"Man is the most desperate of all of God's creatures. Because of this he is also the most dangerous."
--Lucien de Angers

hen I awoke,I was not alone. There was the sound of feet shuffling softly on the dusty floor, punctuated by slightly labored breathing. I rolled my head to the side a little and opened my eyes enough to peer out from beneath my lashes.

It was daytime. A fire burned in the hearth of the room that Nicolas and I had shared, and I was in Nicolas' bed. Across the chamber moved the robed figure of a monk, with his back to me. The stooped form made rustling noises at the table, as if he were rolling and unrolling parchments, leafing through books. There was something stealthy about the movements of the man, and I decided it would be wise to let the intruder think I was still asleep, at least for the moment.

The monk started to turn, and I closed my eyes again, listening as the man shuffled softly to the trunk that contained all of Nicolas' possessions and opened it. There came the sound of heavy books being lifted from inside.

This was too much. I could not allow the defilement of my dead friend's effects. I moaned loudly. There was silence for a few moments, then footsteps drew near and a hand was placed on my wrist. My free hand shot out and grasped the monk's wrist with a twisting motion as I opened my eyes.

For a moment I thought that it was Nicolas who looked down at me in alarm, and I gasped out the name before I realized my mistake. I must have seemed delirious, for the monk's face then went from pain to fear as he tried to draw his arm away from my grasp. I held fast and stared. My first impression had been wrong. He had none of the scholarly manner and gentle nature of Nicolas. Instead I found belligerence and cowardice behind his eyes. This man was not even a pale shadow of my friend, though the build and ascetically thin face bore some similarity; this accounted for my initial reaction, but I felt shame that I had thought this man to be my friend returned.

"Tell whoever sent you that he can do to me what he will, but I will not have Nicolas' things touched. It is for me to do only." My voice quavered with weakness, but I hoped that it would be taken for anger. I knew that I could not hold on to the monk's arm for long, so I gave it a final twist and let go. The monk stepped back a pace from the bed, rubbing his arm and stammering.

"I-- I wasn't-- I meant no harm, I was only doing what I was told, I--" The man was off-guard, and I decided to press my advantage before he realized that he was being addressed by an inferior in rank.

"Who told you to come here?"

The man pushed out his chest a little and lifted his chin. His manner became suddenly brazen. "The assistant to the Grand Inquisitor himself relayed the orders to me personally. Any and all writings of Brother Nicolas are to be sent to the office of the Inquisitor. I expect that they will want to speak to you next, lad, so I'd not be throwing around words as if I were an Archbishop. Humility is the proper mein for one called before the Inquisition, humility and respect." At this his eyes glinted with some sort of slightly veiled satisfaction. He watched me closely, like a cat watches a spider.

I lowered my eyes, feeling his gaze upon me still. I was hardly surprised at his news, after the discussions I had had with Riothamus. I knew that everything I did and said, from this moment on, would be noted and, if possible, used against me in some way. I had no illusions regarding the methods and premises that made up the Holy Inquisition; few men did, though it was seldom a topic for discussion.

I sank back into the bed's straw mattress and forced a smile, saying, "Ah, brother, forgive me. I did not mean to be so abrupt. I have been through a lot, and have not been well, as surely you know. What is the time, and how long have I slept?" As I had hoped, the man took my bait and let himself be distracted by the question.

"It is just after nones, and it will be dusk before long--"

The door opened, admitting another monk, whom I recognized as Brother Asthon, one of the younger of the instructors at the school, and one of the men with whom Nicolas had enjoyed arguing the most. "I thought I heard voices-- ah, our patient is awake at last!" He crossed to the bed and placed his hand on my forehead. "The fire is gone, good," and turning to the other monk, "Our patient must rest, can you not finish that on the morrow?"

Asthon was one of the brothers more versed in healing lore, and the others often turned to him for help with various ills. I felt that the man was trustworthy, and I liked his kind face and easy manner. He lacked much of the pompous self-importance that others of the faith affected.

"I'm afraid the task will not wait, brother," said the older monk. "I must bring these effects to the Inquisitor immediately."

"Then surely, you can take them with less bother to my patient." The older monk glared at Brother Asthon for a long moment, then went back to the task of gathering books and rolls of parchment from the trunk at his feet. Brother Asthon turned to me and began dabbing my face with water from a nearby basin. He then covered me with blankets that had been pushed aside, and called out for a boy who had apparently been waiting just outside. He instructed him to steep some herbs in water. As the boy ran off to do so, the old monk turned with a small, heavy wooden chest that had belonged to Nicolas and headed awkwardly for the door. Brother Asthon followed him into the hall, where words were muttered which I could not make out. The door closed and Asthon returned alone. He stood by the bed for some time, studying his feet as if absorbed in counting the fibers of the sandals he wore. There was something that he wanted to ask me, but he refrained from whatever it was for the moment as he inquired instead how I was feeling. When I replied that I felt weak, and that I could probably eat a little, Brother Asthon assured me that food would be brought later. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Alix. I know that you and Nicolas were very close."

I nodded mutely, then waited for him to continue.

"I know it must be hard for you to think about, but can you tell me what happened? There has been a lot of speculation around here for the last three days, but most of it is the sort of rubbish you would expect from illiterate herdsmen, not scholars."

"Did you say three days?"

He pulled a bench from the table and brought it to the bed. Straddling it, he said, "Four, actually, since you rode into town. I was one of the first ones to reach you when you rode into the courtyard outside the infirmary. Do you remember?"

I nodded. "A little, I think. I remember a lot of people staring at me, but no one came to help."

"Well, you can hardly blame them. You were a fearful sight. A wild-eyed Franciscan in a torn and blood-stained robe, riding a huge black warhorse as if you belonged on it, clutching a gory longsword and staring about you as if you were an angel from Hell lost in the world. And you did have the body of a dead monk across your horse's rump, God rest his soul." He crossed himself. "Where had you been, boy? For the love of God, what happened?" This last was said with much ardor, and I realized that he, along with all the others, was dying to hear the story. I, however, was still pained by the memory of my mentor's death, and though I tried to tell it, the words choked me as they came out and I had to stop and begin again several times before I could articulate anything about what had transpired.

"We went riding... the day was nice... we stopped on a little hill, where... they came upon us. There were eight of them, I think, armed. They were going to kill us both, I was sure of that... so I did what I could to stop them. It was not enough. They killed Nicolas. After that, I'm not sure..."

As I spoke, I watched the face of the brother harden into a stony mask. By the time I had finished, I knew that Brother Asthon believed little of what I had just told him.

"Alix, why do you wish to punish yourself? You could not have prevented the death of your friend, had you stayed and tried to fight. You are but a boy. No one would expect for you to have done anything else but flee." I was puzzled. Did people actually believe that I had run away? If that was so, then how did they explain the nine dead bodies on the hill? My mind raced to accommodate this new twist.

"Alix, there are those here who think that some sort of deviltry took place out there on that road, and that you were involved, but I am not one of them. Yet, if you tell that story to anyone, they will burn you for certain." He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, hard. "Do you understand me, boy? It would be wrong for you to punish yourself like this."

"Yes, I see that you are right, brother. It is as you said, I ran away. I ran away and left my friend to die!"

The door opened and the acolyte entered with the steeped herbs that Asthon had asked for, and he gave these to me to drink. He then sent the boy for broth and bread, with instructions to feed them to me personally. The young boy hesitated, wide-eyed for a moment, then cringed under Asthon's stern gaze and scampered out of the room.

"Damn their superstitions to Hell," muttered Asthon. "There is no place for such things in this world anymore." Then, to me, "Mark my words carefully. I may be the only one with enough sense to not believe that you single-handedly killed eight men. If you tell that tale to anyone else, it may go hard for you. I would hate to see a good mind sacrificed in the name of guilt. Leave the deciding of your fate to God."

I nodded abstractedly. My mind was growing cloudy with the effort of trying to come to grips with everything. Asthon took my nod as agreement and smiled as he rose to his feet. "Rest now, Alix, and eat all of the food that I sent for. You need to start building your strength. And then I want you to sleep some more. I will be back in the morning to check on you, after Lauds. God be with you, my son." He left the room, leaving me thinking wryly about the significance of that last phrase. I wondered how anyone who was so sensible could be so misguided. Under any other circumstances, it would be quite logical to disbelieve my story. It was ironic that those who would believe me presented the greatest danger.

Asthon had only been gone for a few minutes when the boy returned with a large tray containing a steaming bowl and a large piece of fresh bread. He hesitated before approaching the bed, then seated himself on the bench and placed the tray next to him. He looked to be about nine or ten years old, blond, and very slight. His nervousness showed in the violent shaking of his hand as he tried to feed me some of the broth from a wooden spoon. I took the spoon from the boy's fingers and said, "Give me that, before you scald me. Just hand me the bowl, I can feed myself." The boy stood and placed the tray across my lap, then stepped away a pace, standing expectantly and fidgeting while I ate. After a few minutes, his nervous hovering began to wear on my nerves. I asked, "Did you want some of this? I have been rude in not offering you any. Please excuse me."

"No. No, Sir, I mean... Brother Asthon said you were to eat it all. I am not hungry."

"You needn't speak so formally, I am not a priest, as you can see. I am a simple monk, and not old enough to be an initiate, just like you." I had known the boy would not accept my offer, and had made it only to put him at ease. I now spoke in as friendly a voice as I could, and I emphasized the "just like you". It seemed to work, and he took his seat once again on the bench. After some more time had passed, I ventured a question.

"Have you been assisting Brother Asthon since I arrived four days ago?"

"Yes, well, most of the time. I have other duties in the kitchen most mornings."

"Ah, well then, I owe you some thanks. And did you have a hand in making this broth? Or the bread? Both are quite delicious."

"That would be Brother Carnelian, I think. He is my favorite of the cooks. I just clean and fetch things from the cellars. I would like to cook one day, though. Brother Carnelian is teaching me."

"You will have to put a lot more meat on those bones, then. Nobody trusts a thin cook." The boy laughed. "And what is your name?"

"Knulpf. And you are Alix."

"Correct. So, they keep you quite busy. You must know a lot of people. Were you with Brother Asthon the day I rode into the courtyard?"

"Yes." Knulpf's expression became wary once again as he remembered who he was dealing with. I kicked myself mentally. But there was simply no subtle way to get around to asking about the things I wanted to know. "It was awful. I mean, you looked so... deathly. I know now that you were just ill, but the sight of you... you looked as if you could slay an army. As if you were some kind of rogue soldier or... something." He stared into space, and I thought I could see an echo of the horror of it all on the boy's face now. "Did you kill... anyone?"

I thought that "anyone" could mean Nicolas. I replied, "Of course not. I'm a monk, not a soldier." I waited until Knulpf lifted his eyes once more, then asked, "Are there others who are afraid of me, as you are?"

"Afraid!" His expression grew briefly petulant, then he relaxed again. "Well, you were quite a sight, but I don't think I'm as afraid as I was, now that I've talked to you. The others will come around too, once they have spoken with you."

"The others?"

"Well, some of the older monks swear that they have seen things like this before, and that..." his voice sank to a whisper "...demons are involved. They think you might be possessed. The things you said don't help, either. Fuel to the fire, to them."

my brows knitted together. "Things I said? When?"

"Why, just before you fell from the horse. Don't you remember? Oh, I can see that you don't." His voice began to quaver. "I don't know if I should tell you this. I don't even know if I can repeat it..." Then, as he regarded me, "Well, I guess if you said it, you should be told." He leaned forward conspiratorially. " 'I killed them all. I pray that God will take them, for they deserve no rest, and surely He gives none.' Then you started to fall from your horse, and we caught you and carried you to the infirmary, where you stayed until we moved you here yesterday."

I sat quietly for a while, then said, "Once again I owe you my thanks. I appreciate your honesty. I must confess that I do not know what I could have meant by that. The feverish rantings of an ill man, I guess." Knulpf regarded me uncertainly, then took the empty tray from my lap and moved it to the table. He returned to the bedside, seating himself on the bench.

"There have been men here from the Inquisition. Did you know that?" I nodded. "They have been listening to the stories, collecting them and passing them on to the Inquisitor. He must be interested, if he sent that man to bring the brother's things."

"I suppose they listen to every story. They are suspicious by trade, if not by nature. They would have to be. But I am not guilty of sorcery or murder or demonic possession. I am only guilty of running when I should have stayed and fought."

Knulpf's head snapped up. He considered me with a knotted brow. I sat still and endured the scrutiny for several seconds, then dropped my eyes in what I hoped would appear to be repentance.

"You did not stay and fight? How could you leave your friend there, in the middle of a battle like that?"

Knulpf's voice was strained through gritted teeth. He had risen from his seat as if to storm from the room. I put out a restraining hand, and with supplication in my voice said, "Please, I have no friends now, I cannot afford to alienate anyone. There is more to my story." Knulpf flopped sullenly back to the stool, still glaring. "I thought that Nicolas had broken free, that he was behind me. I rode as fast as my mule would carry me. As the clash of the battle receded behind me, I turned in the saddle and realized that it was only the brother's mount that followed. I turned immediately, headed back to the place of the battle."

Knulpf's eyes were locked on me in utter fascination now. I paused for effect, hating myself a little for the deception, knowing that it was the only thing that would save me. "I swear that God's heavy hand was poised there over both of us that dark day, and there was nothing that could be done to save Nicolas from its fall. I was returning, a club in my hand pulled from a rotten tree, when a low branch caught the end of my windblown cloak and pulled me from my mule's back. The next thing I knew, I was lying in the mud, and considerable time had passed. I went back to the scene of the battle, where I found my friend's body among the slain. At that point, I think grief took my mind, and I remember only bits and pieces, wandering in the forest, cold and hungry..." It took no great effort for my voice to crack and trail off. The horror of my friend's death had come to rest fully on my chest now, and I lay silently in my bed, staring at the darkened window. Knulpf shifted in his seat, obviously unsure of what to say or do. At last he rose and crossed to the window, shutting it against the swiftly fallen night. He turned his back to the window and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. I have been told that I draw rash conclusions sometimes."

I smiled. "Nicolas used to accuse me of the same thing. Your youth can be your enemy in a world of men. Do you think we can be friends, you and I?"

Knulpf was a little taken aback. "I guess so... I don't know. I like you, you seem to be okay, it's just..."

"Of course, I understand. You needn't tell anyone. It is wise to steer clear of controversial people in these times. But you will be bringing me my meals until I am strong, and perhaps we can talk."

"Yes, I would like that-- Oh! I forgot that I was to help with the kitchen chores, and it is far past the meal. I must go. Brother Carnelian will have me boiled!" With that he scooped up the tray from my lap and rushed from the room.

I smiled to myself at the boy's precocity, then, with shocked awareness, wondered when I had lost that quality myself. Nicolas' admonishments seemed centuries in the past, and the characteristics that had brought them forth irretrievable.

I slept a sleep of nightmares, and sneered at their hollowness.

I was awake at dawn, giving me time to think about my course of action. I was certain that my story would find its way back to the ears of Brother Asthon via Knulpf. I hated using the boy this way, but had to set aside such considerations in light of my need for survival. I may need someone to speak for me if the present course of events continued and I found myself before the Inquisition.

Knulpf brought me food in the morning, and I ate ravenously. The boy informed me that word had come: the dean would be visiting me later. He paused and watched me closely as he told me this. I was careful to display no worry, saying that Gascon, being an associate of Nicolas', probably just wanted to offer his condolences and a shared prayer. Knulpf seemed dubious but said nothing.

Late that afternoon, my wounds were bathed and freshly wrapped by two of the brethren that I had not met before. I commented upon the fact that my wounds seemed to be healing cleanly, but neither answered or even changed expression. This made me a little uneasy, but I put it off to Knulpf's probable inability to keep his mouth shut. Surely the boy had been assigned to other tasks to head off further inflamation of imaginations.

Once the ministrations of the two dour monks were complete, I was dressed and helped to a chair before the fire, where I was seated when Dean Gascon arrived.

The Dean, though not a large man, made the room seem smaller. He smiled warmly as he pulled a chair up to the fire and sat down. "It would seem that adversity follows you like a black dog. What is it about a man of peace that attracts such violence?" As he spoke, he fixed his deeply set eyes on my own, and I endeavored to hold the man's gaze as he spoke.

"I am not sure that I understand the question. Are you speaking rhetorically of all men of peace, who martyr themselves again and again in the example of Christ? Or do you refer specifically to Brother Nicolas, or to me?"

He chuckled. "Well put. Your powers of logic are well developed." He paused for a long moment with his eyes on the fire. "I pride myself on being a concise man, Alix, so I may as well get to the point of my visit, which I am sure you are anxious to hear." He stopped suddenly. "Oh, please do not think me remiss in not offering sympathies for the loss of your mentor. Nicolas was a fine man, in most ways. Sympathy does not flow as freely from the hearts of good men of the faith ...for a heretic." His face intensified in expression as he spoke this last word, searching mine for a reaction. I'm sure it was not hard to see my bewilderment. I knew that Nicolas had held some ideas that could be considered heretical, but I had not considered that anyone else might know about them - yet.

Then the full meaning of what was being implied began to sink in. Nicolas, a heretic? Certainly he was unique, but he was never an enemy of the Church. Yet, he had warned me about this place, about its intrigues. This was why the Inquisition had taken such an interest in Nicolas' personal papers. They thought he might be associated with one of the local organized sects, perhaps the Cathars!

"Your face has answered my next question. You knew nothing of his beliefs, did you?" I shook my head. "Then you have made a decision much easier for me, and you have quite possibly saved your own life." I felt suddenly wary. Why should I believe this man?

Gascon continued. "I spoke to the men of the Grand Inquisitor's office. They assured me that a trial will not be necessary in your case, if you will only meet with the Inquisitor himself. He will ask you a few simple questions, and you will be absolved of any suspicion."

"What kind of questions? I will not denounce my friend's name. He is dead, and should be left to the peace of his eternal rest. He resides in heaven with the Lord, sir, and no one will say otherwise to me." I felt weakened by my own rage. I was not at all well yet.

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Gascon stared once again into the flames. I watched him, trying to decipher his thoughts. He wanted something from me, I was sure of that. There was a hungry look to him, as if something desperate crouched inside. I feared the hunger, but, strangely, not the man.

"There will be three questions. He will ask you if you believe in the divinity of Christ our lord in Heaven, and in the Holy Purpose of Mother Church as the receptacle of His wisdom and as the Authority of God. Then he will ask you if you have ever had consort of any kind with demons. Then he will ask you if Nicolas was a heretic." He leaned forward in his chair. "Alix, if you do not answer in the affirmative, he will believe that you are trying to protect him from posthumous excommunication. This will invalidate all of your other answers, and you will be tried before the Inquisition, definitely tortured and probably burned."

I sat back in my chair with my eyes closed. I felt very cold, and began to shiver. Gascon called for Knulpf, who came promptly into the room. He motioned for the boy to heat some wine over the fire. Knulpf was obviously nervous over being there, and he made too much noise with the kettle. We sat in silence, listening to the water as it began to cry its anger at being transformed. When it was done, Gascon directed the boy to pour some into a cup and mix it with a little wine. Then Gascon pulled a small pouch from under his mantle and dumped the contents into the cup of wine. "Here, drink this; you will feel better." I eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged and sipped for a while. Before long, a soothing sensation filled my limbs. My breathing became deeper and easier, and I opened my eyes to see that the room had grown darker as evening began to fall. The boy had left. Gascon sat easily in the chair, regarding me from beneath slightly lowered lids. He must have taken my weakness for fear of the Inquisition, not the impotent anger which it was, for he said, "My boy, I assure you that it is true what I said, about Nicolas. He had associations long ago with a revivalist sect of Cathars. He was approached at least twice by representatives of the current version of that heresy just since the two of you arrived in this place. I believe that he refused them, for Nicolas was a cautious man. But he did talk to them, and that is enough to condemn him. Yet the Inquisition, whatever its weaknesses, likes to feel that it is right in its actions. They want your denouncement of the man. You would not be lying.

"You are too smart not to know that I have a reason for my concern with you. You are a lad with no illusions, and that is good.

"I want you to work with me, as my assistant."

My head snapped up. I, in the house of Gascon... Lucien... and with Isa? This was too much. "Sir, your offer is a kind one... and I would relish the opportunity to learn what you have to teach. But I am in confusion... I must... I must make peace with God before I can answer you. I beg of you that I be given some time in which to meditate upon the decisions before me. It is a grave thing which you ask..."

Gascon rose from his chair, nodding. "Very well, but you know that there can be but one decision. Look at me." I raised my eyes to meet his. "Nicolas is dead. There is no one to help you now, save I. I am not a sentimental man. I value your brilliance as a student. Answer the question as I have told you, and yours will be a happy life with me. I richly reward those who pay me faithful service." He turned and strode quickly from the room. Moments later, Knulpf entered and helped me to my bed. I slept.

"I don't know." I threw up my hands in frustration. "How can you expect me to know what I believe at this point? I can't just drop everything I have been taught since I was a child. But things have changed..."

Riothamus tossed me my weapon. "Then drop it for now. Things will fall into place. What you need is something to take your mind off of things for a while." He attacked and I deftly parried the blow. I gathered my frustration and hurled everything I had into an attack that relied more on vigor than tactic. I drove Riothamus back several paces with the severity of the attack, but never broke through his defenses. Then, with lightning precision, Riothamus riposted following an elaborate double feint. His point stopped a fraction of an inch from my throat. "You have hit upon a very important lesson. An attack such as yours can be useful for carrying you to a better position, but it is not practical for anything else. Not only will you tire more quickly, but if you let it become a habit, your enemy may drive you to an emotional state and take advantage of your weakness. This is true in all forms of battle, both physical and mental. Tactics, my friend, tactics. Think before you move.

"Now, what are the four questions?"

I sighed. "What does my opponent do, how does he do it, what can I do to counter it, and can I achieve it."

"Very good, you remembered them verbatim, after only one repetition. But do you understand them?"

"They are pretty straightforward questions."

"Yes, but did you ever think that they can apply to all facets of life? Let me give you an example. Let us say, for a moment, that Gascon is your adversary."

"Not a far stretch."

"Now, then. What did he do?"

"He offered me two choices, one of which he tried to make appear attractive, another which definitely is not."

"Fine. He limited your movement in thought. He suggested to you that there are only two choices, and you accepted this. How did he do it?"

I began to smile. "He caught me in a time of weakness, waited until I was off-guard. Yes, I see it."

"What can you do to counter it?"

"I suppose I must find another answer for the inquisitor. But I don't know if I can come up with anything. He really will expect a simple yes or no."

"Then you can catch him off guard as well, by giving him more than he ever expected. The inquisition is not used to any of their subjects having no fear of them. They may just take a bold showing as fanatical loyalty to the True Faith."

"Then there is another thing to consider. Dare I accept Lucien's offer? I mean, to live under the man's roof... There are temptations there, and evils."

Riothamus laughed. "Alix, if anyone is equal to temptation, it is you. And who better to face the evils of the world? I would guess that you are better groomed for such things than any other."

I didn't ask what he meant. I had a sinking feeling that I already knew.


Contents of this Web page © Robert Johnson,1989, 1995, All Rights Reserved.

Return to Table of Contents | Go forward to Chapter Nine