops, although there was little to buy. Every shop had a large crucifix at its door, and a wind chime whose major feature was a replica of the Temple from which various shells and other sounding materials hung. Most of the population was small and dark, although there was a fair number of the taller, fair-haired men like Vanjynk. The tallest were still smaller than MacKinnie and the two clergymen, and here and there someone would turn to watch the group before staring off at nothing again.
Once, MacKinnie saw a group of uniformed Temple guardsmen, with a bright-yellow-robed official walking in their midst. He asked Deluca who the man was, and was told, “A tax collector. Some of them have taken minor orders beyond the deaconate, but are not full priests. They don’t allow the priesthood to work directly on squeezing the population, but a lot of them have served a trick in that occupation before they take final vows.”
They arrived at a small courtyard, behind which stood a massive stone and log house. Two swordsmen stood in the courtyard, and opened the iron gates when they saw the bishop, then went back to their posts, lounging carelessly against the gate pillars.
“Two weeks arrears in their pay,” Deluca told Nathan. “It is strange. Many men in this city have nothing to eat, and you would think they would be glad of duties where they are well fed and have at least some money, but more and more throw themselves on Temple charity, work in the streets when they work at all, and refuse honorable employment. The city has lost its heart.”
MacKinnie nodded. The barbarians were at the gates, but the men of the city either thought themselves lost already, or refused to think about it at all. Only the Temple kept the enemy at bay, providing whatever spirit Batav had been able to muster. Nathan doubted that even the iron-willed Temple believers would be able to hold things together for long.
The inside of the house was sparse, showing both the lack of funds which had furnished it, and, perhaps, the austere temperament of the Archbishop. MacKinnie was shown into the great hall, where His Eminence sat in ragged splendor, staring at the dying embers of a fire which was not really needed to heat the room.
“As we supposed, Your Eminence,” Laraine said, “the ship was from the west. And more than we dared hope, it is owned by men from the Empire, although by their accents they are from a part I have never visited. A colony world?” he asked, turning to MacKinnie.
“I didn’t ask your origin when I offered to help you, my lord,” Nathan replied. “Is it necessary to discuss mine? The Empire contains many worlds, and the citizens of some are more fortunate than those of others. But despite the contempt the Empire feels for my world, it is my ship and my gold which can save your lives. We may even be able to help you in the work you came to do.”
Deluca gasped, but before he could speak the Archbishop said, “He speaks well. Let him continue, for God often sends help in strange disguises. Our work is with the souls of all men.” The old man waved toward a chair. “I gather that you have no way of calling the Navy to assist us?”
“We were not permitted such devices, my lord.”
The Archbishop nodded. “A colony world.” He nodded again. “The Navy could do nothing even if you could call them. Once we are dead, they will send a punitive expedition, and the Imperial Traders Association will be the loudest voice in demanding vengeance for the deaths of the priests of the Lord. The Church has more than once been used as a pretext for Empire.”
“I do not understand, my lord,” MacKinnie said.
“The Emperor has no wish to conquer these worlds.” At MacKinnie’s puzzled look, the old man halted. “Bring our guests something to drink.” He turned to MacKinnie. “You know nothing of Imperial politics. Are you a member of the Church ? ”
“New Rome has not yet come to my world, my lord. We are Christians, more or less. I was baptized into the orthodox church, which I am told is acceptable to New Rome.”
“Forgive my curiosity; it was not idle. It follows that you know nothing of Imperial politics. What are you doing on Makassar?”
“My king has sent me to head a trading mission, my lord. He rules the largest civilized country on my home world, and is allied with the Imperial ambassador. The