Mother Scholastica rose from her chair like the very angel of God rising to strike down the wicked. “Do not tell me that you believe what she has told you? That you profess this heresy yourself? Lady and Lord preserve us!”
“I—I pray you, Mother,” began Sigfrid, stuttering slightly. His voice was hesitant, and he was pale. “If you only listened to what Lady Tallia teaches, if you had seen the miracle as we did…. Surely the good biscops at the Synod of Addai understood the matter wrongly when they passed judgment on this matter. It was over three hundred years ago. They were misled by—”
“Silence!”
Even Baldwin flinched back.
“Children.” Thus did she set them in their place. “Do you not understand that the punishment for heresy is death?”
But Sigfrid had a stubborn streak in him, hard to see beneath his unfeigned modesty. He moved through the world with eyes for nothing but books and learning, but once fastened to an idea, he did not let go of it. “It is better to speak the truth and die than to keep silence and live.”
“A miracle!” said Brother Methodius suddenly, and with deep disdain, although Mother Scholastica had not given him leave to speak. “Roses grew in that courtyard before we moved them to make way for the fence. Which has not done its duty!”
“Nay, Brother, do not blame the fence. It has served God and its purpose well enough until now, and will continue to do so. It is the taint of heresy that has planted its seed in the ranks of these novices. But now that we know how far it has spread, we can uproot it. These four alone among the young men are stained. They are to enter seclusion. Brother, you will watch over them, see that they speak to no one else, until they are sent away.”
“Indeed, I will,” said Brother Methodius with such emphasis that Ivar felt a cold tremor of doom in his heart. Brother Methodius, a small man of middle years whose scholarship was greatly respected although he was only a man, and whose calm steadiness in the face of emergency was legend, could be counted on to fulfill his promises.
“Sent away?” asked Baldwin, saintly posture crumbling. “You’re sending us home? I beg you, Mother—”
“The time for obedience came and went,” was her sharp retort, cutting off his pleading.
Ermanrich grunted, hiding his thoughts. Sigfrid had his head bowed so deeply that Ivar couldn’t see his face.
Ivar thought of home, but it meant nothing to him now. What would he do there? Go hunting? Fight the Eika? Marry an heiress? Seek an estate of his own in the marchlands?
After hearing Tallia’s words, after seeing the miracle, these occupations seemed so … trivial. No matter what Brother Methodius said about the rosebushes, Ivar knew a miracle when he saw one. And he had seen one. Of course Mother Scholastica and Brother Methodius did not want this miracle to be true, because it would overturn everything their faith was based on.
They believed in the Ekstasis, when the blessed Daisan had fasted and prayed for seven days seeking redemption for all humanity and the Lord and Lady in Their mercy had conveyed him directly to heaven. They did not want to believe that the blessed Daisan had suffered and died on this Earth and been redeemed by the Lady’s power because he alone of all things on Earth was untainted by darkness, because he was the Son of God, She who is Mother of all life.
“You will not be sent home,” said Mother Scholastica without any softening in tone or expression. “Each one will be sent to a different place. This taint is a disease that has affected all of you together. A flock of sheep is more easily brought to ruin when there is one foolish and reckless creature among them ready to leap off the cliff while the others follow. What you feel now is only a passing fancy. With enough hard labor, seclusion, and prayer you will find your way back to the truth. Be assured that the Fathers of those establishments to which we will commend you will be warned of the taint you carry with you. They will watch you carefully, and compassionately, to see that you do not spread the disease to others and that you are freed from it in the end.”
Ermanrich had started sniveling again. “What about my cousin, Hathumod?” His nose had flushed bright red.
“She has her own destination. It is not for you to know.” She nodded toward Methodius, who lifted a hand for silence. Ermanrich choked down his sniffles, sneezed, and wiped his eyes. Baldwin was trembling. Ivar felt nothing except a tingling in his knees; one side of his left foot had gone numb.
“Ermanrich will journey to the abbey of Firsebarg. Baldwin will become one of the brothers at St. Galle.” Baldwin caught the barest exhalation, like relief, in his throat. “Ivar will be dedicated to the monastery founded in the name of St. Walaricus the Martyr.”
