“So I am perhaps not a brown pony?”
“There is a Wilddog family name that means a ‘sorrel colt.’ But in Jackrabbit—” He shrugged.
“What do you know about her?”
“Only gossip, m’Lord. She has royal blood, but her small family is neither wealthy nor distinguished. She is old enough to be your mother, but she has never married. She lives with another woman as husband, and is said to hate men. Perhaps I should not tell you this. But it is not an uncommon thing among us.”
Ombroz met them at the edge of camp, his shaved pate shining in the sun. It was dotted with scars where skin tumors had been removed. Looking at him, the cardinal realized that his name in Wild-dog sounded a lot like “shaved bear,” although the priest claimed he used the razor to mark himself as different from the typical shaman. When the cardinal told him that Amen Specklebird had canceled his suspension from the Order of Saint Ignatz, and was considering his appointment as Father General of the Order, Ombroz laughed sadly.
“That will carry as much weight in New Rome as your recent promotion, m’Lord.”
“Well, yes, but the Pope must assert all of his rights and prerogatives as if no one doubted the legitimacy of his election. He must act the Pope in every way.”
“I understand that, but of course the Order will ignore my reinstatement. What about you, Eminence?”
“Well, at the very least, I shall invest you as a pastor of a Church in my Vicariate.”
Ombroz laughed again. “My Church is in my saddlebags. Your couriers bring my wafers and my wine along with my mail.”
“Even in saddlebags, a wandering Church needs a name.”
“It has a name. Our Lady of the Desert.”
Brownpony smiled. “The same name as the Pope’s old Order? Ordo Dominae Desertarum. Very well, and you would no doubt be happier if you changed orders?”
“If His Holiness consents. The Order of Saint Ignatz has been disloyal to the popes of the exile, and they haven’t made a move to recognize Pope Amen. I am on their list of their God’s enemies. So if His Holiness permits it?”
“Why not? He’ll agree, I’m sure.” The cardinal looked toward the crowded area. “Now, what’s going on? Where is Holy Madness?”
“He is in mourning. As you know, Your Eminence has arrived just in time for his father’s funeral.”
“His death was expected, was it not?”
“Yes, even planned.”
“Human sacrifice again?”
“It was a ritual killing, yes, but I prefer to think of it as euthanasia in his case. Still forbidden to Catholics, of course.”
“Did Chür Høngan assent to this?”
“No, he was excluded by the Bear Spirit shamans, because of his religion.”
“A religion his father shared.”
“Brokenfoot was out of his mind. He did not understand.”
“They are not going to—”
“Honor him? I’m afraid so. Tonight.”
“I wish I had come a day later.”
“I am amazed that you came alone! Where is Brother Blacktooth? Where is Wooshin and the Yellow Guard?”
“In New Jerusalem.”
“With the guns?”
“With the guns. You must know that the Pope is crossing the Plains to the south of us, probably camped for the night by now.”
“I know. I hope they let him pass. Eminence, there is a legate from Texark here. From Benefez. I would say you have arrived just in time.”
“Your young man told me. Who is Monsignor Sanual, and what does he want?”
“He is simply here to meet with the Bear Spirit, the Weejus, and the sharfs. Benefez has never condescended to this before. I wonder if he’ll be fool enough to proselytize. I dare say the Grasshopper sharf would have killed him as a spy, if he had tried to attend a meeting in the Grasshopper realm. But he is a guest of Chür Høngan’s bereaved family. I counseled Bearcub to play host to the fellow, because otherwise the Jackrabbit delegates would have been forced to accommodate him.”
“And thus either make him seem their protector or their ally. Very good, my friend. This will work out better than you could have known.”
“No, I knew that all the Jackrabbit Churches in the Province have been made subject to you. If you can win them over.”
“I cannot take the Churches or their pastors by force, but perhaps I can take their congregations away from them—with the help of enough priests loyal to the Pope. Of course, the priests have to speak Jackrabbit.”
“There are many in the Province already, m’Lord, and they are just the ones who will be loyal to the Holy Father, even though they were taught by the Archbishop of Texark. The Nomadic-speaking priests are mostly converted Nomads. They embraced the Mayor’s uncle’s religion, but not the Mayor or his uncle.”
“I’m glad to hear you affirm what I thought was true.”
“I also know about Kindly Light’s threat to have you atone to the Wild Mare Woman by spending the night in the Navel of the World, as they call it. Hultor Bråm will never be nominated, and he can’t make you do it. However, the Bearcub and I have hatched a plan. May I tell you now, or later?”
“Later, please. We are being observed, are we not?”
“Yes, and it’s a mistake not to be seen laughing together more than speaking seriously like this. Let me take you to the leading grandmothers and their spouses. Or do you need rest first?”
“Rest, please. And a bath, if that is possible.”
The cardinal slept for a few hours. When he awoke, it was dark except for the flicker of many fires. The Nomads were already celebrating the royal funeral, and there was chanting and dancing. He could smell the cooked sacrament even from inside his tent. When he came out into the firelight he was immediately joined by Oxsho, who pointed and said, “There’s your Father Ombroz.”
“Mine?” Brownpony eyed him curiously. “Holy Madness told me you were baptized. Is he not your pastor?”
Sheepish, the warrior shrugged. “Sometimes, but he shaves.”
“It sets him apart. It saves wearing his collar backward.”
“Bear Spirit men do not shave, but sometimes he acts as a Bear Spirit man, as right now. I like him, as we all do, but I do not understand him very well. You want to talk to him now?”
“I should, but I hesitate to interrupt his, uh, meal. He seems to be, if you know the word, zonked.”
“He has been smoking Nebraska keneb with the others.” Brownpony approached him. The unfrocked old priest of the Ignatz Order, whom Amen wanted to be its Father General, sat there on a heap of dried cow hides and gnawed with his good front teeth at the well-roasted remains of a human hand. He dropped the hand back in the bowl as Brownpony approached, but looked up at the cardinal brightly and without shame. Oxsho hung behind. Brownpony could see that he was not drunk but in an extraordinary state of mind from the Nomad sacramental mixture of potions he had consumed. After participating in tribal rites, he seemed a changed man to the cardinal, but Ombroz smiled at him lovingly. Brownpony met his smile with a gaze that seemed to come from a thousand miles away. I do not know this man, this old friend.
Ombroz was first to break the silence. “The old sharf willed me his right hand—an honor!—and an insult to refuse.”
The Vicar Apostolic remained silent, watching him.
“Sometimes,” Ombroz said, picking up the gristly hand of Granduncle Brokenfoot, “I take a piece of bread and consecrate it as the true body of Christ. And sometimes I take the true body of Christ and consecrate it as a piece of bread. Do you understand?”
“Ahh!” It was a surprised grunt from Oxsho. Brownpony looked at him curiously. Oxsho was smiling slightly, as if he did suddenly understand.