perfectly acceptable.
And you will put me through Hell before then. Though he had no idea what Bumble planned, Vlad smiled. “Monday, then. It shall be perfect.”
Chapter Forty
5 July 1767 St. Martin’s Cathedral, Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria
Bishop Bumble climbed into the pulpit slowly, measuring his movements for their gravity. Prince Vlad had suggested that he could not have acted to display outrage when necessary. He still stung from having been blindsided by the Prince’s ploy. Though the Prince had claimed he did not want to portray himself as Pilate, the Bishop knew that many would see him that way. For his temerity at having tried his little game, Prince Vlad would have to pay.
Bumble grasped the top of the podium and gave himself a moment. He nodded toward Benjamin Beecher, and then turned and nodded to the Prince and his family. He let his gaze wander over the congregation. Vlad had been right about one thing: the delay had packed the Cathedral. Which is perfect for my performance.
“Presiding over a heresy trial is a terrible thing, my friends. Reverend Beecher, Bishops Harder and Southfield have been a comfort. At the times when I might have shrunk from the enormity of the situation, they supported me. Their clear-headed counsel kept me focused on one point. The reason for the trial was in the hopes that the defendant would see the error of his ways, would recant his heresy, and again join in communion with the Church.”
Bumble looked down, as if he needed a moment to let him get the better of his emotions. “I should like to thank Caleb Frost for accepting the challenge no one else would, of defending Ephraim Fox, even though Fox did not desire defense. Caleb’s objections reminded us that we had a grave responsibility to present all the evidence so there could be no doubt as to Fox’s involvement with heresy. It was hoped that Fox himself would realize how firmly he was caught, and this realization would be the catalyst for his repentance. Despite Caleb’s spirited defense, it was not.
“Even though the case against Ephraim Fox was so overwhelmingly strong, I hoped we would not be forced to pass down the sentence that we did. It is not an easy thing to condemn a man to death. To me, to my fellow judges, that sentence would not only rob him of his life, it would rob him of eternity. For if he died unrepentant, his soul would forever be consigned to the burning pits of Perdition. While we, my friends, will enjoy Paradise, he will only know unending torment.”
The Bishop passed a hand over his forehead. “Even before we passed sentence, I went and spoke with Prince Vladimir on this point. Only he could grant the punishment of death. He had just finished examining Ephraim Fox himself, and what I saw on the Prince’s face made my heart shrink. For even though I wished forgiveness for a man who denied and defied God, I saw the Prince was not disposed to grant leniency for crimes committed against the Crown. Though I expressed a wish that he use his power to commute the sentence to life imprisonment at Iron Mountain so that Ephraim Fox would have a chance to reconsider and be saved, the Prince was adamant that insults against the Crown could not go unpunished. And while he could have conducted his own trial, and ordered Fox’s execution on criminal grounds, he felt it just as well to save time and allow our sentence to stand.”
Bumble turned, nodded toward the Prince. He thought he detected some anger in the man’s eyes, but the Prince did a very good job in keeping his face impassive. That will teach you to defy me, and to try to thrust responsibility upon me.
“The Good Lord commanded us to love our enemies as ourselves. He beseeched us to forgive and to turn the other cheek. But he also warned us to render unto the government that which was the government’s.” And now, Highness, I throw you a bone. “I know that Prince Vlad’s decision was not an easy one for him, and that perhaps his hands were every bit as much tied as mine. I look forward, in the coming days and weeks, to praying with him, so that together we can find peace with the choices thrust upon us. As is said, ‘uneasy is the head which wears the crown,’ and the same may be said for the mitre. Together, I hope, we can understand and forgive, as we shall hope to be forgiven.”
Vlad nodded to Bumble, slightly, but enough to be noticed.
Bumble returned the nod. “And for all of you, for all peoples who claim the Good Lord as their Savior, there is a lesson. Many are the false prophets who come and twist Scripture to deceive you. They wish to bind your thoughts in such a way that you are confused and seek understanding through them. Such a false prophet was Ephraim Fox. He and his work were placed on this earth to do only one thing: to sever your relationship with God and His son. The flames to which he will be consigned are the flames he shall know for all time without end. Look upon him and his fate, weep, and do not follow in his footsteps.”
Nathaniel Woods, his face and hands blacked with burnt cork, huddled in the shadows across the street from the old Temperance Armory building. Two men sat before the door and a single lantern burned from where it hung from a nail above the doorway. One of the men, the fatter and older one, had tipped his chair back against the wall and was already nodding off. The other, a nervous young man who had been treated to an extra mug of ale for his dangerous duty guarding the heretic, had taken to bouncing from one foot to the other. He said something to his compatriot, then turned and walked to the alley beside the Armory.
Nathaniel distinctly heard the thump of a body hitting the ground, but the first guard did not notice. Taking one last look up and down the street, Nathaniel darted across. With his right foot he caught a crosspiece on the chair and tipped it forward. As the guard rocked toward the street, Nathaniel dropped a leather hood over his head and pulled the neck tight. The man’s hands went to his throat to try and tear the hood off, giving Nathaniel an easy shot at the back of his skull with a leather sack filled with lead shot.
The man pitched face first onto the ground. Nathaniel plucked keys from his belt, closed the shutter on the lamp, then opened the Armory door. He dragged his man in and tied his wrists while Owen did the same with the skinny guard. Nathaniel locked the front door, then the two of them walked to the back and opened a stout oaken door behind which the Steward had been placed.
Fire’s prison had once been the strong-room constructed to store supplies of brimstone and firestones. It was fairly sizable for a prison cell, but Fire had been bound in the far corner. The short chain only allowed him to travel five feet. A tray with a crust of bread and a cup of water lay six feet away. Nathaniel thought that was an unnecessary cruelty, since with the gauntlets and the mask, there was no way he could have eaten that last meal.
The Steward’s head came up and one eye opened. The other had swollen shut.
Owen crouched next to him, unlocked the chains from the wall. “We don’t have much time, Steward. We’re taking you out of here. You’re not burning tomorrow. You’re not a heretic.”
“Who sent you?”
Nathaniel worked on the mask’s buckles. “Ain’t no time for that. God’s got more work for you. You know that. We’s just making sure you do it. Come with me.”
The two men helped the Steward to his feet. Nathaniel took the keys from Owen and carefully walked the preacher toward the rear of the old Armory building. It had been built with its back to the Benjamin River, which made transporting supplies from Norisle easier. Nathaniel unlocked a small door and guided the Steward through.
A twenty-foot-long war canoe waited beside the dock. A slender, clean-shaven man of average height accepted the keys from Nathaniel, then helped the Steward into the canoe. Justice Bone bid the man lie down, then covered him with tent cloth, making the prisoner look like little more than wadded fabric. Nathaniel took his position in the front of the canoe.
Owen came out of the Armory and tossed a strip of cloth into the river, then got into the middle, all but sitting on the Steward. Nathaniel pushed them back from the dock, and Justice guided them into the middle of the broad river. The sliver of a moon half-hid itself behind thready clouds. All three men paddled, keeping their pace steady and serene. They waved to those who saw them passing beneath bridges and excited no alarm.
As they made it past Temperance’s western wall, all three men breathed a sigh of relief. Nathaniel turned. “You weren’t in there much time at all.”
Owen smiled. “They’ll get the message, literally. We’re halfway done.”
