The Kingdom Read online

  The accusation made Vanita wince. “Alright, fair enough. You got me.” She set down the jar of honey. “Teofil is a great man. I realize that now. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”

  “The same is true for Marco.”

  Vanita shrugged. “In most ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s not . . . you know . . . ”

  Ana thought Vanita might conclude her statement with something like “respectable” or “upstanding.” Marco was a pirate—one who robbed rich profiteers and offered bargains to the poor, but a pirate nonetheless. To some women that would be a problem.

  Vanita, however, was thinking along very different lines. “He’s not Christiani,” she said.

  “Oh. Right. Of course.” Why didn’t I think of that? Ana looked at her friend. “Has he grown more open to it?”

  “Not really. You know how he is. He’s not hostile. He’s happy that I believe. But he just doesn’t want religion for himself.”

  “Teo used to be like that.”

  “Really?” Vanita’s face was hopeful. “What did you do to change it?”

  “I tried badgering him, until I realized that doesn’t work at all.”

  “I’ve tried that too,” Vanita admitted. “And you’re right. It’s counterproductive.” She sighed deeply.

  Ana sensed her normally confident friend was at a vulnerable place. “Come with me,” she said, taking Vanita’s arm.

  The two women walked to the end of a pier that jutted into the ocean. Ana reached into her basket and tore a chunk from a loaf. She tossed it to the nearest seagull, which swerved midair to catch the bite. Soon several gulls were hovering overhead.

  “Look at how those birds fly,” Ana said. “They have to flap their wings a little, but for the most part they’re simply adjusting themselves to the gusts.”

  Vanita nodded as she stared at the seagulls. Because the Ulmbartian aristocrat was so glamorous, people often assumed she was empty-headed, but she was actually very intelligent. Ana could see she understood the illustration.

  “You’re saying I can’t change the wind, but I can adapt to it,” Vanita observed.

  “We can either resist what Deu is doing, or we can catch his breeze and ride it.”

  “And what does that mean for me and Marco?”

  “You can’t convert him. You can only pray hard and wait to see what Deu has in store.”

  “Do you remember what Iesus told Nicodemus about that?”

  “No,” Ana admitted. “What was it?”

  “It’s in the book of Ioannes. ‘The wind blows wherever it wishes. You can hear it, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it goes. That’s how it is with everyone born by Deu’s spirit.’”

  The quotation brought Ana a sense of hope, though mingled with trepidation. “What if Deu doesn’t bring Marco and Teofil back to us?”

  “And even if they do come back—what if Marco never believes?”

  There wasn’t an easy answer to that heartfelt question, so Ana didn’t offer one. Instead she slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulder.

  Vanita leaned her head against Ana’s. “Sorry to be so gloomy. I’m just lonely.” Vanita’s voice cracked as she spoke, and she scrunched her eyes shut. Though she put her hand to her mouth, she couldn’t stifle the disconsolate shudder that escaped her lips.

  Vanita’s sadness made tears gather in Ana’s eyes as well. A deep longing overwhelmed her—the longing to be in Teo’s arms again, to be under his covering protection, to be supported by his masculine strength.

  “I’m lonely too, Vanita,” she murmured.

  The seagulls drifted away as the two friends stood on the pier. They remained motionless for a long time, clinging to each other, exchanging no words—for nothing could be said that wasn’t already being voiced by the vast and empty sea.

  Teo returned to Jineve three weeks after being kidnapped by the Iron Shield. After fleeing the High Priestess’s temple he had headed straight for the Citadel and passed through the gate before an alarm could be sounded. Most of that ride was an act of sheer endurance as his weakened body came down from the adrenaline rush of his daring escape. He swayed in the saddle and sucked rainwater from his cupped hands.

  Once clear of the Citadel, Teo made for the deep woods of Chiveis. He was too exhausted to go far, so he camped in a lonely apple grove on the northern shore of the Tooner Sea. The place stirred up bad memories of the time he had taken Ana to a decadent party near there, before either of them knew Deu. Teo slept fitfully on his dinner of tart apples, his nightmares denying him the rest he so desperately needed.

  He traveled slowly the next day, grazing like a wild animal on chard, chestnuts, and mushrooms. Pine resin closed his chest wound, which was bloody but not deep. His only stop was to visit a shed on one of Stratetix’s wheat fields along the Farm River. Teo used a sharp rock to carve the words “will return” on the door. As an afterthought, he added the word “we,” which he now considered a solemn oath to Ana’s father.

  The line cabin on the frontier was unlocked. Teo had no reservations about helping himself to the meager supplies. He turned his horse loose, recovered his canoe, and began to backtrack along the path he had blazed to Chiveis. Neither the weather nor the hunting was favorable. Teo lost precious time searching for food under cold, dreary skies. Even with his map, he lost his way twice and had to double back. When he finally arrived at Leman Sea he was a filthy, ragged mess. His bushy beard and long hair made him feel like some crazed trapper from the wilderness.

  At last Teo paddled his canoe alongside Brother Thomas’s riverboats in Jineve’s harbor. Marco met him on the dock, overjoyed and relieved after several weeks of agonized worrying about his friend. Though he tried to scold Teo for subjecting him to such grief, in the end Marco had to laugh as Teo recounted the tale of his adventures in Chiveis.

  “That God of yours certainly watches over you, amico,” he said with a shake of his head.

  A locksmith was summoned to remove the handcuffs from Teo’s wrists, and a barber provided a haircut and shave. Even when he was cleaned up, though, Teo found he was no longer welcome at Montblanc Palace. Brother Thomas’s religious enthusiasm, along with his heated accusations against “Antonio” and the Exterminati, had soured Mayor Calixte on the two groups of foreigners. Now the Iron Shield was long gone, and Teo’s expedition had fallen out of favor. His warnings about an imminent invasion were met by disdain from the palace steward. Even the note from the pigeon roost was dismissed as nonsense. At this rebuff Brother Thomas decided to leave. “Jineve isn’t ready for Deus,” he declared. “It’s time we returned to Marsay.”

  The day of departure from Jineve arrived none too soon for Teo, who was anxious to set sail for Roma. It was the twenty-seventh day of the tenth month, and sailors rarely plied the seas in the eleventh.

  Teo stood at the prow of the lead boat, looking downstream along the Rone River. Marco was in the stern conferring with Brother Thomas and the pilot. He’s a true friend, Teo thought, then was pricked with remorse. I sure gave him a scare!

  Once the riverboats found their course, Marco joined Teo in the prow. “Ready to go home?” Teo asked him.

  Marco shrugged noncommittally.

  “I hate to leave the Jinevans vulnerable,” Teo said, “but they just won’t listen. They’re oblivious to the forces being mounted against them.”

  “Even if they wanted to resist they couldn’t. Their army isn’t strong enough on its own.”

  “The Knights of Marsay will help,” Teo predicted. “They won’t want Jineve to be conquered by a hostile dictator with expansion in mind.”

  “We’ll know within a week.”

  The journey downriver actually took six days, one fewer than the trip upstream. Teo thought that was a good sign. The riverboats meandered through the broad, marshy delta of the mighty Rone. White horses called camargs roamed the wetlands. Finally the travelers reached the open sea. They crossed a bay, a
nd soon the rocky isle of Castle d’If appeared in the distance.

  “Odo will be so excited to see us,” Teo said with a wry grin.

  Brother Thomas folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Don’t count on it.”

  The boats reached the island, and the travelers disembarked. As Teo climbed onto the dock, he saw the trim commander of the Order of the Cross approaching from the castle.

  “Hail, adventurers,” Odo said. “I trust your trip wasn’t a fool’s errand?”

  “Nothing done for the glory of Deus can be called such,” Brother Thomas replied.

  “Hmm. Yes, of course.”

  “We have much to report,” Teo said.

  “Very well then. Follow me to my chambers and tell me all about it.”

  Odo led Teo and Brother Thomas to his private rooms in the castle. The space was decorated with tapestries of hunting scenes. Thick carpets covered the floor. Odo went to the hearth and added a log, then swung a cauldron away from the fire. He ladled mulled wine into cups and handed them to his guests. “What did you learn about the Jinevans?” he asked when everyone had taken a seat.

  “They’re going to be attacked by a foreign army,” Teo announced. “Next spring sometime.”

  Odo arched his eyebrows as he took a sip from his steaming cup.

  “The army of my homeland is being stirred up by a pagan priestess,” Teo continued. “She has allied herself with forest tribes called Germani. And she’s developing an evil weapon against which no one can stand.”

  “How unfortunate for the Jinevans.”

  “If they are unaided, they will fall,” Brother Thomas declared.

  “Do they not have allies of their own?”

  Teo set down his cup and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “They have us.”

  “Us!” Odo choked on his wine, which made him cough and sputter for a moment. When he finally got control of himself he looked at Teo and said, “Why in the world would the Marsayans want to rescue the people of Jineve?”

  Anger flared in Teo’s heart. “Don’t you see? The High Priestess is making a move to expand her power! Once she has control of Jineve’s natural resources, she’ll be in position to make a move downriver!”

  “We’ll worry about that when it happens.”

  “If you wait, she’ll only grow stronger. She’ll have a well-rested army. She’ll have her Germani confederates. She’ll probably conscript Jinevan forces. And she’ll have her deadly new weapon. You need to act now—before she becomes too powerful to stop!”

  “Brother Odo, I implore you,” Thomas put in, “the matter is urgent. This woman is an enemy of Deus.”

  “Is that so?” Odo leaned back in his overstuffed chair and crossed his legs. “Then we should really have the Papa’s wisdom on this matter, shouldn’t we?”

  “The Papa!” Teo jumped to his feet. “He’s in Roma!”

  “I know where the head of my religion dwells, Teofil,” Odo said icily. “Now sit down.”

  Teo remained standing. It was all he could do not to slap the smug expression off the commander’s face. “Can’t you see your inaction is going to have terrible consequences?”

  “That will be the will of Deus, I suppose.”

  “Deus calls us to act! He has given us freedom to choose one course over another!”

  “Then I choose to consult the Holy Father. Unless I receive a directive from him, my troops stay here.”

  Teo towered over Odo, staring into his eyes for a long moment. At last he bent at the waist and extended his hand. “You may have the cross here”—he flicked Odo on the forehead, eliciting a startled yelp—“but you don’t have it here.” Teo poked the man in the chest, then turned and left without another word.

  Outside in the cold drizzle, Teo marched to the island’s dock with one goal in mind. At least now his next steps were clear. The way forward meant getting to Roma—right away.

  The ferryman took Teo to Marsay’s main harbor. The Midnight Glider was anchored there, its men having enjoyed several weeks of shore leave while their captain was away. As Teo approached the ship, Marco called down to him from the bulwark. “How’d it go?”

  “He wants orders from the Papa before he’ll move.”

  “From Roma.”

  “Right.”

  Marco motioned toward the gangplank. “Come up here and we’ll talk.”

  Teo met his friend on deck. As they walked toward the staterooms Teo noticed there was little activity aboard the ship. The sails were furled, and no one scurried around loading fresh water or supplies. “Marco, you’re planning to leave, right?”

  The captain frowned and sighed. “Teofil—”

  “Marco! We have to go!”

  “Look around, amico. The skies are dreary. This time of year the winds are all wrong. Gales can blow up out of nowhere. You don’t know what it’s like to be caught in a winter storm. You can be driven along for days. Ships sink and men die in weather like that.”

  “But Deu is with us! He controls the wind and rain.”

  “Does he dole out good weather at our command?”

  “As a matter of fact, Iesus can do exactly that.”

  “Can and will are two different things.”

  “Listen, I know you’re concerned about the weather. But Deu takes care of his people in storms. There’s a story in the book of Deeds about this. Paulus was going to Roma just like we are. He was caught in a storm, but Deu got him through it.”

  Marco shook his head. “It’s rash.”

  “No, it’s bold. There’s a difference.”

  “The sailing season has ended. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  “Okay, let me ask you this.” Teo put his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “Does a spell of fine weather ever occur before winter sets in for good?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Then here’s what I’ll do. I’m going to ask Deu for that. I’m going to rattle the gates of heaven until he hears me. Meanwhile you lay in provisions. Get your sailors ready. If Deu gives us the window, we’ll go.”

  Marco grinned and shook his head. “If Deu answers that prayer, Teofil, I just might have to convert.”

  “You wait and see,” Teo replied.

  The next morning Teo jumped from his hammock at dawn, but the weather was gusty and cold. The local wind known as the mistral buffeted the city of Marsay. The following day was the same. The third day, however, dawned bright and clear. Marco agreed to leave.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said as he stood next to Teo on the deck. “Weigh anchor!” he shouted to his crew.

  The ship sailed several leagues from the city under sunny skies. Teo felt his spirits soar. Then a heavy overcast began to roll in. Black clouds gathered on the horizon.

  “Come about,” Marco ordered the helmsman. “Return to the port!”

  The ship turned, but it couldn’t outrace the wind. The seas grew choppy. A fierce gale snapped the sails. The sailors desperately hauled on the ropes as they attempted to maintain a steady course, but the wind only grew stronger. Sleet pelted the Midnight Glider as it tried to race to safety.

  “Look out!”

  A yard on the mainmast broke loose and plummeted to the deck, bringing with it a web of rigging and canvas. The fallen spar barely missed several of the sailors. Now the ship was even more unstable. All hands struggled to reach the lee of the shore.

  At last the Glider neared Marsay. Proud but wounded, it limped into the harbor. Marco met Teo on deck. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Teo went below and retrieved his rucksack, then returned topside. The wind’s icy fingers clawed at him. Sleet stung his face. He knelt and rummaged in his pack. Standing up again, he slung his bearskin cloak around his shoulders and drew it close at his neck. Its familiar smell elicited a rush of memories, though he could take delight in none of them.

  “Alright, Deu,” he whispered to the turbulent skies. “I’ll wait.”

  P A R
T T W O

  M I N I S T R Y

  C H A P T E R

  6

  Count Federco Borromo had lost his fortune. One million scudi—gone to pay for mercenaries to save the Universal Communion. Now Federco’s palatial estate on Greater Lake had fallen into foreclosure. His fields lay fallow. His beautiful gardens had become overgrown. Even his expensive thoroughbred horses had been auctioned off. The count was pitied by the Ulmbartian aristocracy. He had lost everything a man could lose.

  Yet he was having the time of his life.

  Count Federco lived on his last remaining property, a chateau in a rugged and remote part of Greater Lake. The place had been raided by barbarians not long ago. The Rovers attacked during a party of the Ulmbartian elite, and only the quick thinking of Teofil of Chiveis saved everyone from a massacre. That event had given Count Federco an idea. He had improved the fortifications of the lakeshore chateau and turned it into a comfortable place to live in solitude with his baby boy, Benito. A few old servants tended the house, freeing the count for a much more urgent concern: war. Count Federco was determined to rid Ulmbartia of all Rovers. He had reenlisted in the Ulmbartian army, and now the Rovers who raided the frontiers were squarely in his sights.

  He crouched atop a rocky knob, watching a cohort of warriors advance through a mountain defile. They were swathed in thick furs, for it was the third month of the new year and snow still lay thick on the ground. Freezing rain had fallen all morning before the clouds finally cleared. Normally the Rovers wintered on the far side of a mountain pass that led to uncharted wilderness, but this year a war party had remained in the sparsely settled forests of Ulmbartia. Count Federco glanced up at the pass. The Ancients had named it “Simplon,” but the Ulmbartians now called it Eagle Pass because of the stone monument that marked its crest. Once the Rover presence was eliminated in Ulmbartia, Federco intended to occupy the pass and prevent further incursions. This would be the last year his people would be harassed by the vicious barbarians.

  An Ulmbartian lieutenant crawled to Federco’s side while the Rovers approached. “What are your orders, sir?” The man’s voice contained a hint of urgency.