"It would be wrong to put friendship before the truth."
--Aristotle

he antechamber in which I waited was every bit as dark as the reputation of the man whom I waited now to see, Father Andrade, Assistant to the Grand Inquisitor himself. It was a stuffy room, and close. It was only two paces from the door to the two narrow benches on the opposite wall, with only one high slit to admit the morning's light. It resembled a cell more than a waiting room. I was sure all of this was intentional, and was not bothered by it. In fact, I had come to be more of a night creature than a day one, and the wan light soothed my nerves.

I did not have to wait long. The large door to Andrade's office opened suddenly, flooding the tiny chamber with light. The silhouette of a guard beckoned me wordlessly forward. I rose and walked steadily into the room, trying to express an air of candor as I went, and hoping I seemed properly subdued.

The guard moved aside and then closed the door loudly behind me. I started slightly, but continued forward to the figure seated in the raised chair before me. The brightly lit room dazzled my eyes, and I kept them on the floor as I knelt. The man proffered his hand, and I kissed the single large carnelian ring upon it. Then I was motioned to rise, and I lifted my head to assess my judge.

The man was immensely corpulent. His voluminous black robes made him appear even larger. His face had the look of a man who has grown indifferent to death, bored and garrulous. His eyes were as black as his robes and small. His smile was thin-lipped and artificial.

"Be welcome, Brother Alix. I trust you have recovered from your... illness?" This last word was the question, not the sentence before it. I replied with a simple "Yes, thank you." He seemed to be waiting for something more, but I remained silent. It would be best not to volunteer anything.

"That is well. One must not tarry in his efforts to recover when stricken, for we all must spend the utmost of our time in the service of our Lord."

"Yes, Your Grace, I could not agree more fully."

"Then I trust that you will not falter in your recitation of the truth."

I looked the man in the eye as I said, "Of course, Father. I have nothing to hide from you or from anyone else."

This brought a more genuine smile to the man's face, and I suddenly liked him even less. "Then let us begin. You understand that there have been no charges brought against you, this is simply an informal hearing, for the purpose of putting to rest certain... discrepancies. Good." He motioned to someone over my shoulder, but I dared not turn to look. The sound of a quill scratching on parchment told me that my answers would be recorded.

"Alix, formerly of Ecrin and now of Toulouse, indoctrinated into the Church of our Lord Jesus Christ, do you believe in the divinity of Christ, and in the Sanctity of the Church, and in Her power to intercede for men with God in all things?"

"Upon all that is Holy, I do." At least, I did, at one time...

"Alix, the townspeople of Toulouse and the brethren of our university have sworn to me that they saw you ride through the streets on a horse, madly raving and with the blood of men on your hands. Have you ever had consort with demons, spirits, devils, witches, alchemists, succubi or other spawn of Satan, or spilled blood in their names?" He spat each of the words out as if they were poison he had recently drunk.

"No, I have not. I was... driven mad with grief, for my friend and brother was killed. I wandered for days in the storm, and took a fever of the brain." They might be demons...

He held his hand out, and a scribe hurried forward to hand him a small piece of rolled parchment.

"We know now that your 'friend'" he lingered on the word "was not what he seemed to be. He was, in fact, a man called Guillaume, associated strongly with a heretical sect known as the Cathars. Are you familiar with the Cathars, boy?"

"Only in that I have heard the name, and that it was a heresy that was destroyed over forty years ago." Guillaume?

"A heresy, yes. Destroyed, no. Several times since then, some misguided fool has sought to overthrow the sovereign power of the Church, by reviving the Catharist ideal. It appeals, I suppose, to the simple-minded and the amoral, for they think themselves released from the laws of God. It is for men such as myself to prove otherwise.

"Guillaume was a man of the first kind. On a night twenty years ago, my superior's predecessor uncovered Guillaume and his followers in a clandestine meeting. Guillaume escaped with some of his men. The rest were burned."

I swallowed and said, "This could not be the man I knew. Nothing was ever said of this. He would have told me."

"To the Cathar heart trust comes not. It is too dangerous for them. We know who he was. That is no longer in question. What we want to know is this: was Guillaume, or Nicolas as you knew him, reformed? Or did he join the Clergy to hide himself? Think hard before you answer boy, for your answer carries much weight."

I had been waiting for this moment. I knew I was about to take a great risk, but I was convinced that it would put the entire question of myself and Nicolas to rest. I let a look of amazement creep slowly over my face, as if something were just dawning on me. I waited like this until the inquisitor's voice dropped like a heavy stone into the silence. "What is it, boy? You have remembered something which applies to all of this?"

"Yes! That I have, Your Grace. Why, it all fits now! You have provided me with the truth." I looked squarely at the inquisitor, letting my awareness of my danger lend credence to my apparent excitement. "One night, just before bed, there came a knock on the door. Not really a knock, more of a light tapping, as if someone wanted not to be noticed by passers-by. Before I could run and answer it, Nicolas had gotten there first. I tried to see over his shoulder, but he was very tall, you know. There was a man there, though, for I heard him mutter something about the stable. Nicolas told me to get some sleep and he left the room. I thought the whole thing was odd, and I was worried for my friend, so I extinguished the lamp and opened the window, which looks out over the stable's courtyard.

"I was in time to see Nicolas and another man disappearing around the far side of the building. I could hear voices, but I could not understand what they were saying. All I could tell from them was that Nicolas did not want to do something, and the others - for I'm sure there was more than one - were pleading with him. After a little while, Nicolas stormed across the courtyard and up the stairs to our room. He had a way of walking when he was angry, with great strides and his arms swinging. He walked that way at this time. I stole quickly to my bed, for I did not want to be on the wrong end of his ill humor.

"When he entered the room, he fussed about for a while with some papers by the candle, all the while muttering about just wanting to be left alone.

"It was only a few days later that we were attacked on the hill, and my friend lost his life. What you said about a Cathar having no trust, because he cannot afford it, it makes sense to me now. I believe those men were sent by the Cathars to kill him!"

Long practice in remaining impassive had apparently paid off for the inquisitor, for he had sat stonily in his chair throughout my testimony. He did not move for half a minute or so after I finished speaking, staring at me over his hands, which he held clinched before him. Finally, he shifted his bulk in the chair enough to lean forward, saying, "And who do you think killed those men in their turn? I understand you were not there for most of the battle, and that you found them all dead along with Nicolas."

"This is so. I must confess that I do not know how this came to be. But I have an idea." I paused, crossing myself. "Your Grace, Nicolas was not a relapsed heretic, but a reformed one, and a martyr, in the end, for he gave his blood in the name of God.

"Could it not be that God saw fit to punish those who would persecute the defender of His word, as He punishes the heretic through you? Could not His hand have guided an armed party to that hilltop at just that time, to fight over the spoils, thus spilling the life's blood of His enemies?"

As I spoke I sank to my knees with my hands clasped before me. This was no man to accept any story he heard, especially one such as this, but I hoped that it was outlandish enough to be believed. I had not given the answer that Andrade wanted to hear, and I knew that I may be seconds away from an unpleasant fate.

Father Andrade squinted at me for a very long time through slitted eyes, then at last motioned in the direction of the entrance behind me. I heard the great doors open, and sandaled feet approached, stopping just behind me. I rose slowly from the floor, every hair on my neck raised. The atmosphere in the room had suddenly grown ominous.

"Brother Asthon, how very good to see you again." The mock friendliness in the inquisitor's voice only served to heighten my discomfort. Asthon? There was something going on here that I had not anticipated. I turned my head slightly and nodded to the brother, who nodded back to me deferentially; but just as I turned back to face the inquisitor, I thought I caught a pleading quality in Asthon's face.

"The pleasure can only be mine, your grace." He moved forward and kissed the proffered ring, then moved back to my side, but he did not meet my gaze again.

"I will make this short, brother, as I know you have a class to teach. You and Brother Nicolas had somewhat of a reputation as theologians among the others, did you not?"

"Yes, we argued often, late into the night."

"And did the brother ever question, in any of these long debates, the divinity of the Clergy, or of what we hold sacred?"

My eyes were on the brother now, and he seemed to be very uncomfortable. He did not speak, and he avoided the gazes of both Father Andrade and myself. "Brother," the inquisitor's voice had become icy now. "I assure you that you are under no obligation to speak, but your silence could be taken in an entirely wrong way. I will assume that you did not hear the question. Perhaps the scribe is making too much noise with his quill." Suddenly, Andrade's voice rang out thunderously, "Did he malign the Church? Yes or no?"

Asthon started and fell back a step. I watched his fists clench and unclench at his sides; he nodded slightly. His eyes darted to me quickly, once again full of supplication. I looked back stonily.

"The record will show that the brother has indicated in the appositive." Father Andrade leaned back in his great chair and watched Asthon for a very long time, until finally the brother looked up from the floor and met his gaze. "I assure you, Alix, that Brother Asthon has your best interests at heart. He came to me only yesterday, explaining to me that you had been very ill, a fever of the brain just as you yourself have said, and that you were not likely to know the difference between truth and fiction. He was most convincing, and it is through his concern and that of the good Chancellor that I accept your words as explanation enough. You may go, Brother Asthon." Asthon bowed quickly, backed away a step. Just before he disappeared, I thought I heard a whispered, "Forgive me."

Father Andrade eyed me like a stone gargoyle, unflinchingly staring into my face. I looked back for a moment, then, unable to hold his gaze any longer, turned my eyes to the floor. Finally, as I was about to try and shore up my story with minute details tht might lend it an air of reality, he spoke. "Brother Alix, it may surprise you, but I actually want to believe that little theory you gave me. I certainly believe that you believe it." His voice was deceptively smooth and gentle. There was a tenor to it of tightly wound cruelty waiting to be unleashed.

"The Cathars have many, many martyrs to their faith. I attribute much of the tenacity of that heresy to this fact. The idea that Guillaume, or Nicolas as you knew him, was a martyr for the Church appeals to me. But we cannot very well saint a man who argued publicly against his own faith. In fact, we cannot even acknowledge him as one of our own." He smiled in that way that made me hate him. "Therefore, my judgement on the matter is this: the mortal remains of Guillaume of Toulouse, know as Nicolas, are to be disinterred and removed to unconsecrated ground. His possessions are forfeit to the Church. My personal recommendation will be forwarded to Avignon for the separation of this man from the body of Christ for all of eternity."

When I exited the chamber, I must have been in some kind of shock, for it was several moments before I realized that I was not alone.

"Phillippe!"

"Good afternoon, Brother. My instructions are to help you bring your possessions to Dean Gascon's at once. You are to take residence with us immediately. You will be dining with the dean this evening, after vespers."

I barely noted the pout in the boy's voice. He was staring at me curiously. I stood there in deep thought, trying to assimilate the fact that I was alive, that I was alive and free. Free, but at what cost? Would Nicolas really have cared about what had just happened? Would I, had I been in his sandals? I had no answers. Now I was to serve Gascon, the Lucien that a god feared so very much. He had not asked, he had simply decreed. Free was not the word, then, for what other choice did I have? Surely the hand of the god was in this.

I suddenly felt weak.

"Brother? Brother Alix?" Phillippe was staring at me nervously. "Are you alright?"

"Alright? Oh, yes, let us be on our way then."

When first we arrived at the house, I looked around apprehensively for Isa. I resisted an impulse to ask Phillippe about her; I did not want to arouse any suspicion regarding my feelings for the girl. Yet I hoped that I would see her soon, for I needed a friend with whom I could share my woes.

I was installed in one of the small chambers on the second floor of the house, next to the one in which I had first awakened. I wondered if Lucien--no, Gascon, I must not form the habit of using that name in connection with my new benefactor, lest it should slip from my tongue at the wrong time-- I wondered if Gascon intended to let me in on the secrets of the chamber upstairs. Why else would he have put me here, so near the hidden door?

I had to reject the idea. There was no reason for Gascon to trust me so soon. In fact, lack of trust was more than likely why I was so far separated from Isa. The Dean had certainly noticed the attraction between us on the night that we met. I hoped that was all he knew.

I placed the two chests against the wall and began to unpack them. One was entirely empty, having held Nicolas' clothes. I had given them over to the University to be redistributed, since I could never have fitted them. Another chest of Nicolas' possessions was still with the Inquisitor's office, and I knew that I would never see any of it again. The only thing that I had been able to retain was a small wooden crucifix, which Nicolas had always worn. This I lifted now from the second chest and placed around my own neck, letting it fall under my mantle. Remaining in the chest were my assignments, a small blank book of scrap parchment which I had bound myself and used for occasional sketches from nature, a breviary, some eating utensils and spare clothing. I let the lid fall closed and left the room.

I found my way to the kitchen, for it was still several hours until vespers, and I had had no breakfast before my meeting. Phillippe was not in evidence here, so I felt free to scavenge. I was able to turn up a cold fried sausage and some cheese, and a pitcher of cold water.

As I ate, my curiosity began to gnaw at me. I hadn't seen Isa in more than a week. Had she forgotten me? This thought sent a cold knife through my stomach, and I refused to accept it. It would not have been proper for her to visit me in my room, even had I been dying. And for all I knew, she was not even aware of my new position with Gascon. She was probably off on some errand, and would return later.

I had just moped back to my own room and flopped down on my bed when the sound of shuffling feet and voices filtered from below. I arose and went down the narrow staircase. Isa stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips in an attitude of exasperation. She was trying unsuccessfully to direct Phillippe and another boy in carrying a heavy oaken table into the room. She turned just as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I suppressed a smile as I watched her face go from its former state through delight and then guarded politeness. I felt my own face flush momentarily, and I counteracted it by saying, "Mademoiselle Isa, I never had the chance to thank you properly for your kindness the night of my illness, here at your master's house. I assure you I am most grateful. Here, let me help with that!"

I grabbed hold of an end of the table and helped the two boys wrestle it into the room.

"It was nothing, Brother, I assure you. You should thank my-- our master, for he told me what to do."

"I hope to have many opportunities to repay him for his many kindnesses. Well met, Phillippe," said I, turning to the boy, "I think I arrived just in time. You look a bit winded."

"I just brought fresh water from the well, Phillippe," said Isa. "It is in the kitchen, and it is cold. Perhaps Godin would like some, too." Isa tilted her head peremptorily toward the kitchen as Phillippe began to speak, and he and his companion thumped heavily from the room.

She smiled. "Phillippe is a good worker, but he is rather slow. I think he resents taking orders from a woman, but Dean Gascon gives me full rein in the management of his house, and that includes assigning tasks to Phillippe." She looked into my eyes and stopped speaking. It was suddenly impossible for me to keep my misery locked away, and I saw it reflected in her eyes. She said nothing, though the question was there in her face, and I was grateful. This was not the place or the time for grief. I stood transfixed, drinking in her gaze, until at last I shook myself and stepped closer.

"We must be careful," I whispered, "That boy is very spiteful, and I do not trust him. I think he resents my presence."

"Yes, he is ruled by his feelings. This is a good thing, though. Were he ruled by his mind, he might be a danger to himself." She smiled at her own joke. "But you are right, we must be careful. My Master is a stern man." She moved to the table and perched herself on its corner. She looked good that way. "He is kind, though. He will do a lot for you, I think, if you will give him your fullest attention. He craves a companion with a quick mind, and I think he sees that in you." I dropped my gaze to the floor.

"I hope I can live up to his expectations. I..." My voice trailed off into some vague feeling of doubt.

"I think you shall. He is a good judge of men." Men! I had never thought of myself as a man before, and an unexpected thrill of pleasure thrummed in my stomach. I found myself able to smile despite my melancholy.

Phillippe and his friend returned from the kitchen, looking less tired. Isa once again took on her air of authority. "Now, Phillippe, the Dean has asked that the table be placed in the library. Well?"

Phillippe expelled a huff of air and spat, "That's what I was going to do in the first place! Why don't you stay out of the way? This is man's work!" He grabbed an end of the table gruffly and Godin took the other, rolling his eyes. I moved to help, but Isa took my arm and steered me away. "No, Alix, I have something else for you to do. This way."

"Just do as she says, Brother, it's easier than trying to argue with her."

Isa glared at Phillippe and he turned to the task of wrestling the table up the stairs.

I took Isa's arm to slow her, saying, "What is so important? I think they could use my help."

She smiled as if amused and exasperated. "But I need you more. Besides, I need him out of the way for a while, and that should keep him busy." She led me through the dining room. I could hear kettles clanging in the kitchen and assumed that the cook had arrived after the day's shopping. We passed through a second door and ended up in a small pantry. Shelves lined the walls on three sides, from floor to ceiling, cluttered thickly with foodstuffs and wines. Isa closed the door behind us and lit a small candle.

"Make me a promise?" asked Isa.

"Yes."

"Tell no one of what you are about to see." I grinned teasingly. "No, not that... well, maybe that too, but that's not what I'm talking about. This." She stooped to the floor and grasped the edge of a loose board. An entire section of the floor lifted easily away, revealing an iron ring. "Help me with this." I pulled hard on the ring and a rush of damp air filled the room, along with the sound of trickling water echoing, as a trap door opened in the floor.

"See? I discovered it when I was rearranging the shelves in here one day. I don't know if even the Dean knows about it. I'm sure Phillippe and Cook don't."

"Where does it lead?"

"Almost everywhere, I think. I've only gone a little way in it, because it is full of water, and the current gets stronger in some of the tunnels. Also, the smell is rather foul. I think it was built to drain off the river when it floods. It is very old. Local people know about it, but they don't give it much thought. Most of it is sealed off. I haven't found any other entrances than this."

I moved to the edge and took the candle from Isa's hand. I peered into the darkness, but was able to discern no more than a few ladder rungs descending.

Isa continued. "Once, I was down there and a gust of wind blew out my candle. I thought I was lost, but eventually I found my way back. After that, I took a lamp instead. Time passes very quickly when you are in the tunnels."

I was impressed by Isa's bravery. Most people would imagine demons and other monsters, and would avoid this place.

"Cook! Where is Isa? I want to know what to do next."

Isa let the door fall into place. "Bats! He just wants to keep an eye on me. He knows something is up." I helped her slip the flooring into place.

Another loud voice called, "I haven't seen her, but yer kin get me some water, the addled child has fergotten ter fetch it."

"It's right in front of you, Cook. Look out, you're spilling it! Oh--"

"Well, now I needs some, so go fetch it!"

Isa rolled her eyes heavenward. "Well, I guess that was a lucky break. Cook is a sweetheart, but she's blind as a bat. I guess I should slip out and help mop up. Here, you go first. I'll send Phillippe for you when the Dean arrives." She pecked me quickly on the cheek and I slipped through the door and up the stairs to my room.

That night, I dined with my new master. Gascon seemed to be in high spirits, and feeling talkative as well. This was fine with me, for as the gloom of night fell I found that my weariness at life deepened. The weight of Nicolas's death had come to rest fully in my chest, so that his voice seemed to speak just barely within my hearing, though I could not understand what it may be trying to tell me.

Being young, my appetite was not overly affected, and we ate a lavish meal in the dining room. Then we moved to the chairs before the fireplace, where Gascon spoke dreamily about places he had been, and places he had heard of. His hawkish face lost its severity as he fell under the spell of the wine. I sat enthralled, content to let the man drone on about the many things he had seen and the many great men he had known.

I shook my head in amazement, but not at the colorful stories that floated across the table. How could this man be so feared that a god wanted his destruction? He had a severity, almost a cruelty to his character, yes, and he was aloof, wrapped up completely in himself, but I could observe no overt evil in his manner. Was this the way of evil, to appear innocuous and yet wait in the shadows for a chance to wreak havoc?

Nicolas had said that Gascon practiced a fool's science, a science based on greed. But I did not sense greed in the man as much as a kind of longing. It was as if some pall of darkness shrouded him, and he sought a powerful light with which to dispel it.

I had no reason to trust the god's intentions in this matter, was not even sure I would hear from him again. I hoped that I would not be asked to kill in cold blood, for although killing had come easily enough to me recently, there had always been provocation and no other choice.

"Alix, I want to show you something." Gascon rose unsteadily from the table. "It is something that you are not likely to see the likes of again, anywhere."

Isa entered and held Gascon's elbow until he had steadied himself. He waved her off with an impatient gesture and she moved to clear the table. I tried to catch her eye, but she was intent on her task, or ignoring me.

"Follow me, boy." I realized by Gascon's gait that he was more inebriated than I had thought. He started up the stairs, and had I not helped him, he would have fallen. We moved wordlessly down the upstairs corridor to the last door on the left, the one that had been locked the previous time I had tried it. Gascon produced a key from a pocket and fumbled with the lock for what must have been several minutes before it finally clicked and the door swung open. "Bring a candle from that sconce. There's a good lad."

The room was small and cluttered with oddities, somewhat like the secret room upstairs but without the aura of awe that went with that place. There were several books, about eight, all sizeable. Each book was displayed opened on its own stand around the perimeter of the room. A large table in the center of the room held neat stacks of paper and one more book, along with writing instruments.

"This is my library. Here are some of the most valuable books that can be owned." He gestured broadly, a look of genuine enthusiasm on his face. I walked around the room, examining each of the books without touching them. Five of them were Bibles, all exquisitely illuminated in gold leaf and richly colored inks. Many churches and abbeys, I knew, would pay a small fortune for any of these volumes. Gascon must be a very wealthy man indeed, with very good connections. The other three books were of the natural sciences. One contained illustrations of the many beasts, along with brief descriptions of their habits. Another was a long treatise on the habits of feral creatures. The title of the last book caught my attention the most of all of them--"A History of the Elimination of Heresy in the Languedoc" by Francois Gascon.

"Yes, I wrote that one. It has been copied over ten times already. The Holy Father himself has the first copy."

I was impressed. I had met many copyists and illuminators, had admired the making of books, but I had never before met a man who had actually written one. Most of the books I had seen were written long ago by men from other places, Greeks and Romans of antiquity. To write a book was indeed a scholarly act.

"I imagine the subject is of great importance to him. But isn't it rather grim?"

"These are grim times. The sanctity of the church is continually threatened by the forces of evil." He regarded me pointedly. "Besides, were I not the author of that book, I could never have interceded for you with the Inquisition. Speaking of which, I congratulate you. I knew you would take my advice, boy, and I am glad. I need an assistant who is quick, and I perceive that you are quick indeed. It would have been a sin to let you go to the rack or the flames. A sin."

I knew Gascon would get around to this subject eventually, and that I had no choice but to divulge everything that had happened at the Inquisitor's office. I did not want to display my cunning too boldly before a possible adversary, but Gascon, in all probability, would find out soon enough, and it would be better if he heard it from me.

"I have something to confess to you, Chancellor. I did not follow your advice." Gascon's brows knit heavily over his eyes, shadowing them to black in the stark shadows of the candles. He was sitting at the table, and I slid into the chair across from him.

"No?" said Gascon slowly, "Then how came you here?"

The silence in the room was heavy. "Monsieur, I told him of Nicolas' martyrdom."

"Martyrdom! He was a heretic! Explain yourself, boy, and omit nothing." There was a threatening note to his voice.

I told Gascon the story that I had told Father Andrade, then I went on to tell of Brother Asthon's part in the questioning.

Gascon sat silently in his chair, resting his chin in his palm and watching me, then a smile crept slowly across his face. "You are either the bravest lad I have ever met, or the madness has not left you. Do you realize that you placed your life and your soul at risk for a dead man?"

I said nothing.

"I wonder where this leaves me with the Inquisition, after I spoke in your defense?... Tell me, can you be as loyal to me as you were to your previous mentor?"

At that point my words outraced my wisdom, for I said, "I don't know. Loyalty must be earned, or it is false allegiance, and can be lost in times of duress. I have no reason to be disloyal to you now."

Gascon thrust himself from his seat and half-leaned, half-fell across the table. He stared redly into my eyes, and the smell of sweet wine carried on hot breath made me feel sick. Anger emanated from the man like heat from a fireplace. "And knowledge must likewise be earned. I can give you knowledge of which you have not even dreamed. I can give you things that no other could. Have you ever flown across the sky on the wings of a bat? Have you addressed the stars and derived answers from them? Can you call down a rain of stones from the heavens upon your enemies?" He paused, leaning more, until his face was inches from mine. His voice grew very soft. "These things can I teach you. But first, you must prove to me," he thumped his chest, "that you deserve the honor." He stood abruptly, turned in a whirl of grey and stalked from the room. There came a crashing sound as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and he shouted for Isa to clean up whatever he had broken.

I sat in the dimness of the room for a long time, staring out the one window at the cloud dulled moon. Another storm was gathering.


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