The Deryni Archives Part 5

"I think I understand," the boy replied, with a preternaturally wise nod. He drew a deep, steadying breath, then continued. "Listen, you don't have to help me if you don't want to. Kevin will bring the battle-surgeon, even though you said not to. I'll be all right."

"Without a sword arm, young Deryni?" She drew herself up with returning dignity. "Nay, I can't let you chance that. Darrell would never approve. How can you carry on his work without a proper sword arm?"

As his brows knit in question, she replaced the lethal pouch in her satchel and began withdrawing rolls of yellowish bandages.

"I won't offer you another painkiller," she said with a wry smile. "I wouldn't trust either of our judgements in light of what has already pa.s.sed between us. I will set the arm, though. And I give you my word that it will heal as straight as ever, if you follow my instructions."

"Your word? Yes," the boy repeated, glancing aside as Duncan and Bronwyn returned with an a.s.sortment of straight pieces of wood.

As she sorted through them, picking four which suited her, she remembered that other Deryni's reply to such a question-My word is my bond!-and she knew that she, too, had meant what she said. When she had put the other boy to work whittling knots and twigs from the splints she had chosen, showing him how to carve them flat along one side, she glanced at the injured one with rough affection.

Something in her face must have rea.s.sured him- or perhaps he read it in the way Darrell once had known her innermost feelings. Whatever the cause, he relaxed visibly after that, letting his sister cradle his head in her lap and even appearing to doze a little as Bethane made a final inspection of the splints and bandages and prepared to do what must be done.

All three of the children were Deryni, she realized now; and as she bade the other boy kneel down to hold young Alaric's good arm, she sensed that he knew she was aware-though how she knew, he would understand no better than Darrell had. She had tried to tell Darrell that it was the ancient wisdom...

"Girl, you try to ease him now," she said gruffly, probing above the break and sliding one hand down to his wrist. "A pretty girl can take a man's mind from the pain. My Darrell taught me that."

He had stiffened at her first words, perhaps fearing that she would betray her knowledge to the others; but now he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, tension draining away as he let it out. Bethane waited several heartbeats, sensing a rudimentary form of one of Darrell's old spells being brought into play, then gave his wrist a squeeze of warning and began pulling the arm straight, at the same time rotating it slightly and guiding with her other hand as the ends of bone eased into place. The boy's breath hissed in between clenched teeth, and his back arched off the ground with the pain; but he did not cry out, and the injured arm did not tense or move except as she manipulated it. When she had adjusted all to her satisfaction, she bound the arm to the splints Duncan held, immobilizing it straight from bicep to fingertips. As the final bandages were tied in place and the bound arm eased to his side, Alaric finally pa.s.sed out.

Across the meadow, hors.e.m.e.n were approaching at a gallop. Bethane stood as they drew rein, her work completed. A man with a satchel much like her own dismounted immediately and knelt at the boy's side. Two more got down and began unrolling a litter. The fourth man, Lord Kevin mounted pillion behind him, gave the young earl a hand down and then himself dismounted. He was young and fair, in appearance much like her Darrell when first they met.

"I'm Deveril, Duke Jared's seneschal," the man said, watching as the first man inspected her handiwork. "His Grace and the boy's father are away. What happened here?"

She inclined her head slightly, supporting herself on her shepherd's staff. "Boys will be boys, sir," she answered cautiously. "The young lord fell out of the tree." She gestured with her staff and watched all eyes lift to the broken branch. "I but lent my poor skills to right the lad's hurt. He will mend well enough."

"Macon?" the seneschal asked.

The battle-surgeon nodded approvingly as his patient moaned and regained consciousness. "An expert job, m'lord. If nothing s.h.i.+fts, he should heal as good as new." He glanced at Bethane. "You didn't give him any of your hill remedies, did you, Mother?"

Containing a wry smile, Bethane shook her head. "No, sir. He is a brave lad and would have nothing for his pain. A fine soldier, that one. He will fight many a battle in his manhood."

"Aye, he likely will, at that," Deveril replied, looking at her so strangely that she wondered for a moment whether he had caught her double meaning.

The boy had, though. For when they had laid him on the litter and were preparing to move out, he raised his good hand and beckoned her closer. The battle-surgeon had given him one of his remedies for pain, and the grey eyes were almost all pupil, the pale lashes drooping as he fought the compulsion to sleep. Still his grip was strong as he pulled her closer to whisper in her ear.

"Thank you, grand-dame-for several things. I will-try to carry on his work."

Bethane allowed herself an indulgent nod, for by the look of his eyes, he would remember nothing when he woke from the battle-surgeon's potion. But just as the litter started to move, he drew her hand closer and touched his lips to her ring-Darrell's ring!-in the same way he had always done, so many years ago.

Then the fingers went slack as sleep claimed him, and all the n.o.ble party were mounting to leave, the litter bearers gently carrying him out into the golden sunlight. The girl Bronwyn dropped her a grave curtsey-could she know what had happened?-and then all of them were heading off across the meadow, toward the castle.

Wondering, she brought her hand to her face and rubbed the smooth gold of the ring against her cheek, her eyes not leaving the departing riders and especially the bobbing litter. But by the time they had disappeared into the afternoon haze, the day's events were hardly more than dimly harkened memories, as her mind flew back across the years.

"Well, Darrell, at least we saved one of them, didn't we?" she whispered, kissing the ring and smiling at it.

Then she picked up her satchel and started up the hill, humming a little tune under her breath.

the priesting of arilan august 1, 1104-february 2, 1105 The Deryni Bishop Arilan has been a subject of fascination for me ever since he showed up on Kelson's Regency Council in Deryni Rising. I knew, from the beginning, that Arilan was secretly Deryni (though, at that time, I had no idea the Camberian Council even existed), but he wasn't revealed as such until High Deryni, and I doubt Brion ever knew. Still, Brion's appointment of a very junior auxiliary bishop to his privy council must have reflected a close personal trust and friends.h.i.+p. (In fact, Denis Arilan was Brion's Confessor at the time of his death-and how he came to be so will be told in a future novel.) Arilan's fellow bishops obviously didn't know he was Deryni either, or he could not have been elected to the episcopate. Indeed, had the Synod of Bishops known what Arilan was, he could not even have been ordained a priest- for, as part of the strictures placed on Deryni as a result of the Council of Ramos, Deryni were forbidden to enter the priesthood, on pain of death.

The Church obviously had some way of enforcing its ban over the years-though Arilan apparently found a way to get around it. The Deryni bishop states in High Deryni that, so far as he knows, he and Duncan are the only Deryni to have been ordained in several centuries. (One suspects that Arilan might have had a hand in getting Duncan through safely, though Duncan obviously never knew, or he would have known Arilan was Deryni.) So, how did the Church keep Deryni out of the priesthood? What was there to stop Dernyi from being secretly ordained anyway? How did Arilan circ.u.mvent the ecclesiastical barriers to ordination-and what was the price? What justifications did he have to make, in his own mind? Did he have any regrets?

"Tell me," Duncan demands, in High Deryni, "did it never bother you to stand by idly while our people suffered and died for lack of your a.s.sistance? You were in a position to help them, Arilan, yet you did nothing."

Arilan counters, "I did what I dared, Duncan. I would it had been more. But... I dared not jeopardize what greater good I might achieve by acting prematurely." We can surmise by those words that the price was high.

Incidentally, two acquaintances from the Camberian Council of Kelson's day show up in this story, though they're introduced to the twenty-year-old Denis Arilan by first name only, and he knows nothing of that connection or even of the Council's existence at this time. Unknown to Denis, his brother Jamyl is also a member of the Council-but Denis knows only that Jamyl has powerful friends in high places of some sort, including but not limited to King Brion. We'll be seeing more of the Arilan brothers and their a.s.sociation with the Haldane Royal House in the CHILDE MORGAN TRILOGY.

THE PRIESTING OF ARILAN.

I.

The twenty-year-old Denis Arilan, vested for choir in black ca.s.sock and white surplice, did not know whether G.o.d really would strike down any Deryni presuming to seek ordination to the priesthood, but he was about to find out-or rather, his friend Jorian de Courcy was about to find out.

"Embue me with the garment of innocence and the vesture of light, O Lord," Jorian recited softly, from inside the new white alb Denis was pulling over his head. "May I worthily receive Thy gifts and worthily dispense them."

The linen smelled of suns.h.i.+ne and summer breezes, and fell in soft folds over Jorian's ca.s.sock as Denis helped him with the ties at the throat.

You don't have to go through with this, you know, Denis whispered mind-to-mind, as only Deryni could, the link enhanced by the contact of their hands.

Three other candidates were also vesting in the library of Arx Fidei Seminary on this balmy August morning, each of them also a.s.sisted by a senior seminarian, for the usual vesting area in the church sacristy had been taken over by the visiting archbishop and his entourage, as was always the case for ordinations.

What if it's true? Denis went on. Jorian, listen to me! If they find you out, they'll kill you!

Jorian only smiled as he took a white silk cincture from Denis and looped it around his waist, murmuring the accompanying prayer as he tied it.

"Bind me to Thee, O Christ, with the cords of love and the girdle of purity, that Thy power may dwell in me."

Jorian, what if it's true? Denis insisted.

Maybe it ISN'T true, Jorian responded mentally, in far more intimate exchange than mere speech would have allowed, especially with others nearby, who must never find out that the two were Deryni. But we'll never know if someone doesn't take the chance. I'm the logical someone. I'm not highly trained like you are-nor ever wanted to be-so I'll be far less of a loss to our people if I AM caught. Being a priest is what I was born to do, Denis-and if I can't do that, I might just as well be dead.

That's crazy talk!

Maybe. I'm not turning back now, though, when I'm so close. If I'm supposed to be ordained, G.o.d will look after me.

Jorian paused to recite another prayer aloud as he laid the white deacon's stole over his left shoulder and let Denis bend to secure it at the right hip.

"Oh Thou who hast said, 'My yoke is easy and my burden is light,' grant that I may bear Thy blessing to all the world."

And if I DON'T make it, Jorian went on mentally, maybe you'll make it for me.

Denis was too well schooled to let himself change expression, as Jorian slipped the maniple over his left forearm and secured it, whispering another prayer, but he knew Jorian was right. Though they had been careful to play down their friends.h.i.+p all through seminary, so that Jorian's fall, if it came, would not drag down Denis as well, neither of them had ever harbored illusions that things could end in other than this ultimate testing. Someone must be the forerunner, and Jorian was it. The Church had taught for nearly two centuries that Deryni must not seek priestly ordination, on pain of death, and that G.o.d would strike down any Deryni presumptuous enough to try. Tradition had it that He had done so, many times, in the years immediately after the onset of the great anti-Deryni persecutions, early in the tenth century. And every seminary had its horror stories, impressed on every entering seminarian, of what had happened to those who had tried since.

As a result, there had been no Deryni priests or bishops in Gwynedd for nearly two hundred years. None that Denis' teachers knew of, in any event-and they were in a position to know, if anyone was. But if Deryni were ever to reverse the persecution of their people and regain a place of dignity and shared authority in the kingdom, part of the impetus must come from within the Church, by gradually reversing the teaching that Deryni were evil because of the powers they could wield. That meant not only reinfiltrating the Church, but eventually a.s.suming positions of high authority again. Denis Arilan's teachers hoped for nothing less than a bishopric for their prize student and had been relieved, if saddened, when the older and less talented Jorian de Courcy elected to clear the way for Denis by going first.

"Your attention please, reverend sirs," came a low voiced warning from Father Loyall, the abbot's chaplain, as he stuck his tonsured head through the library doorway and then stood aside.

As Father Calbert, the energetic young Abbot of Arx Fidei, came into the library with several members of his faculty and a few visiting priests, all eyes turned toward him, the four candidates making hurried last-minute adjustments to their vestments. Denis retreated with the other seniors who had been a.s.sisting, and all of them bowed dutifully as Calbert raised both hands in blessing and gave them ritual greeting.

"Pax vobisc.u.m, filii mei."

"Deo gratias, Reverendissimus Pater," they replied in unison.

"Ah, such fine priests you will all make," Calbert murmured, beaming with approval as he inspected his charges. "Choir, you may go and take your places while I have a few final words with your brethren."

Denis fell into line obediently with the other three, eyes averted, as was seemly, but as he pa.s.sed closest to Jorian, he sent his mental farewell winging to the other's mind in a final act of defiance-not of Calbert, for he was a most learned and holy man, but of the outrage of a law that made this a day of dread for Jorian when it should have been a day of joy. Without physical contact to facilitate the mental link, and with Jorian not actively seeking it himself, the brief rapport took a great deal of energy, but Jorian's weaker but no less fervent thank-you made it all worthwhile in that instant just before the door closed between them.

Then Denis was out in the cloister garth and falling into line behind the thurifers and processional cross with his cla.s.smates, his voice joining with theirs in the entrance hymn as his heart lifted in a final prayer that Jorian might be granted his priesthood-and that G.o.d would not smite either of them for their presumption.

"Jubilate Deo, omnis terra," he sang with his brethren. "Servile Domino in laet.i.tia. Introite in conspectu euis in exsultatione..." Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness. Come before His presence with singing...

The Abbey Church of the Paraclete was packed, both because of the archbishop's presence for the ordination and because several of today's priestly candidates were of highborn families in the area-as was Jorian, though most of his blood relatives were dead. That had been yet another factor in allowing Jorian to risk exposure as he did today, for no ecclesiastical or civil reprisals realistically could be visited on the dead-even Deryni dead. Numb foreboding accompanied Denis Arilan as he moved with the choir procession into the crowded church.

The altar blazed with candles. The candlesticks and altar plate gleamed. The familiar scents of beeswax and incense made Denis' senses soar with an old joy as he followed into his place in the right-hand section of choir stalls ranged to either side of the High Altar, hands joined piously before him.

"Bendicte, anima mea, Domino," the choir sang on, s.h.i.+fting to another psalm. "Et omnia quae intra me sunt nomini sancto eius..." Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name...

The archbishop's procession seemed to go on forever; nor did its composition bode well for any Deryni discovered today in deception. The archbishop was bad enough-the fire-breathing Oliver de Nore, Archbishop of Valoret and Primate of All Gwynedd, who was known to have burned Deryni in the south during his days as an itinerant bishop-and two of the priests accompanying him were also gaining a reputation for anti-Deryni zeal. The worst was a Father Gorony, the archbishop's chaplain, already responsible for the ferreting-out and eventual execution of several Deryni. Another was a priest of rising prominence named Darby, newly appointed pastor of nearby Saint Mark's parish, traditionally a stepping stone to a bishopric for favored sons of the Church. Every cleric in Gwynedd had heard of Alexander Darby, whose treatise on Deryni, written during his own seminary days at Grecotha, had become required reading for all aspiring clergy.

But this was no time for Denis to dwell on the foibles of the visitors of ArxFidei. Today was Jorian's, walking third in the line of candle-bearing deacons following at the trail end of the procession led by Abbot Calbert. Despite whatever fears the young Dernyi might have had about his impending fate, his plain, earnest face was suffused with guarded joy as he approached the sacrament for which he had spent his life preparing. Denis prayed again, as he had never prayed before, that Jorian might be spared; and for a time, it appeared his prayer would be answered.

No lightning smote Jorian de Courcy when he answered, "Adsum" at the calling of his name and came forward to kneel and hand over his candle to the archbishop with a reverent bow. His tongue did not cleave to his palate as he answered the ritual questions demanded of each candidate. Nor was he struck dead as hands were laid on his head in consecration and blessing, first by the archbishop and then by every other priest present, or when the sacred chrism was spread on his upraised palms.

When, vested in the white chasuble and stole of a priest at last, Jorian and the three other new priests gathered at the altar to concelebrate their first Ma.s.s with the archbishop, Denis began to believe they just might make it through without incident. But as Jorian, after receiving Communion from Archbishop de Nore, came forward with a ciborium to a.s.sist in administering to the school and congregation, the look of rapture on his face suddenly turned to one of surprise and then fear, and he stumbled.

"O sweet Jesu, help me!" Denis heard Jorian murmur, as the new-made priest blanched and staggered to his knees, catching his weight against the altar rail with one hand and nearly spilling the contents of the ciborium in his other.

Father Oriolt, one of the others ordained with Jorian, had the presence of mind to rescue the ciborium, but Archbishop de Nore was already moving purposefully toward the now-swaying Jorian, handing off his own ciborium to Father Gorony as Abbot Calbert also converged on the stricken priest.

"Jorian, are you ill?" Calbert asked, laying arms around Jorian's shoulders in support as de Nore and several others crowded nearer.

From where he knelt in choir, Denis could not hear Jorian's reply, or indeed any of the further exchange that pa.s.sed between them, but there was no mistaking Jorian's distress, as he sank lower and lower to the floor, now almost hidden by anxious clerics. At de Nore's imperious signal, Gorony brought down the archbishop's own chalice from the altar, and Jorian was given to drink from it, but the draught did not seem to help. If anything, Jorian seemed worse.

And when de Nore himself retired to the sacristy with the abbot and a half-fainting Jorian, who had to be supported by Oriolt and Father Riordan, the Master of Novices, Denis knew something was dreadfully wrong. Could it be that G.o.d had struck down Jorian?

Denis did not want to believe that, but what other explanation could there be? Jorian was not a fainter. Nor had he been at all out of sorts earlier in the morning, while Denis helped him vest. And in Jorian's year as a deacon, essentially a junior priest-in-training, he certainly had a.s.sisted with Communion often enough for that not to have shaken his composure, solemn an office though it was.

The only other conclusion possible was that Jorian's collapse did have something to do with him being Deryni. G.o.d had struck him down, just as the legends said; and as Denis' turn came to go forward and receive Communion, he wondered whether G.o.d would strike him, too, for even being a party to Jorian's transgression.

But though the consecrated wafer Denis received from Father Gorony seemed drier than usual and stuck in his throat as he made his way back to his place, no divine wrath struck him. Nor, however, had he just been ordained a priest in defiance of Holy Church.

He worried about Jorian all through the rest of the Ma.s.s, aching to know what was going on. The archbishop soon came out of the sacristy with Oriolt and resumed administering Communion as if nothing had happened, but Father Darby went back to take his place; and it was Father Gorony who performed the Ablutions after Communion was over, while de Nore disappeared into the sacristy again for a little while.

Jorian did not come out to give his first blessings with the other new priests, either, and only members of the archbishop's staff were allowed in the sacristy after Ma.s.s was over. Nor did Jorian appear afterward at the celebratory feast in the refectory hall-though the archbishop came in about halfway though, still minus his chaplain and Father Darby.

Neither archbishop nor abbot had any announcement about Jorian at the feast, though they could not have been unaware how speculation was spreading among the guests and seminarians in the relaxed atmosphere permitted by suspension of the Rule of Silence on a feast day. Nor did anyone dare to ask. But when the school gathered for Vespers that evening, outside visitors no longer among their number, a tight-lipped and shaken-looking Abbot Calbert came into the pulpit after the service and called for their attention.

"My dear sons in Christ, it is my most painful duty to inform you concerning Jorian de Courcy," he said, his tone and the omission of Jorian's new t.i.tle conveying chill dread to the listening Denis. "I have not been unaware of your concern. I wish I could tell you that Jorian is well-or even that he is dead. Unfortunately, I can do neither. For Jorian de Courcy, unknown to us before today, has been found to be a Deryni spy in our midst."

The disclosure was made dispa.s.sionately, with little inflection, but every man and boy in the church gasped. Denis, fighting down a panic that, unchecked, could have triggered a mindless and fatal bolt for escape, used his Deryni talents to force outward calm upon his body so that his reaction seemed no more than any of the others around him, but the clasped hands he raised to his lips in hurried prayer for Jorian were white-knuckled. As whispered reaction among the students s.h.i.+fted to louder speculation, Calbert held up a hand for silence, which was given immediately.

"No, none of us suspected before today. The Deryni are skilled in the arts of deception-but even Deryni magic could not deceive the Lord of Hosts! G.o.d has struck down Jorian de Courcy for his pride and disobedience, and G.o.d's servants will see that justice is done. Tomorrow, de Courcy will be taken to Valoret for trial before the archbishop's tribunal. Some of you may be asked to make deposition concerning his record here at Arx Fidei, for it is unthinkable that a Deryni should have penetrated this close to the Sacred Mysteries."

They were all but forbidden to speak of it further among themselves, but after Compline later that night, when everyone was supposed to be abed, Denis joined several other seniors just outside the dorter to question the newly ordained Father Oriolt, who alone, besides the archbishop V staff and the abbot himself, had seen what transpired in the sacristy after Jorian was spirited away.

"I don't know what happened," Oriolt was saying, as Denis eased closer to hear his whispered account more clearly. "I thought he'd just gotten lightheaded from the excitement, and from fasting since yesterday. I know I felt a little giddy. That wine the archbishop uses is potent on an empty stomach."

"But, why did he call out for help?" asked Benjamin, one of the seniors who had been serving at the altar and who, like Denis and most of the rest of those gathered, was due to be ordained in the spring, with the next crop of new priests.

Denis cautiously extended his Truth-Reading ability as young Oriolt shook his head and answered.

"I don't know. He was feeling dizzy. He could hardly walk. He almost vomited after we got him into the sacristy. I got his vestments off as fast as I could, figuring the heat might have gotten to him; but he was trembling like a leaf, and his pupils were huge.

"De Nore said we should try to give him some more wine, but that didn't seem to help. I was afraid he was going into convulsions, except that he pa.s.sed out then. That's when de Nore told me to come back into the sanctuary with him, and that Father Darby would stay with Jorian while we finished the Ma.s.s. Apparently Darby's had training as a physician."

Some of the others asked Oriolt a few more brief questions, but the priest had already told everything he saw, and Denis knew it was the truth as Oriolt had perceived it. All of them soon dispersed to go back to their beds, for it technically was forbidden to speak during the Great Silence of the night Offices, but Denis lay staring at the ceiling for well over an hour, a growing suspicion gnawing at the edge of his mind as he considered what he had learned. The symptoms Oriolt had described sounded almost like poisoning, or- Merasha! It was a Deryni substance, and not generally known to non-Deryni, but merasha could have produced Jorian's distress. Merasha was a powerful mind-muddling drug that the Deryni themselves had developed to control their own, centuries before. It acted only as a mild sedative in humans, but for Deryni, in even minute doses, it produced dizziness, nausea, and loss of physical coordination and it totally disrupted the ability to concentrate or to use the psychic powers ordinarily accessible to one of their race. Denis had been given the drug several times in the course of his advanced training, so he might recognize its effects and learn how to minimize them if ever it were used against him by an enemy; but even a trained response could not totally cancel out the resultant symptoms- and Jorian had not been well trained. Denis doubted his friend had ever even experienced merasha disruption before.

But if Jorian had been dosed with merasha, how had it been done? Could the Church hierarchy somehow have learned of Deryni susceptability to the drug and used it as their screening device for the priesthood, knowing it would be harmless to human candidates- and fatally revealing of Deryni who so presumed? Was "G.o.d's will" actually the Church's will that Deryni not serve as priests, thereby continuing to extend the restrictions laid upon the race in fearful backlash after the Haldane Restoration?

Suddenly he suspected how it had been done, too: the sacramental wine! Oriolt had commented that the wine the archbishop used was very potent. The implication was that the archbishop had brought his own- which, on the surface, was not at all illogical, since a bishop, traveling from parish to parish in the course of his duties, was apt to encounter any number of inferior vintages.

But if, by supplying his own, slightly adulterated vintage, a bishop might indulge a discriminating palate and also ensure that no Deryni slipped past G.o.d's will and got ordained-or, if a Deryni were ordained, he would not leave the altar without being revealed...

It had to be the wine. And de Nore had given it to Jorian twice-no, three times: twice from his own chalice and once in the sacristy, though at least the latter had not been consecrated. It was a scandalous, if not sacrilegious, misuse of the Sacrament the wine conferred, but it certainly would serve the aims of a human eccelesiastical hierarchy irrational with fear of Deryni and smug with the power that their exclusive access to the priesthood and episcopate ensured.

Denis s.h.i.+vered over the implications of his theory for several minutes, huddling miserably under the thin blanket on his bed, not wanting to believe it. If it was true, though, he had to know-and then figure out a way to circ.u.mvent it-for his own ordination was only six months away. He tried not to think about what would happen to Jorian, who had not been so fortunate.

Racking his brain to remember who had been responsible for setup in the sacristy that morning, Denis conjured the faces of two of the younger subdeacons. One of them slept in another dormitory, but the other was a friend of his, one Elgin de Torres, snoring softly only a few beds down from Denis.

Scanning the long room carefully to make sure no one else was awake besides himself, Denis rose stealthily, slipped a church cape over his night robe, and glided silently to Elgin's bed. He knelt slowly at its head, grimacing as one of his knees popped, and cautiously touched one forefinger lightly to the sleeping Elgin's forehead just between the eyes, extending subtle control across the link thus formed.

Elgin, did Archbishop de Nore bring his own wine for Ma.s.s today? he asked, demanding the answer only as a thought-not words.

Immediately the memory of Elgin's time in the sacristy surfaced-images of de Nore's chaplain unpacking sumptuous vestments, a jewelled chalice and paten, and a common enough looking flask from which he filled the wine cruet that would go on the altar.

So! De Nore had brought his own wine! That didn't necessarily mean that it had been drugged with merasha, but it could have been. And all four of the newly ordained priests had drunk from the archbishop's chalice at communion.

But had the merasha actually been in the wine already, when Gorony decanted it into the cruet, or was it added later? Or it could have been added to the water cruet-in emotional terms, not as serious a profaning of the sacrament as tainting the wine, but the effect would be the same. Denis wondered whether, when Jorian had been given to drink wine a third time in the sacristy, they had used school wine or wine from de Nore's personal supply-for that would answer the question regarding the water-but only Oriolt could tell him that, of those he might safely ask, and Oriolt had already gone to bed and was inaccessible, and would be leaving early in the morning to take up his new a.s.signment as a priest.

Still, wine or water made little difference. Merasha in the sacrificial cup was diabolical: ultimate betrayal in the very sacrament the newly ordained priest had just been empowered to celebrate. It was akin to the horror story of poisoned baptismal salt used by a rogue priest to murder an infant Haldane prince, around the time of Restoration. Denis would never forget his shock, the first time he'd heard of that.

Only, this was even more monstrous, to Denis' way of thinking, for it put the princ.i.p.al sacrament of the Church into question, if only for would-be Deryni clergy. Only priests and bishops received both the bread and the wine at communion-thank G.o.d for that, else no Deryni would ever dare to approach the altar rail for the solace and grace the sacrament conferred.

But with merasha in the cup, no Deryni priest could slip through that first, concelebrated Ma.s.s with his ordaining bishop without being betrayed. No wonder there were no Deryni priests, and had been none for all these years. How could a priestly candidate avoid- or know to avoid-the very sacrament for which he had sought to be ordained?