But the peasants hesitated, seeing the biggest and toughest of them fallen.
"Don't try it," Rod snapped. "I'm a knight!"
"Thou hast the dress of a peasant!"
"I'm the modest type. I'm also in disguise."
The third watchman gathered himself with a snarl and charged.
Rod pushed the staff with a bit of telekinesis to help his single good arm; one end cracked down on the man's cudgel hand. He dropped the club with a howl, and Rod swung backhand at his head. The staff connected, and the watchman slumped to the ground, out cold.
Two of the braver peasants were gathering themselves for a try, but Rod whirled toward them, staff braced, and they froze.
"Art craven?" the bishop shouted.
"Your bully boys dropped their cudgels," Rod said softly. "Why don't you pick one up and try it yourself?"
The bishop recoiled at the thought, then realized how he looked in the eyes of his peasants, and blustered, "'Tis not right for a man of God to bear arms!"
"Then it's not right for that man of God to command others to bear them for him. Hypocrisy, bishop. If you think force is right, use it yourself!"
"Thou speakest with the voice of Satan," the bishop howled, "to tempt those of weakened faith!" He turned to the peasants. "Do not heed him! Raise the hue and cry! Bring more dogs, more men! We must hale them back to the village, for that path into the forest is the road to Hell!"
"Oh, stuff and nonsense!" Rod snapped.
The bishop rounded on him, red-faced, and bellowed in rage, "I shall have them scourged for their disobedience, and thou, too, if thou dost persist in their suborning!"
"I don't remember the commandment that says `Thou shalt not disobey thy priest,' " Rod said.
"'Tis the First Commandment, thou blasphemer!"
" `I am the Lord thy God, and thou shalt have no other gods before Me'?" Rod raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You think you're God?"
"You have heard the blasphemy!" the bishop cried to the scandalized peasants. He turned on Rod. "If He is God, thou must needs obey Him-and, therefore, His priests!"
Rod shook his head. "No. The one doesn't require the other. A priest can advise, can teach-but he has no business trying to give orders. Look at the prophets in the Bible, bishop! They didn't give orders of their own-they just transmitted the Word of God! And they always prefaced His orders by saying, `Thus saith the Lord.' "
The bishop stared. "Thou canst not know what is said in the Bible!"
"Oh, yes I can. I can read."
The peasants muttered in awe and fear.
The priest's eyes narrowed. "Who taught thee that?"
"My teachers, of course! In a world in which everybody learns to read and write, and reads the Bible for themselves!"
"They do not know Latin!"
"It's been translated."
"Thou art a heretic!" the bishop levelled a trembling forefinger. "Be silent, limb of Satan!" He turned to the peasants. "You have heard the heresy! Catch him, beat him, bind him fast! He must be burned at the stake, for in no wise else can his heresy die with him!"
"The Church teaches that all men should read the Bible themselves." Rod fought to keep anger out of his voice. "The real Catholic Church, that is-not this twisted, distorted thing you false bishops have made for yourselves!"
The peasants gasped and shrank back, clearly expecting a lightning bolt to strike Rod down.
But the bishop knew better. "Seize him! Smite him! Silence him!" he bellowed. "He is possessed by a demon! He must be, to speak so against the priest of the Lord!"
From the direction of the village, faint but approaching, came the baying of hounds.
The game was just about over. Rod knew he couldn't hold his own against a mob. The diversion had lasted long enough; it was time for a fast fade. "I'm no demon, bishop, and I'll prove it! Give me a crucifix; I'll touch it without shrinking."
"I shall give thee the sight of it alone!" The bishop pulled out his rosary and held it up, the crucifix dangling before Rod's eyes. "Begone, thou limb of Satan! I banish thee from this village and its environs!"
With a swift grab, Rod caught the crucifix. The bishop yelped as his arm came with it; the beads were wrapped around his fingers. Rod held the crucifix up at eye level, turning to the peasants. "See? It doesn't burn me; I don't shrink from it. I'm not a devil."
"He hath profaned it!" the bishop cried. "That is why it hurts him not!"
The man was good at argument, Rod had to give him that. Of course, it helped that he didn't have to worry about mangling the truth, since it was already in pretty bad shape.
Mangling ... Something about the beads caught Rod's eye. He stretched them out, and stared. "You've even changed the rosary! Twelve beads to a set!"
"Certes," one peasant quavered. "How many else should there be to a decade?"
"Ten, of course! That's what `decade' means! And the crucifix-that, too! You've got Him with His feet side by side! He's supposed to have one foot over the other, held in place by one single nail!"
"What-what happened to the other nail?" a peasant stammered.
"A gypsy stole it." Rod let the bishop yank back the crucifix. "At least, that's the legend; the Gospel doesn't say. Does it, bishop?"
"Only a priest can know what the Gospel doth say!"
"But I'm not a priest, and I've read the Book."
"Thou art a demon or hast one!"
"How could a demon read the Bible? Wouldn't it annihilate him?" Rod sighed and rolled his eyes up to Heaven. "If you say it often enough, they'll believe you eventually, is that it? No luck-I've already proved I'm not a demon. But I am a Christian who's trying to be good, and who believes that it's wrong to use God as an excuse for abusing other people."
"I banish thee!" the bishop stormed. "Begone from this village! Never come near us again!"
Rod bowed. "I'll be glad to oblige-to the first part, anyway. As to coming back, I just may-with a tribunal from the Order of St. Vidicon behind me. I'd advise you to reexamine your theology, bishop, and be awfully sure you're right."
The bishop stared, eyes bulging. Then he whirled to his people. "Slay him! We shall burn his dead body-but do not wait! Slay him outright!"
The peasants started to move toward Rod, and behind them, much closer now, came the baying of the hounds. Time to leave. Rod shrugged. "I'm not one to stay where I'm not wanted. Good night, folks." He stepped back, out of the circle of torchlight.
They stared, amazed that he had gone without a fight. The bishop shook off his surprise and roared, "After him! He must not run free to spread his heresies and blasphemies!"
The peasants jumped and headed for the forestsomewhat reluctantly, if the truth be known. Then the hounds and the mob caught up with them, and they shouted with renewed bravery and plunged into the brush.
By that time, of course, Rod was coming out onto the trail and moving fast. Magnus, he thought. Where are you?
An image appeared in his mind, a picture of a hilltop with only a few small trees on it, and the forest spread out just below his feet. Rod concentrated on the image, thought of being there, and the trail about him grew dim as the hilltop grew more and more clear, taking on bulk and substance....
Then it was real and all about him, and his ears rang with a double boom-the implosion of air rushing into the space his body had just vacated on the trail, and the explosion as he appeared on the hilltop, forcing air suddenly back. He looked about, feeling his knees trying to go weak, and leaned on his staff. He found himself gazing at Roble, who stared at him, crossing himself.