Fantastic Crimes by Anne Perry Christopher Fowler F. Paul Wilson and Elizabeth George

Author:Anne Perry, Christopher Fowler, F. Paul Wilson, and Elizabeth George
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
Published: 2017-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

5

From within the sheltering cowl of his black robe, Adelard regarded the twilit streets of Ávila. He was glad to be out in the air. He left the monastery so seldom these days. Spring had taken control, as evidenced by the bustling townspeople. When summer arrived, the heat would slow all movement until well into the dark hours.

Brother Ramiro carried the carefully wrapped Compendium between his chest and his folded arms as they crossed the town square. Adelard glanced at the trio of scorched stakes where heretics were unburdened of their sins by the cleansing flame. He had witnessed many an auto da fé here since his arrival from France.

“Note how passersby avert their eyes and give us a wide berth,” Ramiro said.

Adelard had indeed noticed that. “I don’t know why. They can’t know that I am a member of the tribunal.”

“They don’t. They see the black robes and know us as Dominicans, members of the order that runs the Inquisition, and that is enough. This saddens me.”

“Why?”

“You are an inquisitor, I am a simple mendicant. You would not know.”

“I was not always an inquisitor, Ramiro.”

“But you did not know Ávila before the Inquisition arrived. We were greeted with smiles and welcomed everywhere. Now no one looks me in the eye. What do you think their averted gazes mean? That they have heresies to hide?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then you are wrong. It means that the robes of our order have become associated with the public burnings of heretics to the exclusion of all else.”

Adelard had never heard his friend talk like this.

“What are you saying, Ramiro?”

“I am saying that we are not an order that stays behind its walls. We have always gone out among the people, helping the sick, feeding the poor, easing pain and sorrow. But the order’s involvement in guarding the Faith seems to have erased all memory of our centuries of good works.”

“Be careful what you say, Ramiro. You are flirting with heresy.”

“Are you going to accuse me?”

“No. You are my friend. I know that you speak from a good, faithful heart, but others might not appreciate that. So please watch your tongue.”

Adelard was surprised at Ramiro’s familiarity with the people of Ávila. He had imagined him spending all his time in the library or tilling the monastery’s fields. He changed the subject.

“I’ve known you for a number of years now, Ramiro, but I don’t know where you are from.”

“Toro. A province north of here.”

“Do you still have family there?”

“No. My family was wiped out in the Battle of Toro. I was just a boy and barely managed to survive.”

Adelard had heard of that—one of the battles in the war for the crown of Castile.

“How did you come to the order?”

“After the horrors I’d seen, I wanted a life of peace and contemplation and good works. And that is what I had until the Inquisition changed everything.”

Adelard had come to the Dominicans for very different reasons. The order provided him a place to pursue the philosophy of nature and

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