The Book of the Blessed

Kingsboro Abbey

On most days, the massive cathedral knew an early morning service so small the entire congregation was gathered in the first few pews before the main altar, and then a midday service equally small followed. Today, Kingsboro Abbey was more full than on a Sunday, full as it would be on a great holiday, and this before ten in the morning. Every lord and lady and every bishop and high cleric who could be present with such short notice sat in the great seats around and before the altar, and whoever in the city could attend did, the closest under the sunlit dome, a county full of people still in the great nave stretching southward, all a hush like waves against the a morning sea in anticipation of the service.

Little noise was made even when the King himself came through the East Door with his son, Prince Anson, and his daughters and son-in-law the King of Essail. There were small rumors of Ash, the one Westerners called Akkrebeth, representative of an older order. All was silence. All was hushed expectation.

Then, at precisely ten o clock, the choir leapt to life singing:

I was glad when they said unto me,

Let us go into the house of theLord.

Our feet shall stand within thy gates!

The King’s City is builded as a city that is

compact together:

Whither the folk go up! Wither the folk go up!

The acolytes, swinging their thurifers, entered, young boys in black robes under white lace surplices. Between them the tallest, most handsome boy bore a brass lance bearing a rayed golden sun, and they marched slowly ahead of the Archbishop, his tall mitre with its tails sweeping behind, his robes white and gold, hazy through the smoke of frankincense. Behind him came the bishops of the surrounding counties, and the abbots of the great houses of the New Faith, including Abbot Merrill, for once in a white habit and not his normal brown and black. Behind them came the lector with the golden holy book, and the vectors with the tray bearing the elements, the golden chalice, the dish, the long silver scepteron, the crystal water bowl, the bread, the wine.

For there are set thrones of judgment,

the thrones of the House of Kings.

Pray for our peace!

For my brethren and companions’ sakes,

I will now say, Peace be within thee!

But this was a lengthy procession, and in the time they had made their way down the great nave to the high altar, moving about it, lighting the candles, the priests swinging the incense and standing behind their thrones, the whole hymn was done and now, the cathedral filling with incense, all still standing, there was a space of silence before the choir began to file from its secret place behind the altar, and through a secret side gallery winding its way to the vestibule of the cathedral so that, white robed, with a new thurible of sweet incense and led by the choir master, they could emerge into the great high nave singing:

God bless our native land!
May heaven's protecting hand
Still guard our shore:
May peace her pow’r extend,
Foe be transformed to friend,
And Westr’al’s rights depend
On war no more!

More immaculately white than any bishop was Caedmon Aethalan, of Westrial Crown Prince. Whoever doubted him, the doubt was gone as a young, black haired man with trim beard came into the cathedral, in snug white trousers and fitted white tunic, white cloak brooched in gold and bronze at his shoulders, falling down his back, lined in ermine, a great train spreading behind him, carried by the Knights of the Rose, in their burnished armor. The strangeness of a coronation while the old king still lived, the oddness of such a rushed ceremony, the suspicion many lords held for Cedd vanished, at least for a moment, as he came down the main corridor of the house of God.

O Lord, our monarch bless
With strength and righteousness:
Long may he reign!
His heart inspire and move
With wisdom from above;
And in a nation's love
His throne maintain!

The choir filed back into their stalls while, slowly, majestically, the Prince moved down an aisle long as two street blocks and, at long last, knelt at the altar as the hymn was finished and even the knights who had borne his train left him kneeling, his hands folded before him on the kneeler while, at the altar, acolytes opened the great book for the Archbishop and he came before Cedd while the hymn ended.

Not in this land alone,
But be God's mercies known
From shore to shore:
Lord make the nations see
That men should brothers be,
And form one family
The wide world over.

Anyone closer would have seen a marvel, for in the last moments of the hymn, Cardalan Bishop of Hurst left the altar to go to King Anthal and the King, lowering his head, removed his crown and placed it in the bishop’s hands. Then the Cardalan came to Archbishop Herulian, and placed the Crown in his hands so now, the Archbishop raised it over Cedd’s head and called out, as he raised it in all four cardinal points:

“Behold, in the east, Caedmon, your undoubted King. Behold in the west, Caedmon, your undoubted King. Behold in the north,” he said, holding the diadem to the horseshoe of nobles and high clerics, “Caedmon, your undoubted King. Behold, in the south,” he called to the throng filling the great minster, holding the golden crown aloft, “Caedmon, your undoubted King.

“My people, I here present unto you Cedd, your undoubted King. Wherefore, all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?”

Ash had looked to Anson, and was surprised to see tears in his eyes, but then he saw that, head bowed, Cedd’s eyes were wet as well. Anson rose up, shouting with the rest:

“Aye!” and though Ash heard Imogen say: “Aye,” her voice was not nearly so enthusiastic.

The Archbishop read from the great Book of Ceremonies: “Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of the Kingdom of Westrial according to their respective laws and customs?”

Westrial was a land of many people, Royan and Ayl and the many of mixed blood, the people of the Tribes and Travelers, the men of the New Faith, and those who worshiped what was before it as well as immigrants and folk who worshiped nothing at all.

Cedd replied: “I solemnly promise so to do.”

“Will you, to your power, cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?

“I will.”

“Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Laws of God and the true profession of the Holy Will? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in this Kingdom, the Religion established by law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolable the settlement of the Faith of Ankar, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Ankar? And will you preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of Ankar, and to the Assemblies there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them?

“All this,” Cedd said, “I promise to do.”

Reading from the book lowered for him, he said, “The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me God.”

“And do you here vow to follow, unaltered, in the footsteps of the King from whom this power has succeeded?”

And there it was! Ash did not even dare to turn to Anson. On that one simple line hung Cedd’s inability to change a single law without great force, rested the protection of the many people who were no part of the Communion of Ankar. In this one simply line, Cedd set back into motion, the long set of laws which Anthal had signed gladly at his coronation and added to since his reign, and it was on that one line he answered:

“All this, I promise to do.”

As they led him behind the altar, the choir sang, and none but those gathered so far back into the basilica could see as the Archbishop, seating him in the Throne of Coronation, anointed Cedd’s brow, his chest, his palms, and lowered the crown to his head. As it was done, all was quiet, and Anson remembered a verse from the Holy Book.

In heaven there was a space of silence for a half an hour.

And then, as Cedd rose, the choir triumphantly sang:

O Deum optimae
Salvam nunc facito
Regem nostrom
Sic laeta victoria
Comes et gloria
Salvam iam facito
Tu dominom!