"True, true," Rod sighed. "Tell them we're on our way, sprite."
Piers hurried home through the dark woods, wishing he hadn't come up with his bright idea of separating. It had seemed to make sense at the time; if they came back into Runnymede from different directions, there would be that much less chance of their wives guessing they'd been out in the forest. But now, with the wind moaning in the branches above him and the moon hidden, it didn't seem so sensible.
Something snapped behind him; he whirled, his heart leaping into his throat, but saw nothing. Only a branch, he thought, a twig snapping in the wind. Nonetheless, he turned back toward Runnymede and hurried even faster down the track. Everyone knew spirits filled the woods, and not just the Little Folk, no, but more vicious spirits, and far more dangerous…
Furious barking filled the night, and four huge glowing eyes rose up before him. Beneath them two black muzzles split, showing glowing fangs.
Piers howled in terror and whirled, running; but huge feet thudded behind him, then past him, and the dog reared up in front of him, whirling to glare at him with both its heads, each one barking with rage. Piers screamed and spun away, running flat out, hearing the howling behind him and the huge paws thudding on the earth, closer and closer…
And a root bulged up to trip him. He flew sprawling; a rock tore his cheek, and huge jaws closed on his ankle. He kicked out, bellowing in panic, and was somehow on his feet again, running and running with a limp now, the night filled with baying.
Then he was out of the trees and onto the road. Once he dared to look back, but once, and saw the two great heads just behind him, their eyes filled with flame, mouths filled with sharp teeth. He gasped, past screaming now, and jerked his head back to the front, running harder though he seemed to go slower, fire in his legs and breath rasping his lungs.
Then houses were flowing past him, he was into Runnymede now, and the great baying still filled the night around him. He swung around a corner—
And slammed into the arms of the night watch.
"Hold, fellow! What—"
Then they saw the hound and fell back shouting, pikes swinging up to guard, dropping Piers. He fell to the ground with a sob of thanks, that he no longer faced the horror alone.
The huge beast sprang, but the watchman grounded his pike butt and aimed the steel even as he shouted his fear. The blade clashed on the beast's teeth, and it sprang back with a howl.
"It doth fear cold iron!" one of his mates cried, and stepped forward one pace before fear jellied his limbs.
The huge, black, two-headed dog crouched, snarling.
Two watchmen screwed up all their courage and advanced, jabbing out with their pikes, crying, "Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" With ahowl the beast sprang back, but one pike head stabbed into its breast— And it vanished. The night was still. The watchmen looked about them, their hearts hammering. "Can it truly be gone?"
"Aye, praise all the angels and saints!"
"And the good smith who did forge this steel!" Then they heard the tearing sobs of relief behind them, and turned to stare at the poor huddled heap of a man. One of the watchmen frowned, bending down, and helped Piers to his feet. "And where shall we take thee, poor fellow?" one of them asked.
But another answered, his own voice still trembling, "To the castle."
"He said what?"
"That he is Archbishop of Gramarye," Catharine repeated. The sunset light struck down over the garden wall to backlight her golden hair, enveloping her in the flames of her wrath.
"No, no!" Rod waved it away."Not that part—it's not exactly unlikely. The other part, the business about Crown and Gown."
"He hath proclaimed that we should be guided by him, Catharine and I, in all our governing," Tuan answered. "At the least, 'tis the essence of his words."
"Yeah, it sure is! Why doesn't he just issue a demand for you to turn over the crown?"
"That shall follow, I doubt not." Catharine bit off the phrase as though it were a poisoned dart.
Tuan nodded. "Belike he doth but await our response."
"Well, no." Rod sawed back on his exasperation and anger, forcing himself to look at the realities of the situation. "He can't simply declare you to be deposed all at once. There are some intermediate steps he'll have to go through, such as declaring you to be heretics, then excommunicating you, and finally laying the land under the Interdict until you abdicate."
Catharine shuddered. "Could he truly so imperil the souls of so many?"
"If they stand between him and the power he wants, yes." Rod resisted the temptation to tell her that people could still go to Heaven without the Sacraments, that Christ's grace didn't absolutely have to be made official—but he resisted; the medieval mind wouldn't understand the chain of reasoning involved. To them Sacraments blurred into magic; the distinction wasn't at all clear, as it was to Rod. At least, he thought it was. "And that is the one thing in which our good Lord Abbot is strong-willed. Your Majesties—the pursuit of power. If he thinks he has a real chance, he'll call up an army and attack you with everything he can muster."
Tuan's face darkened. "Assuredly, Lord Warlock, a priest cannot so completely forget morality!"
"No, but he can find excuses to justify what he wants to do, and make it seem moral—even to himself. That's his weakness."
Catharine stepped into the shade of an apple tree. "Then we must strike first."
"Nay!" Tuan's head snapped up. " 'Twould be folly, and 'twould be sin!"
Catharine whirled to face him, amazed at his tone. She saw the look in his eye, and her face darkened, but with foreboding as much as with anger.
Rod sympathized; Tuan almost never contradicted her flatly. But this time there was religious fervor behind it, and that meant he wouldn't even think of backing down. This could be a graver danger to the Crown than a clerical rebellion—a break between Catharine and Tuan.
So, of course, Rod moved into the breach. "Forget about the 'sinful' part—that's how the clergy shackle you, make you do what they want. They raise you to believe it's a sin to do anything but what they tell you is right."
Tuan's head snapped around toward Rod; he stared, scandalized. "How durst thou say it!"
Rod felt his stomach sink. "All right, call it my opinion—"
"Nay, 'tis truth—I know enough of government to see that." Tuan glanced up at the sky through the garden trees. "And lightning hath not smote thee…"
Rod almost went limp with relief. He forced a sarcastic smile. "The Abbot doesn't necessarily speak for God, you know, Your Majesty. But that only brings us to the other point you raised—folly."
Catharine suddenly looked wary.
Tuan agreed. " 'Twould be folly to attack a House of God, Lord Warlock. The peasants would rise as a man to defend it."
"And so would most of the lords, but not out of religious conviction."
"True enough," Catharine stated, looking only faintly relieved. "If they could bring us down, they might once again become each a prince within his own domain, as they were in my grandfather's time."
Rod hadn't realized it was as recent as that; suddenly he was understanding the depth of the barons' resistance more clearly than he had before. "Of course, they'd be wrong. If the Abbot can bring down a king, he can certainly undercut the lords, one at a time."
"So we end as we began." Tuan smiled sourly. "He would rule."
"Oh, yes. Make no mistake, Your Majesties, what you have here is an embryo theocracy, a 'government by God.' It isn't, of course—it's government by clergy, who only cite God to justify what they want to do. Governing comes naturally to priests. That's the whole underlying reason they invented priesthood in the first place: to give them power over the peasants."