Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [78]
Dietrich stopped short. “Ockham. Do you know when?” He could not imagine Will begging pardon of anyone.
“In the spring. The chapter will meet and make a fomal plea. Clement seeks a way to take him back without making it too obvious what a fool John was to expel him.” The abbot shook his head. “Michael and the others went too far when they went to the Kaiser. It is not for us to order the affairs of kings, but to care for the poor and lowly.”
“That,” said Dietrich, “may require you to order the affairs of kings.”
The old man was silent a moment longer before saying mildly, “Have you learned the dangers of excess, Dietl?”
RETURNING TO the Dear Lady Church, Dietrich noticed that one of the fishwives setting up her booth had paused in her labors to watch him. He shivered against the breeze and pulled his hood up and pressed on. When he glanced back, she was tying the tent ropes. He had imagined her interest. People had long forgotten.
The Strassburg diocese governed the Elsass, the Breisgau, and most of the Schwarzwald; but an archdeacon resident in Freiburg spoke in the bishop’s name. Dietrich found the man praying at the Atonement Chapel and thought it a good sign that a man so highly placed should be discovered on his knees.
When the archdeacon crossed himself and rose, he saw Dietrich and exclaimed, “Dietrich, my old! How goes it by you? I’ve not seen you since Paris.” He was a soft-spoken man, gentle in demeanor, and with a pressing urgency to his eyes.
“I have now a parish in the Hochwald. Not so grand as yours, Willi, but it is quiet.”
Archdeacon Wilhelm crossed himself. “God-love-us, yes. Too much excitement down here these past years. First, Ludwig and Friedrich fighting over the crown, then the barons—Endingen, Üsenberg, and Falkenstein—laying waste the Breisgau over God-knows-what for six years—” He gestured at the Atonement Chapel, which the barons had built in token of the peace. ”—then the Armleder smashing and burning and hanging. So the madness ran from the imperials, to the Herrenfolk, to the common ruck. God be praised for these ten years of peace—God and the Swabian League. Freiburg and Basel enforce the peace on the barons now, and Zürich, Bern, Konstanz, and Strassburg have joined, as you may have heard. Come walk with me. Have you heard from Aureoli or Buridan or any of the others? Did they survive the pest?”
“I haven’t heard. I’m told Ockham is to make his peace.”
Willi grunted and stroked his black-and-white beard. “Until he picks his next quarrel. He must have dozed when his class discussed ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’ Maybe the Franciscans don’t teach that at Oxford.”
In the nave, the overhead vault seemed to go on forever and Dietrich saw what Gregor had meant about illuminating the interior. By the tower entrance stood a fine statue of the Virgin flanked by two angels, carved in the old style of the previous century. The stained-glass lights were modern, save for the small round ones in the south transept, which were also in the old style. “I have a troubling theological question, your grace.”
“It must be troubling if I’ve become ‘your grace.’ What is it?”
Dietrich handed him the packet and explained in elliptical terms his thoughts regarding the Krenken, whom he described only as strangers of a terrible mien, governed in large measure by instinct rather than reason. Could folk so governed have souls?
“If one is to err,” Willi said, “best to err on the side of caution. Assume they have souls unless proven otherwise.”
“But their lack of reason …”
“You give reason too much weight. Reason—and will—are always impaired to some degree. Consider how a man will pull his hand from the fire without first weighing arguments sic et non. Being subject to habits and conditions does not deprive a being of