It quickly came to light that the parish priest and the Jew were travelling to Strzelin for almost the same reason: an audience with the canon of the Wrocław Chapter, who was visiting the city and the parish. While Father Granciszek had been summoned to present himself, the rabbi was visiting uninvited, hoping to be granted an audience. The parish priest was doubtful of his chances.

“The reverend canon,” he said, “has a great deal of work there, cases and trials and endless audiences. Most trying times are upon us.”

“As though they were ever easy,” said Dorota Faber, tugging on the reins.

“I’m talking about trying times for the Church,” stressed Father Granciszek. “And for those of real faith, since the evil of heresy is spreading. You meet somebody, he greets you in God’s name, and you can’t tell if he’s a heretic. Did you say something, Rabbi?”

“Love thy neighbour,” muttered Hiram ben Eliezer, possibly in his sleep. “The prophet Elijah may appear with any face he wants.”

“Jewish philosophy.” Father Filip waved a contemptuous hand. “But I say: vigilance, work and prayer. For Saint Peter’s rock trembles and sways, and the evil of heresy is spreading.”

“You’ve already said that, Pater.” Urban Horn reined in his horse to ride beside the wagon.

“For it is the truth,” said Father Granciszek, now fully awake. “However many times it is said, it is the truth. Heresy is spreading, apostasy is multiplying. False prophets are springing up like mushrooms, ready to distort Divine Law with their false teachings. Verily, the apostle Paul wrote prophetically to Timothy: ‘For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; And they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.’ And they will claim, Christ have mercy, that they do what they do in the name of truth.”

“Everything in this world,” Urban Horn observed casually, “occurs under the banner of the fight for truth. And though it usually concerns all sorts of truths, one truth benefits from it. The real truth.”

“What you’ve said sounds like heresy,” the priest replied, frowning. “If I may say so, regarding the truth, I agree more with what Master Johannes Nider wrote in his Formicarius, where he compares heretics to ants living in the Indies. They pick grains of gold out of the sand and carry them back to their anthill, although of course they have no use for it. Heretics, Master Nider writes in his Formicarius, are just the same, rummaging in the Holy Bible and searching for grains of truth, although of course they know not what to do with that truth.”