Warlock and Son

8

Rod looked up, then looked up again, wide-eyed. Sure enough, that was Magnus, riding into the village square. But why the look of cold determination? What had happened to his son in the forest?

Somehow, he didn't think he should ask. The lad would tell him, if and when he was ready.

But there were some things he could say. He stepped toward the young man, waving. "Good to see you back, son! Changed your mind?"

"Resolved it, rather." Magnus dismounted and stood beside him. "We must have some purpose in living, must we not? And if we have none, we must make it." He glanced around to be sure no one was near, and lowered his voice. "Folk have the right to leave this place, if they wish it. Let us see if there are any we should aid."

Rod grinned and slapped Magnus on the shoulder while he wondered at the boy's words. But there would be time enough to puzzle them out later. For now, mending fences was more important. "I don't know about you, but it's been a while since I've eaten. Let's go find a tankard of ale and something to munch."

Magnus glanced up at the sun. "Aye; 'tis noon. I find I could surround a flagon."

"Just take the ale out of it first, okay?"

They found the tavern, got a tankard each and some sausage, that being all the tavernkeeper had on hand. He served them himself, since Hester was still in school. Rod watched Magnus keenly for signs of regret, but didn't spot more than a sardonic twist of the lips.

They had no sooner begun to eat than a shadow darkened the doorway, and the grizzled peasant Roble came in, walking heavily, face pale and grim. He leaned on the counter and said, "Corin! A stoup of ale, an it please thee!"

Corin did a double take, then shied away as though he were looking at an unclean spirit. "It pleaseth me not, Roble! For I cannot o'erlook the sins thou hast committed in leading thy son to take his own life."

"'Twas not I who pushed him thither, but His Grace the bishop!"

"Blasphemy!" Corin gasped. "I cannot serve thee, Roble, when thou wilt not confess to thy sins! Look no more upon me!"

"Since when was it blasphemy to criticize a priest?" Magnus murmured to Rod.

"Since that priest decided it was," Rod murmured back. "Hush, son, and listen."

Roble narrowed his eyes. "I will look most shrewdly upon thee, till thou dost give me mine stoup of ale."

Corin's face set itself into grim lines. He turned away to dust and polish.

Roble stood and glowered at him.

Corin's shoulders squared, and he went on bustling about, then turned away and went out to the kitchen.

Roble sagged and lowered his eyes.

Magnus glanced at Rod, then stood and stepped over to the bar. He leaned across and hooked a tankard off its peg. He beckoned to Roble, who looked up in surprise, then followed him back to the table, where Rod and Magnus were each pouring half their tankards into the empty one.

"Drink." Magnus set the stoup in front of him. "We are not of the village."

Roble looked them slowly up and down, with suspicion but also with relief, then growled, "I will-and bless thee, strangers." His lips quirked with a mirthless smile. "If the blessing of a sinner and an outcast will do aught for thee."

"I certainly can't cite anyone else for being a sinner," Rod rejoined, "and the blessing of a father should certainly . . ." But Roble was sinking again. "I am parent no longer. Call me not `father,' goodman."

The innkeeper came bustling back out and jarred to a halt, staring at them, shocked. Then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to even see Roble, and turned away.

Magnus decided to press his luck. He stepped over to the counter, calling, "Ho, goodman! Fill the bowl again, if thou wilt!"

Corin turned to stare at him, then let a slow smile show. "Aye, stranger." He refilled Magnus's tankard, took down a new one and filled it, too. "For thy father." Then he turned away quickly, back to the kitchen.

"So," Magnus murmured, sitting, "he hath some fellowfeeling after all."

"Corin was ever a good-heart," Roble allowed. "Dost say thou art this man's son?"

"I have that honor."

Rod looked up in pleased surprise.

"'Tis a holy bond," Roble growled. He turned to Rod. "Rejoice in him."

"Good advice," Rod said slowly. "I do."

"I'll give thee better: leave this village, and quickly. The bishop will be angered with thee for thy mercy to me, as will his curate, his acolytes, and his nuns-and what they hate, all the folk will hate. An thou dost gain the enmity of the clergy, thou dost gain the hatred of all the town-which thou wilt, by naught but thy converse with me, for such hath been declared to be a sin."

"Whatever the priests tell them is Gospel, huh? Well, I think we'll take our chances. Being from out of town can be a big help."

"Such conduct is odd," Magnus pointed out, "for they who preach Charity."

Roble shrugged. "There are virtues, and other virtues. For all their preaching, they will tell thee quickly that obedience is of greater import than charity."

"Obedience?" Rod frowned up at Magnus. "I don't remember that as being one of the cardinal virtues."

" 'Tis an aspect of Faith, goodman-for if one hath Faith, one doth obey God's Word."

"And God's Word is whatever the priest tells you it is?"

"Aye, and he doth say Faith is the greatest virtue of all." Magnus shook his head and quoted softly, " `For there abide these three: Faith, Hope, and Charity-but the greatest of these is Charity.' "

Roble looked up, startled. "Whose words are these?"

"Saint Paul's, from the first of his Epistles to the Corinthians."

"The priest hath not read us that from the pulpit."

"And you're not taught to read for yourself?"

"Nay. Only they who are learned can correctly interpret God's Word. None others should read."

Rod jerked his head toward the outside. "I take it those boys we saw this morning are being taught their letters?"

"The acolytes? Aye. They have been chosen for their intelligence and faith."

Which probably translated as their fanaticism and willingness to do whatever the priest said, Rod imagined. "They're giving up a lot. Your neigh ... fellow villagers tell me the priests and nuns really live very chaste lives."

"Aye," Roble admitted, "that they do. I ha' ne'er seen so much as a gleam in a priest's eye; they are consumed with devotion. Each hath a small house by the church, though the bishop's is larger than the others, and none ever enter those houses save the one who doth dwell there. Nay, they are pure in their zeal."

"If zeal is enough to make a man good. Yes. Of course, sparing someone else's feelings might be a factor in spiritual quality, too."

"Charity, aye-but it doth take second place, or third, when there is the matter of protecting all other souls from heresy--or thine own, from thine own error."

Magnus frowned. "Dost thou believe this of thyself?" Roble's mouth hardened. "Nay. 'Twas that which drove my boy Ranulf mad with grief-for he had a mind that sought sense, mind you, and would protest to the nuns, even when he was a child, that the Holy Ghost would not be separately named if He did not truly exist, or that Christ could not be any more a son of God than any others of us if He was not in some sense God Himself."

Rod whistled. "That must have gone over like a whirling skillet."

"A most bright lad," Magnus murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or as Eleazar did," Rod murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rod stared. "Bishop's regalia?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you believe all this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We will not," Magnus assured him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rod stared straight ahead, astounded.

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

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

"Wherefore?"

"Because," Rod said carefully, "I would have said that what you're looking at is a twisted version of a good religion, not a good religion twisting a man."

Magnus slowed to brooding. "Aye. This is not the same Faith that you and my mother taught me."

"Not at all-in several major particulars. Oh, the forms are the same, but Eleazar made several major changes in doctrine to increase his own power, and the spirit of this religion is diametrically opposed to the Faith of the good Friars of St. Vdicon. The Faith I learned says that Charity is the most important virtue, not obedience."

"Is't so?" Magnus demanded. "Hath not the Church ever insisted that. none diverge from its dogma? Hast thou forgot the persecutions of heretics, the wars 'twist different sects, the Inquisition?"

"That was long ago," Rod said, brooding. "I'd like to think the Church of Rome is above such hypocrisy now."

"Indeed! And how wouldst thou say this current bishop hath twisted that Faith?"

"By using it," Rod said simply. "Oh, I don't doubt that he believes what he was taught-but I do doubt the sincerity of that first bishop, Eleazar. We'll check the records at the monastery, and I'll bet we'll find absolutely no mention of this place, nor of him. He just left to put on a show, not to see the Abbot. Probably never got more than ten miles from the forest."

"Aye. His sole purpose was to gain power for himself, was it not?"

"Yes-and he used the Catholic religion for that purpose. In the process, he made a few significant changes, such as claiming he was only a man, not God. Anyone who's after power has to start with that-so that he can claim almost as much authority as Christ. Then, too, there's this business of requiring unquestioning obedience of every member of the parish, and giving himself the power to declare any behavior that he didn't happen to like, to be sinful, such as doing any thinking for yourself."

"Oh, aye." Magnus smiled. "The Church hath ever encouraged free thought, hath it not? So long as that thought hath freely agreed with all that the Church did teach."

"Touche," Rod said. "But at least the Church did encourage thinking of some sort-and the bishops were willing to explain errors and discuss ideas; they didn't automatically say every new thought was a sin."

"There is some truth to that," Magnus mused. "And the form of this community, my father, doth seem more that of a cult, than of a religion."

"I wouldn't disagree with that for a second-especially since it started out as an attempt to have religion without priests. Several cults, and even sects, have started out that way, but they always developed clergy of one sort or another. People try to live without priests, but always wind up reinventing them-they need them too much. And the priests are sometimes corrupted, either by power or by other lusts. But just because some people use religion to exploit other people doesn't mean that religion in itself is bad just the person who misuses it. There will always be people who will find a way to twist something good and use it for their own purposes."

"That may be so, my father, but it does not mean that religion in itself is right, either."

Rod looked up at him sharply. "You're seeing something I'm not--or that I wasn't saying, at least. What is it?"

"That 'tis not the priest alone who doth use the Faith," Magnus answered, "nor even his curate and his nuns. Nay, every single person in this village doth use this religion, to prop him up and to ease him of the burden of forming his or her own conscience, and of thinking matters through for himself or herself. They take Revealed Truth, dost thou see, and thereby have no need to seek Truth for themselves, nor to labor to understand the purpose of life, or what God may be-and thereby do not come closer to Him, as they should."

Rod frowned. "You're not infallible either, Son. Should you be delivering judgements like that on your fellow man?"

"I do not judge the people, but the structure they have built, that they call a church. I do not judge the people, but the beliefs that I may or may not espouse."

Rod eyed him askance, then turned away with a sigh. "Well, at least we can agree on one thing-theocracy is a very demeaning form of government."

"Not so," Magnus countered. "These folk are happy in it; it doth give them what they need-the means to cooperate with one another, to resolve disputes, and to comfort them in their strife." He shook his head. "I cannot say this form of government is evil, my father-not for them. For others, mayhap, and for Gramarye as a whole, it would be injurious-but not for these folk."

"So you still think this government-by-pulpit has a right to exist?"

Magnus turned to stare at him, taken aback. "Aye! For they to whom it gives what they need."

"Okay for those who like it, huh?"

"More than that-if they wish to live thus, it is their right!"

"How about those who don't wish to?"

"'Tis their right to leave!"

"Well, then." Rod gave him a brittle smile. "Let's set about enforcing a few rights, shall we?" He noticed movement beyond Magnus's shoulder. "Here comes another case."

Magnus turned about, and saw Hester hurrying up to him, cheeks rosy with exertion, eyes bright, bosom heaving. Magnus stood rigid, and Rod couldn't blame him-she was very pretty, to a callow youth.

"Praise Heaven!" she gasped, catching Magnus's arm. "I feared thou hadst left the village!"

Magnus held his face immobile, than let a small smile show. "Would that have distressed thee?"

"Aye, greatly!" she panted. "I most earnestly wish to know thee further!"

"I am pleased to hear my company is so pleasant," Magnus said gravely. "Or is't that thou dost wish to have me take thee away from the village?"

She stared at him, her expression fading, her face growing pale, and Rod just barely managed to keep his jaw from sagging. The boy didn't mind using the direct approach, did he? "How canst thou say such a thing?" she whispered.

"Because I have seen how unhappy thou art, here in thy village. Yet wherefore dost thou think I could loose thee from this bondage, when the village is so closely guarded?"

"Why, they would not dare to meddle with a stranger!"

"I think they would, if they could be sure he would not leave ever, to tell what he hath seen."

The blood drained out of her face. "Thou dost not speak of murder!"

"Nay-only a legal execution. I am certain thy priest will discover a way in which my soul can be saved only by killing my body."

Hester stepped back, one hand going to her bosom as she stared at him, appalled. Then she dropped her gaze. "I-1 could not ask thee to so risk thyself."

"Nay, thou couldst, and I will-for I think it wrong that folk not be able to leave if they wish. Yet there's another that I think would gladly go-thy schoolfellow Neil."

She glanced up, startled and astounded, then looked away, blushing furiously.

"Aye." Magnus's smile was sardonic. "Thou hadst meant to ask me to bring him also, hadst thou not?"

She turned on him, embarrassment transmuting to anger. "Thou dost think thou dost know me fully, dost thou not?"

"Not a whit," Magnus assured her. "I know only what thou dost wish of me. Nay, I will bring Neil too, and gladly-for thou dost love him, dost thou not?"

She seemed to loosen up a bit, growing thoughtful. "Aye," she admitted. After all, for Magnus to want to bring Neil along as a favor to Hester, that was all right.

Rod could understand-she'd feel much safer if she thought Magnus were doing it because he loved her. She didn't trust charity, having heard it preached too often and seen it practiced too rarely. Of course, that didn't mean Rod couldn't blame her for trying to use his son.

Magnus nodded. "So I had thought. Meet me as soon after sunset as thou mayest, at the base of the hillock on which doth stand the church, at the side nearest the forest."

"Why . . . 'tis where lovers do meet," she said, astonished. "I had thought as much; it is as far removed from sight of the village as any place may be in this clearing. Surely, there, none will suspect us of aught but the worst."

"But they watch like hawks, the old biddies! Neil and I would never come within a furlong of't without a nun bustling out to shoo us home!"

"Then come alone, and bid Neil await us elsewhere."

"Yet an they see us come to meet him, assuredly they shall stop us!"

"Then we shall rendezvous at a place they are not apt to watch. Do thou seek him out first, and tell him to meet me within the fringe of the forest, out past the threshing floor, at sunset."

Hester frowned. "Wherefore two meeting places?"

"Why, if any see all three of us foregather, they shall drive thee and Neil home, as thou hast said. Nay, we'll all three meet within the wood."

Hester shivered, but plucked up her spirits. "I shall tell Neil." She looked up at Magnus. "I ... thank thee, stranger. I ... cannot thank thee enough."

"Time enough for thanks, when we are all away clear. Already we tarry too long; any seeing thee in converse with us will grow suspicious. I shall see thee in the gloaming."

"Aye. I thank thee. Till then." Hester turned away. She went a few steps down the path, glanced back with misgiving, saw Magnus's gaze still upon her, flushed, and hurried away.

"Not the way she had planned to have it happen, I'm sure," Rod murmured.

"Oh?" His son turned a bland smile on him. "What did she intend, then?"

"Why, to have you fall madly in love with her, so that you couldn't bear to be without her. That way, she would have been sure you would have taken her away. Then, at the last moment, she would have asked if her childhood friend Neil could come along, and you would have been jealous as hell, but you would have done anything she'd asked."

Magnus smiled, amused. "'Tis like to a scene from a play upon a stage, is't not?"

"You think that wasn't what she had in mind?"

"It most definitely was."

Rod smiled. "Glad we can still agree occasionally. But just to err on the side of caution, how about I be the one to meet her?"

"Nay." Magnus frowned. "Dost thou think me unable to ward mine own heart?"

"Let's just say it's going to be less suspect for us to meet them separately than for you to be seen chatting with each one, just before they take off for the tall timber."

"A good thought, but I think they'll be more suspicious of thee than of me-for with myself, they will suspect only dalliance, where with thee, they'll suspect escape. And 'tis no answer to my question. Thou dost still think me defenseless before a pretty face, dost thou not?"

"Well, not just the face."

Magnus laughed, true and unfeigned mirth, to Rod's great relief. "No fear, my father. She never had so strong a hold upon my fancy as all that. In truth, she scarcely had even a pinch. I assure thee, I have been harrowed by experts, 'gainst whom she is the veriest amateur."

"Well ... I'm glad to hear that," Rod said slowly; but there was an undertone to the boy's words that chilled him. "Just so you're able to recognize your one true love when she comes along."

"If she doth come," Magnus said, his voice flat. "I misdoubt me an such a woman doth live. Yet if she doth, I hope I'll not have so calloused a heart that it will not respond to her touch. For all others, though, I warrant I'm proof against them."

Rod hoped he was right-but the words did have an overtone of arrogance to them.

They hiked back to the tavern and had dinner; then Rod inquired about lodgings for the night, just to establish a cover. The innkeeper looked worried, but told them that he had no beds for strangers, since they came so seldom. ^-He did, however, say they might ask the bishop for the privilege of sleeping in the village hayloft.

"Thanks, but I wouldn't want to trouble him," Rod said. "We'll camp out in the fields-we've done that before. Besides, that way we'll be all set to strike out again tomorrow morning."

"I can offer porridge, to break thy fast," Corin assured them, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Thanks." Rod gave him a bright smile. "We'll take you up on that. G'night, now."

He waved a hand as he went out the door. Magnus did the same, and they strolled away from the inn. "Well done, my father. Thou mayest be certain the bishop will know of our `plans' within the half-hour."

"That long?" Rod feigned surprise. "Well, let's find us a chunk of pasture with a nice view, and put on a good show." They found pasture land not too far from the church on the hill, and not too close to the livestock, and spread out their blanket rolls. There they sat and chatted as they watched the sunset, passing a wineskin back and forth. No one needed to know that they took only sips from it, not gulps. When the rosy glory had faded into dusk, Magnus lay down while Rod went off, none too steadily, toward the nearest thicket-but as soon as the leaves screened him, his step firmed remarkably.

He stepped into the forest, found a likely looking sapling, then called Fess. He took a special dagger from the saddlebag, pressed the right rivet, and a scarlet beam shot out of the ruby on the pommel. Rod moved it slowly across the base of the sapling. Smoke rose as the laser cut, and the sapling came free. Rod let up on the rivet, put the dagger away, and stripped the twigs off his new quarterstaff.

Then he slipped around the village to come out near the threshing floor. Neil was waiting, ostentatiously sweeping the boards. Rod strolled past him, whistling. Neil thoughtfully put away the broom, picked up a small pack, and followed.

Meanwhile, Magnus tossed and turned, then got up and went down to the nearby stream to have a drink. He went on over the rivulet, though, slipped into the brush along its border, and followed it around behind the hill with the church.

As he stepped out of the leaves, he saw Hester waiting, nervously swinging a parcel. His mouth tightened in chagrin--the pack was as good as an advertisement that she intended to run away. But as he came closer, Magnus revised the notion-she had kept it down to something that could believably be a gift of food to a travelling friend. He mentally gave the girl points for brains. "Good eve, Hester."

She jumped. "I-I had not seen thee come up, Magnus. Good e'en." She glanced upward and behind her; looking that way, Magnus saw a figure in a black robe watching them-one of the nuns, keeping an eye on the chastity risks. "Let us stroll," he said. "So long as we are on our feet, and away from cover, surely they will not cavil."

Hester smiled a little. "Nay, surely. Whither shall we wander?"

"Everywhere and nowhere, so they shall see-but we shall tend south and west." Magnus proffered his arm. "Wilt thou walk?"

Startled by the courtesy, she took his arm, and they ambled off into the gloaming. "My conscience doth trouble me," Magnus said, "at thought of thy parents' distress when they find thee fled."

"They have given me their blessing," she said, with the afterechoes of shock. "They each have told me they longed to go, even as I have, when they were mine age."

"I rejoice to hear it." But Magnus's tone was hard.

"Have no fear, they'll speak not a word! Neither of them would wish to see me shamed in the pillory-and they are such firm friends of the bishop that I misdoubt me an he'll blame them for my wayward flight."

Magnus nodded, relaxing. They strolled on into the evening, managing some very strained small talk. Magnus started trying to work in every old joke he knew, and sure enough, to her they were new-so she was laughing quite merrily, when she looked up to see the heap of bare dirt, and the three men standing near it. Her good humor vanished on the spot, and she stared, eyes huge, suddenly trembling.

"There is naught to fear," Magnus said gently, "and here is thy young man. Go to him, now."

She glanced up at him once, flashed a grateful smile, and hurried over to Neil, to be swallowed up in his embrace. Roble watched them, his face bleak, then looked away-but Rod covertly eyed Magnus, and saw the tiny tightening of the face that betrayed emotion held in check. His son hadn't been quite so carefree about Hester as he had pretended. If nothing else, it was a blow to his pride.

The lovers broke apart, and Hester turned to Rod. "How shall we. . ."

"Hist!" Neil raised a hand, looking off into the darkness. "I hear the watch!"

They were all still, and heard a distant murmur of voices-but Rod and Magnus, listening to minds, heard several men talking about the bishop's orders for extra vigilance this night, because certain corrupted souls might try to flee to the forest, the domain of Satan. "Thou hast keen ears," Magnus said.

"Take them and get lost!" Rod caught his son by the shoulder and pushed him toward the track that led into the forest, then shooed the others after him. "Go on! Move as fast as you can, and cover your tracks as well as you can! Wade a stream! Swing from the branches!" He knew Magnus would take that hint. "Just get gone!"

Roble hung back. "But thou. . ."

"I'll stay here and feed the bishop's men a tall tale! Don't worry about me-I can escape very quickly, if I have to." Roble should only have known just how quickly. "Just go!" He gave the man another push, watched him step into the shadows and disappear, amazingly deft and graceful, then turned and strolled toward the oncoming watch.

He met them just as the first rays of moonlight touched the meadow grass about him. They looked up, startled, as though he had appeared out of the night-which he must have seemed to do. "Halt!" They were three burly men, with cudgels at their belts and a dog on a leash. He saw Rod and started barking. One of the men cuffed him into silence as another demanded, "Who moves?"

"I do-and I breathe, too." Rod raised a hand. "I'm the stranger who's travelling through, remember?"

"Aye, and hath left discontent and troubled hearts in thy wake! What dost thou here?"

"Couldn't get to sleep, so I went for a walk." Rod waved behind him and toward the village. "We're camped out a mile or so away."

"We took note of it. Is not a mile a longish stroll?"

"Not for me. This is a very peaceful setting you have here."

"And we wish it to remain so," said the biggest fellow. "What of thy son?"

"Back at the campsite, presumably." Rod frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Naught yet, and we shall be sure it doth so endure. What of Roble?"

"Roble?" Rod frowned. "Oh, you mean the father whose son was buried two days ago. I give up-what about him?" The watchman bit down on anger and snapped, "Hast thou seen him?"

"Yes, several times during the day. We even had a chat with him over a tankard of ale."

"So we had heard," the left-hand bully boy growled. "Kind of thought you would. Why? Is he missing?"

"He hath not been seen since sunset."

"Did you check his house?"

"Aye."

Rod shrugged. "Probably out walking, like me." They should only know how far. "I'd expect that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, at all."

"The guilty conscience doth ever make for the wakeful night," the third guard pontificated.

"Grief has that effect, too." Rod gave an elaborate yawn. "Well, I think maybe I'll be able to sleep by the time I get back to the campsite. Was there anything else?"

The biggest watchman glowered at him, but growled, "Nay."

"Then I'll be toddling along, if you don't mind. Good night."

They snarled surly replies as he stepped past them. Twenty paces further on, he was just congratulating himself on having allayed their suspicions when a shout sounded from back toward the village. Rod looked up and saw half a dozen peasants running toward the watch with a black-robed priest close behind them, like an embodiment of the night. Every alarm bell in his head started ringing, and he decided to stroll back toward the watch.

He came up in time to hear one of the peasants panting, "Aye, gone! Both of them, and their beds not slept in!"

"Pray Heaven they do not seek to share one!"

"Raoul!" barked the priest-no, the bishop himself, Rod saw. "Shame on thee, to think such!"

"Thy pardon, bishop," Raoul muttered. "What's the matter?" Rod asked.

They jumped and whirled about, not having heard him come up. "What dost thou from thy bed?" the bishop demanded sharply.

"Just taking a walk, to get sleepy-but all this commotion makes me feel wakeful again. Something wrong?"

The bishop eyed him narrowly. "Hester and Neil are missing, as though thou didst not know."

"If they're missing, it doesn't make any difference whether I know it or not, does it?"

"Speak more respectfully to the bishop!" a watchman barked.

Rod turned to give him a level stare. "I speak to each man with the respect he deserves."

The watchman reached for his cudgel, but the bishop laid a hand on his arm. "Hold fast, Raoul. Let him not provoke thee." To Rod, he said, "What dost thou know of their disappearance, stranger?"

Rod shrugged. "What would I know? I gather, since you're talking about a boy and a girl, that the two think they're in love."

"Lamentably, aye," the bishop growled, "for so sweet a lass is far too good for an heretic like him."

"A heretic?" Rod looked up sharply. "I thought you didn't allow them."

"We will beat the Devil out of him ere long, I assure thee. What dost thou know?"

"Well, if they're in love, wouldn't they have found a hiding place where they can be alone for a while?"

The peasants' eyes kindled, but the bishop shuddered. "Perish the thought! And 'tis mistaken, in any case-our good sisters have searched every such nook and cranny."

Rod didn't doubt that the nuns knew every single trysting place, and had posted "NO POACHING" signs on every one. "Even for Rob ... What did you say the name of the other missing person is?"

"Roble," the biggest watchman snarled.

"Yeah, him. Wouldn't he have found a hiding place, too?"

"We have spoken of it," the watchman reminded him. "Yeah, but!" Rod said brightly. "Maybe he found the two kids!"

"Heaven forfend!" the bishop snapped. "He would mislead them as surely as he did his own son!"

"Okay, so maybe he's hiding out alone. After all, since you've told everybody not to talk to him, wouldn't that make sense?"

"Wherefore would he not lie in his own house?"

"Memories," Rod said promptly. "It'd make his loneliness worse."

The bishop peered closely at Rod. "I think thou dost know more of this matter than thou dost tell."

"How can I? I've answered every question you've asked."

"I say that thou dost lie!"

The watchmen tensed, hands on their cudgels; the dog began growling.

"I can't have been lying," Rod said reasonably, "because I've scarcely made a single statement. I've only asked questions."

"Then I ask thee straight," the bishop barked. "Hast thou sent this benighted Roble, and these two straying lambsnay, this lad and lass!-into hiding?"

"Not hiding, no."

"Thou hast aided them to escape!" the bishop howled. "Don't you mean `to flee the village'?"

"Call it what thou wilt." The bishop's eyes narrowed. "Hast thou done it?"

"Well, now that you ask-yes."

The watchmen leaped for him, and the dog, excited by their movement, set up a furious barking.

Rod twisted, ducked, and wasn't there. The watchmen looked about, astonished, and saw Rod right beside the bishop, chatting. "Of course, it really would be a bad idea to set your bully boys on me. I'm tougher than I look."

"Have at him," the bishop snapped. The three toughs fell on him.

Rod twisted aside, staff whirling, and clipped one on the crown. The man fell to his knees, grasping his head-and dropping the dog's leash. The beast pounced, snarling. Rod dodged, just enough for the biggest watchman's lunge to carry him between Rod and the hound. Then Rod whirled to block a swing from the third man's cudgel. The fellow was stronger than he looked; the blow jolted Rod's whole arm, and the pain reminded him that he wasn't as young as he thought any more. But he managed to riposte and jam the butt of his staff into the watchman's stomach, and the man fell to his knees, the wind knocked out of him.

The dog leaped over him and went for Rod's throat, eyes blazing.

Rod dodged aside; the dog convulsed in midair, trying to follow him. It landed off balance, and while it was scrambling to get its hind legs under it for another pounce, Rod swung the staff and cracked the mutt's head. Then he had to whirl to slap the cudgel out of another watchman's hand. The man howled, and nursed bruised knuckles-as something cracked on Rod's shoulder from behind. Pain shot through his left arm, and he whirled about, dancing back, twirling his staff like a drum major's baton. The watchman hesitated at the sight of the windmilling wood, and the bishop shouted, "Pierre! Hugo! Montmorency! Do not stand and gawk! Have at him!"

But the peasants hesitated, seeing the biggest and toughest of them fallen.

"Don't try it," Rod snapped. "I'm a knight!"

"Thou hast the dress of a peasant!"

"I'm the modest type. I'm also in disguise."

The third watchman gathered himself with a snarl and charged.

Rod pushed the staff with a bit of telekinesis to help his single good arm; one end cracked down on the man's cudgel hand. He dropped the club with a howl, and Rod swung backhand at his head. The staff connected, and the watchman slumped to the ground, out cold.

Two of the braver peasants were gathering themselves for a try, but Rod whirled toward them, staff braced, and they froze.

"Art craven?" the bishop shouted.

"Your bully boys dropped their cudgels," Rod said softly. "Why don't you pick one up and try it yourself?"

The bishop recoiled at the thought, then realized how he looked in the eyes of his peasants, and blustered, "'Tis not right for a man of God to bear arms!"

"Then it's not right for that man of God to command others to bear them for him. Hypocrisy, bishop. If you think force is right, use it yourself!"

"Thou speakest with the voice of Satan," the bishop howled, "to tempt those of weakened faith!" He turned to the peasants. "Do not heed him! Raise the hue and cry! Bring more dogs, more men! We must hale them back to the village, for that path into the forest is the road to Hell!"

"Oh, stuff and nonsense!" Rod snapped.

The bishop rounded on him, red-faced, and bellowed in rage, "I shall have them scourged for their disobedience, and thou, too, if thou dost persist in their suborning!"

"I don't remember the commandment that says `Thou shalt not disobey thy priest,' " Rod said.

"'Tis the First Commandment, thou blasphemer!"

" `I am the Lord thy God, and thou shalt have no other gods before Me'?" Rod raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You think you're God?"

"You have heard the blasphemy!" the bishop cried to the scandalized peasants. He turned on Rod. "If He is God, thou must needs obey Him-and, therefore, His priests!"

Rod shook his head. "No. The one doesn't require the other. A priest can advise, can teach-but he has no business trying to give orders. Look at the prophets in the Bible, bishop! They didn't give orders of their own-they just transmitted the Word of God! And they always prefaced His orders by saying, `Thus saith the Lord.' "

The bishop stared. "Thou canst not know what is said in the Bible!"

"Oh, yes I can. I can read."

The peasants muttered in awe and fear.

The priest's eyes narrowed. "Who taught thee that?"

"My teachers, of course! In a world in which everybody learns to read and write, and reads the Bible for themselves!"

"They do not know Latin!"

"It's been translated."

"Thou art a heretic!" the bishop levelled a trembling forefinger. "Be silent, limb of Satan!" He turned to the peasants. "You have heard the heresy! Catch him, beat him, bind him fast! He must be burned at the stake, for in no wise else can his heresy die with him!"

"The Church teaches that all men should read the Bible themselves." Rod fought to keep anger out of his voice. "The real Catholic Church, that is-not this twisted, distorted thing you false bishops have made for yourselves!"

The peasants gasped and shrank back, clearly expecting a lightning bolt to strike Rod down.

But the bishop knew better. "Seize him! Smite him! Silence him!" he bellowed. "He is possessed by a demon! He must be, to speak so against the priest of the Lord!"

From the direction of the village, faint but approaching, came the baying of hounds.

The game was just about over. Rod knew he couldn't hold his own against a mob. The diversion had lasted long enough; it was time for a fast fade. "I'm no demon, bishop, and I'll prove it! Give me a crucifix; I'll touch it without shrinking."

"I shall give thee the sight of it alone!" The bishop pulled out his rosary and held it up, the crucifix dangling before Rod's eyes. "Begone, thou limb of Satan! I banish thee from this village and its environs!"

With a swift grab, Rod caught the crucifix. The bishop yelped as his arm came with it; the beads were wrapped around his fingers. Rod held the crucifix up at eye level, turning to the peasants. "See? It doesn't burn me; I don't shrink from it. I'm not a devil."

"He hath profaned it!" the bishop cried. "That is why it hurts him not!"

The man was good at argument, Rod had to give him that. Of course, it helped that he didn't have to worry about mangling the truth, since it was already in pretty bad shape.

Mangling ... Something about the beads caught Rod's eye. He stretched them out, and stared. "You've even changed the rosary! Twelve beads to a set!"

"Certes," one peasant quavered. "How many else should there be to a decade?"

"Ten, of course! That's what `decade' means! And the crucifix-that, too! You've got Him with His feet side by side! He's supposed to have one foot over the other, held in place by one single nail!"

"What-what happened to the other nail?" a peasant stammered.

"A gypsy stole it." Rod let the bishop yank back the crucifix. "At least, that's the legend; the Gospel doesn't say. Does it, bishop?"

"Only a priest can know what the Gospel doth say!"

"But I'm not a priest, and I've read the Book."

"Thou art a demon or hast one!"

"How could a demon read the Bible? Wouldn't it annihilate him?" Rod sighed and rolled his eyes up to Heaven. "If you say it often enough, they'll believe you eventually, is that it? No luck-I've already proved I'm not a demon. But I am a Christian who's trying to be good, and who believes that it's wrong to use God as an excuse for abusing other people."

"I banish thee!" the bishop stormed. "Begone from this village! Never come near us again!"

Rod bowed. "I'll be glad to oblige-to the first part, anyway. As to coming back, I just may-with a tribunal from the Order of St. Vidicon behind me. I'd advise you to reexamine your theology, bishop, and be awfully sure you're right."

The bishop stared, eyes bulging. Then he whirled to his people. "Slay him! We shall burn his dead body-but do not wait! Slay him outright!"

The peasants started to move toward Rod, and behind them, much closer now, came the baying of the hounds. Time to leave. Rod shrugged. "I'm not one to stay where I'm not wanted. Good night, folks." He stepped back, out of the circle of torchlight.

They stared, amazed that he had gone without a fight. The bishop shook off his surprise and roared, "After him! He must not run free to spread his heresies and blasphemies!"

The peasants jumped and headed for the forestsomewhat reluctantly, if the truth be known. Then the hounds and the mob caught up with them, and they shouted with renewed bravery and plunged into the brush.

By that time, of course, Rod was coming out onto the trail and moving fast. Magnus, he thought. Where are you?

An image appeared in his mind, a picture of a hilltop with only a few small trees on it, and the forest spread out just below his feet. Rod concentrated on the image, thought of being there, and the trail about him grew dim as the hilltop grew more and more clear, taking on bulk and substance....

Then it was real and all about him, and his ears rang with a double boom-the implosion of air rushing into the space his body had just vacated on the trail, and the explosion as he appeared on the hilltop, forcing air suddenly back. He looked about, feeling his knees trying to go weak, and leaned on his staff. He found himself gazing at Roble, who stared at him, crossing himself.

"It's all right," Rod said softly. "I'm only human, though I am what you call a warlock."

"I have explained it, my father, and told them how our powers have naught to do with Satan, nor with miracles, but are only the talents we were born with," Magnus said right behind him.

Rod turned and looked up. "Did they believe you?" Magnus shrugged. "With their minds, yes."

Rod smiled and turned to the young lovers. "He brought you up here one by one, the way I just came?"

Hester nodded, huge-eyed and huddled in the arms of Neil, who wasn't looking any too sanguine himself. "Good thing he did," Rod said. "They've called out the posse, and the dogs."

The young couple listened to the baying borne on the night breeze, and shuddered.

"There is no cause for fear," Magnus said softly. "They could not possibly track us here, for there is no trail for them to find."

"That is one of the advantages of travel by thought," Rod agreed, "though it has its disadvantages, too."

"I have talked with them at length," Magnus said, "explaining that we are neither angels nor demons, but I am not sure they wholly believe me."

"I do," Roble croaked, "for even in our benighted village, we have heard tales of such folk as thee. Yet we thought that such a one had made a pact with the Devil."

Rod shook his head. "No, only with the King and Queen. You've heard of them, I take it?"

"Aye," said Neil, and Hester added, "though we know not their names."

"Catharine and Tuan, as it happens, and I'm their liegeman, Rod Gallowglass, Lord High Warlock."

They shuddered at the sound of the title, and made the Sign of the Cross.

Rod's mouth tightened with chagrin. "The only part of that which means anything to them is the word `warlock,' isn't it? I assure you, though, the term is being used wrongly-they call us witches and warlocks, but we're really only espers, people who were born with strange gifts of the mind. I'm just as much a Christian as you are, though probably more of a sinner."

Hester looked up-almost in indignation, Rod thought. "Nay," she said. "We know of lords and kings, though our priests have told us they are all evil."

"Oh, as far as your bishop is concerned, I'm very evil, because I've stolen away three of his parishioners. What's worse, I just may take those people to the Abbot of the Monastery of St. Vidicon, and ask them to tell him all about their village and their priests."

Magnus looked up in alarm, and Neil frowned. "Why is that worse?"

But Roble smiled. "Why lad, if the true churchmen hear of our bishop and what he hath done, they'll unfrock him and tell him he is a bishop no longer."

"Nor even a priest," Rod agreed, "since he hasn't been trained in the real Church's doctrine. They might admit him to the seminary, though-and in the meantime, they'll send some real priests to teach your fellow villagers."

"'Twould serve them as they should be served!" Hester cried, eyes alight with vindictive glee, and Roble nodded, eyes glowing. "'Twould be just."

"Mayhap to the bishop, but not to the people." Magnus frowned down at Rod. "How is this, my father? What right hast thou to meddle in their ways?"

Rod shrugged. "It was just a thought-and we'll have to discuss it more fully, son. At least, we do agree that anyone who wants to get out of that village, should be allowed to." He turned back to the peasants. "Are there any other malcontents in your village-any other people who don't like the way the priests run things, and want to get out?"

Roble shook his head, and Hester said, "Nay. There were others, but they have been scourged into seeing the error of their ways, or-" She caught herself just in time.

"Or have taken their own lives," Roble said, his face bleak. "Do not stint the truth, lass. There were two others, milords."

Magnus frowned. "But the others, who wished to escape . . ."

"They have pious spouses now, and children. They will not wish to leave them; they are bound to the grinding of their souls for twenty years and more."

Magnus winced. Rod knew the cause, and turned to change the subject quickly. "And that," he said to Magnus, "is why everybody who's left in the village likes that form of government."

Magnus looked startled-that wasn't what he'd been thinking about. Then he frowned in thought.

Rod turned to the fugitives. "We're probably safe for the night here, so you might as well bed down. My son and I will keep watch."

"I thank thee, milord," Roble said slowly. "I cannot thank thee enough."

"Just have a happier life than you have already-and don't think it's going to be easy. You'll still have to work for a living, and you'll probably find the lord of your manor to be just as overbearing as the bishop."

"But from a lord one might expect it!" Neil burst out. "They are no holier than we; they are not supposed to be more perfect!"

"I suppose that makes it easier to bear," Rod admitted, "though I think my wife might give you an argument about what's expected of a nobleman. Anyway, good night, folks."

It took a little more talking and soothing to get them settled, and Hester pointedly slept on the other side of Roble, rather than right next to Neil-but she gave the lad a few looks that made it clear it was more by duty than by desire. The whole pantomime even evoked a tired smile from the bereaved father, who made a few reassuring noises of his own, and finally got them settled down and breathing evenly. Privately, Rod thought that the byplay between the young folk must have given Roble a pang of grief, reminding him of his own Ranulf and the joy the lad had never had-but if his tears flowed in the moonlight, surely there was no one to see but himself.

Magnus drew Rod aside over a very small, well-shielded watch fire. "And now, assuredly, thou wilt lecture me over the sinfulness of a theocracy."

"No, really-I had in mind discussing the perils of do-ityourself religion."

Magnus frowned, not understanding.

"That's one way of looking at a cult," Rod explained. "Somebody dreams up a new religion, or a new version of an old one, which exactly meets his own taste and whim-and, even if he's sincere, Truth is apt to get lost in the process."

Magnus nodded. "More to the point, given time he will remold his religion to assure his own power and wealth."

"Yes-and if he's mentally unstable, he'll lead all his people into lunacy."

"Say rather, delusion," Magnus offered, "yet those delusions he will present them will be most attractive ones, so that many will wish to join him-and be subject to him." He frowned. "Dust thou truly think the first of these spurious bishops, Eleazar, was so cynical as to pretend to a lie, in telling his folk the Abbot had elevated him to an episcopal see?"

"No, now that you mention it." Rod frowned. "He probably managed to justify it to himself-other people found it easy to believe his lies, but that made him feel guilty, so he start believing them, himself."

"And thus is delusion born." Magnus nodded. "Still, for those who are content, and even happy, to live in such a community, who are we to tell them nay?"

"The ones who are supposed to be their leaders," Rod countered. "We're supposed to protect the ones who aren't happy under that system."

"And assure them the right to leave? Aye, that we should-but if that right is given, and those who dislike the theocracy are filtered out without hurt, we would be wrong to attempt to change it."

Rod heaved a sigh. "I'm afraid that's something we'll never agree on, son. I suppose I'm a bit of a fanatic, myself-I can't rest easy knowing there's a government in power that I can see only as being false, exploitative, and morally wrong."

Magnus started to contradict his father, then caught himself and forced a smile. "'Tis even as thou hast said-we will never agree."

"That's what I thought," Rod said, with a sardonic smile. "Well, if we're going to be able to protect the rights of these people tomorrow, son, we'd better get some sleep tonight. You want to take first watch, or shall I?"