“Time to love each other,” Dame Alice said. “Tell me, Mia, of your story. Tell us all who you are.”
Mia closed her eyes for strength, exhaling. She was free to tell her story. The burning days were not over, but Mia would not burn for reading the Bible. If she died, it was because more people had not read it, and lies passed as truth so easily. Mia wanted Dame Alice, and all these women, to know where the truth could be found. If she would die, she would die telling anyone who listened about the only source of truth and the only hope for this age.
Chapter Twenty-five
Stefan directed the boys dragging two wooden stakes to the church steps. The largest and heaviest of stakes went in the ground first. It took three boys to lift it into place. When it stood, Stefan regarded it. The structure looked incomplete.
He rubbed his eyes, clearing the dust. He hadn’t slept at all last night.
With the uproar over Bjorn, Bastion had suggested it best to dispatch Mia the next day. He said Mia needed one more night to consider her crimes and repent. He had not asked where Alma was. He seemed to have no interest in the little one. Not that it mattered now.
Stefan looked over his stretching shadow. Morning sped along too fast. He had much to do. He walked through the square, empty except for a stray rooster pecking about. Even the dogs were not at the windows this morning, pushed aside by their masters. Stefan saw faces, human faces, popping up and then withdrawing, spying on the two stakes set in front of the church steps.
Stefan stepped into the baker’s shop, buying honey syrup. It would do fine. He would return home and mix it with the preparation from his own garden. Stefan rarely had a chance to make this recipe. Rarely had he need, except when some white-haired old man needed a broken leg set, or a frightened child needed a rotted tooth out.
Bastion was sitting on the steps, watching the boys work, when Stefan returned. Ava’s cage was covered. At the sight of it, Stefan patted the bag hanging from his belt, as if to remind himself what he must do.
Bastion sighed, frowning at the stakes.
Stefan sat beside him. “Mia did not confess, I heard. Is this what is troubling you?”
“Mia is troubling me, yes.”
“Tell me something, Bastion. When did you first understand what you were to do with your life?”
Bastion looked in the distance. “I was a child.”
“Go on. It’s a good day for stories. Let’s sit and have a drink while the boys work.” Stefan offered him a flask. Bastion eyed it, then stared at Stefan, who smiled.
“Come, Bastion. I would like peace.”
Bastion sat on the steps and reached for the flask. He took a long draught and wiped his mouth. He shook his head before starting. “I was a child. Maybe seven or eight. I thought my mother a good woman. She could be very industrious. She fed me sweets all the time, little raisins soaked in honey or wine. She’d give me a pile of sweets and then leave me for an hour or so. Oh, I’d stuff myself. But she did not dote on my father that way. We both knew he did not love her. I didn’t even think he saw her. He traveled often. When he returned, he ate and slept. Then left again. One morning I woke up, alone in the house, except for him. He had been away. He must have returned in the night while I slept. He asked me where my mother was. I had not realized she was gone. I did not know what women did.”
Bastion’s voice faded.
“And then?” Stefan prodded him.
Bastion shrugged. “I told him. There was a neighbor she often visited. I pointed toward the man’s house, and my father left me. A few minutes later, the neighbor came stumbling out of his house, blood spurting from his throat. He had been sliced clean. I never saw my mother again. I am grateful my father spared me that sorrow. He must have killed her.”
Stefan sat, silent. There was nothing he could say.
“That is when I knew how I would live, although years passed before I knew there was a name for this work. I wanted to save women from their sin. Women must not repeat her mistake.” He sat quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “But perhaps I am getting too old for this,” he finally continued, “or growing careless in my work. It seems that some women cannot be saved. But I must not trouble myself. There are other towns that need me. I will go to a new town after this.”
“Yes. Once a man sees what must be done, he should think of nothing else.”
Bastion took another swig and grinned, casting off the memories. “I’ve never known a priest like you. Inconstant is the word I would use. I cannot predict a word you will say.”
Bastion yawned. He had not slept last night either. Stefan had heard him, sitting against the wall instead of lying in his bed, banging his head against it. Whatever Bastion wanted here, it eluded Stefan. Stefan decided not to dwell on it. It would not matter soon.