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‘Patriarch Dolmant summoned me to testify in a matter he’s presenting this morning. Could you tell me where they’re meeting?’
‘In the Archprelate’s audience chamber, I believe. Do you want me to show you the way, Sir Knight?’
‘I know where it is. Thanks, neighbour.’ Sparhawk went across the front of the nave and out through a side door into an echoing marble corridor. He removed his helm and tucked it under his arm and proceeded on along the corridor until he reached a large room where a dozen churchmen sat at tables sorting through stacks of documents. One of the black-robed men looked up, saw Sparhawk in the doorway, and rose. ‘May I help you, Sir Knight?’ he asked. The top of his head was bald, and wispy tufts of grey hair stuck out over his ears like wings.
‘The name is Sparhawk, your Reverence. The Patriarch Dolmant summoned me.’
‘Ah, yes,’ the bald churchman said. The patriarch advised me that he was expecting you. I’ll go and tell him that you’ve arrived. Would you care to sit down while you’re waiting?’
‘No thanks, your Reverence. I’ll stand. It’s a little awkward to sit down when you’re wearing a sword.’
The churchman smiled a bit wistfully. ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ he said. ‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s overrated,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Would you tell the patriarch that I’m here?’
‘At once, Sir Sparhawk.’ The churchman turned and crossed the room to the far door with his sandals slapping on the marble floor. After a few moments he came back. ‘The patriarch says that you’re to go right on in. The Archprelate’s with them.’
‘That’s a surprise. I’ve heard that he’s been ill.’
‘This is one of his better days, I think.’ The churchman led the way across the room and opened the door for Sparhawk.
The audience chamber was flanked on either side by tier upon tier of high-backed benches. The benches were filled with elderly churchmen in sober black, the Hierocracy of the Elene Church. At the front of the room on a raised dais sat a large golden throne, and seated upon that throne in a white satin robe and golden mitre was the Archprelate Cluvonus. The old man was dozing. In the centre of the room stood an ornate lectern. Dolmant was there with a sheaf of parchment on the slanted shelf before him. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Sir Sparhawk. So good of you to come.’
‘My pleasure, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Brothers,’ Dolmant said to the other members of the Hierocracy, ‘I have the honour to present the Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk.’
‘We have heard of Sir Sparhawk,’ a lean-faced patriarch seated in the front tier on the left said coldly. ‘Why is he here, Dolmant?’
‘To present evidence in the matter we were just discussing, Makova,’ Dolmant replied distantly.
‘I have heard quite enough already.’
‘Speak for yourself, Makova,’ a jovial-looking fat man said from the right tier. The militant orders are the arm of the Church, and their members are always welcome at our deliberations.’
The two men glared at each other.
‘Since Sir Sparhawk was instrumental in uncovering and thwarting this plot,’ Dolmant said smoothly, ‘I thought that his testimony might prove enlightening.’
‘Oh, get on with it, Dolmant,’ the lean-faced patriarch on the left said irritably. ‘We have matters of much greater importance to take up this morning.’
‘It shall be as the esteemed Patriarch of Coombe wishes.’ Dolmant bowed. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said then, ‘do you give your oath as a Knight of the Church that your testimony shall be the truth?’
‘I do, your Grace,’ Sparhawk affirmed.
‘Please tell the assembly how you uncovered this plot.’
‘Of course, your Grace.’ Sparhawk then recounted most of the conversation between Harparin and Krager, omitting their names, the name of the Primate Annias, and all references to Ehlana.
‘Is it your custom to eavesdrop on private conversations, Sir Sparhawk?’ Makova asked a bit spitefully.
‘When it involves the security of the Church or the State, yes, your Grace. I’m sworn to defend both.’
‘Ah, yes. I’d forgotten that you are also the Champion of the Queen of Elenia. Does that sometimes not divide your loyalties, Sir Sparhawk?’
‘It hasn’t so far, your Grace. The interests of the Church and the State are seldom in conflict with each other in Elenia.’
‘Well said, Sir Sparhawk,’ the fat churchman on the right approved.
The Patriarch of Coombe leaned over and whispered something to the sallow man sitting beside him.
‘What did you do after you learned of this conspiracy, Sir Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked then.
‘We gathered our forces and rode down into Arcium to intercept the men who were to carry out the attack.’
‘And why did you not advise the Primate of Cimmura of this so-called conspiracy?’ Makova asked.
‘The scheme involved an attack on a house in Arcium, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The Primate of Cimmura has no authority there, so the matter didn’t concern him.’
‘Nor the Pandions either, I should say. Why did you not just alert the Cyrinic Knights and let them deal with things?’ Makova looked around smugly at those seated near him as if he had just made a killing point.
‘The plot was designed to discredit our order, your Grace. We felt that gave us sufficient reason to attend to the matter ourselves. Besides, the Cyrinics have their own concerns, and we didn’t want to trouble them with so minor an affair.’
Makova grunted sourly.
‘What happened then, Sir Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked.
‘Things went more or less as expected, your Grace. We alerted Count Radun; then, when the mercenaries arrived, we fell on them from behind. Not very many of them escaped.’
‘You attacked them from behind without warning?’ Patriarch Makova looked outraged, ‘Is this the vaunted heroism of the Pandion Knights?’
‘You’re nit-picking, Makova,’ the jovial-looking man on the other side of the aisle snorted. ‘Your precious Primate Annias made a fool of himself. Quit trying to smooth it over by attacking this knight and trying to impugn his testimony.’ He looked shrewdly at Sparhawk. ‘Would you care to hazard a guess as to the source of this conspiracy, Sir Sparhawk?’ he asked.
‘We are not here to listen to speculation, Emban,’ Makova snapped quickly. ‘The witness can testify only to what he knows, not what he guesses.’
‘The Patriarch of Coombe is right, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said to Patriarch Emban. ‘I swore to speak only the truth, and guesses usually fly wide of that mark. The Pandion Order has offended many people in the past century or so. We are sometimes an acerbic group of men, stiff-necked and unforgiving. Many find that quality in us unpleasant, and old hatreds die hard.’
‘True,’ Emban conceded, ‘If it came to the defence of the faith, however, I would prefer to place my trust in you stiff-necked and unforgiving Pandions rather than some others I could name. Old hatreds, as you say, die hard, but so do new ones. I’ve heard about what’s going on in Elenia, and it’s not too hard to pick out somebody who might profit from the Pandions’ disgrace.’
‘Do you dare to accuse the Primate Annias?’ Makova cried, jumping to his feet with his eyes bulging.
‘Oh, sit down, Makova,’ Emban said in disgust. ‘You contaminate us by your very presence. Everybody in this chamber knows who owns you.’
‘You accuse me?’
‘Who paid for that new palace of yours, Makova? Six months ago you tried to borrow money from me, and now you seem to have all you need. Isn’t that curious? Who’s subsidizing you, Makova?’
‘What’s all the shouting about?’ a feeble voice asked.
Sparhawk looked sharply at the golden throne at the front of the chamber. The Archprelate Cluvonus had come awake and was blinking in confusion as he looked around. The old man’s head was wobbling on his stringy neck, and his eyes were bleary.
‘A spirited discussion, Most Holy,’ Dolmant said mildly.
‘Now you’ve gone and woken me up,’ the Archprelate said petulantly, ‘and I was having such a nice dream.’ He reached up, pulled off his mitre, and threw it on the floor. Then he sank back on his throne, pouting.
‘Would the Archprelate care to hear of the matter under discussion?’ Dolmant asked.
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Cluvonus snapped. ‘So there.’ Then he cackled as if his infantile outburst had been some enormous joke. The laughter trailed off and he scowled at them, ‘I want to go back to my room,’ he declared. ‘Get out of here, all of you.’
The Hierocracy rose to its feet and began to file out.
‘You too, Dolmant,’ the Archprelate insisted in a shrill voice. ‘And send Sister Clentis to me. She’s the only one who really cares about me.’
‘As you wish, Most Holy,’ Dolmant said, bowing.
When they were outside, Sparhawk walked beside the Patriarch of Demos. ‘How long has he been like this?’ he asked.
Dolmant sighed. ‘For a year now at least,’ he replied. ‘His mind has been failing for quite some time, but it’s only in the past year that his senility has reached this level.’
‘Who is Sister Clentis?’
‘His keeper – his nursemaid, actually.’
‘Is his condition widely known?’
‘There are rumours, of course, but we’ve managed to keep his true state a secret.’ Dolmant sighed again. ‘Don’t judge him by the way he is now, Sparhawk. When he was younger, he honoured the throne of the Archprelacy.’
Sparhawk nodded, ‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘How is his health otherwise?’
‘Not good. He’s very frail. It cannot be much longer.’
‘Perhaps that’s why Annias is beginning to move so quickly.’ Sparhawk shifted his silver-embossed shield. ‘Time’s on his side, you know.’
Dolmant made a sour face. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘That’s what makes your mission so vital.’
Another churchman came up to join them. ‘Well, Dolmant,’ he said, ‘a very interesting morning. Just how deeply was Annias involved in the scheme?’
‘I didn’t say anything about the Primate of Cimmura, Yarris,’ Dolmant protested with mock innocence.
‘You didn’t have to. It all fits together a bit too neatly. I don’t think anybody on the council missed your point.’
‘Do you know the Patriarch of Vardenais, Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked.
‘We’ve met a few times.’ Sparhawk bowed slightly to the other churchman, his armour creaking. ‘Your Grace,’ he said.
‘It’s good to see you again, Sir Sparhawk,’ Yarris replied. ‘How are things in Cimmura?’
‘Tense,’ Sparhawk said.
Patriarch Yarris looked at Dolmant. ‘You know that Makova’s going to report everything that happened this morning to Annias, don’t you?’
‘I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. Annias made an ass of himself. Considering his aspirations, that element of his personality is highly relevant.’
‘It is indeed, Dolmant. You’ve made another enemy this morning.’
‘Makova’s never been that fond of me anyway. Incidentally, Yarris, Sparhawk and I would like to present a certain matter to you for your consideration.’
‘Oh?’
‘It involves another ploy by the Primate of Cimmura.’
‘Then let’s thwart him, by all means.’
‘I was hoping you might feel that way about it.’
‘What’s he up to this time?’
‘He presented a spurious marriage certificate to the Royal Council in Cimmura.’
‘Who got married?’
‘Princess Arissa and Duke Osten.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Princess Arissa said almost the same thing.’
‘You’ll swear to that?’
Dolmant nodded. ‘So will Sparhawk,’ he added.
‘I assume that the point of the whole thing was to legitimize Lycheas?’
Dolmant nodded again.
‘Well, then. Why don’t we see if we can disrupt that? Let’s go speak with my secretary. He can draw up the necessary document.’ The Patriarch of Vardenais chuckled. ‘Annias is having a bad month, I’d say. This will make two plots in a row that have failed – and Sparhawk’s been involved both times.’ He looked at the big Pandion. ‘Keep your armour on, my boy,’ he suggested. ‘Annias might decide to have the area between your shoulder blades decorated with a dagger hilt.’
After Dolmant and Sparhawk had given their depositions concerning the statements of Princess Arissa, they left the Patriarch of Vardenais and continued along the corridor to the nave of the Basilica.
‘Dolmant,’ Sparhawk said, ‘do you have any idea about why so many Styrics are here in Chyrellos?’
‘I’ve heard about it. The story is that they’re seeking instruction in our faith.’
‘Sephrenia says that’s an absurdity.’
Dolmant made a wry face. ‘She’s probably right. I’ve laboured for a lifetime and I haven’t as yet managed to convert a single Styric.’
‘They’re very attached to their Gods,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Dolmant, but there seems to be a very close personal relationship between the Styrics and their Gods. Our God is perhaps a bit remote.’
