The prior fell silent, folded his hands together and looked intently at his interlocutor. Reynevan, naturally, had guessed the priory’s purpose some time before but had kept it to himself. He didn’t want to spoil the Carmelite’s pleasure that conducting a conversation like this was clearly giving him.

“Do you know,” continued the monk, “what His Excellency the canon deigns to ask of me in this letter?”

“I do not, Reverend Father.”

“Your ignorance partially excuses you. But because I know, nothing can excuse me. In the process, if I refuse the request, my own wrongdoing will be excused. What do you say to that? Doesn’t my logic rival that of Aristoteles?”

Reynevan didn’t reply and the prior fell silent. After a while, he used a candle to set light to the canon’s letter, turned it over to allow the flame to catch hold and tossed it onto the floor. Reynevan watched the paper curl up, blacken and crumble. And thus, my hopes crumble to ash, he thought. Besides, they are untimely, senseless and vain. So, perhaps it’s better things happened this way.

The prior stood up.

“Go to the hosteller,” he said briefly and dryly. “Have him give you food and drink, then afterwards hasten to our church where you’ll meet the one you are meant to meet. Orders will be issued; you’ll both be able to leave the priory without any hindrance. Canon Beess stressed in his letter that the two of you will embark on a long journey to distant places. I’ll add that it’s very good the journey will be long. It would, in fact, be a great error not to go far enough away. And return too soon.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency—”

“Don’t thank me. And if it occurs to one of you to seek my blessing before you set off, please give up that thought, too.

The vittles at the priory were indeed like prison food. Reynevan, however, was still too distressed and apathetic to notice. Furthermore, he was simply too hungry to turn his nose up at salted herring, kasha without grease and beer which differed from water only in its colour, and then only slightly. Or perhaps it was actually a fast day? He couldn’t remember.

So, he ate briskly and hungrily, which the old hosteller observed with evident satisfaction, no doubt used to much less enthusiasm from his guests. Scarcely had Reynevan dealt with the herring than the smiling monk gave him another, plucked straight from a barrel. Reynevan determined to exploit that show of friendship.

“A veritable fortress, this priory of yours,” he said with his mouth full. “No wonder, either, for I know what purpose it serves. But I see no armed guards. Have none of the monks performing penance ever escaped?”