Free The Fell Sword by Miles Cameron

continue to fill the role.’ The King smiled at her. ‘A woman as Chancellor?’ He looked at her, and for a moment, his intelligence outshone his indolence. ‘Not that you haven’t been the best Chancellor I’ve known, my lady. But it’s not talent I need, but someone with enough interest in Parliament to make my laws and my coinage and my wars run smoothly.’
    The Captal looked around. ‘Your Grace, if—’
    ‘Let’s have Master Ailwin, then,’ said Master Pye.
    ‘A commoner fulfilling the highest office of the land?’ asked the Captal. ‘Who would trust him? He’d most likely steal money.’
    ‘As a foreigner, the King’s champion is no doubt unaware that the last Bishop of Lorica was born a commoner,’ the Queen said, her voice light but her eyes steady. ‘Captal, by now you must be aware that such statements give offence to Albans.’
    The Captal shrugged, his shoulder armour rising and falling to show the strength of his shoulders and back. ‘They should challenge me over it, then. Otherwise—’ he favoured them with his most beatific smile ‘—I assume they all agree.’
    As always, Jean de Vrailly’s statements brought silence – in this case a stunned one as men sought to understand. Did he just say what I think he said?
    ‘As this has become an impromptu meeting of the King’s Grace and his private council – may I say a word?’ asked the Count of the Borders. ‘There are many ways in which the north has not returned to normal since the fighting in the spring. Ser John Crayford reports that the woods are full of boglins, and worse.’
    The King nodded. He smiled at his Queen.
    She smiled back, but nodded graciously to the Count. ‘It is important to replace all the crown officers who were slain,’ she said. ‘Lorica needs a new bishop. His presence at our council is much missed.’
    The King nodded. ‘He was a good man. A fine knight.’ He looked around. ‘He was with us for as long as I can remember – like old Harmodius.’ He looked around. ‘My pater appointed him.’
    De Vrailly’s head shot back. ‘A king, no matter how favoured by God, cannot just appoint a bishop!’
    The King shrugged. ‘Jean, perhaps I have the wrong of it.’
    The Count of the Borders shook his head. ‘Captal, our king holds the right to appoint his own bishops under the approval of the Patriarch in Liviapolis.’
    De Vrailly sighed. ‘The Patriarch is no doubt a worthy man, but not the rightful heir of Peter.’
    Every Alban present either bridled at the words or settled his weight in boredom. The habit of Arles, Etrusca, Calle and Iberia had been to turn religious squabbles into open conflict – the investiture of bishops and the primacy of the Patriarch of Rhum were two particularly sore points. By virtue of distance and isolation, the Nova Terra was immune to such conflicts ‘Perhaps—’ The King grinned. ‘Perhaps we might find a candidate agreeable to both worthy fathers, and thus make all men happy.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Would that not be the wisdom of Solomon?’
    Master Ailwin’s eyes met those of the newly minted Ser Gerald.
    Ser Gerald bowed from his seat. ‘Your Grace – that might seem like sense, but you are abrogating a royal prerogative and asking two men who rarely even recognise each other’s existence to reconcile.’ He looked around, ignored a grunt from the Captal and shrugged. ‘Lorica and the north need a bishop now.’
    The King smiled into his wife’s eyes. ‘I’ll look into it. Appoint a committee. Captal – you seem to know so much of religion. Will you manage this?’
    ‘I’d be delighted, Your Grace,’ said the knight, bowing with a clash.
    The King whispered to his wife, and stood. ‘That’s enough business for one afternoon, gentles.’
    The pages bustled about and the room emptied, leaving Ailwin and two servants with Gerald Random and Master Pye.
    ‘That was well said. The Bishop of Lorica was the friend of the little man.’ Pye shook his