The bells of Saint Peter's tolled as dusk fell over the Eternal City.
Within the Lateran Palace, Pope John XIX sat in the marble-clad chamber of his Curia, the papal letter returned to him,creased, smoke-stained, its seal broken by hands that had clearly not trembled with obedience.
He read the copied reports aloud to the cardinals gathered around the long cedar table:
"King Duncan of Alba marches still. King Cnut burns my words for fuel. Neither will yield."
The cardinals shifted uneasily. Some muttered prayers, others crossed themselves as though the very mention of defiance were a curse.
One finally spoke, a man old and sharp-eyed: "Holy Father, if Christendom's kings do not heed Rome, then the precedent is set.
Pagans will be courted as allies, not scourged as foes. The White Wolf will not only burn England, but the faith itself."
