Warlock and Son wisoh-12 Read online

  She would not see that as justice, of course. Magnus began to realize, for the first time, that the woman had expected a man to take responsibility for her, in every way-but had not been willing to accept responsibility in her turn.

  6

  Magnus rode ahead, feeling quite shaken, but determined not to show it--or to seek a confidant; the only ones he knew were members of the family. So, all in all, he was quite surprised when he rounded a curve and came upon his father, riding down the road only a few feet ahead. Magnus stared, then frowned as anger rushed. He kicked his horse up even with Rod's. "What dost thou here, Father?"

  Rod looked up and did a double take. "My Lord! Magnus! What're you doing back here?"

  "I might ask the same. Indeed, I did."

  Rod shrugged impatiently. "I know it's odd, but I'm going back to Wealdbinde, that pious, nasty little village we left yesterday."

  "Thou wilt not seek to overthrow their priests!"

  "It's an idea," Rod admitted, "though I hadn't really decided on it yet. Why? You think that would be bad for them?"

  Magnus was silent a moment, taken aback by the question. "Is that not for them to decide?"

  "Yes, if they have the chance. But I think that alleged bishop has such a tight choke-hold on them that they couldn't get rid of him if they wanted to."

  "Nay." Magnus frowned. "He is a man of the Church; assuredly he would not use force."

  "Uh . . ." Rod bent his head to rub his chin for a moment, then said, "You've heard of the Crusades? The wars of the Reformation? The Knights Templar?" Before Magnus could answer, he rushed on: "And about his being a man of the Church-I'm not too sure about that, really. Did you notice his vestments? The mitre was so exaggerated, it looked like a caricature-and he wasn't wearing a cassock or a chasuble."

  "Aye; he wore a robe, such as a nobleman might wear about him. What matters that?"

  "A real bishop would be pretty much of a stickler for tradition. And, as we've already noted, Gramarye has never had a bishop-just the monks from the monastery, who expanded to fill the spiritual gap."

  Magnus frowned, mulling it over. "What dost thou say?"

  "I'm saying that what we're looking at here is a great little example of do-it-yourself religion, a cult that was set up by some cynic to give him personal power. Sure, he based it on the Catholic Church, that being the only one he knew-but he made the changes that would guarantee his power, and improvised what he couldn't remember."

  "Thou dost perceive this bishop as ruling this village?"

  "Yes, which is in itself rather ironic-he calls himself a bishop, but his jurisdiction is scarcely the size of a parish. What we're looking at, son, is a very tight little theocracy." He looked up at Magnus. "Care to come with me and find out? Or are you afraid of disturbing your preconceptions?" Magnus gave him a very cold look. "I shall come, if thou wilt give me thy word not to seek to unseat a government that the people have chosen."

  "Agreed--provided they still do choose it. After all, you may be right-this nasty little government could just be accurately representing a bunch of nasty little people."

  They came out of the forest to hear a choir singing. They were very obviously amateurs. Rod looked up at the church on the hilltop.

  "I mislike thine expression," Magnus said. "Thou hast a wicked idea."

  "Oh, not wicked. I mean, I'm a good Catholic, aren't I?" Magnus started to answer, but Rod cut him off quickly. "All right, forget about the adjective. But I've seen enough Masses to know what they're supposed to be likeespecially since you grew old enough to go to church. I was just kind of wondering if it's the same liturgy."

  "Is not the Mass the same everywhere?"

  "Basically the same, with local variations-but you always recognize the basics."

  "And thou dost wonder if thou wilt? Or dost thou wish to be sure the bishop doth notice thee?-as he will of a weekaday morn when so few come to hear."

  "What, you suspect me of having an ulterior motive? I'm surprised at you, son-you should be sure of it. Shall we go?" They rode up the hill, tied their horses to the graveyard fence, and went in to find Mass in progress. Rod halted, and stared in amazement-the church was packed. It wasn't all that small, either.

  "They truly believe," Magnus murmured in his ear. "Or don't dare stay away," Rod muttered back.

  They stepped aside into the shadows at the rear. The bishop went on with the service, seeming not to have seen them, which he might not have-in fine old medieval style, the church had no pews, and everyone was standing.

  Right away, they knew it wasn't a real Mass-or at least not the one they knew. For openers, the crucifix was at the side of the altar, not in the center, and there was something subtly wrong about it. Its customary place was taken up by a rather rough statue of a man wearing a costume identical to the one the bishop wore, like a poor memory of the real episcopal regalia. The Kyrie had turned into a communal chant of "Lord, forgive our disobedience"; the Gloria was mostly about man's unworthiness, not God's goodness; and the Confiteor went on interminably.

  "Who will confess their sins?" the bishop cried, and when no one answered, he signaled to a couple of burly peasants. They strode into the crowd, seized a young man, and threw him down on his knees in front of the altar. "Confess!" the bishop thundered, pointing at the young man as though he were hurling a lightning bolt. "Confess thy lustful desires for Julia!"

  A girl not far from the front turned beet-red with embarrassment.

  "But I did not ... I . . ." the lad protested.

  "Thou didst treasure thy perverted desires in thine heart! Three elder folk saw thy face as she did pass by, and saw that thou didst look after her with thine eyes till she was out of sight! They saw the look in thine eyes! Confess!"

  "I did naught ... I . .."

  The bishop nodded to the burly men. One of them stepped forward, caught the boy's arm, and twisted it up behind him. The lad let out a yelp, and the bishop thundered, "Confess!"

  Magnus started forward, but Rod put out a hand and caught his arm. "We're just observers, remember?"

  The boy was babbling, an account of carnal thoughts that grew more lurid each time the bishop pressed for details and the usher twisted his arm. The poor girl who was supposedly the central figure in this episodic fantasy, nearly died of embarrassment as other parishioners glanced back and forth from her to the young man, crowding each other to be closer to the front, not wanting to miss a single syllable. When the boy was done, the bishop pronounced absolution (coming from himself, not God), and dismissed the young man back to the congregation. Then he singled out two more sinners, who seemed surprisingly willing to confess, one to the theft of an egg, the other to having missed Mass the day before, both berating themselves as useless and corrupted excuses for human beings. At last, satisfied, the bishop launched into the sermon, which was an elaboration of the decadence of Ranulf, the suicide, and the sins of his father, Roble.

  Finally into the Mass of the Faithful. Rod was amazed that there was no collection, until he reflected that it would be pretty pointless, considering that the people gave the bishop everything they didn't absolutely need, anyway-but he was taken aback to see there was no offering of gifts or washing of hands, just taking out wafers and pouring some wine, pronouncing a quick blessing, and then the Communion, or what passed for it. The bishop and the priest gave Communion to each other, the three altar boys, and the two nuns, and that was it.

  "No Communion for the congregation?" Magnus asked, flabbergasted, as they came out of the church-quickly, and ahead of the crowd.

  "Apparently not," Rod said. "Presumably, they're not worthy." He untied Fess's reins. "How long were we in there, Fess?"

  "An hour and a half, Rod."

  "And the Communion itself couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, if that."

  "Is not that supposed to be the core and heart of the Mass?" Magnus asked.

  "Supposed to." Rod raised a forefinger. "That's the key phrase-'supposed to.' And, one might
ask, who did the supposing? No, son, this isn't the Mass as I know it."

  "Local variations. . ." Magnus muttered.

  " `They knew Him in the breaking of bread,' " Rod quoted. "They didn't crack a single Communion wafer, just blessed them as they were. He wasn't about to share the Eucharist with the parishioners-and he didn't mind in the least embarrassing and torturing sinners. Catholic confession is supposed to be private; Catholic Communion is supposed to be public, including everybody who wants it. `By their fruits ye shall know them.' "

  "Therefore is this bishop not truly Catholic." Magnus nodded as he swung aboard his horse. "That service was a virtual parody of the Mass I know. Nay, my father, I must agree with thee-whatever these people are, they are not of the true Roman Catholic Church."

  "Not at all," Rod agreed. "Somebody remade the Mass to suit his own convenience."

  "Naetheless," Magnus said firmly, "if they are pleased with this form of worship, who are we to say them nay?"

  "If," Rod said. "I can name you two who weren't pleased-the boy who had to confess, and the girl he was confessing about. She wasn't guilty of anything-bat the bishop sure made it sound as though she was!"

  Magnus shrugged. "Today they did not like it. Tomorrow they may. I learned in the schoolroom something of the psychology of religion, my father, and the mainstay of it is this: that people do need some form of Church, and of clergy, and of service."

  "I can't really argue with that," Rod sighed. "Every time somebody tries to come up with a religion that doesn't require ministers or services, they always evolve again. Well, let's see if this town has anything to offer in the way of breakfast, son-if we still have any appetite, that is."

  By the time they came to the first huts, Magnus had taken the initiative in the conversation, doing his own critique of the funeral service, and had worked his way up to the sermon, his mouth a thin, grim line. "What manner of bishop can this clergyman think himself to be, to so berate a widower in the hour of his son's burial?"

  "I think," Rod said carefully, "that our good prelate knows exactly what kind of bishop he is."

  Magnus frowned down at him. "What ... ? Oh. Thou dost mean that he hath appointed himself to his episcopal chair."

  "I certainly don't think the Abbot did," Rod returned, "and I don't think he would approve at all, of this man's version of Christianity. In fact, I think His Grace would tell this alleged clergyman to shut up-if he let him stay in Holy Orders at all."

  "Thou dost assume this bishop would recognize the Abbot's authority," Magnus said, with the ghost of a smile. Rod looked up at him sharply. "You know something I don't know?"

  "Not know," Magnus hedged. "Not yet." '

  Rod frowned, and almost demanded that Magnus explain; but a bunch of dried greenery swung at his face, and he had to duck. The distraction was enough to make him remember to give the young man room to find himself. He pulled Fess to a stop and, looking up, saw that the bundle of straw that had almost hit him was hanging by a yard of twine from a pole, which was sticking out of a very roomy hut. He dismounted, tying Fess's reins to a tree. "Well, this but being a little larger than the others, and having a bush hanging out, I'd assume they're trying to pretend it's a tavern. Looks like we eat, son-something besides our own cooking."

  "Alternatives to journey rations are ever welcome." Magnus swung down and tied his horse beside Fess. The stallion rolled its eyes toward the robot-horse, moving just a little away. Fess gave it a placid, almost disinterested look.

  "We're not fooling anybody, are we?" Rod said under his breath.

  "Only humans, Rod-but I think the equine will at least accept me as not being a threat." Fess lowered his head, pretending to graze. After a moment, Magnus's horse followed suit.

  Rod nodded, satisfied. "Hope we have as good a case of luck with the locals. Shall we go in, son?"

  "Wherefore not?" Magnus stood aside and gestured for Rod to precede him. Rod did, still disquieted by his son's refusal to give a direct answer-but he had been through this several times during the last few years, and wasn't about to make an issue of it. He led the way in.

  The interior was dim; light filtered through a few horn windows. There were half a dozen tables with stools about them, and a long trestle table with benches. Rod looked around at the deserted room, shrugged, and knocked on a table. A moment later, a tall man came out of the doorway at the back, wiping his hands on an apron and looking surprised. "Gentlemen! What would you?"

  "We would dine," Rod answered. "We've been on the road several days now, and have had little enough of proper food."

  "Only dried crusts with which to break our fast this morn," Magnus put in.

  The innkeeper glanced from the one to the other, seeming rather wary, but he forced a smile and said, "There is only some porridge, left from our own breakfast, and black bread-and ale, of course, though the brewing's a month old."

  "That will do quite well." Rod smiled. "Don't get many customers in the morning, eh?"

  "Only the widowers and orphan bachelors, gentlemen, and the bishop sees to it there are few enough of those," the man said, almost proudly. "Nay, we are here for the folk to meet and chat with one another o' nights, so we have little custom before sunset, in truth."

  Rod frowned. "Odd arrangement. Your customers are just your fellow villagers, then?"

  "Aye, though there be travellers, like to yourselves, one to a month or so. Yet we are mostly for a meeting place, though the good folk are as like to tarry outside in summer."

  "Yet they'll tarry by the door," Magnus put in, "for this is the only place in the village from which they may have ale?" The innkeeper bobbed his head, smiling. "Even so. 'Tis for me to do the brewing, and I manage it well, though I should not say it of myself. None others brew, of course. They bring me hops and barley, meat and grain, and I serve them ale and beer, and my wife serves them supper. They bring us flax and wool also, so that we need farm only half as much as they, that we may have time to brew and cook for them."

  Rod had the feeling that he was hearing a public relations blurb, and braced himself for a recruiting speech.

  But apparently it was too early for that; the innkeeper only said, "Wilt thou have ale with thy breakfast?"

  Magnus maintained a stoic stone-face, and Rod managed a smile. "Why, yes, thank you." There wasn't much else to drink in a medieval village; no one trusted the water.

  "Directly, then." The innkeeper forced another smile, bobbed his head, and withdrew.

  "Well, this is as close to a view as we'll get." Rod sat down at a chair by one of the horn windows. "Light, at least. Seems like an odd way for a tavern to exist."

  "Aye." Magnus sat down across from him. "From the look of the place, I'd have said that all farmed, and made all that they needed, from cloth to furniture and parchmenteven soap."

  "Except for the priests, of course."

  Magnus flashed him a glance of irritation. "Must thou needs ever be suspicious of the clergy, Dad?"

  "I don't have to, I suppose-it just comes naturally."

  "Their time is fully taken seeing to the spiritual needs of their flock, I doubt not."

  "Two priests, for a couple of hundred people? I don't think there could be more, here. Not to mention the nuns."

  "Nuns?" Magnus frowned.

  "Female clergy, who don't marry," Rod explained. "But they can't hold worship services, so they're not priestesses."

  "Ah." Magnus smiled. "Like to the Order of Cassettes, who did save thee when thou went left for dead."

  "Very much like them, in that they decided to set themselves up as a convent, without anybody's sponsorship or approval-but unlike them, in that they're Catholic, and these people aren't."

  "They are Christians, certainly."

  "Oh, yes, certainly Christians-but they don't believe in the Trinity, from what I heard the priest say during that funeral sermon-if you can call it that. And Heaven only knows how many other differences there are."

  "Heaven should know, inde
ed," Magnus murmured.

  A young woman bustled out, bearing a tray, and set it down between them. "There, gentlemen! Thou wilt pardon my hurry, but I am like to be late for schooling if I haste not." She set a bowl in front of Rod, then another in front of Magnus-but her motions were more deliberate with him. Magnus followed the dainty hand as it drew back, and looked up along the arm to a round, pretty face with large blue eyes, framed in blonde curls that escaped from under the rim of a white bonnet. She wore a brown dress with a white apron, both cut very fully, almost as though she were trying to disguise her figure-which probably she was; Rod had noticed the same kind of dress on all the other women.

  The sexual mores of the community apparently tended toward the puritanical. But the folds of the fabric were draped enough to hint at a voluptuous figure, and the apron cinched in about a very slender waist. Magnus gazed up at her face, and smiled slowly. Her eyes sparked with interest just before she modestly lowered them, blushing.

  Calculation or innocence? Rod wondered. Too early to tell, either way. "You have a free school here?"

  "Nay." The girl grimaced. " 'Tis not free; we must attend it, whether we would or no."

  Rod smiled, amused. Didn't every young one say the same? "But you don't have to pay in order to go."

  "Pay?" The girl smiled. "We've little use for money, gentlemen; the bishop keeps it for us all. Nay, we give him a tithe of all our crops, and timber, and cloth, even as our neighbors do in return for our ale. And we cook and serve the meat they bring, even as some wives sew the bishop's robes, and those of the curate and the nuns; others cook their meals, in turn. So there's little need for payment, at the least in coin."

  "I expect you'll be glad of ours, anyway." Rod slid a few coppers across the table. The girl stared at them, wide-eyed, then picked one up for closer inspection. Her lips curved in a smile. "True money! So rarely have I seen it!"