Silence for a few seconds, as Hubert handed off the thurible and temporarily changed places with MacGregor, who had taken up one of the large, blessed candles. The choir shifted to a new set of canticles and antiphons as MacGregor presented it to Hubert, who lit it from flint and tinder struck by a waiting deacon and then held the lit candle aloft in salute to the altar.
Then, when Hubert had given it to MacGregor, both received the other clergy in the order of their rank, to distribute candles to all. Each man knelt before Hubert to kiss the candle humbly and then the hand that gave it, before moving on to MacGregor, to light the candle from Hubert’s original.
But they did not form up for the procession that should have come next. Instead, Hubert’s clergy gathered to either side of his episcopal throne, bowing as he passed between them and took his place. His costly vestments bent stiffly around him as he sat, and the precious miter a chaplain placed on his head glittered like an earthly crown in the candlelight.
As a master of ceremonies came forward in a lesser cope, bearing a large scroll that dangled half a dozen seals pendant from as many different colored ribbons, two lines of priests in the most austere of black cassocks began to file into the choir from either end of the ambulatory aisle. They were led by a tall, lanky, barefooted man of about fifty, also all in black, who prostrated himself at Hubert’s feet as his brethren knelt all around him, heads humbly bowed. Javan could not quite place the man, though he looked vaguely familiar, but there was no mistaking Fathers Lior and Burton among the kneeling others, even without the odd cinctures they had worn the last time Javan saw them.
The men remained kneeling, their incipient leader still stretched prostrate among them, as the master of ceremonies read out the charter.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen. Salutem in Domine, omnes gentes.…”
The document began innocuously enough, with the conventional Latin words one always expected of such formal documents. But after the introductory phrases, the text shifted to a vernacular translation, as if to ensure that there could be no mistaking the charter’s intent.
“So, therefore, do we, Hubert John William Valerian MacInnis, Archbishop of Valoret and Primate of All Gwynedd, in accordance with the recommendation and consent of our Council sitting in Ramos, authorize, institute, and found a new religious order, under our direct and especial patronage. And the name of this Order shall be the Custodes Fidei—the Guardians of the Faith—and its purpose shall be three-fold.
“First, so that the teachings of Holy Mother Church may be transmitted in accordance with holy writ and canon law, free from the taint of heresy, especially the heresy of the Deryni contagion, the Order shall have charge of all education whatsoever in this land—from infants’ schools through universities and seminaries—under the direct supervision and execution of the Order’s Chancellor General.
“Second, so that the purity of God’s holy priesthood may be preserved, uncorrupted by the taint of Deryni magic, as set forth in the Statutes of Ramos, all examinations for entry into Holy Orders of whatsoever kind shall be conducted by members of the Order, who shall have all means at their discretion to ensure the good faith of candidates, even unto capital trial. To this end, all seminaries presently instituted for the training of priests or religious of any kind are hereby made over to the Custodes Fidei, and all ordinations to any clerical degree whatsoever are temporarily suspended, for a period not to exceed six months. During that time, the Order shall take such steps as are necessary to bring all such seminaries into accord with the new guidelines promulgated by the Council of Ramos, so that by Lammastide next, in the second year of the reign of our Lord King Alroy, an officially sanctioned series of approved seminaries may be duly reconstituted and the training of priests resumed, to the greater glory of God.
“Third, so that Holy Mother Church may once again have an honorable company of Christian Knights to defend her and do homage before Our Lord, to be His arm upon this land, we do institute a sub-order of Knights of the Most Holy Guardianship, Equites Custodum Fidei, who shall live under monastic rule and owe direct obedience to the Primate through their Grand Master and Vicar General.
“And as an especial sign of the favor of this Order in the eyes of the Crown, it has been the pleasure of the King’s Grace to grant unto said Custodes Fidei a double cincture of Haldane crimson and gold, intertwined, in token of the Order’s mandate to unify holy and secular law. And though all members of the Order shall wear black as a sign of humility and their death to secular concerns, their mantles shall be faced with Haldane crimson, lest anyone forget that the Order bears the special patronage of the Crown of Gwynedd.
“And the badge confirmed unto this Order shall be gules, a winged golden lion sejant guardant, its head ennobled with a halo, holding in its dexter paw an upraised sword, emblematic of the Or der’s duty to maintain constant vigilance in defense of the Faith.…”
There was more of the proclamation, mostly pertaining to specific lands and houses being granted to the Order at its institution, but Javan hardly heard. Now he understood how the regents planned to enforce at least some of the restrictions the Council of Ramos had placed on Deryni, especially the ban on Deryni priests.
He watched numbly as the first members of the Order came forward to make their vows to the archbishop, Hubert raising up their leader first—Paulin of Ramos, who stepped down as Bishop of Stavenham to become the Custodes’ first Vicar General, and who undoubtedly would continue to spearhead the council that shared his name. No wonder he had looked so familiar.
And now Paulin was giving up a bishop’s miter to head the Custodes. Him the archbishop invested with a wide scarlet sash, tying over it the cincture plaited of Haldane scarlet and gold cords. The black mantle laid around his shoulders was wholly lined with scarlet, clasped with a pair of haloed lion heads at the throat, and bore a larger version of the haloed-lion badge appliqued over the left shoulder. His staff of office likewise bore the lion badge in three dimensions, and the thought crossed Javan’s mind that the hand-high sword in the lion’s paw was a lethal weapon, as was Paulin himself. Certainly, that Paulin had chosen to give away a bishop’s miter for it bespoke much of the power the new Vicar General expected his order to wield in the future.
Following Paulin, his immediate subordinates made their vows and were installed. One Marcus Concannon became Chancellor General, in charge of the seminaries—a man well known as a Deryni hater as well as a scholastic. A tall, gaunt monk identified only as Brother Serafin became Inquisitor General. Javan shivered to hear Father Lior named as his assistant.
And as the Order’s first Grand Master, to command the new ecclesiastical knights, Paulin named his brother, the former Earl of Tarleton, a widower-warrior of some prominence who had resigned his earldom to his teenaged son but a few days before, and now took the name Albertus in religion.
Then came the rank and file of the new Order. In addition to nearly four-score clergy, over a hundred fighting men took the vows of the Custodes that morning, promising poverty, chastity, and obedience in exchange for the accolade of an Eques Custodum Fidei, conferred by Grand Master Albertus. The professed brethren’s plaited cincture of scarlet and gold became a cordon when worn about the left shoulders of the new ecclesiastical knights, and black surcoats bore a red moline cross charged with the haloed lion’s head of the Order’s device. The pristine white sash formerly used to denote knighthood among the Michaelines acquired scarlet fringes when bound about the waists of the new ecclesiastical knights. To Javan, the fringe evoked the imagery of blood dripping from the ends of the sashes, desecrating the very concept of chivalry. Nor did the swooping black mantles with their scarlet facings make the Equites look like anything other than birds of prey.
And the Order’s lethal intent seemed only underlined by Hubert’s next act, for he called all the newly vowed Custodes to kneel before him and there bestowed upon them the notorious Benediction of the Sword, which granted the recipient aut
omatic forgiveness for malicide. In general terms, malicide had always been understood to mean any justifiable killing of the wicked. In practice, its use in the past had almost always been confined to times of war, when malicide was not only expected but encouraged. Giving the Custodes such a sanction in peacetime amounted to a license to murder Deryni, so far as Javan was concerned—for who better than the Deryni, in the regents’ estimation, currently embodied the most prominent example of wickedness?
Unfortunately, Javan could do nothing to prevent it. And when he attempted to query Alroy about it, while the newly vowed and exonerated Custodes filed forward finally to receive their candles from the archbishop’s hands, Alroy could not seem to understand why Javan should object. Nor could Rhys Michael, when Javan shifted his questioning to him—and the exchange brought a shush and a very stern look from Manfred, back behind the row of royal squires. The reprimand silenced Javan immediately, but it did not still the turmoil in his brain.
Hubert’s triumph was not yet complete, either. For as the Custodes took up their candles, they went not to the ambulatory aisle whence they had come, but filed into the nave to line the center aisle. The ostensible reason was to provide a guard of honor, for when the morning’s original ceremony resumed where it had been broken off to institute the new order, all laymen present, beginning with the king and his brothers, were expected to come forward as the clergy had done and receive their candles from the archbishop.
Javan had known he would have to do that, and had innured himself to the necessity of kissing Hubert’s pudgy, pink hand, but he had not reckoned how difficult he would find it to pass among the Custodes without flinching. He seemed to feel their eyes boring into the back of his neck as he followed Alroy forward, though he knew they could not know his true feelings about them, and he was chilled to find Brother Serafin, the Order’s new Inquisitor General, gazing directly at him as he limped closer, to kneel at Hubert’s feet.
Hubert’s hand was moist and soft, and the archbishop insisted on resting it on the heads of each of the princes in blessing after they had kissed it and taken their candles. Javan managed not to show his revulsion as he went through with the required charade, even finding some measure of charity in his heart as he bowed before Bishop MacGregor to light his candle, but on his way back to his place, he feigned a sneeze so that he could wipe his sleeve across his nose and mouth, in at least a symbolic gesture of wiping Hubert’s taint from his lips.
As he knelt in his place once more, staring into his candle flame as the seemingly endless parade of the faithful came and went in orderly lines, he begged God’s pardon for any disrespect his gesture might have carried for the gift—but not the giver!—and tried to let the rise and fall of the choir’s sung antiphon lull him into more seemly observation of the day’s intent.
“Exsurge, Domine, adjuva nos: et libera nos propter nomen tuum.…” Arise, Lord, and free us for the honour of Thy name.…
The words had most of their desired effect, after being sung enough times, so that, when all the congregation had returned to their places, Javan was able to observe the archbishop’s procession to the doors and back with only scant animosity. During the procession, the choir sang of the presentation of the Child Jesus in the temple, when Simeon had taken the child in his arms and said, blessing God, “Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine, in pace.” Lord, now dost thou let thy servant depart in peace.
But even during the Mass that followed, Javan was able to derive no real peace, all too aware of Paulin and his Custodes assisting Hubert in the Eucharistic celebration—and the Knights now kneeling along the center aisle. The Sacrament itself seemed oddly hollow to Javan, and made him wish he had dared to stay in his place instead of going forward for Communion, for receiving it in his present state of mind was perilously near blasphemy, so much anger did he bear Hubert and his cohorts.
Afterwards was hardly better, for then he must be gracious and pretend he approved of the entire thing, both in the informal chatter that surrounded the royal party as they left the cathedral and then at the feast that followed in the archbishop’s great hall. No women were allowed to attend, and the regents and the three princes were the only laymen present.
The afternoon stretched on interminably. Javan’s knees ached from kneeling all morning, and they sat him between Tammaron and the new chancellor general, neither of whom said much to him. Soon, as a result of allowing too much wine to be forced upon him, his head ached, too.
The one positive result of the misspent afternoon was that he got a look at parts of the archbishop’s palace he had not seen before—knowledge that would be vital if he ever got up the nerve to look for the Portal in Hubert’s apartments—the Portal the archbishop did not know he had. Today’s events made it even more imperative that Javan communicate with his Deryni allies—at least before the regents packed him off to Rhemuth.
But not tonight—though a ghost of a plan had begun to form in his mind of how he might gain more ready access to the palace and, more important, to Hubert’s apartments. He would have to think further on it and consider whether he dared the other risks that went along with it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For thy power is the beginning of righteousness.
—Wisdom of Solomon 12:16
Javan’s Deryni allies, of course, had no inkling of the risks their prince was contemplating. Losing the use of the Valoret Portal—and hence, their means of communicating with Javan—was but one of the setbacks of the night of Giesele MacLean’s murder, and one that allowed of being pushed temporarily to the background while they dealt with more immediate considerations arising from the incident. Once Ansel was out of danger and they had resolved their initial panic regarding young Tieg, their chief priority in the following fortnight became the further evaluation and integration of Sylvan O’Sullivan—for upon his cooperation and ability might rest the entire success of what they had planned for Revan.
Fortunately, Sylvan proved to be both an apt and an enthusiastic pupil, once he recovered from the shock of his unexpected initiation into higher arcana. Not only Tavis and Queron but also Joram, Niallan, and even Ansel all instructed him in the days and weeks that followed his arrival, so that both his knowledge of Healing techniques and his general adeptship increased almost twofold—no mean feat for a man whose Healer’s training hitherto had been oriented almost exclusively toward battle applications.
“So Revan is simply going to be a decoy for what’s really happening?” Sylvan inquired of Queron, early on in his training, as he and the senior Healer relaxed with a jug of mulled wine Queron had brought, after a particularly tiring afternoon’s work.
Queron handed Sylvan a steaming cup. “That’s right—though you mustn’t underestimate the sheer charisma a gifted human like Revan can project. Still, it behooves you and Tavis to make Revan look good—because he can stand up to official scrutiny, where the two of you can’t.”
“Against merasha, you mean?”
“That seems to be the preferred form of coercion just now—yes. I predict that the Custodes Fidei will have much to answer for, when they finally are called before God’s judgment. In any case, we can’t give you any defense against merasha, other than to block you.”
“Which makes us no use to Revan,” Sylvan reasoned.
“Precisely. Which is why our first preference is that none of you come to the particular notice of the authorities at all—even Revan. Besides the obvious danger of merasha and perhaps other substances, my guess is that the Custodes are not above more physical means of persuasion—even outright torture, if it suits their purposes.”
Sylvan grimaced. “Well, I can cope with that, if I must. I suppose it’s the John the Baptist parallel that still makes me uneasy. It seems to me that we’re skirting perilously close to blasphemy—and I don’t even want to think about heresy. Mind you, I can’t argue from the same philosophical premises as you or Joram.” He flashed the senior Healer an amiable grin. “In the last few days, the two
of you have made me woefully aware of the inadequacies of my Varnarite training for anything but battle surgery. But isn’t it awfully risky, doctrinally speaking, using the framework of baptism to cover blocking Deryni?”
Smiling, Queron blew lightly on his hot wine to cool it. “If we meant it as a substitute for Christian baptism, most assuredly. However, the mere concept of baptism is not exclusively Christian. We know that at the time of Christ, baptism was common to many different sects. Nor did it always have the sacramental nature we now attach to it in a Christian context.”
“No?”
Queron shrugged in easy camaraderie. “Well, I could quote you chapter and verse from a multitude of sources—a few of which might even be familiar to someone of Varnarite training—but take my word for it. As just one example, the Prophet Elisha prescribed baptism for purification. That’s in the Second Book of Kings. And all four Gospels speak of John’s form of baptism in almost exactly the same words, as a sign of inward repentance for the remission of sins.”
“‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand,’” Sylvan quoted promptly.
“Correct,” Queron agreed. “A plus for Varnarite training! And John said, ‘I indeed baptize you with water; but one mightier than I cometh, the latchet of whose shoes I am not worthy to unloose; and he shall baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.’”
“So we simply avoid baptizing with the Holy Spirit or fire?” Sylvan retorted with a wry smile.
Chuckling, Queron raised his cup in salute. “Something like that—though I’ll grant you, it’s a delicate balance. Somehow, we must go back to some of those earlier traditions and devise a form for our current situation that will be acceptable to the most conservative of the present Church hierarchy, yet still induce people to believe it might have some efficacious effect. Now perhaps you understand why the Lady Evaine spends so much time poring over her scrolls.”
The Harrowing of Gwynedd Page 19
