The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [56]
“You’ve got to get yourself a proper bed. It doesn’t have to be soft or some such sinful thing; you’ve just got to get out of the draft.”
“I’ll consider it, then.”
The neophyte brought Nevyn a low stool, then took himself away. Nevyn launched straight into his plans. The priesthood of Bel was in the perfect position to interpret oracles and omens in the “correct” way, simply because so many men came to them with puzzling dreams or events. When the time came, too, they would be the ones to proclaim the new king and marry him to the sovereignty of the kingdom.
“And I’ve no doubt he’ll reward the temples once he’s gained the throne,” Nevyn finished up.
“No doubt, oh no doubt, but why are you coming to me instead of the high priest of the Holy City?”
“I was recently there. I heard Gwergovyn is the new high priest.”
“Um. He is, of course, my superior, no matter what I may think of him.”
For a moment they considered each other, each wondering just how much could be said aloud. Since he was running the lesser risk, Nevyn spoke first.
“I realize that traditionally the priesthood of Deverry has always claimed supremacy, but as I remember, anyway, it’s only tradition—not law—that gives them their place.”
“True enough.” Olaedd’s dark eyes blinked once. “So it is, truly.”
“That tradition might be badly shaken if the priesthood there supports the wrong claimant to the throne.”
“While Lughcarn supports the right one?” Olaedd put the tips of his fingers together and studied his arched hands for a moment. “In just an eightnight there’ll be a convocation of the northern temples here in Lughcarn.”
“Won’t the Dun Deverry priesthood send an envoy?”
“Of course, but there are always ways for a few trustworthy men to talk privately. Ride back when the convocation’s over. We’ll speak of this matter again.”
Nevyn went to a small village about ten miles north of the city and camped in a farmer’s barn on the pretense of gathering herbs in the neighborhood. Since not only the farmer in question but the whole village was glad to have an herbman nearby, he was soon well known. During his second week there, the miller’s little daughter came running to tell him that a marvel had happened: one of the goats had given birth to a two-headed kid. Mostly because she expected him to, Nevyn went to look and found most of the village crowded round the pen. Weighed down by its deformity, the kid couldn’t even stand, while its mother bleated in a hopeless sort of way even as she licked it clean.
“It doubtless won’t live the day,” Nevyn remarked to the miller.
“Couldn’t agree more. Do you think someone bewitched my goats?”
“I don’t.” Nevyn was about to launch into a long discussion of the interrelationships of the four humors in animals when he got a much better idea. “The gods sent it as an omen, I’ll wager. Here, can an animal with two heads live? Of course not. So, then, can a kingdom with two kings do much better?”
The crowd nodded sagely at this display of erudition.
“I’ll wager you’re right,” the miller said. “I’ll send my eldest lad to the local priest about this.”
“Do that. He’ll find it interesting, I’m sure.”
When he returned to Lughcarn, Nevyn found that indeed the news of the two-headed goat had preceded him. As soon as Olaedd and he were alone, the priest mentioned it.
“Now, even though you were the one to interpret the omen for the village, I’m sure Great Bel sent it. Your interpretation is the same as I’d give, too. If the civil wars go on much longer, there won’t be any kingdom to fight over, just a pack of minor lords, each squabbling over his borders. We discussed this at length during the convocation. After all, if there’s no king, who will protect the temples?”
“Just so.”
Olaedd looked absently away for a long moment, and even when he spoke, he didn’t look directly at Nevyn.
“There was some small discussion of Gwergovyn. It seems that there are some who are less than pleased with his presidency over the Holy City.”
“Ah. I wondered if that might be the case.”
“There are some good reasons