Dave Duncan - When the Saints

He had eaten little when his appetite was seriously wounded by the arrival of an elongated, skeletal Dominican. He closed the door in silence and came on silent bare feet to the table, taking the place opposite Wulf. He made no sound even as he moved the stool on the tiled floor. Of course he was Brother Luigi, prior of the Roman Inquisition. He rested his forearms on the table and stared across at Wulf with the austere, accusatory face of a dying Christ, even to the glowing nimbus, lacking only the crown of thorns. He was younger than Wulf remembered.

He did not speak.

Such tricks were intended to frighten Wulf into speaking first, so he carried on with his meal, however hard it was to summon up saliva. He could probably magic enough spit to drown a horse, but then his own nimbus would brighten and give him away. He avoided the drier dishes and concentrated on the fish, which was salty and came with sauce.

“You commune with Satan, Wulfgang.” Luigi’s voice was soft and seductively gentle.

Wulf finished chewing and swallowed. “No I don’t.”

“Then how did you come here from Jorgary today?”

Another mouthful. Eating did give one time to think between comments.

“The same way you left the cardinal’s room yesterday.”

“Even if that were true, it would no, it wout excuse you, Wulfgang. I have ordered a woman’s nipples ripped off with pincers. If you did such a thing, you would be hanged. I did it for the woman’s salvation and the glory of God. I did it in the name of, and with the blessing of, Holy Mother Church.”

There was no way to argue with such madness. The Church defined good and evil, and to even question its definitions was heresy. Wulf carried on eating, and now his saliva flowed more freely. Anger worked better than fear.

“Tell me about Father Azuolas,” Luigi murmured, his voice still sweet as a viol.

Well, Wulf could argue that he had merely come to the aid of Magnus when he was physically assaulted by two men, both much larger than he. He could assert that his shot had only wounded the Dominican, and either he or Brother Lodnicka could have healed him, had Lodnicka not rejected Wulf’s protests and insisted on trying to subdue him. By the time the fight was over, Azuolas had been beyond saving.

Such excuses would be admissions of guilt.

He continued eating.

Luigi continued to stare at him with very dark, somber eyes and an expression of deep sorrow. “You have broken the first commandment.”

Wulf acknowledged that remark with a frown while he chewed. When he had swallowed, he said, “I do honor the Lord. I try to obey His commandments, yet I sin, like all men.”

“I do not mean the first commandment of the ten given to Moses, but the devil’s first commandment.”

“What’s that?”

“That you must use the powers he gives you in secret.”

Any response to that would damn a man. Denial was useless when mere suspicion allowed the use of torture, and confessions extracted by torture were accepted as true. Accusation was as good as proof.

Luigi let the silence drag on a long time before he spoke again. “It is possible that the Holy Father will give you absolution today, Wulfgang.”

“Bravo il papa!”

“And perhaps even an indulgence, also, to remit your penance. He may not, of course. But even if he does, he will not abso lve your future sins. Can you go and sin no more, as Our Lord commanded the woman taken in adultery?”

“Could you?”

“We are discussing the peril to your soul, not mine.”

“I see you love your fellow men, Brother. But your love is so overwhelming that it would destroy them restroy tather than tolerate any deviation from perfection. I don’t think you understand what love truly is.”

Wulf stood up and stepped to the water basin to rinse his hands. He had taken the edge off his hunger and would have to be satisfied by that. What Luigi was hinting, but would never put in words, was that even if the pope absolved him, the Inquisition would not. It would pursue him relentlessly, every day of his life, until it could find cause to charge him with sorcery, and his death for that would avenge Father Azuolas.

The friar rose, fired with a righteousness so intense that it could admit no dissent. “Go and fly, little falcon,” he whispered. “Soar and circle as you will, but one day you will stoop, as falcons do, and then our snares will have you. We will catch your jesses then, falcon, and haul you down.” He turned and padded to the door.

As soon as it closed behind him, Wulf went back to his seat and resumed his meal.

Father Giulio and Brother Daniel were bent over the table, apparently comparing two documents word by word. There was no sign of the taller priest, or Prior Luigi. Or Madlenka. Cardinal d’Estouteville was slumped in his favorite chair, looking weary, and older than he had yesterday.

Wulf knelt to kiss his ring, then waited in vain for the order to rise.

“You truly are a remarkably effective young man, Sir Wulfgang.”

“Your Eminence is kind to say so.” He was starting to believe it himself.

“We are impressed,” the old man mused. “He has obtained almost exactly the betrothal terms we required. He won a knighthood and the trust of his prince, and he persuaded the Scarlet Spider to change his mind for the first time in decades. And all within the time limit we set for him-which, frankly, we did not dream he could meet.”

Puzzled, but forced to assume he was still being addressed, Wulf said, “Happy to serve Your Eminence. I am free to go?”

“Oh, no!” The cardinal’s voice sharpened. The half-blind eyes looked down at him for the first time. “‘Almost exactly’ is not exactly ‘exactly.’ Zdenek’s draft proposes sending the girl to France instead of receiving my nephew there. Whose idea was that?”

So the change had been noticed and Wulf had failed. His chances had never been good. “I honestly believe that these are the best terms that-”

“Answer my question!”

Wulf would never see Madlenka again, for she could give Samson back his hair, and Samson in his strength was too effective to be trusted. It would be safer for all concerned, Church and state, to dispose of him. Light the faggots! Make him a salutary example of the hazards of Satanism.

Magnuses did not plead for mercy.

“My idea. Granted Crown Prince Konrad is not the most promising clay from which to fashion a great king, but he does have the right to wear the crown of his forefathers. He deserves a chance to try.”

“You are saying that the presence of my nephew in Jorgary would imperil your future king? That my nephew would foment revolution to put himself on the throne instead?”

“The temptation would be there.”

“Opportunity!” d’Estouteville shouted. “The opportunity would be there. I want Louis to wear a crown, and I am not accustomed to being thwarted by apple-cheeked boys, Squire Wulfgang. You want to rule Jorgary yourself. You would make your prince a puppet and manipulate him by sorcery, bring back his wife and tweak the impotent pervert into siring a son-change his name, ban his orgies, make the people cheer, leave the Spider spinning webs into his dotage. God save King Whosis! You dare to pass moral judgment on me?”

Wulf had no defense against those charges. In the absence of defense, attack. “Since you mention morals, by what right did you bring me here? By what right did you abduct Countess Madlenka?”

“By what right do I hold back the Lord’s Dogs? Shall I call for Brother Luigi?”

Someone laughed. “That’s enough, both of you,” said a new voice.

Wulf glanced around and then jumped to his feet. He had not heard the newcomers enter, so they could not have come through the door. There was no doubt who the young man in front was-Wulf had seen his face on a miniature. They bowed to each other.