"Katherine Kurtz - Camber 3 - Camber the Heretic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

chapter Six


Neglect not the gift that is in thee, which was given thee by prophecy, with the
laying on of the hands of the presbytery.
тАФI Timothy 4:14
 Trying to remain unobtrusive, Cinhil Haldane peered through the doorway
of his private chapel and watched the preparations which were taking place.
That long-familiar refuge for so many years of his life had taken on a
strangeness under the ministrations of Joram and, especially, EvaineтАФa
strangeness he had sensed building for hours, even as he napped and read and
prayed in the adjoining royal suite.
They had all come to see him privately at some time during the day. Alister
had come first, just past Terce, later than was his usual wont but the more
rested for having slept a few extra hours. Cinhil knew that the bishop had not
had much chance for sleep last night, for the two of them had prayed together
nearly until Matins.
After Alister had come Joram; and then Rhys, Evaine, and finally
JebediahтАФwhose visit had been perhaps the saddest of all, for the Michaeline
knight would not be able to share in this last taskтАФhad already said his final
goodbyes. Even now he was arming himself to stand guard outside the royal
suite, that the work inside might not be disturbed.
Now, there was another Deryni who did not fit the traditional mold which
humans would ascribe to all of that raceтАФa gentle and a compassionate man,
for all that he was warrior, born and bred. The king wondered why Jebediah
thought the regents would not keep him on as earl marshal, once Cinhil was
gone. Cinhil had assured him that his fears were groundless on all counts, but
he was not certain that the earl marshal was convinced.
One fear which was not groundless, however, was the likelihood of Cinhil's
impending deathтАФnot that Cinhil himself was particularly frightened by the
prospect any more. Even the means of death did not dismay him, or hold for
him the stark, soul-withering terror it once would have. This magic was of his
choosing and his direction.
Dispassionately he accepted that his life would likely end within these walls
tonightтАФand that he was content that this be so, if only he could accomplish
his last intentions. And such an end, in the service of his sons, was infinitely
better than dragging on and on, ever weaker, eventually bedridden and
coughing out his life in a final fit of blood and pain.
He had told Alister so. He had made his final confession this morning and
received absolution. After, he had secretly celebrated his last Mass, with Alister
to assist him, reverently donning the beloved vestments technically forbidden
him since a long-ago Christmas Eve when a long-dead archbishop had
pronounced him prince instead of priest. That Cinhil had resumed his priestly
office and continued to exercise it faithfully over the years was a secret which
only he and Alister shared, a secret of the confessional which both men would
carry to their graves. His reception of the Sacrament as priest, one final time,
had lent him strength to face the rest of the day's demands. Later, Alister
would give one final sacrament, in its time; and after that, there would be
peace. He would welcome peace, after the life he had been forced to lead.