Pendragon

Bishop Daroc's anger flared. 'Your impertinence is unbecoming, Lord Cador. Oh, yes, we know you, too. You would do well to heed our indictments, who hold sway over the eternal security of your soul.'

'I had thought,' Cador responded coolly, 'that God alone held dominion over my soul. And since I have placed my trust in him, say and do what you will – I fear no mortal man."

Bishop Seirol pressed on with his attack. 'Hear me, proud king! Do you deny that the enemy overruns the land with impunity? Do you deny that the land is wasted by pestilence?'

'How,' replied Arthur slowly, 'could I deny what is perceived by even the dullest eye? You must know that I have sent messengers far and wide throughout the land with the warning.'

An expression of triumph transformed the bishop's face. He raised outspread arms and turned this way and that, exulting in his imagined victory. 'Hear me, warriors of Britain!' Seirol cried in a thunderous voice. 'These twin travails of plague and war have come upon us by the immorality of one man!' He flung a hand at Arthur and shouted, 'Arthur ap Aurelius, you stand condemned of God. Truly, the evil ravaging the land flows from your iniquity alone, and from the wickedness of your reign.'

The accusation hung in the air for a long, awful moment. Then Cai's voice cracked the stunned silence. 'Iniquity and wickedness?' he hooted in sharp derision. 'Bear, we have heard enough from this puffed-up toad. Allow me to run them out of camp with the flat of my sword.'

'By what right do you come here like this to defame the King of Britain?' demanded Gwenhwyvar tartly.

'I am the Bishop of Lindum!' Seirol cried. 'I speak for the holy Church of Christ on Earth. Since there is but one Saviour, we are united in one body. Thus, when I speak, I speak for God.'

'I am Caius ap Ectorius of Caer Edyn,' Cai spat, stepping towards the churchman, his hand on the hilt of his sword. 'I say you are an addled windbag, and I speak for every man here.'

The absurdity of Seirol's charge defied us to take it seriously. But the bishops were in dead and utter earnest. They had worked themselves up to this preposterous indictment and meant to have.their full say.

Bishop Petronius, his features convulsed in a murderous scowl, pushed forward. 'Kill us if you will,' he hissed. 'We expected no less from you. All the world shall know that we were martyred in pursuit of our duty by vicious and spiteful cut-throats.'

'Persist in speaking to your king thus,' Bedwyr warned, his voice low with menace, 'and we will not disappoint you, priest.'

'Bloodshed and murder is all you know!' charged Bishop Daroc. 'Death will not stop our voices. The truth will not be silenced! Our blood will cry calumny from the very ground!'

'Shall we put it to the test?' Gwalchavad inquired.

Arthur raised his hand. 'Peace, brothers,' he said, his tone even. He looked to Seirol. 'You have made grievous complaint against me, friend. Now I would hear your proof.'

The bishops exchanged glances and an expression akin to worry flitted across Seirol's flushed face. They had thought the charge self-evident and had not anticipated a direct challenge. So do the arrogant and self-righteous ever remain swift to observe the mote in others' eyes, while oblivious to the log in their own. They trembled now, for the first time beginning to doubt themselves.

'Well, I am waiting,' pressed Arthur. 'Where is your proof?'

'Beware, vituperous priests,' I warned, stepping forward. 'You stand in the presence of one whose honour is above reproach, but instead of praising him as you ought, you impugn him with foul slander. Woe to you, and shame! Were you men of honour you would fall on your faces and plead forgiveness for your sins. Were you true servants of Christ you would drop to your knees and beg pardon!' I shouted, and the air shivered. 'Pray mercy from the king of kings on earth who rightfully holds the rule of this land from the High King of Heaven. Kneel before him, for I tell you the truth: you stand to forfeit your worthless lives.'

No one had spoken to them like this before, and the perfidious monks gaped in horror and disbelief. Yet they were so consumed with condemnation and their own self-importance that they could not accept the truth as I spoke it.

Bishop Seirol, infuriated by my outburst, lunged forward angrily, recklessly. 'You ask for proof.' he cried. 'You ask for proof! I tell you the proof of my accusation stands beside you, O King.'

With that, the bishop lofted his cleric's staff and gazed around. With a flourish of exaggerated pomp, he levelled the crozier and pointed. I felt my blood surge within me as I prepared to meet his allegation; I would meet and answer the slandering monk, stroke for stroke. But it was not me he pointed to.

No, that unjust honour fell to Gwenhwyvar.

'Behold!' the bishop crowed. 'She stands brazen and unashamed in the sight of all. What need have I of further proof?'

Both Arthur and Gwenhwyvar were taken aback by this extraordinary outcome. The nature of the accusation escaped them. It did not escape me, however; I knew precisely what the foul churchman insinuated.

'For the love of Christ, man,' I whispered harshly, 'withdraw and say no more.'

'I will not withdraw!' Seirol exulted. He now imagined he had won his case, and made bold to pursue his victory further. 'This woman is Irish!' he said, his voice ripe with insinuation. 'She is foreign and a pagan. Your marriage to her, O King, is against God's law. As sure as you stand beside her, you stand condemned.'

Petronius, emboldened by Seirol's example, entered the dispute. 'Since the beginning of the world,' he charged, 'never was there plague in Britain – until you became king and took this pagan Irish woman for your queen.'

It was difficult to determine which he thought the worse: that Gwenhwyvar was pagan, or that she was Irish; or, indeed, that she was a woman.

Bishop Daroc thrust himself forward. 'It is the judgment of God upon us for this immoral king's crimes. God is not mocked. His laws endure forever, and his punishment is swift.'

Arthur, grave and calm, replied in a voice so even and restrained, that hearing it froze the marrow of those who knew him well. 'I am no scholar of holy writ, that I freely confess. My life is otherwise spent.'

'In bloodshed and strife is your life spent,' sneered Petronius – and was swiftly silenced by the arch of Arthur's eyebrow.

'But tell me now,' Arthur continued, raising his voice slightly, 'is it not sin to bear false witness against a brother?'

'Well you know it,' replied Seirol smugly. 'Under God's law, those stand condemned who exchange the truth for a lie.'

'And does not this selfsame law you invoke invite him who would condemn another to first present himself blameless?'

The bishop all but laughed in Arthur's face. 'Do not think to turn that great teaching to your defence,' Seirol crowed. 'I was shriven at dawn and bear no taint of sin which can be reckoned against me.'

'No?' wondered Arthur, his voice the warning rumble of thunder. 'Then hear me, impudent monk. You have sinned three times since you came into this camp. And for those sins I call you to account.'

'You dare malign a Bishop of Christ?' charged the outraged cleric. 'I have not sinned once, much less three times.'

'Liar!' roared Arthur, finally roused to the attack. He lifted a balled fist and slowly raised one finger. 'You accuse me of iniquity and wickedness, and call down the judgment of God upon me. Yet when I demand proof of these accusations, you offer none. Instead, you carry the assault to the woman God himself has given me.'

'Regarding Gwenhwyvar – ' he slowly raised a second finger – 'you call her pagan who is, like yourself, a Christian born of water – a baptism to which fact I can call to witness Charis of Ynys Avallach and Abbot Elfodd himself. And since, as you happily remind us, there is but one Saviour and all who call upon him are united in one body, you do falsely judge her and call her pagan who is in truth your sister in Christ. Thus, you twice condemn one who is innocent.'