The first day of the convocation was devoted to procedural business: the setting of operating rules, the reading of precedents, and the enlargement of the Council of Bishops by the creation of three new itinerant bishops. Two of the appointments Camber had anticipated, but the third was something of a surprise, and definitely had Hubert’s hand in it.
Alfred of Woodbourne, long the confessor of Cinhil and his family, was an obvious choice, and one which Camber could hardly fault. The only real reservation Camber had was that Alfred might be too closely in the regents’ scrutiny and debt to remain his own man, and might let himself be manipulated, out of a false notion of what was best for his young charges.
The other expected appointment was one Archer of Arrand, another of Oriss’s and Zephram’s Ordo Verbi Dei priests who had distinguished himself as a theologian—though of late, he had been speculating on the relative godliness of the Deryni as a race, and that made Camber nervous. Camber had heard him preach several times, and he was not certain he liked the conclusions Archer was drawing. If the man truly believed what he had been preaching for the past six months, then he could easily become a pawn for the regents’ use. Hubert had been making overtures in Archer’s direction, too.
But even Archer could be endured, were it not for the third and unexpected candidate. Paulin of Ramos had come very highly recommended—by the regents—and that alone would have been sufficient to make Camber take a second look at him. About five years before, Paulin had founded a small but steadily growing religious order called the Little Brothers of Saint Ercon, based beside the river near his native Ramos, a little south and west of Valoret. Saint Ercon had been a scholar and historian of some repute, brother, local legend had it, to the well-known Saint Willim, child martyr to Deryni ill use, whose cults had sparked the overthrow of Imre more than thirteen years before. The Erconites were not vocally anti-Deryni like their Willimite brethren, apparently devoting themselves to teaching; but they did not denounce the Willimites, either. Speculation persisted that there was more connection between the two groups than mere brotherhood of their two patrons, but nothing presented itself which could be grasped or examined. Camber only wished he had more to go on than a vague mistrust of someone the regents wanted.
But Camber’s mental reservations did not stop the ratification of the three men, and the next day saw them consecrated bishops with the full panoply of the Church. When the bishops were finally seated to begin the real business of the synod, they were fifteen, not twelve, and still only three of them Deryni. A vote of ten would be necessary to elect a new primate.
They met each day except Sundays, their first task to explore the state of the kingdom and determine the way it should be led in the future, theologically speaking. They assessed the leadership which Jaffray had given them, Camber and his Deryni colleagues holding their tempers only with difficulty when Hubert made his first bid for power by denouncing Jaffray as a self-seeking Deryni who had manipulated his office for his own ends, and against the best interests of the kingdom. Only Bishop Ulliam dared to call him on it, and then only in general terms before suggesting that they return to discussion of other matters. Each of the titled bishops reported on the state of the parishes in his care, and then the itinerant bishops told of the course of their ministries since the synod had last met. The Deryni issue had been defused for at least a little while longer.
But avoidance could not last indefinitely. Hubert willingly would have broached the subject again, but Bishop Alfred inadvertently beat him to it—though not precisely as Hubert might have hoped. Alfred had been present at the questioning of the assassins, as well as their executions, and he wondered at the propriety both of forcing Deryni to work against their own kind and of refusing the condemned men the final rites of the Church.
This, of course, set Hubert off again. After soundly berating Alfred, a very junior bishop, for even suggesting that there was anything wrong with that, Hubert launched his attack on the Deryni in earnest. It was fact, Hubert pointed out, that Deryni had tried to kill the Princes Javan and Rhys Michael, not once but twice. Bands of Deryni continued to roam the countryside and harass honest subjects, and to harry Crown officers in the performance of their duties. Deryni obviously were members of a subversive element; and to uncover their plots, any means were justified.
This led to guarded discussion of magic in the context of the Church—a topic which the three Deryni prelates would have preferred not to discuss and which the others did not know enough about to discuss. It did no good to try to point out that much of what Deryni could do was not really magic at all, but only a heightened form of awareness which enabled them, at times, to harness energies not normally accessible to other men.
Bishop Niallan broke his self-imposed discipline of silence and spent an entire afternoon trying to make his brother bishops understand the added dimension of spirituality accessible to a Deryni who used his powers to enhance his meditation and prayer life—which was fascinating to a few of them, but threatening to far more, who began to find themselves roused to jealousy by the idea that some people, especially laymen, might have a more effective link with Deity than they did. Unfortunately, Niallan did not realize this, and likely did more harm than good by his discourse.
Of course, none of them brought up the other aspects of their talents, and the fact that some of the things they could do really did appear to be magic. Events such as Camber had experienced the night of Cinhil’s death could not be explained by anything in Camber’s experience except magic; and there were other examples, too numerous to recount.
But, was it magic, or was it religion? Or were the two the same?
The mere time of year at which the convocation met brought problems, too, for Cambermas fell during the first full week—an event of some embarrassment to Camber himself and one which opened a whole new line of questioning on the part of many others. The matter of Camber’s sainthood was not reopened—then—but it was noted even by the usually flexible Eustace that for the common people, Saint Camber’s veneration seemed to have lost a little of its luster over the years. Paulin of Ramos was quick to agree, pointing out that the Deryni saint’s failure to intervene in the matter of the plague had not gone unnoticed by the people.
Camber, as Alister Cullen, said nothing one way or the other on the matter, and so neither of the other two Deryni made an issue of it, either. As a result, the synod made no judgment on Camber’s sainthood, contenting themselves with the declaration that perhaps Camber would be more appropriately deemed an optional saint, whose feast might be celebrated or not, according to the dictates of one’s conscience. Hubert had agitated for more stringent measures, but he could gain no real support—too many of his colleagues had seen and heard the testimony which led to Camber’s canonization in the first place.
By the first week of Advent, the bishops had finally come to the major reason for their convocation: the election of a new primate. By then, the regents had already made their preference known in ways none too subtle but, to cement the issue, they had the king address the assembled bishops in the castle’s great hall on the Tuesday of that week, there delivering a speech on which he obviously had been heavily coached.
“For the sake of future harmony in this our realm,” Alroy concluded, “we commend to your affection our well-beloved servant, Hubert MacInnis, and entreat you, out of the love and obedience you bear us as King, to confirm him as Archbishop and Primate in this, our kingdom.”
Hubert pretended some degree of modesty, and little was said until the bishops had returned to the chapter house that afternoon; but there Dermot O’Beirne, who fancied the office for himself, had the temerity to suggest that Hubert’s seniority was not sufficient for the job, even if his bold-faced campaigning were seemly for one seeking so exalted a position—and that brought on the expected tirade from Hubert and an ensuing free-for-all argument among all of them which did not end until they recessed for the night.
Camber had several late-nigh
t callers from among his brother bishops who were concerned at the active role the regents seemed to be taking in the election. If tempers had gotten this heated before the balloting even began, what chance was there for things to proceed rationally, once the voting did start?
The next morning, tempers seemed to have cooled somewhat, however, and the other candidates got the chance to have their own virtues presented and discussed. Niallan started them off on a light note by dismissing his own candidacy on the grounds that the Bishop of Dhassa must remain neutral, and that this was a safe and responsible place for a Deryni, especially in view of the regents’ preferences. He had made it amply clear from the beginning that he would not consider accepting such a position even if it were offered. That somewhat mitigated Hubert’s animosity over the remark about the regents.
Balloting began the following morning, with a preliminary vote giving no candidate more than three votes. Hubert was visibly annoyed, for he had fully expected to do better than that, but his angry reaction did nothing to endear him further to his brethren. On the second vote, no candidate still had anywhere near the requisite two-thirds vote necessary to elect. Hubert had five, Dermot O’Beirne had four, Ulliam two, and Oriss, Ailin MacGregor, Eustace, and Kai one each.
Ballots were taken again and the numbers did not change; again, and those supporting Ailin, Eustace, and Kai threw their support to Oriss, who did not want it but could do nothing about it. Camber merely shook his head as the next ballot was taken, for the results of that balloting left them with five for Hubert, four each for Dermot and Oriss, and two for Ulliam. The vote stayed that way for the next three ballotings.
It was obvious that something was going to have to be done. Each day began with a Mass of the Holy Spirit, to implore Divine guidance, and each balloting, with its speech-making and prayer session before it, took close to half a day—which meant that only two votes might be taken each day, and the convocation did not meet on Sundays. As Advent wore on, and the bishops appeared no closer to a choice than they had been at the beginning of December, the regents grew more anxious and Hubert’s disposition became more sour. It became increasingly obvious that he was not going to become primate the easy way.
Sometime during the third week of Advent, someone got to Ulliam and frightened him into withdrawing his name from further consideration, but one of his supporters went to Dermot and one to Oriss. The balloting remained anchored at five each for Hubert, Dermot, and Oriss through six long days of deliberation and twelve deadlocked ballots.
It was the night before the Vigil of Christmas, and Camber and Joram were at prayer in the little oratory of the apartment Camber had used when he had been chancellor under Jaffray and Cinhil. Ansel had already gone to bed in the adjoining room. Camber and Joram had joined in deep rapport, father and son, at the conclusion of the night’s prayers. A gentle rapping on their outer door jarred them from their meditations, and they glanced aside at one another in surprise.
“Are we expecting anyone?” Camber murmured, glancing toward the door.
Joram shook his head as he rose and went to answer it. “Not this late. It’s long past Compline.”
Though Camber remained in the oratory, easing his knees on the cushioned kneeler, he followed his son in mind as the priest slipped the latch and probed beyond the door, reading Joram’s faint surprise to encounter firm but supportive shields surrounding two of the four men. As he, too, turned to look, and the door swung back, he knew through Joram’s recognition as well as his own that they were his brother bishops outside—Niallan, Kai, Dermot, and Oriss. At Joram’s startled glance in his direction, he nodded for his son to admit them, then turned back to the little altar for just a moment and breathed a quick prayer for guidance before signing himself and getting to his feet. As the four men filed into the sitting-room portion of his chamber and grouped themselves tensely before his fireplace, he thought he knew why they had come. He hoped that he was wrong.
“Good evening, my lords,” he said softly, coming to face them squarely in the firelight. “Joram, please bring some stools for our visitors. Gentlemen, I fear that the accommodations are hardly adequate for entertaining on a large scale, but you are welcome to what hospitality we can offer. Please be seated.”
As the four took seats in the two chairs and on stools which Joram brought, Camber tried to read them better. Niallan and Kai he could not read at all, other than the faint, underlying uneasiness which had been Kai’s ever since he had been removed from the royal council. But Oriss was a frightened man, though he kept admirably tight rein on his fear, for a human. Dermot, on the other hand, appeared wistfully resigned to something. Camber could not quite read what it was, and dared not probe more deeply with Niallan and Kai watching.
“Thank you, Joram,” Camber said, settling on a chest which Joram had brought for him to sit on, all other seating now being occupied. “Well, then. What can I do for you, my lords? Shall I ask Joram to leave? This is hardly the hour for a social call, so I can only assume that you have come to speak to me on business.”
Oriss, who by seniority and rank should have been their spokesman, twined his fingers together and appeared to be trying to screw his courage together, but then gave a little sigh and glanced at Niallan in appeal.
“You do it, Niallan. I—can’t.”
With a sigh, the Deryni bishop raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Oriss, pursed his lips, then turned his attention to Camber.
“I don’t think it’s necessary for Father Joram to leave,” he said, nodding reassuringly to Joram, who stood like a silent blue shadow behind his bishop. “Tell me, Alister, can you ward this room without going to a great deal of trouble and without scaring our human colleagues to death?”
Camber’s heart sank. Now he was certain what they wanted.
Without a change of expression to betray him, Camber breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, casting out with his mind to touch the triggers which he, Joram, and Ansel had set in this room the first day they came. With the regents now using Deryni, it had been a necessary precaution they had hoped they would never have to use. Now the wards flared up cool and supportive around them, not obtrusive from the outside, for he had not wanted to attract attention when he used them, but sufficiently balanced that any attempt at intrusion would be immediately sensed. When he opened his eyes, he saw Niallan nodding approvingly, Kai wetting his lips, aware. The other two merely stared at him with varying degrees of curiosity and apprehension, gradually evening out to relief as they realized that he had already done whatever he was going to do, magically speaking.
“Will that do?” Camber asked softly.
Niallan nodded. “Well done, indeed. Kai was afraid you would not have made advance preparations. You are not reputed to use your abilities overmuch.”
“I came to believe, long ago, that it does not pay to be too blatant,” Camber countered. “Such has never been my way. There is a time and a place for the gifts we have been given.” He flicked his cool, pale Alister glance to Kai, to Oriss and Dermot.
“But, I think you did not come here at this hour to discuss my abilities—not my Deryni ones, at any rate.”
“No, we did not.”
Niallan, sitting in one of the two chairs, folded his hands and tapped steepled forefingers against his lips briefly, steel-grey eyes framed by steel-grey hair, beard, and mustache.
“Alister, in exchange for certain minimal assurances, Dermot and Robert are prepared to withdraw their candidacies and to throw their support to you in the next balloting tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
And they shall scoff at the kings, and the princes shall be a scorn unto them: they shall deride every stronghold.
—Habakkuk 1:16
Even having anticipated what Niallan would say, Camber could not help a pang of momentary queasiness, once the words were said. He felt Joram’s mental shock reverberate almost like a physical blow as the sense registered of what Niallan was offering, but he did not allow h
is own stunned reaction to show.
“Domine, non sum dignus,” he managed to murmur, lowering his eyes.
“Nonsense!” Dermot retorted. “You’re certainly as worthy as either of us.” He gestured toward himself and Oriss with a vague wave of an amethysted hand. “And far more worthy than that pig of a Hubert MacInnis that the regents are trying to foist off upon us!”
“He’s right,” Niallan agreed, as Oriss and Kai nodded in unison.
Shaking his head, Camber half-turned toward the fire and kneaded the lower part of his face with one hand, trying to block out Joram’s mental turmoil and thankful, at least, that his son was not radiating to the other Deryni in the room.
He did not want this—any more than he had wanted to become Alister, or to become a saint. Oh, the position was certainly an influential one, in theory. Sitting on the regency council again, by unassailable right, would enable him to observe and guide the young king and his brothers—and God knew, they needed guidance, with the likes of the regents continually insinuating their poison into the three young minds. It would more than compensate for the functions they had lost with the untimely deaths of Davin and Jaffray.
But realities proclaimed that the regents would never accept him as archbishop and primate, which negated whatever worth the office might otherwise hold in that regard. The regents knew his politics, just as they knew his race and lineage—or that of Alister Cullen. If he were to be elected archbishop over Hubert, the regents would take it as a deliberate challenge by Deryni—never mind that only three of the ten votes cast for Alister Cullen would have been Deryni votes.
“I’m not sure you know what you’re asking,” he finally said, after a deep sigh. “The regents want Hubert. And Kai, you, of all people, should know how they feel about me. They’ve already ousted me from the regency council once.”
Camber the Heretic Page 41
