Camber the Heretic

by Katherine Kurtz

  Even the swords and horses of the soldiers could not stop them then! Not only did the original family of suspected Deryni perish in the violence which followed, but many townsfolk, as well, and fully a third of the archbishop’s household guard. Jebediah’s Michaeline garb made him a ready target—fortunately only rarely reached, and then by no blow which did him any real harm. It was sheerest luck which brought him through unscathed, for his Deryni faculties were so shocked by the proximity of Jaffray’s violent and unexpected death that he could not think for a time—could only let his soldier’s reflexes take over as he tried to stay alive. He was later to speculate that the only thing which saved him was his fortunate presence with the tiny group of knights who took Jaffray’s body to safety; even in their fury, the mob fell away from the white burden which one of the knights carried over his saddlebow, as if it were some awful apparition.

  Jebediah saw them safely to the gates of the episcopal palace, his wits returning as they gradually won through to open streets, but there he took his leave of them and made his way out of the city, not wishing to endanger them any further by the presence of a Deryni among them. With Jaffray’s death, the last highly-placed Deryni was gone from Valoret. And the mob’s reaction to Jaffray’s murder and to Jebediah had proven that Valoret was no longer a safe place for a Deryni to be, even as Torcuill de la Marche had predicted a full nine months before. As he made his way past the troops coming in to aid the failing episcopal guards, Jebediah wondered how long any place would be safe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  For the chief-priest has his proper services, and to the priests their proper place is appointed.

  —I Clement 18:18

  The shock waves set into motion by the sacrilegious murder of Archbishop Jaffray reverberated through Valoret well into the night, and would eventually have repercussions throughout Gwynedd. Once Duke Ewan’s men had rescued the embattled episcopal guards, many of them apparently became convinced that Deryni were to blame for the disturbance. Jebediah’s presence at Jaffray’s side had now been magnified to the point that many believed that he was Jaffray’s murderer. And while, for the most part, the troops did not help the townsfolk to hunt down more Deryni, neither did they go out of their way to prevent it. In all, over fifty people were killed that day—not all of them, by any means, Deryni, though many were so accused; and several Deryni in “protective custody” in the town bailey were taken out and hanged, before Ewan could intervene and stop the murders.

  The only fortunate aspect of the entire day was that Baron Rhun had taken his hot temper and nearly half the Valoret garrison out on field maneuvers earlier in the week, to occupy the energies of the more restless and more anti-Deryni among them, or even Ewan might not have been able to control the reaction of his men. By rigid enforcement of curfew, he was able to restore order soon after dark, but several more days were to pass before affairs settled to a somewhat more steady truce.

  Word spread quickly. Camber and the others of the Council, of course, had known the mind-wrenching shock of Jaffray’s death at the instant it occurred, and had learned the details as soon as Jebediah could reach Rhys’s and Evaine’s Sheele Portal and come with them to the keeill. Numbly they pondered what to do next, how to proceed. Two of those closest to them had now fallen victim to blind violence not aimed at any individual—and if the situation had been a slow simmer before, it was now approaching a full boil.

  Word reached Rhemuth almost as quickly, for Duke Ewan, even in his moderation, was not above ordering one of his Deryni collaborators to take a messenger to Rhemuth through a Portal. The Court at Rhemuth received the news just at the end of supper, the messenger delivering his account in a brisk but stunned voice while regents, king, and princes listened avidly, but for different reasons. The boys were genuinely horrified and grieved, for all of them had grown somewhat fond of Archbishop Jaffray, Javan especially so. The regents pretended sorrow at the loss of a member of the regency council, Hubert even leading them in a prayer for the repose of Jaffray’s Deryni soul, but their pious mouthings were soon replaced by a lively and oath-punctuated discussion of who should succeed to Jaffray’s office.

  Javan and Rhys Michael were all but forgotten in the ensuing hour, as the regents began naming off and assessing all the bishops of Gwynedd; and Alroy, too, would have been ignored, had they not been mindful that his support must go behind whomever the regency council eventually recommend to the bishops’ synod which would now have to meet in Valoret to elect a new primate. When they had narrowed the field until Hubert seemed the only possible choice, only then did they turn their attention once more on the young king. With the weight of their positions and the boy’s fatigue on their side, they were very quickly able to persuade Alroy that Hubert’s election would be in the best interests of the kingdom and to elicit from him a promise to sign formal recommendation to that effect, as soon as the document should be drafted.

  It was further decided that the Court should return to Valoret as soon as possible, so that the regents might better oversee the elections. The accommodations at Valoret were far more satisfactory, Rhemuth not yet being finished to the degree of luxury which the regents preferred. Under the circumstances, Valoret would be a far more suitable location to winter and hold Christmas Court.

  As they called in stewards and chamberlains to begin making travel arrangements, their air was almost festive. Javan’s quiet leavetaking with Tavis, ostensibly to go up to bed, went almost unnoticed. Rhys Michael was already asleep in his chair, so Tavis gathered up the slumbering prince and carried him after Javan as they made their way out of the hall. For Alroy, he could do nothing; the bleary-eyed king would not be allowed to sleep until his signature had been affixed to all the necessary documents.

  But Javan was only feigning fatigue, Tavis discovered, as he followed the limping prince up the winding turnpike stair in the wall of the keep and emerged on the top level but one, where the boys’ apartments lay. After putting Rhys Michael to bed, he went into Javan’s quarters to find the boy huddled over a single lighted candle set on the sill in the window seat, as far from the door as he could get.

  Javan did not protest as Tavis draped a fur-lined cloak around his shoulders against the cold which penetrated through the glass of the mullioned windows. The boy warmed chilled fingers a little over the candle flame, but he did not speak. His distress was almost palpable. Tavis drew another robe over his own shoulders, then eased down on the cushion opposite the prince. He started to touch the boy’s forehead, to try to ease the agitation which was radiating from him, but Javan would have none of it, shaking his head and withdrawing even further into himself.

  “Don’t, please,” he murmured, huddling deeper into his cloak. “It hurts, and I want it to, so I won’t be tempted to avoid telling you what I must.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Javan swallowed audibly. “Tavis, I do not want Bishop Hubert to be elected archbishop.”

  “I certainly agree with that,” Tavis said amiably. “But, why do you not want him to be elected?”

  “Because he—lies,” Javan whispered, half-turning his face toward the candlelight reflected in the windowpanes. “And it isn’t just polite lies. You heard their discussion of the other archbishop candidates. I don’t even know most of them, but somehow I knew that Hubert was telling lies about them, to promote his own candidacy. A man of God should never do that, Tavis!”

  Tavis stared at the prince’s profile for a long moment, then lowered his eyes uneasily, almost afraid to voice his suspicion.

  “Javan, I have the impression that you’re not really as disturbed about Hubert’s lying as you are about the fact that you know.” Javan nodded. “And you’re trying to find a way to tell me that you—don’t know how you know.”

  Javan nodded miserably. “I’ve been noticing it a little for several weeks. It’s as if I can hear another voice, just like his real one, and it’s contradicting what he says out loud. It’s happened with
a few others, too.”

  “Truth-Reading,” Tavis murmured under his breath.

  “What?”

  Tavis sighed and laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It sounds like Truth-Reading, my prince. It’s—another Deryni talent.”

  “Oh, God!” Javan buried his face in his hands for a few seconds, then raised his head again. “Is it like shields?”

  “A little—only a kind of reverse effect. And more advanced. Much more advanced.”

  “But, it doesn’t always work!” Javan protested weakly.

  “No, but I’ll bet it gets more reliable every time you become aware of it.”

  Javan nodded reluctantly, and Tavis sighed and slapped his palm against the top of his thigh in renewed frustration.

  “God, what I’d give to know what happened the night your father died!” he whispered. “There has to be a connection!” He sighed again, then laid his hand on one of Javan’s.

  “They did something to you, Javan. I’m more and more convinced of that, even though we haven’t been able to get any deeper. It was something very strange, and secret and mystical, and—” He squeezed the boy’s hand and released it. “And I haven’t the faintest notion what it was. You keep growing psychically, and you shouldn’t. It’s almost as if you were Deryni.”

  Javan gave a little shiver, then clasped his hands and brushed his thumbs together, studying them carefully before looking up at Tavis again in the candlelight.

  “Do you remember how we talked about Rhys, after Davin was killed, and you said that you and he were two of a kind, and that maybe you could use some of his own tricks on him to get him to talk?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I was just wondering whether he might not come to Valoret in the next few months, since Bishop Alister will be there for the synod. He and Lady Evaine live at Sheele, you know. It isn’t far. And Bishop Alister is getting on in years. He might need a Healer. And if Rhys were to be visiting in Valoret, maybe we could invite him to come and see us.”

  Tavis raised an eyebrow. “Just to see us, my prince?”

  “Not—exactly.” Javan stared into the candlelight. “It’s only courtesy to offer a man refreshment when he comes visiting, especially if it’s cold outside and the man has ridden a long way. If there were something in the refreshment—”

  “If there were, he’d likely detect it,” Tavis said guardedly. “We’ve been sufficiently hostile to him in the past that I think he’d be somewhat suspicious even to be invited there.”

  “Not if he were needed as a Healer,” Javan offered. “Suppose that you were to send word that I was ill, that you needed his help. Don’t you think he’d come then?”

  “Probably.”

  “And if you were to give me some—wine, for instance, and then offered him some, quite casually?”

  “Something you had already drunk?”

  Javan nodded.

  “It would affect you, too. You know that,” Tavis said tentatively.

  “But, you could read him,” Javan whispered. “It would be worth it, if you could find out what he did to me that night. In any case, I can’t go on like this; having shields, knowing people’s lies—not without knowing where it comes from, and why!”

  Tavis closed his eyes for a moment and thought, then looked at Javan again.

  “The most difficult part will be getting the right dosage in him—enough to break his resistance, yet not enough to destroy him as a Healer. He doesn’t deserve that. I can counteract most of the effects in you as soon as I’ve gotten the drugs into him, but you’ll have to wait for the other effects to wear off, and you’ll probably have a beastly headache afterward.”

  “I don’t mind that, if it will get us some answers. Can you really make it so he won’t be able to detect anything?”

  Tavis nodded. “I think so. What I have in mind is tasteless and odorless. It has a bit of color, but in a dark wine, that won’t be noticeable.” He glanced at Javan. “I’ll have to come up with something to simulate symptoms of illness in you—serious enough that he’ll believe I couldn’t handle it by myself, but not serious enough to put you in any real danger—but I have an idea for that, too. That part isn’t going to be pleasant for you, either, by the way. You really will be sick, for a time.”

  “I told you, that doesn’t matter, so long as we find out the truth. Do we try it?” he whispered, clutching Tavis’s good wrist and staring into his eyes.

  “Aye, my prince. We try it.”

  Several weeks passed while word of Jaffray’s death went out and the summons was conveyed to all the bishops of Gwynedd to gather at Valoret and elect a successor. On the Feast of All Saints, beneath the floor of a cathedral named for that feast and in which he had presided as archbishop for a little more than twelve years, Jaffray was laid to rest beside his friend and predecessor, Anscom. Camber, as Alister, presided, and Jebediah and Rhys attended, though the latter two left immediately afterward. Evaine stayed at Sheele with the children, because of her advancing pregnancy. Queron had also come to Sheele to work with Rhys. Gregory and his family had gone to the Connait.

  Alroy’s Court returned to Valoret as planned, but somehow the regents contrived to have them arrive the day after Jaffray’s funeral, much to Javan’s disappointment. The regents, of course, professed profuse regret. Hubert immediately set to greeting the other bishops who had already arrived, conducting what could only be construed as campaigning.

  Ailin MacGregor, who had become Jaffray’s auxiliary bishop in Valoret only the year before, played host to his brother bishops, assigning accommodations to them and their immediate staffs in the archbishop’s residence as best he could, though the overflow of retinues and household guards had to be quartered in the town below. Still, there were no complaints from the bishops, for many of them hoped the archbishop’s residence would be his before year’s end. Only Hubert, who had retained apartments in the castle as regent, resided in any real comfort—and Archbishop Oriss, for whom Hubert also found quarters in the castle, reciprocating the archbishop’s hospitality in Rhemuth.

  By the middle of the second week in November, but a few days before Cambermas, all the prelates were assembled: five titled bishops, two auxiliaries, and five itinerant bishops with no fixed sees. Only three of the twelve were Deryni—none of them a likely candidate for archbishop, under the circumstances. Niallan Trey, who had only reluctantly come out of his retreat in the holy sanctuary city of Dhassa, was relatively safe even from the regents, so long as he lived and so long as he stayed quietly in Dhassa and remained neutral.

  The long-suffering Kai Descantor, so shabbily treated by the regents after Cinhil’s death, left semi-retirement only at Camber’s express urging. He had summered in Kheldour, where the regents’ writ ran only sluggishly, and then only at the behest of Earls Hrorik and Sighere, Ewan’s brothers, who paid little mind to the doings in Valoret and Rhemuth unless it suited them. Kheldour had been an independent earldom, almost a petty principality, for far too long for dead Sighere’s sons to bow easily beneath the yoke of vassalage, even if their elder brother was a regent. In any case, since a titled see had not yet been created in Kheldour, Kai had been kept amply busy.

  And of course, Alister Cullen’s candidacy was least likely of all, if the regents had anything to say about it, he having already been crowded out of the regency once for his politics and his race. Camber had reached Valoret a few days before Jaffray’s funeral, accompanied by Joram, a small guard escort, and Ansel. Now lightly bearded, as well as tonsured, hair still dulled to nondescript brown, “Brother Lorcan” looked nothing like the renegade Earl Ansel of Culdi, whom the regents still sought for outlawry. And where better to hide him than under the regents’ very noses? Ansel would be far safer at Valoret, under the watchful eyes of Camber and Joram, than cloistered at Grecotha amid relative strangers, however benign, who would not know whether or when he needed protection. Besides, as Brother Lorcan, Ansel could stay secluded most of the time in his master�
�s quarters, caring for his bishop’s domestic needs.

  Robert Oriss, the Archbishop of Rhemuth, presided over the convocation. He was joined, in seniority, by the Bishops of Nyford and Cashien, Ulliam ap Lugh and Dermot O’Beirne, both veterans of the synod which had elected Jaffray archbishop and made Camber a saint twelve years before, and both considered possible candidates for archbishop this time, though Dermot was still very young.

  Three of the five itinerant bishops were also veterans of that synod: Davet Nevan, the jocular Eustace of Fairleigh, and, of course Kai Descantor. Turlough, though unable to make the last election synod, had been among the first to arrive for this one. Zephram of Lorda, former vicar general of the Ordo Verbi Dei, had not been a bishop at the time of the last synod, but he had been present at the inquiry leading to Camber’s canonization, and it was he who had been elected to fill Jaffray’s former post after Jaffray’s election. Camber did not know where either Zephram or Turlough stood, but Eustace had told him that he thought Zephram might be leaning toward support of Hubert.

  Hubert MacInnis, of course, had not been at that famous synod. In those days, he had been a poor and obscure parish priest attached to the household of the then-Baron Murdoch of Carthane; and his rise had come with Murdoch’s own rise to favor. Murdoch’s restoration to his family’s ancient lands and earl’s title had brought Hubert election as an itinerant bishop; and he had become Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth a scant year before Cinhil’s death, when Robert Oriss had declined to be named as a potential regent, on the grounds of age, and recommended Hubert in his stead.

  Now the Regent-Bishop Hubert MacInnis sat in Valoret cathedral’s chapter house in the first of the six ecclesiastical thrones to the right of Archbishop Oriss. Niallan Trey sat to Hubert’s right—a matter of seniority, rather than affinity, for there was no love lost between Hubert and the Deryni Niallan—and to Niallan’s right were ranged Dermot O’Beirne and three of the itinerant bishops, Kai among them. Across the chamber, in a similar arc of five, sat Ailin next to the empty primatial chair, followed by Ulliam, Eustace, Camber, and Turlough, each with his secretary-attendant seated on a stool to his left.