The Wood Nymph, the Cranky Saint

to talk to the bishop. I’m afraid I slipped away very early and rather secretly. I wanted a fast horse, to be sure of reaching the cathedral city before the priests left there for Yurt.”

His black eyes flashed at me with what in someone else would have been mischievous enjoyment. “The fastest horse in the stables, of course, used to be the queen’s stallion, until she sold it when the little prince was born. So I took Prince Dominic’s new one. Naturally, I didn’t tell him what I was doing. The stable boy was still too sleepy to give me an argument. When we all got back to the castle late last night, Dominic wasn’t there.”

This made it complete. The regent would now be furious with all of us. There were few horses in the royal stables that could carry him easily, now that he had gotten so heavy, and he had been inordinately proud of the enormous but light-footed chestnut he had bought that spring. And for the chaplain, of all people, to take it!

But this thought was driven out by another. Why had Dominic not been back at the castle? It was only a short distance down to the old wizard’s cottage in the woods. But if the royal regent and Yurt’s best knights had come hammering on the green door, anything might have happened.

But I didn’t dare say anything to the chaplain about this with the priests so close behind. “That’s not Dominic’s stallion,” I said instead, looking back at the mount Joachim was leading.

“Of course not. His is a wonderful stallion, very fast and nearly tireless, but it deserved a rest once the need for speed was over.” He smiled again. At this rate he would soon break his previous record for most smiles in an hour. “It was good to see the bishop. I should have gone there before, rather than relying on messages.”

By now we had reached the others. Joachim performed the introductions quickly. Nimrod appeared highly startled to see the priests. He stepped quickly back into the shadow of the trees, turning his face away, while they too stared at him in surprise.

“And I have a message you’ll all be interested in,” Joachim said. “Since almost everyone else in the castle was gone, the constable had me come to the telephone when the king and queen called last night. The baby prince has taken his first steps.”

Evrard smiled politely, and Diana said, “How sweet.” I alone was as delighted to hear this news as Joachim. I was also intensely relieved the royal family was not here in Yurt but rather some where safe, where a baby’s first steps could be the most exciting event.

The priests of Saint Eusebius left us and headed toward the shrine. The duchess glanced upward. The sun had long since passed from the narrow valley, and the afternoon sky far above was a pale blue. “It’s late,” she said. “We’d better get started if we’re heading back to the royal castle. We won’t get there tonight, but I’ve got a tent big enough for at least four.”

Before I could answer, Evrard said, “I don’t know about Daimbert, but I’m staying here. Just leave me a little more to eat, my lady-the wood nymph’s berries aren’t very filling!”

I imagined five or six things that Diana might say in the short pause before she answered, but then she only said, very quietly, “I’d somehow imagined that my ducal wizard would be able to help me with magical problems and magical creatures.”

Evrard refused to take the hint. “I thought I’d already helped you with magical creatures,” he said with a wink.

Diana took a short breath through her nose, not quite a snort.

“I myself-” I started.

But Joachim didn’t give me a chance to finish. “Will you stay with us this evening, Daimbert?” he asked, turning his enormous dark eyes on me. “The priests and I will pass the night near the hermitage, and I’d very much like your counsel.”

This was becoming like a frustrating dream, in which one runs and runs but never reaches the goal. I had been trying to leave the valley since early this morning, but now I was trapped back here for another night. Joachim had never before, that I could recall, asked specifically for my counsel.

“Of course,” I said. There was nothing else I could have said.

In a few minutes, Evrard had disappeared back toward the nymph’s end of the grove, carrying bread and cheese from the duchess’s supplies; she and Nimrod had started along the road that would lead them back out of the valley; and Joachim and I went up to the shrine of the Holy Toe.

The priests were kneeling at the altar and showed no immediate sign of seizing the golden reliquary of the toe and making a dash for it. Two of them were middle-aged, and the third, who kept giving the others nervous glances, was younger, probably about the same age as Joachim and I. Once they and the old hermit had finished exchanging blessings, we all started back down the valley.

“We knew, of course,” said one of the older priests, “that Saint Eusebius had retreated to a grove far from the bustle of the city when he decided to become a hermit.” The priest was as round as an apple, and he breathed hard after the scramble down the track by the falls, but his eyes did not have any of the good humor I had always associated with apples. “But somehow I had not expected that now, a full fifteen hundred years later, the site of his hermitage would still be located in such a God-forsaken wilderness.”

“God never forsakes any land of His creation,” said the other older priest, who was as thin as the other was round. He spoke intensely, and his eyes seemed to gleam.

“We’ll have to sleep rough tonight,” continued the round priest, paying no attention to this comment. Then he held up a hand, as though to forestall a remark no one in fact had made. “But we must not grumble. God demands far harder of those dedicated to His service.”

“And we must follow to the death,” agreed the thin priest. He whirled on their younger colleague. “I hope you understand fully!”

“Fully!” the young priest cried in panic.

I didn’t dare meet Joachim’s eye. But he seemed calm and peaceful. I was quite sure I would not have been as calm after more than two days in these priests’ company. I reflected how fortunate I was to have come to a royal court where Joachim was the chaplain, rather than someone like either of the older priests. Whatever he wanted of me, I fervently hoped we could finish our discussion tonight.

“Tomorrow,” said the thin priest, “we shall pray that the saint make his will unequivocally clear to us-that is, his will that we take his relics back with us.”

“I have no doubt Eusebius will be clear at the last,” said Joachim. “This is, after all, the saint who responded, when a man importuned him incessantly to straighten his crooked arm, by resetting the bone so violently that bone fragments flew out through the skin.”

All three priests stared at him, and so did I, but none of them answered.

“I saw some stone huts further down the valley,” said the round priest instead. “I’m sure they are provided for the crude comfort of pilgrims to the shrine.”

“In fact,” I put in, “they’re the huts of the old hermit’s apprentices.” All three priests turned to look at me as though surprised I would dare address them, and the thin priest started to speak, but I went on determinedly. “The apprentices like to practice hospitality. They may be willing to let us have one of their huts for tonight.”

“Ordained priests of the Church have precedence over mere apprentice hermits,” said the round priest. “We shall take those huts that seem most appropriate for our use.”

“I’ll ask the apprentices,” said Joachim. Although he spoke quietly, the others turned toward him sharply. “Come with me, Daimbert,” he added, and we walked together down the valley, leaving the other priests looking thoughtfully after us.

I wondered hopefully if they were planning to report Joachim to the bishop as someone who had become dangerously friendly with a wizard, in which case I need not worry about him being asked to go join the cathedral chapter. I had several things I would have liked to ask, but the only one I ventured was, “What did the bishop say when you talked to him?”

“He reminded me that God does not give us responsibilities too heavy for us to bear, and that He is always there if we will only turn to Him.”

This was almost exactly what the old hermit had said to me, although I found that it had eased my worries much less than it seemed to have eased Joachim’s.

“All priests are called Father,” he continued, “because we act as mediators between humanity and the One Father. But the bishop really is the father of all the Christian souls in two kingdoms. Even with his manifold duties and responsibilities, he still took time for a fatherly discussion with me.”

“What did he suggest you do about the Cranky- about Saint Eusebius’s relics?”