by Alma Boykin
“It is.”
Alicorn held up his copy. Pjtor nodded, “Yes?”
“Imperial majesty, from what sources came the current holdings claimed by the church?”
“From their own records, as did the original gifts.”
The room seemed to explode as the nobles began to complain. “How dare they?”
“What is going on?”
“This is an insult!”
“If they have so much, where are our priests?”
“And they want more? That’s an outrage!”
“How can Godown permit this?”
Pjtor let the roar continue until it faded of its own accord. “I suspect some of the error is accidental or came from good intentions. Rivers and streams do move, and for example St. Molly of the Meadow near the Colrodo River? It petitioned church and crown to take custody of the new land created when the river shifted course after the great floods eighty years ago. The petition was granted.”
“That doesn’t explain how Godown of the Forest tripled its property in fifty years,” someone muttered. Pjtor could not tell who, although he suspected Karlinov.
He looked at his notes. “The records of Godown of the Forest monastery show it having title to no more than the original fields and meadow. They did have wood rights in much of the claimed area, and it appears someone either miscopied the gift or decided to expand the claim without petition, in hopes it would be ignored.” It had been ignored, until now. It would not be ignored again.
“Imperial majesty, are you going to grant their request for more land?”
“No.” Silence fell. “In fact, I am going to reclaim the unneeded lands and change how the church receives support.”
The lords gasped, or enough did that he could hear it. All looked at him with wide eyes and several stood slack-jawed, reminding him of the large, pale false-karpf fish that the poor ate in winter. Alicorn and Tarnoii seemed the least shocked, but then Alicorn had the shadow of being cast out of the church hanging over his head for telling Archpriest Boris to “go stick his head in the river and see if some sense might wash in.” Pjtor disapproved of the words but agreed with the idea. Godown would not tolerate pride and greed for much longer, and some of the senior clergy had an excess of both, or so it seemed. “Most imperial and wise majesty, what do you intend?”
“That which was given to the church will remain with it. Gifts given in free will out of thanks for the generosity and mercy of Godown belong to Godown and cannot be taken back except in the most extreme of circumstances, and even then it is the priests who have made the gesture before the donor could request it.” Several men closed their eyes and their shoulders dropped. One or two made blessing signs, probably out of relief that the emperor was not going to tempt the wrath of Godown.
“However, the excess will be redistributed for the good of Godown’s children, so that as the years of peace continue and our numbers increase, all may find land and a living and so better do Godown’s will. The income from Godown’s portion of the new southern lands will go to the church for the maintenance of priests caring for the souls of the settlers. The heretics would not have spread so easily or confused so many had enough priests been available to see to the needs of all, and to guide the common people back to the correct path before the false shepherds led them to their doom.” Pjtor drank a little wine and waited.
“How do you intend to enforce the new property lines, imperial majesty?” Gretchanii inquired. He’d come into his title only this summer, and held at the moment a sliver of forest at the edge of the southern grasslands. Pjtor planned to change that.
“By going back to the original reason for the gifts—they are to support the work of Godown, are they not?”
Everyone nodded, although Karlinov looked confused. “I thought they were for prayers for the souls of the dead?”
Where did he get that idea from? I’ve never heard that. And what do the dead need prayers for, once they have passed to their eternal rest and the four memory years are past? Before someone could accuse Karlinov of heresy, Pjtor said, “And that is a work of the church, yes. The difficulty is that even with the recent surge in, hmm, vocations and callings among the younger sons, this is far too much land for the monks and lay-brothers to work or make use of. Much of it would generate more income if it were farmed and Godown’s Tenth paid, along with first-fruits, instead of producing nothing but trees and weeds.”
Pjtor felt the mood in the room shifting as the shock wore off and the nobles began to see possible advantages for themselves. Well, not entirely, Pjtor knew, hiding his smile behind his mustache. Several of the lords would neither lose nor gain anything at first. In fact, if Tarnoii kept pushing matters, Pjtor might take back some of the land his grandfather had given Tarnoii’s father. The man was wearing Pjtor’s patience thin, and greed among the laity was just as bad as greed in the clerical ranks. “The income from the new lands will remain with the crown for now, those lands that are not redistributed to farmers and to nobles. Anyone taking such lands must be able to show that they are prepared to defend them against the Harriers and to settle and improve them, not just hold them in hopes of selling them at a later date for a high price.”
A hand rose from the back of the group and Pjtor acknowledged Georg Mandovic. It had to be him, because Pjtor could not see anything more than the hand. Mandovic was the shortest man in the council, probably one of the shortest healthy men in NovRodi. “Great Imperial majesty, will foreigners be allowed to settle the new lands?”
“Not in their own name. If Lord Tabor or Lord Broislov hire foreigners to make improvements and to farm, for example, that is permitted. Foreigners may not own property in their own right unless they swear allegiance to the crown and provide military service.”
Mandovic heaved a loud sigh. “Thank you, great imperial majesty. I had heard rumors and now I can stop them.”
“Do so.” He nodded to the clerks waiting behind him. The men in drab knee-length coats and plain caps passed out another map, this showing the new holdings. Before anyone dared to protest Pjtor said, “I will be retaining Arkmandii’s holdings for the crown until the spring at least. They are almost empty. Gretchanii, you have land to the south and east of Tabor now. Are you prepared to defend and people it?”
“Yes, most generous imperial majesty! I— Thank you for your generosity and favor, most imperial majesty. I despaired of finding places for my people, now that the Harriers have stopped killing or enslaving so many of us.” Several others nodded and murmured their agreement. The peasants seemed to be multiplying like lagoms at the moment. Well, so too were the nobles, and having land for younger sons who survived their time in the army would help ease tension on the old lands. Which reminded Pjtor . . .
“The exemption from army service has been rescinded and the church is putting a block on new monastic vocations for those men under age thirty and on women with fewer than three living children, unless their families petition otherwise.”
The shocked expressions returned.
“The monasteries have complained that they lack room for new novices, given the number of vocations in the past years. And there is nothing in Godown’s Writ that a man must leave the world as soon as he senses that he might have a calling. In fact, some of the oldest writings including those of Saints Landis and Boris council waiting for several years before allowing a man to enter monastic life. It seems,” Pjtor leaned forward and raised one eyebrow. “It seems that during Prince Adam the Second’s reign, in the Years of Dearth, an amazing number of young men claimed vocations in the late autumn only to realize that Godown had other plans for them in the following spring. This led to some, hmmm . . .”
Young Nilgal’s lips curved up but his dark, glittery eyes did not smile. “To some adjustments and clarifications in the guides for those seeking to discern a true vocation, imperial majesty?”
“Thank you. That is exactly what happened, and the brothers firmly encouraged young, healthy men to spend
more time at labor and prayer before retreating from the world. Firmly encouraged.” The records for St. Landis-on-the-Lake described angry monks taking the large sticks usually used to make temporary drying racks for laundry or grapes and beating a group of men who thought they could force their way into the monastery rather than working in the fields and forests.
He waited for questions or comments. “Imperial majesty, are blended rights also being redistributed?” That was Tarnoii, who did have a good question for once.
“Yes, as you look at the maps, you will see that hunting, trapping, and fishing rights are being redistributed as well, in order to better fit the needs of the church and the general population. The right to black and white weasel winter furs and to any gold remains with the crown, as has always been.”
The silence returned as they studied the maps. Pjtor was mildly surprised by the refreshing quiet. Usually shouting matches of a volume to raise the dust from the painted ceiling beams shook the hall. At least, after a lot of foot scraping on the stone and wood floor, and twisting of map pages and of hats in hands, Young Boison dared ask the question Pjtor had been waiting for. “Imperial Majesty, what says the church?”
I’ll find out in three days. “The majority of those I have spoken with are in favor of the changes and especially in favor of increasing the number of priests. Never again, Godown willing, will people go without spiritual guidance and comfort so long that they turn to heresy out of desperation.”
“Ameen!”
After the last lord left the council chamber, several of them stopping and kissing the toe of Pjtor’s boot in thanks for their expanded holdings, Pjtor closed his eyes and rested his full weight against the reinforced back of the ancient throne. That was painless, quiet, and simple. Godown, please may the meeting of the church council go half as well.
Godown has answered my prayers. Should I be worried or should I pay for liturgies of thanks and honor? The liturgies, I think. I hope. Peace and two years of plenty, and an early frost that turned mud roads solid, had allowed almost two hundred clergy from all of NovRodi to meet for the largest council Pjtor could recall. Abbots from monasteries as far away as the mouth of the Colrodo River far to the north and east sat in rows behind priests, archpriests, and bishops. Two abbesses also attended, one from St. Molly’s and one from Godown-of-the-Waters, the westernmost convent. They represented all women in service to the church, and Pjtor had already decided that the mother in charge of Godown-of-the-Waters probably had a special direct connection to Godown Himself. Her house had survived three earth shakes, a forest fire, and dardogs that managed to get as far as the first courtyard of the convent, all within the past four years. She stood almost as tall as Pjtor did.
In order to make room for so many people, one of the covered markets had been closed and the partitions between the market stalls removed. This had proved far easier to accomplish than first thought, because the dividers fit into grooves in the floor and could be lifted out and stored intact. Pjtor had spent several hours looking at the woodwork and the cuts in the stone floor. Everyone knew that the market occupied one of the oldest buildings in Muskava because the roof was so high and the wall and ceiling beams so small for such a weight. But how old was it? Pjtor recognized the durable, tight-grained blackbark wood of the partitions and furnishings, but were the walls and roof truly wood, or something else? Now he suspected something else, but kept his thoughts to himself. Lander or not, the building served its purpose and Godown only knew where else they could meet if someone objected.
He sat at one end of the gathering and Archbishop Adam sat at the other end. The first day of the meeting they had sat side-by-side, listening to the reports from the various monasteries and convents, and the larger bishoprics. Adam cared for the safety of the souls of the people and Pjtor cared for the safety of their bodies, and in those duties they remained equal in the eyes of Godown and the law. The reports dealt with physical as well as spiritual problems, and several of the reports emphasized the need to divert or restrict vocations at least for a year, and of the need for priests in rural areas. Even Adam and his supporters had been taken aback at how thin some of the parish priests had to spread their time and presence. It turned out that Robert of Marshton was not the only cleric allowing laymen to administer Last Rites in emergencies, and one Archpriest had gone so far as to permit women, especially herb-wives and birthing-women to do so if no man could be found. “Yes, I granted two birthing-women permission to anoint ailing newborns,” Father Mitch stated, arms crossed, eyes locked on Adam. “I am at worst three days’ ride away from their hamlet, and babies do not always coincide with my schedule.”
No, they seem insistent on making their own, Pjtor knew. Alsice was three months into another pregnancy, to her mild surprise. Pjtor was not certain why she was surprised, but he left that sort of thing to her to sort out.
Father Mitch continued, “Your reverence, would you have babies die without anointing? I will not have such on my conscience, and the Book of the Shepherd, nine, and Gleanings four both encourage mercy before purity of ritual.”
Beside Pjtor, Adam twitched. A quiet rustle of movement and a brief murmur from the dark-clad gathering suggested that several clergy noticed the archbishop’s response and probably did not approve of what it suggested. Pjtor certainly did not.
“Thank you for your report. We will be addressing the lack of priestly vocations later in the council, as you know.” If Adam meant for his words to put the matter to rest, he failed, Pjtor thought, at least judging by the continued rustling and frowns.
Indeed, the next morning Pjtor discovered that a good number of the clergy agreed with his growing disapproval of Archbishop Adam. “Your Reverence,” Archpriest Tamar began. “I am rather puzzled by the church’s claim to the new lands. Are there truly that many men with monastic vocations that so much land is needed to provide food and support new foundations?”
Adam frowned. “The land of the heretics is forfeit to the church because of their refusal to accept the rule of the church. And the rest was given by Godown to NovRodi and it is only fitting that the church should manage the gift. In this way the monasteries will no longer have to stop accepting vocations until they have room for more novices.”
Tamar appeared unconvinced and tapped the map on the table with a short, stubby finger. He’d lost three others from frostbite, Pjtor noticed, and wondered what had happened. “Where are the houses, your reverence? I see none, only farms staffed by service-slaves.”
“What?” Pjtor exclaimed “I was told those lands were to be farmed by free peasants employed by the monasteries.”
Adam glared at both men and sniffed. “You are out of order, imperial majesty. And the houses will come after sufficient funds have been gained from the land to provide for construction of proper buildings and churches worthy of Godown’s servants.”
“And we are to remain doubled up until then?” someone muttered from the monastic rows, loud enough to be heard but quietly enough that Pjtor could not identify the speaker.
“Archbishop Adam, to back up,” Pjtor said, keeping his voice as mild as he could, given the heat of his temper. “You said that the land the heretics had settled and broken belongs to the church because of their rejection of Godown. Pardon my error, but I thought part of the reason for their falling away from the true church was because no priests went among them, correcting and leading them back to the proper paths.”
“That is correct.” Before Pjtor could respond, he continued, “Godown, in His unfathomable grace, permitted them to lapse into error at a time when He has called only a small number of priests to the parish ministry. In His time Godown will call more, because Godown provides. Until then the prayers of the monasteries are even more important because they alone stand between the children of Godown and eternal punishment.”
Pjtor did not have to say anything, because a third of the men and both women gasped, then began to protest, filling the large market building with the sou
nd of complaints and rebuttals. Several black and brown-clad figures surged to their feet in protest, not just priests, Pjtor observed with some satisfaction. However, as much fun as it was watching the priests and monks go after Adam, it did not dignify the church. Both Pjtor and Adam stood. “Order.” Pjtor called. The noise faded but not enough. “Order!”
The roar sank to a babble then faded back into a murmur. “Thank you.”
The abbess of St. Molly’s stood. “Your reverence, truly all prayers are valuable and Godown hears them. But what good are prayers when the body starves? What good are distant prayers when closer voices council error? Even we,” she gestured to the other abbess, “have had difficulties convincing older members of our communities of the rightness of the church’s alterations to the liturgy. If those of us with vocations experience confusion and hesitation because of doubt, how much worse is it for laymen and women without sufficient teachers and shepherds?”
“The changes are not alterations, they are corrections and reversions to the true form of worship,” one of the archpriests called.
She bowed a little. “Thank you for the correction. My point remains—without sufficient clergy among the people, how can they be assured that their doubts are exaggerated and unnecessary? ‘For the closer fruit, though only half-ripe, is at hand while the full fruits of Godown’s truth remain out of reach for now. Be patient and wait upon Godown and he shall bring the full fruits within your grasp,’ as Gleanings six, three says.” She turned a little to face more of the men. “If we have difficulty waiting for the full fruits, why are we surprised when weaker or less well taught children cling to half-ripe fruit when it is all they can see?”
Pjtor flinched, as did a number of the others. The small woman’s words struck hard. Another verse came to his mind. “For have My words not come to you through children and the humble, yet you refused to listen? Behold the proof you demand. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believed.” The Book of Flames is scary for a reason, and sky fires still dance as a reminder. I think Godown is trying to get our attention. Pjtor also made a little promise to give more to St. Molly’s the next time he made offerings. Both she and Klara had served as conduits for Godown’s will and wisdom in their day, after all.
