The Warlock Heretical by Christopher Stasheff Page A

clothes. Maybe the Abbot had seen something like it, for he looked distinctly unhappy. "Aye, yet we speak of the body
    politic, not the body human!"
    The analogy wasn't working for him anymore, so he was rejecting it. "Yes, and we're talking about the Church,
    not any one soul. But there have been times when the Church has been ill, in a way—split into parties with
    different beliefs."
    "Heresies have taken root, aye, and done great damage ere they have been stamped out." The Abbot scowled.
    "Yet 'tis all the more reason why they must be eliminated—with fire and sword, if need be!"

    He'd pushed it over the line; Rod caught his breath. "But the Commandment says, "Thou shall not kill.'"
    "The Commandment doth not speak of the vile seducers who would sway God's children from the true Faith!"
    the Abbot snapped. "Assuredly thou dost not wish to be such an one!"
    "No, Milord Abbot, I've no wish to tempt people away
    from the true Church."
    The Abbot's face turned to stone.
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    "Any such division in the Church can only wreak havoc and misery on the poor common people who make up
    most of its body," Rod said softly. "I beg you, Milord Abbot, to do all that you can to prevent such a breach."
    Behind the Abbot the secretary watched, trembling, his eyes like glowing coals.
    " 'Tis not for us to do or undo," the Abbot answered, his tone glacial. "The unity of Gramarye doth rest with the
    great lords, and with Their Majesties."
    The thought of the implied civil war chilled Rod's insides. "Yet you are the healer of the soul, Lord Abbot. Can
    you not find a way to make the body of Gramarye whole again?"
    The secretary took a step forward, reaching out, but caught
    himself.
    "We do intend naught that would work against the interests of the common folk," the Abbot answered stiffly,
    "nor against the Crown—provided, of course, that Their Majesties conduct themselves in accord with morality."
    Which meant that the Church wouldn't fight Tuan and Catharine, as long as they did what the Church said. No, not good enough. "Does Milord Abbot mean that Gramarye can be unified only if Their Majesties abjure the
    Church of Rome, and recognize the Church of Gramarye as the only Church of the land?"
    The Abbot's face twisted with distaste. "Thou hast small enough grace, and smaller tact. I would prefer to say
    that I can give neither my favor, nor my blessing, to any reign that doth uphold a faith that we find false."
    "Even though the morals and beliefs are the same—except in regard to who gives the orders." Rod tried to
    squelch his rising anger. "Yet would you not say, Milord Abbot, that it is vital to have the authority of the Church
    available as a refuge
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    for the people, in the event that the Crown becomes tyrannical?" Guarded wariness, now, not granite—the Abbot thawed a trifle. "It is, aye; the Church hath ever been a counterpoise to the excesses of the great lords and the King. I do confess surprise to hear thee espouse such a
    view."
    "You wouldn't, if you knew me better—especially since it follows that the Crown must be available as a refuge if
    the Church grows tyrannical."
    The Abbot's face turned magenta. "Never shall it be so! Only clerics may hope to be immune from harshness!"
    "Yes, but they're only human." Rod couldn't help but smile. "Even a priest may succumb to temptation."
    " Tis far less likely than for a lord or king!"
    Rod spread his hands. "No argument. Yet if it were to happen, milord, would it not be vital that the Crown be
    free to protect its subjects?"
    The Abbot glared, his eyes narrowing.
    "The Church must be separate from the State," Rod said softly, "just as the State must be separate from the
    Church. Therein lies the surest protection of the people."
    "I will beg thee not to instruct me in care for the common weal," the Abbot grated.