Camber the Heretic

by Katherine Kurtz

  Camber suppressed a smile at that, wondering whether even the other Deryni in the room, other than Joram, could sense the aura of power around the sword—though even they would doubtless sense it only as the proper hallowing of a king’s sword, not a magical blade. With all the dignity of his three offices—regent, chancellor, and bishop—he strode quietly into the chamber and paused beside his chair at the opposite end of the table from Alroy. The thought of his fellow regents swearing their oaths of office on a magical sword was some consolation for the calculating looks they gave him as he made his bow to Alroy.

  “My liege. My lords.”

  The boy nodded nervously, and Murdoch turned to give him a curt, haughty nod, only just concealing his outright loathing for his adversary.

  “Please just be seated until the others arrive, my lord chancellor,” he said.

  With that, he turned back to Tammaron and murmured something in a low voice. Camber could not hear what passed between them, but it was fairly apparent from Tammaron’s expression and the amused chuckle of Rhun of Horthness that the remark had not been complimentary.

  As Camber took his seat, exchanging a troubled glance with Torcuill and Joram to his left, Jebediah came in with Bishop Kai, the third of the Deryni bishops in Gwynedd. After a crisp, military bow to young Alroy and a nod to the other regents, Jebediah slipped into his seat at Camber’s right and laid his marshal’s baton on the table before him. Bishop Kai sat to his right. After a slight pause, Jebediah leaned slightly toward Camber and whispered from behind a casually raised hand.

  “I don’t like the feel of this. Murdoch looks entirely too pleased with himself. And what’s Ewan doing here? I thought he was tending his father.”

  Camber intertwined his fingers and rested his elbows on the table, likewise speaking from behind the barrier of his hands. “I rather expect he’s to be your replacement, Jeb, since he’s here today.”

  “My replacement?”

  “Why else would he be here? I would have guessed Duke Sighere, but no one knows whether he will ever be well again. In Sighere’s absence, what more logical choice than his eldest son and heir?”

  “Ewan, eh?” Jebediah sighed resignedly. “Well, we could certainly do worse, I suppose. It could have been Rhun.”

  Camber shook his head. “Too young. Even Rhun knows that.”

  “But not too young to be a regent,” Jebediah reminded him.

  “I never said I understood Cinhil’s criteria for selecting regents,” Camber replied. “Ah, here comes Jaffray. I have a feeling that’s all they’ve asked for this first meeting. I suspected that they’d want to keep it small, at least in the beginning.”

  They half-rose as the archbishop reached his chair and bowed to Alroy, but even his arrival did not bring a hint of a smile to the boy’s face, though Jaffray had been a frequent visitor to his father’s table and chambers.

  Have they poisoned him against even Jaffray? Camber wondered, nodding to Jaffray as the archbishop sat down. He and Jaffray might well be the only Deryni left on the council, if the other regents did as thorough a housecleaning as Camber anticipated. He did not envy the archbishop.

  “My Lords, if we could please come to order,” Murdoch said, rapping with his knuckles on the table for their attention. “My Lord Marshal, would you please convene the council?”

  Everyone stood except Alroy, who obviously had been coached. Jebediah picked up his baton and saluted the king, then drew himself to attention.

  “My Lords, this, the first council of King Alroy Bearand Brion Haldane, is called to order. Let Justice, tempered by Mercy, prevail in all our judgments.”

  “So be it,” Murdoch replied, in an almost flippant tone.

  As seats were taken again, Murdoch gathered a sheaf of parchment documents on the table in front of him and jogged them on the edges, a self-important gesture carefully calculated to draw their attention to him.

  “First order of business will be the recognition of the Lords Regent,” Murdoch said, no longer able to control a slight smirk. “As was previously made public at a court of our late beloved King Cinhil, the following persons have been named to act as regents during the minority of King Alroy: Earl Tammaron Fitz-Arthur, Bishop Alister Cullen, Bishop Hubert MacInnis, Baron Rhun of Horthness, and myself, Murdoch of Carthane, earl.”

  He consulted the top sheet in the stack of documents in his hands, then surveyed the table again. Camber had a quick, almost indistinguishable flash of foreboding, and wondered what Murdoch had in mind. Everyone knew who the regents were to be. Everyone also knew that the next item on the agenda should be the swearing in of those regents. What game was Murdoch trying to play?

  “Ordinarily,” Murdoch continued smoothly, “said regents would be duly sworn to office at this time. However, under the terms of a recent edict signed by our late beloved King Cinhil, which sets forth detailed procedures for the operation of a regency council—” Camber sat forward, suddenly alarmed. He had seen no such procedures. “—I find that it is the prerogative of any four regents to expel and replace a fifth of their number if they unanimously adjudge him to be incompatible.”

  His gaze was directly at Camber, a clear challenge.

  “I am sorry to have to inform you all that Earl Tammaron, Bishop Hubert, Baron Rhun, and myself do adjudge Bishop Alister Cullen to be incompatible with the aims and operations of the regency council of our beloved King Alroy, and we do, therefore, expel him from our number.”

  A low muttering of astonishment, both approving and disapproving, rippled through the assembled men, but Murdoch held up one hand for silence and continued speaking.

  “We do also, according to the wishes of our late beloved King Cinhil, and with the consent of our Lord King Alroy, choose Duke Sighere of Claibourne to be the fifth of our company, and do appoint his son and heir, Earl Ewan, to serve in the capacity of acting regent until such time as Duke Sighere’s health may permit him to assume the office in his own right. Bishop Cullen, am I to gather, by your stern expression, that you do not approve?”

  Camber did not give Murdoch the satisfaction of seeing him stand—only leveled his icy Alister gaze down the length of the table to look the human lord in the eyes. Around him, he could feel the consternation of a great many other people, Deryni and human alike, but he feared that it would make little difference. Murdoch would not have dared to take such a preposterous course of action unless he had the document to back him up. But Camber could not imagine how Cinhil might have signed such a document, knowing what it was.

  “The Earl of Carthane is an astute observer, as usual,” Camber said evenly. “How clever of him to deduce that I would disapprove of such a document and its use against me. He can, of course, produce the alleged document, and unimpeachable witnesses to its signature?”

  “He can, of course,” Murdoch said disdainfully. “And should anyone take it in his mind to destroy said document, it should be known that this is but one of three originals, all signed by the king and witnessed by Lord Udaut and Archbishop Oriss—both of whom, the chancellor will note, are not themselves regents.”

  With a condescending little smirk which could no longer be controlled, he passed the top document on his stack along the table to Oriss and Udaut, who glanced at it and then nodded apologetically to Camber as they passed it on; to Jebediah, who could only sigh; and then to Camber. Camber scanned the text closely, seeing how the division of lines in the tightly penned script might have been misread or skipped over, even if Cinhil had been reading carefully—though, if it had been buried in the midst of a great deal of routine correspondence, Cinhil might not have been reading carefully, in these last weeks of increasing illness—then confirmed the date and witness seals.

  Even when he had finished reading it, he did not know what he was going to do next. Though he was now certain that the king had, indeed, signed it, he was equally certain that Cinhil had not realized what he was signing—not that one could prove royal intent now that the king was dead. Mur
doch simply had won this round. It now remained to be seen how well he could follow up on his advantage.

  With a resigned sigh, Camber passed the document on to Torcuill, who glanced at it and almost shook his head; then to a stony-faced Jaffray and on past Rhun and Tammaron back to Murdoch. The man who had now emerged as a spokesman for the regents replaced the parchment on the stack in front of him and folded spidery fingers neatly before him.

  “I trust that the document meets with your approval, Chancellor?” he asked softly.

  “Not my approval, but my acceptance,” Camber replied coolly. “It bears the signature of our late beloved king. As a loyal subject and servant of his Crown, I am bound to accept it.”

  “Well spoken,” Murdoch said smoothly. “There being no further reason for delay, then, the Regents of Gwynedd will now swear their oath of allegiance to King Alroy. Archbishop Jaffray, are you prepared to administer the oath?”

  There was nothing else Jaffray could do. With a resigned, apologetic glance at Camber, Jaffray stood and bowed to Alroy, waited as the five regents stood and laid their hands on the sword lying on the table before Alroy. Camber did not even listen as Jaffray administered the oath. As the regents and the archbishop took their seats, the swearing done, he knew that the next item of business was going to be even worse than they had thought, earlier.

  “Our next item of business is the customary resignation of the old council,” Murdoch said matter-of-factly. “Dispensing with formality, under the circumstances, let us simply say that the Lords Regent have advised His Royal Highness to accept the resignations of the following: the Lord Chancellor, Baron Torcuill de la Marche, the Earl Marshal, and Bishop Kai Descantor. It is His Highness’s pleasure to retain the rest of the former council.”

  Magnanimous, isn’t he? Joram’s thought whispered in his father’s mind, though the priest’s expression did not change. That’s all the Deryni except Jaffray, and he can’t fire Jaffray. What are you going to do?

  Do? What can I do? Camber returned. The best I can do is to strike a last note of caution before beating a prudent retreat. We’ll figure out finer strategy later.

  As Camber met Murdoch’s stare, the other three dismissed Deryni glanced to their senior for guidance, none of them moving from their places. For a time that seemed to stretch forever, Camber only returned Murdoch’s gaze, not blinking, showing no emotion, deliberately fostering the impression that he just might attempt to defy the regents.

  Only when every eye was upon him and the tension had grown so thick as to be almost palpable, even to a human, did Camber slowly reach to the chain of office on his shoulders and lift it off over his head.

  As he laid the collar of golden Haldane H’s gently on the table, his fingertips resting fleetingly on the pendant seal, there was an almost imperceptible sigh of relief—which was quickly cut off as he stood at his place.

  “My Lord King, your sainted mother, Queen Megan, presented me with this chain of office only a few months after you were born,” he said gently. “I return it now into your keeping, as your regents have requested and as is customary. It was my honor and my privilege to serve your later father, and I would gladly have served you, in turn.”

  The boy lowered his eyes in embarrassment, and Murdoch and the other regents, saving Ewan, glared down the table at Camber; but none of them yet appeared overanxious to keep him from speaking further. They had known he must make some statement to save face.

  “But Your Highness’s Lords Regent—”

  “Careful, Bishop!” Tammaron warned.

  “Your Highness’s Lords Regent have decided otherwise,” Camber continued smoothly, “and perhaps feel that the usefulness of an old man like myself is at an end, that this is a time for fresh beginnings. That may be. I should only like to say that I think your father was well served, and that I hope that those who serve Your Grace will have your interests as much at heart as we have, who have served faithfully and without asking aught in return.”

  His gesture included the other three Deryni being dismissed as he continued.

  “My Lords Regent.” Here he turned the pale Alister eyes on all the council. “I shall leave you with but this one thought. You have been entrusted with a precious charge. Our late Lord King judged that you would be wise and responsible counselors to his tender, minor sons. I charge you likewise to keep faith with—”

  “Bishop Cullen, do you threaten us?” Hubert interrupted, the fanatical light in his eyes belying his cherubic appearance.

  “Threaten? No, my lord. But I do warn. All of us are aware what issues will be brought to the fore in days to come. I ask only that you put the good of the kingdom and the king above your own concerns. There are many, many good and honest folk, both human and Deryni, who have given much to put the Haldane line where it is today, and they have an abiding interest in the continued health of that line. We will be watching you, my lords.”

  “And we will be watching you!” Rhun retorted, staring hard-eyed down the table. “Take care that you do not overstep your place, Bishop!”

  Camber did not reply to that. With deliberate dignity, he turned his head to gaze at Alroy, who was almost cowering in his chair at the intensity of what had just transpired. Camber smiled at the boy, desperate to put him more at ease, then laid his right hand on his breast and bowed profoundly, turned and walked slowly from the chamber. Behind him, as Joram rose to follow, Jebediah picked up his marshal’s baton and strode quickly to the head of the table, knelt between Alroy and Bishop Hubert, and offered up the symbol of his office with bowed head.

  “It has likewise been my honor and privilege to serve Gwynedd, my liege,” he said in a low voice. “I pray you to give this into the hands of no one who will not guard Gwynedd’s peace as diligently as I have done. If ever you have need of my services again, you know you have but to call.”

  Alroy said nothing; but when Jebediah felt the boy’s hands on the ivory baton, he raised his eyes to Alroy’s and caught and held his gaze, shifted his hand to take Alroy’s and press it to his lips in homage.

  He did not stay to see the shocked incomprehension on the young king’s face. He was only vaguely aware of Bishop Kai and Baron Torcuill making their bows of leavetaking as he fled from the chamber. Outside, he found Camber in close conversation with Joram.

  “We must meet tonight,” Camber whispered, as he caught Jebediah’s sleeve and drew him into their counsel. “Will you and Joram see to the summoning? What has just happened puts an even greater urgency on our plans.”

  Jebediah nodded agreement and Joram glanced around casually as Bishop Kai and Torcuill emerged from the council chamber. Camber turned his attention to them and shook his head.

  “It is as we feared, gentlemen. Jaffray now remains the only Deryni to guard us from the likes of Murdoch and Rhun.”

  “And Hubert MacInnis!” Kai sputtered. “That so-called man of God is—”

  “No more, Kai,” Camber warned, laying a hand on the younger bishop’s arm and glancing around meaningfully. “There may be other listeners. His brother is at court now, too, and has no reason to love Deryni.”

  “Aye, I’ve heard the castle gossip.” Kai seemed to deflate. “Well, there’s nothing more for me to do here, in any case. I think I can accomplish the most good by getting out of Valoret and lying low. I was not made an itinerant bishop for nothing. My flocks have always been in the countryside. Where will you go, Alister? Back to Grecotha?”

  Camber nodded. “That seems the best plan. Do stay in touch, though,” he murmured. “There may yet be work for men of faith and conscience.”

  “Perhaps. But they will have to stay alive, and I do not believe Valoret is the place to do that well. Tell Jaffray to be careful.”

  “Jaffray?” Joram asked. “You have some inkling that he is in danger, Your Grace?”

  “Danger? You might call it that. If you were Murdoch, and hated Deryni, and Jaffray were the only Deryni left to mar the purity of your regency council, what woul
d you do?” Kai muttered.

  “We will try to warn him to be careful,” Camber agreed. “And Torcuill, what of you? What are your plans?”

  The baron shrugged. “Return to my marcher lands, I suppose. It will seem strange, after so many years’ service here at Court, but Kai is right. This is no place for a Deryni to be.”

  I wonder if there is any place for a Deryni to be, Camber thought, as they went their separate ways. What will happen to us, now that we cannot stem the tide in the council? Can we survive?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Woe unto thee, O land, when thy king is a child.

  —Ecclesiastes 10:16

  Camber slept the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. He had slept not at all the night before, though he had not told Joram or Rhys that. When he drifted back to consciousness, the Compline bells had just finished ringing in the cathedral nearby. It would have been dark for nearly five hours.

  He allowed himself the luxury of a giant stretch and yawn, trying to remember the last time he had indulged in such simple pleasure. Memories of the night before began to surface, but he nudged them gently aside while he settled into a series of meditations, gradually tuning his energies to their customary fine balance and then trying to resolve in some rational way the knowledge which finally he allowed himself to acknowledge. He succeeded in the first of his endeavors, but not the second, even when he engaged the more objective part of him which was Alister to try to find reasoned explanation for the night’s events. Cinhil and the phenomena of his death refused to be compartmentalized.