who is not only a faithful son of the
Church but a defender of the Holy Sepulcher.”
Heraclius’ expression was sour. “You have the document,
then.”
“In a locked coffer, under guard.” The legate smiled. “I
thought it best to take no chances.”
“I should examine it,” said Heraclius, “ if Iam,
as I presume, the one who must perform the rite.”
“You are,” said Abbot Leo. “The bridegroom himself requested
it, as he professed in his petition, ‘so that there may be no doubt in any man’s
mind that this union is valid and binding.’”
“I could choose to be flattered.”
“Indeed you should.” Leo cocked his head, birdlike. “The
dispensation shall be read publicly before the wedding. That is the Holy Father’s
instruction. I may not, until then, break the seal, to which the fortunate
couple should bear witness as whole and unbroken. Will my word be sufficient
that all is properly in order?”
“I can hardly offend you with a refusal.”
The legate smiled his sweet, vague smile. “Oh, but I am
impossible to offend, when I understand perfectly. Still, I am his holiness’
man. You do understand, your eminence.”
It was not a question. Heraclius took it with such grace as
he might.
“Tell me,” Leo said after a while, when Heraclius had poured
and drunk a cup of wine. “What is there that makes you so reluctant to perform
this marriage? They are hardly the first to cross the wall of faith and creed.”
“They are the first of royal blood,” said Heraclius. The
wine slowed his tongue somewhat, but did not calm him. “The woman, of course,
is unspeakable; though he seems to have tamed her slightly since she presented
herself before the gathering of the High Court and proclaimed that he had sold
himself to her in return for her power over the Master of the Assassins. He is
to be applauded for insisting on a proper Christian marriage, if not for
suffering her to persist in her unbelief. One may argue that she is, after all,
only a woman.”
“So was it argued in the curia,” Leo said.
“Successfully, I presume.” Heraclius stroked his beard,
frowning. “Do you know the prince at all?”
“Somewhat,” Leo answered, “long ago. I was in awe of him
then. I was a novice, and young for it. He,” said Leo, “was but a little older
than he seemed.”
“That does not trouble you?”
“Not while the Holy Father is content.”
Heraclius’ teeth clicked together, painfully: they were not
of the best. The pain burned away his shock. A prince of the Church was not
well advised to wonder at anything a saint chose to do. “It troubles me,” he
said. “As does the necessity of accepting it.”
“You dislike him, then.”
“He can charm wine out of a stone. Men do battle for a place
in his following. He keeps no more state than a baron should, prince royal
though he is; this is not his kingdom, he says, and he will not demand the
right of his birth, only what he can earn in service to the realm. He is
scrupulous in that service. Even”—and Heraclius did not say that easily—”in his
refusal to offer liege oath to the king in Jerusalem.”
“That is no longer a difficulty,” Leo said, “for him at
least, now that his brother is present and holds a prior oath.”
“And Guy does not strip him of his lands, for fear of losing
the men who come with it; and more than they. He has allies in all quarters.
The Knights Hospitaller themselves stand behind him, and they bow to no man.”
“Not even to God?”
Heraclius shot him a glance. “You see how I am constrained.
He is a power in the realm. I will not of my own accord sanction this wedding,
but I accept the pope’s decree, since the petitioner comes from a land under
Rome’s jurisdiction.”
“A powerful concession,” Leo said, “and a laudable
obedience.”
Heraclius said nothing, so that he might have nothing,
later, to regret.
o0o
Just as Leo was rising to depart, a clerk brought word of
one who would
Church but a defender of the Holy Sepulcher.”
Heraclius’ expression was sour. “You have the document,
then.”
“In a locked coffer, under guard.” The legate smiled. “I
thought it best to take no chances.”
“I should examine it,” said Heraclius, “ if Iam,
as I presume, the one who must perform the rite.”
“You are,” said Abbot Leo. “The bridegroom himself requested
it, as he professed in his petition, ‘so that there may be no doubt in any man’s
mind that this union is valid and binding.’”
“I could choose to be flattered.”
“Indeed you should.” Leo cocked his head, birdlike. “The
dispensation shall be read publicly before the wedding. That is the Holy Father’s
instruction. I may not, until then, break the seal, to which the fortunate
couple should bear witness as whole and unbroken. Will my word be sufficient
that all is properly in order?”
“I can hardly offend you with a refusal.”
The legate smiled his sweet, vague smile. “Oh, but I am
impossible to offend, when I understand perfectly. Still, I am his holiness’
man. You do understand, your eminence.”
It was not a question. Heraclius took it with such grace as
he might.
“Tell me,” Leo said after a while, when Heraclius had poured
and drunk a cup of wine. “What is there that makes you so reluctant to perform
this marriage? They are hardly the first to cross the wall of faith and creed.”
“They are the first of royal blood,” said Heraclius. The
wine slowed his tongue somewhat, but did not calm him. “The woman, of course,
is unspeakable; though he seems to have tamed her slightly since she presented
herself before the gathering of the High Court and proclaimed that he had sold
himself to her in return for her power over the Master of the Assassins. He is
to be applauded for insisting on a proper Christian marriage, if not for
suffering her to persist in her unbelief. One may argue that she is, after all,
only a woman.”
“So was it argued in the curia,” Leo said.
“Successfully, I presume.” Heraclius stroked his beard,
frowning. “Do you know the prince at all?”
“Somewhat,” Leo answered, “long ago. I was in awe of him
then. I was a novice, and young for it. He,” said Leo, “was but a little older
than he seemed.”
“That does not trouble you?”
“Not while the Holy Father is content.”
Heraclius’ teeth clicked together, painfully: they were not
of the best. The pain burned away his shock. A prince of the Church was not
well advised to wonder at anything a saint chose to do. “It troubles me,” he
said. “As does the necessity of accepting it.”
“You dislike him, then.”
“He can charm wine out of a stone. Men do battle for a place
in his following. He keeps no more state than a baron should, prince royal
though he is; this is not his kingdom, he says, and he will not demand the
right of his birth, only what he can earn in service to the realm. He is
scrupulous in that service. Even”—and Heraclius did not say that easily—”in his
refusal to offer liege oath to the king in Jerusalem.”
“That is no longer a difficulty,” Leo said, “for him at
least, now that his brother is present and holds a prior oath.”
“And Guy does not strip him of his lands, for fear of losing
the men who come with it; and more than they. He has allies in all quarters.
The Knights Hospitaller themselves stand behind him, and they bow to no man.”
“Not even to God?”
Heraclius shot him a glance. “You see how I am constrained.
He is a power in the realm. I will not of my own accord sanction this wedding,
but I accept the pope’s decree, since the petitioner comes from a land under
Rome’s jurisdiction.”
“A powerful concession,” Leo said, “and a laudable
obedience.”
Heraclius said nothing, so that he might have nothing,
later, to regret.
o0o
Just as Leo was rising to depart, a clerk brought word of
one who would
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