“This was a grievous omission,” Father Al admitted. “Yet, did the founder of this branch of our Order seek to notify the Vatican of his intentions, or his presence here? And canst thou truly say that thou, or any of thy predecessors, have attempted to renew the contact? And tell me not that thou couldst not have done so; I have met thy monks.”
The Abbot locked gazes with him, still trembling. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Nay, I must own there is omission on both sides. Yet how doth it chance now, when—interference is calamitous, that it doth come?”
Now Father Al’s face softened into rueful sympathy.
“Milord—thou art a Cathodean; thou dost know of Finagle.”
The Abbot folded. “Aye, certes, certes! ‘When the results will be most frustrating…’ Aye, aye.” He sighed, straightening in his saddle. “Well, we must adapt to these vicissitudes, so that we can turn perversity back upon itself, must we not? Therefore, tell to me, Father, what His Holiness doth, through thee, command.”
“If we might have converse aside, Milord?”
“If we must, we must.” The Abbot climbed down from his mount, his breastplate and helm suddenly incongruous atop a monk’s robe. They stepped out into the plain, between the two armies, muttering in low voices.
Tuan frowned. “Who is this shave-pate thou hast brought to our midst, Lord Warlock?”
“An honest man, and a goodly,” Rod said promptly. “If it weren’t for him, I’d still be… where I was. Or dead.”
Tuan nodded. “ ‘Tis warrant enough. Yet goodly or not, in this fell broil, thou canst not be assured that he will not now turn against thee.”
“No,” Rod said slowly, “I can’t.”
“As I thought.” Tuan squared his shoulders and sat straighter on his mount. “Well, we’ll learn it presently. They do come, to parley.” He touched his spurs to his horse’s side, and rode out to meet the Lord Abbot, who was pacing toward him. Fess trotted after him. Tuan swung down to stand beside the Abbot—a good touch, Rod thought. There was no hope of reconciliation if you insisted on looking down at your opponent. Accordingly, he dismounted, too.
“Well, Milord Abbot,” Tuan said, “Heaven hath interceded, and aborted this battle when all mortals would have thought ‘twas far too late. May we not now discover some fashion of preserving this gift of peace, thou and I?”
The Abbot was pale and drawn, but his lips were tight with resolution. “An thou dost wish it, Majesty, I am not loath to attempt it. Yet we must consider deeply.”
“I will,” Tuan promised. “Say on.”
The Abbot took a deep breath. “We must consider that the Church and State must needs be separate in their powers and functions.”
Tuan blinked.
Then, slowly, he inclined his head. “Even as thou sayest, Milord. Reluctantly I do admit it; but we must agree to the principle. We cannot claim authority in matters spiritual.”
The Abbot blinked, this time; he hadn’t been expecting quite so gracious a response to his about-face. “Ah—I own to great joy to hear Your Majesty speak so. Accordingly, following from this principle, we must own that Holy Mother Church can claim no authority in the distribution of State funds.”
Tuan stood, expressionless, still.
Then he nodded slowly. “Even as thou sayest, Milord; yet I would hope that we may rely on your good counsel in this matter, especially as regards those areas within our domain whose needs are not adequately met.”
“Why—certes, certes!” the Abbot cried, startled. “My counsel is thine, whenever thou dost wish it! Yet…” His face darkened. “In like fashion, Majesty, we must insist on the authority of Holy Mother Church to appoint her priests to her own parishes!”
Tuan nodded. “Of this, the Queen and I have spoken at some length, Lord Abbot; thou wilt comprehend that, to us, ‘tis sore trial to give up such power.”
The Abbot’s face hardened—reluctantly, Rod thought.
“Yet,” Tuan went on, “when we consider our adherence to the principle of separation that thou hast enunciated—why, there can be no question. The appointments of clergy must rest within thy hands; henceforth, we wish nought to do with such.”
The Abbot stared, speechless.
“We would ask that thou be mindful of thy pledge,” Tuan said, somewhat severely, “to inform us where and when aid to the poor is lacking, and to bring to our notice any devices for the better relief of the indigent that thou dost encompass!”
“With all my heart!” cried the Abbot. “Be assured, I shall advise thee of all good knowledge we gain, and all ideas we may devise! Indeed, I shall set my brethren to meditating upon such means as soon as I am arrived again at mine abbey!”
“Oh, come, ‘tis not needful!” Tuan protested. “Still, an’ thou wouldst…”
There was more of it, in the same vein; in fact, they virtually swore to a mutual crusade against injustice and poverty right there.
And, after the Abbot had disappeared within his own ranks, wobbling with relief and fairly glowing with good intentions, Tuan rounded on Rod. “Now, warlock! By what wizardry hast thou brought about this sea-change?”
“Why, I had nothing to do with it,” Rod said virtuously, “except to bring along Father Uwell—and you wouldn’t expect him to tell, would you?”
“All right, Father, let’s have it,” Rod shouted over the roar of Fess’s jets.
“Oh, come now!” Father Al roared back. “Can’t I claim a professional privilege?”
“You showed him that writ from the Pope, didn’t you? And he did recognize the signature!”
“No, but he knew the Seal. Beyond that, all I did was explain the Holy Father’s policy on relations between Church and State.”
“Which he proceeded to quote, chapter and verse.” Rod nodded. “Even so, I wouldn’t’ve expected him to cave in that quickly. How’d you do it?”
Father Al shrugged. “Probably shock, mostly. They haven’t heard from Rome in more than 500 years.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Finally, he was able to close the bedroom door (an innovation, on Gramarye) and shuck off his doublet. “What’s the matter with the kids?”
“Why, nought, I should think,” Gwen answered from the pillow. “They have been perfectly behaved, all afternoon!”
“That’s what I mean. What’s wrong with them?”
“Oh.” She rolled over on her side with a cat-smile. “They do fear thou’lt hear their thoughts.”
“Oh.” Rod grinned. “So they can’t even think about being naughty, huh? Well, I do sort of hear them—but so far, it’s only a mutter in the background. Of course, I haven’t been trying.” He stripped off his hose and slipped into bed.
“Thou’st forgot thy nightshirt,” Gwen murmured.
“I haven’t forgotten anything.” Rod reached out, caressing; she gasped. “Hmmmm, yes, just as I remembered. Sure that’s all that was bothering them?”
“That, and the memory of thine aspect as thou slew the Duke.” She shuddered. “ ‘Twould shake a grown man, let alone a child.”
“Hmm, yes.” Rod frowned. “I’d like to say I’d never even try to do that again, dear—but you know occasions are bound to arise.”
“They are indeed.” Her voice was hushed; she cuddled close. “I doubt not thou’lt be enforced to draw on such powers again.”
“If I can,” he agreed. “And if I do, dear—well, I hate to say it, but, as wife, you sort of have signed on for the job of keeping me sane while I do it, of being my link with who I really am.”
She only smiled, but her words murmured inside his mind: Have I not always done so?
He grinned, and agreed, his words wrapping themselves in her mind, while his arms wrapped her in a much closer, much warmer embrace than she’d ever known.