Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

"Sit down, Caius. This has nothing to do with you. I need your advice. You are far more equable than I am in these matters." I felt my eyebrows rising. What, in God's name, could have affected him this way? I was glad to know it had nothing to do with me, for that left Cassandra free of his anger, too, and I felt a surge of relief. I sat down and watched him cross back in front of me to stand behind his big, wooden armchair. He leaned forward slightly and gripped the arms with his hands. "Priests!" he said, almost spitting the word out. "Tell me about priests, Caius."

I was bemused.. "What can I tell you, Father? I know almost nothing about them. They live to preach the word of God to men."

"Yes, but what are they? What kind of beings?"

"What do you mean, beings, Father? They are priests! Men!"

He cut me off abruptly, with a hard slash of the edge of his hand. "No! No, Caius, that will not do. I will not accept that. They are not men. Not as you and I think of men. That crippled bastard Remus—the one you were unable to find after the affair of the beaten girl—was he a man? I think not!"

By this time I was totally mystified, and I held up my hands with what I hoped was a disarming smile on my face. "Whoa, Father, you're not making sense. I have no idea what you're talking about. Please! Start at the beginning and tell me what's been going on that I have been so ignorant of."

He moved around and sat in his chair, where he scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands as though washing it. That done, he blinked hugely, stretching the skin around his eyes as though struggling to remain awake. "You're right, Caius, you're right, I'm being irrational. Forgive me. This thing sprang out on me full grown. I should have been aware of it much sooner, but I chose to ignore the signals."

I waited, leaving him to collect his thoughts, and eventually his agitated features began to relax and a contemplative look came into his eyes. And still I waited, although it was becoming clear that he was immersed in his thoughts so deeply that he had momentarily forgotten I was there. Eventually, I cleared my throat quietly and spoke. "The priests, Father?"

"What? Oh yes, the priests. They deal in power, Cay. They deal in power."

"Of course they do," I agreed. "The power of God."

He threw me a glance filled with what was almost pity. "God has little to do with it, Caius. Power is power. It exists of and for itself. And the power to sway men's minds is the greatest and most lethal power of all. Why do you think these people exist at all?" I shook my head slightly and he went on. "You don't know? Let me ask another question, then. When did you last meet someone who had spoken directly with God? Not to Him, but with Him?"

"Never." I heard the incredulity in my own voice.

"Why not?"

"Because God doesn't speak to men directly."

My father slammed his clenched fist on the table in triumph. "That's right, Caius! Never directly! Only through priests. And whether the god is called Baal or Moloch or Jupiter or Helios, he has his priests to make clear his will to men. We may be talking of false gods and false priests, but there has never been a god without priests. The priests accept the sacrifices on the god's behalf, and they shape the minds of worshippers the way they wish them to be shaped. I've never really been aware of it before, but I always think of priests with their hands out, either demanding sacrifice or pointing in accusation."

I frowned at him. "What are you saying, Father?"

"I am saying that priests—all priests—are power-mongers. They deal in exploitation, and they exploit the minds of men."

I shook my head in disagreement. "No, that may have been true in olden times, Father, but it's hardly true today. I cannot think of Bishop Alaric as an exploiter."

"No more can I, nor was he. But he may have been the single exception that proves the rule. I have met no other like him, ever." He stopped talking for a space, obviously thinking about Alaric and what he had just said. When he resumed, his voice was more controlled—no less angry, but tightly reined. "There is a new breed of priests abroad in the world today, Caius, and they are multiplying like maggots. They call themselves Christian, but I think they have little in common with the Christian faith I hold. According to their dictates, men like old Bishop Alaric were heretics and unbelievers, misguided sinners who led their flocks astray, to use the shepherd image they are so fond of."

I heard the scorn in my voice. "That is ridiculous! Bishop Alaric was the most devout and holy man I ever knew!"

"Aye, he was. No doubt of it." My father's agreement with me was heartfelt. "But the savage-eyed zealots who rule the roost in Rome now say Alaric was a sinner. He and all his ilk. Followers of Pelagius!"

"What?" I was astounded. "But that would mean half the bishops in Britain!"

"More than half." I was floundering by this time, trying in vain to make sense out of what I was hearing. My father's voice was flat and emotionless as he went on, "Apparently, things have progressed quickly over the past few years among the Christians in Rome. We here in Britain have had little contact with the Church hierarchy since Honorius told us to look after our own affairs eighteen years ago. Since the revolt of the Burgundians in Gaul a few years after that, and the wholesale slaughter of priests then, there has been almost no contact between our bishops here and those in Rome. Burgundians eat Christian priests, it seems. And things have changed."

I felt myself frowning. "What things? How?"

My father grunted deep in his throat. "I'll give you three names: Paul, the Saint of Tarsus; Pelagius, the lawyer of Britain; Augustine, the Bishop of Hippo. That is all you need. Three men, and among the three of them they have bred what may be the biggest power struggle in human history, eclipsing the politics of all the Emperors combined."

"Pelagius?" I was surprised. "I don't see the connection. Pelagius is no priest. He's a lawyer, as you said, and a friend of yours. I've heard you talk of him often."

My father's headshake was brief. "Hardly a friend. But I met him once and spent some time with him. He impressed me greatly."

"I know," I said. "I read Uncle Varrus's account of the conversation you and he had when you came back to Britain twenty years ago, Pelagius and Augustine were at odds with each other even then, according to that account."

"That's right. They were. And the conflict continued. Augustine, it seems, denounced Pelagius to the Bishop of Rome—-who now calls himself the Pope, incidentally, claiming primacy over all other bishops—and demanded his excommunication for heresy. The case went back and forth for several years, but Augustine won. Pelagius was excommunicated and all of his teachings, theories and beliefs were declared to be heretical... I remember that conversation I had with Varrus, but I did not know he had written it down. I'd like to read it. Do you still have it?"

I nodded, my mind skipping immediately to where the book in question lay safely stored. "Of course. I'll bring it to you this evening. It's in one of his codexes in the Armoury. But when did all of this happen, Father? When did the excommunication take place? And what has all of this to do with Paul of Tarsus?"

"Nothing—and everything. Paul's teachings are being used as a means to an end, and we'll discuss that later. What is important to us now, here in the Colony—to you, to me, to all of us—is that Pelagius is outlawed, declared a heretic and all his teachings categorized as heresy. That means that all of us who follow his beliefs are barred from salvation. Almost the entire population of this island we live on!"

I shook my head. "I am a soldier, Father, not a theologian. I cannot see what is so sinful or awful in Pelagius's theories."