Saint Camber

by Katherine Kurtz

  “I will, Lord.”

  The figure turned to go, and Guaire’s eyes grew round.

  “No! Wait, Lord! Do not leave me yet!”

  The figure paused to gaze at him in compassion.

  “I may not stay, my son. Nor may I come to you again. Be at peace.”

  Guaire stared at him in despair, then slid out of the sleeping furs and knelt with hands upraised.

  “Then leave me with your blessing, Lord. Please! Do not deny me this!”

  The figure’s face became more serious, and then a graceful hand was emerging from the folds of the cloak to trace the sign of blessing. Guaire bowed his head.

  “Benedicat te omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus.”

  “Amen,” Guaire breathed.

  And for an instant, as a hand touched lightly on his hair, his senses reeled.

  But when he raised his head and opened his eyes, the figure was gone, the air dark and empty where before there had been light.

  Guaire gasped and scrambled to his feet, staggering unsteadily to where the figure had been. For a moment he stood there as one dumb, holding himself up against the door frame, silently reliving what he had just seen—or thought he had seen. Then he was struck by a soaring sense of joy and jubilation.

  Camber had come back to him! Abruptly, he wanted to run through the corridors of the archbishop’s palace, shouting to wake the dead, that Camber had returned, if only for a little while—and that the great Deryni Lord had charged him, Guaire of Arliss, a humble human of very little worth, with the awesome responsibility of carrying out the great man’s work!

  But he could not do that. Camber had judged wisely, at least in this, and the drugs which Guaire had ingested would not permit him to do anything that decisive. Already, the details of the encounter were fading, transforming themselves into a blurrier, dreamlike set of memories far more in keeping with what the actual occurrence was supposed to have been.

  No, he could not announce his wonder to the world. As Guaire mulled the problem in his sluggishly functioning mind, he realized that what had happened was far too precious to share with just anyone. Besides, who would believe him?

  Not Brother Johannes. That pious and devoted monk had not even stirred while the miracle took place. If Guaire woke him and tried to explain, Johannes would say that it had been but a drug-induced dream. No, he could not share this treasure with Johannes.

  Then Cullen. Of course! Father Cullen would understand. Father Cullen would have to believe him! After all, it was Cullen himself whom Camber had named as the one Guaire should serve. Surely Cullen had a right to know.

  Joyfully, Guaire wrenched at the door, careening down the corridor toward Cullen’s quarters.

  And inside, Camber hunched down under his blankets and feigned sleep as footsteps hesitantly approached the bed. He could hear Guaire’s breathing, quick and agitated, as the young man paused to look at him, and then the footsteps receded slightly. A few seconds later, brightness flared from the direction of the fireplace.

  Camber waited, listening carefully, as the footsteps approached again, this time with brightness as well.

  “Father General?” Guaire called softly. “Father General, are you asleep?”

  Camber rolled over and leaned on one elbow to peer at Guaire, blinking and squinting in the flickering light. Guaire’s face glowed with more than candlelight as he dropped to one knee beside the bed.

  “I was,” Camber grunted, stifling a yawn. “Why aren’t you?”

  Guaire shook his head. “I was, too, but—please don’t be angry with me, Father. I’m sorry to wake you, but I had to tell someone, and I think—I think he would not mind.”

  “He?”

  Guaire swallowed, a shadow of doubt flickering in his eyes. “The—the Lord Camber, Father. He—he came to me in a dream—I think—and—and, he told me I must not mourn—that I had important work to do—his work—helping accomplish the things he did not get to do.”

  His words came tumbling out breathlessly, as though he feared he might not dare to speak them if he delayed too long.

  Camber nodded wisely and yawned again, remembering to keep sufficient gruffness in his voice.

  “Well, of course you have important work to do. I told you that before. Camber relied greatly on you.”

  “He did? Oh, yes, I know he did, Father!” Guaire positively beamed. “And he said—” Here his face went more serious. “He said that I should serve you, Father. He said that I should serve you as I served him, that you would need my help. Do you, Father?”

  Camber sat up slowly, drawing the deep blue of his Michaeline mantle around him as he swung his feet to the fur beside the bed.

  “He told you that?”

  Guaire nodded solemnly, not daring to speak.

  Camber looked long into the earnest brown eyes, and finally spoke very slowly. Guaire seemed to have made the necessary transferrence of loyalty. Now Camber must cement that new alliance in Alister’s distinctive style.

  “You realize, of course, that serving me would not be like serving Camber. Camber was a great secular lord, surrounded by the luxuries of his class. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he added, as Guaire started to raise an objection, “but it’s different here.”

  “Because you’re a priest, Father?”

  “In part. And you will find, if you do serve me, that a cleric is often bound by things which do not concern a secular lord like Camber. Soon, by the grace of God, I shall be a bishop, potentially wielding a not-inconsiderable power, even in secular affairs. In many respects, that is a princely office, and some men make it so. But I am not that sort, as I think you know. The panoply of a prince’s court, or even an earl’s, will not be found within my walls.”

  “I have no need of that, Father,” Guaire whispered, drawing himself up straighter as he knelt.

  “Very well, then. I never had a secular aide before, but—we shall give you a try. For now, though, suppose you go back to bed. Perhaps you can go without sleep, but I cannot.”

  With joyful tears in his eyes, Guaire nodded and started to rise, then seized Camber’s hand and kissed it. When he had gone, Camber stared after him for a long time before lying back on his bed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I am afraid of you, lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain.

  —Galatians 4:11

  No immediate repercussions arose from the night’s work—at least none of which Camber was aware. Guaire settled into the routine of serving his new master without a whisper of difficulty or friction, gently weaning the solicitous Johannes to other duties. He even adopted a semi-clerical attire to fit in better with the other staff which Camber would be acquiring with his episcopal office. Johannes would be remaining with the Michaelines to assist the new vicar general, when his former master left for Grecotha the following week, so Guaire temporarily functioned as valet as well as clark and factor to the incipient bishop. Nothing more was said about the conversation he and Camber had shared the night before; indeed, it was as if nothing had occurred.

  Nor was there reason for Camber to give the matter further thought during the rest of the week. Those others who might have sensed what was developing, had they been able to assemble all the pieces of the mosaic—Joram and Evaine and Rhys—were, themselves, too busy trying to settle Camber’s affairs in Caerrorie and get back to the capital by Friday to see the full scope of what was building. On that day, the seven-year-old Davin MacRorie, Camber’s grandson and heir, must be formally recognized by the king as the new Earl of Culdi, doing homage for his titles and lands with nearly a score of other nobles, young and old, who had come into their inheritances through the death of predecessors during the recent war.

  That, and the feverish collection of such of Camber’s important manuscripts and other possessions as he would continue to need, tended to blur the true significance of what was happening at Caerrorie itself. Camber’s children noticed but did not react to the growing numbers o
f mourners who came daily to kneel and pray in the chapel above the MacRorie vaults, where “Camber” slept beside his long-dead wife and other family; saw but did not comprehend the meaning of the floral and prayer offerings which began to appear in increasing numbers with each day’s visitants.

  They certainly did not connect these things with the uneasiness which Camber himself had felt as he rode back to Valoret and watched the people’s reaction to his funeral cortege. And Cinhil’s fleeting glimpse of Camber’s face on that night of memory integration was far from any of their thoughts.

  And so, alone and on his own in his new role, unknown in his true identity to any person in the castle at Valoret, Camber settled into his new life. He could not know that his tomb in Caerrorie was fast becoming a pilgrimage spot for the faithful of the area; that an embittered king brooded long hours into the night on what he had seen in a vicar general’s bedchamber; that a Michaeline knight already fretted under the restriction not to speak of what he thought had happened that night. In temporary and blissful ignorance, Camber pursued the duties and cemented the relationships which would be increasingly important to the future Bishop of Grecotha. Camber of Culdi and all that he had been were far from his mind in those days.

  One of his most immediate tasks was the selection of his successor as vicar general. He spent nearly three days at that, interviewing candidates and others and learning more with each passing hour about the inner workings of the ecclesiastical mechanism of which he had lately become a part.

  Much of his learning was on the strictly verbal level, from what people actually told him. That was important, and its value not to be denied. However, with his Deryni skills, he was also able to glean information from his human cohorts which they never intended to volunteer, sometimes to their detriment. Even the Deryni often gave off unsolicited surface information, which any of their race might read without undue effort—or detection.

  But the human candidates were ripe for deeper probing, wanting only the touch of a master to release all to a questing mind. From them, Camber gained a great deal of insight into how Alister Cullen had been seen and would be expected to function in the future. He did not often go unbidden into others’ minds, but in this case, the end surely justified the means. He was making a selection which would affect the whole of Gwynedd for many years to come.

  He settled finally on the brilliant and human Crevan Allyn, a polished soldier as well as a pious priest, who had served outstandingly under Jebediah during the war effort. Crevan had been one of the unheralded masterminds behind the planning involved in putting the Michaelines safely underground during that year of hiatus during which Cinhil trained for kingship and Imre tried to track them all down. He had no enemies that anyone knew of, no vices, no taint of unorthodoxy. He did have that sort of intuition and perspective which allowed him to move with the times, flexible in the lesser things while remaining true to what could not be compromised, no matter what the temptation. Also, King Cinhil liked him.

  That last was vitally important, and had carried due weight in Camber’s deliberations. In fact, another man of almost equal talent had been eliminated from consideration precisely because of the fact that Cinhil did not like him.

  But Crevan, increasingly in Cinhil’s favor, and human, could perhaps command a growing trust as Deryni influence waned. This was the sort of man the Michaelines, and Gwynedd, would need in the years ahead, as they trod the increasingly precarious path which all Deryni needs must travel, now that Cinhil would be settling down to get his kingdom in order.

  Already Cinhil was gathering human allies to his side, some of them with far older grudges than his own against the race which had kept them from lands and titles and riches throughout the Interregnum. Cinhil’s restoration had already brought the scions of several formerly powerful families back to court. A few of them who had fought for Cinhil in the war would be confirmed in their old titles along with young Davin, when Cinhil held his first formal postwar court on Friday afternoon. The human Crevan, though in deep sympathy with his Deryni brethren, hopefully would not have to face the kind of opposition that a Deryni vicar general eventually might.

  But there was another, even more important factor in Crevan’s selection; and that was that Crevan, as the unique human individual that he was, could be subtly guided by Camber himself, in ways which even he would never suspect, unless Camber was entirely heavy-handed. In addition to the obvious ties of Michaeline brotherhood and obedience to a bishop’s higher rank, Crevan would be bound by more invisible links of Deryni crafting. Camber made sure of that during his last interview with Crevan, after informing him of his intention to name Crevan as his successor.

  His touch was subtle but irresistible; and Crevan left none the wiser. Nor would any other Deryni be able to detect the signs of Camber’s binding, without forcing Crevan to the question and destroying the man in the process. No one would lightly enter the mind of a Michaeline vicar general against his will, human or not.

  The announcement of Crevan Allyn’s selection was made to the assembled Grand Chapter, minus Joram MacRorie, on Thursday evening. It was followed by a solemn Mass of Thanksgiving, celebrated by the vicar general-elect and assisted by the incumbent. At the homily, an appropriately humble Crevan addressed the Order quietly but with great feeling, briefly outlining his yet-tenuous plans for the beginning of his tenure.

  Afterwards, Camber dined with his successor and eight other of the highest-ranking officers in his Order, including Jebediah and Nathan. During the course of the meal, plans were completed for installing Crevan as vicar general on Saturday at noon, the day before Alister was to be elevated to the episcopate. The part of Camber that was Alister drank in the evening as bittersweet dregs, for Alister had known only the life of the Order of Saint Michael for many, many years.

  The next day brought all of them to Cinhil’s hammer-beamed great hall to vie for places in the crowd which assembled to witness the king’s recognition of his newest nobility. Eighteen heirs, from earls and barons to lesser lords, ranging in age from sixty years to six months, came forward in serried processions, banners and regalia gleaming richly in the torchlit hall, there to kneel in homage to the king from whom all honor flowed, at least in theory—though some of the lords being confirmed today could have bought and sold Cinhil’s personal holdings, had they thought to take such a course.

  Young Davin was among them, of course, next to the last of those who would be confirmed in their titles today. He was accompanied by his family: his mother, Elinor, Cathan’s widow, who would act as regent for the earldom until he should reach his majority at fourteen; his uncles, Joram and Rhys, brilliant in Michaeline blue and Healer’s green; and his Aunt Evaine, whom he adored. His younger brother Ansel, heir after him, carried a blue velvet cushion bearing a scaled-down earl’s coronet. The gules/azure banner of Culdi was carried by his cousin, James Drummond.

  Only his aunt and uncles paid particular attention to the blue-garbed men who stood ranked to one side, among a host of other clergy, or to one particular Michaeline who watched the boy Davin with haunted eyes. Fortunately, it was the incipient vicar general, and not the incumbent one, who elicited attention among those who wore or watched the blue. Crevan Allyn played his part to perfection, never guessing how he helped screen Camber from too close a scrutiny as Camber’s grandson came forward in his turn, to kneel tremulously before the king.

  The seven-year-old Davin was grave and dignified as he placed his small hands between those of the graying king. After reciting his oath of fealty in a clear, piping voice, he stared solemnly into the royal eyes as Cinhil gave the return oath to protect and defend young Davin and his new-come earldom.

  Nor did the lad flinch as Cinhil gently dubbed him on shoulders and head with the great sword of state, which the constable, Lord Udaut, had already handed to the king a full sixteen times in the past hour. Only when Cinhil raised him up and kissed him on either cheek did his composure waver—for the king’s beard and mu
stache tickled, and Davin had been long enough solemn for so young a child.

  He fidgeted a little as Queen Megan buckled the jeweled earl’s belt around his little waist. But when Cinhil took up the small coronet and lifted it a little above Davin’s head before settling it on the sunny hair, Davin stood without a quiver, his pretty face going a little pale. He made his final obeisance with the gravity of one many times his years before backing into place to witness the final oath-taking.

  Shadows were long, the light diffused with the coming sunset, by the time the ceremony and attendant court had been concluded, but Camber tried to linger a little as people came pouring out of the great hall. While making small talk with his brethren, he surreptitiously watched his grandsons and their mother being escorted to a group of horses and servants waiting to conduct them to quarters which had been arranged in the city, managing to bow gracefully as Evaine came to extend a formal dinner invitation which both of them knew he could not accept. Even had he not been committed to a night-long vigil with Crevan, in preparation for the transfer of office the next morning, still he would not yet have dared to face Elinor and the boys in so intimate a surrounding. There was no need to involve them in his intrigues. Later, perhaps, when the boys were grown …

  He thanked Evaine graciously and, as she moved away to join Rhys and the others, returned his attention to the men who had waited while he spoke to her. He even managed to exchange a few words with Joram before they all dispersed, when Joram came to offer his congratulations and obedience to his new superior, who stood at ease at Camber’s side.

  Then the young priest adroitly turned the conversation to the topic of the present vicar general’s health, suggesting that Father Cullen, to satisfy the anxiety of many who were concerned for him, might like to consider inviting the Healer Rhys and his lady to dine with him the following evening, the night before Cullen was to assume his bishop’s miter. In fact, since Cullen had not seen his illustrious physician for several days, and had still been recuperating when Rhys left, Joram insisted upon the event, and would himself make arrangements and join them, to ensure that Cullen did not try to avoid the issue. Once Cullen left the loving attention of his Order and friends to pursue his new duties in Grecotha, he would be on his own, but the Michaelines could at least guarantee that he started his new assignment in good health.