Warden of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book 8) Read Online Free PDF

choice about it. They could believe … or leave.
    But as this was the Middle Ages, the choice tended to be more along the lines of believe … or die.
    Recent heresies had been laid at the feet of such diverse groups as the Cathars, with their dual gods and focus on sin, and the Waldensians, who preached poverty and strict adherence to the Bible. Both groups had taken root in southern France, and both insisted that the current Church was corrupt, a claim with which I couldn’t disagree.
    To counter these schismatic beliefs, the Papal Inquisition had been in full swing throughout this century, mostly in southern France and Italy. To be fair, its initial intent had been to provide a forum for accusations of heresy, as a counter to mobs of townspeople murdering fellow citizens without a trial. Particularly since the middle of this century, however, the tribunals had grown more powerful and harder to control—and I wanted no part of them in England.
    Nicholas IV, the previous pope, and I had come to an understanding on the matter out of necessity and pragmatism. He’d turned a blind eye to the fact that I was welcoming believers of every stripe into England, and I allowed him to catalog and tax the churches in England that were under his jurisdiction. I even snagged ten percent of his take.
    Unfortunately, Nicholas had died in April of this year, and the new pope, Boniface VIII, believed that all humans on the planet should be subject to him for their salvation. Heretics, then, were a big deal because, in his eyes, it wasn’t possible to separate yourself from the Church . Everyone was Catholic. Period. So, everyone had to believe what the Church told them to believe.
    In addition, he believed that his word was the final authority over not only the church but the state as well. While Carew may not have fully understood my position regarding freedom of religion, even if he accepted that I was willing to stake my throne on my belief in it, he was all for me standing up to the pope on matters of state. If I let the pope dictate national policy, even in small things, that was a slippery slope that neither I—nor my barons—wanted to go down. All of my barons could understand and support my refusal to accede to Boniface’s assertion that his word superseded mine in secular matters too.
    Mom had suggested that, having saved Dad’s life and changed history ten years ago, we had started moving further and further away from the historical trajectory that she knew. Most of the time I thought that could be a good thing, though not if the change meant I was about to get my head handed to me on a silver platter by the papal legate.
    Boniface had been in office for only a few months, but it was a difficult time for Christendom. He was under pressure from the rest of the clergy to increase the reach of the Church. Their power and wealth depended on his actions in the same way my barons’ power and wealth depended upon mine. A year ago, Acre had fallen to the Muslims, and with it had gone the Kingdom of Jerusalem. It was a painful loss for the Church.
    I couldn’t help feeling that the Pope’s focus had turned northward because he sought to compensate for the loss by tightening his control on the Christian nations in Europe. To send a legate to me at this early stage of his rule meant Pope Boniface was interested in testing the limits of his power—and mine.
     

Chapter Five
     
    T he Archbishop’s palace lay adjacent to Canterbury cathedral, and my company halted in front of the iron-barred gate, which resembled a portcullis, though without the murder holes above it through which to pour oil on attackers, or the sturdy drawbridge in front of it. I could see through the gate into the courtyard of the palace, which had a well in the center of it. The bucket hung suspended from its rope and was protected from the elements by a little roof with a bell on top.
    At our approach, the gate swung open, allowing us to halt in the shelter of