Free The End of Magic by James Mallory

gazing around himself in admiration.
    The air was balmy and scented with jasmine and oranges, for Italy was a much warmer country than cool, misty Britain. Arthur
     felt overdressed and provincial in his good wool tunic and gartered breeches, his cloak pinned at the shoulders by twin round
     brooches of beaten gold. He smoothed the beard he had grown in his travels with a hint of nervousness. He’d thought it made
     him look more kingly, but perhaps it only marked him as a provincial barbarian. The beauty he saw on every hand—of statues,
     paintings, and finely-wrought furnishings—shamed him. He had once thought to make Camelot a city more splendid than any in
     the ancient world, but he saw now that such dreams had been foolish. Cities already existed that—even in decay—were far more
     splendid than he could have ever imagined when he began his quest, and there was no way for Camelot to begin to equal them.
    His grand dreams had all been foolish, unattainable. All of them.
    “His Holiness will see you now,” a slender man dressed all in red announced, entering the antechamber. He held the doors open
     as Arthur and Gawain passed through them into the audience chamber itself. It was the most enormous room either man had ever
     seen, and the most lavish.
    The ceiling of the audience chamber was the deep blue of lapis lazuli, studded with golden stars, and the walls were covered
     with gilding and painted with images from the Holy Book. The air was thick with incense, and the heat of an Italian summer
     was made more sultry by the beeswax candles that stood in enormous golden candelabra along the walls of the room. As Arthur
     watched, a single teardrop of wax fell from one of the chandeliers above to spatter on the floor of inlaid marble.
    At the far end of the enormous chamber, the Papal throne was set at the top of three steps of black and white marble. The
     throne glittered with gilding and bright enamel. There was a canopy above it, of blue velvet embroidered with golden stars,
     and curtains of white samite hung down on either side. On each side of the throne stood men in ornate Roman armor, staring
     straight ahead and holding javelins. Rome had bowed to the Church centuries before, and all that remained of its temporal
     might had been placed in her service.
    The magnificence of the throne made its wizened occupant look even smaller by contrast. Virgilius was an old man, whose holy
     office and privileges had been worried like a bone between the Eastern Emperor and the greedy North African bishops. He had
     been deposed, excommunicated, and jailed during his years upon the throne, but had always survived and triumphed. Now, though
     he was at the height of his power, Virgilius was a very old man indeed, though the ravages of Time were mostly concealed by
     the sumptuousness of his pontifical robes. These were stiff with gold embroidery and jewels, and his gloved hands were covered
     with heavy rings. On his head Virgilius wore the Papal crown, and its gold-encrusted lappets lay upon his chest. He looked
     like a carven doll. Only his ancient eyes were alive.
    Arthur tried to feel the reverence that he thought he ought to at this auspicious moment, for in looking at Virgilius he was
     seeing Christ’s Vicar on Earth, the anointed shepherd of the New Religion. But at the moment, all Arthur could think of was
     that he had seen beggars in the streets of the city, and that all this pomp and temporal display could have been sold to feed
     them. Camelot might never be as grand as Rome, but there at least no one would ever go hungry. As he thought of that, he felt
     a little better.
    “Who is this?” Virgilius asked in a thin wavery voice. One of the cardinals near him was poised to reply, but Arthur spoke
     first.
    “I am Arthur of Britain, King in that land, come with Sir Gawain to pay my respects and to seek aid in my quest.”
    “And what is this quest?” Virgilius asked. “Come closer, come closer,