"That's long enough. Go get him."

Sir Emeric thought he'd never hear words quite that kind. At long last, the Trial by Ordeal was over. Giradin could come out of the Coliseum. Ever since they closed those doors the previous day, Sir Emeric had waited there, listening to the quiet within for any hint of what was happening to Giradin. At first, he thought the utter silence within a good sign, because it meant there was no screaming. After a time, it made him suspicious of what might have happened to Giradin. Many times he considered ignoring what the Pope said and going in to see what had happened, but he knew he'd only doom Giradin if he did, so he continued to wait.

Now he had permission. He dismounted from his horse and walked through the front doors of the Coliseum. In the early morning light, shade cast over the sand of the arena, but even in those shadows he saw piles of ash and dust which he was almost certain had not been there before.

And there lay Giradin. Peaceful. Asleep. In the emperor's box, nay, in the emperor's seat. If the heathen gods of Rome ever truly existed they must have been furious that a Christian saint had taken the chair which once belonged to the Caesars before him.

Sir Emeric ascended the stairs to the balcony where Giradin slept. In previous visits to this place, he'd felt cold spots in the air, the feeling that he was being watched, and heard the faint cries of those in agony long ago. Now, the Coliseum was silent and the air warm. He could only assume this meant that Giradin had driven away the evil spirits from this place.

At the top of the staircase, Sir Emeric approached Giradin's sleeping body. Giradin lay askew in the chair, his head leaning back and his mouth hanging open. His hair hung in his face, a look Sir Emeric found strangely endearing.

Sir Emeric reached out to brush the hair from Giradin's face, only for Giradin's one good eye to snap open as he snatched Sir Emeric's wrist. Giradin's breath was heavy, sounding panicked. The peaceful expression while he slept had been an unintentional facade.

Giradin stared up at Sir Emeric, wide-eyed. "The Vermin!" he shook Sir Emeric's arm. "I had a vision... I saw Vermin, more than I could count!"

"Easy..." Sir Emeric said, gently leaning him forward and patting his back. "I know it must have seemed very real, but was it a vision or merely a dream?"

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"I'm certain it was a vision!" Giradin said. "I can feel it in my bones... I saw the Vermin attack this Coliseum, and then I saw them destroy the Crows' monastery. One of them held Melcher Fitz's head... we've got to do something!" Giradin tried to force himself up from the chair.

Sir Emeric gently pressed down on his chest to keep him sitting. "Easy... easy... Alright, let's go talk to the Pope about your vision."

Sir Emeric escorted Giradin out of the Coliseum. The Cardinals, the Templars, the Pope, and Shlomo all greeted them with thunderous applause and wide smiles. Neither Sir Emeric nor Giradin really remembered the words said there, except that the Pope declared Giradin a saint that day, and that very fact was how they were able to get him to sit down with them and listen to Giradin's description of his vision.

The Pope, the Cardinals, the Templars, Giradin, Sir Emeric, and Shlomo gathered in a meeting hall in the Papal Palace. Giradin recounted everything he saw in copious detail, from the uniforms the men defending the Coliseum wore to the horrifying destruction of the Crows by Vermin and headless men.

Once he was finished, the Pope scratched his own chin in consideration of his words. "The first part of your vision sounds like something from the past. During the Justinian Plague, Vermin overran much of Rome. Everyone who couldn't escape the city holed up in the Coliseum. Roman legionnaires and gladiators held off the Vermin hordes. Did you know anything about the Justinian Plague?"

Giradin smirked. "With all due respect, your Holiness, I was trained as a cobbler's apprentice before I became a Crow. History wasn't part of my education."

The Pope gave an approving nod. "Fair enough. So, this was likely a revelation, not something buried deep in your mind bubbling to the surface. Even most who know about the Justinian Plague don't know about the Vermin's involvement. So, next you saw the destruction of the monastery where you were trained... and Melcher Fitz was killed. Are you sure it was the same monastery? Are you sure that was Melcher Fitz's face? How often do you even see his face?"

"Often enough to know it was him," said Giradin. "I don't know when, but the Vermin are going to attack the monastery soon, and unless we do something they will slaughter everyone inside."

The Pope nodded to Giradin and grinned. "Then, don't look so dour. You had this vision for a reason, and that's so we can stop it before it happens. Like Saint Ida of Louvain, you have saved us from the machinations of evil." He turned to Sir Emeric. "Take Giradin and fifty Templars with you to the monastery. Ride out as soon as you are able, and prepare for the worst. If necessary, conscript able-bodied men you meet on the road. God has told us this disaster is about to fall, so we must do as we can to pre-empt it."

Sir Emeric bowed to the Pope. "Deus vult!"

"Deus vult!" the Pope responded.

"Deus vult!" others in the room all called out in unison.