Rod gave Gwen a quick glance of exasperation. "I keep telling the kids not to brag. But yes, Father, I am—and I spoke with His Majesty this morning, about exactly this matter."
Boquilva nodded, not taking his gaze from Rod's. "Then events have proceeded more quickly than I had thought."
"Oh. It was still only talk when you left?"
Boquilva nodded. "Yet that was a week agone—small enough time, when our Lord Abbot hath brooded six years over the matter."
"Six years? Let's see… of course, that was when the Abbot squared off against Tuan, and only backed down because Father Al handed him a letter from the Pope telling him to do whatever Father Al said." Rod clasped his head as a brief dizzy spell swept him. "My lord! Has it been that long already?"
"Nay, my lord." Gwen covered his hand with hers. " 'Tis simply that our children have grown so quickly."
"Thanks for the reassurance, dear." Rod let his other hand rest on hers and looked up at Father Boquilva. "And it still bothers the Abbot?"
Father Boquilva nodded again. "He hath some strain of worldly vanity, I fear, and was greatly ashamed to be so set down, there before all of two armies. Yet 'tis only these last three months that he hath begun to speak of separation."
"Rather persuasively, too, I suspect." Rod frowned. "I heard the man preach once. He's almost as powerful an orator as King Tuan."
Boquilva nodded. "Thou dost not undervalue him. In truth, some of the reasons he doth advance do hold merit, great merit—that what authority the Pope may once have had over the Church here on this Isle of Gramarye, he hath defaulted, through having so long ignored us. In truth, for all we heard from Rome, one might have thought that His Holiness knew not of our existence."
"Well, be fair, though—Gramarye never sent any messages to Rome, either."
"How could we? For that is milord Abbot's next point—that the Pope is so far distant from Gramarye that he cannot possibly know what doth occur here. Even doth he hear report, he can have no sense of the tensions of power, as milord Abbot hath. Then beyond this, there is such a maze of matters theological, of hairsplitting over the authority of Peter and his passing on of that power—and of the tightness of the Church of Rome today—that we cannot know what it doth or doth not hold to be a sin."
"Sounds a little weak."
Father Boquilva agreed. "It doth in truth. For look you, milord Abbot's whole upbringing hath instilled in him the belief that the Pope is the heir of Peter, the rightful head of the Church, and that he doth hold from God Himself the power to declare what is right and wrong. Yet an upbringing alone were not enough, there is all of milord's schooling for the priesthood, and his priestly vows themselves, to tell him to obey the Holy See."
Rod said, "But it's hard to accept religious authority greater than his own when, all his life, he has thought that if he could rise to Abbot, he'd be the supreme spiritual power in Gramarye, second only to the King."
"Aye, yet that 'second' doth gall him."
"Oh, yes! That's what the whole fight was about six years ago—whether the King should take orders from the Abbot, or the other way around. Yes, the thought of power must be tempting."
"Aye, and some of us were agreed that, despite what he knew to be right in his heart of hearts, milord Abbot, did but devise excuses to justify a break with Rome and a regaining of his full power."
"Where I come from, we call that kind of excuse a rationalization—and once a man has found enough of them, he's capable of doing anything. Yes, I can see why you'd be wary."
"Wary indeed—and unsure whether our vows of obedience to our Lord Abbot might not be superseded by obedience to our Holy Father the Pope. Thus we sought to place ourselves apart from the dilemma by coming away from the Monastery of St. Vidicon and journeying here to Runnymede, to begin our own chapter house."
"Wisely done," Gwen agreed. "Yet doth this not, in itself, violate thy vow of obedience?"
"It would, had we been commanded to stay—yet we were not."
"Of course not." Rod smiled, amused. "In fact, the Abbot didn't even know you were leaving, did he?"
Father Boquilva had the grace to look abashed. "I own he did not—and nay, further, that we did not seek his permission, as any monk is obliged to by the rule of our order. Yet we were resolved to go, whether it broke our vow to our Lord Abbot or not, for we feared greater peril of sin than that."
"Ah, then." Gwen's eye glinted. "Thou didst come away at night, and most quietly?"
"Like thieves." Father Boquilva gave her a guilty glance. "In truth, we did steal away. Yet if I cannot feel completely right in my heart therefore, I would have felt more wrong still had I stayed."
Rod nodded. "Wise decision, I'd say. But isn't the Abbot apt to try to make you come back?"
"He may indeed—and 'tis therefore that we have come to Runnymede, to Their Royal Majesties' personal demesne."
"Ah." Rod sat up straighter. "A prudent move, Father— putting yourselves under the King's accidental protection, so to speak."
Father Boquilva replied, "I do not think milord Abbot will wish to make too great a stir so close to Their Majesties, for fear King Tuan will notice that the Order of St. Vidicon is not wholly of one mind on the issue."
Rod was still nodding. "Yeah, it makes good sense. The
Abbot doesn't want to make that much of a fuss where the King might notice. But it might be a little wiser, Father, to let Their Majesties know you're here; they might wish to be a little more open about their protection."
Father Boquilva shook his head. "I had liefer not; we have too great a sense of betraying our order even now. I do not think milord Abbot would stoop to foul means to bring us home."
"I wish I had your rosy view of human nature. But if he does send a war party?"
"Nay," Father Boquilva protested. "He is a good man, Lord Warlock!"
"Yes, but not a terribly strong one—and priests can be tempted, too. So just for the sake of argument, what would you do if he sent an attack squad?"
Father Boquilva said slowly, "Why, I would heed thine advice, and appeal to the Crown for protection."
"Wise—and I hope you won't have to. Father," Rod said.
"Yet thou dost anticipate it." The priest gave Rod a searching look. "Wherefore dost thou so?"
Rod shrugged. "He's just always struck me as the kind who can resist anything but temptation. And as you say, he's found some rationalization that will let him stop resisting. But I don't think he came up with those excuses all by himself."
Chapter Three
The house was finally quiet, and Rod sank down in a chair by the fire with a grateful sigh. "Well, they're wonderful, but it's always a relief when they're down for the night." His brow clouded.
Gwen noticed. "Aye. Thou wilt not be here to join in it tomorrow night, wilt thou?"
"No, but I should be back two nights after, with smooth roads and fair weather. Even if the Abbot wants to take a hard line. That should just make the conference shorter, in fact."
"Thou dost suspect meddling from our enemies tomorrow, dost thou not?"
Rod noticed how the futurians were "our enemies," now. Nice and reassuring, that. "Ah. You caught me."
"Knowing thee and the contests we have waged in the past, 'twas open and clear when thou didst say the Lord Abbot had help in the devising of his excuses. Who else wouldst thou think did aid him?"
"Well, yes, but suspecting futurian influence is becoming a reflex now. I'm beginning to look for them everywhere. If a sunny day turns cloudy, I see their hand in it."
"Not so bad as that. In truth, thou dost suspect their intervention only once or twice in a year, and thou art usually in the right half the time. Yet in this case I am minded to concur with thee."