The prince sounded rather messianic himself. "Massed archers. Dozens, hundreds of them."

"Which my lord has?"

"Wishes he had. That's my idea. The damned Coritani aren't going to wait while we haul catapults and onagers into place against them. Archers." Marchudd hunched forward morosely. "The problem is time. Any man can throw a pilum well in a month of practice and be profi- cient with a shortsword in three. In six you can take a lout who can't keep his seat in a latrine and make a fair horse- man out of him. But do you know how long, Meganius, how long it takes to train a good archer, the sort to match those tribesmen? Two years, Meganius. Well."

The prince of the Parisii and Brigantes hurled him- self against the chair back so hard it creaked in protest.

Like all energetic men, he even relaxed at full charge.

"Just wait. They laugh at me, call me coward until I'm ready, and then . . ." In Marchudd's parody of relaxation, suddenly there was genuine stillness. His mouth curled in a cold smile. "And then, when they've awakened from the royal drubbing I've given them, those heathen bastards will find they've lost a holy war and been converted."

Meganius looked up with the feeling he'd missed some- thing. "Holy?"

'Oh, yes. You will bless my banners, which will then go forward in Christ's name. I li annex as much of their northern lands as my soldiers can hold, and your grace will have a larger diocese. Should I expend so much for an odd lot of cattle? Certainly Rome will call it fair trade, they always do. What are you looking for on that map?"

"Succatus Patricius."

"Who?"

"You met him in my garden last summer."

"That stuffy little priest? What of him?"

"I've received another letter. He can't write very of- ten, but he's made converts among the-uh, Prydn."

"Never heard of Picts by that name."

"Faerie, Highness."

"Oh, God!' Marchudd hooted. "Not Faerie! Those lice aren't even human. Do they count as converts?"

Meganius mused over the map. "An interesting ques- tion. And Father Patricius is a far more interesting man than one would think."

158 "And how long will they stay converted?"

"He's taught them the use of iron."

"Oh, come." Marchudd waved it away. "They run from iron, always have. All my peasants carry a bit of it for protection, like stinking herbs in a plague year."

"Nevertheless, they're using it. Marvelous craftsmen, he writes."

Marchudd yawned, tired of the subject. "Extraordinary."

"Perhaps my lord will illuminate this map for me.

Here are the Venicones and here the Votadini. What lies north of them?"

Marchudd scanned the sparsely featured map- "Taixali, Damnonii. Somewhere . . . here."

The bishop's finger moved up the map. "And this

line?"

"The old Wall of Antoninus. Bank and ditch, a few forts. Abandoned in Antoninus' own time. Nothing there now."

"And north of that?"

The prince shrugged. "Moss, rocks, and reindeer.

Why?"

The blank space north of the faded line was colored in pale blue. To Meganius it seemed inadequate for what it contained, a man doing miracles and teetering on the edge of heresy- "Well, that is where he's gone."

"Indeed." Clearly uninterested, Marchudd drummed his fingers on the chair arm. Suddenly he launched out of it, off the dais, charging toward the chamber entrance to bark at the guards in the hall.

"Where are those tardy people who call themselves a council? It's late. It's getting laie." Marchudd vanished down the hall, trailing concern and invective.

Meganius rolled the map and returned it to the case.

Moss, rocks, and reindeer, that's where he's gone. Farther than that, much farther.

Is it apostasy or simple truth to say that earth is mother and sky father-nature itself a religion to these folk? They have, after a fashion, an Exodus old as our own. Not that they cannot but will not enter a state of Grace with so much of their belief forced to remain outside, abandoned.

159.

While Rome wrangles with Alexandria, and An- tioch wars with Athens over definitions of God and Grace, this is a fact that our Holy Mother Church will stumble over again and again, the Council of Nicea notwithstanding, until we see our position anent those we hope to bring to Christ.

It is the doctrine of the Fathers of our Church that these elder and false gods were given to mankind to raise him step by step toward that faith and redemption proved on Golgotha. All true, and yet to fulminate among the idolaters-as you know certain of our brethren can certainly fulminate-to say: Now that you know the cor- rect way, cease the error and practice the truth, is in logic to set a student to the harp for years and then to send him to his first performance with a horn.

Your grace, I do not presume to refute revealed truth but only question methods and strictures laid down by the holy who have never been anywhere but among the converted. These Prydn have no sense of time, of months and years as we have, but have moved with the sun and seasons, breathing in tune with the very hu- mors of the earth they call their mother.

Therein is the problem. He who was promised has come, and the earthly lease of man is cir- cumscribed. By raising man's soul from the dust, we must inevitably part him from the dust, part him from the nature he has known.

Illusion or error, this nature, this earth and sky have always been the center of his belief. I could not impart the first word of faith to them until I accepted and proceeded from this fact....

This from a young man who, only a year before.

would have yelped "heresy!" at the mere hint of such thoughts. No, Meganius would not discuss the letter with

160 anyone, lay or clerical. He hadn't expected the northern tribes to accept faith in panting multitudes, but the boy had gone far beyond that.

Preserve me, he married her. A creature of debatable hu- manity, one half-naked hwband already, and he married her.

God would not lose Patricius, but the Church might.

Only Cru. It hurt her.

All fhain rejoiced in her marriage but him. It wasn't like Cru. Although it was foregone since the time of the Jesu-magic that she would marry Padrec, Dorelei waited until they'd moved the herds north to fresh pasture. Like wealth spilled over from a laden chest, the magic brought other fortune. This year the grass was good everywhere, and the news of Dorelei's new power preceded them as she moved boldly through the lowland pastures. When tatlfolk relied on iron to turn them away, Salmon offered to buy it and made impulsive gifts to their astonished but grateful children.

They passed rihrough the bewildered Damnonii with- out incident, but leaving their fame behind, not so much for Dorelei or Padrec but her sister's love of children.

Neniane drew a broken and infected milk tooth from a toddler and cleaned the gum, stilling the pain with willowbark. Not without some coaxing, of course. Chil- dren know what's going to hurt. Neniane spoke to her like a merchant about to dicker.

"Do know thee hard bargainer. Let me draw thy tooth, useless as't is, and this night thy head will dream bright on the pillow. When Lugh rises, will be gift under it."

Like her mother, the child had a true Pictish love of bargains. The tooth was swiftly and almost painlessly drawn.

"Now, run and play. Will not forget the magic."