Saint Fire (Secret Books of Venus Series) by Tanith Lee Page A

fire fasten upon the candle-wick?
      P RUDENCE :  
To show that, unless grace doth kindle upon the heart, there will be no true light of life in us.
    J OHN B UNYAN
    The Pilgrim’s Progress

1

    O N THE FLOOR , carnations were strewn,as always in late summer. The feet of men crushed them, staining the mosaic with pink and red. At the great ebony table, resting on its ivory lions’ paws, these thirteen men who had crushed the carnations underfoot, sat now, all in black but for one.
    And above them, hung the banner of white and gold, with its lettering like a spell:
Pax tibi Vene
.
    Joffri, Ducem of the City of Ve Nera, (popularly called Venus) to which the banner wished peace, leaned his elegant chin on his slender hand.
    His eyes were luminous with distaste.
    Once every month, the Council of the Lamb attended on him, as their ostensible lord and patron. Sometimes he was able to make an excuse, as when he had had to have a tooth drawn, or, with more difficulty, when his favorite hound, lovely white Gemma, had died, gored by a boar in the woods of the plain.
    But here he was today. And he had listened as they told him, as always, the sins of Ve Nera. How many citizens they had arrested, how many more were being watched over by their Eyes and Ears. Their disgusting black boats, nicknamed for the Styx, Death River,were an eyesore to Joffri. He loved the mass, the drugging incense and beautiful singing, drowsing through the exhortations, with a box of sweets at his side, and wine. He respected God, who had given him wealth and pleasure, and a comely healthy body with which to enjoy them. But Joffri, who as a child had artlessly informed his confessor that Jesus Christ had said there were but two commandments, to love God and to love oneself, had no liking for shadows.
    These twelve shadows about him now were powerful, however. More powerful than a Ducem? Possibly. The Magisters Major themselves must dip the metaphorical knee to this Council. Men in black who had no title save for their composite Brothers of the Lamb. Hoods or half-concealed, opaque faces. Repellent faces, like old parchment, cut for lips and smeared for eyes.
    “It occurs to us, Lord Ducem,” one of them said now, “that as war approaches, our authority must be increased.”
    Who had spoken? He mislaid their names. Besides, sometimes they changed, one resigning his post (or removed) another mysteriously assuming it. But wait, Fra Danielus, that astute and intelligent man, had sent a list this very morning. Danielus seemed privy sometimes to the Council’s acts, and would, if asked, assist his Prince.
    Where was the list in Joffri’s brain? Ah, here. Yes, lean, stooping, little-eyed—Sarco, a strange, foreign name. “Brother Sarco, I thought the Council’s authority omnipotent.”
    “I thank God, Lord Ducem, it is not. We too are bound by Veneran law, and by the proviso that keeps ambition, even in the best causes, chained.”
    “Indeed. Well, whatever you need,naturally.”
    They rustled in their robes, like things of black paper.
    “We hear,” said Sarco, “that the fleet of the enemy, when launched, may number a thousand ships.”
    The Ducem let out a laugh. Checked himself.
    “No, brothers. I pray not. The spies of Venus—pardon my lapse—Ve Nera—reported less than four hundred vessels, and another fifty perhaps to be made sea-worthy. Our own fleet we have held at one hundred and thirty ships.”
    “More ships must be built,” said another of them, a bulkier one, Jesolo, the Ducem thought.
    “
Yes
, brother. So they shall be. But we have a small problem there. To get them, we must add to the taxes. While already the merchants and tradesmen must pay
yours
. And they’re unwilling—”
    Sarco interrupted the Ducem fluidly, as if without discourtesy, “Our taxes, my lord, are necessary to stay men from sin. Since they lack the will to curb their gluttony, drunkenness and vanity, such levies as the council sets restrict them