“And again, sir-” Ben couldn’t bring himself to call the man your honor, even though he was, technically speaking, a judge. “-I must insist-”

Ben felt a tugging at his arm. “It’s all right. I’ll go.”

Ben peered down at the gray-bearded face of his client-and priest-Father Daniel Beale. “I don’t think that’s wise. Do you know what could happen to you up there?”

“Of course I do.” There was a small but discernible tremble in his voice. Though he was in his mid-fifties, at the moment, he looked much older. “But the judge carries the weight of canonical authority, and he has called me to speak. I must comply.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“The whole reason I submitted to this process was to clear my name. I can’t very well do that by refusing to take the stand.”

“But you don’t know what will happen. I don’t know what will happen.”

“Then I’ll just have to have faith.”

Ben held him back. “Father, if you go up there, I can’t promise you a good result.”

A slight smile crossed the priest’s lips. “Ben, you’re a fine lawyer, but when I spoke about having faith, I wasn’t talking about you.”

Ben started to protest, but Beale was already on his feet and heading toward the folding chair at the right hand of the dais of adjudicators.

While Beale was sworn in, Ben’s partner, Christina McCall, leaned across the defense table. “Isn’t there anything we can do about this?” she whispered.

“You’re the legal scholar. You tell me. Haven’t you been reading up on the Episcopal Constitution and Canons?”

Christina brushed her flowing mane of strawberry blond hair behind her shoulders. “Yes, but for all its two hundred and eighteen pages, it doesn’t say all that much. Compared to the rules and regulations governing federal courts, it’s nothing. I think it’s intended to leave the presiding judge great discretion. Here in the ecclesiastical courts, the judge can do pretty much whatever he wants. And usually does. Folie de grandeur.”

“Which means Beale is going on the stand, whether we like it or not.”

“Think he’ll hold up?”

Ben shrugged. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

Christina arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to say a prayer?”

Beale lowered himself into a chair that was obviously too small for him, adding to his already evident discomfort. Father Holbrook was just to his left; flanking him on the other side were the stenographer, the jurors, and the Canon of the Ordinary, otherwise known as the bishop’s assistant, Harold Payne.

Father Beale seemed worried, and with good reason. A man of God since he was twenty-two, it must have been an unprecedented shock to Beale’s system to find himself sitting before a bishopric tribunal on the charge of Conduct Unbecoming a Priest. The evidence that had been adduced already by previous witnesses was substantial and, at times, shocking: Malice toward parishioners. Public denial of the virgin birth. Questioning whether Jesus rose from the dead. Allowing radical political groups to meet at the church.

And there was another memorable allegation of Beale’s conduct unbecoming a priest. Murder.

“When did you last see Helen Conrad?” Father Fleming asked. Fleming was a stout, basso profundo lawyer-priest from Kansas City who had been brought in to represent the complainants; in effect, he was the district attorney.

“In the prayer garden,” Father Beale answered. “Sprawled across a stone bench, the right side of her face covered with blood. A dirty dishrag wedged in her mouth. Her skin a ghastly gray. Flies buzzing around her corpse.”

Father Fleming ran his fingers across the top of his head, as if brushing back the hair that had not graced his scalp for many years. “I mean, when did you last see her alive?”

“At the vestry meeting. The night before.”

As Ben had learned, the vestry was the governing body of St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church, where Beale was currently priest and Ben was a member of the choir. The vestry, led by the senior warden, oversaw all the administrative aspects of the church. The murder victim, Helen Conrad, had been on the vestry for years and was expected to run for senior warden the following year.

Ben glanced over his shoulder. Most of the surviving members of the vestry were seated in the folding chairs that made for a makeshift gallery in the parish hall of the church. Some of the rank and file parishioners were in attendance as well-many faces he recognized, as well as some he hadn’t seen in the entire seven months he’d been attending this church. Apparently a priest on trial was more exciting than your average Sunday service.

“And is it true, as we heard earlier, that you engaged in a heated dispute with Ms. Conrad during the vestry meeting?”

“Yes. I’m afraid it is. Of course, I engaged in a heated dispute with almost everyone who was there.”

“What was the nature of the dispute?”

“The vestry had just learned that I have been allowing a gay and lesbian group to hold meetings at the church. In the parish hall. Without the approval of the vestry.”

“And for how many months has this been going on?”

Beale drew in a deep breath before answering. “Over three years. Since I transferred to the church.”

Although he worked hard to maintain his serene unflappability, this had apparently caught Father Fleming by surprise. “You are aware, I suppose, that the Diocese of Oklahoma does not recognize homosexual marriages or permit practicing homosexuals to act as priests. Opinions regarding the validity of the homosexual lifestyle are sharply divided.”

“I am aware of that.”

Ben felt he had to intervene, if only to give his client a momentary respite. He rose to address the judge. “Sir, the purpose of this tribunal as I understand it is not to debate theological issues but to determine whether Father Beale should be removed from his position as rector of this church.”

Payne, the bishop’s assistant, answered on the judge’s behalf. “The charge of which Father Beale has been accused is conduct unbecoming a priest.” Payne was a short, slight man in a dark suit and white shirt-probably as close as he could come to looking like a priest without being one. In many ways, however, he was Father Holbrook’s opposite-not only physically, but in the down-to-earth attitude that sharply contrasted Holbrook’s more cerebral approach. “If Father Beale was acting in opposition to canonical law, then he engaged in conduct unbecoming a priest.”

Father Fleming resumed his examination of the witness. “Was that the only topic discussed?”

“No,” Beale replied. “There were many others. Helen criticized my Christmas homily-”

“Would that be the sermon in which you suggested that the virgin birth of our Savior was a myth?”

Ben could see Beale steeling himself, preparing to do theological battle once more. “We are told that God was made man in the person of Jesus. That he was one of us. But if he was not conceived as human beings are conceived, if he was conjured up through some… some mystical magic trick, then he was not one of us, was he? How could he be called human if he was not born of man and woman?”

Fleming made no comment, but his disdain for Beale’s argument was obvious. “Was this also the homily in which you challenged the resurrection of Jesus Christ?”

Beale cleared his throat. “No. That was for Easter.”

“How appropriate.”

“And I didn’t challenge the resurrection. I said it didn’t matter.”

Fleming’s small green eyes were fairly bulging. The reaction from the adjudicative panel was no less dramatic. “You said that the return from the dead of Our Lord-didn’t matter?”

“I said that what is important is Jesus’ teaching, his words, his guidance. That’s what gives his life validity. That’s why we follow him. We don’t need a grandiose bit of abracadabra. We don’t need the bribe of life after death. We should follow his teaching because it’s the right thing to do, not because we expect to get something out of it in the end.”