Visitor
Esteban sat on the mound of broken stone and listened to Bishop Theodoro preach. Their bishop never spoke long, only once anyone could recall more than a quarter hour, but he said more in just a few minutes than a council of clerics accomplished in a week. This time the young thief wished he'd built his stack of stone higher; Theodoro was almost whispering as he not so much preached but pleaded.
"But whose words are they?" came the voice, a soft, plaintive call with real pain in it. Esteban knew without needing top climb and look that Theodoro was lifting a bulky copy of the New Testament, in Latin, high in front of him; he could close his eyes and see Theodoro's hand tremble slightly as he offered the volume to the congregation. "They are the words of God!" came the vibrant cry, a joyous proclamation, yet at the end came the tone of complaint once again.
Esteban couldn't resist; he had to see, though it might cost him some hearing. His top scrap of stone went skittering off as he launched himself, running along the old wall, catching it just there and here, vaulting to the top and without pause leaping to catch a tree branch. Onto that one, then up a layer, up another, to grab one stripped of side limbs, one that gave under his weight and took him back into the tree he'd just passed under. Less than a second from touchdown, and he stretched out on a branch aimed right at a window which, broken out, Bishop Theodoro had said would stay that way until each poor family had a roof that didn't leak. Esteban hoped it was never fixed: he hated going to Mass, but he loved listening to their bishop.
He grinned in delight at the sight of that bishop standing almost as he'd imagined, bulky (old and worn, Esteban noted, not the usual fancy one for the cathedral) New Testament held up for all to regard.
>priest-father statue< The amusement in his friend's assertion brought a silent giggle to Esteban.
Heart-hunter waits to pounce, he though back at Pounces, using the cat's occasional name for the bishop. Esteban wished Casey would come back; he didn’t just miss his friend, but he wanted to know if a big cat was supposed to be that smart.
>now< The mental image was of Bishop Theodoro launching himself from the pulpit.
Esteban snapped his attention back to Theodoro, whose posture had gone from joyous to near-mourning, his countenance from confidence to dismay. "But can you read them?" the bishop asked, and Esteban didn't need one of don Antonio's far-lookers to know a tear crept down the bishop's cheek; he'd spied on enough private conversations between the bishop and his Centurion, Tacito Vargas, and almost as often as not the Decurion Terens Morales -- a changed man since he'd seen a Brother appear through the mists with only a solid wall behind him -- and a few times a man never named, dressed in a penitent's gray, to know that it really did give Theodoro pain that his people couldn't read any of God's words for themselves... and rarely heard them.
"I can", Theodoro stated. There was no superiority in it, rather a wistfulness. "Mostly", he added as almost an afterthought as he set the book on the edge of his pulpit and smoothed its rough edges. Chuckles and light laughter swept the hallowed ground, laughter of humor and affection -- after all, who else had a bishop who admitted he was less than perfect? Theodoro stroked the top of the book, then suddenly picked it up again, letting it fall open in his hand.
>priest-father trap-setter<
Esteban couldn't help himself; laughter got loose at the image from Pounces: the open book as the two sides of a spring-trap, Theodoro in the sort of clothes Esteban now wore in the woods.
>priest-father stealthing< Pounces agreed.
"The words of our Lord", the bishop whispered, flipping pages reverently. "Words of God from the Word of God." He sighed deeply, looking out again at his flock. "Yet what tongue are they in?" He lifted the book and read aloud. Esteban caught the word "petras", which he thought was "Peter", but then the word he thought was "legs" was really "laws", so what good was what he thought? Finished, Theodoro looked around again, now setting the book down near where he leaned so often on the edge of the pulpit people joked he would wear out the finish -- and the punch line, said proudly, was that he wouldn't let anyone fix it until all the poor had polished railings on their porches. It was a measure of Theodoro's stature in the community that even merchants who'd been chastised into lowering prices to help roof the people defended him -- only the extremely wealthy stood alone, hating him... the very people who'd been the subject of Theodoro's longest sermon to date.
"The words of our Lord, for us, yet not our words. Yet surely words must be understood, to do good." The bishop's finger flipped to a different page and marked it. He looked sad as he turned to the altar. "Even so, we come to the great sacrifice He gave us...." The words trailed off as he walked slowly from pulpit to altar. Halfway he seemed to falter, but when he turned to the congregation, there was a gleam in his eye, as of a boy about to tell something he shouldn't. "Here before us is the altar of God. We go with hearts lifted." Theodoro looked around as though getting ready to share a secret, and every person in the cathedral leaned forward in anticipation. "Hear now these words of our Lord:
"Venid á mí, todos los que estáis trabajados y cargados, que yo os haré descansar. Llevad mi yugo sobre vosotros, y aprended de mí, que soy manso y humilde de corazón; y hallaréis descanso para vuestras almas". --
Come to Me, all who labor and are burdened, for I will give you rest. Lift My yoke on yourselves, and learn from Me, that I am meek and humble of heart; and you shall find rest for your souls. But he wasn't looking at the people, or the book as he spoke; Theodoro looked at the altar, making clear where this invitation came from. Soft weeping arose in corners of a cathedral where reception of the sacrament had for generations been handed down as a duty, but now Theodoro showed them it was no duty, rather an answer to an invitation:
Come to Me! At last he turned back to his people, his flock. "Porque mi yugo es fácil, y ligera mi carga." --
For my yoke is easy, and light is my load.
Esteban found he itched to jump down from his perch and go join the rest. He knew how Brother Thaddeus had become Father Theodoro and then Bishop Theodoro, but wondered if, as Casey had wondered out loud once, if they had just been God's tools to get the man He wanted anyway. He'd mostly scoffed at priests, but
this priest.... well, it wasn't the first time the man had sent shivers down his spine.
He fell into the rhythm of the Mass, the Great Sacrament. With Theodoro, it became a family gathering, everyone brothers and sisters. He didn't have to say it, he
projected it, in every nuance of voice and gesture. And he made the consecration a step into another universe, another time, the night before the centerpoint of history....
The young thief, concentrating on the elevation of the great piece of bread -- called the Host because the Son of God came to be in it -- almost missed the movement of a piece of wall. The Mass forgotten, he launched himself toward the next tree. Even before his feet left his branch, he realized he wasn't going to make it; it was too--
>branch comes to shadow-hunter< Pounces' images carried chastisement.
It was no longer too far; the mass of a great cat, even not fully grown, bent the branch low enough for Esteban's hands to grasp. When he swung underneath, Pounces left; the spring that gave him sent the spying thief farther than he could have hoped. He landed on a column across the street from the place where he'd let a nervous, trembling Brother Thaddeus into the cathedral garden. The stone gate was already closed, but he wasn't too late: the figure turning from it rotated Esteban's way, revealing his face.
YOU! he wanted to scream, but long and deeply embedded discipline held him. His mind raced, wondering why someone he and Casey had encountered in the square the morning of Theodoro's selection should be here: why was this cofradiador slipping into his bishop's garden? and how did he know about the secret entry? He didn’t know, but he meant to find out.
“Bishop.” The man dropped to one knee.
Any other bishop in the realm would have called for guards, to take the intruder away in chains. This one paused, regarded the man, and closed the door to his private study behind him. The kneeling man didn’t miss the hand signal behind the bishop’s back; he didn’t miss much of anything, which was why he had the job he did. But he found himself, now that he was close to this marvel – he refused to go along with the popular notion of a miracle; he’d figured out everything except the great portrait that first couldn’t be scrubbed off, and then just wasn’t there. That wasn’t for lack of trying; plying chemists and alchemists and painters and masons with gold had failed to bring forth anything. Of course he’d known immediately how the “miraculous” appearance in the cathedral garden had been done -- it was his job to know such entries and exits – but also of course he wasn’t going to mention it to anyone except those who paid him, and he only acknowledged one paymaster.
He didn’t move while Bishop Theodoro of Corazon dos Reyes circled around –
just out of knife reach, he noted, a huge advance in worldliness for the man of God – examining him. His investigations had told him the man had become an uncannily sharp judge of men, rarely wrong on character, and he wasn’t about to give any clues by showing any reaction at all. But when the bishop spoke, he knew he needn’t have bothered.
“Cofradia”, Theodoro pronounced. “But without evil intent”, he added as the door swung in and Centurion Vargas appeared, sword half drawn. “Centurion, join us.” He smiled, a rather wan, tired smile. “And yes, you may bring Brother Watchdog.” He turned back to his visitor. “Señor Cofradiador, rise if you please. I have no extra chair to offer, but there is the book bench.
The intruder, accepted – he was too astute to think the bishop had yet welcomed him – for the moment, rose smoothly, and turned to look at the thinly-cushioned bench along the wall. He did want to examine it, but he was also thinking rapidly: he had no idea who “Brother Watchdog” might be, and that made things... interesting. The bench, he saw, wasn’t really that at all; it appeared to be a book case of inventive design: the lower shelf was covered in front by long cupboard doors, each perhaps a cubit – his quick, inexact private way of measuring things, since he hardly dared carry a meter bar with him – from hinge to catch. The top, second shelf was solidly closed on the front, but the small indentations in the cushioning, all evenly spaced along the wall, told him the top was hinged to lift. Since the hinges were actually a half-palm out from the wall, the lid was meant to be leaned back while a person sought within; this, he took as indication that the books on the lower shelf – a wealth of books! – were all of a size, while the upper bin – a proper shelf opened on the front – held the odd shapes and sizes, perhaps – no, certainly – scrolls as well, also of non-standard sizes. That Theodoro had installed such a thing in his study confirmed that he was at least as much the scholar as sources asserted. And of course the top was a very Theodoro-like touch: no ornate, showy covers, but simple, sturdy, and practical, serving a second use; in fact incompletely-cleaned stains told him it had been used for crude dining at least... four times, he counted. Curiosity satisfied, he sat, taking the measure of the construction in doing so.
He ventured a ploy. “Such long scrolls”, he commented.
Theodoro didn’t blink; more importantly to his visitor, he didn’t glance at his ordinary scroll rack or look puzzled. “De Venitri”, came the calm reply. “Rather vain, which he showed by insisting all his scrolls be longer than anyone else might have. Among other things.” Theodoro actually chuckled! His visitor was caught off guard by that; his information said the bishop was austere, and chaste to the point of looking down on – not condemning; it didn’t seem to be in Theodoro, formerly Thaddeus, to condemn – so much as a hint of anything sexual. Without willing it, he made a re-evaluation of his sources, and made a mental note to seek information from three others, rarely used, but perhaps now important. That this bishop should not merely chuckle, but himself hint at the sexual jokes made about the length of the de Venitri scrolls indicated something of a hypocrite – an extremely dubious notion; or sources getting it wrong – more likely, and something he would verify in the immediate future; or that the office was changing the man – highest probability, also verifiable.
“You have originals?” he asked, actually amazed. Out of the corner of his right eye he watched the Centurion re-enter the room, another man walking, almost gliding at his side. Every alarm in his brain went off as his mind screamed
Inquisitor! and warned of betrayal.
“Only one, and only long enough to have it copied. Merely to borrow it – the gold would buy a townhouse.” But the bishop’s attention wasn’t on the subject, it was watching the intense, but to most men invisible, byplay between the two men who on different occasions had entered his cathedral uninvited.
Only Centurion Vargas was undisturbed by the next action of the former Inquisitor: there was no attack; he merely undid his robe and dropped it, showing rather convincingly he had no weapons. “Brother Shadow”, he said softly in greeting. In that moment, “Brother Shadow” understood that while he was facing one who had been an assassin of the Inquisition, it was that past tense which ruled – a thing unheard of, for one still breathing.
“Brother Watchdog”, he answered, bowing more than a little from his seat. While only a few of the Inquisition’s deliverers of death could claim his level of skill, they were nevertheless worthy of respect.
Theodoro laughed openly. “‘Brother Shadow’”, he quoted. “As good a name as any; I know you will never give a real one”, he said to his visitor. “Brother penitent and protector”, he said fondly, sit and join us.”
“Brother Shadow” had considered and evaluated the situation without conscious thought. “You came to kill the bishop”, he stated baldly. “You stayed to guard him.” His measure of Theodoro underwent another revision: the man was either a danger beyond measure, or perhaps truly a saint – he hoped the latter; the realm needed a saint.
Theodoro’s ‘Watchdog’ nodded curtly, turning to the centurion, though, with his attention. “Whence this name?” Barely audible, the three words carried more intensity and energy than all else said and unsaid so far.
Vargas sighed. “The Spirit speaks to the bishop. I told you.” The former Inquisitor had insisted the centurion say nothing about his self-appointed task.
The former Inquisitor turned to his bishop and dropped, painfully, to his knees. “Holy One”, he whispered, “forgive my presumption! Angels guard you; what need–“
Theodoro cut him off. “I am no more holy than any man”, he asserted. “Get up – you may kneel so to our Lord on the altar, but not to me. Brother Shadow did well; one knee is all a man gives to any man; two is for God alone.”
“Brother Shadow” cut off any response from “Brother Watchdog”. “Not for the High Bishop?” he asked, no inflection of tone betraying any judgment on the question.
Theodoro went behind the question. “Why did you come?”
“I was sent – with a question. Bishop Theodoro, today you read Holy Writ to the people in our own tongue. How far will you go?”
The bishop of Corazon dos Reyes studied his visitor anew. “It isn’t important to you what I answer. No, that isn’t true – I see you do care, but your job isn’t to act.”
The visitor’s world reeled.
No one, save his Master, had read him like that since he was branded! Was it possible the Holy Spirit
did speak to him?
Should he be High Bishop? But such things were outside the bounds of his job; he set them aside, knowing his superiors would ask the same, which was
their job. “Truth, bishop”, he acknowledged. “How far will you go?”
Theodoro swivelled his chair. That was a marvel itself, a thing already being copied in the town. It wasn’t, the cofradiador knew, the bishop’s own invention, nor a divine one, as popular opinion held; it had come from outside the realm – hard to accept, for most people, who didn’t believe there was anything outside except wilderness. Passed on by the bishop’s family in Padillo, the mechanism for the chair had come from a family long thought destroyed, the de la Vega, now rising in prosperity somewhere to the south, extending influence into the realm – and therefore, even apart from the connection to Theodoro, a matter for him to be concerned with. The same family had played a major part in putting Theodoro where he was; whether that was a good thing or a bad had not yet been decided by those whose duty it was to make those decisions. Despite himself, he realized he’d made his own decision: whatever the motives of the de la Vega, they had done a good thing.
The chair swivelled, not back, but all the way around. “Why does it concern you?”
“Brother Shadow” hadn’t known the chair could do that; certainly the versions being done by craftsmen couldn’t. It was a secret he decided he wouldn’t pass on. “Perhaps you should invite in the young spy outside, before the branch he is using breaks.”
“The thief is no threat”, Brother Watchdog asserted. “He keeps watch on behalf of the poor people, who love their bishop.”
“We have a spy, and you didn’t tell me?” Vargas seemed to loom larger. “Brother Shadow” laughed internally; this bishop had a whole hand of protectors, and they were very... proprietary.
“He is no threat”, the former assassin repeated. “He and his cat keep watch over the bishop. And he is devout – I believe he wishes to be at Mass, but considers being on guard his greater duty.”
Theodoro shook his head, a smile of amusement and something more lighting his expression. “Invite him in, centurion. Make plain that he is not under arrest, that I extend an invitation.”
“Brother Shadow” betrayed nothing, but inside his mind was racing. Had the former Inquisitor made the connection? No mere house cat of legend could be included in that phrase; if this was no mere house cat, then the woodsmen’s tales had substance – and if the tales had substance, then the mass slaughter of Inquisitors at the time of Theodoro’s elevation was indeed
not perpetrated by demons, nor had the three since been. Yes, a giant cat would explain much!
Esteban knew he was caught; Centurion Vargas was already looking his way before he was even out the door. He sighed and started to slide backwards on his branch. And it was so pointless! The centurion was coming out, and hadn’t called any guards in, so the visitor was no danger!
“You’ll break that branch, and the bishop likes it.” Vargas’ voice was calm, evenly friendly, and that stopped Esteban more than the words. “He’d like you to come in.” Esteban tried to listen inside, to see if his heart was still beating. “Breaking his branch wouldn’t start things well. Wait a moment, and I’ll catch you down.”
“Brother Shadow” watched in amusement and interest as the once-gruff-and-practical
head of the bishop’s Guard caught the pair of young bare feet and steadied them, then gripped the youngster’s waist and set him down without any sign of strain. It was done with more concern and compassion than anything just a matter of duty. Businesslike demeanor returned, though, as a massive cat landed silently beside the boy, in a guarding but not threatening position.
Yes! he exulted,
those claws are big enough – I have found the ‘demons’! And possibly, he added,
I should thank them – him. That he thought of doing so without asking his masters shocked him, and his gaze slowly turned to this unique bishop.
What do you do to people? he asked silently. Theodoro caught his eye, but his only response was to turn to the image on the wall – a crucified Christ... with a happy, triumphant smile. The hardened cofradiador swallowed hard; that image – how had he not noticed it before? – challenged his entire world.
>sword-pack-leader... danger?<
“No, Pounces, I don’t think he’s a danger.” Esteban inspected the Captain of the Episcopal Guard at closer range than ever. The soldier’s left hand still rested on Esteban’s hip; the pressure said he was ready to thrust the thief out of the way if the cat moved. The right hand held his sword-grip. Seeing the two, Esteban wasn’t sure that Pounces could win any match.
>sword-pack leader... not danger. yet dangerous<
Esteban chuckled at the acknowledgment and agreement. “True, and true.” He brushed Vargas’ right hand from the blade and escaped the left to drop down and bestow a big hug on his friend. “See, Vargas? He’s my comrade.”
They’re communicating, realized “Brother Shadow” with chilling awe.
The boy has to talk, or at least his lips move, but the cat.... He shuddered; as a guard, such a beast would more than complicate matters for any intruder.
Vargas led, Esteban followed, Pounces... came along. The cat was no follower, but didn’t try to lead; he made progress in the same direction as his human, but investigated a dozen things in the short distance from landing point to door. Vargas stopped, blocking the doorway. “Bishop, the young man... has a cat.”
>Pounces has shadow-hunter< that individual disagreed, making Esteban giggle.
“The cat also guards”, announced the former assassin.
Theodoro sighed, grinning in amusement, and shook his head. “Then the cat is invited also”, he decided. His morning meditation after Mass had certainly become educational, he mused.
Some cofradia has interest in me, thieves provide guardians, and giant cats drop from trees. He rose as the trio entered, holding out his hand to his young guardian. “How are you named?” he asked, giving no sign of recognition.
“Esteban.” The thief took the bishop’s hand and waited. He tried to remember if he’d ever told then-Brother Thaddeus his name.
“Esteban, you have not been faithful at Mass.”
The thief almost choked. The study was full of dangerous men, and the bishop was concerned about his attendance at Mass! “I listen, from outside”, he stammered.
“As my guardian.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” Esteban couldn’t remember how he was supposed to address a bishop, so he avoided it altogether, though he did speak firmly.
“This is your duty?”
“My...? I... yes, it is!” The insistence allowed no swerving.
“So is attendance to Mass”, Theodoro remarked mildly. “Though soldiers are given leave to pass, and forgiveness if duty causes them to miss. Ought I forgive you?”
Esteban couldn’t help the tears that came to his eyes. As a thief, on a job, he would never pay attention to them, so he didn’t now. What he did was say, “Oh, yes, bishop!”
Theodoro touched the crucifix on his chest, then Esteban’s forehead. “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo, te cedo perdón por todos tus peccados. Este mano es el de nuestro Señor Jesucristo, y por El estas hecho limpio” – ...
I grant you forgiveness for all your sins. This hand is the hand of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by Him you are made clean. That hand moved from Esteban’s forehead, where it had traced a small cross during the invocation of the Trinity, dropping nearly to his navel and touching with two joined fingers, then up to rest on the center of his chest, then outward to tap near each of his nipples in turn, and finally to rest, not quite in the center of his chest but a little to the left, over his heart.
And Esteban felt clean. He’d never in his life felt clean before, not deep down like this. Whatever others might have thought, in that moment Esteban was convinced that for all their rumors and tricks, it was really God who had put the man who stood before him where he was. “God did send you”, he whispered, and fell forward into two loving arms.
“Now”, Theodoro said a moment later gently pushing Esteban to his own seat, “you must once a month come to Mass; for the rest I give you dispensation – so long as you are listening, from close by. For the one day a month, we shall trust your cat–“
“He’s Pounces – that’s his name”, Esteban interrupted.
Theodoro nodded and smiled. “Then once each month, we shall trust Pounces to be enough guard on his own.” The bishop reached out as though to scratch the great cat’s head, but changed his mind and offered the relaxed curled hand for inspection. Pounces sniffed all around, then gave the bishop’s knuckles a big lick. At that, Vargas finally relaxed.
“Now you two”, Theodoro said, rounding on his Centurion and unofficial protector. “Talk together better. Centurion Vargas should have known of our young thief immediately he was noticed. Brother ‘Watchdog’, I name you Brother Sodalis – but do not be secret about protection, since you have given yourself this as penance.” He turned back to Esteban. “And you, thief-guardian, inform others when you learn things, others who care for me.” He looked back at Vargas and Brother Sodalis, but Esteban got his message.
So did “Brother Shadow”.
This meeting will be told back to de la Vega, he recognized.
This I must report. He examined Esteban more closely.
And the boy knows how to contact them – should I follow? He decided against it; it was too far from his task, and his immediate duty was to report back. “Tell no one else of this meeting”, he instructed, looking right at Esteban. Memory struck then, and he cursed silently that it had failed him sooner: he’d seen this thief, in the square, the day Theodoro was named bishop! A companion had recognized him for what he was, at least in general, and he had acknowledged it, but considered it of little importance, a thief and his friend. That was no thief, he grasped now, it was... a foreigner, someone who didn’t quite fit, someone from “de la Vega”, he mouthed – and
that was the one he needed. Esteban saw the mouthed name; he managed to keep his eyes from going too wide.
“Brother Shadow” stood and looked at Theodoro. “It concerns me because those are my orders. It is my task to be concerned where I am sent.”
“They’re trying to decide if they should protect you”, interrupted Brother Sodalis.
“He wants to”, Esteban suggested – except the cofradiador knew it wasn’t a suggestion; he was being read. He let himself smile as understanding came.
“Thief, with that cat, how can anyone escape you?” he asked.
Esteban looked at Pounces fondly. “They have to watch to escape
us”, he replied, making it plural. “How far can Theodoro go and you stay on his side?”
“Brother Shadow” closed his eyes and wondered at the fact that he was having a conversation that was thoroughly out of his control. That wasn’t supposed to happen, but then what cofradiador had ever faced a scholar bishop -- one elevated by the people! -- a renegade Inquisitor assassin, perhaps the best Guard centurion in the realm, plus a skilled thief with a cat which read emotions on top of his own formidable assets? Now he wasn’t even being questioned by the bishop, but by a young thief who wasn’t unfamiliar to that bishop – nor to himself, for that matter. He’d have to report all this, if questioned – would he be believed? He shook his head at the sudden extreme strangeness of the world.
“Keep within the liturgy”, he replied, abandoning his instructions to let Theodoro commit himself. Esteban was right; he did want to protect the bishop. “Translate it, expound it, even add to it – carefully, as this day. Nothing else.”
“And if on the Feast of the Resurrection, I read the story for the people?” Theodoro asked, betraying no hint of whether the question was serious.
Feeling the cofradiador’s frustration, thanks to Pounces, Esteban answered. “Don’t read it – tell it.” He suddenly found he had an intensely interested audience. “If someone will get upset because you read them, then don’t read them. Isn’t a bishop God’s representative? So when you tell the story, the words are still God’s words, aren’t they? And that’s a day when everyone comes to Mass, even if they skip other days – even ma–, er, even thieves go for the Resurrection feast! So if you make a long sermon, people will understand. So don’t say, ‘This is what San Mateo wrote’, just say the words. And, isn’t it the story that counts, not who wrote it?”
Centurion Vargas laughed. “Send this boy to school, and make of him a lawyer”, he suggested, “and he will have the Count suing himself for smuggling! Bishop, is this not a solution?”
Theodoro was looking for “Brother Shadow’s” response. It began with a slow shake of his head. “No, yet yes. If you say the exact words, and nothing more, it would be no different than reading it. Yet if it is part of your own telling, it should pass.”
“Those who sent you will decide this”, the bishop stated.
Another, more vigorous head shake. “No. Your young thief is correct; my masters seek only to decide whether to protect you.” He decided to give trust. “Should you make yourself too eager a target, they will not.”
Theodoro stepped toward his seat; Esteban slipped out and plopped on the floor with Pounces, who was toying with a leather bookmark. “Too eager”, he mused as he landed and began to turn back and forth in the chair. “So others have said.” He thought of some in particular. “Perhaps it is a family trait. You know of whom I speak, Brother Shadow”, he said softly, leaning forward. “Do I endanger them?” Esteban was immediately alert.
Time for a gamble? “If they provide you written copies of any scriptures, yes.” From Esteban’s sharp intake of breath, the cofradiador knew his guess had substance. “Or if they pass you too much aid from outside the realm.” Again it was the thief who gave it away; Theodoro nodded as though it were some hypothetical notion, but sighed on noting Esteban’s reaction.
“Coin in the offering, only”, he informed his visitor.
“And copies of books”, Esteban added, feeling the urge to be honest.
“I
pay for those, young Esteban. As I do for other things.” He turned to “Brother Shadow”. “I cannot say only ‘Brother Shadow’. Give a name I can call you.”
The cofradiador grinned for the first time. Looking over at Esteban, he said, “You may call me Dismas”. Bishop, Centurion, and former assassin shared a laugh, while Esteban looked bewildered.
“Dismas is said to be the name of the thief who was crucified with our Lord”, Vargas explained.
Dismas nodded. “Of all here, you saw me first. I honor that with this name.” He stood and bowed to Esteban, who looked both proud and confused.
Theodoro caught them all in a gaze which compelled attention. It was Dismas he addressed. “You will be watching me. That both Inquisitors and” – he glanced sideways at Brother Sodalis, who gave a little nod – “another have come to attempt my life grieves my heart. That I have protectors I did not ask for humbles my soul. For my sake, I would proceed as the Spirit calls through the Word of God; yet for their sake” – he looked over at Pounces and shook his head – “I heed your warning. Vargas, you have asked permission for more guards; the barracks will hold a score more with ease, true?”
“Thirty, with no changes”, the centurion answered.
His bishop nodded. “Another two decads, for now. The space for the third, if that can be set apart, give to Brother Sodalis. And you, young penitent thief”, he said, his right index finger pinioning Esteban from most of two meters away, “are to aid Brother Sodalis in finding some to provide a different protection.” Thief and former Inquisitor turned and stared at one another; their kind were natural enemies, but now....
Esteban broke the cold silence with an impudent grin. “He’ll have to keep up with them”, he declared. Sodalis closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but said nothing. Theodoro actually grinned.
Dismas was nodding. “And your use of Holy Scripture?”
Theodoro sighed. “I will restrain myself.” Defiance flashed, then. “For now – but not for always. The Word of the Lord is not bound, and I will not strive to bind it. That our Church has bound it so long is deep sin! I did not see this until made bishop, but I hear the hearts of our Lord’s flock, and those hearts weep for lack of the Word.” He leaned forward and pinned Dismas with a gaze that made the man want to melt into a corner. “I
will remedy that lack, for a shepherd
feeds his flock, he does not starve it.”
“The good shepherd does not lead his flock toward the wolves, or the lions”, Dismas countered, warning in his voice. “Each of your protectors here has stopped at least one threat.” He paused, in the middle of it glancing meaningfully at Pounces. “And the good shepherd does not walk into death and leave the flock alone.”
Esteban cleared his throat. “Bishop, the people are like a fire. Feed them lots at once, and you can get an inferno.”
Centurion Vargas chuckled. “Protector
and advisor. He speaks well, this one. Too much too quickly, and you will have riots. In hearing the scriptures for ourselves, we are as raw recruits: burden us with too much, too quickly, and we will break.”
From anyone else in that city, Theodoro might not have received that. But from one he regarded as strong, dependable, steady.... “You include yourself, Tacito.” Vargas didn’t flinch under his bishop’s intense scrutiny. “That, I must heed. As I must also my thief”, he went on, bestowing a wry smile on Esteban, “who is more of the flock than any here, and of my... protector” – he looked half-sternly at Brother Sodalis – “who is experienced at... taming flocks.” The former assassin winced at the pointed absence of different words.
Theodoro seemed to gather himself. “Thus, Brother Dismas, you have what you wish. Go now, be Brother Shadow again. Tell your masters I move slowly.”
Dismas flashed a smile. “Until it is time to do otherwise, yes?”
“Even so.”
*SIGH!* 
).
