Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

Eneko stood in silence.

"He is a powerful friend of the Holy Church, Father Lopez," said the old man, mildly.

Eneko sighed. "I know. But, Your Holiness, I had hoped… The order I wish to found. The Emperor seemed quite well disposed to the idea."

The Grand Metropolitan scowled slightly. "More so than I have been. Your problem, Father Eneko, is that you have been a valuable tool for the church in your present role. I need an agent of your caliber. I am less sure that the church needs yet another religious order to create more schisms and infighting. But the Emperor is indeed well-disposed toward your scheme; he goes as far as to suggest a name. He seems to think a Petrine-based order devoted to holy magic in the active and combative sense would act as a counterweight to the Servants of the Holy Trinity. He also thinks that Father Eneko Lopez of the Basque country would be a good man to head such an order. I must read you his words."

The old man cleared his throat, unfurled the parchment and held the scroll at full arm's stretch. Then, began reading from it in a slight sing-song:

" 'I find myself in agreement with your proposal that the Hypatian order should open some chapter houses in Swabia, Brunswick and Prussia. Details may be thrashed out between our intermediaries, but I would be happy to see as many as twenty of these established in the Empire's central provinces. However, one does not use a shovel to do a sword's work and vice versa. I am of the opinion that the order of Saint Hypatia in particular and the Church in general have lost some of the militant purpose Chrysostom imbued it with. It has become very gentle, and as a result, we are seeing enemies springing up who do not scruple to use the darkest of magics against us. The Empire and the Holy Church need a force not lacking in some of the gentleness of the Hypatian Order, but with the steel to meet the spiritual and supernatural evils of the northern darkness which threaten the mother Church.' "

The Grand Metropolitan paused and peered at Eneko over the top of the parchment. "He then proposes you heading such an order. But I read further: 'However, I feel Father Lopez would still benefit from some broadening of his viewpoints before he takes up this challenge. Therefore my request that he undertakes this pilgrimage to Jerusalem can serve a double purpose. As one of the most pious men I have met, he can pray for my soul, which I fear stands in sore need of such intervention. Visiting the birthplace of our faith and then proceeding to the cradle of our learning, Alexandria, will also broaden his outlook. Besides, such an order as he envisages will need to consult the Great Library at Alexandria extensively, as it remains the greatest source and storehouse of arcane knowledge, both Christian and non-Christian, in Christendom. And if Alexandria cannot broaden his outlook, then nothing can. Even the brothels there are an education.'

"

Eneko felt himself redden. The Grand Metropolitan was plainly amused by his embarrassment. "I think the Emperor's assessment is very acute," he said with a wry smile. "Both of your piety and your need for a broader perspective."

Eneko took a deep breath. "I have always wanted to undertake the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Your Holiness," he said, seriously. "And the second pilgrimage to the heart and birthplace of the Order of Saint Hypatia. But the responsibility of another man's soul-any man's soul, never mind the Holy Roman Emperor's-is too much for me."

The Grand Metropolitan nodded. "Only Christ could carry such a weight," he said gently. "But all that is asked of us is to do as much we can and He has ever promised us that He will help us to bear the rest. You may choose some companions-say, three-to help you. I feel Emperor Charles Fredrik would agree that such broadening of the structure that you envisage will be better if it has a wider foundation, as it were. Now, my son. I have other interviews. Come, take my blessing and get along with you. You and your companions will travel as humble pilgrims to Jerusalem, and thence Alexandria. I have prayed on this and I feel you guided to this path." It was said with a quiet certainty and deep humility.

It was also a firm, unarguable dismissal.

"When you travel with a small army you have to behave as if you are traveling with a small army," muttered Manfred irritably. "We should break this lot up into ten parcels of twenty knights, and fit into inns rather than overflowing villages."

The grizzled and facially scarred Von Gherens smiled. "A good idea, eh, Falkenberg? We ride with the first twenty and Prince Manfred rides with the last twenty. Then he can apologize for all the damage and pay the peasants, and put up with short rations because we've eaten all the food, and drunk all the beer."

Falkenberg, who was riding on the other side of Manfred, was also a veteran, though younger than Von Gherens. And like Von Gherens, Manfred had discovered, able to drink his weight in ale without showing any sign of it. The Knights of the Holy Trinity-the "Knots" in popular slang-were supposed to be a religious order, sworn to abstinence from the worldly trappings of wealth. In practice, Manfred discovered, that meant they ate and drank well…

When someone else was paying.

Manfred was finding that being in an out-of-combat command-especially when you have a reputation as a tearaway yourself-was a lot more difficult than he'd thought. In a way a misery-guts like Sachs was almost called for. The presence of someone who'd put some fear and sobriety into this lot would keep the reckoning down. The Emperor had given Manfred what he had considered to be an ample supply of gold for the trip. At this rate they might-possibly-get to Ascalon. He'd have to sell them off as mercenaries to get back.

Falkenberg looked at Manfred with amusement. "Sounds very good. It would make a change from the way it is now."

The problem was that both of them had been in Venice with Manfred and Erik, when they had striven against Chernobog. The two of them, Von Gherens particularly, had been the catalysts who'd broken up the fight in San Zan Degola when Erik had refused to hand over the young woman who had claimed sanctuary there to Abbot Sachs. Von Gherens had been at the final destruction of Chernobog's Vessel and had been terribly burned there.

They both liked Manfred; he knew that. They were from northeastern frontier families, from the borderlands of the Empire where the battle between good and evil was stark and frequent. There was no doubting the toughness or the piety of either man. There was also no doubting their ability to soak up food and drink when it was available. They treated their young commander with a sort of jocular respect… and then did precisely what they intended to do. No doubt about it, in a fight they'd be what they were-superb soldiers, disciplined and ordered. So how come they traveled at exactly the pace they intended to travel, despite Manfred's desire to pick the pace?

Manfred was left feeling he was being tested. He wished he could do with the troop what Erik did, in the daily drill session the Icelander put them through. They jumped when Erik Hakkonsen said "frog." There was always that sort of distance between Erik and the rest of the human race, and the barrier seemed to work in Erik's favor. No one, not even old Notke-who was fifty-five if he was a day-treated Erik as an equal.

That evening in the smoky room in one of the three crowded inns at Brixen, Manfred turned to Erik and Eberhard and sighed. "What the hell do I have to do to get the Knights moving? I wanted to be through to Bozen by now. At this rate, we're going to take twice as long as I'd intend to get through to Venice."

Eberhard looked at him with a frosty eye. "I was Knight of the Trinity with your grandfather. I had a commander like you once. Good fighter. Lousy commander when we weren't fighting."