which she accepted everything else in life. This was a good woman, Dietrich thought. She would never be placed on the calendar of saints, never be remembered for centuries like Laurence and Sixtus; yet she owned their generosity of spirit. Christ lived in her because she lived in Christ. Irresistably, he compared her to the wanton Hildegarde Müller.
Councils had proposed that the priest should turn his back on his flock, and not face them across the altar as had been done since the earliest times. The argument was that priest and people should face God together, the celebrant standing at the fore as the commander of an army leads his lances into battle. Some of the great cathedrals had already reversed their altars, and Dietrich expected the practice tobecome soon universal. And yet, how sad if he could not gaze upon the Theresias of the world.
A FTER THE vigil, as they returned by torchlight to the parsonage, Joachim said to Dietrich, “That was a fine thing you said. I had not looked to you for it.”
Dietrich had been watching Theresia make her way down the hillside with her basket of herbs, now blessed and therefore meet for preparing salves and unguents. “What did I say?” He had not expected praise from Joachim, and the compliment of the first utterance pleased him more than the implicit criticism of the second nettled.
“When you said that the rich man cannot see Christ because the gold dazzles his eyes. I liked that. I would like to use it myself.”
“I said it was
more
difficult. It’s never easy for anyone. And don’t forget the glitter. Gold itself is a useful thing. It is the glitter that is the blinding illusion.”
“You could have been a Franciscan yourself.”
“And burn with the rest of you? I’m a simple priest of the diocese. Thank you, but I will stay out of it. Kaisers and Popes are like the upper and nether millstones in Klaus’s mill. Between them is a bad place to lie.”
“I never read of Christ praising luxury and wealth.”
Dietrich lifted his torch the better to see his companion. “I never heard of him leading bands of armed peasants to the sacking of a manor house, either!”
Joachim shrank from the vehemence he heard. “No!” the Minorite said. “We don’t preach that. The Way of Francis is—”
“Where were you when the
Armleder
went about the Rhineland hanging the rich men and burning their houses?”
Joachim stared at him. “The Armleder? Why, I was a child in my father’s house. The Armleder never came there.”
“Be thankful they never did.”
A strange look passed across the monk’s features. Fear, but something else. Then the face closed up once more. “It is vain to discuss what might have been.”
Dietrich grunted, suddenly tired of baiting the young man, who might have been eight or nine when the mobs rampaged. “Be wary,” he said, “of unlocking such passions as envy.”
Joachim stalked away from him, but turned after a few paces. “It was still a good thing to say.” He left, and Dietrich gave thanks that the younger man had not asked the same question of him.
Where were
you,
Dietrich, when the Armleder passed through?
A motion to his right drew his attention, but his eyes were dazed by the torch and he could make out nothing but a shape that leapt from behind the church. Dietrich ran to the crest of the hill and held his torch high to illuminate the rocky slope behind, but he saw only the rustle of a wild raspberry bush and a stone that clattered down the hill.
Another movement, this one behind him. He whirled suddenly, caught a glimpse of great glowing eyes, then the torch was knocked from his grasp, and he was tripped to the ground. He cried out over the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves as the second intruder fled.
In moments, Joachim and Theresia were at his side. Dietrich assured his rescuers that he was unhurt, but Theresia explored his skull and arms for injuries anyway. When her fingers reached the back of his
Councils had proposed that the priest should turn his back on his flock, and not face them across the altar as had been done since the earliest times. The argument was that priest and people should face God together, the celebrant standing at the fore as the commander of an army leads his lances into battle. Some of the great cathedrals had already reversed their altars, and Dietrich expected the practice tobecome soon universal. And yet, how sad if he could not gaze upon the Theresias of the world.
A FTER THE vigil, as they returned by torchlight to the parsonage, Joachim said to Dietrich, “That was a fine thing you said. I had not looked to you for it.”
Dietrich had been watching Theresia make her way down the hillside with her basket of herbs, now blessed and therefore meet for preparing salves and unguents. “What did I say?” He had not expected praise from Joachim, and the compliment of the first utterance pleased him more than the implicit criticism of the second nettled.
“When you said that the rich man cannot see Christ because the gold dazzles his eyes. I liked that. I would like to use it myself.”
“I said it was
more
difficult. It’s never easy for anyone. And don’t forget the glitter. Gold itself is a useful thing. It is the glitter that is the blinding illusion.”
“You could have been a Franciscan yourself.”
“And burn with the rest of you? I’m a simple priest of the diocese. Thank you, but I will stay out of it. Kaisers and Popes are like the upper and nether millstones in Klaus’s mill. Between them is a bad place to lie.”
“I never read of Christ praising luxury and wealth.”
Dietrich lifted his torch the better to see his companion. “I never heard of him leading bands of armed peasants to the sacking of a manor house, either!”
Joachim shrank from the vehemence he heard. “No!” the Minorite said. “We don’t preach that. The Way of Francis is—”
“Where were you when the
Armleder
went about the Rhineland hanging the rich men and burning their houses?”
Joachim stared at him. “The Armleder? Why, I was a child in my father’s house. The Armleder never came there.”
“Be thankful they never did.”
A strange look passed across the monk’s features. Fear, but something else. Then the face closed up once more. “It is vain to discuss what might have been.”
Dietrich grunted, suddenly tired of baiting the young man, who might have been eight or nine when the mobs rampaged. “Be wary,” he said, “of unlocking such passions as envy.”
Joachim stalked away from him, but turned after a few paces. “It was still a good thing to say.” He left, and Dietrich gave thanks that the younger man had not asked the same question of him.
Where were
you,
Dietrich, when the Armleder passed through?
A motion to his right drew his attention, but his eyes were dazed by the torch and he could make out nothing but a shape that leapt from behind the church. Dietrich ran to the crest of the hill and held his torch high to illuminate the rocky slope behind, but he saw only the rustle of a wild raspberry bush and a stone that clattered down the hill.
Another movement, this one behind him. He whirled suddenly, caught a glimpse of great glowing eyes, then the torch was knocked from his grasp, and he was tripped to the ground. He cried out over the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves as the second intruder fled.
In moments, Joachim and Theresia were at his side. Dietrich assured his rescuers that he was unhurt, but Theresia explored his skull and arms for injuries anyway. When her fingers reached the back of his
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