He remembered that he attained his rule of churchly affairs after the death of his father. He remembered that he had to discharge the promise made to his father, after he died, and so changed Phoride and all the adjacent lands, to meet his own needs. His need was to receive the fullest devotion and love from every individual in Halls, and the realm, and to bask in their worship of him, as their god. He slowly got up and walked about the room. He took off his surplice and hung it in a chiffonnier then, before he closed it, he drew from a small compartment a large napkin, scented with the essence of Nethedan lilacs. He touched it to his nose. The choir echoed in the background. The heavenly hymn that they were singing was 'God's Tribute to Canon', the first over-praised god of the continent. Listening to the choir, the ArchBishop's spirits were lifted, as if he were the Canon and the praise was to him. Although he had been considered as a god in Phoride, for nearly two score years, he was still envious of his great-grand-ancestor; for what he had accomplished had set the method for those gods after him, to follow. He smiled heartily as he thought to himself, about the total unadulterated domination of whatever he chose to control, and whenever he chose to control it. And once, he spoke aloud to himself. "Phoride and its all, are mine!" He clasped his hands as he walked about the room and to the window. He looked out at the naked women lying by the fountain. Around them were young monks rubbing palm-butter on the ladies' bodies, to prevent the sun from burning their overused flesh. The hours flew by in their relentless journey to forever. Already they had passed into the afternoon. The ArchBishop still looked down at the fountain, where some more regenerated, sweat-greased ladies and some horny vicars were at it again. He was slightly angered when he saw their folly. He knew that he would have to take disciplinary actions on them. He had told them, many times before, not to play with their guests in open view. But this thought, however, didn't deter him from looking at the shapely objects below. Soon, there was a rap at the door and it slowly opened. The ArchBishop turned to see who it was. It was the Cardinal Levy; a large brawny Nasin man, similar in age to the ArchBishop, but balding. His face always seemed blue from the perpetual shadow of hair, that grew with phenomenal quickness. In front of him stood a pretty young girl about fifteen years old. Her large, frightened eyes flitted from side to side. Her heart pounded within her chest. Her delicate but firm breasts rose and fell with each breath that she took, and the fair skin on her arms and legs were dotted with goose-bumps. She had a sense of alarm and apprehension within herself, as she stood in that office. She had never before seen the ArchBishop, and only one hour ago, she was summoned to appear before him.