Wine of the Gods 08: Dark Lady

by Pam Uphoff

  Kurt gawped, then slowly shook his head. "This is going to be a long year. Tell me, father, what is the worst sin? To stupidly tell the truth and accept punishment, or to lie by omission, and avoid all mention of things that could cause punishment?"

  "My son, this is not punishment. This is a peaceful time to reorder your thoughts and return to the grace of the Lord."

  "I have not left the grace of God. I have merely upset the Council of Bishops, which I'm sure you agree is a much lesser thing, despite their ability to imprison me for a year and a day."

  "This is not a prison. You may walk out at any time."

  "It is a prison. The bars are threat of all future standing in law."

  "The threat is separation from God."

  "No, Father. The threat is for all the Church to treat me as if I have left the grace of God. The Church can remove my ability to make a legal marriage, sign contracts or own property. Only God can dismiss me from his graces. That I do not fear."

  "You worshiped a false god."

  "No Father, I did not worship. I witnessed. And reported as fully and completely as possible. The clergy needs to go investigate the Arbolian's religion, and then they will better understand what a devil or demon is. I have seen corruption of faith closely, father. I place my faith and care of my soul in the hands of God, and I will do God's will."

  Father Miles sighed, and turned down a back corridor. "You will sleep here, and serve in helping the elderly priests in their retirement." He opened the door and Kurt eyed the clean and nearly barren room. A small high window, a cross on the wall, a bed. A very plain wardrobe. "These should fit." Kurt looked at the plain tunics and pants, sandals in the wardrobe. "Place all of your Worldly goods and clothing in the sack. It will be stored and returned to you at the end of your penance. At the first bell, you will rise and cleanse yourself." He led the way down the hallway and out to a basic privy and wash basin under a separate roof from the rest of the complex. "At the second bell you may, if you feel in God's graces, join the community for early prayer and then breakfast with us. Father Derrick is in charge of the retirement house, and will speak to you after breakfast." He nodded politely to Kurt, and turned to walk away.

  Kurt bowed to his back, and set out to familiarize himself with this previously unknown part of the Cathedral. He changed first, stuffing the sack. Was there anything he wanted to keep? Money? A knife? His hip flask full of the Dark Lady's wine? Only the latter, really, but the former might be a useful test of how much he was trusted. He tucked the flask into the waist of the draw string trousers and set out to find a good place to hide it. Around a corner and down a hallway, a low cabinet in a niche holding a portrait of a former archbishop held a miscellany; furniture polish and rags foremost. The flask, flat at the back would probably not be noticed. His knife went under his pillow, and a small purse was left in the wardrobe. Both coin and paper money were concealed about the bare room. In the morning he had no trouble finding the chapel for morning prayers, nor the dining room for a bland breakfast.

  Father Derrick nabbed him immediately after, as if expecting him to run off like a naughty child. He spent the morning changing bedding all through a wide maze of rooms. They tended to cluster, each with a pretty garden, and he eventually stopped getting lost as he returned to rooms with fresh bedding and clothing, and then returned to assist in doing the laundry. He pictured Franklin's expression if he caught him washing the sheets of incontinent old men and grinned.

  One of the others on laundry duty eyed him. "You think laundry's funny?"

  "I suspect that before my year is up I'll be quite tired of it. So don't grudge me seeing the humor in it on my first day."

  "Oh, ho. You got the whole year and a day?" The young man looked surprised. "You don't look like you've got horns sprouting."

  Kurt snickered. "No, but I managed to tick off the Council, none-the-less. Hmm, am I a Brother for the year, or do we heretics just use our names?"

  "Oh, just your name, unless you're planning on staying. I'm Ferrit."

  "Kurt. So you were bad too?"

  "Less lip than you, most like, and more paint. I thought my cartoon about Father Will was quite amusing. I suppose I ought to have put it to paper, not done it up large on my da's barn. Three months. One still to go. What did you do?"

  "Described, as accurately as I could something I witnessed, and made the mistake of calling it magic. Somehow it all got twisted around to me worshipping it. I haven't quite figured out how. I guess I expected the Council act more like a court of law than a close minded paranoid power structure."

  "Oh." The boy blinked at him in astonishment. "If they could, they'd have had you in here forever. You're better off going against God, than threatening the power of the Church."

  "Umm, not really. God is the important one. The Council is merely powerful."

  Ferrit was grinning and shaking his head. "Ooo. I am going to have to avoid you to keep out of trouble."

  They sat together at lunch, silent like the rest of the brothers, then returned to hang their wash to dry. By the time they were done, the first was dry and they started folding. Then evening prayers. Dinner.

  Then Father Miles. "How was your first day here?"

  "Very pleasant." Kurt told him. "I hadn't ever thought about the fate of retired clergy, and I'm delighted to find them so well taken care of and in such pleasant surroundings."

  "Indeed. Of course many return to their families. But those who do not have that option generally come here. Come walk with me. I'll introduce you some of our oldest pensioners."

  Kurt trailed him and met a dozen former council members and two retired bishops. Some were quite old, and one of the bishops spoke of christening Kurt's great grandfather.

  "The senior clergy seem to be long lived," he commented, after they left.

  "Indeed. Godly lives do seem to be quite long." He glanced toward another cluster, but turned away. "And sometimes the impious. Poor man isn't in his right mind anymore. Such a pity. He'd be an inspiration to us all if he just didn't . . . well."

  Kurt made note of the location. Impious? Something to look into.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Tuesday, June 30, 3493 AD

  City of Arrival, Arrival

  Liz hurried down to the entry of the baron's town house – a mansion smaller than Baron Weigh's in Jeramtown, but still quite large enough for any ten families.

  This was it. Time for the big show down.

  The Baron was looking fiendishly pleased as he motioned her to stand beside him.

  Poor old Mr. Wiggins, temporarily standing in for the baron's Major Domo, who would be traveling with the baroness was trying hard to look formal. He threw open the front door and then retreated.

  Baroness Millicent Debrois Jameson of East Heights swept into the entry hall like a small thunderstorm. "So. I see the rumors of you having taken a mistress are true. And no shame about it, either!" She advanced on Liz, her hand rose to slap.

  Jameson intercepted, grabbed her wrist and placed papers in her hand.

  "This is a Bishops' Council's Writ of Annulment. You are not and never have been, my wife."

  Everyone stopped dead for a long moment.

  "I have had the dower suite made up for your use, while you consult lawyers and no doubt your brother. The children will keep their usual rooms. I will speak to each of them privately." Jameson's teeth showed in a nasty smile. "And now may I introduce Lady Elizabeth Jameson, my daughter by my first—and only—wife?"

  "How. Dare. You."

  "Madam, with the greatest pleasure I've had since you started giving birth to children who not only failed to look anything like me, but were born nine months after extended absences of mine."

  Liz could see the baroness's, the former Baroness's, staff falling back and some over-dressed youngsters moving forward. A hulking teenager, pale haired and red faced was first. "What are you talking about? You are divorcing Mother?" He tried hard to loom, but his height and bulk were
betrayed by his basic youth and softness.

  "No. The marriage was never valid."

  The boy's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to disinherit me?"

  "Raulph, it is not your fault that you were born seven months after I was married unwillingly to your mother, whom I had never met before our wedding day. You may be sure that you will be taken care of suitably."

  "Suitably! You are disinheriting me." His head jerked up and he glared at Liz. "For her."

  "More likely for your brother."

  "What!" He swung around on the other youngsters crowding up behind him.

  The two girls were also fair haired and tall for their ages, which Liz guessed at twelve and fourteen. A younger boy, this one with brown hair and a smaller frame was looking stunned, and backed hastily away from his siblings sudden attention.

  "Why you little . . . "

  "Raulph." The Baron snapped, and waited until the older boy turned back to face him. "You have been a bully whenever you could get away with it. You can no longer get away with it. Now." He looked over at the servants. "Take Lady Millicent's luggage to the dower suite. Put the children's in their usual places. Children, please join me in my office." Millicent bristled. "Madam, send for your lawyer. I am sure that your children will let you know what arrangements I am making for them. Come."

  The office and library were long side-by-side rooms, connected by an arch and both with windows overlooking the garden.

  "Now. Here are the facts. I married at the age of eighteen, in church with all the appending paperwork. Upon our return from our honeymoon my father abducted my wife. He paid the priest who had preformed the ceremony to destroy the paperwork and forget it ever happened.

  "My wife was threatened. I was made to believe that if I did not marry as my father wished she would be killed. If I complied, she would also be married, to salvage her reputation." His lips thinned. "I married. Now it appears that the priest had a guilty conscious and confessed all in his diary. The Bishop's Council are appalled. My coerced marriage is dissolved. Unfortunately you—and my Lucy's other children—will be bearing the brunt of this shameful episode.

  "It's not our fault!" The older girl burst out.

  "No. It's not. Be assured that your dowry is safe, and should you have other ambitions, education or whatever, those will have my support as well."

  "But, you said, " The older boy's glare shifted from his father to his younger brother.

  "Yes. I really didn't care that your mother had a lover, she'd been forced into this marriage as much as I had—pregnant by a married man, she was desperate for any marriage. But I kept a diary, too. And I knew I hadn't fathered either of her next two children, either. I . . . worked to ensure that I was probably the father of her fourth child. And I really did try to be a good father to all of you. Raulph, the lord knows I've spent time with you, walked, talked, and played. Lectured and yelled. But you still bully, still abuse the power of your position. Perhaps without your position, you will finally grow up, show some maturity, and be the man I've always hoped you would be. But until then, I will not be petitioning for a declaration of legitimacy for you."

  Raulph got even paler.

  "Felix, you are only eleven, and have a lot of growing and maturing to do. You will live with me, with or without your siblings. Most likely you will be my heir."

  "What about her?" The older girl was scowling at Liz.

  "Elizabeth will be marrying next year. I will be bestowing a suitable dowry and gift upon her and her husband."

  "That's our money." Her voice was a high indignant protest.

  "No. Your dowries are untouched. Now. I expect your mother is curious about this meeting, and might possibly need your support. You may go."

  Liz shivered and rubbed her arms as the other four left.

  "Liz, don't feel sorry for them. Well, Felix, perhaps. But Millicent has raised them to be spoiled brats, and this may be what is needed to turn them into decent human beings. Even Raulph. He's a month older than you, and very much in need of growing up."

  "Now, the next few days will no doubt be unpleasant, so feel free to try to avoid everyone except at meals."

  There was a tap on the door, followed immediately by the entrance of an expensively suited butler.

  "Yes, Mr. Hodgens?"

  "The lawyers are here, sir."

  "How many?"

  "Eight, sir. I understand that Lord Harold Debrois is en route."

  "Excellent. Send them in, and Lord Debrois when he arrives." The Baron smiled at Liz. "Stay and be introduced."

  And then try to not look like I'm running away.

  Felix sported a black eye the third day.

  Her father noted it and said nothing. In the evening Raulph missed dinner.

  Susan and Katherine were quiet throughout, and Liz chatted quietly with her father, sticking strictly to discussing the news she'd read in the newspaper the baron had delivered every day.

  "I'm surprised there hasn't been more about the Arbolian troop movements, or had they gone home and become un-newsworthy before we got back from Jeram?"

  "They packed up and departed smartly, due to their poorly disciplined troops running amok in one of their own towns. The news was old and stale by the time we got here. Of course, the details would never be published. King Mark has no desire to alarm people over something he's already dealt with." A quick flash of a smile. "And Prince Kurt, of course. I spoke to a number of people in Jeramtown. The only ill I heard spoken of him involved some old woman who blamed him for the state of her floor. I didn't quite understand how that came about."

  Liz smiled, remembering the feisty old lady. "The Arbolians put their sappers to work on the west wall. One of them came up in Miss Frouth's kitchen. There was quite a battle, with Prince Kurt down underground, and, well. The floor hasn't recovered."

  Susan was sitting up, wide-eyed. "You met Prince Kurt? He's so cute, I've seen him in parades." Her face fell. "But he was injured . . . in Arbolia."

  "Yes. He's been dedicating himself to the Army since he recovered." How much to say in front of these two?

  "I was impressed." The baron looked thoughtfully at Felix. "Pity he's got himself crosswise to the Church, or I'd be holding him up as an example for you to follow."

  Liz sighed. A year and a day. They'd given him the longest sentence possible for telling the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Friday, July 3, 3493 AD

  City of Arrival, Arrival

  It was two days before Kurt got back to the cluster with the extremely old person he had not met. To his surprise, the cluster had been modified to serve a single man.

  ". . . just, for Christ sake let me sleep, you stupid woman!"

  Kurt choked as he stripped the bed, and failed to resist a peek into the next room. The skinny old man was stark naked, and the starched stiff woman had her chin up and was refusing to be intimidated.

  "That's our orders, sir. You're to be woken up every four hours and fed, and you must stay awake during the day and exercise your mind."

  "Don't call me sir! I'm your husband, not that you have the faintest idea what that means, you icicle."

  "Now, sir. You know that we have a holy and reverent marriage, above all common. . .

  "Hogwash! Come to bed, woman!"

  That sent her stomping out.

  The old man made a beeline for the door and surprised Kurt.

  "God damn it! First chance I get to catch up on my sleep and here you are stealing my blankets!"

  Kurt hastily whipped one out of the bundle and spread it on the bed. Fortunately there was no problem of incontinence here.

  The old man stretched out and pulled half the blanket back over himself. "Go away. Don't come back without some wine, or at least a pack of cards."

  Kurt opened his mouth to reply, but the old man was already snoring.

  ***

  The old man's laundry was washed once a week. It took nearly that long for Kurt to hunt down a bottle of win
e. He hadn't discussed the old man with Father Miles. He'd limited himself to questions about his missing knife and purse.

  "You won't need them, Kurt. This is neither a battlefield nor a marketplace."

  Kurt refrained from mentioning that the Church had failed a test of trust. He had, after all, expected the search.

  He ran into Ferrit regularly. He chatted and tried hard to not lead the boy into any worse error than mocking his parish priest. The boy's last month was up quickly and he missed the cheerful lad.

  The question of a priest with a wife, however reverential and non-physical puzzled him. Celibacy had come and gone from the requirements of priesthood in the Church. It had been four hundred years since a priest could marry, and while the old man could be that old, the stiff and starched woman hadn't looked like either a wife, nor particularly aged. Kurt figured the wine might get a few answers.

  Unfortunately the old man was 'having a bad day', glassy eyed and incoherent, mumbling about wives and sleep and blaspheming with every sentence. Kurt took his wine away, and hid it with his flask. Perhaps next week. And perhaps he should add a bit of the Lady's healing wine to the bottle.

  Chapter Forty

  Thursday, July 9, 3493 AD

  City of Arrival, Arrival

  ". . . so you needn't put on airs, we'll have you out of here fast enough." Lady Susan was almost fifteen.

  "My dear, you do such a wonderful sneer." Liz smiled over at her, trying to find some bit of humor in there. Anything that she could be sympathetic with.

  Susan scowled. "Oh sure. You think it's funny. For us it's an absolute disaster. Even with a declaration of legitimacy our marriage prospects are sunk. I was going to be a Baroness. Now I'll probably have to accept marriage to some assistant cowherd."

  "Do you know many young men?" Liz asked. "Not that many would be brave enough to marry against their father's wishes."