David Weber - How firm a foundation

“Agreed,” Cayleb said. In fact, he and Wave Thunder knew perfectly well who’d arranged it. “I wish to God that man wasn’t on the other side,” the emperor continued soberly. “And I wish I hadn’t been quite so hard on him after Crag Reach.” He shook his head. “He deserved better, even if there wasn’t any way for me to know it at the time.”

“I rather hate to suggest this, Your Majesty,” Prince Nahrmahn said delicately, “but if it should happen to leak back to the Inquisition that…”

“No,” Cayleb said flatly, and Sharleyan shook her head firmly at his side. Then the emperor made himself sit straighter in his chair. “No, Nahrmahn,” he said in a more natural voice. “Mind you, you’re not thinking anything that hadn’t already occurred to me. And I suppose from a proper cold-blooded, pragmatic perspective no ruler in his right mind could justify rejecting such a neat way of removing his most capable military opponent from play. But the man who risked sending us Gwylym Manthyr’s final letters deserves better of us than that.”

“I agree, Your Majesty.” Nahrmahn nodded. “Such possibilities need to be considered; that’s why I mentioned it. But not only would it be wrong to betray the Earl to the Inquisition, it would be foolish. Whatever the advantages in removing him as a military commander, the long-term consequence would be to guarantee that there were no more Earl Thirsks within the ranks of the Temple Loyalists. Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s actions have blackened the Group of Four beyond redemption in the eyes of any reasonable person. The last thing we need to do is to put ourselves into that same category by being no better than he is.”

“Cold-bloodedly but cogently reasoned, Your Highness,” Staynair said with a crooked smile. Nahrmahn looked at him, and the archbishop smiled more naturally. “I have no objection to considering the political advantages of doing the right thing, Your Highness. I hope, however, that you’ll understand that from my perspective the fact that it’s the right thing takes precedence over the fact that it also happens to be politically expedient.”

“Your Eminence, I agree with you entirely,” Nahrmahn replied with a wry smile. “It’s simply that the right thing and the politically expedient thing are so seldom the same thing that I couldn’t let it pass without mentioning it.”

“We’re in agreement, then, that we won’t be publishing these letters abroad, Your Majesties?” Gray Harbor asked.

“Why do I seem to hear a little… hesitation in your voice, Rayjhis?” Sharleyan looked at him shrewdly, and the first councilor grimaced.

“There are also letters from others of his officers and enlisted men, Your Grace,” he sighed. “The very last letters any of them will ever write. If we don’t admit we’ve received them, we can’t deliver them to their loved ones, either.”

There was silence again for several seconds. A lot of the people around the table were busy avoiding one another’s eyes, and Gray Harbor wondered how many of them found it as ironic as he did that this decision should arrive so close on the heels of Staynair’s and Nahrmahn’s discussion of the difference between expediency and what was right.

“I believe there may be a solution,” Staynair said finally, and the eyes which had been studying the tabletop or the paintings on the council chamber’s walls swiveled to him. “By now, there’s been time for this same news to have reached Silk Town from Gorath by other means, and for us to have heard of it from someone besides Sir Gwylym or Earl Thirsk. That being the case, I propose we announce it without mentioning the receipt of any formal reports from Sir Gwylym or, for that matter, any of the letters. Instead, in a short time-two or three five-days, perhaps-I’ll announce the Church has come into possession of final letters from many of the prisoners who were handed over to the Inquisition. I’ll refuse to say how those letters reached me, but I’m sure everyone will assume it was courtesy of some Reformist member of the mainland clergy.” His lip curled, and his normally mild eyes glittered. “I rather like the thought that it may inspire the Inquisition to hunt for traitors among its own ranks.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Your Majesties,” Nahrmahn agreed enthusiastically. “I’m sure Clyntahn’s response will be to brand any letters which end up being made public as forgeries on our part. They won’t really be from any of our people; we’ll have made them up as another step in our efforts to discredit Mother Church and the Inquisition. He may even actually believe that himself… in which case it could help divert a little pressure from Earl Thirsk.”

Cayleb looked at Sharleyan, who nodded, then turned back to the rest of the Council.

“Very well.” He nodded. “I think you’ve come up with the best solution for that particular problem, Maikel. But there’s still the matter of how we go about making news of this public… and what position we take.”

“I agree.” Staynair nodded gravely. “This is something to which both Crown and Church must respond strongly and clearly, with no ambiguity. Your subjects and God’s children must clearly understand what this means, and where we stand in respect to it. And there’s also the question of timing. We’re less than a five-day from God’s Day, which is about as ironic as it gets, I suppose.” He raised one hand to his pectoral scepter. “Under the circumstances, I think there’s only one possible venue for addressing this matter properly, Your Majesty.”

It was unusually quiet in Tellesberg Cathedral, especially for today. God’s Day-the unnumbered extra day inserted into every year in the middle of the month of July-was the great high holy day of the Church of God Awaiting. Every month had its religious holidays, its saints’ days, its liturgical observances, but this day, God’s Day, was set aside above all others for the contemplation of one’s soul and the state of God’s plan for all humanity. It was a day of solemn celebration, of joyous hymns, as well as a day on which gifts were exchanged, children were baptized, weddings were celebrated, and the praise and gratitude of the entire world ascended to the throne of God.

There was always a special solemnity to the high masses celebrated in the great cathedrals of Safehold on God’s Day, and never more so than in those rare instances when an archbishop had scheduled his yearly pastoral visit to coincide with the religious festival. Of course, that seldom happened; it was far more important to be in Zion, at the Temple, on this holiest of days, and the archbishoprics were usually left to their bishop executors.

But not in Tellesberg, or in places like Eraystor, Cherayth, or Manchyr. In those places, archbishops regularly celebrated mass in their own cathedrals, and Tellesberg Cathedral had filled to overflowing before dawn. Thousands of additional worshippers filled the square outside and spilled down the avenues in every direction, covering every square foot of pavement, sitting in the windows and on the roofs of buildings overlooking Cathedral Square. Priests and deacons formed human chains, stretching through the crowd, waiting for Archbishop Maikel’s sermon so that they could relay his words to every waiting ear.

No one knew what the archbishop intended to say, but Maikel’s sermons were famous, and rightly so, for their warmth and their loving insight into the hearts and minds of human beings. They were followed even in the mainland realms-printed and distributed semi-openly in northern and eastern Siddarmark, and less openly in other lands. Indeed, they formed a major component of the Reformist propaganda so mysteriously and successfully spread across both continents despite all the Inquisition could do.