The Warlock Heretical by Christopher Stasheff

have willfully blinded
    themselves to morality in not seeing the offenses of which thou dost speak."
    "Aye, and in not acknowledging that the good of their subjects' souls doth suffer in their hesitation! Tis open sin
    in them, that they have not declared the Church of Gramarye to be the only church legitimate, the Church of the
    State! For be assured, milord, that thy Church, having freed itself from the snares of Rome, can now redress such
    faults and condemn them for the vile vices they are! They must be made to see the lightness of thy claims, by
    force of arms if need be!"
    "Be still!" The Abbot shoved himself to his feet and turned away from Brother Alfonso.
    "Wherefore, my good lord? Is't not even as thou hast but said, even now? Can there be aught of wrong in it?"
    "I have sworn not to bear a sword," the Abbot said, distressed. "In truth, our good Savior did say that
    'He who
    doth live by the sword, shall die by the sword!'"
    " 'Tis scarcely living by the sword to but take it up for a few days to school a wanton soul! And if 'tis wrong for
    thee, how is it not wrong for the great lords and their knights?"
    "I am a priest anointed, Brother Alfonso, a minister of God!" Page 79
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    "As they are His knights! And bethink thee, milord, how long will they abide without sign of redress of their
    grievances?"
    The Abbot was silent.

    Brother Alfonso pressed his point. "They have declared their adherence, milord, yet how long will they maintain
    it? Nay, they must needs see some way in which thou dost strengthen their cause 'gainst the Crown, or they must,
    soon or late, withdraw their support."
    "Thou dost counsel immorality!" The Abbot turned on Brother Alfonso. "A priest must not consider such worldly
    issues when he doth decide right from wrong!"
    "Nor would I counsel that thou shouldst!" Brother Alfonso said quickly. "I" truth, there's no need—for assuredly,
    such principles must be clearly evident to a prelate."
    The Abbot stared at him. Then, slowly, he said, "I am not a prelate."
    "Art thou not? Nay, be assured, milord—if the Church of Gramarye is a church entire, sole and separate from
    Rome, it must needs have a bishop, a ghostly father—and who can fulfill that role, save thyself?" The Abbot kept staring. Then, slowly, he turned toward the window, frowning.
    "Nay, an Archbishop," Brother Alfonso murmured, "for there are so many souls in Gramarye that thou must
    needs name bishops to each province! A Prince of the Church—for one with so much authority must needs be a
    prince, with authority equal to that of the worldly Crown. Yet the common folk cannot comprehend such, unless
    this Prince of Souls doth show himself to them in all his power and glory—borne in a throne on the shoulders of
    monks, with heralds and trumpets going before, and a guard of honor coming behind! He must clothe himself in
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    purple royal, bearing a crozier of gold, crowned with a gilded mitre! He must stand beside his Royal Majesty,
    appearing as his equal in every way!"
    "Be still!" the Abbot thundered. "What I decide, Brother Alfonso, I will decide because it is right, not because it
    doth yield me advantage! Leave me, now! Go!"
    "Why, so I shall," Brother Alfonso murmured, turning away, "for as Thy Lordship wills, so shall it be done. Yet I
    beg thee, milord, be mindful that even a prince should be subject to a prelate." The door closed behind him, but a portal yawned within the Abbot's heart, disclosing a vista of power and glory
    that he had never conceived of, beckoning, tempting . . .

    Lady Elizabeth lifted her head off the pillow, then rolled onto one elbow, wondering what had wakened her. She
    reached out to touch her husband for reassurance, then remembered that he had not come home—nothing
    unusual; the hunt often took him far enough, late enough, so that he