"Oh, my sweet brother-"

"Thee can pray. Be nae writ? 'All these things I do, ye shall do an ye only believe'?"

When did I believe as you do now? When? Why can't the nails drive at least consciousness out of you? Your belief shames me, your strength condemns me, and yet I can't believe. I never knew Golgotha until now.

-Drust . . ."

"Hard to breathe. Heart be like Mal's hammer." The boy writhed suddenly. "Malgon!"

"Stay for me, brother." Malgon choked. "Do come with thee."

276 Parks Godwin

"Pray for me, Padrec."

1 will give you all the truth in me now. I loved thee more in thy innocence than any god in a's wisdom, or all the citizens of heaven. Whv not? You showed me all the God I shall ever see. You show me life. You show me how to die. May I do il as well. They'll never know the deception.

"First words thee did teach me-"

Don't.

"The Lord is my shepherd-"

The lowered is my septic and shall not mount. He leadeth me beside stale waters. Drust, vou were the reality of mv love, not that. Without you it was only echo, a dream of vanity.

. . - someone shouting. PansiH Parish!

Padrec peered about dimly to see men scurrying, fright- ened to horse and weapons, a lethal Hurry of movement.

In the center of it he recognized Ambrosius, white-faced, galloping nearer behind the tance, and after him the needle- pointed spears coming like a nver at flood tide.

"Roman-"

Rhiwallon, transcended, making a poem of his death.

Drawing his sword, poised to meet Ambrosius' lance. Oh, yes, Rhiwallon would do that. For him life was still poetry, and the ending should rhyme. Look at him bellowing his defiance against that tide, and doesn't he love it? Now he is the center of drama and meaning.

!n the middle of screaming, far removed from the un- reality of such things as men, horses, and retribution. Padrec knett at die foot of the obscene cross where love was impaled.

Drust's eyes were glazing now, as the carpenter at the end. no doubt, going into darkness that held nothing, only a name that men used as excuse. Now Drust knew it too, must know it. Why forsaken?

"Dost forget . . , words, Padrec Raven?"

Fixed, but there was no darkness in the eyes, no shadow of il over the light that shone there. Drust's head lolled forward. "1 shall not want, Padrec. He maketh me to lie down . . ."

The Final convulsion. The death.

/ will not look away. I will remember this ami tell Megamw.

A man who speaks of crucifvaon should see it once to know what he's prating of.

277.

Crouched by Padrec, Malgon was brushed close in his soul by that death and began to keen softly. They had not moved when Ambrosius strode up, hoping to save the three men. The boys from Reindeer fhain were more than half dead when Rhiwallon put them up. It would have helped nothing to take Drust down even then. Thoughtful Rhiwallon had even pierced his side with a spear.

Padrec understood little any of them said to him, even Malgon. Not important. Padrec crimsoned his hands from Drust's wounds and smeared his face with the blood.

Once more he worked his hands over his dead brother's broken body, pattering the words of the Mass more pur- posefully than ever before in his life. He bore the hands before him like the Host, to where Rhiwailon lay dying.

Padrec smeared the proud mouth and moustaches with the offering. The last thing Rhiwallon saw was a coiled madness that worked over him while the febrile laughter spattered in and out of the words.

"It is the blood of the lamb, tallfolk. And none so deserving as you and I."

The Iberian scout reflected with comfort how little the mad priest's worship differed from his own. There was always blood. Men could understand that.

Meganius hurried his servants along the street, heed- less of the chair jouncing about over the cobbles and doing nasty things to his digestion.

The holy war was over, the Coritani capitulated on Rhiwalion's death, the last fort opened to VI Legio with no resistance, and Marchudd's message required him at the forum on a matter of Church authority. Sochet, alive by a miracle. Meganius would burst the lungs of a hun- dred lazy servants to get there.

"I said hurry. You call that hurrying? Run!"

They just dropped down in front of the palace, run out. Meganius puffed up the steps through the entrance where the guards knew him too well to question, and caught his breath in the hallway leading to the torum.

Prince Marchudd sat in his chair ofstate on the dais- rather formally, Meganius noted. Marchudd's leg was draped over the chair arm, but the sandaled foot jiggled nervously. A study in detached contrast, Ambrosius

278 Aurelianus lounged against a pillar, arms crossed. The tribune was crisp and simple in a white tunic under the lightest ceremonial breastplate. Still a picture of young vitality, but much of the starch was gone from the Beard- less Mars. He looked used.

Marchudd rose to greet his bishop. "Your grace. Our thanks as usual for your promptness."

"My lord, thank my servants. They certainly won't

thank me."

"It's a matter that won't take too much of your time."

"Formality. Your priest." There was a faint tinge of distaste in the shift of Ambrosius' glance to Marchudd. "I am quite willing to dismiss charges, since Patricius is realty your responsibility."

"But we must still adhere to judicial form," Marchudd stipulated. "All right, bring them in."

From a small antechamber off the forum, two guards waved in Padrec and Malgon. They were not bound. They'd been given clean garments of linen and homespun, but their alae boots were disintegrating from every mile of the long summer's march. Padrec did not kneel to the dioce- san ring.

"Meganius."

"I am very glad to see you alive, Sochet. I prayed for your safety."

"Thank you."

"And this is Malgon, if I remember."

"Aye." The small man stayed close to Padrec, suspi- cious 01 houses so big and roofs so high that evil could slip between to do a man harm. To Meganius, a sensitive man, there was a peculiar coldness that surrounded the two like a bog. "And your men, Sochet? How fares your company?"

"You are looking at my company."

Surely he doesnt mean . . . there were a hundred eighty of

them.