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?”
“She seemed the best of us,” Stefan answered, looking at his people for agreement. “We were shocked to discover she lived a secret life of sin.”
“You should hope sin is all I find.” Bastion said. “Sin has a remedy. Christ has given us means to atone. But heresy, witchcraft, the trampling of the sacred Host wafers from Communion and fornicating with devils—there is no remedy we can apply to such actions. We can only purge the evil and trust God’s punishment will be enough. Father Stefan cannot conduct this investigation alone. It is a civil matter as much as it is a religious concern. My job is to secure your village, purge the evil I find, and assure you that you will suffer no more.”
Soft murmurs floated past, but no one spoke up.
“Men,” Bastion continued, “how can you trust your wives? Who among you will be next to discover that his faithful wife is a bawd and his children bastards? Women, why did Catarina hide herself from you? Why did she not trust any of you enough to reveal her true face, her secret adulteries? Were you to be her next victim? Or her next recruit? Who else hides among you?”
Any movement would seem an admission of conscience. Stefan saw his flock frozen in their shoes; not even their chests moved as they breathed.
“Prepare yourselves,” Bastion said. “Tonight we begin.”
Erick moved out from the shadows and walked toward Bastion. Dame Alice reached for him, trying to grab his arm, but Erick did not seem to notice.
“Can I stable your horse for you?” Erick asked. Stefan pressed his lips together to discourage a grin. Erick had no stable. But given the command to stable a visiting dignitary’s horse, he would convince one of the wealthy families to assist. Everyone loved Erick, who always shoveled snow from widows’ doorways in the winter and supplied the poorest with fresh firewood and a few hens when babies were born.
“Whose son is this?” Bastion asked.
No one moved. Erick’s face went red, his eyes looking only at the floor.
Stefan realized he should speak up, but Erick spoke first. “I have no mother or father. I serve the church.”
Bastion stared at him, his eyes wide. Stefan could not tell if Bastion might be ready to yell or laugh; he had the unreadable face of a feral cat.
He broke into a wide grin. “Well done,” he said. “Well done indeed. Yes, stable my horse. Then take my bag.…”
Bastion stared at Stefan.
“Oh!” Stefan caught on. “Yes, I’ve prepared a bed for you in our dormitory. Erick knows where it is.”
“Then, Erick, my son, take my bag to the dormitory. And for you, my good people, go in peace. Meet me in front of the church steps tonight when the sun sets.”
Erick walked to open the doors for the people, bending down to lift the bag. He needed a second attempt to lift it. Stefan wondered what could be so heavy. A traveling man often brought an extra cloak but rarely anything more.
Some of the people wove around Erick, slipping out at once, while most stood around, eager for something else to happen. Dame Alice crossed to Mia, her head cocked as if to ask a question. Mia saw her coming and hurried down the aisle and out the door. Stefan watched her flee and caught sight of another woman in dark robes, her long gray hair blown back by the wind. She stood beneath the wolf, stroking his fur, then turned and caught sight of Stefan, her ice blue eyes glaring at him in fury. She crooked one finger at Stefan, her lips pulling back over her teeth in a snarl.
Stefan stepped back into the shadows of the church, his heart thundering in his ears.
Chapter Eight
Bastion paced in front of a covered cart as the bonfire grew higher. Stefan watched him through the flames, standing in front of the congregation of villagers. Bastion’s eyes glittered in the flames as his gaze swept side to side over the people, searching their faces. He seemed hungry, but it was an appetite Stefan did not recognize. Smoke between Stefan and Bastion rose in waves, a thin veil separating priest from prophet.