As the archbishop’s condition worsened, Camber felt obliged to spend more and more time at his side, not out of duty, but out of genuine affection. The long years of battling a recalcitrant digestive system had finally taken their toll on the aging prelate. Even so skilled a Healer as Rhys could do little other than to ease Anscom’s discomfort—and that, Camber could do as well as he, and Anscom preferred Camber’s touch.
Accordingly, and at the insistence of Anscom, Camber sent Rhys and Joram out, ostensibly to visit Caerrorie but in fact to survey the situation at Dolban. They camped near the manor for nearly a week in mid-August, disguised as itinerant merchants, observing the comings and goings of various workmen and questioning those they dared.
They learned that the manor had been bought through a factor named John, who had paid in gold. A bailiff named Thomas now paid the laborers and dealt with the villagers who brought increasing amounts of supplies for the manor’s upkeep. For the gold and silver which the bailiff dispersed, the peasants were asked not to talk about what they saw inside—though, under Rhys and Joram’s careful prodding, some allowed as how the buildings looked like monastic ones. Certainly, the manor’s old chapel had been restored and, some said, greatly enlarged. Vast amounts of fine-cut stone and timber had been brought through the gates at midsummer, and one old carpenter told of a great statue of a hooded man which stood close beside the new rose-marble altar.
If there was a master of the place, then it was surely the small, wiry man in gray robes who sometimes walked the rampart walls at night. The man’s description fit Queron to perfection, right down to the fat reddish-brown Gabrilite braid hanging down his back. Rhys and Joram never saw him themselves, but the man they had Truth-Read for the information could not have lied. Queron was surely at Dolban.
In a last effort to gain more insight before returning to report to Camber and Anscom, the two paid a quick, nighttime visit to Caerrorie to check on the tomb. Elinor was away for the present, gone with her new husband and the two boys to visit her new in-laws; but Umphred, Caerrorie’s old bailiff, admitted the two young men quite readily.
Yes, visitors had continued to pray at the dead master’s tomb, Umphred told them. And many left gifts of flowers and prayers still. He even took them there, through the secret passage which had always connected the family chapel with the main house. But no one had approached the young master Davin’s mother with any proposals to build a shrine, so far as Umphred knew. Nor had anything been changed about the tomb itself. Did Father Joram and Lord Rhys really think their father had been a saint?
They never did get to check the actual tomb closely, though Umphred insisted that it had been undisturbed. On their way back to Valoret, close by the road from Caerrorie, they found several illicit Camberian shrines, evidently erected by the common folk, who had good reason to remember their late lord with love; and they brought back several copies of prayers and devotions to “Saint Camber” which had been left there and in the chapel near the tomb.
But, again, it was impossible to determine from this slender evidence whether these were isolated items or part of an organized movement. The hand on several of the prayers looked a great deal like Guaire’s, but Camber himself could not be sure. Too many others had handled the parchment, and Guaire’s hand was not particularly distinctive.
Nor did Camber have a chance to pursue the matter further, for on the night of the first of September, Anscon of Trevas died in his arms—the culmination of several months of worsening bouts with nausea and loss of weight and finally vomiting of blood. He died peacefully enough, under the circumstances, suffering no pain under the relieving hands of his Deryni comforters; but they could not cure him.
Camber, as Bishop of Grecotha, celebrated Anscom’s Requiem Mass—one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do. It had not been deemed meet, in that hot and humid September weather, to delay burial until the king might return; even a preserving spell had time limitations. So Anscom was laid away in a vault beneath the cathedral floor but two days after his death.
More momentous to Gwynedd than Anscom’s funeral, however, which had not been entirely unexpected in light of the archbishop’s known failing health, was the election of his successor. The unanimous choice, with some reservations, was one Jaffray of Carbury.
Jaffray, one of Gwynedd’s six itinerant bishops, and a former member of the Gabrilite Order, had been under consideration for a titled see for some time, being Deryni and moderate in his politics and a man in whom even humans placed a great deal of trust. He had been very popular all through the Purple March, which was his current assignment. He seemed to have a knack for bringing together dissident factions—a not-unwelcome talent for the years ahead.
Unfortunately, Anscom had not necessarily been considering Jaffray for Valoret, since, if he must predecease Camber, he had hoped to ease his friend’s burden by nominating someone in whom Camber could confide his true identity. Any other arrangement might open the way for the Servants of Saint Camber to press their suit, if the new archbishop did not know why it should be denied.
But any other candidates Anscom might have considered grooming for the primacy were years away from having the necessary experience for so critical a position, and Anscom had simply run out of time. One absolute requirement for any successor was that the man be Deryni. Under no circumstances would Anscom surrender the primate’s chair to any human priest, no matter how otherwise qualified. The survival of his people might one day hinge on the strong intervention of a Deryni advocate in Valoret.
And so Anscom had ended up choosing Jaffray by default: Jaffray, who was at least Deryni and otherwise qualified, but who could not be relied upon as a confidant for Camber. In the final week before his death, Anscom sent the name of his nominee to Cinhil in Kheldour. By the time Cinhil’s approval came back, Anscom was dead. Archbishop Oriss of Rhemuth convened the Council of Bishops and presented the name of Anscom’s nominee. When he announced that King Cinhil had approved, the bishops also approved.
Camber had some doubts, for the same reasons as Anscom, of this man whom he did not know, either as Camber or as Alister—but he had no alternative suggestions, so he, too, must say “yea” with all the rest. And because Jaffray did not and must not know of Alister Cullen’s true identity—both Camber and Anscom had feared Jaffray’s and Queron’s former ties with the Gabrilites—he would not know to be wary of the Servants of Saint Camber, whenever they might rear their heads. Camber dared not tell him.
Nothing untoward happened during the first week of Jaffray’s tenure. No one came to court from Dolban; and once the king returned, both to mourn Anscom and to recognize Gwynedd’s new primate, normal activities of the court quickly resumed. For the next few weeks, Camber was so caught up in a succession of meetings and conferences with Cinhil that he almost forgot to worry.
Megan’s son was born in late September—named Rhys, for the Healer who had brought him safely into the world—and Cinhil, pleased at the new baby’s perfect form and health, declared a week of celebration. Megan recovered much more quickly than after the previous birth, and seemed to thrive on Cinhil’s mere presence in the same city again. The new little prince grew stronger with each passing day.
It was more than a month after Anscom’s death that the new archbishop summoned his first consistory, bidding the attendance of as many of his brother bishops and masters of religious orders as could attend. Their meeting place was the same chapter house where Camber had first faced the Michaelines as Alister Cullen—only now Camber sat as only one of eight bishops present, in the last of three episcopal chairs to Jaffray’s left, not Chancellor of Gwynedd within these walls, but Bishop of Grecotha only, and junior to every other prelate present.
Joram sat behind and slightly to his left on a backless stool. Each bishop was entitled to a single attendant, and Joram was Alister Cullen’s logical choice, as confidental secretary. But other than Joram, there was not one man in the chamber whom Camber had known before h
e became Alister Cullen.
The morning session went routinely enough. During the first hour, Archbishop Jaffray received the homage and credentials of those abbots and priors who had been unable, for one reason or another, to attend his enthronement a few weeks earlier. After that, following a short address in which Jaffray outlined his expectations for his tenure, he invited preliminary discussion of possible successors to the bishopric left vacant by his election to the See of Valoret.
Camber listened a great deal and said little. The entire morning was quite uneventful. At noon, the entire company adjourned for a light midday meal.
But the afternoon session held a different promise, which Camber noticed soon after he reentered the chapter house following their break. It was not immediately apparent as he crossed the tiled floor, for he was initially absorbed in a merry conversation with the wire-thin Bishop Eustace, who sat next to him and could make light of almost anything. Joram followed a few respectful steps behind, chatting casually with Eustace’s secretary.
However, as Camber took his seat, still chuckling at one of Eustace’s wry comments, he made an automatic scan of the room and realized that the chamber was nearly filled to capacity, where there had been only half that number in the morning. Men in the habits of most of the great orders of Gwynedd were crowded onto the tiered seats behind the thrones of his colleagues, white and brown and black and burgundy and blue among the purple of the bishops. Crevan Allyn and a handful of his Michaelines had slipped into places on the first level, directly behind Bishop Dermot O’Beirne. On the second tier, closer to the dais, sat Dom Emrys and a score of Gabrilite priests.
Camber had just glanced behind him to confirm that a similar array of clergy lined his side of the round hall when the archbishop’s chamberlain rapped on the floor with his iron-shod staff for silence. All came to their feet as Archbishops Jaffray and Oriss entered and took their places on the dais.
As the room settled down again, Camber saw Jebediah slip in and join Crevan and the other Michaelines, strangely wearing the garb of only an ordinary Michaeline knight—no badge of his secular office. Jebediah flashed what Camber took to be a curious glance in Camber’s direction; but before Camber could speculate on his meaning, the chamberlain was rapping for attention again, his voice strong in the silence which his staff commanded.
“Your Grace, Reverend Lords, brethren of a new religious order beg leave to present a petition.”
An icy chill slid down Camber’s spine as the great doors swung back, and suddenly he knew, beyond any doubting, just who was about to enter.
He felt Joram stiffen and mentally bristle beside him as a gray-robed Queron Kinevan strode slowly into the chamber, flanked by several other gray robes whom Camber had never seen before—and Guaire of Arliss.
Now Camber knew where Queron had gotten the money for his building project at Dolban, and what that project must be. How could he have forgotten that Guaire was wealthy in his own right?
He watched with curious detachment as Queron paused in the precise center of the chamber to bow deeply, hands folded piously out of sight in deep sleeves, then approached the dais to kiss Jaffray’s ring. The former Gabrilite nodded respectfully to Dom Emrys as he straightened from his obeisance to the archbishop and backed off a few paces. Behind him, Queron’s companions sank to their knees and bowed their heads. Several, including Guaire, wore the beginnings of a Gabrilite-style braid like Queron’s.
Joram caught his breath and sat forward in horrified fascination as Queron withdrew a scroll from his sleeve and began to unroll it. Without betraying all, there was nothing he or his father could do to stop Queron Kinevan.
“My Lord Archbishop, worthy Reverend Fathers, I will speak plain,” Queron said, glancing at his scroll and then letting the hand which held it fall to his side. “I and my brothers seek your blessing to form a new religious community, dedicated to the service of a yet-unrecognized saint. We have already established his first shrine at our monastery of Dolban, and would build a second here in the cathedral where his body once lay. Eventually, we would have his burial place enshrined as well, so that all may visit his relics and benefit from his sanctity. To that end, we here present formal petition for the canonization of the late Earl of Culdi, Camber MacRorie.”
There was an instant of total silence as the sense of Queron’s words penetrated, and then the hall erupted in excited exclamation. Joram came to his feet almost involuntarily, his anguished “No!” drowned out in the din but stated all the more emphatically by his stricken expression.
Attention started to shift from Queron to Joram, for most present knew who Joram was, but Queron was determined to retain the advantage he had gained by speaking first. He had known Joram would be an opponent. Moving a step closer to the episcopal dais, he brandished his scroll to catch their gaze once more, his voice rising above Joram’s protest and even overpowering the clergy’s voices.
“Your Grace, I beseech you, may I speak?” he shouted. “I beg leave to present our case without interference. I assure you that it cannot be refuted!”
As discussion subsided and seats were resumed, Queron swept his audience with his hard Deryni glance and lowered his scroll, once more in command. Joram stood mute and pale before the older man’s gaze, one hand clenched white-knuckled on a finial of Camber’s high-backed chair. Camber dared not react as Queron measured his son.
“I thank you, my lords,” Queron finally said, in a normal conversational tone, turning his attention back to Jaffray. “Your Grace, may I now proceed?”
Jaffray, who alone of the bishops had not joined in the excited reaction to Queron’s pronouncement, sat back thoughtfully in his throne, one ringed hand absently stroking his chin as his eyes flicked from Queron to Joram, then to Camber.
“Please ask your secretary to be seated, Bishop Cullen. We know Dom Queron, and will hear his petition.”
Robert Oriss, seated to Jaffray’s right, leaned closer to his colleague, to speak without taking his eyes from the stunned Joram.
“The young man is Lord Camber’s son, Your Grace. Are you aware of that?”
“I have been so informed,” Jaffray replied, not unkindly. “Regardless of that fact, I must ask him to hold his peace until Dom Queron has elaborated. Please be seated, Father MacRorie. You will be given ample opportunity to speak later on.”
At Camber’s touch on his elbow, Joram sank slowly back to his stool, to perch on the edge with taut attention. In vain Camber tried to breach the wall of his son’s resistance, not daring to maintain the physical contact or the force necessary to insist upon the communication. Perhaps later. However he did it, he must be certain that Joram did not overreact. They dared not risk the slightest slip under Queron’s perceptive gaze.
With a slight sigh, Camber half rose to bow slightly in Jaffray’s direction.
“My pardon for him, Your Grace. My secretary is young and overwrought. I shall try to see that it does not happen again.”
“We shall thank you for it,” Jaffray replied. He returned his gaze to Queron. “You have our leave to speak now, Dom Queron. Please continue.”
Queron bowed, rerolling the scroll he had used with such effectiveness a few minutes before. He still had not disclosed its contents. Perhaps it was only a stage prop, at that. Whatever, it had served its purpose even if it was blank. Camber wondered which other of the vast Deryni arsenal of persuasion Queron would use next.
Feigning only dutiful interest, and a little concern for the young priest crouched miserably beside him, Camber settled back in one of Alister Cullen’s favorite poses of stone-faced concentration, fingers steepled so that the hands could rise casually to mask his expression if necessary, no line of his body betraying his inner tension. He watched Queron pivot gracefully to scan his audience, the scroll tap-tapping lightly against a tapering hand as the rapier mind weighed their emotions. With his first words, reassuring, confidential, the assembly began visibly to relax.
“Your Grace, learned Fat
hers, Reverend Lords. For those who may not know me, I am Queron Kinevan, Healer and sometime priest of the Order of Saint Gabriel. Healer I am still, and priest also; but as you can see, my garb proclaims me no longer Gabrilite. There is a reason for that. Not a failing of my old Order, which I shall always cherish.” Here he bowed slightly to Dom Emrys. “Rather, a calling to another task which is for me and, I believe, for Gwynedd a more important one. I hope to help you understand the reasons for my change of heart, and to enlist your support.”
He drew a leisurely breath as his audience settled down to listen.
“As all are aware, the Earl of Culdi was slain in battle last year. More precisely, Camber MacRorie was slain: a gentle and pious man, as all do know; the restorer of our gracious king—long may he reign; the Defender of Humankind, as many do call him now, and with just cause—for he fell defending all of us from the Festillic destroyers.
“He was cut down in the fullness of his service to this land—cut down long before his work could come to full fruition. But as we believe now, who call ourselves his Servants, he was not content to leave us with his work thus unfulfilled, and with this land in danger. He died in body, but he is not gone! His hand is still felt upon this land and upon its people, to the greater good of all of us. To a certain few, he has even spoken directly, giving guidance and promise of hope, when all earthly comfort had failed; even giving the gift of healing in his miracles.”
Saint Camber Page 36
