Warlock and Son wisoh-12

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Aye, much good did it to him. They took offense," Roble confirmed, "and screamed at the boy that he was a heretic and a damned and impious one, then beat him. His schoolmates beat him worse, on the way home, and he wept bitterly when he was come to his mother. She sought with gentle words to explain to him that he must never question the nuns' teachings-and the bishop came to accuse me of poisoning the lad's mind with my incessant questioning of Holy Doctrine, and to read me the passage in which Christ says of the one who leads younglings astray, that it were better for him to have a millstone bound around his neck and be cast into the depths of the sea. Yet I had been careful not to speak of my own questions in the lad's presence-aye, or even in his mother's, when first I found that she was frighted by my wonderings." He lapsed into a brooding silence.

  "So thou, too, didst note the contradictions in the bishop's teachings?"

  "Aye, when I was young myself. The old bishop, who came before this one, told me I had a twisted and rebellious mind, and was over-fond of listening to the Devil. I will own that I chafed at the authority of the priests, for I could not see that they were that much better in soul than any other men, save in the matter of mastering their fleshly lusts. I wished to leave the village, and even crept away one dark night-but the old bishop sent men after me, with dogs to trace my scent, and they beat me and brought me back."

  Magnus's eyes widened; he exchanged a quick glance with his father. "So, then. Thou art not allowed to leave."

  "Aye, for, saith the bishop, I fled toward the Devil, entranced by his wiles and snares. The whole forest is the domain of the Adversary, seest thou, and the great wider world beyond it is there only to corrupt the innocent." His mouth twisted in bitterness. "I think they may have truly believed such. Surely they did lock me in a darkened cottage, to meditate upon my sins, and mine only company was a curate who came to preach to me an hour at a time, three times daily. At last I was so desperate for release that I came to believe I had been misled by the Tempter, and confessed my sins. They loosed me then, but watched me closely. They need not have, for I was cowed, and truly believed myself to be evil. I lived in penitence, and at last the bishop judged that I should marry. I balked at this, but he lectured me sternly, to show me that 'twas my obligation either to serve God as a priest-and I lacked the strength of Faith for that--or to wed and rear up babes to witness the glory of God-for there were, after all, only those two vocations."

  "Nay," Magnus said sharply. "There are three-the chaste and single life is another, even without the call to the priesthood."

  Rod nodded. "Of course, it has its own burdens and responsibilities-and it's a very lonely life."

  Roble gave him a brittle smile. "The bishops have told us, throughout the ages, that no soul should endure such loneliness and the temptations with it, if he cannot-and therefore all should marry, if they are not priests or nuns. So they matched me to a lass whom no one else wanted, and wed us-and she never forgave me for marrying her out of force, not love. She shrilled at me, she scolded me, she nagged, and I thought again about fleeing to the forest-but she bore a son, and proved as gentle and sweet a mother as she was a hard and bitter wife. Yet she would not tolerate the slightest sign of impiety in Ranulf, and as he grew older, began to beat him sorely for daring to speak of it. As he grew, and questioned more, she grew harsher and harder, even as the nuns, and then the priests lectured and upbraided him, and told him he was corrupt in his very nature, and bound for Hell, because he was my son. My wife would have turned me out from the house then, were divorce not sinful-and 'twas not long thereafter that she died. The bishop proclaimed her saintly, for having striven so hard to raise Ranulf in the fear of God, and for enduring the presence of the rebellious soul who was her husband." He said this all without expression, his tone level.

  Rod felt his heart wrench within him, and felt a huge upwelling of gratitude that he had found Gwen-and his old abiding sense of guilt in that he had been so poor a husband. Magnus murmured, "And thy son questioned God's wisdom, in taking his mother when she was not yet aged?"

  "Aye, and in his grief, he spoke of it aloud-nay, he ranted and demanded that the priests should explain how a good God could take a woman who was in the summer of life. The bishop thundered at him that he was a blasphemer and a lost soul, and that I had driven his mother to her death. God bless the lad, he would not believe it-and God pity him, for he said it aloud, and the bishop commanded his priests to beat the Devil out of him. He was pilloried and whipped, and I with him, then cut down to limp home as best we might, and do what we could to bind each other's wounds. 'Twas then he spoke of fleeing, and I, in fear of their dogs and whips, cautioned him against it; nay, pled with him. And at my asking, he bided, and tried to be good by the bishop's rules-but he had lost all faith in the priests by then, and saw them as villains."

  "And therefore saw himself as evil," Rod murmured. Magnus looked up at him, startled, but Roble nodded. "Aye, for he had lost all faith in aught but God Himself, or so he told me. And so it befell that he sought to flee one night, without telling me. I knew naught of it till the small hours of the morning, when the hunters brought him back with a huge clamor, and waked the whole village to witness the shame of the apostate. They scourged him as they had me, and locked him in the hut, and preached at him mightily-but he was made of sterner stuff than I; he never wavered, and would not give in. At last, two nights agone, he hanged himself by the thongs of his shoon." His whole face squeezed shut; his shoulders trembled. Magnus put out a hand toward him, but Rod waved him back, and the younger man slowly withdrew his hand.

  Finally, Roble opened his eyes with a gasp. "Thy pardon, strangers. I should not burden thee with a father's guilt."

  "I wouldn't say the guilt was yours," Rod said, keeping his voice low. "This variety of religion you're taught here, goodman Roble, is not the Church as it exists in the outside world."

  Roble turned to him, staring. "In truth? Is the Church outside this forest, then, possessed by demons, as our legends say?"

  "Not a bit, though it has its share of weak and fallible mortals in it. It preaches Charity as the most important virtue, and its punishments are much gentler-so much so that if a really vile crime is committed, it hands the victim over to the King's men for punishment."

  "We are of that Church," Magnus murmured. "We believe that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are each separate persons, but at the same time, each completely and fully God." Roble stared. "But how can that be?"

  "How can a single triangle have three sides? Naetheless, that is too simple an example; true understanding is beyond our mortal minds." Magnus wondered if that was because human beings could only perceive three dimensions, but suspected it was only one among humanity's many limitations. He didn't cloud the issue, though.

  "There are other differences," Rod said, "but the sum and substance is that, no matter what your priests and bishop tell you, the Church that rules you here is not the same as the real Roman Catholic Church. In fact, my son and I have been wondering how this cult could ever gotten started."

  Roble lifted his head, gazing off into the distance. "There is a history, that we are each of us taught."

  Rod glanced at Magnus. "I think we'd like to hear it." Magnus nodded; if nothing else, it would take the older man's mind off his grief.

  "An thou dost wish it, then," Roble said slowly. Magnus reached over and refilled his tankard.

  "I thank thee." Roble smiled, then began the tale that, in their village, passed for history.

  "This village, strangers, was begun by a group who found summat in the Bible that made them believe the Church of the outer world was sinful."

  Rod nodded. "I take it there was some kind of leader who pointed that out to everyone else?"

  "Aye; he was the Eleazar whom these folk name a saint. He called upon all who believed in the pure Faith to follow him to the wildwood, and went off to the forest."

  Probably with the sheriff one step behind him, Rod thought to Magnus. The y
oung man's lips quirked, then smoothed; he kept his look of close attention to Roble's words.

  "The folk struck off by themselves into the forest," the peasant told them. "Our legends say they had to slip away by twos and threes, for fear of the soldiers. They met Eleazar at his hermitage, a great rock in the forest, and all went together in search of a place where they might worship as they pleased."

  "Or as Eleazar did," Rod murmured.

  Roble gave him a bitter smile. "Aye. After some weeks' wandering, they did find this clearing in the forest-where the church and school now stand. They cleared the trees to make them fields, and proceeded to dwell in harmony."

  Rod nodded. "I can believe that. After all, Eleazar had selected only those who agreed with him. They all believed the same things, so nobody was discontent."

  "Not at first, mayhap," Roble said, "but they sought to live without priests, look you . . ."

  "Aye." Magnus smiled. "Few clergymen would wish to company a troop that thought the Church was wrong."

  "Even so. Yet after some ten years or so, the wives found the burden of rearing children without a priest to teach them right from wrong too heavy to bear. They felt the need so strongly that they besought Eleazar to go and find them a clergyman; some of them even began to mutter that their life in the forest was too hard, and their need of a church too great, so that they began to implore their husbands to take them back to the villages outside the forest."

  "But the husbands were escaped serfs, and knew they'd be punished sorely," Rod interjected.

  "Aye, or slain. To quiet them, Eleazar went back out from the forest, to find a priest who shared their views."

  "Nice trick. . ." Rod said slowly. "Who'd he find?"

  "Himself. He was gone several months, then came back wearing a cassock, and shared the glad tidings-that the Abbot of the Monastery had found him worthy to become a priest, and had sent him back to minister to them."

  "Oh, did he truly?" Magnus said softly.

  I doubt it. Suddenly, it all made sense to Rod. Of course, he truly said so-otherwise, he would have lost his power over these people.

  Aye. That is all Eleazar truly wanted, is it not so? Power over his own small mud puddle.

  "So the villagers dwelt content, and in harmony," Roble said, with a certain amount of irony, "for they had a priest to guide them toward Heaven."

  "And to tell them what to do on Earth."

  "Indeed. Yet as he became old, the blessed Eleazar became afraid for his flock; he did not wish them to be without a priest after his death."

  "So he made another little trip to the outside world?"

  "Aye, and came back still alone-but with a mitre, and bearing a crozier."

  Rod stared. "Bishop's regalia?"

  "Aye, for only an abbot or a bishop can ordain a priest. So the Abbot of the Monastery had appointed him to be Bishop of the Forest, that he might ordain new priests without the risk of the long and arduous journey to the outer world."

  "How considerate of the Abbot," Magnus murmured. "He ordained a new priest, a curate. He chose him from the most zealous of the altar boys, taught him to read, and taught him the holy things a priest must know . . ." Translation, Rod noted: the people didn't know just what a priest needed to know.

  ". . . and founded a seminary," Roble went on, "a school for priests. He chose, as candidates, the boys who had the greatest zeal, who felt the pull to the priestly vocation. . . . "

  "They wouldn't have happened to be the sons of the people who were especially friendly with the bishop, would they?"

  "I cannot speak of the first bishop, but whiles I have lived, aye, it hath been ever as thou dost say. Is't not as thou wouldst expect, that the most devout are the sons of the most pious? They are the pillars of the Church, look you, those who give most unstintingly of their time. . . ."

  In brief, as Rod well knew, they were the ones who were best at currying favor with the clergy. It was depressing to realize all over again that even in a little village like this, parish politics held sway, and that an elite was assiduous in establishing itself. "I take it the curate inherited the bishop's see?"

  "Aye; on his deathbed, Eleazar elevated the curate to the crozier and mitre. The second bishop realized that some of the young women were as devout as he himself, and founded a convent. All were most pure, and zealous in their devotion, and truly celibate. Could they have been less than holy?"

  "Yes," Rod said. "Their prayers and celibacy are all very laudable, goodman Roble, but it's the spirit of the law that counts, not just living it to the letter. Do these people live as though other people's welfare is their greatest concern? Are they understanding? Are they patient?"

  Roble sighed. "Christ said the most important commandment is that we should love the Lord our God with our whole hearts, our whole souls, and our whole minds, and that the second is like it-that we should love our neighbors as ourselves. Surely, then, Faith is more important than Charity, and the priests are right in berating those of us whose faith is weak. Their anger must be righteous anger, since it doth come from holy men, and their punishments of the ungodly are only just, not uncharitable."

  "There is such a thing as mercy," Magnus pointed out. "Aye, but protection of the flock is of greater import. They must quash such heresy as mine, say they, to protect their lambs from the wolves. For all of this, there must be obedience, exact adherence to each commandment of the priests."

  "So they rule, and everybody has to do what they say." Roble shrugged. "There is some sense to it. They must punish those who break the Law, the Ten Commandments, and that punishment must be strenuous and public, to teach others to resist temptations to sin. Disobedience must likewise be punished, that all will live by God's Law, and those who seek to flee from God's jurisdiction must be prevented-for their own good, lest they mire themselves in sin."

  "And nobody notices that all of this just incidentally gives the priests total power over the people in this village?"

  "Hush!" Roble glanced over his shoulder. "Say no such word, stranger, on thy life! To say that worldly power is of greater import to the clergy than God and His flock, is blasphemy."

  "And you believe all this?"

  "Nay!" Roble's face suddenly contorted with a swift and intense rage. "I have tried-the dear Lord doth know I have tried! And for fifteen years I had nearly believed that I believed-but my son's pain hath torn aside the veil of my pretense! I can credit their teachings no longer!"

  "Good to hear." Rod hunched down low, speaking softly to Roble. "From what I know of the monastery, goodman, the Abbot would never appoint a bishop-in fact, the issue has come up before, and the upshot was that there has never been a real, official bishop in Gramarye, anywhere. On top of that, it takes four years to learn what you need to become a priest, and I don't think the Abbot would have been willing to ordain Eleazar in only a few months."

  Roble stared. "Dost say Eleazar was a false priest?"

  "A false priest, and a falser bishop. In fact, I'm saying he was a charlatan, who played upon the people's faith and confidence to make himself undisputed ruler over his own petty kingdom. All he really wanted was to be top dog, and he didn't care how small his pack was."

  "So." Roble sat up straighter, life coming back into his eyes-life, and a gleam of fire. "I thank thee, stranger. Thou hast freed me."

  "Don't go jumping to conclusions, now," Rod cautioned. "Just because you know the truth doesn't mean they'll let you leave. And it certainly doesn't mean they'll let you tell it."

  "I shall take my chances with the dogs and the hunters," Roble said, smiling, "and if I die, at the least I'll see my son again."

  "Assuredly they would not slay thee!" Magnus said, aghast.

  "Aye. They would take my life, to save my soul from the temptations of Satan."

  The words gave Rod a chill, but he shrugged it off and said, "Good enough. I think you'll live to see the outside world-that is, if my son doesn't feel that helping you get loose will interfere with your neig
hbors' right to choose their own form of government?"

  Roble frowned, at a loss, but Magnus said, "No fear, my father. His right to leave is equal to their right to stay."

  "Yes," Rod said softly. "It all comes down to the freedom to choose, doesn't it? About something a little more important than which kind of beverage you'll be drinking." He turned back to Roble. "Meet us at the edge of the forest after dark, goodman, at the deer track near. . ." He broke off. "Near my son's grave?" Roble nodded, hard with determination. "A fitting place for my farewell to this village. Yet I would not have thee share my punishment, strangers."

  "We will not," Magnus assured him.

  Rod looked at his son's face, and felt a thrill of delight and apprehension. He knew Magnus was quite capable of murder, but he hoped the boy wasn't looking forward to it. "Believe me," he said to Roble, "your chances will be a lot better with us."

  "Then I should not be seen talking any longer with thee." Roble rose, drank down the last of his ale, and said a loud "Farewell!" then a softer, quicker, "Bless thee, strangers." He turned, and strode out of the tavern.

  Rod glanced up, but the innkeeper was still in the kitchen. "Well," his son said, "thou hast given him comfort, of a fashion."

  Rod turned to smile at him, but saw the look on his face and froze with the smile half-cracked.

  "Let us have air, and space for free talk," Magnus muttered, and stood up so quickly that he almost toppled both table and bench-and father, too. Rod scrambled to his feet, but Magnus had turned away and stormed out of the inn. Rod stared after him, surprised, then hurried to catch up. He didn't speak, just went alongside his giant son, matching him stride for stride, which took some stretching.

  "Thus may we see," Magnus said at last, "how religion may twist and torture the soul of a man."

  Rod stared straight ahead, astounded.

  His son turned a dark and brooding gaze upon him. "Do I shock thee, then, my father?"

  "No," Rod said slowly, "but you did kind of take me by surprise there."