by Chrys Cymri
Peter frowned. ‘Why?’
‘I’m not certain how some of them would take the news.’
‘Then it’s about time,’ he said strongly, ‘that they entered the 21st century.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
We pulled apart as dessert was carried in. I ignored any temptation to calorie count as I tucked into the chocolate cheesecake.
Afterwards we wandered through to the lounge. The narrow room was lined with armchairs of varying ages and bookshelves straggled up the walls. I settled onto a leather seat with my mug of coffee. A moment later, I nearly spilled the contents when a tortoiseshell cat leapt onto my lap. ‘Magnificat,’ Rosie scolded, ‘I’ve told you to leave visitors alone.’
‘She’s fine,’ I insisted.
Once we were settled, Linda reached out for Rosie’s hand and leaned towards me. ‘We have an announcement to make.’
‘Go ahead,’ I said, although I feared what would come next.
‘We’re going to get married.’
‘Civil partnership,’ Rosie contradicted quietly.
‘But you’re a Christian.’ The tone of Linda’s voice indicated that this was an ongoing argument. ‘Isn’t marriage what you want?’
‘It’s what I want,’ Rosie agreed. ‘But the Church isn’t ready for that yet.’
Peter frowned. ‘But I thought any couple could get married in church.’
‘There are rules,’ I said, ‘even for heterosexual couples. The Church of England doesn’t allow same sex weddings in our churches.’
‘Besides,’ Rosie said, turning to Linda, ‘I was married once, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m happy with a civil partnership. There are some very nice venues we can choose from.’
‘But that wouldn’t be in church. And the Church means so much to you.’
‘God is what matters to me,’ Rosie said steadily. ‘And God is in our relationship and he will continue to be, however and wherever we make our commitments to each other.’
‘Some friends of mine couldn’t get married in church,’ Peter said. ‘So they were married in a hotel, but came later to the church for a blessing. You’d be happy to do that, wouldn’t you, Penny?’
Rosie met my eyes and gave me a half smile. She knew that it wasn’t possible. I cleared my throat. ‘I can offer prayers, yes. And, by the way, congratulations. What are you planning to do? Dresses, or suits? Will you have a honeymoon?’
That diverted Linda and made Peter’s eyes glaze over. Rosie’s gaze remained on me for another moment, granting me pardon for what I couldn’t promise to do.
Peter picked up the topic as he drove me home. ‘You’d do the wedding in church, wouldn’t you?’
The red wine was giving me a headache. I leaned back in the passenger seat. ‘I can’t.’
‘But you approve of Linda, don’t you?’
‘What I think of the situation doesn't matter,’ I said firmly. ‘When I became a priest, I made an oath of canonical obedience to my bishop. I have to obey the Church’s rules.’
‘But--’
‘Surely you’ve had to do things as a police officer that you didn’t agree with?’ I cut in. ‘The police service has a hierarchy and you have rules to follow. So does the Church.’
‘But not even a blessing?’ He sounded more confused than annoyed. ‘I mean, don’t priests bless fox hunters and nuclear submarines? Why is that okay, but not two people who love each other?’
‘I don’t make the rules, Peter.’
There was a long silence. Then he said, ‘When I was a boy, my mum and dad started taking us all to church. Saint Benedict’s needed a churchwarden, and my parents thought one of them could serve. But the vicar wouldn’t let them. Because they were in a “mixed race relationship.” That’s what he called it, “mixed race.” Like somehow one of them wasn’t human.’
‘This is different.’
‘I don’t see how.’
I sighed. ‘I'm sorry what happened to your parents. But whatever I might think, rules have to be obeyed. Besides which, I’m in enough trouble already. I’ve been called in to see Bishop Nigel tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ We had pulled into my drive. Peter turned to me. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve upset my churchwarden.’
‘Again?’ Even in the dim light I could see the grimace on his face. ‘From what you’ve said about your bishop, I’m certain he can see what a bully she is.’
‘Maybe.’
He leaned over and gripped my arm. ‘Penny, you’re doing a great job. You’re keeping that church going and you’re dealing with whatever slips in from Lloegyr. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Thank you.’ I undid my seat belt. ‘Come in for a night cap?’
Peter shook his head. ‘Not if you’re off to see Bishop Nigel tomorrow. I don’t want to encourage you to have anything more to drink.’
I didn’t bother to tell him that I would be having a whisky anyway, with or without him. ‘Night, then.’ And with a quick peck on his cheek, I was out of the car and heading to the house.
Peter waited until I was inside before starting the car and backing off the drive. I shut the door, dumped my coat, and went in search of Talisker. Sherlock Holmes talked about his ‘two pipe problems.’ My equivalent was ‘two whisky problems.’ After two drams, the problem would still be there, but I wouldn’t care anymore.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, I nursed a black coffee while I watched Morey talk to a rat. Both were perched in one of the trees in my back garden, the rat’s bat-like wings fluttering as he bounced on his slim branch. Clyde was pressed against the chain links of his run, looking far too interested in whatever message the rat was passing on.
I noted with surprise that green buds trickled over the rat’s feet. Spring was coming at last. The thought cheered me. Maybe I’d even do something about the garden this year. Long summer evenings, sitting outside in a deck chair, a glass of Prosecco in hand. Paradise.
The cat flap thudded as Morey came through. ‘She insisted on giving the message twice,’ he grumbled. ‘Welsh and English. Any of that coffee left?’
I rose to pour him a mug, adding just the right amount of milk and a half spoonful of sugar. ‘What did she have to say?’
‘I’m to come with you to the Bishop’s Palace.’
Coffee spilled across my dressing gown. ‘Why? What do you have to do with disgruntled churchwardens?’
‘I’ve dealt with my fair share,’ he said, reminding me that he’d once been a priest himself. Marrying Seren had put an end to that. ‘We’ve not been summoned so Bishop Nigel can talk to you about Holly.’
‘Why, then?’ I leaned across the table. ‘What do you know?’
His feathers slicked, but his tail curled. ‘It’s complicated.’
I studied him for a moment. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you embarrassed before.’
‘It’s not about your churchwarden.’ And then he escaped back through the cat flap.
Despite Morey’s reassurances, I found I had no appetite at lunchtime. Finally it was time to get ready to go. Whatever Bishop Nigel had to say to me, I’d know soon enough.
Morey was waiting on the hall side table. ‘Why battle dress?’
I pulled self-consciously at my black suit jacket. ‘I’ll just feel better in it. You’re not going to wear your Elder’s harness?’
‘Not this time.’
He looked far too relaxed for my liking. I had my revenge by playing a Big Finish CD in the car. Morey’s claws gripped the passenger seat while the Sixth Doctor pontificated, but he visibly held his peace.
The Bishop’s Palace was a grand name for the complex of grey stone buildings which huddled near Nenehampton Cathedral. Part of the ancient building was the Bishop’s home and office, and the other half were diocesan offices. On a Friday afternoon, there was plenty of parking outside. We were early, so I turned off the engine and continued to listen to the Six
th Doctor reminding the Daleks how many times he had defeated them throughout history. ‘Do you think the Doctor and the Daleks always meet in the same chronological order?’ I asked Morey. ‘Or is it more like a River Song out of sequence thing, and maybe the Daleks also remember times when the Doctor lost?’
Morey gave me a glare. ‘I’ve had to listen to Doctor Who for the last hour, Black. Don’t push me.’
Turning to pull my coat from the back seat allowed me to hide my smile. But I felt my heart sink as I stood outside the thick door to the Bishop’s residence. What if I didn’t ring the door bell? What if I simply got back into my car and drove away?
Morey reached out and pressed the button for me.
Much to my surprise, it was Bishop Nigel himself who opened the door. The second surprise was that he was dressed casually, an old grey jumper over his blue open-necked shirt. ‘Penny, Morey, please come in. You’re early, and that’s fine, but I first need to finish another meeting. Feel free to put your coat into the chapel, Penny. Do you mind waiting here?’ At my nod, he continued, ‘Help yourself to tea or coffee. There’s even some sherry, if you want something a bit more warming.’
Sherry was not my favourite tipple, but any spirit in a storm. I dumped my coat in the chapel and then returned to the large entrance hall. A side table held tea, coffee, and a large decanter. The glasses were small, so I downed two portions of sherry, one after the other.
‘Is that a good idea?’ Morey asked.
‘I need it.’
He snorted. ‘Dewrder potel. Bottle courage.’
To make amends, I poured us both cups of tea. Morey sat on the table to sip from his, and I wandered back towards the door to study the paintings lining the walls. All were of bishops of Nenehampton, including a recent one of Bishop Nigel.
‘Penny, Morey, sorry to make you wait.’ The Bishop poured himself some coffee, then joined me. ‘What do you think of it? My portrait?’
The painting showed Bishop Nigel sitting in a large armchair, wearing the mixture of white and red robes peculiar to bishops. A Bible was open on his knee. I felt slightly giddy as I replied, ‘I have a new ambition. I want to rise far enough in the Church to have a portrait done so I can glower down at people.’
Morey made a strangled squawk and hid his head under a wing. I had the distinct impression I’d witnessed the gryphon equivalent of a face palm. Then he straightened and flew over to my shoulder. ‘A very good likeness, Your Grace. I’m particularly intrigued by your choice of biblical passage. Would I be correct in suggesting that you chose one of the Major Prophets? Isaiah?’
‘That’s correct, Morey,’ the Bishop agreed. ‘Care to guess which chapter?’
‘If the painter has been accurate in his portrayal, I would say Isaiah 43.’
‘Well done, Elder Morey.’
‘Do you often feel that you’re walking through fire?’ I asked, just to show that I too knew my Bible.
‘All the time, Penny. All the time.’ Then he ushered us through to the lounge.
Tasteful sofas and armchairs in muted colours circled a coffee table at the far end of the room. Morey flew off and found a seat, leaving me to weave my way alone across the cream carpet. ‘We’re waiting for one more person,’ Bishop Nigel said as he accompanied me.
‘Father Penny, good to see you again.’ And in walked a unicorn.
I nearly dropped my cup. For a moment I was back in a dark forest, a unicorn weaving an emotional spell around and through me. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I told myself. And she’s wearing a black cowl, she’s a priest, not the Archdruid. ‘Archdeacon of Ocheham,’ I said, my voice faint even in my ears.
She dipped her grey-white head, the silver horn flashing in the overhead lights. ‘I seem to have alarmed you, Father Penny.’
‘My last meeting with a unicorn wasn’t entirely pleasant.’
The Archdeacon sighed. ‘The Archdruid and the Church disagree on many things. Including how humans who stray into their woods should be treated. Murder is against all unicorn principles, and exacts a heavy price from a race which is better known as healers. I understand the mare who carried out the killings is dead?’
‘Poisoned herself after her foal died.’ I decided not to mention the horn, as I didn’t want any questions as to its whereabouts.
Bishop Nigel waved at the seats. I sat down opposite the unicorn. Morey was on my left, looking relaxed. My bishop took a chair near the Archdeacon. ‘Now, Penny, the reason why I’ve asked you here.’
‘I know, I know, but I can’t allow a churchwarden to take payments for grave reservations,’ I said quickly. ‘Holly needs to understand that. There are procedures we have to follow.’
‘As far as I’m aware,’ the Bishop said slowly, ‘I’ve not had any communication from your churchwarden. At least not in the past few weeks. If you want to talk about her, I’d be happy to listen after we’ve discussed the Archdeacon’s proposal.’
‘Bishop Aeron has been approached by the Matriarch of Cornovi,’ the unicorn told us. ‘The matriarch has asked the Bishop to assign Father Penny to the grŵp rhyfelwyr of Trahaearneifion. Of course, my bishop advised that Bishop Nigel would have to grant the request. It was agreed that I would be sent with the scroll.’
‘The Matriarch of Cornovi,’ Morey told them quietly, ‘is my maternal grandmother.’
I found I was perched on the edge of my seat. ‘This is because Taryn has asked you to marry her.’
Morey’s voice was calm, but his ruffled feathers betrayed his anxiety. ‘Marriage outside a clan is never welcome. I'm also suspect because of my marriage to Seren and, to top it all off, I’m a Christian. But if there’s a scroll, then our two matriarchs have agreed to allow us to prove ourselves.’
‘There is indeed a scroll.’ Bishop Nigel retrieved the roll of parchment paper from the windowsill. ‘It’s in English. I’ll hold it open for your Archdeacon.’
The unicorn read aloud, in her musical voice, ‘“To the Right Reverend Nigel Ambrose Blake, by the Grace of God Bishop of Nenehampton. Greetings. The Matriarch of Cornovi, a well respected leader of an august clan in our diocese, has requested that Father Penelope White, Vicar of Beckeridge and Vicar General of Incursions for Nenehampton, be released when necessary from her duties in order to stand as a member of the grŵp rhyfelwyr of Trahaearneifion. She offers whatever price in gold you would wish to set for Father Penny’s services, as well as a pledge to pay the necessary wergild should this be necessary.’”
A mixture of excitement and worry made me take a sharp breath. A cold hike through the Arctic hadn’t dimmed my enthusiasm for spending time in Lloegyr. On the other hand, the mention of wergild was alarming. My brother’s current wealth had come from being paid a generous sum of blood money by the dragon who had killed his girlfriend.
‘“Trahaearneifion and his grŵp rhyfelwyr must pass three challenges before Clan Cornovi will agree to support his marriage to Taryn of Clan Taexali.”’ The unicorn stepped back. ‘The rest of the document passes on Bishop’s Aeron’s prayers for Bishop Nigel’s life and ministry.’
‘Taryn will have her own grŵp rhyfelwyr and challenges to face,’ Morey said. ‘As for my group, I have also chosen Peter Jarvis, James White, and Clyde.’ Morey looked up at me. ‘Peter’s Chief Inspector will be sent a similar request. You’ll need to give permission for James and Clyde.’
Bishop Nigel frowned at me. ‘Your brother is over twenty-one, isn’t he?’‘He’s twenty-three,’ I said. ‘But it seems that people in Lloegyr think human males aren’t mature until they’re thirty-five. It’s all down to a human self-help book which they’ve misunderstood.’
‘I wonder what they’d make of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,’ Bishop Nigel said dryly.
‘And what does being part of this group mean?’ I asked.
Morey looked calm, but his tail was thumping against the seat cushion. ‘You’ll be taken to my clan’s encampment for each challenge. You’ll be my supporters.’
&nbs
p; I found myself grinning. ‘Great. When do we start?’ A gentle cough drew my attention to Bishop Nigel. ‘Oh, sorry. Morey’s told me that it would take around a month, so do I have the Bishop’s permission to go?’
‘There’s a break between each challenge,’ Morey reminded me, ‘so that all involved can recover for the next one.’
‘Oh.’ I tried to hide my disappointment. ‘So I can return to the parish between each engagement.’
Bishop Nigel grinned. ‘Aren’t you due a sabbatical, Penny?’
I stared at him. ‘I’m not eligible yet. I’ve only been Vicar General for eight months.’
‘Maybe it’s time you had a fuller experience of our sister diocese,’ the Bishop continued. ‘Morey, you’re certain a month would be long enough?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Leaving the other two months free,’ Bishop Nigel said, glancing at the Archdeacon.
‘Bishop Aeron discussed the matter with her senior staff,’ the unicorn said. ‘The parish of Caer-grawnt is currently without an incumbent. She has sounded out the churchwardens about a three month placement of a human priest as their rector. They are willing to meet with Father Penny to explore this further. The parish can provide a fully furnished cottage for her use.’
Bishop Nigel nodded. ‘I’d be willing to release Penny from her duties here for that time. Would you like to meet the churchwardens, Penny?’
I relaxed the breath I’d been holding. ‘I’d like that very much.’
‘The churchwardens would need to put this to the congregation at Caer-grawnt,’ the Archdeacon said. ‘They might wish a full interview, or a preach with a view.’
‘Whatever they want.’ In my mind, I was already dusting off my CV and thinking through my more successful sermons. Of course, the congregation might insist on choosing the topic, which would mean writing something fresh. Then I had a thought. ‘Would James have to go with me?’
‘Your brother is welcome to remain in your house here,’ Bishop Nigel said. ‘Although he might want to live in Lloegyr?’
What my brother might want, and what might be safe for him, were two different matters. But this was family business, and not the Bishop’s concern. ‘I’ll discuss that with him.’
