The Nameless Day by Sara Douglass

Lancaster and Raby nodded and smiled, and Thomas thought he also saw relief in his uncle’s expression.

How does Raby truly feel about Margaret? he wondered. I think that if she had died last night, Raby would have been the one to keen the loudest.

“Lady Joan remains with them now,” Thomas said. He smiled at Lancaster and then Raby. “Without her I do not know how anyone could have managed. Lady Joan kept a steady head when all others about her panicked.”

Both Lancaster and Raby smiled as well, acknowledging his thanks and his compliment.

“I am glad to hear the woman and child do well,” Thorseby said. “But then, sin has always imbued flesh with strength. Only the innocent embrace death with ease and gladness.”

“I pity you,” Lancaster said, his hands visibly tightening about the armrests of his chair, “that you so begrudge Margaret and her child their lives.”

“Tom, your uncle and I both have things to say to you, but first we have to deal with Father Thorseby’s accusations.”

Thorseby sprang out of his chair, standing rigid with anger, staring first at Lancaster and then at Thomas.

“Brother Thomas has abandoned all semblance of his clerical duties and demeanor! He has broken every one of his vows! He has—”

“Been a very bad boy,” Lancaster said, staring at Thorseby. “For God’s sake, man, get to the point.”

“I humbly request, my lord,” Thorseby said through clenched teeth, “that you release Brother Thomas from your custody and give him into mine so that I may administer full discipline under Church and Dominican law.”

“As you remarked,” Lancaster said, “Tom has apparently abandoned all semblance of a Dominican friar, and has broken all his vows. Poverty? Yes, for see the fine tunic and boots he wears. Obedience? Most definitely, for he has lived in disobedience these past several months. Chastity?” Lancaster laughed. “Oh, most positively, I think. My point, Father Thorseby, is that Thomas has effectively left the priesthood—he has no tonsure, and does not dress nor act in priestly fashion—and thus he has removed himself from your jurisdiction. Thomas, is this so? Do you formally renounce your vows and your ties to the Dominican Order?”

Thomas sighed, and massaged his forehead with his fingers in order to delay his answer a moment or two. He was physically exhausted, for he had not slept, and was emotionally drained by watching both Margaret’s, and their child’s, struggle for life. At any other time he would have had to ask for an interval to think … but now he was so tired …

Margaret was right. He was no longer a man of the Church. He needed to do what St. Michael had suggested to him. To work beyond the boundaries of a Church corrupted with Satan’s imps so that he could work God’s will. You are God’s Beloved, Thomas. You need no other authority than that to work what you must.

“Yes,” he said. “I do so renounce my vows to the Church.”

“Then that’s settled,” Lancaster said.

“No!” Thorseby said, still standing and staring between Thomas and Lancaster. “It is not settled! He can’t just leave whenever—”

“He has renounced his vows!” Lancaster roared, leaping to his feet and making both Raby and Thomas jump. “Accept it!”

Thorseby stared up at Lancaster—the duke was a good foot taller than he—a muscle twitching in one cheek. “There is the small matter of heresy,” he said. “And that is my provenance!”

“Heresy?” Lancaster said. “Heresy? What heresy?”

“It is rumored,” Thorseby said, grinding each word cut, “that Thomas claims to have been visited by the archangel Saint Michael.”

“Where is the heresy in that?” Lancaster said. His eyes narrowed. “Or is it that you are accusing Saint Michael of heresy for appearing without your permission?”

Raby laughed, and even Thomas had to suppress a smile. Lancaster couldn’t have torn Thorseby apart more effectively if he’d taken an axe to him.

“If Saint Michael has appeared to Thomas then the man is blessed,” Lancaster continued, a smile now also playing about his own mouth. “Has Thomas incited the hordes to follow a deviancy? No? Has Thomas made any statement at all that counters the Church’s holy law? No?” Lancaster’s smile faded away. “Then I put it to you, Father Thorseby, that even though Tom has been a very, very bad friar, he is no heretic. Now… get out!”

Thorseby flinched, but still he stood his ground. He opened his mouth, but Lancaster allowed him to get no further.

“I may have no jurisdiction over the Church in England,” he said, his tone now low and poisonous, “but believe me, Thorseby, when I say that I have the power to make your life hell on earth if you cross me. Thomas’ only sin has been to irritate you, and I don’t believe that sin is enough to persuade me to allow you to hound him from coast to coast. Now … get out!”

Thorseby’s eyes bulged, and his face flushed a molded red. He flashed Thomas a look of pure venom, then he turned on his heel and marched out of the hall, slamming the door as he went through.

“My lord,” Thomas said, his voice full of genuine relief and gratitude. “I do thank you.”

Lancaster grunted and sat down. “Then thank me by pouring me some wine from that pitcher over there.”

As Thomas poured out the wine and handed the duke a goblet, Lancaster looked him in the eye. “Welcome home, Tom.”

Thomas nodded, poured out some wine for Raby and himself, then sat down.

He was home.

“And now,” Raby said, staring down into his goblet, “I must thank you, Tom.”

He raised his dark eyes and regarded Thomas. “You did not need to accept responsibility for my child with Margaret, but in doing so, you have eased my own path and ensured my wife’s peace of mind. It was well done, Tom.”

“Well done, indeed,” Lancaster said, then he smiled gently, conspiratonally. “Did

you truly bed Margaret in my palace?”

“Aye.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably, not because of Lancaster’s scrutiny, but because of the way his uncle stared at him. “She came to my room one night, scared and uncertain about her future. I tried to comfort her, and we found ourselves …”

He shrugged helplessly.

“Did she deliberately trap you?” Raby asked.

Thomas hesitated over his reply, not knowing which answer his uncle wanted.

“My lust for her overcame me,” he finally said. “She is a beautiful woman, even when big with child.”

“Tom,” Lancaster said, “we must plan for your future. In leaving the Church you have, perhaps, walked into a different trap. Having publicly acknowledged yourself the sire of Margaret’s child you must now assume responsibility for it… and for Margaret.”

Raby put his goblet down and leaned forward. “When you took clerical orders, Tom, you deeded the properties and estates you inherited from your parents to me.

You now have them back. I will instruct the clerks to redraw the deeds once I return to Sheriff Hutton.”

Thomas stared at his uncle. He hadn’t expected …

“And for me,” Lancaster said softly, drawing Thomas’ eye to him, “I also give you estates. Your family estates are far to the north, and I am thinking that I will need you closer to me, and to court.”

“But—” Thomas began.

“When you take Margaret to wife,” Lancaster said, an edge of steel creeping into his voice, “I would that you both join Hal’s household. When Margaret is not child bearing then your wife will do well to serve as a lady to Hal’s wife—I am certain he will marry before too many more months have passed. To do this effectively it is best that you settle closer to London. As a wedding gift I will deed to you two of my manors in Devon, as well as Halstow Hall in Kent. Do you know it? ‘Tis but a few miles beyond Gravesend on the Thames estuary. The lands abutting the Hall make only middling farming, for they are salty and windswept, but the estate comes with a goodly portion of the revenue from the fishing industries of the estuary and, combined with the revenues from your estates in Yorkshire and Devon, will give you and Margaret and your children a good living. Now, what say you?”

In truth, Thomas was not sure what to say. Between them Raby and Lancaster had made him a rich man … and ensured that Margaret would be kept well enough away from Joan.

It was just that he hadn’t quite ever embraced the concept of marriage in his mind.

Over the past night Thomas had realized he must somehow take responsibility for Margaret and the child, yes… but marriage? Thomas thought furiously as the two men watched him. Marriage! Dear God… he hadn’t expected this … but it might work in his favor. If he married Margaret then he’d be so locked in both Lancaster’s and Raby’s favor he would ensure himself a place at court, where would shortly reign the Demon King, and would ensure himself of a mighty protector in Lancaster. He would also have Margaret literally under his authority as his wife (better the devil you fan keep your eye on than the one you can’t); how better to