An Audience

The audience chamber in the Archbishop’s palace was opulent. Outside, the bells still tolled in a hoarse and uneven pattern. Inside, the plague doctors stood before the high-backed chair where Archbishop Gregory sat, his face dull with exhaustion, despite his ceremonial dress and the steady glare of two burning pyres beyond the windows. His chaplain stood by his side.

Lorenzo spoke first, the mask keeping his voice flat and distant.

”Your Grace, we are here at Abbess Elinor’s behest, to humbly request that you refrain from blessing the River Lorian for the burial of the dead.”

”Who is this now?” Gregory asked his chaplain while reviewing the letter.

”Physicians. They’ve traveled all the way from Eatonbury Manor, Your Grace,” the chaplain answered.

”Eatonbury Village, Your Grace,” Cedric clarified.

The archbishop’s fingers tightened on the arm of the chair.

“Ah, Eatonbury. I traveled there once. Beautiful forests. Wide-open fields on either side. But this is the city. And, as you can see, our churchyards are full and our dead, far too many. We are filling up trenches faster than we can dig them. The recent rain does not make the land suitable. Rivers have been used for this very purpose during times of great mortality.”

Cedric stepped forward.

”And the villages downriver suffer for it. With more corruption. More disease. Until they have no choice but to flock to cities like Ansel. We passed several of your parishes on our journey here. Each village, same sad tale: bodies caught in the reeds, washed up against the banks after heavy rain.”

“Your Grace, the currents,” Edgar added. “What is consecrated here becomes corruption once it reaches the next parish.”

”If I may, Your Grace,” Agnes then spoke up.

It was necessary for Archbishop Gregory to sit up on his chair, lean over to be able to see the speaker.

”My…” he said. “A tiny sister, if I ever saw one.”

Agnes bowed respectfully.

”Abbess Elinor sends her regards,” she said. “The good doctors here have marked the patterns and have seen their findings confirmed by the counsel of physicians in neighboring villages. The physicians agree that when the river is used, the parishes downstream see a rise in sickness, not within weeks, but within days.”

Archbishop Gregory sat back down when he saw it was a child who continued to speak to him.

“Refusing this request will double the hardships for Ansel, as Doctor Cedric has stated, as villagers come here trying to flee the corruption in their waters.”

Gregory blinked slowly.

“So you would have us refuse the people a consecrated resting place, sister?”

”We would have you refuse the river,” Agnes said. “Yes.”

“We need less corruption and cleaner sources of water,” Lorenzo said. “In your case, controlled burning of bodies that cannot be safely buried on dry land and away from water sources…would prove the preferable solution.”

The Archbishop refused to speak for what seemed like hours.

”You all make a peculiar company,” he remarked. “I will consider what you have said,” he said. “But the pressure from the city …and on God’s servant here before you…is great. Now. I will deliberate, and you will await my decision. You can stay here in this House of God, provided the knight you brought with you stays elsewhere.”

✨✨✨

A few hours later, all five of them rushed to the palace door, eager for news.

The same porter from the day before urged them to wait since Archbishop Gregory had made a decision and his clerks were preparing the letter.

They waited anxiously for longer than three hours before the porter came out to read the decision out loud to their group.

”Having heard your counsel and weighed the harm that may come to the parishes downriver, His Grace is inclined to… suspend… the blessing of the River Lorian for the burial of the dead…”

Although the formal pronouncement required an additional paragraph or two, along with the wild tolling of the bells, the plague doctors, Agnes, and Ignatius suppressed their triumphant cheers.

With the pestilent city of Ansel still smoking behind them, they began to head back to the hostelry for their wagon. Yet, the group was forced to stop walking once they realized they were down one traveler.

”Cedric?” Lorenzo asked, turning around.

“I can’t. Please. I cannot camp another night,” Cedric admitted. “Forgive me. My back cannot take another night’s sleep on the ground and out in the elements yet again.”

”Poor Cedric!” Agnes said, squeezing the older man’s hand.

”I have an unguent,” Edgar volunteered.

”I am past unguents, I fear,” Cedric lamented.

”He is right. We should find a civilized inn here in the city,” Lorenzo said. “We need proper rest and supplies before the journey back.”

”Inns are too risky,” Ignatius said then. “Best to seek a convent or a monastery instead for Sister Agnes…”

”Neither,” Lorenzo cut him off.

Ignatius regarded him thoughtfully. This is when Ignatius felt the tug on his surcoat. He looked down at the child.

”What is it?”

Agnes motioned for him to lower himself to listen to her whisper. He appeared momentarily taken aback.

”Are you sure?” he asked her.

Agnes nodded and grinned.

“Lady Agnes requests...” Ignatius began, still looking uncertain.

”Decrees,” she clarified.

”Decrees…that we stay at the old Templar preceptory.”

“No, no, no, no…” Edgar immediately replied.

”Out of the question,” said Lorenzo.

”Absolutely not,” Cedric chimed in.

”Why not?” Agnes whined. “The Archbishop was so rude to Ignatius just now. Who’s to say the other cloisters won’t be just as mean to him? Besides, I want to meet Ignatius's brothers if they’re anything like him.”

“Sister Agnes, you are too young to know this, but Ignatius’s order has been dissolved for almost forty years,” Cedric said.

”Why were they dissolved?” Agnes asked. “Did they do something bad?”

”Not exactly. It’s a convoluted ordeal,” Lorenzo said.

”I’m afraid you won’t find many of us there,” Ignatius said, pointing to the impressive temple, still standing. “They used to have remarkable lodgings. Only Hospitallers are to be found there now.”

Agnes’s eyes sparkled like stars.

”I still want to see it,” she said, with a starstruck daze.

“I would rather sleep in the mud under yet another lightning storm…” said Cedric, and with that, thunder clapped.

Suddenly, Ignatius bowed.

“Please. It is my presence that prevented the Archbishop from offering you proper lodgings. Allow me to make it up to you. The brothers who hold it now know what this old symbol once meant. It may yet be enough to earn us a hot supper and warm beds, even if it is long past its glory.”

“And Cedric needs a real bed,” Agnes chimed in.

”I…don’t think that is wise,” Lorenzo said then.

“Just one night,” Agnes said. “Come on, Ignatius! Let’s go meet your knight friends!”

Lorenzo looked from the child to the knight, unable to shake his unease.