A short time later I am at Lord Landulf's supper table. An old spear is fastened to the wall. It is this spear that the room seems to be designed around. From the massive stone fireplace logs crack and shoot showers of sparks out into the room as I am introduced to Lord Landulf by Lady Cia.

"This is the young woman I told you about," she says. "She came to our door not more than an hour ago, seeking asylum. Her traveling companion, her uncle, has just been killed on the road. Sita, this is the duke and my husband, Lord Landulf."

He is not a tall man and looks frail, which surprises me, after all the gruesome stories I have heard of him. Yet his delicateness is not necessarily a sign of weakness. He appears to be physically agile, and I suspect he is an accomplished swordsman. He wears a neatly trimmed black mustache and a pointed graying beard. He has oily smooth skin, and is dressed impeccably in a dark red silk chemise with long, tight sleeves, black hose, and a red and gold embroidery tunic, which comes down past his knees. His hands, like those of his wife, are decorated with many uncut gems and pearls. A ruby on his left middle finger is the largest I have ever seen. His voice, when he speaks is cultured, educated and refined. His large dark eyes are warm but shrewd. He clicks his soft, heelless leather shoes together and bows in my direction.  "Lady Sita," he says. "It is a pleasure."

I offer my hand. "The pleasure is mine, Lord Landulf."

He kisses my middle finger, and glances up at me. "Surprise visitors are always the most enchanting."

"Hidden castles are always the most exciting," I say with a smile.

We sit down to a vegetable soup. Lady Cia leads us in a brief prayer. There are only us three at the table; we have four servants waiting on us. The soup is finished when Landulf inquires about my travels. Considering the expansion of the Arab World, it is impossible to talk for more than a few minutes without the subject turning to the invading Moslems. At this Landulf's mood turns foul.

"Six of those heathen ships tried to land on a beach not five miles from here," he says bitterly. "They came in on a wave of fog, but my scouts were wary, We were able to set fire to their sails before they reached land. All their people were lost in the tides."

His remark stuns me. "You fight the Moslems here?" I ask.

"Of course," he says, and there is a gleam in his eye as he studies me. "Have you heard different?"

I lower my head. "No, my lord."

"Come," he says with force, "We are sharing food. Why have secrets between friends? You have obvi?ously traveled far and wide with your uncle. You know more of Greece than I do. What have you heard of my relationship with the Moslems?"

I hesitate, then decide I may as well dive in. "The word is that you are in league with them."

He does not lose his temper as I fear. But the air chills. "It is only in Rome they would speak such lies," he says.

"I have been in Rome," I say. "Not three months ago."

"Oh dear," Lady Cia mutters anxiously. "We did not know you had been exposed to such matters."

Landulf raises his hand, "It doesn't matter, in the short time I have known Sita, it is obvious to me she is not taken in by every story shared by every frus?trated priest and nun."

"That is true, my lord," I say.

Landulf pulls his chair back from the table and sighs. "It is true that the Holy Father and I have gone our separate ways. But our differences were and still are more political than spiritual. Nicholas believes we should fortify our defenses, and wait for the Moslems to break against our walls. But I know this foe too well. I have met these bloodthirsty monsters on the battlefield. If we do not attack, push the war back into their own lands, they will see us as weak and never leave us in peace." Landulf stands and steps away from the table. "But all that is a question of strategy, and in my own land I pursue my own counsel. But to hear the talk in Rome I have denounced the Church and turned against Christ himself." He pauses. "Is that what you have heard, Lady Sita?"

I have already taken the plunge. The wild tales I may as well validate, or else put aside. "I have heard worse, my lord," I say. "The peasants say you conjure evil forces. That you are a master of the black arts and able to raise demons from the depths of hell."

Landulf is momentarily struck, then laughs long and hard. His wife joins him after a tense moment. "I would like to meet one of these peasants and ask him where he gets his information!" he exclaims. "That is the trouble with lies. They are perpetually pregnant. At every turn they give birth to more lies."

"There was a peasant I met along the roads," I say carefully. "He acted as if he knew you. His name was, Dante. You've heard of him?"

Lady Cia gushes. "Dante? My lord has known him since he was a child. Pray tell us where you met him?"

I am evasive. "When I was lost in the woods, after my uncle died. But that was three days' journey from here." I add, "Dante seemed lost as well, and I shared food with him."

"I pray you did not share anything else with him," Landulf says darkly, referring to Dante's leprosy.

"I was careful always to keep a safe distance," I say. "But when he spoke of this place, it was with fear. I couldn't understand why."

"Surely you must know," Lady Cia says. "It is his illness. Since he became ill, he has spoken of nothing but demons that chase after his soul."

Again Lord Landulf raises his hand. "It is not so easy as that. I am partly to blame for his condition. When I brought him to Rome, as a boy, the Holy Father became enamored of his singing voice. With?out my consent or knowledge, the pope had him castrated, so that his voice would remain high. Dante took the loss of his manhood badly, and I think he never ceased blaming me for the disfigurement. Since I was the cause of one physical aberration, when the illness came over him, he blamed me for that as well."

"But we tried to keep Dante here, and comfort?able," Lady Cia says. "It was just that our servants feared his illness and he himself felt he needed to be free to roam the world."

Landulf shakes his head. "It pains me to know that my own friend has joined the chorus against me. Very well, leadership has its price. I cannot turn from the task I have set before me, to protect the underbelly of the Christian world. If I go to my grave cursed by every cardinal in the Vatican, at least I will still be able to hold my head up high when I meet my Lord in heaven."

"That is all that matters," I mutter.

Landulf steps closer to the fire, to the spear, and points out the aged iron tip to me. "Sita, do you know what this is?"

I stand and join him near the object. There is a single crude nail bound to the spear by circles of wire. The black shaft, I see, has more recently been joined to the tip--it is not nearly so old. Landulf touches the metal spear tip lovingly, running his fingers over the tapered edges, which are surprisingly sharp given the spear's obvious antiquity.

"I have never seen it before," I say.

He nods. "Few people have, except those who have been chosen to lead the fight against unrighteousness. This is the Spear of Longinus, sometimes called the Maurice Spear. It is this very spear that Gaius Cassius, a Roman Centurion under the command of Pro-Consul Pontius Pilate, used to pierce the side of the blessed Lord himself. Thus he put an end to Jesus' suffering on the cross. The final prophecy from the Old Testament that Jesus had to fulfill to prove that he was the true Messiah was that of Isaiah, who said, 'A bone of Him not be broken.' You see, Sita, at the time Jesus suffered on the cross, Annas and Caiaphas, high priests of the Sanhedrin, were trying to convince the Romans to kill Jesus before the Sabbath began. It was the priests' hope that the Romans would mutilate Jesus' body, and therefore prove that he was not the chosen one. But Gaius Cassius, although a Roman soldier, was devoted to Jesus and his teachings, and did not want to see Jesus' body defiled. He took up this spear of his own free will, and in that moment all the prophecies of the world were held in balance in his hand. But at the moment this spear pierced Jesus' side, all the prophecies were fulfilled. For that reason, it is said that whoever holds this spear commands the destiny of the world." Landulf paused and smiled slightly. "It is the story that is told about it."

And a fascinating one, too. I reach out and touch the spear, and feel a strange power sweep over me. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced before, at least none that I can remember. But vaguely the thought of a brown-skinned child comes to my mind. The spear is a weapon of war, yet somehow it com?forts me. I touch the tip and think of the blood that once spilled over it. The blood that supposedly had the power to wash away all sins. Standing beside Landulf, I feel the weight of all the people I have murdered for their blood. He seems to sense some?thing odd because he stares at me intensely.

"Sita?" he says.

"But you believe this story?" I say in an unsteady voice.

He continues to watch me. "I do, but then I am a romantic at heart." He leans close and whispers in my ear. "What do you feel when you touch it, Sita?"

I momentarily close my eyes. "I feel the child," I whisper.

"The baby Jesus?"

"John."

He moves back. "The Baptist?"

I open my eyes, confused. For an instant the face of Suzama flashes in my mind. But she had no children, I think. Suzama was celibate. Yet the name of John haunts me, as does the face of a child I cannot quite pinpoint.

"I was not thinking of the Baptist," I say.

"What then?" he insists.

In that moment, in that castle, I cannot remember.

"I don't know," I say.

He gestures to the table. "Why don't we finish our meal?"

"Thank you."

He takes me by the hand and leads me back to the meal.