Wolves Among Us(16)

Bjorn had the easier job. He could arrest and punish. He could go home and sleep with his wife and watch his child play. Stefan would have liked to arrest and punish, would like to return to a warm home and not a cold room with no one to prepare his meals. Still, he did not regret the priesthood. He simply regretted that so many made outrageous demands of him.

He began the benediction, surprised to be ending the Mass already. He spoke faster, probably because he was so excited, he guessed.

In the silence of prayer he could hear feet scuffing the floor, people shifting their positions on the stern wood benches, the soft breathing of the elderly ones who had fallen asleep, and a sound he loved: the quiet gentle pause after a prayer is finished. People always hesitated in that moment to look at each other, or at him. He sensed God most in that moment.

Outside, wood wheels dug into the path, sending pebbles shooting out from under the heavy turning. The horse clopped along slowly and steadily, the steps of an animal with only one long journey, never a home. His footfalls did not quicken as he neared the town.

The people rushed to finish their own prayers, their hands flying across their chests as they made the sign of the cross. The quiet grace Stefan loved lifted away, back into the rafters; every face turned to the doors. Outside, the horse’s steps stopped.

Both doors swung open together, and strong sunlight swept in, causing the people to wince and squint. All could see only the darkest outline of a man standing in the doorway, his cape swirling around his calves. The man carried an enormous bag. When he dropped it on the floor, the noise exploded across the church. Everyone lurched in fear as a cloud of dust and dirt swirled around the man, obscuring him further. Stefan knew with certainty the man’s identity. His stomach churned.

The man stepped out of the doorway, and Stefan got his first good glimpse of him. He had light brown hair that hung in curls down past his ears and a dark brown beard neatly groomed; there wasn’t even a hint of silver in his hair. Stefan hoped this man was not younger than himself. The man had spring blue eyes and perfect teeth that flashed beneath his mustache as he smiled. He walked down the aisle, turning to look straight at each person as he passed, his serene eyes noting each upturned face. He nodded as if he understood everything they had come here to whisper to God. Extending his hands, he began to touch the shoulders of those who sat on the edge of each pew, nodding with mercy. Stefan marveled at his demeanor. The man preached a sermon simply by the way he walked down an aisle. Stefan cleared his throat to break the spell.

“Welcome, brother,” Stefan said. “I have concluded our Mass, but I have yet to finish the benediction.”

The man clasped his hands as if to pray.

“Forgive me, Brother Stefan,” he said. “I have interrupted, haven’t I?”

Stefan finished the benediction, allowing himself a deep breath before the end, not knowing what would come next. He had called for this man, the Inquisitor Bastion. Stefan watched the faces of his villagers, who were shocked by the sight of this new man in richly done clothes, a cape over his shoulders that would cost any of them a year’s labor. The villagers did not glance back at Stefan.

“Go in peace,” Stefan said with a sense that he had just released something, something that would fly away, never to return. That could not be.

The people always began their exodus with great speed, but this time no one left. Instead, they sat in their pews, waiting. Only Dame Alice stood to leave, her mouth a tight, thin line. When she looked at Stefan, he thought she looked disappointed in him.

Bastion had sat for the benediction but now rose, extending his arms to Stefan first. Stefan walked down the altar steps into the embrace. He glanced at the women in the pews. They seemed to find him attractive. Stefan positioned himself to block Bastion from their view.

“Well done, my brother,” Bastion said. “You have a good voice.”

Moving away from Stefan, he turned to the people and addressed them.

“You have in Father Stefan a good and constant shepherd. He alone has recognized the evil that is at work among you. He alone has called for the church’s assistance. For this reason, I have come.”

He moved to the bottom step of the altar, making it easier for all to see and hear.

“My name is Father Bastion, and I am an Inquisitor. I have heard of your troubles. I have come to give you assistance. You must not regard me as a priest, for I have no interest in ordinary sins. You must not regard me as an enemy, for I have no interest in persecuting the innocent. I am called for one reason alone: to find evidence of witchcraft, and if witches are found, to free you of their influence.”

Stefan positioned himself in front of Bastion, though he stood below Bastion on the steps. He saw Dame Alice standing at the back of the church, her arms folded. Curiosity had gotten to her, he surmised.

“Most of you would agree that it is better to know for certain that we are safe rather than wait for further proofs of evil,” Stefan said. “We live in dangerous times. The church is under assault from heretics across the empire, under assault from scholars who claim to be outside her authority, under assault from princes and rulers who desire power over principle. I will not let danger come to our village. Bjorn has hunted and killed his wolf; now I must hunt mine.” Stefan exhaled and pursed his lips as he stepped aside. He had not rehearsed any more than that.

“Tell me, my friends,” Bastion said, “what could compel a woman such as your very own Catarina to cuckold her husband? Was she not a good woman? Was he not a good man?”