The Harrowing of Gwynedd (46 page)

They started with Jodotha. The wool of her mantle came to pieces in their hands, and had to be gathered into one of the satchels for later burning, but the silk gown held, so that its contents could be carefully poured and shaken into the ivory coffer. Shifting Jodotha's mantle revealed another ring where her right hand had lain, an apparent twin to the one Orin had worn. Inside, the Latin inscription confirmed her identity:
Jodotha, serva Deum
.

“Servant of the gods,” Evaine translated, showing it briefly to the others before tucking the ring into an inner pocket to compare with Orin's, later on.

“Yes, but which gods?” Joram said archly.

But they had no time to speculate further just now, as the afternoon wore on toward Vespers and the demands of the night. After sweeping the rest of Jodotha's remains into the coffer, they had to start on Orin. The feathers of the cloak had been stitched to silk with silken thread, so it fared very well, but Orin's robe, being wool, had disintegrated to dusty, cobwebby-looking shreds of faded purple. These joined the remnants of Jodotha's mantle in the first satchel. They scooped the rest of the cloak's contents into the ivory coffer. His silken hose and leather slippers went into the bag with Jodotha's gown, along with the net of
shiral
crystals, carefully folded.

When all was done, Evaine set the coffer in the center of the bier, squarely on the intersection where the four center cubes met, and stood back to look at it again. Queron carried the satchels and broom, and Joram held the feathered cope across one arm. Relieved of its recent occupant, the bier's construction as a configuration of ward cubes was at last clearly apparent, the left half formed by four black cubes and the right by four white. Queron flicked a last speck of dust from one white corner, near where Orin's head had lain, then glanced quietly at the others.

“I'm struck by the fitness of a funeral bier symbolizing the Pillars of the Temple,” he said after a pause. “It's such a logical extension of the cube altar configuration, I wonder that no one ever seems to have made the connection before. In fact, something comes back to me now from my days at Saint Neot's, that made no sense at the time—but then, neither did the cleansing ritual that brought us to this place.”

The eyes of both his listeners turned silently upon him as he went on.

“My Order
did
know of this,” he said wonderingly. “They
must
have known. They veiled it from profane eyes—and indeed, even we brethren didn't know the full significance—but the Elders of the Order
surely
must have known. I can see that now.”

Joram was looking at him oddly. “They—knew about this?”

Nodding, Queron laid down his satchels and broom, moving closer again to set his hands on the corners near where Orin's head had been. “They may not have known consciously, but they knew
something
. We had a special catafalque at Saint Neot's that only was brought out when one of the Elders died. It was made of eight hollow, wooden cubes that bolted together to make a shape like this—and came apart for ease of storage and assembly, I'd always assumed. The top surfaces were plain, stained wood—yew, I think—and the sides were carved with the symbols of our Order and our Faith, as one might expect. The surfaces that butted together were blank.” He ran a fingertip along the join of black and white cubes.

“But the insides of the cubes were painted, some black and some white—something I only found out when I was a very senior brother in the Gabrilites, when I was poking around in the storeroom where the cubes were kept, looking for something else. It never occurred to me to ask about it, but when they were bolted together, the cubes with the black insides would have been lined up along the left side and the white ones along the right. The significance didn't register until just now.”

“You mean no one ever noticed, before that, when they were setting up the bier?” Evaine asked.

“If they did, I never heard anyone comment on it,” Queron replied. “Brother Sacristan always supervised the preparations for an Elder's funeral. Not only that, I don't recall ever being asked to help assemble the bier, though the cubes must have been very heavy, and someone would have had to bring them into the church from storage. Novices and junior brethren handled most of the other preparations, but the bier was always in place when we began.”

“And I'll bet that Brother Sacristan was always an Elder, correct?” Joram asked.

“Always.”

“What you've been describing suggests that there may have been a—an Order within an Order,” Evaine ventured, after a few seconds. “Obviously, some practices had lost at least part of their original meanings from older times—like the purification ritual—but is it possible that a very select inner Order were attempting to perpetuate old Airsid traditions?”

Queron nodded thoughtfully. “That is entirely possible. We had an advisory Council of Elders—twelve of them, headed by the Abbot.” He managed a sheepish smile. “Ironic, isn't it? I was up for election as an Elder when I left to champion Saint Camber. If I'd stayed, presumably I'd know. But of course, if I'd stayed, the three of us would not now be having this conversation, would we?”

“I suggest,” said Joram, beginning to unfold the feathered cloak, “that we not continue this conversation just here and now, or we'll be answering even more questions than this has raised. We should be getting back. It must be getting close to time for evening services.”

Sighing, Evaine took an edge of the cloak and helped him spread its semicircular shape along the length of the bier, so that most of it was off the floor. The rounded shape of the ivory coffer bulged the cloak in the center, and Evaine touched her hand to a corner of the bier that was still exposed.

“There's just one more thing,” she said softly, not looking at either of them. “This symbolism speaks to me. Not just because of its association with Orin and Jodotha, but for some other reason that I can't quite articulate just now. I want Father to rest on a bier like this, if we should fail in our attempt to bring him back—perhaps in that chamber under the
keeill
.”

It was the first time she had expressed the possibility that they might
not
be able to bring him back. For her listeners, the possibility went even further.

“Evaine,” Queron said quietly, “do you have some premonition?”

A little uneasily, she shook her head. “No. I simply believe in preparing for the unexpected. It shouldn't be difficult to finish the room under the
keeill
. The bier can be a wooden one, like your one for Gabrilite Elders—indeed, the only way we'll get one down there is in pieces—but I want him to rest in balance between the Pillars. We can even paint the outsides of our cubes,” she added with a stiff smile.

“And what else?” Joram asked, studying her closely. “Out with it, Evaine. You haven't said it all yet.”

Glancing at her now folded hands, she shook her head. “You're right. There's more. If—if I should die in the attempt—no, let me finish, Joram. I have to say this.” She drew herself up straight to face them. “If I should die in the attempt, I want my body to lie beside Rhys, on another bier like this. Will you both promise me that?”

Solemnly they promised, neither of them even trying to give her assurance that of course they would be successful, and of course she would not die. After that, they knelt briefly in prayer for Orin and Jodotha, each raising his or her own silent petitions before the two priests blessed this final resting place and the three of them headed quietly back the way they had come, to greet the miracle of Easter.

Easter was celebrated all over the land in the next hours. In cathedrals and in tiny parish churches, the Easter liturgy proclaimed God's promise of salvation and life eternal for those who believed, and voices young and old raised the glad songs of praise and thanksgiving for the Divine mercy. Even Deryni were almost welcome in the churches on this most holy of days, though the Easter homilies without fail touched on the need for Deryni to amend their ways and forswear their evil powers.

In Rhemuth no less than in any other place, the Easter message rang clear, and nowhere more splendidly or with more pomp and ceremonial than in the Cathedral of Saint George. The king and his brothers were among the most august of those who celebrated in Rhemuth's newly refurbished cathedral, Javan and Rhys Michael serving Archbishop Orris at the altar while Alroy led the offertory procession, presenting the bread and wine to be consecrated.

Afterwards, there was a feast that lasted well into the early evening, replete with all the meats and sweets set aside during the penitential season of Lent. Other than Hubert, whose presence was required in Valoret at this most holy of seasons, all of the regents were present with their wives and families—even Duke Ewan, who had journeyed down from Kheldour. Alroy held a formal Easter court the next day and wore a tall crown of gold filigree set with rubies and was permitted the appearance of real authority, though at least one regent was always at his side.

The regents were planning something, though. In the month that followed, between Easter and the twins' thirteenth birthday on the twenty-fifth of May, Javan gradually became aware that it had something to do with Duke Ewan, by far the least offensive of the five. Immediately the courts and feasts of Easter week had concluded, Ewan retired once more to his lands in the Kheldish Riding—a departure unremarkable in itself, for tacit agreement had always been that Ewan's constant presence at court was not required, it being understood that his duties as viceroy in Kheldour required his attendance there, just as Hubert's episcopal duties required his in Valoret.

This time, however, Ewan's departure seemed to spark a spate of criticism, though no one made particular comment to the duke himself to suggest that his continued presence was expected or required. No sooner was he beyond convenient recall than muted rumblings began to whisper among the remaining regents, spearheaded by Earl Murdoch, that perhaps Ewan should be asked to resign, and might be replaced by Hubert's brother Manfred—though that worthy quickly headed off to Caerrorie to inspect the progress on his new manor house, lest he be accused of campaigning for the appointment. Javan heard the gist of this discontent from Oriel—who overheard of it while attending one of Murdoch's nasty sons, who spoke all too freely under Oriel's hands while having a riding injury attended to.

Very soon, Archbishop Hubert made an unannounced visit to Rhemuth, ostensibly to satisfy himself that Javan's religious instruction was proceeding satisfactorily, but almost certainly to discuss the matter of Ewan with his fellow regents as well, for he had numerous long, intense meetings with his three cohorts before heading back to Valoret. He interviewed Javan several times during his three day stay, as if to give credence to his parochial intent in coming to Rhemuth, but the meetings were always in the presence of others, so Javan dared not use his meager hold over Hubert to increase his knowledge. The bulk of the archbishop's time was spent with the other regents.

One thing Hubert did give genuine attention to, and that was Javan's disinclination to use Bishop Alfred as a spiritual director. Hubert was wise enough not to try to force the issue, for, by definition, such direction must be a very personal matter. Nor did he take exception to Javan's study of the classics with Father Boniface. He simply wished to have closer control of what Javan was studying and thinking.

Accordingly, on the day of his departure, Hubert put his postulant prince's further spiritual guidance into the hands of two priests of the
Custodes Fidei:
Father Lior, of the Inquisitor General's office, and the local
Custodes
abbot, one Father Secorim, who were instructed to supervise personally all Javan's future religious involvement. The prince's twice-weekly sessions with Father Boniface were permitted to continue, in the very convenient study at Saint Hilary's, but daily attendance at Mass there came to an end, as the
Custodes
priests subtly began trying to mold their charge to a more biddable and compliant mind by assistance at their own Masses.

Two things only eased the pressure on Javan, during that all toolong month between Easter and his birthday: the improving weather of spring, which allowed a resumption of daily rides and other outdoor activities curtailed by the winter, and the temporary departure of Regent Rhun, who betook himself to Sheele, finally to take possession of the former Thuryn earldom. Even Murdoch absented himself for a week or so, to escort his son and new daughter-in-law to the family seat in Carthane, where the young couple would make their first home and Richard was expected gradually to take up the reins of government in his father's stead.

For a few weeks then, only Earl Tammaron, of the regents, was resident in Rhemuth, governing his young charges with rather more indulgence than his colleagues might have approved, had they been present. Under his supervision, a delighted King Alroy was permitted to hold several minor courts to hear local appeals—which both Javan and Rhys Michael were permitted to attend—but there were no other official functions during the early weeks of May. All three boys were expected to attend morning and evening prayers with the royal household as well as Mass on Sundays, to take their evening meals in the great hall with the court and, weather permitting, to spend several hours a day in the weapons yard or riding out with the master of horse—and of course, Javan had his own additional regimen set up by his
Custodes
watchdogs. But otherwise, Tammaron made few demands.

The situation should have made it much easier for Javan to pursue his own devices, gathering the intelligence information that his Deryni allies needed. But with most of the regents absent, little news came to court except through Tammaron—and he had definite ideas about what it was necessary for under-age princes to know. Javan continued to report to Father Boniface's study several times a week for “classics” studies—and often met there with one or another of the Deryni he had come to know and trust. But once he had told them of his suspicions about a shake-up coming in the Council of Regents, and the intensified scrutiny he was receiving from Hubert's
Custodes
, he had little else to pass on, other than to keep them abreast of the ongoing situation regarding the regents' captive Deryni. That, too, gave cause for serious thought.