Part Thirteen.

Selden signed himself and then turned to where the bishop lay. He spoke quietly a spell that would bring back the bishop’s appetite, making the small gestures called for, questioning himself still if this was what the dying man would want. He took away the fever, too, knowing that he was just masking the symptoms of the man’s dying.

He called for Matron then, not out loud, but by placing the gentlest of suggestions into her mind. Matron would sense it as curiosity or concern. And, sure enough, she appeared in just a moment, her eyes searching those of the middle-aged priest for some sign of hope.

She came close and Selden whispered, “How well do you know this man?”

Matron’s mind scurried between anger and suspicion and fear. What a question to ask, she thought. This is no man lying here; he’s a priest. And do you mean, am I intimate with him? No, I love my husband still–God rest his soul–and I wouldn’t sin with a priest. How dare you, her mind demanded. And of course I know him well, Pater; he’s my parish priest. I confess to him. Less likely would I turn to you for penance and forgiveness. So, what do you mean: Do I know him? Is he not what he seems?

Matron finally spoke, “I am as close to him as if he were my brother.”

“Then you’ll care for him until the end? For you should know, Matron, he is not long with us. He’s been shriven. He calls for the end, so that he might begin his new life.”

Matron’s eyes filled with tears. She struggled to speak, “Is there nothing you can do? I would ask– ”

“Nothing more can be done... Or, at least, ought to be done.” He looked at her closely, calling her attention to his eyes, and perhaps his heart. Might she hear him as he felt? “One reaches a place of quiet–even when everyone else is wailing and in tears, even when one’s self makes a terrible groaning... A vast place of quiet and towering clouds, that race toward the setting sun. And then comes certainty. Death comes as naturally as a heartbeat, as unplanned as our breathing. We make the steps as though we are young again. The best of us go skipping, making songs like those children might sing.”

The old woman smiled, a bit. Perhaps she understood.

Selden told her, “I’ve done some small things. For comfort. I’ve taken the fever away and given back an appetite. Don’t be fooled by it, Matron. Your priest hasn’t long to live.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Let me tell you something. Not a secret, but tell no one until he’s passed. Will you be bound?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Your priest is a bishop.”

Matron showed her surprise, but looked at the dying man as if she had known all along. Selden heard her thoughts: We’ve known that he is a holy man.

“He gave up his crosier when his health began to fail. And was called here to Cald Mere. Tiny Cald Mere.” To himself, Selden reasoned, He came to Cald Mere to teach this boy. One would receive no better catechism.

“So he is Primus to us, Matron. When he wakes, Primus will be hungry. Give him broth and ... I have a loaf of bread with me, from the Archmage. It is the eulogia, but some days old. Perhaps it will be a sop for you two, for you should eat of it also. It is blessed bread and you share in its blessing as you tend to Primus.” Selden placed a hand on the woman’s head. “God reward you, Matron.”

He knew her well enough from what he had seen in her. She was a kind woman, devoted more to her priest than to her God, perhaps, but that was her path.

And Selden knew, “All paths lead to God.”