Chapter Twenty

Summer 507

A pleasant breeze blew in off the bay as we sat in Camelot’s council chambers. Gawain and Peredur were debating how best to use the Combrogi’s skill in peacetime. Peredur was arguing that since each kingdom was represented on the council by a lord and a knight, they should establish a school to train future members who may not be able to afford to travel to Camelot to serve Arthur directly. Gawain, on the other hand, felt their skills would be best used as a traveling band of soldiers policing the countryside in cooperation with the local kings and lords.

“We have here two intriguing yet contrasting proposals. What say the rest of you?” Arthur inquired of the group.

“If we bring Peredur’s vision to life, I would like to travel to each school to ensure they have adequate horsemen to train the cavalry steeds as well as inspect their methods,” Lancelot requested.

“What about women?” Constantine jested. “We already have one here. Why not recruit more?”

Sobian faced him down, picking at her fingernails with her dagger. “Afraid I have bigger berries than you? Oh wait, I saw yours just last week.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I’m afraid my twig is longer too.”

“Enough,” Arthur called. “Gawain, I am intrigued by the potential of your plan to keep the Combrogi going through future generations. But it comes at a large financial cost. How would you recommend paying for it? Am I to ask the kings of each territory to shoulder the burden, which means raising taxes, or do you have another source of funding in mind?”

“We amassed considerable fortune from the Saxons—” Gawain began.

But I didn’t hear the rest of what he said for in the courtyard below, a ruckus was brewing. I stood and went over to the window, straining to see what interruption awaited us.

“Make way,” a young deacon called. “This man of God is here to see the king.”

Around them, the crowd of people parted, a few dropping to their knees and crossing themselves as a priest blessed them.

“It is so good to see how the true faith has spread,” the priest mused loudly.

I shivered. I knew that voice. Father Marius had returned at long last from his sojourn in Rome. This could mean only one thing—trouble was sure to follow.

I slipped silently around to Arthur’s side and whispered, “We have visitors.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow.

“Father Marius has returned. He and his followers are asking after you.”

Arthur nodded almost imperceptibly, never taking his eyes from Gawain. “You make a valid point, Gawain,” he said as though I hadn’t spoken.

A few moments later the priest in question made his entrance. All discussion ceased immediately, and half the room got to its feet, some with weapons drawn to defend us against whoever threatened our peace.

“My king, I am so pleased to hear about your conversion,” Father Marius said by way of greeting. “The Bishop of Rome sends his blessings.” He extended his arms as though he would embrace Arthur.

“Father Marius,” Arthur acknowledged coolly.

“Bishop,” he corrected. “His Holiness saw fit to elevate this humble servant of God.” He held out his hand as though he expected Arthur to show deference.

To his credit, Arthur didn’t move.

At least that explained why I hadn’t immediately recognized Marius. Gone was the shoulder-length golden hair shaved in the Celtic style. Instead he wore his hair short and cropped into a circular tonsure that left the top of his head completely bald. He also wore a short hooded mantle over his signature crimson robes.

“Bishop Marius,” Arthur amended, “I thank you for your kind words. I will gladly speak with you later, once our meeting has adjourned. Will you and your”—he looked the deacon up and down, unsure what to make of him—“boy take some refreshments until then? Kay, will you please escort our guests to the audience chamber and see they are comfortable?”

Kay obeyed, trying his best to usher the two men out of the room, but Marius would not be swayed. “My lord, I mean no disrespect, but I think it fitting that I stay.”

His appearance may have changed, but his personality certainly had not.

Arthur pressed his lips together and took a deep breath before answering, fighting to keep calm in front of his men. “And why is that?”

Bishop Marius was itching to take a seat. “I bring news from across the Continent that may well influence your decision-making.”

Constantine spoke up. “We have had a long day and are no closer to reaching a decision, my lord. Perhaps we should break for a while so you can speak with your guests. We can resume tonight after the evening meal if you are in a hurry to decide.”

I wanted to hit him for speaking up. The last thing I wanted was a private audience with this hateful man who had apparently only prospered as the years passed.

“You are a wise man. We shall all meet back here after we have supped. You may go,” Arthur dismissed the group.

Kay and Lancelot lingered behind in their role as our protectors, but once the rest of the Combrogi dispersed, we gathered in the small antechamber off the round meeting room. At an order from Arthur, servants set out goblets of wine and the platters of breads and cheese intended for the Combrogi. Bishop Marius seated himself with royal flair on a stool near the window, a location which guaranteed all eyes would be on him. Arthur and I stood around him, uncertain how to proceed.

Arthur was not afraid to speak first. “Please tell me, Father—or what should I call you now?”

“‘Your Excellency’ is the proper term, but as we are no strangers, you may call me Bishop Marius if you like,” he answered with a smug smile while his deacon hurried like a frightened slave to pour him some wine.

“Your Excellency, what news is so important that you saw fit to interrupt an official gathering of the council?” The slight twitch in Arthur’s jaw as he ground his teeth did not escape my notice.

“Must we rush our time together?” Bishop Marius said languidly, picking up the goblet and swirling it in lazy circles. “I have not even been introduced to this lad”—he indicated Lancelot—“or had a chance to greet your lovely wife.” His voice was as sweet as nectar, but the way he narrowed his eyes at me left no illusions that his views on me had softened over time.

“I would say it is wonderful to see you, Your Excellency, but it is a sin to lie to a priest, is it not?”

Arthur shot me a look that would have chided me to tears had I been a child. But I was not, and I had not forgotten that this man was the main reason why I had been torn away from the love of my life and kicked out of my father’s house, something for which I would never forgive him.

Father Marius clucked his tongue. “Such temper, my queen. Do you remember what happened when last you loosed your wicked tongue on me?”

“Do you remember what you said when last we met?” I countered. “You said I was cursed and compared me to Lilith, the mother of all demons, if I remember correctly.”

“You exaggerate, my dear.” He looked at Arthur. “I was merely trying to explain a possible reason she had not yet borne you an heir.”

Arthur wasn’t buying his story. “You forget, Your Excellency, that I know what transpired between you and my wife before we met.”

“Are you certain? Who is to say she is telling you the truth?” Bishop Marius asked before he sipped his wine, his manner as blithe as though we were on a summer outing.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Arthur was faster. “I trust my wife.”

“At least one of them,” Marius said disapprovingly.

Arthur refused to acknowledge the dig. “Guinevere has given me a thousand reasons to believe every word she says. You, however, are relatively unknown to me and have yet to gain my trust. I do not care what rank or title you hold over me in the eyes of the Church. In this world, I am still high king, and you are my subject, so I suggest you remember that.”

Marius appeared not to have heard Arthur’s threat. He smiled. “Well then, perhaps now is the time to begin earning your trust. That news I mentioned? I thought you would be interested to know that Clovis of the Franks is winning his war against the Visigoths in southern Gaul.”

“What has this to do with us?” I asked.

“Patience, my queen. Clovis won the support of the Gallo-Romanic aristocracy by virtue of his choice to embrace the Christian faith. It is their money funding his war and their men who are sacrificing their lives to rid the Continent of the savage unbelievers.”

Arthur was watching Marius with keen interest. “So you are saying my new faith could have political advantages as well?”

Marius took another swig of wine. “Certainly. The Romans and the Franks—Clovis’s group at least—now consider you a strategic ally, provided of course you don’t make any bold moves against them. I am willing to bet you have quite a few Gallic supporters as well, although they tend to be a quieter lot.”

I wrinkled my brow. “You are a man of God, so how are you getting your intelligence?” I was trying to ascertain if his words were all lies to gain favor in Arthur’s eyes or if his information was genuine.

He smiled, apparently guessing my motive. “During my time in Rome, I met many dignitaries. As a result, I now have friends in monasteries and palaces from Byzantium to Gaul. You could do worse than to have someone in my position at your side.”

“I already have a strategic advisor, Bishop Marius. I have no need for another,” Arthur said, but I could see he was chewing on the idea that damned priest had just fed him.
“And I do not seek to usurp him. I am simply giving you the benefit of what I know. My greatest concern is and always will be in spiritual matters.”

“I already have a spiritual advisor as well.”

“Oh, that is right. I have heard of this young priest. What is his name?” The bishop feigned ignorance.

“Father Dafydd,” I supplied.

Marius snapped his fingers. “Yes! His reputation has reached even the ears of Rome.” He turned to his deacon. “Timothy, would you be so kind as to fetch Father Dafydd? I would like to meet him and express my gratitude for all he has done.”

I stopped listening as Marius and my husband debated some matter of the Christian faith, something about a heretic called Pelagius and whether or not perfection was possible without grace from their god. They held opposing views, which each expressed passionately. They were giving me a headache.

I was grateful when Timothy returned with Father Dafydd in his wake.

Arthur greeted Dafydd with a warm smile and a manly embrace. Then he turned to the bishop. “Bishop Marius, may I present to you Father Dafydd of Dyfed, personal confessor to myself and certain members of my court. His humble example is much of what attracted me to Christianity.”

Father Dafydd bowed, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as though astonished to have someone of Marius’s rank in his presence.

Marius bid him to rise. “Word of your excellent care of our king reached me even in Rome. I wish to thank you for carefully shepherding him into the fold.”

Father Dafydd looked down humbly. “I only answered his questions and guided him as he sought me out. The rest was the work of God.”

“Ah, but it has found a willing instrument in you.”

“You are too kind.”

“Not at all. In fact, I must confess I have an ulterior motive for calling you here. His Holiness has expressed a deep desire to see this land converted.” Bishop Marius looked at me pointedly before returning his attention to Father Dafydd. “You did so well with our king that he wishes to see your work continue in other parts of the isle.”

“But who will fill my role with the king, Lady Morgan, and Lady Elaine?”

“I am sure we will find someone.”

Someone like you?

“Wait.” Arthur put out a hand to halt the conversation. “You cannot simply replace Father Dafydd. If I wish him to remain, he will do so.”

“I’m afraid he can. He is my superior, and I am answerable first to him,” Father Dafydd said.

Arthur spluttered, unused to anyone contradicting his will.

“Where will you send me?” Father Dafydd asked with more calm than I felt.

I narrowed my eyes at the bishop. Something wasn’t right with this situation. Marius did nothing without personal gain, so wherever he was assigning our beloved priest would surely benefit him. I hoped he was sincere in his compliments and the younger priest would be rewarded accordingly, but past experience encouraged doubt to gnaw at my stomach. No doubt Bishop Marius was also aware Father Dafydd had not insisted I convert along with my husband and was, therefore, a failure in his eyes.

Bishop Marius stroked his chin where the shadow of whiskers had begun to appear with the advancing day. “I was thinking you would be perfect to preach to the Highlanders.”

My mouth fell open. The Highlanders were notorious for their intolerance for missionaries. Sending Father Dafydd into their lands was akin to a death sentence. “Not even you could be so cruel!”

“Cruel? No, I am giving this man the greatest opportunity a Christian can have—the chance to preach to a pagan people. If he can successfully convert them, it will cement his place in history, like our revered Patrick. If not and he loses his life in the process, he will achieve the crown of martyrdom, which is the ultimate goal of all Christian souls. There is no greater sacrifice than to lay down one’s life for one’s faith.”

“Nothing we can say will change your mind, will it?” I said, finally understanding the strategy of Marius’s visit. He meant to take over as Arthur’s advisor. The man was brilliant—evil but brilliant.

“I am afraid not.”

Father Dafydd bowed his head humbly. “When do I depart, Your Excellency?”

“I think it best for the transition to happen quickly. You will have tomorrow to say your good-byes.”

I looked at Father Dafydd, unable to believe this kind man would soon be gone forever, likely to be replaced by Bishop Marius. Tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them back, determined not to let that vile man see how deeply he had affected me.

“Would that all men had your grace, your tolerance, and your fortitude,” I said to Father Dafydd quietly as I escorted him from the room.

“But if they did, there would be no need for people like you and me,” he answered with a soft smile. “Every wife has a duty to guide her husband to the side of right. I am afraid you are doubly pressed in this regard as a priestess and as a queen living amid religious turmoil. Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Do not allow Bishop Marius to gain control of the king. Remember that you are as powerful as he, and do not let him intimidate either of you. I must listen to him, but you are under no such obligation.”

I nodded. “I swear I will do everything in my power to do as you have asked.” I paused, trying to decide whether or not to ask the question weighing on my mind. “Are you frightened of your new assignment?”

Father Dafydd smiled once more, lit from within. “‘The Lord is my shepherd, and so I shall not fear.’ When I became a priest, I made a vow to do whatever God willed of me, just as you did when you became a priestess. We may not always like what they say to us, but we must follow where they lead.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “May your gods bless you and give you strength.”

I bowed my head to hide the tears seeping from my eyes. “The same to you.”

He squeezed my hand once and disappeared around the corner.

I never saw him again.