This essay analyses the sociological theories in the Secret Missionaries. If you haven't read it, I would recommend that you did before reading this post. You can easily find it on the archive on the date of the 6th of April 2020. Enjoy.
The church of Minaura feeds to its followers the divine order of God, represented by the magical tree above the organ. Gramsci argues that religion is used by the powerful to impose a hegemony, that is, a view on how society should be run and how things in general should be. It is thus that Norbert's friends initially try to persuade him into accepting that that is the order God decided for them and shouldn't be changed because 'He knows best'. Gramsci says that a hegemony is a form of ideological control that moulds people's behaviour in such way that cohesion, the use of force, is not necessary to maintain the power relations as they are. Moreover, Althusser argues that religious belief can act as an ideological state apparatus (ISA): it is an institution that justifies the existence of inequality: Marx called it the divine right of the King. Similarly to Gramsci, Althusser believes that ISA replaces repressive state apparatus (RSA), the use of the police or military forces, to maintain the status quo. In the narrative, when ideological control fails and Norbert and Bertrand are caught countering the Church, Lord Jeremy uses cohesion in the form of corporal punishment: this works as a deterrent which acts as boundary maintenance. Boundary maintenance is the process by which the norms and the values of a society are reminded to its members so that their culture can prevail. For functionalists such as Durkheim this is a positive thing because it allows us to function effectively in cooperation, which we'd struggle to do if we had distinct norms and beliefs; on the other hand, Marxists believe this is negative because it perpetuates class inequality and exploitation. Boundary maintenance is also seen in the divine tree and in the paintings of the crucified heretics at the base of the side walls of the church. Thus, the church of Minaura uses ideology to make people accept the feudal structure where land owners exploit labourers 'from dawn to dusk', by justifying it as the will of God, and if anyone should deviate from this schema, they have available the use of deterrent punishment to maintain boundaries.
Althusser argues that, despite this, ideas have relative autonomy, meaning they are not completely conditioned by institutions. A real life example are Willis's Lads, a group of working class boys who rejected school's norms and values and had created their own anti-school subculture, which included active challenge of authority. In the Secret Missionaries, Norbert and his fellows are able to discern from the Church's hegemony and visualise their own God. This is what Ernst Bloch calls the principle of hope: religion provides with a view of a better world, and it is this faith that allows us to challenge oppression. Gramsci puts it in this way: the oppressed can create a counter-hegemony that is inspired by their belief that God really wants them to be in good conditions, in the way that Norbert persuaded his friends that all that was not the true kingdom of God. A real life example are the Cargo Cults, which were cults in the colonised island of Milenesia who believed that the Europeans were unjustly taking for themselves all the material goods (cargo) that arrived, which had been sent by God and was aimed at them, the natives, and that consequently their power had to be challenged. Engels believed that this was the first example of the working-class acquiring class consciousness. Thus, although religion generally works for the ruling-class, it can also be an inspiration of hope to battle oppression; as Engels puts it, religion has a dual character.
[In this essay, it must be remembered that Marxists focus on a capitalist society, whereas the one of Minaura is a feudal one. For this, I have tried to avoid using terms such as bourgeoisie or proletariat, as these are specifically parts of capitalist dynamics.]
Monday, 20 April 2020
Monday, 6 April 2020
*The Secret Missionaries (Part 1 of The Sectarian Cycle)
INTRODUCTION:
In this story I've tried to illustrate Stark & Bainbridge's Sectarian Cycle, which aims to explain how religious sects and cults are formed. I didn't get to write the entirety of it, because in designing the plot I came to a conclusion half way through the cycle that worker too nicely as to ignore it. Consequently, I will write another part finishing it off. I'd like to give my acknowledgement to my father, who contributed ideas and his decent knowledge of the feudal system, and assumed the role of beta reader.
STORY:
Under the burning sun, under the heavy rain and inside the unforgiving sand storms, the workers of Minaura worked the infertile lands of the orchards, seeded large plantations of tubercles and vegetables and accumulated crops on rusty wheelbarrows, all for the favour of whimsical feudal lords who rarely recalled their names. Monday to Saturday, from dawn to dusk, that was the mechanical code in which they worked like a field of windmills in the most unchanging weather. On Sunday the lords would come out to the orchard in elegant suits of the finest silk and take their workers to town in a rigid straight line of disciplined soldiers, and in the square in front of the Church they gave discrete glances around, commenting on the size of each other's company of subjects, which was the sign of their status. It was only the most presentable lords who were allowed a seat before the sacred performance of the Priest, and all workers remained at the back and said their prayers in standing positions. Norbert always stood with his hands crossed in front of him and stared for the entire mass at the painting on the spacious wall over the organ, depicting the divine order of things: in the hands of God was a sphere of the purest light one could imagine, and in it was a tree of naked branches, the top one holding a portrait of the Pope called Fredrick, who was held by the priests, and these by their disciples; the trunk was the place for the feudal lords that owned and grew the land, and in the roots lay those who handled the tools for them. That was how God had created things; it was how things had always been and how things would always be, for God had designed it and thus it was the most perfect model there was. Luckily for all, there were paintings at the lower parts of the side walls depicting heretics crucified, eaten by the flies and dried by the sun, to stop any curious one who may want to step on wronged grounds and crushing apart the divine tower that held them close to Heaven. The painting of the tree had been ordered by Priest Edgar, the man who stood on the plateau with a tunic of purple and a mask that covered his face and ears and ended in a long point whose weight incurved it and spoke lengthy sermons in the tongue of God, which was uninterpretable for any mortal except those close to His house, like himself and the most skilled of his disciples.
Norbert had arrived in the farm of Lord Jeremy four years ago. He had been to several farms before in different towns and villages; the looping nature of time had emptied him of the exploratory enthusiasm that once had moved him, and his extroverted spirit had been reduced to a circle of three fellows. "It is always the same," he used to say to them, "we are doomed to be treated like animals". "Just let it go," they told him, "God knows why he put us where we are." "You don't speak seriously," he replied, "God is a loving father, He wishes not any of His children nor their children to be treated like dogs; Jeremy, on the other hand, would be very interested in keeping things that way." His fellows jumped back in their seat at one corner of the orchard, away from the other groups of workers during the scarcely thirty-minute long break allowed to refill their stomachs. "Lord Jeremy!" they corrected him.
One Sunday morning, at the end of the month of July, Norbert shovelled a line of small wholes in the soil while his friend Bertrand carried a bag of seeds and behind him he put one in each individual orifice, closing it up with the earth that had been left aside, when Lord Jeremy stepped out of his house in his new suit of blue cotton linen and clapped his hands, calling for volunteers to accompany him to Church. Norbert and Bertrand headed his way, and so did Rowan the carpenter and Vincent, the other two of their little group, but ere anyone else arrived, Thomas stood with their Lord; it was a good idea to accompany Lord Jeremy in his Sunday trips, because being part of the group that got him status among the feudality of Minaura resulted in his gratitude, and more often than not this invited them to the inn after the mass, where they were treated to cups of beer to share among twos. Thomas always volunteered, always was the only worker to know the exact numbers of crops planted and produced each day, and always was the one to walk beside Lord Jeremy on their way to town. Standing at the back of the hall, while Priest Edgar spoke his indecipherable verses, Norbert whispered to Bertrand his disgust about their sole idea of going to that place. "What a hypocritical way to kiss his arse", he moaned. Vincent elbowed his hip, an act of caution for the clearness of a whisper in the quiet. Norbert went back to fixating on the painting over the organ that played long notes in harmonious synchrony with the Priest's sermon and his disciples' choir. The mass finished, and everyone turned on their hills to exit, but a rigid hand grabbed Norbert's elbow. It was Thomas, who pulled him close. "If I was you I would be more careful with my words," he said, and nodded toward the paintings at the bottom of the side walls, "that's what happens to people who speak of your God without a divine order, and let me remind you that Lord Jeremy will hear me before you". With these words, he left him with a rage that froze him. Their feudal Lord called Rowan, who grabbed the chair he'd been making over the last two weeks from the corner where he'd left it, and they walked together to the Priest of the hidden face. "My humble greetings, Priest Edgar," said Lord Jeremy while Rowan bowed behind him, "I would like to offer to your grace a chair of the finest wood that my carpenter Ronald crafted. I thought you might make good use of it, as I know the Church is having complications lately, and that chair," he lifted an eyebrow toward the tacky bench of the organ, "is likely to need a replacement." Priest Edgar laughed, and placing a hand on Lord Jeremy's shoulder said: "Indeed we are in difficult times, good man, I thank you for this gesture of kindness". The Priest headed toward Rowan, who handed him the chair. "And I thank you too, noble carpenter," he continued, "I trust this will improve the aesthetics of our performances". The Priest and the feudal continued a friendly conversation, but this became blurred to Rowan's hearing as he identified two voices that murmured somewhere in the hall. He searched them with his vision, and discovered two of the Priest's disciples in front of the gate to the backyard of the Church, just behind the large instrument. In the voracious inquisitiveness of wonder, he gave subtle steps toward them, until he could hear some of the words and work out the others. "Our brother returned this morrow from Gindade with news of the Koether, they have agreed on the price and want to proceed". Rowan was interrupted by his feudal, who made him bow to the Priest that now headed to his chamber. Koether?, Rowan wondered.
The following day, in the half hour to eat, Rowan called his fellows with especial rashness to the hidden nook of the orchard and sat them in a circle so enclosed the space inside it was fully shaded although the sun felt like an oven on their backs. He asked if anyone knew what the Koether were, and was met with faces of ignorance. "Where did you hear of this?", asked Norbert. Rowan explained the incident of the Church. "Price of what?", asked Bertrand. "Proceed?", said Vincent. The break ended and they were forced back to work, but the rest of the day Norbert tired up a soup of ideas on what the Church had in hand. What were they going to buy? Or were they selling something? Who were the Koether? Every Sunday since then Norbert volunteered to go to Church again, and in the mass he kept an eye of prudence on Thomas. On the third Sunday, he saw Albert, the inn keeper, who was in his midday break, join two of the Priest's disciples, who were in theirs, in friendly conversation at the back of the inn, and found the same thing the following week. Norbert's popularity of the unfriendly old worker had made him lose any connection with other workers, but Vincent kept a decently wide circle of friendships; "We need to be many to make Jeremy happy - we must get some more time in town while the rest are in the inn", he told him repeatedly, and under his insistence Vincent used his dexterous rhetoric to convince many to volunteer the next Sunday. Indeed, when Lord Jeremy saw the immense proportion of his company compared to that of other lords, his grin was as wide as no one in Minaura had seen on his face for many months, and after the lengthy mass, in which Norbert didn't separate his gaze from the faceless Priest on top of the plateau, he took his workers to the inn and treated them one jug of beer between two. Distant in his thoughts, Norbert took only a small sip and left the rest for Bertrand. He exited the building in silent steps and walked round its perimeter to the backyard. His back rested on the wall and his ear loomed out of the sharp wooden edge of the corner, spying on the murmurings that came from there. Two disciples stood in a circle around a basket whence they picked up bread and fruit; they joked with Albert and laughed, but minutes later, when the inn keeper left, their faces became dark. "What have you learnt?", said one of them.
"Nothing, I'm supposed to be within the company the entire day, it's not easy to overhear things", replied the other. "Loui, Charles and Tuck were always the Priest's closest".
"It is not their closeness that bothers me. I believe something murky is happening. I can smell it"
"Come on, Seth, you always wanted to be ascended to Priest, it's obvious that the elections have you out of your mind because them three have a greater chance of ascending than you. And let me tell you that your sick pawn on this nonsense can cost you your place in the Church. God alone decides the order of things."
"I still have more chances of being elected by the Pope than the rest of you."
"You see? That's all you care for. A one like you heading the Church and Minaura descends into the likes of the Koether."
Seth held a threatening finger in front of his companion's face. "You'll take that back! I'm a good son of God and you know that." His fellow didn't reply, only frowned and swallowed, and there was a brief silence of tension. In a more relaxed tone, Seth returned to speaking: "If my suspicions are right and something ungodly is happening within the gates of the Church, we are already in that decline." He sighed. "You're right, there's no way of overhearing them while we are stuck with the rest of the group. It's like only the Priest and them three can go wherever they please. Argh, I'd pay whoever could give me answers!"
"Pay how much?", said Norbert, who had stepped well into the yard.
The disciples turned rapidly. "What are you doing there? How much have you heard?"
"You should be issued by your Lord. Whom do you work for?"
Norbert ignored the question: "You said you'd pay whoever could give you answers."
"Is this man deaf?"
"Get out of our sight before our patience runs out, peasant", said Seth, turning away.
"I heard two disciples say something of an agreement with the Koether." Seth stoped abruptly and turned his head. "They said that a brother of theirs had returned with news. This was just over a month ago."
Seth inspected the man. "Who are you?"
"Norbert Whitehill, I work in Lord Jeremy's farm." Seth didn't say anything, and his companion alike. Norbert tried not to show his fear, his belief that he had made the most unwise choice of his life in going there. "Who are the Koether?", he asked.
"They are a Church who live in the village of Gindade. They practice sacrifices of chicken and sheep. They don't have a physical temple like us, so they preach in occult meeting points in the woods. Pope Fredrick and their so-called Pope Darios have had disputes for power for years. ... How did you come to learn this?" Norbert told them in first person the story Rowan had explained to him and their fellows. "Were the men you saw a saw a tall, brown-bearded and a bald of blue eyes?" Seth's friend kissed his teeth to the imprudent speaker.
This caught Norbert: Rowan hadn't described them. "Yeah, they were", he said.
The disciples looked at each other. "Loui and Tuck", they said. "Charles must be the traveller. It makes sense, he was missing for a week."
"What price were they talking about?", asked Norbert.
"I don't know", said Seth, thoughtful. "Would you be able to get solid evidence of what you're saying, Norbert Whitehill?"
"How much do you pay?"
"I could arrange it so you could get your own farm and workers."
"This is blasphemy!" cried the other.
"Sounds tempting. Why should I trust that you'll keep your word, though?"
"Do you believe in God?"
"I go to Church."
"We both know that doesn't mean anything for a labourer."
Norbert thought his next words. "Not in your God. I believe in a God that is just, as the one I've heard about since I have memory, not one who says he loves all His children but draws a fucking tree between them."
"We are on equal grounds, your disagreement is with Edgar. If I become Priest, I will impose bills that lords'll have to pay and we'll spend in public interest."
"I don't believe a word of that, but it doesn't bother me. I only want to get out of here with my family. I can get you your evidence in exchange of the farm", said Norbert.
Seth held out his hand. "I swear the words I say on my life before the God of the equals."
Norbert saw his hand, and shook it like a pact of blood.
"Priest Edgar has explained to us that the House is the colloquial name given to the House of Chestnuts, the northern most farm of Minaura. The Church is selling it to the villagers of neighbouring Gindade, which as you know, is very poor." He stepped forward yet once more, and slowly pronounced these words: "Did you have any associates other than Mr Bertrand Hitch?"
With grief, Norbert sighed. He shook his head from side to side, and whispered: "No"
"I don't hear you", insisted Lord Jeremy.
"No, I did not", Norbert repeated.
Lord Jeremy started to walk around him with a patience that lit up short strings all around Norbert's body, cremating the cord until tones of dynamite. "You have committed an act of treason to the Church, to God and to the Crown. This crime will have the name of Lord Jeremy's farm, and that I don't like a single bit." Norbert could feel his warm, humid breath on his neck as he stopped again and stood facing his side. "You will be punished. For eight days, twelve whips in the back, and if I happen to be in a bad day, I'll pour salt on the wounds. If there are other associates, the length of the sentence you'll share with them in equal parts, and I tell you now, I'm more likely to be in a bad day if there aren't any. I'll ask again, did you have any associates other than Mr Bertrand Hitch?"
Norbert could feel the lines of blood on his back, he could see Bertrand lie dead on the soil under the fierce flies. He saw himself hide outside his house, hearing his wife with the children, not wanting to let them see him like that. He looked up at Thomas, rejoicing himself like a vampire smiling to the blood draining from a hanged corpse. He looked at the faceless Priest, standing motionless, expressionless with the cross of God on his chest, indifferent to any words that had been said. "No", he repeated.
Lord Jeremy looked away; he nodded to the Priest, who nodded back at him. Thomas carried Bertrand, almost dragged his body.
In this story I've tried to illustrate Stark & Bainbridge's Sectarian Cycle, which aims to explain how religious sects and cults are formed. I didn't get to write the entirety of it, because in designing the plot I came to a conclusion half way through the cycle that worker too nicely as to ignore it. Consequently, I will write another part finishing it off. I'd like to give my acknowledgement to my father, who contributed ideas and his decent knowledge of the feudal system, and assumed the role of beta reader.
STORY:
Under the burning sun, under the heavy rain and inside the unforgiving sand storms, the workers of Minaura worked the infertile lands of the orchards, seeded large plantations of tubercles and vegetables and accumulated crops on rusty wheelbarrows, all for the favour of whimsical feudal lords who rarely recalled their names. Monday to Saturday, from dawn to dusk, that was the mechanical code in which they worked like a field of windmills in the most unchanging weather. On Sunday the lords would come out to the orchard in elegant suits of the finest silk and take their workers to town in a rigid straight line of disciplined soldiers, and in the square in front of the Church they gave discrete glances around, commenting on the size of each other's company of subjects, which was the sign of their status. It was only the most presentable lords who were allowed a seat before the sacred performance of the Priest, and all workers remained at the back and said their prayers in standing positions. Norbert always stood with his hands crossed in front of him and stared for the entire mass at the painting on the spacious wall over the organ, depicting the divine order of things: in the hands of God was a sphere of the purest light one could imagine, and in it was a tree of naked branches, the top one holding a portrait of the Pope called Fredrick, who was held by the priests, and these by their disciples; the trunk was the place for the feudal lords that owned and grew the land, and in the roots lay those who handled the tools for them. That was how God had created things; it was how things had always been and how things would always be, for God had designed it and thus it was the most perfect model there was. Luckily for all, there were paintings at the lower parts of the side walls depicting heretics crucified, eaten by the flies and dried by the sun, to stop any curious one who may want to step on wronged grounds and crushing apart the divine tower that held them close to Heaven. The painting of the tree had been ordered by Priest Edgar, the man who stood on the plateau with a tunic of purple and a mask that covered his face and ears and ended in a long point whose weight incurved it and spoke lengthy sermons in the tongue of God, which was uninterpretable for any mortal except those close to His house, like himself and the most skilled of his disciples.
Norbert had arrived in the farm of Lord Jeremy four years ago. He had been to several farms before in different towns and villages; the looping nature of time had emptied him of the exploratory enthusiasm that once had moved him, and his extroverted spirit had been reduced to a circle of three fellows. "It is always the same," he used to say to them, "we are doomed to be treated like animals". "Just let it go," they told him, "God knows why he put us where we are." "You don't speak seriously," he replied, "God is a loving father, He wishes not any of His children nor their children to be treated like dogs; Jeremy, on the other hand, would be very interested in keeping things that way." His fellows jumped back in their seat at one corner of the orchard, away from the other groups of workers during the scarcely thirty-minute long break allowed to refill their stomachs. "Lord Jeremy!" they corrected him.
One Sunday morning, at the end of the month of July, Norbert shovelled a line of small wholes in the soil while his friend Bertrand carried a bag of seeds and behind him he put one in each individual orifice, closing it up with the earth that had been left aside, when Lord Jeremy stepped out of his house in his new suit of blue cotton linen and clapped his hands, calling for volunteers to accompany him to Church. Norbert and Bertrand headed his way, and so did Rowan the carpenter and Vincent, the other two of their little group, but ere anyone else arrived, Thomas stood with their Lord; it was a good idea to accompany Lord Jeremy in his Sunday trips, because being part of the group that got him status among the feudality of Minaura resulted in his gratitude, and more often than not this invited them to the inn after the mass, where they were treated to cups of beer to share among twos. Thomas always volunteered, always was the only worker to know the exact numbers of crops planted and produced each day, and always was the one to walk beside Lord Jeremy on their way to town. Standing at the back of the hall, while Priest Edgar spoke his indecipherable verses, Norbert whispered to Bertrand his disgust about their sole idea of going to that place. "What a hypocritical way to kiss his arse", he moaned. Vincent elbowed his hip, an act of caution for the clearness of a whisper in the quiet. Norbert went back to fixating on the painting over the organ that played long notes in harmonious synchrony with the Priest's sermon and his disciples' choir. The mass finished, and everyone turned on their hills to exit, but a rigid hand grabbed Norbert's elbow. It was Thomas, who pulled him close. "If I was you I would be more careful with my words," he said, and nodded toward the paintings at the bottom of the side walls, "that's what happens to people who speak of your God without a divine order, and let me remind you that Lord Jeremy will hear me before you". With these words, he left him with a rage that froze him. Their feudal Lord called Rowan, who grabbed the chair he'd been making over the last two weeks from the corner where he'd left it, and they walked together to the Priest of the hidden face. "My humble greetings, Priest Edgar," said Lord Jeremy while Rowan bowed behind him, "I would like to offer to your grace a chair of the finest wood that my carpenter Ronald crafted. I thought you might make good use of it, as I know the Church is having complications lately, and that chair," he lifted an eyebrow toward the tacky bench of the organ, "is likely to need a replacement." Priest Edgar laughed, and placing a hand on Lord Jeremy's shoulder said: "Indeed we are in difficult times, good man, I thank you for this gesture of kindness". The Priest headed toward Rowan, who handed him the chair. "And I thank you too, noble carpenter," he continued, "I trust this will improve the aesthetics of our performances". The Priest and the feudal continued a friendly conversation, but this became blurred to Rowan's hearing as he identified two voices that murmured somewhere in the hall. He searched them with his vision, and discovered two of the Priest's disciples in front of the gate to the backyard of the Church, just behind the large instrument. In the voracious inquisitiveness of wonder, he gave subtle steps toward them, until he could hear some of the words and work out the others. "Our brother returned this morrow from Gindade with news of the Koether, they have agreed on the price and want to proceed". Rowan was interrupted by his feudal, who made him bow to the Priest that now headed to his chamber. Koether?, Rowan wondered.
The following day, in the half hour to eat, Rowan called his fellows with especial rashness to the hidden nook of the orchard and sat them in a circle so enclosed the space inside it was fully shaded although the sun felt like an oven on their backs. He asked if anyone knew what the Koether were, and was met with faces of ignorance. "Where did you hear of this?", asked Norbert. Rowan explained the incident of the Church. "Price of what?", asked Bertrand. "Proceed?", said Vincent. The break ended and they were forced back to work, but the rest of the day Norbert tired up a soup of ideas on what the Church had in hand. What were they going to buy? Or were they selling something? Who were the Koether? Every Sunday since then Norbert volunteered to go to Church again, and in the mass he kept an eye of prudence on Thomas. On the third Sunday, he saw Albert, the inn keeper, who was in his midday break, join two of the Priest's disciples, who were in theirs, in friendly conversation at the back of the inn, and found the same thing the following week. Norbert's popularity of the unfriendly old worker had made him lose any connection with other workers, but Vincent kept a decently wide circle of friendships; "We need to be many to make Jeremy happy - we must get some more time in town while the rest are in the inn", he told him repeatedly, and under his insistence Vincent used his dexterous rhetoric to convince many to volunteer the next Sunday. Indeed, when Lord Jeremy saw the immense proportion of his company compared to that of other lords, his grin was as wide as no one in Minaura had seen on his face for many months, and after the lengthy mass, in which Norbert didn't separate his gaze from the faceless Priest on top of the plateau, he took his workers to the inn and treated them one jug of beer between two. Distant in his thoughts, Norbert took only a small sip and left the rest for Bertrand. He exited the building in silent steps and walked round its perimeter to the backyard. His back rested on the wall and his ear loomed out of the sharp wooden edge of the corner, spying on the murmurings that came from there. Two disciples stood in a circle around a basket whence they picked up bread and fruit; they joked with Albert and laughed, but minutes later, when the inn keeper left, their faces became dark. "What have you learnt?", said one of them.
"Nothing, I'm supposed to be within the company the entire day, it's not easy to overhear things", replied the other. "Loui, Charles and Tuck were always the Priest's closest".
"It is not their closeness that bothers me. I believe something murky is happening. I can smell it"
"Come on, Seth, you always wanted to be ascended to Priest, it's obvious that the elections have you out of your mind because them three have a greater chance of ascending than you. And let me tell you that your sick pawn on this nonsense can cost you your place in the Church. God alone decides the order of things."
"I still have more chances of being elected by the Pope than the rest of you."
"You see? That's all you care for. A one like you heading the Church and Minaura descends into the likes of the Koether."
Seth held a threatening finger in front of his companion's face. "You'll take that back! I'm a good son of God and you know that." His fellow didn't reply, only frowned and swallowed, and there was a brief silence of tension. In a more relaxed tone, Seth returned to speaking: "If my suspicions are right and something ungodly is happening within the gates of the Church, we are already in that decline." He sighed. "You're right, there's no way of overhearing them while we are stuck with the rest of the group. It's like only the Priest and them three can go wherever they please. Argh, I'd pay whoever could give me answers!"
"Pay how much?", said Norbert, who had stepped well into the yard.
The disciples turned rapidly. "What are you doing there? How much have you heard?"
"You should be issued by your Lord. Whom do you work for?"
Norbert ignored the question: "You said you'd pay whoever could give you answers."
"Is this man deaf?"
"Get out of our sight before our patience runs out, peasant", said Seth, turning away.
"I heard two disciples say something of an agreement with the Koether." Seth stoped abruptly and turned his head. "They said that a brother of theirs had returned with news. This was just over a month ago."
Seth inspected the man. "Who are you?"
"Norbert Whitehill, I work in Lord Jeremy's farm." Seth didn't say anything, and his companion alike. Norbert tried not to show his fear, his belief that he had made the most unwise choice of his life in going there. "Who are the Koether?", he asked.
"They are a Church who live in the village of Gindade. They practice sacrifices of chicken and sheep. They don't have a physical temple like us, so they preach in occult meeting points in the woods. Pope Fredrick and their so-called Pope Darios have had disputes for power for years. ... How did you come to learn this?" Norbert told them in first person the story Rowan had explained to him and their fellows. "Were the men you saw a saw a tall, brown-bearded and a bald of blue eyes?" Seth's friend kissed his teeth to the imprudent speaker.
This caught Norbert: Rowan hadn't described them. "Yeah, they were", he said.
The disciples looked at each other. "Loui and Tuck", they said. "Charles must be the traveller. It makes sense, he was missing for a week."
"What price were they talking about?", asked Norbert.
"I don't know", said Seth, thoughtful. "Would you be able to get solid evidence of what you're saying, Norbert Whitehill?"
"How much do you pay?"
"I could arrange it so you could get your own farm and workers."
"This is blasphemy!" cried the other.
"Sounds tempting. Why should I trust that you'll keep your word, though?"
"Do you believe in God?"
"I go to Church."
"We both know that doesn't mean anything for a labourer."
Norbert thought his next words. "Not in your God. I believe in a God that is just, as the one I've heard about since I have memory, not one who says he loves all His children but draws a fucking tree between them."
"We are on equal grounds, your disagreement is with Edgar. If I become Priest, I will impose bills that lords'll have to pay and we'll spend in public interest."
"I don't believe a word of that, but it doesn't bother me. I only want to get out of here with my family. I can get you your evidence in exchange of the farm", said Norbert.
Seth held out his hand. "I swear the words I say on my life before the God of the equals."
Norbert saw his hand, and shook it like a pact of blood.
* * *
In the hidden corner of the orchard, in the lunch break, Vincent gave in to exhaustion, fell to his knees and lay down on the soil while the other three sat on their chairs. "When they find out," began Rowan to Norbert, "they will wonder who could have seen them. They will review in their memories who was inside the Church at the time they spoke of Koether, and you're gonna have me killed." Norbert spoke to his fellows about his agreement with Seth. He asked them for their collaboration: they needed to get longer stays in town, they needed Jeremy to be distracted while they conducted their investigations, and they had to pay close attention to every word anyone in Minaura said.
"How rash was this of you, Norb," said Bertrand, "you have absolutely no clue what they meant, nor whether it's anything they shouldn't be doing. What if we get into this and it turns out that they're doing something for the people?"
"And now what? Did Fredrick and Darios suddenly make peaces?" protested Norbert.
"You don't know this man Seth. And what kind of priest apprentice has lunch in the backyard of an inn?"
"One who want to discuss murkiness in the Church."
"I don't know, pal," said Rowan, "We could get into a lot of trouble. Remember Maxen, the guy was whipped for sticking his ear where he shouldn't have."
"That's true", said Bertrand.
Norbert sighed, and remained thoughtful for some time. "I know that this is a mission that God has sent." His fellows took their hands to their heads. Vincent now sat on the ground and looked attentively. "This is the opportunity to make things right. Bertrand, you have two sons; Rowan, two daughters, one son; Vincent you have nephews and nieces; we can now save them from the same fate as us. Imagine a farm for us all, where our children and wives live away from all this, no more Minaura, no more divine trees. We can work the land - I think we know pretty damn well how to do that. But let's do it outside the shade of a whip. God loves us all, isn't that what they say all the time? Well then, let's make it look like it. We can be the group that starts the true kingdom of God on Earth."
Bertrand's and Rowan's eyes looked restless, nervous, and they repeatedly eyed each other. Vincent scratched his chin, and drops of sweat emerged from Rowan's hair. Norbert inspected Vincent, who sat immobile in deep seriousness.
"I'm in", said Bertrand. "I won't see my sons as slaves and my wife freeze at night." He put a hand in the middle of the circle. Norbert put his on top.
Rowan's eyes were those of the one who walks to the guillotine, and his hands covered his mouth and nose. "Oh, what the hell, you already got me into this", and he placed his hand on top of theirs.
"Vincent?", called Norbert.
Vincent stood from his seat on the soil and approached them in patient steps. Tranquil, he pulled the empty chair, sat on it and fixated his gaze on Norbert. "Norb, you are insane", and he placed his hand on top of the pile of associates, "I'm in." And they lifted their hands in unison, like a team of disciplined soldiers.
The following Sunday they got the same people to go to Church, but this week Lord William, Lord Jeremy's greatest rival in the world of business, had come prepared with an army next to which Jeremy's company was a handful of lads hanging out. The secretive rebels shook their heads in the negative, and in the mass, Norbert found a place next to Vincent: "Next week, I need you to find a way to bring all the workers." Bertrand broke in: "There's no way we can beat Lord William every week, Norb, and even if there was Lord Jeremy wouldn't take us to the inn all the time; after the second consecutive week he'd forget about it. We have to find a way to move during the mass." This week the four fellows held their hands behind their backs and a straight posture, like four deserters before the firing squad; they examined the choir of disciples behind the Priest who spoke in the tongue of a fake God, who now appeared like a virus a building of corruption; they noticed among them Seth watching the Priest, and his friend watching them. Kneeling between the bunch of kneeling lords and ladies, they watched Lord Jeremy sing to the sacred tree over the organ, and the paintings at the bottom of the side walls walked in circles below them like a group of sharks that wait for their pray, smelly of blood. The mass ended, and all turned, but Bertrand's motion was interrupted by the sight of Thomas, whose posture of a walking corpse between the crowd filled his veins with ice.
The following week, to avoid suspicions, they agreed that only Norbert and Bertrand would volunteer to go to church. They minded to be at the back of the mass hall, so that the way to the circular stairs in the corner could be done in the highest of subtlety. They waited until Priest Edgar had been preaching for a while and everyone else was distracted saying their prayers, and Norbert elbowed Bertrand, who slid like water into the gigantic cylinder that contained the stairs. Before he disappeared behind the walls of it, he noticed Thomas spying on him, his eyes moving between him and Norbert, the believer of the God without an order. He swallowed saliva and moved on - it was too late now, the sole attempt to infringe the corridors of the church was enough to incriminate him. He climbed the spiral with a bent back, fearing in every step that in the next he'd run into a couple of disciples or nuns climbing down, and he maintained in his mind the descriptions Norbert had given him: a tall, brown-bearded and a bald of blue eyes, those are the guys Seth suspects. Loui and Tuck, he repeated in his mind, and bloody Charles. He arrived to the second floor. Crawling on the floor, his head crossed the invisible line that joined the opposing frames of the doorway, looked on way and then the other. There was a corridor that led to a balcony whence one could see the Priest and all the adepts at a five meter fall; the corridor elongated itself behind the wall behind the organ, where the tree was painted, and it got dark. Bertrand thought to see a door on the wall that led to a room just behind the organ. His breath became faster, his hands were battled by forces that moved forward to the corridor and backward to the burrow-like stair-case. This is suicide, he thought, I'm going to get caught. At full speed he crawled to the wall and clung to it as though trying to escape the opposing railing. Rage filled his muscles: Why did I do that? Why would anyone have done that? He pushed himself to his feet and with a back almost parallel to the floor he ran to the end of the corridor on steps smooth as feathers - hills, toes. He changed sides once he had crossed to the darkness of the areas behind the tree, and hinted his nose and eyes through the mysterious door. He saw a man, tall, with a large beard the colour of polished wood, reading a paper on an arm chair; he faced the other way, and was in front of a long table, many chairs around it, like to host the Priest and all his disciples. Behind him there were many shelves full of books, and at the further-most corner a stair-case going down, possibly to the backyard. Bertrand kept looking back at the balcony, imagining the disciples coming to get him, but the sound of a horse came through the stair-case. The man of the beard left the paper on the table, circled the room and disappeared down the stairs. Bertrand was pushed by his instincts into the room; he grabbed the paper and crouched below the top of the long table. The ink was dry: "I write to confirm the payment of the House will be done by mid November, to coincide with the elections of the new Priest. We agree to your required payment of half a tone of gold, and have ready your requested lands at the coast of Idheri. - Hector Ulrichsen, in representation of Pope Darios."
Steps that climbed sounded. Bertrand left the letter where it was and exited the room in desperation. He crossed the balcony in smooth steps, climbed down the circular stairs and with stealth, that nobody should turn around, stood himself by Norbert. After work, when the sun was down and they headed to their houses through the lone road, Bertrand explained what he'd seen to his fellows. "I believe they are intending to sell the Church".
"Isn't that against the law of the Church?".
"It is, but no one has ever seen Edgar's face. Make the change, be good at pretending, and nobody in Minaura will ever hear the name Darios."
It was the perfect plan: the people would notice nothing, Darios would get a good taste of the power he so much desired, Edgar and his three closest disciples would go off to Idheri, and Minaura, being a marginalised village of infertile lands and lords only humble in comparison to most, was in no risk of Pope Fredrick inquiring anything. Priest Edgar had three farms that produced for charity, although it was intriguing that they only produced three halves of what they produced in Lord Jeremy's farm alone. The trick, obviously, was that the food that produced there was sanctified by God - a spell whose vitamins and minerals provided eternal health until He should make up to take your life, but only if one knew how to perform correctly the ritual of preparation, for which there were some vague instructions on a plaque at the entrance of the orchards. This food was valued and envied, scarce and precious, like gold plated copper, and this was reflected in its cost. The Priest of Minaura often brought blacksmiths from various villages around to remodel his carriages and riders to train his horses. It was not hard to imagine why a man who preaches in the forest would want those privileges.
Bertrand decided the next week he wouldn't go to town: "It's risky, suspicious". Norbert went accompanied by Vincent; they needed to speak to Seth, he would be interested in these unlawful news, but that day they weren't invited to the inn, and during the mass he was trapped in the choir. They returned and cursed between breaths, followed by a week of incessant labour at the orchard under the ruthless sun of late summer, but the following week they passed from the church to the farm, and the week after, and the one after that. "Hell!", they said, "if November kicks in, that's the payment date, and it'll be over". Every time they exited the Church, Norbert felt a tumour of incompetence, in seeing the backyard of the inn so close but having his wrists tied to Lord Jeremy with an invisible thread of titanium. Some weeks Vincent when, some Rowan, some Bertrand, but Norbert always went, as he was the only one that knew Seth. Some weeks he went alone, and he couldn't get Thomas's eyes off him however he tried to camouflage between the rest of the group. It was the end of October and Norbert had gone to Church with Bertrand. The preaching of the faceless man, whoever it was this time, went slowly and painfully. They were the fourth largest group of seven, and thus Lord Jeremy wasn't happy. They were heading back to the farm, when Norbert planted himself staring at the backyard of the inn; Bertrand returned a few steps to join him. "You'll have to invent a lie about where I am," said Norbert to his friend, "we can't depend on Jeremy's will anymore." And thus he ran and hid between the tall plantations of the nearby farms until the group was gone. When the village seemed to have returned to their routine, Norbert exited his bidding place and run around the Church to the inn, where he found that Seth and his friend on their way out. "Hey!" he called. Seth looked in the direction of the voice and jumped in recognising him. "Whitehill! Thank God. Any news?" "Interesting ones", he said. Seth looked around; at this time they should be rejoining the other disciples in the Church. "Let's not talk here, follow me. ... Cover us", he told his friend. They went inside the inn, and Seth walked straight to the innkeeper, Albert, to whose ear he whispered something. Albert nodded and gave him a key, and with a sign of the head Seth indicated Norbert to go up the stairs. They entered a room with a bed in it. "This is where travelling couples do their stuff," said Seth, "I'm sorry we couldn't go somewhere more serious, but this is where no one will think we are. Plus, Albert is an old friend, he'll cover us. What did you find?" Norbert told him of his team of missionaries, of Bertrand's odyssey to the letter of the mysterious room, and of their suspicions about buying the House. "The House, could that be the Church itself?" "We think so", said Norbert. "This is great," continued the other, "selling a church is a serious crime, and when Pope Fredrick finds it's to the Koether, Edgar will fall." "And we'll get our farm"; said Norbert. "Not just yet, you give me information, but we need solid evidence." He walked around the room in nervous and long steps, and looked out the window through small spaces between the curtains, like a madman persecuted by ghosts. "Do what you can to steal the letter, I'll see what I can do myself." "You spend more time in the church, it'll be super easy for you." "Don't you think that," said Seth, "the Priest wants all his disciples like a colony of wasps from dawn to dusk, and they hide things from us." They decided that if they took longer to return they'd call unwanted attentions. Thus, they exited, climbed down the stairs and nodded discretely at Albert. "Stay here for five minutes," ordered Seth, "we don't want to be seen together. If you find new things, you can find me after nine pm in Number 37, East Road", and thus said, he exited through the back door. Five minutes later, Norbert came out, trying to hide his face behind the collars of his shirt. He walked past the church without directing one sole gaze to it, and turned the corner of the plantations. Not several yards away, he run into Lord Jeremy, who was accompanied by Thomas and faceless Priest Edgar, the three waiting like a frozen wall, holding Bertrand from a set of cords that tied his hands to the back of his head, from which blood licked. His shirt, his trousers, all his body had signs of blood, and the look on his eyes was the one old Maxen had had when he was whipped for heresy.
"Selling the House, Norbert?" began Lord Jeremy. Norbert didn't reply: he knew not what was wise in this moment.
"I heard him speak blasphemies of the Priest", said Thomas. "They have been undermining the God-given divine order."
Lord Jeremy stepped forward in a walk that seemed demonic, and his walking stick a trident. He stood with a straight back and a monocle, in a blazer of black linen, facing the side of the man with the shaggy squared shirt and the crooked back, and said:"Priest Edgar has explained to us that the House is the colloquial name given to the House of Chestnuts, the northern most farm of Minaura. The Church is selling it to the villagers of neighbouring Gindade, which as you know, is very poor." He stepped forward yet once more, and slowly pronounced these words: "Did you have any associates other than Mr Bertrand Hitch?"
With grief, Norbert sighed. He shook his head from side to side, and whispered: "No"
"I don't hear you", insisted Lord Jeremy.
"No, I did not", Norbert repeated.
Lord Jeremy started to walk around him with a patience that lit up short strings all around Norbert's body, cremating the cord until tones of dynamite. "You have committed an act of treason to the Church, to God and to the Crown. This crime will have the name of Lord Jeremy's farm, and that I don't like a single bit." Norbert could feel his warm, humid breath on his neck as he stopped again and stood facing his side. "You will be punished. For eight days, twelve whips in the back, and if I happen to be in a bad day, I'll pour salt on the wounds. If there are other associates, the length of the sentence you'll share with them in equal parts, and I tell you now, I'm more likely to be in a bad day if there aren't any. I'll ask again, did you have any associates other than Mr Bertrand Hitch?"
Norbert could feel the lines of blood on his back, he could see Bertrand lie dead on the soil under the fierce flies. He saw himself hide outside his house, hearing his wife with the children, not wanting to let them see him like that. He looked up at Thomas, rejoicing himself like a vampire smiling to the blood draining from a hanged corpse. He looked at the faceless Priest, standing motionless, expressionless with the cross of God on his chest, indifferent to any words that had been said. "No", he repeated.
Lord Jeremy looked away; he nodded to the Priest, who nodded back at him. Thomas carried Bertrand, almost dragged his body.
* * *
Hours felt like months and days like years. As warned, Lord Jeremy was in very bad days most days. They had been given rooms to stay in for the eight days that the punishment lasted: they were four walls of cheap wood with a sheet of rusted iron for a ceiling. They were separated from the rest, whom they saw through the spaces between each table of their huts, and for one hours a day were forced to peak rocks that were of no use before and would be of no use after. They were only allowed in their four walls in the night; during the day they had to stay outdoors, almost naked and with burning backs under the sun. "Lucky summer's over", told them Lord Jeremy. They hadn't the force to speak to each other, although they would have had things to say, and rather remained lifeless on the soil all day with aching wounds, watching the flies approach, drawing vague images of their families, wondering what they were doing, how were they feeding themselves. They observed the workers work, and thought to themselves about the God of Priest Edgar, about His tree, and about the millions that worked in the dirty roots of it day after day, and the phrase 'the order of things' bounced back and forth in their heads, creating shields that isolated it from the kingdom of hatred that was being born, and the command to keep it away with spears and swords propagated with a voice that echoed in the darkness. On the sixth day, the crops next to the small area shook. They jumped back in the expectancy of Lord Jeremy with a whip or a machete, but the heads of Vincent and Rowan showed up. They jumped the fence and ran to them. The surprise on their faces was infinite, a horror of the one who sails the river to the gates of Hell. Bertrand's confusion alone demanded an explanation for their knowledge of their location. "I believe we know this orchard better than Jeremy, and have hid things in it more often." Rowan and Vincent crouched before their friends, forming a perfect circle like the one they formed in the hidden corner of the orchard.
"It is mid November now", said Vincent.
"I don't want to... continue", replied Bertrand between breaths. Norbert didn't say anything, didn't move, his eyes filled with tears.
Their friends didn't protest, they only looked at each other and down to the soil. Vincent sighed, and Rowan cleared the tears off his eyes.
"It ... filled me to believe ... that we had a chance", said Norbert. He laughed, but it ended with a cry.
The silence continued, even the wind had given up its prospects to reassemble the fallen leaves, and rested tranquil in a fresh breeze.
"What did they tell you? What is the House, then?"
With infinite labour, Bertrand pulled himself to seat up against the wall. "A farm. The Koether are buying a farm. The House of Chestnuts."
Rowan's attention was woken. "That can't be right." Eyes turned to him. Vincent made a grimace. "If they were purchasing it they wouldn't be writing to the Church, because the House of Chestnuts does not belong to the Church. My cousin works there, they sold it to Mr Danielson three years ago."
Now even Norbert jumped to his feet. The image of the immobile Priest returned. The words of Lord Jeremy. The way the choir had sang to the organ like a firing squad below the roots of a synthetic tree aiming at a couple of heretics. He approached Rowan, held his shoulders in his hands. No words were required to make a meaning. Vincent stood, "we have to run to the bloody Church right now, Rowan". He helped Bertrand up, so they all stood in a closed circle, and put his hand in the middle. Norbert was next, and Rowan, and Bertrand. "We'll get us out of here", said Vincent, "on the real God." Rowan led the lifting of their hands, in unison, perfectly synchronised.
Vincent and Rowan ran between the crops, stealthy like a panther but fast like an eagle. Rowan's coat of big pockets and metallic buttons ringed like castanets with every violent step, and faster than a hummingbird moves its wings they crouched behind a short wall beside the church of Minaura. The sun set behind the mountains of the West, and a horse neighed from the backyard. A carriage arrived, and a disciple, bald and with eyes so blue that their sight froze in the night, came out to greet him. The arriver looked for something in his bag while pronouncing a polite greeting with the accent of Gindade. The room above their backyard is their office, had said Bertrand. Vincent and Rowan crawled around the wall and into the area roofed by the office, and being next to the gate to the stair-case, Vincent threw a rock at the horse's leg, making it jump back and neigh, that the visitor was busy maintaining balance and the bald disciple was captivated by the scene. The missionaries climbed the stairs and wasted no time to inspect the long table. There were two letters: one was from the Pope to Priest Edgar, convoking him in the capital to discuss with the other priests the ascensions; but the other one ... the other one read thus: Priest Edgar has expressed his wish to invite you to a meeting at the gates of the forest of Minaura, to proceed with the payment, exchange those materials that you'll find necessary, like the Priest's uniform, and close definitively the negotiation regarding the Church of Minaura. - Louis Jones, on behalf of Priest Edgar of Minaura. Bingo, the missionaries felt they'd made it, but from the stair-case emerged the bald disciple and the hooded visitor. Rowan pushed both letters into his pocket, and seconds later missionaries of a God who didn't believe in trees ran through the corridors of the Church persecuted by two fierce defenders of organs and crosses; they climbed down the circular stairs, broke out a window by the locked gates, crossed the central square of Minaura in screams and yells. They ran as fast as they could, but a day of forced labour lay upon their shoulders, and the visitor moved nimbly. They headed for the central roundabout, whence to turn to the East Road to find door 37. The visitor passed them, and his arms extended wide like a barrier; behind them was the bald disciple, and to their side the wall. With their backs pressed against the flat surface, Vincent and Rowan watched the walking roots of the divine tree approach like corpses that crave brains, with shadowed faces like vampires in hoods of bat-skin. The distance between those men's feet and their own was a fading torch in a cave without exit, and Vincent imagined the farm: Norbert digging wholes, Bertrand seeding lentils, children playing in the gardens and their mothers chasing them with their vegetables. Like a ray, Vincent shot his hand in Rowan's pocket, grabbed the papers and pushed the man to the ground; he turned to the disciple and, punching his face out of the way, ran across the roundabout, the hooded visitor chasing him with agile movements, and the disciple soon woke and joined the persecution. Rowan lay on the ground, with painful muscles, and he eyed the second paper, which hung from the side of his pocket. He took it and unfolded it. It had the sign of Louis, representing Pope Edgar of Minaura. Rowan lifted his gaze to Vincent, the man of the thin arms that was chased by a hooded Gindadean and a disciple of Priest Edgar into the West Road. His blood flux accelerated; his tortured muscles pushed his to an impecable posture and in limbing but light steps led him to the Road of the East, fixating his interior eye on a 37 the colour of purity. In the distance, he saw it; in the distance, there it was: the door, the farm, his friends and his family. But a heavy body appeared from one side and took him from his ribs, again to the ground, and suddenly Thomas was on top of him, lifting his arm where he held a dirk to where it should gain the impulse to pierce steel; his arm came down like a meteorite, but Rowan blocked it with his, the sharp point of the weapon touching his chin. He came again, and again his arms were like a rampart of un-cemented bricks receiving the impact of the rage of God. Thomas put all his weight on his arm; the knife began to cut Rowan's cheek. In his gaze, Thomas had gone, and what was left was a cold, lifeless shell: "I belong to the tree", he said, but a bag covered his head and pulled him away. Seth and his friend held the assassin who kicked like a capricious child, tied in the arms of Seth's friend. "Help me with this, Seth!" said the man. But Rowan stood and grabbed his elbow. "Are you Seth, the disciple of Edgar?". Seth looked confused. "I am." "I'm Rowan, Norbert's companion", said the man with desperation, and he handed him the letter. Seth read it with analytical eyes, and raised his gaze in a thunder. "Where is Whitehill?" Battling between pity, shock and hurry in the face of Rowan's reply, he said: "I will get him out of there, I promise I will", and he headed to his horse.
Vincent and Rowan ran between the crops, stealthy like a panther but fast like an eagle. Rowan's coat of big pockets and metallic buttons ringed like castanets with every violent step, and faster than a hummingbird moves its wings they crouched behind a short wall beside the church of Minaura. The sun set behind the mountains of the West, and a horse neighed from the backyard. A carriage arrived, and a disciple, bald and with eyes so blue that their sight froze in the night, came out to greet him. The arriver looked for something in his bag while pronouncing a polite greeting with the accent of Gindade. The room above their backyard is their office, had said Bertrand. Vincent and Rowan crawled around the wall and into the area roofed by the office, and being next to the gate to the stair-case, Vincent threw a rock at the horse's leg, making it jump back and neigh, that the visitor was busy maintaining balance and the bald disciple was captivated by the scene. The missionaries climbed the stairs and wasted no time to inspect the long table. There were two letters: one was from the Pope to Priest Edgar, convoking him in the capital to discuss with the other priests the ascensions; but the other one ... the other one read thus: Priest Edgar has expressed his wish to invite you to a meeting at the gates of the forest of Minaura, to proceed with the payment, exchange those materials that you'll find necessary, like the Priest's uniform, and close definitively the negotiation regarding the Church of Minaura. - Louis Jones, on behalf of Priest Edgar of Minaura. Bingo, the missionaries felt they'd made it, but from the stair-case emerged the bald disciple and the hooded visitor. Rowan pushed both letters into his pocket, and seconds later missionaries of a God who didn't believe in trees ran through the corridors of the Church persecuted by two fierce defenders of organs and crosses; they climbed down the circular stairs, broke out a window by the locked gates, crossed the central square of Minaura in screams and yells. They ran as fast as they could, but a day of forced labour lay upon their shoulders, and the visitor moved nimbly. They headed for the central roundabout, whence to turn to the East Road to find door 37. The visitor passed them, and his arms extended wide like a barrier; behind them was the bald disciple, and to their side the wall. With their backs pressed against the flat surface, Vincent and Rowan watched the walking roots of the divine tree approach like corpses that crave brains, with shadowed faces like vampires in hoods of bat-skin. The distance between those men's feet and their own was a fading torch in a cave without exit, and Vincent imagined the farm: Norbert digging wholes, Bertrand seeding lentils, children playing in the gardens and their mothers chasing them with their vegetables. Like a ray, Vincent shot his hand in Rowan's pocket, grabbed the papers and pushed the man to the ground; he turned to the disciple and, punching his face out of the way, ran across the roundabout, the hooded visitor chasing him with agile movements, and the disciple soon woke and joined the persecution. Rowan lay on the ground, with painful muscles, and he eyed the second paper, which hung from the side of his pocket. He took it and unfolded it. It had the sign of Louis, representing Pope Edgar of Minaura. Rowan lifted his gaze to Vincent, the man of the thin arms that was chased by a hooded Gindadean and a disciple of Priest Edgar into the West Road. His blood flux accelerated; his tortured muscles pushed his to an impecable posture and in limbing but light steps led him to the Road of the East, fixating his interior eye on a 37 the colour of purity. In the distance, he saw it; in the distance, there it was: the door, the farm, his friends and his family. But a heavy body appeared from one side and took him from his ribs, again to the ground, and suddenly Thomas was on top of him, lifting his arm where he held a dirk to where it should gain the impulse to pierce steel; his arm came down like a meteorite, but Rowan blocked it with his, the sharp point of the weapon touching his chin. He came again, and again his arms were like a rampart of un-cemented bricks receiving the impact of the rage of God. Thomas put all his weight on his arm; the knife began to cut Rowan's cheek. In his gaze, Thomas had gone, and what was left was a cold, lifeless shell: "I belong to the tree", he said, but a bag covered his head and pulled him away. Seth and his friend held the assassin who kicked like a capricious child, tied in the arms of Seth's friend. "Help me with this, Seth!" said the man. But Rowan stood and grabbed his elbow. "Are you Seth, the disciple of Edgar?". Seth looked confused. "I am." "I'm Rowan, Norbert's companion", said the man with desperation, and he handed him the letter. Seth read it with analytical eyes, and raised his gaze in a thunder. "Where is Whitehill?" Battling between pity, shock and hurry in the face of Rowan's reply, he said: "I will get him out of there, I promise I will", and he headed to his horse.
* * *
In Minaura, for many years, people enjoyed the tales of the day Pope Fredrick came into town with his company, and the afternoon when Priest Edgar left the Church chained up. It was the first time anyone had seen his face, but they knew it was him because the Pope repeatedly cursed such name; they would remember this as they sang with the preaches of Priest Seth of Minaura. They remembered the secret missionaries of the farm of Lord Jeremy, who was charged by the church of the capital for torture. And especially they liked the story where Vincent Matthews, under the shadow of a guillotine, laughed to the face of the fooled bald disciple of blue eyes. A new farm had been founded near the far mountains; it was said that they didn't mix themselves with outsiders, that they were an enclosed isle in a remote nook of the forest. For them, it was the rest of the world that hid behind a circle of shields, separated from them with spears and swords, alien to their kingdom of hatred. Yearly, on the 16th of November, Rowan Smith would stand alone on the side of the orchard, and he would watch Norbert Whitehill dig wholes, and Bertrand Hitch pour seeds into them, and their children run and their wives gather crops, and he would remember a noble sacrifice.
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