Saturday, October 18th
?Your Excellency??
Bishop Albrecht glanced absently towards the figure in the doorway from where he was sat behind his writing desk. A new arrival whose name he?d already forgotten with so many flocking about the Basilica.
?There?s a visitor, Excellency. An Englishman that Father Clements said you were expecting.?
Albrecht?s hooded eyes sharpened at the news. Moments later and he was following on the young priest?s heels with customary dignity, despite the compulsion to hasten their progress.
Bishop Albrecht was not a young man by any means, but age had not stooped his frame, and there was yet some power to match his height. Once his hair had been gingersnap vivid, but the neat, thinning crop had paled to an almost blond, his eyelashes ghostly over eyes of the palest watercolour cerulean. Austerity came naturally, and the grim set of his mouth, thin and down-turned at the corners was well matched to the aquiline hook of his nose.
His temperament was often a match to his impassive seeming face, yet today, with news of the visitor, he felt an uncommon anxiousness brewing in his chest. Like many in Rhy?Din, Albrecht was more than he seemed at first glance, and he had foreseen this particular arrival, glimpsing him in dreams. He would know him without needing a finger to point the way.
The pair descended a helicoidal staircase to find Father Clements awaiting them at its foot.
?He?s in the cloister, Excellency. The light in the nave was hurting his eyes, and we thought he might be more comfortable there.?
?Good, good,? the Bishop murmured approvingly, dismissing the priests with a gesture, but very much aware of the inquisitive looks they?d both given him before doing so. He waited until the soft susurrus of their vestments had faded from hearing, then moved cat-footed (impressive for an old man) along the bare stone of the corridor, through an iron hinged door centuries old, and out into the covered walkway surrounding the cloister.
The Englishman was stood with his hands clasped at the small of his back, peering up at the Latin script cut into the stonework of the looming Basilica, lips moving, but the words silent.
?You might think it transplanted here from Rome,? the Bishop remarked, stepping out to join him beyond the mosaic-panelled columns, and onto the moon-bleached paths amongst the flowerbeds.
?I wouldn?t be at all surprised if parts of it were,? Vadriel replied, turning smartly on his heel to face the Bishop. ?Perhaps St. Paul?s was pilfered from after the fire, before the restoration work began.?
The Bishop smiled, pleased by the hint of the scholarly in that comment, but still uncertain on all other matters. The little information he?d been able to scrape together about the Englishman indicated heretical disputes, scandal, an aristocratic background, yet there had been more disturbing accusations that would need addressing. Things he was not sure could be excused unless there were particularly extenuating circumstances.
?I was surprised to be welcomed here.? Vadriel admitted quietly. ?You must know, as the others who turned me away did, that I have been excommunicated.?
With a slow nod, the Bishop confirmed his suspicion. ?And I also know that you have not come to us for the sacrament of confession. You see, I have expected your coming, Vadriel. Before the leaves began to turn, I saw you climb the steps to the Basilica in a dream.?
The Bishop saw Vadriel?s eyes - an unusual colour, he noted - grow wide at this statement, but there were no questions spoken, and the elderly man continued without invitation to.
?This is Rhy?Din. Many who worship here are in possession of one preternatural ability or another. You will not be turned out for the healing gifts you were born with any more than I have been for the visions God chose to bless me with. The monastery has as many gifted as there are mundane, and of those there are some with talents which might have seen them put to death in their homelands. Be reassured,? he went on, moving to sit upon the edge of the central fountain, ?your talents and secrets are your own unless you should wish to share them.?
He could not be sure, but he thought he glimpsed relief in the bone-pale face of his guest, and a moment later, Vadriel had moved, sedate and elegant as he?d known he would be, to settled beside him. The air cooled, the space between them frigid, but the Bishop took care not to comment.
?Do you know what I am??
The Bishop took a moment to guard his tongue before replying. ?I see his light in you. I don?t know how it came to be there, and it is not as strong as I have seen it in the flesh that the choirs choose to roam the city wearing from time to time, but light there is nonetheless.?
?Nothing nearly so grand,? Vadriel breathed, his tone one of subtle reverence. ?I am here as punishment. I am here, in this flesh as a result of succumbing to temptation. I am here to prove myself worthy of being accepted when the flesh fails me. But Excellency, I am here in your Basilica because I?m not sure I?m capable of that. I need? I need your guidance.?
?Go on??
?I need someone to teach me how to--,? faltering, he seemed for a moment incapable of conveying what it was he wished to say. ?How to live as was decreed. A lifetime. I cannot exist a lifetime in this way, stuck between places. I fear I?ll be drawn loose and into Sheol if there?s no reprieve. Yet there is no answer when I kneel to pray. Has he struck me deaf to him? Or does he merely choose to turn his shoulder to me??
?I can?t speak for him anymore than the seraphim who venture to the mortal plane can,? the Bishop confessed, ?Yet you are not alone in what you describe. Certainly you are not the first to have been tempted.?
Vadriel?s gaze grew intent as he awaited further explanation, the dark brushstrokes of his eyebrows knotted eloquently.
?He will need to be sent for. He no longer lives within the city, but I am sure he would be willing to assist you if you will permit me to impart some of what you have told me.?
?He? Who is this man? Might I know his name??
The Bishop acquiesced to the request, but not immediately. He did not care to guard his uncertainty from the Englishman?s unwavering, bloodshot eyes. Meant it to be plain that no trust had been won. Not yet. ?Aurelian,? he spoke at last. ?I will contact him for you, and we will see what can be done.?
?Your Excellency??
Bishop Albrecht glanced absently towards the figure in the doorway from where he was sat behind his writing desk. A new arrival whose name he?d already forgotten with so many flocking about the Basilica.
?There?s a visitor, Excellency. An Englishman that Father Clements said you were expecting.?
Albrecht?s hooded eyes sharpened at the news. Moments later and he was following on the young priest?s heels with customary dignity, despite the compulsion to hasten their progress.
Bishop Albrecht was not a young man by any means, but age had not stooped his frame, and there was yet some power to match his height. Once his hair had been gingersnap vivid, but the neat, thinning crop had paled to an almost blond, his eyelashes ghostly over eyes of the palest watercolour cerulean. Austerity came naturally, and the grim set of his mouth, thin and down-turned at the corners was well matched to the aquiline hook of his nose.
His temperament was often a match to his impassive seeming face, yet today, with news of the visitor, he felt an uncommon anxiousness brewing in his chest. Like many in Rhy?Din, Albrecht was more than he seemed at first glance, and he had foreseen this particular arrival, glimpsing him in dreams. He would know him without needing a finger to point the way.
The pair descended a helicoidal staircase to find Father Clements awaiting them at its foot.
?He?s in the cloister, Excellency. The light in the nave was hurting his eyes, and we thought he might be more comfortable there.?
?Good, good,? the Bishop murmured approvingly, dismissing the priests with a gesture, but very much aware of the inquisitive looks they?d both given him before doing so. He waited until the soft susurrus of their vestments had faded from hearing, then moved cat-footed (impressive for an old man) along the bare stone of the corridor, through an iron hinged door centuries old, and out into the covered walkway surrounding the cloister.
The Englishman was stood with his hands clasped at the small of his back, peering up at the Latin script cut into the stonework of the looming Basilica, lips moving, but the words silent.
?You might think it transplanted here from Rome,? the Bishop remarked, stepping out to join him beyond the mosaic-panelled columns, and onto the moon-bleached paths amongst the flowerbeds.
?I wouldn?t be at all surprised if parts of it were,? Vadriel replied, turning smartly on his heel to face the Bishop. ?Perhaps St. Paul?s was pilfered from after the fire, before the restoration work began.?
The Bishop smiled, pleased by the hint of the scholarly in that comment, but still uncertain on all other matters. The little information he?d been able to scrape together about the Englishman indicated heretical disputes, scandal, an aristocratic background, yet there had been more disturbing accusations that would need addressing. Things he was not sure could be excused unless there were particularly extenuating circumstances.
?I was surprised to be welcomed here.? Vadriel admitted quietly. ?You must know, as the others who turned me away did, that I have been excommunicated.?
With a slow nod, the Bishop confirmed his suspicion. ?And I also know that you have not come to us for the sacrament of confession. You see, I have expected your coming, Vadriel. Before the leaves began to turn, I saw you climb the steps to the Basilica in a dream.?
The Bishop saw Vadriel?s eyes - an unusual colour, he noted - grow wide at this statement, but there were no questions spoken, and the elderly man continued without invitation to.
?This is Rhy?Din. Many who worship here are in possession of one preternatural ability or another. You will not be turned out for the healing gifts you were born with any more than I have been for the visions God chose to bless me with. The monastery has as many gifted as there are mundane, and of those there are some with talents which might have seen them put to death in their homelands. Be reassured,? he went on, moving to sit upon the edge of the central fountain, ?your talents and secrets are your own unless you should wish to share them.?
He could not be sure, but he thought he glimpsed relief in the bone-pale face of his guest, and a moment later, Vadriel had moved, sedate and elegant as he?d known he would be, to settled beside him. The air cooled, the space between them frigid, but the Bishop took care not to comment.
?Do you know what I am??
The Bishop took a moment to guard his tongue before replying. ?I see his light in you. I don?t know how it came to be there, and it is not as strong as I have seen it in the flesh that the choirs choose to roam the city wearing from time to time, but light there is nonetheless.?
?Nothing nearly so grand,? Vadriel breathed, his tone one of subtle reverence. ?I am here as punishment. I am here, in this flesh as a result of succumbing to temptation. I am here to prove myself worthy of being accepted when the flesh fails me. But Excellency, I am here in your Basilica because I?m not sure I?m capable of that. I need? I need your guidance.?
?Go on??
?I need someone to teach me how to--,? faltering, he seemed for a moment incapable of conveying what it was he wished to say. ?How to live as was decreed. A lifetime. I cannot exist a lifetime in this way, stuck between places. I fear I?ll be drawn loose and into Sheol if there?s no reprieve. Yet there is no answer when I kneel to pray. Has he struck me deaf to him? Or does he merely choose to turn his shoulder to me??
?I can?t speak for him anymore than the seraphim who venture to the mortal plane can,? the Bishop confessed, ?Yet you are not alone in what you describe. Certainly you are not the first to have been tempted.?
Vadriel?s gaze grew intent as he awaited further explanation, the dark brushstrokes of his eyebrows knotted eloquently.
?He will need to be sent for. He no longer lives within the city, but I am sure he would be willing to assist you if you will permit me to impart some of what you have told me.?
?He? Who is this man? Might I know his name??
The Bishop acquiesced to the request, but not immediately. He did not care to guard his uncertainty from the Englishman?s unwavering, bloodshot eyes. Meant it to be plain that no trust had been won. Not yet. ?Aurelian,? he spoke at last. ?I will contact him for you, and we will see what can be done.?