Solace and Longshire VI
Oct. 23rd, 2006 13:36![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mapsedge"Vanity is an unattractive quality in a priest," Longshire rumbled acidly from the door of the sacristy, "Father Kevin."
Father Kevin started, hastily removed the bishop's mitre, a size and a half too big anyway, from his head and set about the task of pretending to clean it of imaginary lint.
"Ah, Samuel," he flicked at the edge of the tall hat with a neatly trimmed fingernail. His hands were soft, uncalloused, the fingers long and tapering. They were the hands of a clark who had other men to write for him. "You're back. I didn't hear you enter."
Longshire, supporting himself on the post of the doorway, raised his bulk over the small sill into the room and, with one finger, indicated that the younger priest should place his mitre back onto its stand.
"That," he ennunciated slowly, "is manifest."
Father Kevin replaced the bishop's mitre, smoothing the infulae, the tabs hanging from the back, and moved to sit in the closest chair. Longshire removed his outer robe and, before the other priest could sit, tossed the garment onto the seat. Solace, the shire's gravemaker, leaning against the stone trim of the doorway, grinned but did not speak. He did not like Father Kevin, finding him overly fussy and, his greatest fault in Solace's opinion, callous, and enjoyed the bishop's small revenge. Longshire lifted the hem of his house cassock and sat in the only other chair. Solace noted that, like his friend, the garment had faded somewhat, its customary black now a dark gray.
Father Kevin changed course without affecting to notice the affront, going to a large wooden cabinet in one corner of the room. "Tut-tut"ing, he began straightening the garments folded on it's shelves.
"The novices must be more careful in arranging the vestments," he fussed. "I shall have a talk with Brother Davin, shall I? I mean -- "
"The vestments are fine. There is no patron saint of wrinkly linen, nor legion of avenging angels who punish those who cannot wield an iron. I trust," Longshire settled in, "That the morning's hours were handled in my absence?"
"Quite so, your Grace."
"I apologize for not telling you I would be gone, but when I looked for you..." Longshire let the thought trail away. When he resumed, he sounded almost wistful. "Hora sacra is usually my favorite hour of the day, but I had other business to call me away." He returned to the moment, "Well, I'll admit to not looking very hard. I had no doubt that you would ably step up to the task."
"I do but serve, your Grace."
Solace watched the retort form behind Lonshire's eyes, saw his mouth open fractionally. After a moment's hesitation, Longshire thought better of the sarcasm, and let the conceit go.
It was then that Longshire began to feel it in his shoulders and elbows: a tingling heat that crept down into his hands and up into his neck to his cheeks. Sweat appeared at the line above his eyebrows. He rubbed a finger across his forehead to remove the sweat, though it did little good, and said a quick, silent prayer that he wouldn't humiliate himself before the priest. The prayer made him feel a little better, though he knew it was only in his mind this time, and he raised his eyes to the other man.
Father Kevin closed the tall cabinet, unaware of the older man's discomfort. He moved to the bishop's elbow and said solicitously, "Your Grace, I will take my leave. As you are here I assume you will be officiating for the psalms of Sext. I have my own business, things to discuss with Brother Abbott..."
He wound down, halted by the expression he saw forming in Longshire's eyes.
"I am weak, Kevin," the bishop warned. "Do not make the mistake of thinking me infirm or senile."
Kevin's mouth fell open and he stammered, "I b-beg y-your pardon?"
"Neither am I blind or uninformed."
"Your grace," the younger priest stammered, "Surely you don't think --"
"And what am I to think?" Longshire spat. "I know already that you and the Abbott are making plans as to how to divide the spoils of this, " he waved his hand, vaguely indicating everything about the church and it's grounds, "this parish before Henry's soldiers arrive to take it away from you." Longshire levelled a finger at Kevin. "And make no mistake: it's been a year since the Act of Supremacy and we are far removed from the intrigues of London, but we are not invisible to them. On the altar alone are relics enough to pay a soldier's way for a decade, let alone the sacramental pieces you hid in the floor when Madame d'Tourney was disinterred last summer."
Father Kevin's cheeks colored, but he was shrewd enough not to deny it and be caught in the lie. Instead, he lifted his chin a fraction and said, "How did you know?"
Longshire rested his chin in his hand, suddenly very, very weary. "I didn't. Now, I do."
Solace put a hand over his mouth to hide the smile, and unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. It escaped as a snort, burning his sinuses. Father Kevin's eyes widened at the intrusion: he hadn't realized the gravemaker was present.
Speaking quickly before the two other men could start an argument, Lonshire raised his hands, palms out and shaking slightly, to the men.
"Father Kevin, I do not care what conspiracies you wish to create. You will need that gold for the people of this parish by the time Henry's ravages are through."
Longshire lowered his hands. He leaned forward, inhaled, swallowed, his hands over his face.
Slowly, so slowly, Longshire toppled forward, his knees striking audibly the stone of the floor. He caught himself with one hand before his body had a chance to prostrate itself.
Kevin stood, aghast, unmoving. Seeing his inaction, his disgust, Solace moved forward, grabbing at the nearest cloth. As he moved to the bishop's side, in one unthinking movement he doused it quickly in a bowl of water, squeezed out a bit of the excess moisture, and placed it over Longshire's forehead.
"You --" he began, offended by the Solace's entrance into this private space.
"Feed my sheep?" Solace challenged him. "Clothe the poor?" He spoke in stacatto phrases. "Care for the sick? Forget your duties, priest?" He held Longshire's head, stroking his hair as the Longshire fought to regain his equilibrium.
Kevin's face reddened. "That's the cloth we use for Eucharist, and you just dipped it in water that's been blessed for the font!"
Solace looked away from him, turning his attention back to the bishop, letting the Holy Water drip onto his neck. "Did I? I'm sure the Great Healer won't mind my using His tools for a bit of healing. Or, shall I borrow the hem of your garment, priest? Perhaps there's a miracle in it..."
"Solace," Longshire admonished the gravemaker, weakly.
"Sweet Mary," Solace muttered, "You're burning with fever."
Kevin's face paled, and he backed up a step. With an unsteady hand, he crossed himself. "Is it the Plague?" he whispered.
"A fever of the blood," Solace corrected him. "Not catching unless you can inhale a fracture."
Solace began to whisper, "Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto."
O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.
There was a long pause. Solace held the old bishop's forehead, dabbing the warming cloth to his neck. Father Kevin began shuffling from one foot to the other, unsure what to do. Solace finally broke the silence, saying, "I'm sorry, Father Kevin. My emotions got the better of me."
Longshire took a deep breath, lowered himself to his haunches. He blinked his eyes tightly closed. "Solace," he waved his hand vaguely, "Would you bring me a drink?" As Solace rose, the bishop opened his eyes and regarded Kevin. "In deference to Father Kevin, please make the effort to NOT select the communion chalice."
Father Kevin blushed, relieved when Longshire chuckled. When the older man moved to return to his seat, Father Kevin stepped forward to support him. Longshire nodded his thanks, then turned to Solace the accept a small wooden mug.
"Water?"
Solace smiled. "The contents of that pitcher, there."
"Damn." Longshire drained the mug and handed it back to the gravedigger to refill. He turned his attention to the younger priest.
"My son, you are ill prepared for the tasks ahead of you, and I pray that God will grant you Grace enough to handle them.
"I know that you have business away from here. Go, see you to it."
Relieved, Kevin moved to the door. As his hand touched the latch, Longshire cleared his throat, speaking to the priest's back.
"In the meantime, at least have the decency to remember that I yet live."
Father Kevin started, hastily removed the bishop's mitre, a size and a half too big anyway, from his head and set about the task of pretending to clean it of imaginary lint.
"Ah, Samuel," he flicked at the edge of the tall hat with a neatly trimmed fingernail. His hands were soft, uncalloused, the fingers long and tapering. They were the hands of a clark who had other men to write for him. "You're back. I didn't hear you enter."
Longshire, supporting himself on the post of the doorway, raised his bulk over the small sill into the room and, with one finger, indicated that the younger priest should place his mitre back onto its stand.
"That," he ennunciated slowly, "is manifest."
Father Kevin replaced the bishop's mitre, smoothing the infulae, the tabs hanging from the back, and moved to sit in the closest chair. Longshire removed his outer robe and, before the other priest could sit, tossed the garment onto the seat. Solace, the shire's gravemaker, leaning against the stone trim of the doorway, grinned but did not speak. He did not like Father Kevin, finding him overly fussy and, his greatest fault in Solace's opinion, callous, and enjoyed the bishop's small revenge. Longshire lifted the hem of his house cassock and sat in the only other chair. Solace noted that, like his friend, the garment had faded somewhat, its customary black now a dark gray.
Father Kevin changed course without affecting to notice the affront, going to a large wooden cabinet in one corner of the room. "Tut-tut"ing, he began straightening the garments folded on it's shelves.
"The novices must be more careful in arranging the vestments," he fussed. "I shall have a talk with Brother Davin, shall I? I mean -- "
"The vestments are fine. There is no patron saint of wrinkly linen, nor legion of avenging angels who punish those who cannot wield an iron. I trust," Longshire settled in, "That the morning's hours were handled in my absence?"
"Quite so, your Grace."
"I apologize for not telling you I would be gone, but when I looked for you..." Longshire let the thought trail away. When he resumed, he sounded almost wistful. "Hora sacra is usually my favorite hour of the day, but I had other business to call me away." He returned to the moment, "Well, I'll admit to not looking very hard. I had no doubt that you would ably step up to the task."
"I do but serve, your Grace."
Solace watched the retort form behind Lonshire's eyes, saw his mouth open fractionally. After a moment's hesitation, Longshire thought better of the sarcasm, and let the conceit go.
It was then that Longshire began to feel it in his shoulders and elbows: a tingling heat that crept down into his hands and up into his neck to his cheeks. Sweat appeared at the line above his eyebrows. He rubbed a finger across his forehead to remove the sweat, though it did little good, and said a quick, silent prayer that he wouldn't humiliate himself before the priest. The prayer made him feel a little better, though he knew it was only in his mind this time, and he raised his eyes to the other man.
Father Kevin closed the tall cabinet, unaware of the older man's discomfort. He moved to the bishop's elbow and said solicitously, "Your Grace, I will take my leave. As you are here I assume you will be officiating for the psalms of Sext. I have my own business, things to discuss with Brother Abbott..."
He wound down, halted by the expression he saw forming in Longshire's eyes.
"I am weak, Kevin," the bishop warned. "Do not make the mistake of thinking me infirm or senile."
Kevin's mouth fell open and he stammered, "I b-beg y-your pardon?"
"Neither am I blind or uninformed."
"Your grace," the younger priest stammered, "Surely you don't think --"
"And what am I to think?" Longshire spat. "I know already that you and the Abbott are making plans as to how to divide the spoils of this, " he waved his hand, vaguely indicating everything about the church and it's grounds, "this parish before Henry's soldiers arrive to take it away from you." Longshire levelled a finger at Kevin. "And make no mistake: it's been a year since the Act of Supremacy and we are far removed from the intrigues of London, but we are not invisible to them. On the altar alone are relics enough to pay a soldier's way for a decade, let alone the sacramental pieces you hid in the floor when Madame d'Tourney was disinterred last summer."
Father Kevin's cheeks colored, but he was shrewd enough not to deny it and be caught in the lie. Instead, he lifted his chin a fraction and said, "How did you know?"
Longshire rested his chin in his hand, suddenly very, very weary. "I didn't. Now, I do."
Solace put a hand over his mouth to hide the smile, and unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. It escaped as a snort, burning his sinuses. Father Kevin's eyes widened at the intrusion: he hadn't realized the gravemaker was present.
Speaking quickly before the two other men could start an argument, Lonshire raised his hands, palms out and shaking slightly, to the men.
"Father Kevin, I do not care what conspiracies you wish to create. You will need that gold for the people of this parish by the time Henry's ravages are through."
Longshire lowered his hands. He leaned forward, inhaled, swallowed, his hands over his face.
Slowly, so slowly, Longshire toppled forward, his knees striking audibly the stone of the floor. He caught himself with one hand before his body had a chance to prostrate itself.
Kevin stood, aghast, unmoving. Seeing his inaction, his disgust, Solace moved forward, grabbing at the nearest cloth. As he moved to the bishop's side, in one unthinking movement he doused it quickly in a bowl of water, squeezed out a bit of the excess moisture, and placed it over Longshire's forehead.
"You --" he began, offended by the Solace's entrance into this private space.
"Feed my sheep?" Solace challenged him. "Clothe the poor?" He spoke in stacatto phrases. "Care for the sick? Forget your duties, priest?" He held Longshire's head, stroking his hair as the Longshire fought to regain his equilibrium.
Kevin's face reddened. "That's the cloth we use for Eucharist, and you just dipped it in water that's been blessed for the font!"
Solace looked away from him, turning his attention back to the bishop, letting the Holy Water drip onto his neck. "Did I? I'm sure the Great Healer won't mind my using His tools for a bit of healing. Or, shall I borrow the hem of your garment, priest? Perhaps there's a miracle in it..."
"Solace," Longshire admonished the gravemaker, weakly.
"Sweet Mary," Solace muttered, "You're burning with fever."
Kevin's face paled, and he backed up a step. With an unsteady hand, he crossed himself. "Is it the Plague?" he whispered.
"A fever of the blood," Solace corrected him. "Not catching unless you can inhale a fracture."
Solace began to whisper, "Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto."
O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.
There was a long pause. Solace held the old bishop's forehead, dabbing the warming cloth to his neck. Father Kevin began shuffling from one foot to the other, unsure what to do. Solace finally broke the silence, saying, "I'm sorry, Father Kevin. My emotions got the better of me."
Longshire took a deep breath, lowered himself to his haunches. He blinked his eyes tightly closed. "Solace," he waved his hand vaguely, "Would you bring me a drink?" As Solace rose, the bishop opened his eyes and regarded Kevin. "In deference to Father Kevin, please make the effort to NOT select the communion chalice."
Father Kevin blushed, relieved when Longshire chuckled. When the older man moved to return to his seat, Father Kevin stepped forward to support him. Longshire nodded his thanks, then turned to Solace the accept a small wooden mug.
"Water?"
Solace smiled. "The contents of that pitcher, there."
"Damn." Longshire drained the mug and handed it back to the gravedigger to refill. He turned his attention to the younger priest.
"My son, you are ill prepared for the tasks ahead of you, and I pray that God will grant you Grace enough to handle them.
"I know that you have business away from here. Go, see you to it."
Relieved, Kevin moved to the door. As his hand touched the latch, Longshire cleared his throat, speaking to the priest's back.
"In the meantime, at least have the decency to remember that I yet live."