by Whyte, Jack
"Good God, Cay! You have to stay more aware of what's going on. I spent three hours this afternoon talking with priests of both factions—our British ones and their Roman ones—Pelagian and orthodox, as these zealots would have it! They have, among diem, issued me—and all of us—with an ultimatum: salvation or damnation, on the terms of the Church in Rome, without any recourse to trial. That is what's going on!"
I was bewildered and admitted it. "I'm sorry, Father. I had no idea. Have we a choice?"
He snapped open his mouth to shout at me, I could see it in his face, and then subsided, looking down at the table top in front of him.
I continued speaking. "I mean, what are we to do? It sounds as though the battle lines between these two schools of thought are clearly drawn. Are we in a position to debate them?"
He sighed, a long-drawn and distressing sound. "I don't know, Cay. I simply do not know. The only thing I do know with any certainty is that this whole question has sprung up suddenly, although it has been fermenting for years. I believe it is the biggest and the most vexatious question any of us will face in our lifetime, or in the lifetimes of our children. How are we to proceed from this day on in the way we live our lives and worship our God?" He was silent again for a short space, and then continued, "I wish my father were still alive. His was a mind fashioned for abstractions like this. Mine is not. How can I take this question to the Council? It would tie all of us up in argument for years. If we accept the dictates of the Pope in Rome and the Bishop of Hippo, we must—and I have to emphasize the imperative—we must abandon completely all of the rules we have been taught to live by until now. That involves the certain condemnation of Bishop Alaric and his kind, who adopted the teachings of Pelagius in good faith. But on a far- more subtle level, it involves the surrender of our will to the dictates of the men in Rome, and that is what Pelagius was against from the beginning. His contention and his fear were that the so-called men of God were taking unto themselves the attributes of God. They were taking the teachings of the Christ Himself and interpreting them to suit their own requirements. And Pelagius was right, Cay! He was right! And they have proved him right by excommunicating him. They have condemned him to eternity without salvation. The Christ whose faith they follow would never condone such extreme punishment. Yet these men, who live in Rome in luxury, I'm told, have taken to themselves the power to tell all others how to live, and to condemn them to perdition if they do not obey." He stopped, and drew another deep breath.
"Pelagius was simple in his teachings. There is nothing anti-Christ in him. He teaches us that we must choose between the laws of God and the ways of licentiousness. He says it rests in us to choose to follow the Christ or to spurn him. He tells us we are made in God's image, with the innate ability to aspire to joining God's heavenly host. That innate ability is at the centre of this controversy. Our will is free, as was the will of him we call Satan. The temptations we face are the same as Lucifer's. But Pelagius gives us hope in ourselves, and dignity, and a sense of worth."
I was fascinated by this new view of my father. I listened, spellbound, as he went on.
"The followers of Augustine of Hippo, on the other hand, deny us that sense of worth. We are born in sin, they say, already doomed to our fate, unless we subjugate ourselves to their ways, begging their intercession with the Divine to give us grace." He was waxing angry again, outrage swelling in his face. He slammed his hand down on the table top and drew himself to his full height. "Do you have anything of great importance to look to now?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "No, nothing that will not wait until tomorrow."
"Good. Let's get out of here and go for a ride. I want to shout and rave and vent my bile, and there's no profit to be gained by doing it where I can be overheard. Do you mind?"
"Not at all, lead on."
While we walked to the stables in silence and saddled our horses, I thought about all my father had said and about the conflict that had so suddenly consumed him. I knew it was important then, but I had no idea that the past hour and the hour to come were to affect me so strongly that they would influence the evolution of an entire country in the course of coming years.
On leaving the fort we took the new road to the villa, but left it at the bottom of the hill and struck south towards the forest's edge. We rode in silence, each of us with his own thoughts, until the silence of the forest cloaked us and all sounds from Camulod were long lost behind us. We rode through a series of dense thickets, which had kept us both busy trying to stay in the saddle, and emerged from the last of them to find ourselves in a beautiful, gladed area with wide expanses of open grassland, from which sprang magnificent beech trees. The thought occurred to me that this must be a holy place to the Druids, and that brought the question of excommunication back into my mind. Most of my Druid friends were not Christian, so they had no worries about salvation or eternal life. Some of them, however, had become converted to Christianity in recent years and yet lived a life that was little altered from their traditional ways. This new direction from Rome, I felt, could be ominous to these people, whose conversion had come directly from the compatibility of the humanity of Pelagius's beliefs and the mellow benignity of the Druidic ways. Some of these men might have been in the fort the previous night, and I wondered if they had been affected by what my father had described as a riot. Finally, when I had gone over everything my father had said for about the tenth time, I could stand his silence no longer.
"Father?" He turned to me. "What happened last night? You said there was almost a riot. What caused it? Who was involved?"
"Priests caused it, Christian priests fighting with Christian priests. I wasn't there. I ate in my quarters with Titus and Flavius. We were disturbed at our meal by a messenger sent to us by your friend Ludo. The common dining hall was crowded, as it always is at that time of night, and an argument broke out when a group of priests who had just * arrived that afternoon refused to be seated at the same table as two of your Druid friends. Popilius, the senior centurion, was in the hall. He offered to reseat them at another table at which some other priests were already seated. They refused to sit with these people, either, and one of them started shouting about damnation and anathema. Popilius tried to shut him up, but one word led to another and these two groups of priests actually came to blows! Can you imagine?
"Well, by the time poor Popilius had gathered his wits enough to call up the guard, the whole place had degenerated into an armed camp. Can't blame Popilius. He simply did not anticipate violence from churchmen, especially among themselves. It got out of hand too quickly for him. But that Ludo's a bright one. As soon as he saw which way the wind was blowing, he sent word to me. By the time I got there, the guard had all of them under restraint."
"So what did you do?"
"Confined the lot of them under guard for the night."
"In the cells?" I was aghast at the thought, but my father dismissed my concern brusquely.
"Where should I have put them? In my own quarters?"
"Good God! I can't imagine priests coming to blows with each other."
"I couldn't either, until I saw it. But I told you I spent three hours with those people today. I have no trouble imagining it now. It was the first such occurrence, to the best of my knowledge, but I fear it will not be the last. Not by any measure."
My father reined in his horse, so that I had to do the same to mine, and when he spoke next, his voice was low and vibrant with urgency. "Caius, hear this. This new band of priests, seven of them in number, provoked the entire disgraceful debacle deliberately. Today they turned the rough edges of their tongues and their intolerance on me. On me! They came into my fort—and it is mine, for all intents and purposes — demanded my hospitality, abused it flagrantly and arrogantly, and treated me like a criminal for having dared to lock them up, and like an excommunicate heathen for daring to differ with their opinions and beliefs. They told me that I should clean out Camulod; get rid of all the women in the fort; and clos
e the doors of Camulod to all priests who will not swear to the apostasy of Pelagius and his teachings. And that I should accept the error of my ways with humility and beg their pardon for my sins!" His voice was shaking now with outrage. "And!" he went on, "And once I had applied for and received their forgiveness, and had been reaccorded the right to salvation, I should begin a series of... inquiries into the beliefs of each of our colonists, doing all in my power to ensure that they conform to the new doctrines! All in my power, you understand, includes expelling people from the Colony."
I was hearing far more than I had bargained for.
"What was your reaction to all of this?"
"My reaction? I had to sit on my reaction. I cannot remember ever having felt so powerless in my life. I could have taken them and flogged the flesh from their bones, Cay, but it would not have made one jot of difference to their attitude. I had no power to change them. These men are convinced that they are right, and that the rest of the world is wrong. There is no giving in them, no compromise, no gentleness, no humanity. They are zealots. Fanatics. They are a new breed of priests altogether, and they frighten me, not for myself but for the world they seek to rule and change and conquer. And they call themselves Christian." He sighed, noisily, a mixture of anger and indignation.
"Four hundred years have wrought a lot of changes in the Word of the Christ. Do you remember the story of Jesus on the mountainside, when he preached the blessedness of the humble, the peacemakers, the seekers after justice? Well, that story and its sentiments sit strangely with the way these men of God behave today. The Son of the Carpenter is being lost sight of, Caius. His words are being reinterpreted and "improved upon." Jesus, the Christus, talked of love and of peace. Now there are factions warring within his Church, condemning each other with sheer hatred and intolerance. Love is out of favour."
"So you said nothing to them when they railed at you?"
He threw me a look that spoke loudly, and I saw Picus the Legate as well as Picus my father in his eyes. "No, I didn't mean that. But I said nothing rash, nothing in anger. I told them that I would consider their words, think about them, and give them an answer soon. And in the meantime, I sent them back to the cells under guard, with strict instructions that they not be allowed to speak to anyone until I have reached my decision."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Have you reached a decision?"
"Yes, I have reached a decision." He kicked his heels into his mount's flanks and we began to move forward again. "But only within the past few moments, in talking it over with you." His voice died away, and I saw no profit in commenting upon the worth of my contribution to the discussion to date. We rode side by side in silence for a spell and then he started talking again.
"One of them told me about a new lifestyle being followed in the Church today. It is called monasticism. It involves a complete withdrawal from public life. Its adherents live in monasteries—enclosed communities of men only, who dedicate themselves entirely to penitence. These people mortify their own flesh, Cay. They abase themselves constantly before their God, who is a contradiction in terms: a Christian God as stern and unyielding as they are. Worldly pleasure of any kind is anathema to them. Women are instruments of die Devil himself, used by Satan to ensnare all men and draw them from the path of salvation. What do you think of that?"
I had to smile. "Aunt Luceiia will be impressed."
He barked his abrupt laugh, his sense of humour reasserting itself briefly. "Aye, she will. I tell you, Caius, the arrogance of these men astounds me. From where I look at it, everything they are doing flies in the face of the gentle, humane Christ that I was taught to worship and revere."
"Aye." I cleared my throat. "So what have you decided, Father?"
He looked at me sidelong, angling his mount closer to mine.
"I believe that the decision I made years ago to follow the ideas of Pelagius was the correct decision. These zealots make Pelagianism sound like Onanism. I see it as the only sane and decent way a responsible, proud man can live his life...with free will and the integrity of his personal belief. If I am wrong, then I will bear the consequences when I die. In the meantime, I shall live my life according to the dictates of my conscience, and I will suffer no person under my jurisdiction to be maligned, harassed or victimized for his— or her!—beliefs.
"These seven priests will leave our lands tomorrow under escort. I will not threaten them. If they come back, they will be made to leave again. And again, until they grow old and tired." He sighed. "I have lived more than fifty years to be told l am condemned as a heretic. And I am told this by a ragged, unwashed man who offends my nostrils and my sensibilities... I choose to live the way I have always lived—perhaps as a heretic, perhaps not. But I can at least stand the smell of myself. If it is mortally sinful to bathe, to laugh, to enjoy life in moderation and to honour women, then I fear I must continue to live in what is seen as sin. I am too old to change."
I felt a surge of pride and love for this man who had sired me.
"These priests are misguided. But they are also dangerous. There is a massive struggle going on for dominance in this world, Caius. These people are the proselytes of the power-mongers. If the newly named Pope comes here from Rome in person to convince me I am wrong, I will listen to him, but he must bring more reasonable arguments than his minions bring. Let's go home. I have some priests to talk to."
It never crossed my mind, then or at any other time, that my father might be wrong. My grandfather and Publius Varrus had lived their lives as they did, models of probity both, in natural nobility and dignity, and they had trained my father. And so it came about that when the boy who was to be my charge came under my influence, I taught him in the old ways of Ancient Rome, Republican Rome, and in the ways of old Bishop Alaric and Pelagius, and in the ways of my father's and his father's Camulod, which was not the way of new Rome. The boy I taught learned cleanliness, simple Godliness, discipline and the life of a warrior. He learned to enjoy the goodness of life, to enjoy and appreciate the goodness and the strength of woman, and to take for granted the inherent nobility and goodness of man.
XVII
At the tenth hour of the following morning, I witnessed what was probably the most portentous event that ever occurred in the Great Council Hall of Camulod, an occasion that, to my mind at least, unquestionably dwarfed all of the glories to come in the days of Arthur's reign, and indubitably influenced all of them. It was a gathering—almost a ceremonial—that, though small in itself, was to influence the course of life in the province of Britain for ever.
My father had summoned a plenary meeting of the Council and augmented the company with the full officer complement of the garrison, including the ten senior members of the Centuria, the warrant officers. All military personnel were instructed to attend in full parade uniform, so it was a brilliant and colourful assembly. Extra seating had been brought into the Council Hall to accommodate the unusual number of people in attendance, and the circle of fifty or so men took up almost the entire circumference of the Hall, leaving the centre empty, with an open segment at the back of the circle to allow the group of priests to enter.
Everyone was punctual. My father began by outlining the situation for the benefit of the partially informed and the totally uninformed, of whom there were very few. He followed his outline with the announcement that he had arrived at a unilateral decision on what to do, and that his decision would be binding upon everyone in the Colony for the ensuing twenty-four-hour period, at the end of which he would be prepared to listen to arguments and to accommodate compromise in response to intelligent and informed opposition. Until that time, however, his decision and the enforcement of it would be absolute.
He had invited their attendance here today, he went on, to witness the delivery of his decision to the visiting priests so that no one, whether in the Council or on the staff of the garrison, could claim to have been unaware of developments. Having said all of this, he ordered the
priests to be brought into the assembly under escort.
There was a loud murmur of comment and speculation at this order, which my father chose to ignore, and the noise grew and was sustained during the interval that followed. I noticed that my father took care in the meantime to allow no eye contact between himself and any member of the assembly. Someone called his name, but he ignored the summons, turning and beckoning me. I walked across and leant towards him.
"I only regret that Uther has not returned. Of all the people here, he is the one with the greatest right to have been consulted in this matter."
"Don't let his absence concern you too much, Father," I said with a small smile. "We both know Uther well enough to know that he will have no quarrel with your findings, unless it be on the grounds of too much restraint. Had he been here and subjected to the abuse you had to face, these priests might have been sorry men today."
As I returned to my seat, there came a sudden hush, spreading inward from the entrance to the hall, and we looked up to see the seven priests being brought forward into the open circle. Centurion Popilius himself advanced ahead of the six-man escort party who herded the priests to the centre of die circle and then came to a halt. The silence in the room was absolute and my father, who, like everyone else in the Hall, was seated, remained sitting as he spoke into it.
"Thank you, Centurion Popilius. You may dismiss your men, but ask them to remain outside. You yourself may join us. There is a seat for you." Popilius saluted and did the General's bidding, instructing his soldiers to remain within hail. While the escort were leaving the hall I gazed in frank curiosity at the priests who stood before us.
They were all young, and all were dressed in ragged, dirty black cassocks bound at the waist with plain rope. It was to this fact that I at first attributed the strange aura of uniformity I sensed about them. It took me some time to redefine that initial reaction. There was a sameness, certainly, but it had nothing to do with what they wore; it was in their eyes, and it was almost indescribable. The word that first occurred to me was wildness, but as this confrontation continued I replaced that with arrogance, then disdain, then intolerance, and finally fanaticism—although I had never heard the expression prior to my father's use of it the day before.
