"They wouldn't have happened to be the sons of the people who were especially friendly with the bishop, would they?"

"I cannot speak of the first bishop, but whiles I have lived, aye, it hath been ever as thou dost say. Is't not as thou wouldst expect, that the most devout are the sons of the most pious? They are the pillars of the Church, look you, those who give most unstintingly of their time. . . ."

In brief, as Rod well knew, they were the ones who were best at currying favor with the clergy. It was depressing to realize all over again that even in a little village like this, parish politics held sway, and that an elite was assiduous in establishing itself. "I take it the curate inherited the bishop's see?"

"Aye; on his deathbed, Eleazar elevated the curate to the crozier and mitre. The second bishop realized that some of the young women were as devout as he himself, and founded a convent. All were most pure, and zealous in their devotion, and truly celibate. Could they have been less than holy?"

"Yes," Rod said. "Their prayers and celibacy are all very laudable, goodman Roble, but it's the spirit of the law that counts, not just living it to the letter. Do these people live as though other people's welfare is their greatest concern? Are they understanding? Are they patient?"

Roble sighed. "Christ said the most important commandment is that we should love the Lord our God with our whole hearts, our whole souls, and our whole minds, and that the second is like it-that we should love our neighbors as ourselves. Surely, then, Faith is more important than Charity, and the priests are right in berating those of us whose faith is weak. Their anger must be righteous anger, since it doth come from holy men, and their punishments of the ungodly are only just, not uncharitable."

"There is such a thing as mercy," Magnus pointed out. "Aye, but protection of the flock is of greater import. They must quash such heresy as mine, say they, to protect their lambs from the wolves. For all of this, there must be obedience, exact adherence to each commandment of the priests."

"So they rule, and everybody has to do what they say." Roble shrugged. "There is some sense to it. They must punish those who break the Law, the Ten Commandments, and that punishment must be strenuous and public, to teach others to resist temptations to sin. Disobedience must likewise be punished, that all will live by God's Law, and those who seek to flee from God's jurisdiction must be prevented-for their own good, lest they mire themselves in sin."

"And nobody notices that all of this just incidentally gives the priests total power over the people in this village?"

"Hush!" Roble glanced over his shoulder. "Say no such word, stranger, on thy life! To say that worldly power is of greater import to the clergy than God and His flock, is blasphemy."

"And you believe all this?"

"Nay!" Roble's face suddenly contorted with a swift and intense rage. "I have tried-the dear Lord doth know I have tried! And for fifteen years I had nearly believed that I believed-but my son's pain hath torn aside the veil of my pretense! I can credit their teachings no longer!"

"Good to hear." Rod hunched down low, speaking softly to Roble. "From what I know of the monastery, goodman, the Abbot would never appoint a bishop-in fact, the issue has come up before, and the upshot was that there has never been a real, official bishop in Gramarye, anywhere. On top of that, it takes four years to learn what you need to become a priest, and I don't think the Abbot would have been willing to ordain Eleazar in only a few months."

Roble stared. "Dost say Eleazar was a false priest?"

"A false priest, and a falser bishop. In fact, I'm saying he was a charlatan, who played upon the people's faith and confidence to make himself undisputed ruler over his own petty kingdom. All he really wanted was to be top dog, and he didn't care how small his pack was."

"So." Roble sat up straighter, life coming back into his eyes-life, and a gleam of fire. "I thank thee, stranger. Thou hast freed me."

"Don't go jumping to conclusions, now," Rod cautioned. "Just because you know the truth doesn't mean they'll let you leave. And it certainly doesn't mean they'll let you tell it."

"I shall take my chances with the dogs and the hunters," Roble said, smiling, "and if I die, at the least I'll see my son again."

"Assuredly they would not slay thee!" Magnus said, aghast.

"Aye. They would take my life, to save my soul from the temptations of Satan."

The words gave Rod a chill, but he shrugged it off and said, "Good enough. I think you'll live to see the outside world-that is, if my son doesn't feel that helping you get loose will interfere with your neighbors' right to choose their own form of government?"

Roble frowned, at a loss, but Magnus said, "No fear, my father. His right to leave is equal to their right to stay."

"Yes," Rod said softly. "It all comes down to the freedom to choose, doesn't it? About something a little more important than which kind of beverage you'll be drinking." He turned back to Roble. "Meet us at the edge of the forest after dark, goodman, at the deer track near. . ." He broke off. "Near my son's grave?" Roble nodded, hard with determination. "A fitting place for my farewell to this village. Yet I would not have thee share my punishment, strangers."

"We will not," Magnus assured him.

Rod looked at his son's face, and felt a thrill of delight and apprehension. He knew Magnus was quite capable of murder, but he hoped the boy wasn't looking forward to it. "Believe me," he said to Roble, "your chances will be a lot better with us."

"Then I should not be seen talking any longer with thee." Roble rose, drank down the last of his ale, and said a loud "Farewell!" then a softer, quicker, "Bless thee, strangers." He turned, and strode out of the tavern.

Rod glanced up, but the innkeeper was still in the kitchen. "Well," his son said, "thou hast given him comfort, of a fashion."

Rod turned to smile at him, but saw the look on his face and froze with the smile half-cracked.

"Let us have air, and space for free talk," Magnus muttered, and stood up so quickly that he almost toppled both table and bench-and father, too. Rod scrambled to his feet, but Magnus had turned away and stormed out of the inn. Rod stared after him, surprised, then hurried to catch up. He didn't speak, just went alongside his giant son, matching him stride for stride, which took some stretching.

"Thus may we see," Magnus said at last, "how religion may twist and torture the soul of a man."

Rod stared straight ahead, astounded.

His son turned a dark and brooding gaze upon him. "Do I shock thee, then, my father?"

"No," Rod said slowly, "but you did kind of take me by surprise there."

"Wherefore?"

"Because," Rod said carefully, "I would have said that what you're looking at is a twisted version of a good religion, not a good religion twisting a man."

Magnus slowed to brooding. "Aye. This is not the same Faith that you and my mother taught me."

"Not at all-in several major particulars. Oh, the forms are the same, but Eleazar made several major changes in doctrine to increase his own power, and the spirit of this religion is diametrically opposed to the Faith of the good Friars of St. Vdicon. The Faith I learned says that Charity is the most important virtue, not obedience."

"Is't so?" Magnus demanded. "Hath not the Church ever insisted that. none diverge from its dogma? Hast thou forgot the persecutions of heretics, the wars 'twist different sects, the Inquisition?"

"That was long ago," Rod said, brooding. "I'd like to think the Church of Rome is above such hypocrisy now."

"Indeed! And how wouldst thou say this current bishop hath twisted that Faith?"