Warlock and Son

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, indeed," 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!"

"Then thou couldst mistake it," Magnus pointed out. "It could be lead, painted over. Bite, and if it shows not the mark of thy teeth, 'tis hard, and therefore like to be real."

The girl turned her smile upon him, her eyelids lowering. "And canst thou teach me what is real in the world, and what is not?"

Their gazes connected, and Magnus felt a thrill shoot through him, feeling her challenge and attraction both. Opportunity was calling-but opportunity for what? He smiled slowly, very much aware of the lush curves hidden by the rough, loose tunic, the full lips, the inviting eyes-but also marginally aware that his own defenses had risen, that he had become wary of demands in reserve, of the potential attempt to use him. He bore that in mind as he returned her smile, and found that he could think of things other than the girl herself. He tilted his head to the side, and answered, "I would think thou hast teachers enough. Didst thou not speak of school?"

"Aye," she said, "yet I have little wish to learn what the nuns teach. Thy matters, though, might entrance me."

Rod glanced from one to the other, very much aware of the girl's appeal for his son, and wondering already what her motive was. Somehow, he doubted that she was interested in the Gentle Giant for himself alone.

"I am hight Hester," the girl said. "And thou?"

"I am hight Magnus," the young man said with a slow smile, as though he was relishing the encounter.

And in truth, he was. Wary of the girl's motives though he might be, the sensations her interest aroused in him were quite enjoyable. The early stages of this game were very pleasurable, and he intended to appreciate every moment of it. Time enough to withdraw when the game became-deeper, and the stakes needed to be put on the table. "Thou art not yet too fully grown for school?" Magnus asked.

The girl made a moue. "I have only some six months and a few days I must attend. Surely a dozen years of schooling more than suffice for any woman! Nay, to answer thy question, gentleman, I would say that I am grown enough, and more-but the bishop and his nuns would not agree."

"And their word holds sway?"

"Of course." The girl stared in unfeigned surprise. "Do they not ever?"

Magnus exchanged a glance with Rod, and said, "I have never met a bishop before-nor am I like to now, I warrant."

"Oh, he doth wish to speak with all newly come to our village!"

"I doubt me an we'll tarry long enough to be newly come," Magnus answered. He gave her a roguish smile, though, and added, "Still there might be benefit in dallying a while."

"Hester!" the innkeeper snapped, hurrying out of the kitchen. "Wherefore standest thou there in converse? Thou shalt be late for school!" He thrust a slate and a cloth bag at her.

"Oh, aye, Papa;" the girl said, with a sigh. She took the bag and slate, and turned back to Magnus. "I must away, good gentleman." Again, the innocent's attempt at a sultry smile. "Shall I see thee when I am freed?"

"Hester!" the innkeeper barked, instantly angry; but she turned a saucy smile on him. "Ought I not seek to interest him in our congregation, Papa?"

That toned the innkeeper down to a glower. "In our congregation, aye . . ."

"And I am minded to see more of thy town and thy ways." Magnus stood, facing Hester. "May I accompany thee to the school, maiden?"

"Why, I should be delighted, sir," she chirped, and the two of them set off side by side.

The innkeeper stared after them, appalled, but at a loss-by the rules of their society, he couldn't object-at least not without stronger reason for suspicion.

Rod let him off the hook. "Don't worry, I'll be right behind them." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Thanks for the breakfast, innkeeper-it was quite filling." He gestured toward the pennies. "I hope that'll cover it."

The innkeeper stared at the money. "Oh, aye, sir! 'Tis too much!"

"Then I'll come back for lunch." Rod strode toward the door. "Sorry to be abrupt, but I'm going to have to hurry to keep up with them." And he set off after his son, as he'd been doing for most of the last ten years.

"Thy father would have to follow us," Hester said, nettled. "Can they not let us live as we would?"

"Why, he can, and hath done so aforetime," Magnus said, "yet I believe he, too, doth wish to see this school of thine. 'Tis rare, seest thou."

"Rare?" Hester looked up with a quick frown. "Why, how so?"

"Outside this forest, few of the commonfolk have schools of any sort," Magnus explained.

"Ah, fortunate are they!" Hester sighed. "Would I had grown in such a village."' And, for no discernible reason, she gave Magnus a smile that would have melted ice.

"Why?" Magnus asked, with keen interest-not altogether intellectual. "Hath not knowledge made thy life richer?"

"Oh, I must say that it hath," Hester sighed, "for the nuns do tell us the Word doth enrich our souls, and increase our chances of Heaven."

"Oddly phrased." Magnus frowned. "Yet it doth, at least, tell me why thou hast a school. Thou dost wish Heaven, dost thou not?"

"Oh, aye," Hester said, with another sigh, "though only for its succor from the fires and torments of Hell, which the good sisters have told us of."

Magnus cocked his head to the side. "Thou dost not wish eternal bliss?"

"The bliss I wish is here and now-or could be." She stared directly into his eyes, hers seeming to become huge. "The Heaven in the sky is so dull a place, from all they say-only taking ease on clouds, and playing of harps and singing of hymns. The Heaven I wish is very much of this world."

Magnus forced himself not to flinch from her gaze, though he felt as much repelled as attracted. "The Heaven thou dost speak of on Earth is Heaven as I understand it to be hereafter-yet enduring forever, not for minutes only."

She started, shocked, and turned away. "Thou dost blaspheme!"

"Nay; for the bliss of the saints is even greater than that of the sinner in his fleshly preoccupation."

Hester eyed him warily. "The good sisters tell us 'tis a bliss of the soul only."

"I doubt it not," Magnus returned, "yet I tell thee of mine own knowledge, that the ecstasy of the flesh alone is a great anticipation and ascension into a moment's thrill that is far less than its expectation. 'Tis therefore that lechers forever pursue new conquests-they are ever in search of that which can only be gained by those in love. I cannot speak of the fullest ecstasy that is accorded true lovers, but from what I hear of it, it surpasseth mere lust as the ocean surpasseth the lake."

Hester stared up at him, shaken but fascinated. "Thou art a sinner!"

"That I am, to my sorrow-earthly sorrow of the here and now, not of the afterworld alone. There is great virtue in virtue, even that of chastity, though mayhap not as thy teachers tell thee."

"What thou hast said is not of their teaching."

"Gramercy for that. Yet in having any sort of school, thou art fortunate."

"I would trade such fortune gladly, for the chance to be free!" the girl said passionately.

Magnus was instantly on his guard-here was the ulterior motive. "Free? Why, what wouldst thou gain thereby?"

"Why, freedom!" She stared at him, open-mouthed. "Freedom to do as I pleased, without parents and teachers forever telling me what I must and must not do! Freedom to dance, to sing songs other than hymns, to taste of the delights of this world." She looked very directly into his eyes as she said it.

Magnus felt her gaze down into the pit of his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. "We all yearn for such freedom," he agreed. "It doth come with age."

"Nay-it doth come with marriage. And then art thou fettered to a husband's commands."

"Or a wife's." Magnus remembered the henpecked husbands. "In that, I am naive, Hester. I yet dream of a union in which husband and wife are so firmly delighted in one another that they act in concert, and take so much pleasure in one another's company that the bondage of never doing what one wishes, but ever tempering thine own desires by another's whims, seems of little moment."

"I, too, dream of that." Again, the eyes turned huge, the lips parted. "Hast thou seen such?"

"Aye, though it did not last," Magnus admitted. "As they aged, the one of them chafed the other."

"Age will make some difficult and contrary," Hester agreed. "I have seen such."

"And those of great anger grow to be of shorter and shorter temper," Magnus said with a sigh. "Yet still bide they, joined to one another, in hopes that the friction will cease."

"Before the love doth." Hester turned away, troubled. "Is there no freedom, then?"

"None that can be won once, and never striven for again-as I have heard, at the least. Freedom must ever be won over and over again."

"As must love?" Hester whispered.

Magnus nodded. "From all I have seen and heard, a wedding is not the magic charm we think it. A priest's blessing, and an exchange of rings, will not make a wild boy instantly into a prudent husband, nor transform a flirtatious lass at once into a demure and loyal wife. And, assuredly, a wedding will not make two folk who are unsuited to fall in love."

Hester winced, and Magnus wondered what she'd had in mind. "Yet still," he said, "I think there is freedom, though husband and wife must ever earn it by serving in bondage to one another." He frowned at his own words. "Do I make sense?"

"Nay."

"Praise Heaven; I feared I was too much like a pontiff. Nay, when all is said and done, I'll take the lesser, but more certain, freedoms."

Hester looked up, puzzled. "What are those?"

"Freedom of the mind is foremost among them. At the least, thou hast the world of books open to thee-if thou hast the good fortune to come by volumes."

"The world of books? How should we have such a world?"

"Why, by having learned to read and write."

"I have learned no such thing! What hath schooling to do with reading?"

It was Magnus's turn to stare, shaken. What kind of school was it that didn't teach people to read and write? He was about to find out; they had come to the church. Hester murmured, "I thank thee for thy company," and hurried ahead, to arrive at the clustering of children and youths ahead of them. Magnus smiled; apparently he was already suspect in the community. Was that only by virtue of being a stranger? _

The school was a small wooden building beside the church. Today, however, it was not going to be used, due to fair weather; two black-robed women came out of the cloister, took up stations before the group of youngsters, and clapped their hands. Instantly, the children quieted and assembled into straight lines. The nuns nodded, then knelt with ponderous ostentation. The children followed suit, and the nuns began the Our Father. Magnus frowned; the words had changed a bit from the ones he knew-due, no doubt, to having been passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth. "Thy kingdom has come" did rather change the emphasis-and that last sentence, "Make us obedient to the priests whom Thou hast appointed to guide us," definitely wasn't in the Catholic version he knew-nor the Protestant, for that matter; and from the grating tone in which the nuns recited it, it didn't sound as though they were all that happy about it, either. But recite it they did, and finished the "Amen," and began the "Hail Mary." Again, it was not the prayer as Magnus knew it. He certainly hadn't thought of Christ as taking orders from Mary-at least not after He grew up. He decided to look up the wedding in Cana in his Bible at home.

"Thomas and Hester," said the eldest nun, "bring out the slate."

Thomas looked up with a quick smile, but Hester kept her face carefully neutral. Together they went into the school. Thomas was instantly trying to chat with Hester, in a low tone; she answered in monosyllables. The nuns couldn't have helped but notice, but they turned a blind eye.

"Today we shall speak of the Holy Trinity," the younger nun said, stepping to center, "of God our Father, and Jesus His Son-and of the Spirit of God, which doth enkindle our hearts with love. Therefore, if we live in God, we must love one another, never speaking in anger, or striking one another, or seeking another's shame or hurt." As she spoke, her face became radiant, her eyes rising toward Heaven.

Then she whirled about, whipping a birch rod from her voluminous robe and slamming it down across a young man's knuckles. A single cry escaped his lips from sheer surprise, before he bit it back.

"And thou, Neil Aginson!" the nun shouted. "Dost think I have not seen that look of hate thou didst direct, but now, at Thomas's back? Nay, glower not at me, but smile, or I'll smite thee sorely."

The young man stared back up at her, eyes narrowing. The elder nun came up behind the younger. "Think of thy father, Neil Aginson. Think of the tithe he doth owe the Church, that may be doubled. Come, let love fill thine heart, and smile."

The youth's face reddened, but he managed to draw up the corners of his mouth in a rictus.

"Think on love, and do better," said the younger nun, eyeing him with cold hostility. "But that will do."

She turned away, just as a sharp crack sounded from inside the school. Both nuns turned, eyeing the door narrowly. Then Thomas came stumbling out, bearing one end of a portable blackboard, a red mark flaming on his cheek. Hester came marching after, holding the other end of the blackboard, head high and shoulders back-but without the hint of a smile.

The nuns eyed the two of them, and the elder barked, "Hester! Be not so proud! Remember that humility is a virtue that doth become us all!"

Hester dropped her eyes. "As thou sayest, sister." She turned away to her seat on the grass.

The younger nun whirled to whack at Neil again. "Purge the hatred from thy soul, Neil Aginson! Aye, well I know what thou wouldst fain do-and I tell thee, unless thou canst school thine heart to love, and purge this hatred from it, thou shalt fry in Satan's skillet for eternity!"

Neil dropped his gaze and slumped his shoulders-but it looked to be only pretense.

"Beware of lust," said the older nun. "Beware the temptations of the flesh. I know thine heart; I have seen how thou dost regard Hester."

Now Hester's cheeks flamed. She sat at her desk, head bowed, every line of her body rigid with embarrassment. "Purge thyself of impure thoughts!" the old nun orated, one hand held high in admonition-or threat. "Cleanse thine heart of every trace of concupiscence, lest the fires of desire condemn thee to the fire of the furnace in which God doth burn all impurities from mortal souls-burn, aye, for eternity!"

Magnus noticed that the term "eternity" was already beginning to have less meaning for him. He also wondered why neither nun had said anything to Thomas about lust--or did they think that Hester had slapped him for his conversation?

"Ten Hail Mary's!" The old nun's arm came down like a whip, finger pointing at Neil.

Every muscle stiff in protest, Neil bowed his head and began to move his lips. The nun eyed him coldly, but turned away.

She drew two large circles on the board, and turned back to the class. "What are these?"

A nervous giggle ran through the class.

"Be still!" The nun glared at them, face red and swollen on the instant, eyes staring in indignation. "What wouldst thou profane! Art thou all damned, even so young? Harold! What have I drawn?"

"Why ... why, two circles, sister," an eight-year-old stammered.

"Thou liest, thou rogue!" WHACK! The ruler came down on the desk-but the boy yanked his fingers out of the way at the last second. The nun howled. "Thou wouldst, wouldst thou? Seek to avoid the punishment divinely meted out to thee? Nay, thou canst not turn away from God's chastisement, and if thou dost try, it shall be meted out to thee tenfold! Thomas, hold his hands!"

The youth leaped to obey with alacrity, a smile quivering at the corners of his lips, but contained, though his eyes betrayed his pleasure. The nun cracked the rod across the boy's hands ten times, impervious to his tears, then turned away. "Now, for one who did listen yesterday. Avila!"

"Wh-Why . . ." the girl stammered, "thou didst not speak of circles yesterday, sister."

WHACK! This time it was a slap across the cheek. "Did I not speak of God, Avila? Is not God a whole unit, sufficient unto himself? And is not a circle a whole, unto itself?" She whirled away, to point at the larger circle. "This is God!"

There was a smothered snort of laughter somewhere in the class, but the watching elder nun could see only blank, serious gazes. Several shoulders had shaken, though.

The younger nun tried again. "Why did God create us?"

"Wh-Why," the youngster stammered, "th-that he might have toys to play with."

"What! Dost thou think God to be a child? Nay, nay! Small time for play hath He-and would never think to profane the heavens with laughter or shouts of glee! The Devil is in thee; Rory! To confession with thee, and a long penance, too, whilst the others dine! Nay, God made us to love and to serve him, that he might have summat to love-for if thou dost not love Him, he will cast thee deep into the fiery furnace! Theobald!"

A ten-year-old snapped his gaze around to her. "Wh-what, sister?"

"Thou didst whisper to Harl!"

"Nay, sister! I-1 but glanced at him!"

"And he glanced at thee, and thou didst set up a whole dialogue of grimaces and leers! 'Tis as bad as whispering, or worse, since thou dost seek to make others laugh and ignore the Word of God! Thou shalt stay when all others have gone, and scrub the boards of the schoolhouse floor!" She turned back to the blackboard, visibly striving to calm herself. "Now-let us discuss the ways of charity." She took the rod and pointed to the larger circle. "Let this stand for God the Father." She drew rays coming out of the larger circle, making it look like the sun. "And this is the Holy Ghost, which is the emanation of God's feelings toward us."

She whirled around. "Theobald! Why dost thou frown?" The boy's look of puzzlement was instantly replaced by one of fright. "Why ... Why, sister-is not the Holy Ghost a separate being from God?"

"Nay, silly fool! How could God's Spirit be separate from God? The Holy Ghost is to God as my love for thee is to me!" The boy couldn't quite prevent the skeptical look that crossed his features, but you could tell he was trying, so the nun ignored it and turned back to the blackboard.

Magnus nodded; these people's beliefs were like their church service-whatever kind of Christians they thought they were, they weren't Catholic. Roman Catholics believed that the Holy Trinity consisted of one God in three separate persons, as separate from one another as the leaves of a shamrock, but even more unified than the plant as a whole. This nun, though, was saying that the Holy Spirit didn't really exist. And her next words made it even more clear.

"This Holy Ghost, as God's yearning for a son, did embrace the Virgin Mary, and enkindled in her the babe, born at Christmas, and named Jesus, the Christ. He was therefore the son of God-but do not commit the error of mistaking Jesus for God! He was a man, and only a man-a saint, and more than a saint; a perfect man, to be sure-but only a man withal."

The children sat attentively, as though they were listening closely-but several eyes had glazed over. They had heard this before.

So had Magnus-it was called the Arian heresy.

"So God filled Mary with His Love, which we call the Holy Spirit," the nun summarized, "and Christ was born.... Hermann! Keep thine hands to thyself!" She descended on the luckless boy, whose hand had twitched toward the pigtails of the girl in front of him, and whacked him sharply over the knuckles with her ruler. As he squalled, she turned toward the elder nun with a sigh. "What ails these children this day? Have we been lax in our vigilance? Hath the Devil crept amongst them whiles we taught? Wherefore? And by what means?"

"Not the Devil." The older nun gazed across the heads of the class toward Magnus. "Yet there is a stranger present, who doth watch. 'Tis thy presence, young man, that doth encourage these children to disruption!"

Magnus turned very thoughtful. She might be right, he realized, though not for the reason she thought.

"I must ask thee to leave," the elder nun said, striding toward Magnus. "An thou dost wish to discuss the Faith with us, we will welcome thy questions-but after the school day is done." Her steps faltered as she came closer to Magnus, for he had turned a hard, brittle smile on her, and his eyes were glittering in a way that caused her to come to a halt ten feet from him. As soon as she had stopped, he bowed politely. "I would not be a burden on thee, Sister. Assuredly, I shall leave." He turned and stepped into the forest-with relief, if the truth must be known; even gladly.

After a dozen steps through the underbrush, Magnus turned to the side and broke through to the track. He looked back toward the schoolroom, expecting to see Rod standing there shadowing him. Instead, he saw only the class and the teachers. He frowned, puzzled, then glanced back into the forest-but no, his father wasn't following him there, either. Well ... Maybe he had trusted the young man not to get himself into trouble. Magnus smiled, and turned back toward the village.

He found his father in the village common, handing a skillet back to a housewife and chatting. Magnus remembered that Rod had disguised himself as a tinker before, and smiled at the old-well, older-man's slyness. He waited till the conversation was done and Rod had gathered up his tools and was turning away, then stepped up to him. "Ingratiating thyself with the housewives again, my father?"

"Huh?" Rod looked up, startled, then smiled. "Oh. Yes, son. How else am I going to learn anything? How about you?"

"I took a more direct path to the knowledge I sought. I went to school."

"Yeah, I followed you and watched for about five minutes. That was about all I could take."

Magnus nodded. "Thou hast ever had an aversion to child brutality."

"Yes, except when I lose my temper." A shadow darkened Rod's face, and the glance he gave Magnus was furtive. "I'm not too keen on psychological abuse, either."

"I ken the feeling, my father. For myself, though, I had a bit more trouble with the hypocrisy."

"Well, yes, there is that." Rod fell into step beside his son, noting that Magnus had changed direction to accompany him. "But I'm old and jaded, Magnus. I almost expect hypocrisy, these days."

Magnus frowned. "I would not say there is any great deal of it in yourself, or Mother-or the Elven King, Brom O'Berin, or Their Majesties."

Rod shrugged. "All that means is that you associate with good people-who keep their hypocrisy down to a minimum. But some of it is unavoidable, son. Anyone who believes in two conflicting values is going to be a hypocrite, and there's nothing he can do about it. You caught me in it once-remember?"

Magnus lifted his head, gazing off into space, searching his memory. After a few minutes, he nodded. "I noted that thou didst denounce those who try to force their own system of government onto others, the whiles thou dost labor lifelong to woo the folk of Gramarye toward democracy."

Rod nodded. "And I could only reply that I'm wooing, but they're forcing. Of course, I'm not sure that distinction would hold up terribly well."

Magnus quirked a smile. "Less well than it might, when I consider that thou hast spoke of self-determination with religious fervor."

"Right. But I'm just helping them determine the form that I know they'll choose anyway-aren't I?"

"Yet it would seem that thine enemies, the future anarchists, know that the people, left to themselves, would choose to carve up Gramarye into separate, warring villages. Thine other enemies, the future totalitarians, know that they would choose a dictatorship."

"Not quite. They know those are the forms of government they could bludegeon the people into accepting."

"Whereas thou dost know the people of Gramarye truly choose democracy?"

Rod lifted an eyebrow. "Do I detect a note of skepticism there?"

Magnus broke into a grin. "Thou hast it; I have accused thee of hypocrisy."

"Rightly, too. But if I honestly believe in selfdetermination, but also honestly believe democracy is best for them, what choice do I have?"

"Why, only to manipulate them into growing a democracy of their own." Magnus nodded. "Yes, I see-the hypocrisy is unavoidable. For if thou wert to withold thine action for democracy in the name of self-determination, thou wouldst be equally a hypocrite, wouldst thou not? Yes, I see." He turned to Rod with a sudden frown. "What hypocrisy do I enact, then?"

Rod shook his head. "Too soon to say. Whatever your life's work is, I can't tell-you may not even have begun it yet. And you haven't exactly been outspoken about your personal beliefs."

"I would not kindle anger betwixt us," Magnus murmured.

Rod nodded, chagrined. "Probably right, too. Well, catch me in a good mood and tell me what you're thinking. Okay, son? I'd really like to know."

Magnus smiled with warm amusement. "Canst thou truly say thou wilt regard it as the confidence of a friend, and not seek to correct thy son in the error of his ways?"

Rod was silent for a few steps.

Then, finally, he nodded. "Yes. If that's what it will take to find out what my son really believes-yes. If you'll remember that my silence doesn't mean I approve or agree, I promise I'll just listen, and not try to talk you into seeing the truth."

"And show no sign of the hurt thou wilt feel?" Magnus shook his head. "Nay, my sire. I know not if I can find the willingness to wound thee."

Rod sighed. "Okay, let's try. Tell me your honest opinion of the governmental setup in this village."

"I cannot, for I have none yet-or rather, none that I trust. I have seen a raging priest, and cruel-hearted nuns, and a lass who chafes at the bonds of authority-but do not all, of her age?"

"Not . . ." Rod caught himself, and bit his tongue.

Magnus smiled. "Not all, thou wouldst say? Well, mayhap not. Yet, past that, I know not how the folk of the village feel about their spurious bishop."

"Well, I do-not a complete survey, you understand, just a brief sampling of public opinion, as heard by a tinker. But from what I can tell, most of them are quite happy with this arrangement. I'm sure there must be a few malcontents, such as that suicide who was buried yesterday morning and, probably, his father. . . ." A shadow crossed his face; he forced it past, and continued. "But most of them seem quite content to take orders from the priests and live their lives according to their version of the Bible. They don't even mind the priest yelling insults at them from the pulpit-they all want to know how unworthy they are, because that increases their chances of getting into Heaven."

Magnus shuddered. "Why, what a perverted catechism is this, that doth preach heresies as Holy Writ and perceiveth not its own hypocrisies!"

"Most people don't-that's why the real Church teaches that you have to be constantly examining your conscience."

" 'The unexamined life is not worth living'? " Magnus smiled. "The early Church fathers had been reading their Plato, had they not?"

"You disagree with the sentiments?"

Magnus shook his head. "At the least, the Church doth admire sound logic. This `bishop' careth only for that which hath a good feel inside him."

"Glad you said 'inside'-that poor teenager who got lambasted for being jealous about his girlfriend this morning sure didn't think the outside felt too good." Magnus gave him a sharp look, but he plowed ahead. "That kind of hypocrisy, I can't stand-preaching charity and love, then turning around and humiliating someone in public."

Magnus hated it, too, but hearing it from his father some how made him bridle and come to the nuns' defense, even though he thought very little of them. "There must be discipline in any social group, my father."

"Discipline, yes-but it can be administered without hatred, or pleasure in the victim's suffering. I don't have too much respect for someone who preaches love and understanding, and nurses a grudge at the same time. Needless to say, I'm sure that young man is one of the malcontents."

"I should think that he is," Magnus admitted. "Yet the bulk of them seem to see no conflict betwixt the preaching and the practice."

"None at all. It's as though they have two compartments in their minds-the one for `religion' and the other for 'practical necessities'-and they never see any conflict in living by both precepts. The `Church is fine, but business is business' mentality."

"Did not Christ speak to that? Summat about not letting the left hand know what the right hand doeth?"

"Which may come naturally to most people, but it's one hell of a way to play the piano. Yes, but you see-you're cheating. You've read the Book."

"Which these people have not," Magnus mused. "They have but heard as much of it as their priests do wish to tell them."

"There is that problem, yes. In addition to which, I'm not at all sure the local copy of the Bible is the same one the Church is using."

Magnus looked up, frowning. "Do not these people believe themselves to be Catholic?"

"Good question-and I asked it. The answer is, no, they think they're just generic Christians. Of course, that doesn't mean anything-anyone in Europe would have said the same thing, before the Reformation. But when I asked them if the Pope is infallible, they all said `Yes, and the Bishop speaks for the Pope.' "

"I wonder an His Holiness doth know of it," Magnus murmured.

"I have my doubts. In fact, when we get out of this forest, I'm half a mind to hunt up the Abbot of the Order of St. Vidicon and rat on them."

"To tell the Abbot, so that he may send a score of monks to convince this audacious prelate of the error of his ways?" Magnus looked up, scandalized. "Surely thou wouldst not, my father!"

Now it was Rod's turn to be confounded. "Why not?"

"For that thou hast said thyself that the bulk of these people are content with this form of government, and the monks would surely unseat this bishop. Worse!" His eyes widened at a sudden, horrible thought. "When they sought to, the bishop would claim that he is the Abbot's peer, and would set his people to warring 'gainst the monks!"

"Then they would leave, and come back with soldiers." Rod nodded, face grim. "Yes, there is that little problem. But I can't let him go on tyrannizing these people, can I?"

"Dost thou not truly believe the self-determination thou dost preach?"

"Not as thoroughly as you do, apparently-but, yes, I still think I do. On the other hand, there's the little matter of his brutalizing the ones who don't agree with him."

"Like that poor wreck of a father we saw yestermorn?"

"Well, yes, I was kind of thinking of him. But there was that boy at the school, and that girl Hester from the tavern, whom he's obviously in love with."

Magnus's face hardened. "And where there are so many as that, there may well be more. Yet should not the majority rule?"

Rod opened his mouth to answer, but realized the implications, and left his mouth open while he did some quick rethinking.

Magnus watched, managing to keep his face politely grave.

"Yes," Rod said finally, "but that doesn't mean the majority have the right to act as tyrants over the minorities."

"The tyranny of the majority." Magnus nodded. "Thou hast spoke of that before, and Fess hath taught me of it. Alexis de Tocqueville, was it not?"

"Still is-and I suspect Fess also taught you the counter to it." He certainly had taught Rod, repeatedly.

"Aye-that such tyranny is balanced by the individual's rights inborn. Yet those who dislike this bishop's rule are free to leave, are they not?"

"I certainly didn't get that impression, from that funeral sermon-if you can call that diatribe a sermon."

"I did not," Magnus murmured.

"I know-I did. But maybe we should talk to the object of that sermon, before we make any firm conclusions about the rightness of this nasty little theocracy they've got here."

"'Tis most assuredly a theocracy, as the word hath come to be used-a rule by the priests," Magnus countered. "But it most assuredly is not what the word doth mean literally-a government by God."

"No-the proper term is hierarchy, rule by the sacred-but that has come to mean only a social status-order." Rod shook his head in amazement. "And people say semantics doesn't matter! Come on, son, let's find that bereaved parent!"

Magnus halted. "By your leave, my father, I find I've little stomach for that."

"Why?" Rod looked up. "Don't want to put your ideas to the test?"

"Mayhap," Magnus admitted, though it galled him. "Yet I find this whole village quite distasteful."

"Sickening, even?" Rod looked up at him keenly. "Then do something about it. Stand up for what you believe."

"And seek to impose mine own views upon them?" Magnus shook his head. "I have not that right."

Rod smiled, starting the quick gibe, then caught himself and frowned, thinking. He finally found a good alternative. "Would you, if you had been born as one of them?"

Magnus looked up, startled, then turned thoughtful, nodding. "Mayhap. If I were one of them, I would have the right of dissent, would I not?"

"Yes, if they acknowledge that right."

Magnus swept his hand wide in a dismissive gesture. "Acknowledge or not, the right is there. It is simply that if they do not honor it, there may be some fighting."

"Or some torture," Rod said grimly, "if there are more of them than of you."

"Such a consideration should not weigh . . ."

"How can you fight the system if you're dead?"

"A point," Magnus admitted, then stood frowning in thought.

Rod sighed and shook his head. "Whatever the right of it, you're not ready to act if you don't know what you believe. I'm not about to leave these people in the lurch, though."

Magnus looked up in alarm. "Thou didst give me thy word!"

"I know. That's the problem." Rod looked up, almost imploring the young man to understand. "If I were sure most of them liked this government, you see, I could just help the malcontents escape, and let it be-but I don't know that."

"And therefore thou must needs stay until thou dost?"

"Yes, or until I'm sure the majority really don't want the priests' rule, in which case I'll be free to do what I can to oust them."

Magnus stared, shocked and outraged. Then he reddened, and anger began to build.

"Oh, all right, all right!" Rod turned away in disgust. "I gave you my word. I'll tell you what-" He turned back to Magnus. "How about, before I actually do anything, I talk over the evidence with you, okay? Then, when you've made up your mind, we'll decide what to do together."

"If I can make up my mind, dost thou mean?" Magnus was redirecting his anger.

"Now, I didn't say that." Rod held up a hand.

"Nay, but thou hast thought it. Belike thou wouldst like me to step aside and let thee do as thou wilt."

Rod frowned up at him. "That sounds like my line, doesn't it?"

Magnus stared at him, anger piling up over hurt. Then, without a word, he yanked his horse's head about and rode off into the forest.

Rod watched him go, then turned away with a sinking heart. "Blew that one, didn't I?" he said to Fess.

"I think you made your point, Rod," the robot-horse replied.

"Yeah. I won the argument and lost the boy's respect, right?"

"I do not truly think so," Fess said slowly. "In fact, I think you may have caused him to lose respect for himself."

"Oh, no." Rod squeezed his eyes shut. "That is definitely not what I wanted." He looked up and heaved a sigh. "But what could I do? I have to stand up for what I believe in, too, don't I?"

"Principles can be frustrating, Rod, can they not?" Fess murmured.

"They sure can-especially when they're my own, coming back at me. Come on, Fess, let's go."