A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who's left a review so far. They all encourage me and keep me motivated to write.
I know from experience that leaving a review can tax your creativity as much as actually writing. When I read a story I enjoy, my reaction at the end of every single chapter is usually, "Dang that was still good. Keep it coming."
So I appreciate everyone for finding something more meaningful to say. (Though no pressure. "Dang that's good, keep it coming," is fine too.) Thanks all!
O LORD, rebuke me not in thy wrath: neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.
For thine arrows stick fast in me, and thy hand presseth me sore.
I am feeble and sore broken: I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart.
My lovers and my friends stand aloof from my sore: and my kinsmen stand far off.
They also that seek after my life lay snares for me: and they that seek my hurt speak mischievous things, and imagine deceits all the day long.
But I, as a deaf man, heard not; and I was as a dumb man that openeth not his mouth.
For I will declare mine iniquity; I will be sorry for my sin.
But mine enemies are lively, and they are strong: and they that hate me wrongfully are multiplied.
- Psalm XXXVIII (KJV)
When Bishop Rhodri entered the solar, the king was standing beside a window, reading a book by the morning light.
"Sire," said Rhodri, bowing. "Good morrow. How nice to see you with a book! A studious king is a lamp unto to his kingdom."
The king's brow was furrowed by thought. Moving slowly, as if in a daze, he closed the volume and put it under his arm.
"Rhodri," the king said. "Were you close to your mother?"
The bishop looked taken aback. After a while, he said, "Holy Church has always been my mother, sire. And the Abbot of St Brigid's was my father. The man and woman who birthed me, I barely remember. When King Uther was at war with Mercia, our village was often raided. I was very small when my parents perished. I have ugly memories, mercifully faded by time. Whole streets of houses ablaze, people screaming, and knights in Mercian blue, their longswords red with blood... A foretaste of Hell, created by mortal men, who often strive to outdo the Fiend."
Arthur stared at Rhodri. "I am sorry."
The bishop shook his head, his blonde locks bouncing. "It was long ago. I have made my peace with what little I remember. What brought on the question, sire?"
"I have been thinking of my mother a great deal. Ever since this prayer book fell into my hands, I have heard a faint echo of her words, and what I hear disturbs me. I feel… deprived that I never got to know her. I feel… angered at the choices my father made. But this is just self-pity. You had no mother, either."
"But I did have a mother, sire. As do you." The bishop raised his arm, and pointed to a corner of the room, where an icon depicted the Blessed Virgin, with the Divine Child enthroned on her lap. "Our Lord gave His own mother to us at the foot of the Cross. He said to her, Mulier, ecce filius tuus. Woman, behold thy son."
Arthur smiled wanly. "I mean no disrespect, but an image of Our Lady seems a poor substitute for a living, breathing woman. Perhaps it is my lack of faith."
The bishop shook his head again. "No, the loss of one's natural mother is to be grieved, sire. She has an important role to play in the formation of the man. We see this, again, by example of the Holy Virgin.
"Monastics often preach on the sinful nature of Woman. They call her the instrument chosen by the Serpent for Man's destruction, as in the Garden. Her body is the vessel of temptation. But Almighty God, who could have incarnated Himself ex nihilo, chose to make a woman the instrument through which the Word became flesh. Through His Incarnation, Our Lord elevated the Blessed Virgin above all of Creation. Thus we see the importance of motherhood in the Divine Plan."
Arthur looked away. "I saw my mother once. I disobeyed my father and consorted with a sorcerer. I was so desperate to speak to her. I think it was a glamour, a shade conjured by a witch who meant me harm. And yet… I still feel there was something of my mother in that spell. Merlin told me it was all an illusion. I wish I knew the truth."
Rhodri asked, "What does your heart say?"
"My heart says… there was something real in that vision. And Merlin lied to me to stop me from hurting my father. There were so many people who wished to hurt my father back then. Many of them had good reason. Towards the end of his life, he saw the ghosts of those he had slain coming back to haunt him. Some days I fear that will be my fate. I already see things in my dreams."
Arthur looked back at the bishop. "After my father died, I had the chantry built for him, and the new chapel. I pledged lands and silver to the Church towards expiation of his sins. There are monks praying for his immortal soul, night and day. But his hands were so bloody, I fear all the petitions in the world may not be enough to save him.
"Can we ever know if we are damned?"
Rhodri touched the side of his face in a nervous gesture. "None of us are given knowledge of our ultimate fate, sire. The veil that parts the living from the dead is too subtle for all but the prophets to pierce. And even they see but imperfectly, catching glimpses, shadows, and impressions, which often confuse as much as they reveal.
"All we can do is repent of our evil actions, and throw ourselves upon the mercy of the Creator."
"Then I would do that now," said Arthur. "There is something that troubles me deeply. A grave evil that I have committed. I would have you shrive me."
Rhodri raised his eyebrows. "Would you not be confessed by the Archbishop?"
"No. And you know why. This concerns… sorcery. And on that subject, I fear that the Church, like my father, cannot respond with compassion. I wronged a sorcerer. Many sorcerers, in fact. And I would not have the Archbishop call my evil actions a good, simply because they were done against pagans. That is why I choose you."
"Very well, sire," said the bishop.
The bishop seated himself on the king's chair, and drew up a hood, obscuring his face. Now he no longer acted in his own person, but in the person of the Lord.
Arthur knelt before Rhodri, and kissed the bishop's ring of office. For a brief space of time, their positions were reversed. Rhodri was the one who held power in this sacrament, and the king was a humble petitioner, seeking his pardon.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Arthur said.
Rhodri made the sign of the cross. "Trust in the Lord, for his mercy endures forever. May he who forgave the thief and the Magdalene have pity on us also. How long has it been since your last confession?"
"It was almost two moons ago. When you shrove me before Easter."
"And this evil which preys upon your mind… was it committed in the last two months?"
"No, Father. Before."
"How long before?"
"Years. More than four years."
Rhodri's voice became stern. "Then you have approached the Host sacrilegiously, many times! That was wrong of you. I will impose an extra penance."
Arthur looked up, his eyes flashing with irritation. It was plain he was unused to being spoken to in this manner.
Rhodri was unmoved. "You have asked me to confess you, and you must accept my discretion. I am not the Archbishop, nor one of the junior priests who goes in fear of kings. The princes of this land think self-reflection is for monks. As warriors, they have no time for it. They kill whomever they please, then build a cathedral afterwards, and call the balance even. But God's mercy cannot be purchased at the marketplace. A king who fills his country with monuments, but leaves his own heart a barren wasteland, is not ready to receive grace. You must cultivate contrition of the heart before building external signs."
Arthur looked still less pleased by this statement, but he let out a breath, deflating as he did so, and nodded in acceptance.
"My son," said Rhodri, "tell me what ails you."
"Father," said the king, "in my youth, I led a raid on a Druid camp. I lost control of my men. We butchered the people: men, women and children." He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Rhodri was silent. "I was frightened, and ashamed of what I'd done. The monstrosity of the act haunted me. I buried it in my memory, hoping it would be forgotten with time. But… the spirit of a Druid boy returned to haunt me. He tried to kill me, and when I understood his purpose, I felt that I had no right to defend myself. In the end, when I submitted to him, he spared me, and offered me forgiveness."
There was another silence.
"That is what happened, Father."
Rhodri spoke. "And? What troubles you still? Is it that you were forgiven by the one you wronged, and not by God?"
"Perhaps… " said Arthur. "Only… it feels wrong. That boy had the power to forgive me for himself, but not for all his people. And it was many of them that had suffered. Many that this kingdom had persecuted. Also… it does not sit well with me. It seems unjust that I have escaped punishment, I, who enforce the law against so many others."
"It is unjust," said Rhodri. "Because you have repented, but you have not made restitution. The Church teaches that sin has many consequences. Firstly, it damages your relationship with your Creator. Secondly, it injures your Self, for you have acted contrary to your own nature. Thirdly, it separates you from your neighbour. The Druids are outside the body of the Church, but as children of Adam, and subjects of your kingdom, they are part of the body politic. As the king, you are the head to the body of all your people.
"What you have confessed to me is a very heavy sin. You were party to, and responsible for, the massacre of innocents. I understand that such things are not uncommon in the life of a warrior - I experienced them myself as a child, when the knights of Mercia came to my village, and no punishment came to them, for war excuses all. But the widespread nature of a sin does not make it less heinous. The gravity of your penance must reflect the weight of your actions.
"Therefore I prescribe for you the following expiation. For forty days and forty nights, you will fast, abstaining from all meat, good drink, and worldly comforts. Mortification of the flesh reminds us that a higher, spiritual law must govern all our actions, even those of kings. For that same period, you will daily pray the penitential Psalms, cultivating contrition of the heart, so that your spirit is truly repentant. Then, and only then, will you be ready to make public signs of repentance, so that all your subjects may see your guilt.
"Finally, I enjoin upon you the act of restitution. You must make amends with the neighbour you have injured. Therefore, you must offer alms to the Druids. Send word to them that you repent of the evil you have done, and offer to recompense them in the manner they request."
Arthur's eyes went wide. He spluttered, "What? Is it not enough for you that my kingdom has been devastated? You wish me to publicly humiliate myself so that my enemies can mock me even further?"
Rhodri was implacable. "In this act, you had no enemy but yourself."
"How can I invite the Druids to Camelot? Doesn't the Church teach that they're evil?"
"The Church has existed in this land for centuries. The Druids were expelled from Camelot two decades ago. It was your father who drove them out, and it is in your power to restore them. You will make enemies in the Church and outside her - but a king is always surrounded by enemies. The enemy he cannot afford to have is his own conscience."
Arthur's face darkened. "I will not have you dictate policy to me, priest."
"I dictate nothing," said Rhodri. "I am a servant of God. It was your conscience that drove you to seek His absolution. I have told you a way to obtain it. Dismiss me, if you please. There are a hundred other priests who will sell you a clean conscience for a Pater Noster and a pound of silver."
Arthur was in the grip of some powerful emotion. He wrung his hands, worried at his tunic and stared at the bishop.
"Before my father died," Arthur said quietly, "he saw things. Children, dripping from the wells they had drowned in. Men and women burnt at the stake, sorcerers hanged or with heads lopped off. The corpses from the thousand battles and executions he had presided over, a mass of flesh that could fill all this island's graves. They visited him in his dreams. They watched him, sometimes quiet, sometimes keeping him awake.
"If I do all these things you have said… can you promise I won't see the Druids in my dreams?"
"I can promise nothing," said Rhodri. "It is up to you whether you see the Druids coming by broad daylight, or creeping by night in the shadows."
Arthur sucked in a breath, as weary as a man who had lived for a thousand years. "Then, Father, I undertake to do all you have said."
Rhodri made the sign of the cross again. "Then I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good."
Arthur replied dully, "His mercy endureth forever."