Free A Mortal Glamour by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

paused.
    "L'Etivaz, where I had my church...” Padre Bartolimieu reached up and shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun as the scattered clouds opened. “When Rome and Avignon became ... enemies, there was much distress. The Cantons are wary both of Italy and France, and no one knew where our loyalty lay. Within the town there were those who favored Rome and those who thought the right was with Avignon. In seeking to find the way, we abused the faith of our people, and for this we...” He coughed. “God strengthen my resolve."
    Père Gilbert frowned. “I don't ... Padre, you are difficult to follow."
    "Yes. May God forgive me for this cowardice, as I have had to beg His forgiveness for so many other sins.” He crossed himself and for a little time was lost in prayer. “There was Plague three years ago. This district suffered then, as well, didn't it?"
    "Praise to the Mercy of God for sparing so many,” Père Guibert said quickly, hoping to placate the ire he recalled all too vividly. “It has been worse, before."
    "So they have said. They have also said that so many died already that there are not enough left to die now.” He pulled absently at the ends of his belt. “We were mad with folly then, thinking that the Plague would pass over more quickly if we determined where we must ally ourselves. For this neglect, we were sorely tried and punished, for the Flagellants came ... You have encountered Flagellants?"
    "Thanks be to God, not directly,” Père Guibert said with deep sincerity. “There were some not too far from here, at Romans-sur-Isère, and at Valence.” He stopped, not knowing what more to say.
    "They brought catastrophe,” Padre Bartolimieu whispered. “They razed my church, and those whom the Plague had not claimed, they buried in the rubble, smashing their limbs with the candlesticks from the altar before pressing them with stones."
    Père Guibert crossed himself slowly. “And you?"
    "To my everlasting shame, I ran,” Padre Bartolimieu admitted. “It is hard to speak of it, but silence is worse. When the Flagellants broke down the church doors and began first to defecate on the rushes, I fought them. Then they lit fires, and after they started to break up the central pillars, I ran. I have petitioned both the Pope at Rome and the Pope at Avignon to assign me penance for my crime, but there has yet to be a response from either See."
    "Do you know if your petitions were delivered?” Père Guibert asked, not wanting to pursue the priest's transgressions unless he had to.
    "Not surely, no. Yet the messengers who took the petitions went under guard, and on behalf of the Bishop of my district, in order to report what ... happened.” He leaned against the empty fountain at the center of the garden. “Now, I have come here, and will stay here until I have other instructions."
    "I see."
    "I doubt if the Flagellants will come here; it's too remote. And the Plague has already been here for the decade.” He rubbed his face with trembling hands. “I must make some compensation. Contrition is not enough."
    "No,” Père Guibert agreed sadly.
    "Yet I lack guidance.” He gave Père Guibert a long look. “I have confessed already and done what was required, but my soul is foul with my act, and it is not enough."
    "Abbé Christolfe has ... much need of aid here,” was his first tentative suggestion.
    "I will do what is needed,” Padre Bartolimieu said at once. “But this is not my Order, and the Brothers follow another Rule. What can I do?” His helplessness went far beyond the immediate situation, and Père Guibert had nothing to offer him as solace.
    "We must await a...” His voice softened. “God requires the faith of all of us, and when the world is most benighted, when we are most severely tested, then our faith is the brighter and our salvation the more glorious.” He had preached this lesson many times and most of the time believed it, but looking at the other priest, he knew his