III
A threatening mood clung to the walls and ceiling like condensation. Whether damp, gloomy environments make for damp, gloomy people or the other way around is difficult to say, but for this environment, for these people, either explanation seemed convincing.
Somewhere in a dark corner of the galaxy, a group that opposed the order Reinhard von Lohengramm sought to construct had gathered. They did not voice their opposition publicly, like those at Iserlohn. Nor was their quarrel with the autocratic government of the empire as such. Their ideals, their values, were old and narrow, rejected by the majority of humanity, and ignored by an even larger majority. But the subjective sincerity of that tiny minority was undeniable.
This was the current headquarters of the Church of Terra. Specifically, the offices of Archbishop de Villiers, under whose guidance several recent intrigues had succeeded since the previous year. It was he who appeared to have seized the real power within the church. Several dozen believers, including a few bishops of lower rank, were demanding to see him. They had come to petition for an audience, but the scene looked more like a negotiation.
“Where is the Grand Bishop? We wish to see him.”
There was a serious obstinacy in their voices and faces. It was not the first time they had petitioned for this audience, but de Villiers had always brushed them off with some reason or other: the Grand Bishop was meditating, or resting from the fatigue of work.
“Unease and doubt are spreading among the faithful. His Holiness has not shown himself before the faithful since our church’s headquarters was destroyed by the imperial military.”
This complaint was made so frequently that it did not stimulate the cells of de Villiers’ face even a whit.
“If His Holiness would only deign to appear, just once, the faithful would be reassured,” one petitioner said in a trembling wail. “Why, then, are our requests for an audience refused? In former times, were we not blessed with His Holiness’s wisdom nearly every day?”
Their distrust of de Villiers seeped into his eardrums, and the able young archbishop replied with malice.
“I trust you do not believe the bizarre and nonsensical rumors that His Holiness passed away last year.”
“No, Your Grace, I assure you. I simply wish, as one believer among many, to be blessed with a glimpse of His Holiness.”
“You do, do you? That’s well and good, however—”
Skilfully wielding the invisible dagger of majesty in one hand and that of intimidation in the other, de Villiers backed the believers against the wall.
“—Kaiser Reinhard is married, and his kaiserin, the von Mariendorf girl, is pregnant. The child, which will be born in June, may one day inherit the throne. At this crucial juncture, one that could determine the fate of the very galaxy, what possible justification could there be for coming in groups like this to disturb His Holiness?”
“It is precisely because this is a crucial juncture that we wish to see His Holiness’s blessed face and receive His Holiness’s wisdom. The Grand Bishop is not the private property of a handful of high-ranking clerics. His teachings and mercy are bestowed on everyone who upholds the tenets of the faith. From the highest archbishop to the humblest believer, we are all supposed to be equal.”
Privately, de Villiers found it highly amusing to hear this band of fanatics invoking democratic principles in their arguments. Keeping his cold smile beneath his skin, he was about to speak when he saw waves of shock and emotion ripple across the expressions of the petitioners. As if pushed down by a vast, invisible fist, they fell to their knees. De Villiers did the same, as if a chill blade were pressed to his neck. The object of the petitioners’ obedience and awe stood before them in the gloom. He looked like a shadow, completely wrapped in his black, hooded robe.
“The Grand Bishop!”
“All those who abandon Terra must perish. If, indeed, any may cut his own roots and yet live.”
There was a strange hint of artificiality to the chanting rasp, as if it were being read aloud from a script.
“De Villiers is my most trusted confidant,” the Grand Bishop continued. “Follow his methods and contribute to his success. That and that alone will hasten the restoration of Terra to her rightful glory.”
As one, the faithful prostrated themselves.
De Villiers, too, was on his knees with head his hanging low, but his psychological landscape was an unusual one. It was incongruity fused with isolation, topped up with a few CCs of rage and mockery and then placed on the burner. As would be discovered later, de Villiers was not even on speaking terms with the tenets of the Terraist faith. He was a man of secular ambition and a gift for conspiracy, with nothing of the fanatic about him except, perhaps, overconfidence in his own dark gifts. He was cut from much the same cloth as men like Job Trünicht and Adrian Rubinsky. Just as Trünicht had used the structures of democratic republicanism and Rubinsky had used the levers of Phezzan’s economy, de Villiers was using the Church of Terra to advance his private ambitions. One result of this was that, to the average person, his ambitions were easier to understand, if not to admire. Ultimately, however, how he would unite those ambitions with historical significance once he had achieved them would remain an open question, fodder for the ponderings of historians.