Tacit supposed he’d never see his friends again. It was the way the man in black had called their names, the way they risen from their desks, as if called before a firing squad, and filed from the room without ceremony or cheer, out from the hall, past the black clad man who watched each passing acolyte with cold unwavering eyes.
The finality of proceedings struck Tacit. As if days were coming to an end.
His friends had grown and they had been recognised. They were now men, at least in the eyes of those who had selected them. Their journey, whatever it was that lay ahead of them, was about to begin. No longer would they look behind to the remainder left in the classroom, with their jotters of bible phraseology, left to tidy the hymn books, nor extinguish the candles at the end of Mass, nor hang the cloaks after choir practice. Their focus now was on the future.
“Where are they going?” he asked Father Adansoni later, as they walked together around the Vatican grounds. He felt grievous and barren.
“Have you ever heard of the Inquisition?” Father Adansoni asked absently, his feet crunching through the last of the morning’s frost on the grass.
“Of course. Why do you ask? And why are you speaking to me in French?”
“To make sure you’re doing your studies!”
“Well I am.” He slipped seamlessly into German. “Just to prove to you I am.”
“I’m impressed.” Adanonsi replied, now talking in Latin. “I don’t know why I need to say I’m impressed. I’ve long been impressed by you and told you so many times. Your head must already be swollen.”
Tacit laughed but then thought of his friends now gone away and the joy was snuffed out of him.
“Why do you ask about the Inquisition?” he asked, burying the sadness deep within him.
“What do you know about it?”
“That is was a bad time.”
“And?”
“That the Church had to act, to try to bring honour and faith back to the world. That the world had grown dark. That, through the actions of the Church, light was returned to the dark places of the world when it had gone out and it was feared that it would never return.”
“That witchcraft and sorcery was usurping the honesty of religious faith, that heretics and non-believers were poisoning the world with their lies. That our wise leaders felt they had to act, had to adopt more determined techniques to correct the misguided, punish the wicked, restore the faith.”
“And?”
“Father!” Tacit cried, a little annoyed he was being both tested and teased by his master. He looked at Adansoni and whilst he saw that his eyes were on him, they were kindly. He continued, the words coming easily to him; years of study and recital proving their worth. “That in 1834, the Inquisition was finally brought to a close and a more considered and conservative approach was adopted by the Church to spread its message and teaching.”
Adansoni nodded and smiled. “I’m impressed. Now, what would you say if I told you the Inquisition had never ended?”
“I would laugh.”
“Really? And why would that be?”
“Well, of course it ended!” laughed Tacit, and then he saw the Father’s face and the laughter was swallowed up. “How could it continue?” he asked. “I mean, look at our times today. We’re not savages any more. Nor is the world full of them. The Inquisition’s work was completed. We no longer need to behave as we did. And anyway, we couldn’t behave as we once did, surely?”
“If only that was true.”
Adansoni stopped and looked up into the sky, his eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. After a little time he spoke again. “What if I told you the Inquisition was still very much alive. But was now hidden from public, its actions covert, underground, unspoken, unrecorded; that its work continues, continues with more energy and determination than ever before? But no trace of it you will find amongst ordinary people, no knowledge of its servants’ existence is apparent or is reported. That they work in secret. Complete secret. That those friends of yours who have left – they are going away to train to work for the Inquisition.”
“I’d say you had been at the sacramental wine!” Tacit chuckled. But then he stopped and thought of the black clad man and a shadow passed over him. He studied the gravel of the path onto which they had now walked. “I know there are bad people in the world. I am not naive. But is it really the place of the Church to behave in such a way? Surely we should be better than that?”
Adansoni smiled and looked across the Vatican grounds.
“Your honesty and faith does you credit, Poldek,” the Father said.
Tacit nodded, supposing he should be pleased at the response. But privately he felt wounded with sorrow and envy towards those friends who had been chosen and had now gone away. Their path sounded far more tantalising than the one offered to Tacit leading to the rigours of prayer alone.
“You would have liked to have joined your friends, wouldn’t you? You know where they’ve gone, don’t you, Tacit?” Adansoni watched Tacit turn away. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re ready. After everything, I don’t know if you’ll ever be ready. I’m sorry.”
Tacit turned his eyes towards the Father. They were heavy with tears but he smiled and fought against his emotion. “You’ve done so much for me, Father. You have nothing to apologise for.”