At the present moment, however, the Bishop was paying no attention to Jim or Angie, but a good deal of it to Carolinus, who had fallen asleep in his chair. They were old friends—so Jim understood—and the Bishop had always been very solicitous of the very much older—no one knew how much—man.
But at this moment Sir Simon's men-at-arms returned through the Serving Room entrance, hurrying the priest in their midst.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The unfortunate priest, hurried along by the press of bodies around him, and with his sight restricted to what he could see between the men on either side and a little ahead of him, caught sight of Carolinus' red robe first.
He automatically went into the Latin of his blessing for another four steps, until he stumbled and fell, tripping on the edge of the dais, and pulled himself back on his feet to step up onto it—only to find himself less than six feet from the jeweled pectoral cross and the amethyst ring.
He stared, turned pale, hastily took several more steps forward, and went down on one knee before the Bishop, lifting his hands toward the Bishop's ringed hand.
De Bisby automatically extended that hand to be taken by the priest, though his eyes glared down at the man. The priest devoutly kissed the ring, relinquished the hand, and stood up.
"My Lord Bishop—" he began.
"Who are you?" snapped de Bisby. "Where are you from? Who is your Bishop?"
The priest became even more pale.
"The Bishop of London, my Lord," he said, looking down at the floor of the dais.
"Where then is his Episcopal letter sending you into my Diocese?"
The priest raised his eyes unhappily.
"My Lord," he began, "you see, my Lord—"
'You haven't got one?"
"Well, no, my Lord," said the priest.
De Bisby seemed to grow in height and swell visibly, the picture of outrage.
"Are you not aware, unhappy priest, that it is a principle in Canon law that 'A Bishop is Pope in his own Diocese'?"
'Yes, my Lord," said the priest. He might not be able to quote chapter and verse—even if there were such—but the practical truth of that principle was one with which he was thoroughly familiar.
"You are consequently here without proper authority! You will return to London for a proper letter before you come again; and I lay this penance upon you: if you have a horse, you will not ride. If you have coin, you will not spend it. You will return to your Bishop's residence on foot and beg your food and shelter as you go. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, my Lord," said the priest, staring at the floor.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
The priest knelt again briefly, rose, turned, stepped down from the dais, and walked past Secoh—passing as far away from him as the nearest table would allow—and went slowly down the length of the Hall, out the door, and into the sunlight.
A movement by Angie caught Jim's eye. He turned his head and saw she was holding up her wrists to show that they, too, were unbound. Jim lifted his own to show her, and saw the expression on her face change. She was staring at his wrists. He looked at them, and was astonished to see them almost as bloody as Brian's had been. Now, when had he done that? He did not remember struggling against the bindings.
"You!" said Carolinus, in a sudden, remarkably strong voice. Jim jumped and turned his head. But Carolinus was pointing not at him but at Secoh. "Where did you come from? Cliffside?"
"Yes, Mage," said Secoh. "But if I might stay—"
"Cliffside!" said Carolinus, his finger still pointing at Secoh. Secoh disappeared.
"As for the rest of you—" began Carolinus, sweeping his eyes over the servants and men-at-arms. But they were all already on the run for the nearest exit they could find. In much less than two minutes there was not one to be seen in the Hall.
The Royal men-at-arms held their positions, but they were now looking somewhat pale themselves, particularly those who were enough at an angle with Carolinus' position on the dais to see that his finger could have been pointing at them as much as the servants. Where had the dragon gone when he disappeared like that, they were obviously thinking? Had the Mage sent him to Hell? And would they be sent there also, without even the chance to shrive themselves first?
"You and the knight—out into the courtyard!" Carolinus said.
Sir Simon Longyear and his men-at-arms also winked out. And Kineteté winked in, appearing on the dais beside the chair in which Carolinus was slumped.
Jim, his friends, the Earl, and the Bishop, with the two senior magicians, were alone in a Great Hall that seemed to Jim suddenly very large, very empty.
But that impression was abruptly shattered by Kineteté.
"Carolinus!" she snapped. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in bed. Why aren't you in bed?"
"None of your business!" said Carolinus, but the strength of his voice broke before he got through this last word, and he squeaked slightly on it.
"You can't bullyrag the whole Collegiate, telling them you were the one mistreated and you'll handle the whole matter yourself, whether they like it or not, and then kill yourself. That would be shameful behavior, even for a single-A Class Magickian!"
A faint snore from Carolinus' chair was all that answered her.
She looked at the Bishop, who looked back at her.
"Mage," said the Bishop.
"My Lord Bishop," said Kineteté.
They exchanged a pair of cool, mutually respectful but frosty, nods.
Another snore came from Carolinus in his chair. Without warning, Jim found himself alone with Kineteté and Carolinus in a room just big enough to hold the three of them, and which greatly resembled the inside of a very large, empty egg. Its walls were a flat but brilliant white and there were no windows or furniture, except for the chair in which Carolinus still slumped.
"All right, Carolinus," said Kineteté, "you can wake up now. I understood you perfectly."
Carolinus' eyes opened and he focused on Kineteté.
"Kin," he said weakly. "Give me strength!"
"You don't need strength," said Kineteté. "What you need is a bed. You'll just tear yourself down further if I help you now. Oh, all right, then, if you must have it!"
Jim, who had now been around magic for several years, had used it himself and thought he was ready to expect anything, almost jumped as color suddenly came into Carolinus' face; his eyes opened all the way, and he sat up in the chair, looking years younger.
"Once again, a Magickian's Blessing on you, Kineteté," he said. "It's only for a few minutes. You can have what's left back then. But I've got to talk to the boy, here. Jim!"
"Yes?" said Jim, staring at him.
"It's all up to you now!" said Carolinus. "Don't ask me why. I haven't the strength or the patience to put up with someone who knows nothing, essentially, about Magick and when I tell them a hard-won fact about the Art, that I have acquired with sweat and blood over many years, they take it as merely a debatable point and wish to argue with me about it!"
"I won't argue," said Jim. "Are you all right?"
"For the moment," said Carolinus. "Never mind me. What I want to tell you is that from now on, it's all up to you. You're in your own Castle, you're free, and while you can't use any Magick of your own, you can use some of mine—"
"Carolinus!" cried Kineteté. "This is the second time you promised—"
"I don't give a damn!" said Carolinus. "As I say, Jim, you can use as much of my Magick as you need. Just go ahead as if you had—as if it were your own Magick—only remember, it's a great deal more powerful than what you're used to. What you have to do is bind the Earl of Cumberland to backing away from his current course of action, before it does irreparable harm—and, of course, setting you and your friends free of any kind of arrest or trouble now."
Jim stared.
"I thought, from the fact you brought him along with you, you'd already gotten his agreement."
"I have!" said Carolinus. "But it'
s only a present promise. You must bind him for the future to one he dare not break! As I say, you have your Castle, you have your strength, you have your freedom, and you have Magick. It's up to you!"
"But how do I do that?" said Jim.
"Up to you!"
"I suppose," said Jim, only half joking, "I could turn him into a beetle, the way you do."
"I don't turn anyone into a beetle!" said Carolinus.
"But you're always threatening to turn people into beetles or creatures into beetles!" Jim stared at him. "Come to think of it, I saw you turn Rrrnlf, the Sea Devil, into one!"
"You thought I did. In fact, I merely made him believe, and all the rest of you believe, he had become one. Something entirely different."
"How did you do that?" Jim stared at him.
"I JUST TOLD YOU—" began Carolinus, but Kineteté cut in quickly.
"Jim, he just warned you about not taking his word for matters! Calm down, Carolinus. The boy just forgot. Jim—" she turned the full frost of her gaze on him, "—James Montgomery Eckert, watch what you say!"
Jim stared back. He could have sworn no one in this fourteenth-century world knew he had a middle name, let alone what it was.
"How did you—" he began to ask, but checked himself in time. "Sorry," he said.
"Yes, yes," said Carolinus. "Never mind that now. Kineteté, Jim and I have to get back to his Great Hall—back there at as close to the time we left as possible. Will you send us back?"
"I'll do that," said Kineteté. "I'll also take back the rest of that strength I gave you, Carolinus, so we'll leave you some of your own reserves to recover with before you burn them all up doing things you shouldn't. Also, I'm going back with you. Don't worry, I'll stay invisible. Nobody else will know I'm there."
"Wait a minute—" said Jim. "Leave him with strength a minute longer, Mage, please. Surely I can ask this one quick question—Carolinus, the last I knew of you you were upstairs. How did you know about Sir Simon and his men being here; and how did you gather up the Bishop and Cumberland to get them here in time?"
"Simon and his men came in during the night," Carolinus said. "That priest had come in earlier, pretending to be the one you had sent for to exorcise those noises in the walls. Your people were so relieved to see him that they allowed him free run of your Castle; and during the night he opened the postern to let the rest of Sir Simon's party in. They were able to take your people asleep, and then wait for you to come down. But I'm a AAA+ Magickian, and it's hard to sneak up on me."
"Not that you were in any shape to do anything," put in Kineteté, icily. "That's all, Jim! Back with all of us to the Hall!"
As suddenly as they had left, Jim and Carolinus were back on the dais in the Great Hall. As far as Jim could see, nobody had moved, nothing had been changed since the second in which they had left. He smiled reassuringly, confidently, at Angie, and she smiled back.
It was all right for the moment—but only for the moment. His mind had begun to go into emergency high gear. Under such circumstances, it sometimes galloped so fast he was not quite sure he was understanding his own thoughts. It was as if they flashed into being in his mind, and vanished again almost before he had the time to consider them. Nothing wrong with that, of course, as long as he did consider each one. When he thought of something really useful the process would stop.
His only worry in this case was, would it ever stop? Maybe there was no solution, and his mind would go on flashing uselessly, indefinitely. Maybe what Carolinus was asking him to do was impossible. Nonetheless, his mind went right on leaping ahead, from possibility to possibility, at dizzying speed, while he almost forgot the rest of the people on the dais.
So, he told himself, turning Cumberland into a beetle was not the answer. But then he had never really been serious about doing so—it might be immoral and was probably illegal, magically speaking.
It struck him now, however, that beetle-changing was in a way the kind of transformation that Carolinus was asking him to perform—but on another level. The more Jim considered Cumberland, the less he thought it likely that any ordinary promise made by the Earl would bind him in the future. He was more politician than knight and peer.
His mental galloping suddenly skidded to a stop.
Of course Cumberland was a politician. The fourteenth century had no lack of them, like any other era; the only difference between politicians here and those in the world where Jim had grown up, was that the medieval variety were all ready, if not eager, to promote their agendas with sword, lance, and hangman's rope (or headsman's axe, if their opponents were of high enough rank).
Jim had not immediately recognized the politicians here as such, simply because those like Cumberland aimed at a slightly different goal from those Jim had been familiar with. In the century of his birth, politicians had competed for the approval of the general public. Here the competition was for control of as large a share as possible of the Royal power and privilege—or as much as an individual could get the King to delegate to him.
The great peers had to be politicians. In fact, the total population of the Court consisted of either politicians or political hangers-on. Perhaps an exception could be made for someone like Sir John Chandos, who might more properly be called a statesman than a politician, since he was concerned with the relationship between England as a whole and all other national bodies.
And what was most important to a politician in any historical period? It was his reputation. Cumberland was, of course, the bastard half-brother of the King, himself—effectively a "Royal" in his own right, in this rough age. But he was nonetheless vulnerable in his reputation.
Only—how to put handcuffs on that reputation so that he would not be able to break loose later? Jim was prohibited from doing harm to the Earl; but then, Carolinus had not actually turned Rrrnlf into a beetle, either…
Jim did not know the outline of what he would do, yet; but there was an odd sort of certainty growing in him that what he wanted was there to be found. All he could do was to keep reaching for it. He turned to Cumberland, who had helped himself to a seat at the table, appropriated a mazer, poured some wine into it, and was now drinking.
"Welcome to my Hall," said Jim. "I hope my Lord finds my wine sufficiently drinkable?"
Cumberland only grunted.
"I would like to thank your Lordship for freeing us," said Jim. Cumberland darted a quick glance at Carolinus, who now seemed deeply asleep in his chair. Then the Earl turned back to Jim.
"I wasn't the one who set you loose," he said. "As I think you know very well, Sir Dragon Knight—or whatever your Hell-bound name is! As for being set free, don't say your prayers of thanks too soon. We'll see about that!"
"I am the Baron Sir James Eckert," said Jim. "Perhaps if your Lordship and I could talk about this matter—"
"If there's any talking to be done, I'll do it, sirrah!" said Cumberland.
The Bishop's calm but powerful voice floated into the midst of this conversation.
"My Lord seems to be having some small difficulty with his eyes, Sir James," it said, melodiously. "He does not appear to have remembered me, either; and such as I, who am a caring shepherd to my flock, are not used to being ignored—save by those with guilty minds and souls."
Cumberland's head snapped around. For a moment his eyes glittered at the Bishop; and then the glitter went out of them and he was immediately on his feet.
"Forgive me, my Lord Bishop," he said in a voice almost as smooth as the Bishop's. "I have been so concerned with many responsibilities that I have fallen into the habit of paying little attention to what is around me. But that is no excuse. Would you give me your blessing again, as you did at Court early last spring?"
"Of course, my son," said the Bishop. Cumberland had been on the way toward the other man even as he was talking, and as the Bishop answered, he stopped in front of him, dropped rather heavily to one knee, and reached for the hand with the ring that the Bishop extended.
He kissed
the ring and started to rise; but the Bishop's hand had turned over, and his fist closed around Cumberland's fingers and the back of his hand, holding the Earl where he was.
"O Lord," said the Bishop in a strong voice, gazing at the rafters overhead, "grant Thy blessing to this sinner, however black his sins—" His voice rose to a fine round pulpit pitch that echoed through the Hall. "Thou Who hast forgiven all who truly repent, show him the way to cleanse his soul, being mindful of the heaven that awaits those who have walked righteously; and remembering also the fate of the knight who lifted his hand to summon devils; and how that knight was shortly after struck dead by a levin-flash; and who, when he was attempted to be laid to rest, could not rest. His hand, that would have summoned evil against the innocent, rose up, even out of his sealed coffin; and not all the strong men of the Kingdom, struggling together, were able to make it lie down!"
He released Cumberland, who got to his feet rapidly, his jaw set, his eyes glittering once more, but his face now as pale as those of Sir Simon's men-at-arms had been.
"My Lord Bishop," he said, in a voice that struggled to sound calm and reasonable, "the Gnarlies are not devils. They are but familiars, Naturals as some call them, of the same kind, but nowhere near as dangerous as the trolls—which any good man with a sword need not fear. But we seldom see them for they are of an Under-Earth persuasion, and only occasionally share our mine-workings with us—normally fleeing at the very sound of a Christian voice or movement. Nor did I summon them."
"Will you chop words with me, unhappy Lord?" said the Bishop. "I blessed you, as you asked. If that blessing woke you to some deep sin in your own soul, best you examine yourself and see your confessor. I am not he."
"That's right," said Jim, before Cumberland could say anything further. "It's me you should be chopping words with, my Lord."
Cumberland turned sharply upon him. "You! What have you got to say to me?"
"Even the greatest Lord does well not to ignore what he may learn from even an unimportant knight and Baron. I only ask that you listen."