“In the monastery, in the condition you’d expect from your own experiences.” Hegel shivered at the memory.

“We burnt them, too,” Manfried hiccupped. “Don’t worry on that account.”

Martyn sighed. “Then my quest has ended without my presence. But do not think me proud, for I acknowledge you and I are but His Instruments, and His Will has been done. I am solaced that I had tracked it true, and had you not arrived I would have soon after.”

“Her Will. And that’s assumin you didn’t freeze, or get et by wolves, or fall into any number a other gruesome ways. Speculatin gets you nuthin but sore, mark me,” Manfried philosophized.

“And she,” Martyn nodded behind them, “has been with you even before this?”

“She-” Hegel began.

“Has and is,” Manfried interjected, “our ward. We’s takin her south to Venetia for a sea captain.”

“Which captain?”

“Bar Goose. Queer name, I’ll allow,” said Hegel, saving his brother the embarrassment of having forgotten their future patron’s name.

“For what purpose is your anonymous ward traveling through the mountains in the cruel of winter? I did not think any wagons braved such high roads this late.”

“To get to that captain, like I just told you,” said Manfried.

“No, no, I mean, what was she doing out here to begin with? A foreign bride? A relative?”

“There you go, speculatin. You question why the sun come up and down like it’s wont?” Manfried went on. “Why cow taste better than horse, and pig better than either? How bout why you’s priest stead a Pope?”

“Manfried!” Hegel’s horror mingled with his usual glee at hearing his brother make others look foolish.

“I ain’t finished. Got us a holy man obsessed with unravelin the design stead a servin it like everythin from eel to emperor does. Why’s we born if we’s gonna die? Why’s there a Hell if Mary loves us all? If we’s slaves to divine plannin, why in fuck’s free will an issue? What sort a test got a pre-seen outcome, then a feigned surprise when some cunts fuck up?”

Martyn’s entire body matched the crimson rims of his eyes, which jutted out of their puffy settings. He stared while Manfried took another swig, a faint whining coming from the priest’s pursed lips. Just when Martyn seemed about to damn them both-Hegel unsure if the noise he kept bottled up was apology or laughter-Manfried finished his speech.

“That’s the kind a rot priests been talkin where we come from. Only talk to themselves, mind you, but word always trickles down, specially when you’s proud as princes and twice’s stupid. You’d think livin as they do, chosen people and all, they’d have more sense than to question a good thing. Heresy is what it is, and worse yet, cowardice. Cryin and carryin on, why, why, why?! I’ll tell you, Martyn, I’ll tell you honest: kind a maggot askin them questions’ too scared to have faith, and that’s how he’s worse than a simple heretic. Ain’t enough his family died, he gotta know why. Why me, why them, why, why, why? Cause you’s a cunt, that’s why. Cause Her Will is inscrutable, and what’s more, none a our fuckin trade. We truck in the flesh, and doin as She commands, showin mercy and acceptin fate for just that stead a raisin them questions what would get you burnt quick you wasn’t wearin robes. Gotta believe in a world without answers, a fate without explanation or apology, or you’s the cuntiest a the cunts and you’s gonna get your precious answer in the fires below!”

The wheels squeaked and the wagon bounced. Hegel sweated, wondering if their load would soon lighten. His brother usually restrained himself around clergy as there were so many hidden heretics infiltrating the Church but this man had shown remarkable charity, what with not being sore about getting shot. Manfried spoke the gospel, though, and if this priest took offense it was proof of his cowardice.

“Amen,” Martyn breathed. “You speak well, Manfried, although I might advise rearranging the order of your points in the future, as most company will not listen so attentively and discern your meaning for what it is. And forgive me if I, through my awkwardness of speech, have implied I do anything but agree wholeheartedly with you. My simple, and admittedly rude, curiosity bested me, but only for a moment.”

“Amen, indeed,” chortled Hegel, sliding his hand off the pommel of the dagger under his cloak.

“Well, it ain’t nuthin,” Manfried muttered, delighted his diatribe had pleased the priest. “Just the truth, unfettered by that fancy and meaningless talk so pleases the countryfolk.”

“As I told you,” Martyn said after sipping the bottle, “although perhaps not clearly enough, it is precisely that sort of double-speak that has divided Christian from Christian to such grave extent that the Pope no longer sits in his proper place but must dwell in the recently tamed wilds of Avignon, and why I was scorned by some of my brethren for embarking on my journey. They would rather accuse each other of heresy than battle real evil made flesh.”

“Cowardice is oft hid under the moniker a common sense,” said Hegel, and the others nodded in agreement.

“And you are correct,” Martyn continued, “shamed though I am to admit it, that there are many in the Church for whom the Will of God no longer suffices, and they damage not only their own salvation but also the sanctity of the entire institution by focusing more on the questions than the answers.”

“What with all them different orders traipsin bout, can’t tell one from another,” Hegel put in, Manfried winded and content to drink and listen.

“That is not so much of a problem as when the divisions become intolerable.” Martyn belched. “The fiend I hunted is indicative of this. I found little support in pursuing a demon that I had seen. Sad times when thwarting corporeal evil sent from the Devil to work his mischief is less imperative than investigating rumors of heresy, when the righteous are not even in their city. I found an ally in Jean de la Roquetaillade, a Franciscan gifted with prophecy, but he was imprisoned for preaching the truth-that the End Times have arrived. I met with him in his cell every time I journeyed to Avignon, further proof, further proof! Concern for the souls of man has been supplanted by a desire for power. I prayed that my quest might bring the Church back together, but before leaving Avignon the last time I found myself a pariah and a laughingstock to those who disgrace His Name through act and word, some whispering I was a secret Waldensian! They denied me an audience with Lord Clement, then again with Lord Innocent, and when I recently returned to implore Lord Urban the same curt dismissal awaited me.”

“Tragic,” said Hegel.

“Tell me, brothers, have you heard of the trial of Formosus?”

Manfried yawned. Hegel blinked.

“Pope Formosus’s desecration is most topical, so I will advise you on what befell him and let you two pious wanderers decide for yourself. Several centuries past, Formosus served man and God as all true popes do, but even then political machinations were at work, and shortly after his death they exhumed him.”

The Grossbarts perked up, such business being their specialty. Hegel forced himself to mind the road while Manfried pried the beer away from Martyn. The priest managed another swig before relinquishing it.

“They accused him of heresy.” Martyn’s eyes bubbled over but his voice did not quake. “Led by Stephen the Sixth, er, the Seventh, those heretics had him disinterred from his holy resting place and held a trial. With his corpse! His soul long seated in Heaven had the humiliation of watching over while they poked his bones and charged him with blasphemy, devil worship, and every other vile falsehood their wicked minds could imagine. Obviously he was unable to defend his remains, and those criminals hacked off the hand which bore the papal ring and stripped him of his vestments. Then they dragged him through the streets, hurled him into the river, fished him out, and scattered his disgraced bones with those of the Jews.”