A chance to prove himself. Giradin was overjoyed to hear the news. Sure, he would have preferred that his miracles and virtue spoke for themselves, but the idea of performing miracles before the College of Cardinals, dozens of Templars, and the Pope himself felt like a golden opportunity.

"I... I just can't contain myself!" he told Sir Emeric as they rode through the streets of Rome.

Yet, Sir Emeric's voice and body language were as dour as ever. Though Giradin could not see his face, as he rode behind him on the same horse, he could tell Sir Emeric was far from happy about this. "Yes... well, they don't call this a 'Trial by Ordeal' for nothing."

The sun beat down on them. It was an unusually hot day in the city of Rome, especially for Autumn.

"Yes, but God has proven faithful to His saints over and over again, hasn't He?"

A brief pause, after which Sir Emeric said, "Aye."

"Then I've nothing to worry about."

Another brief pause, and Sir Emeric said, "I guess that's why you're the saint, not I. Your boundless faith and courage."

Ahead of them, Giradin spotted the Coliseum. While in every story he'd ever heard about that grand arena it had been described as a structure so massive it was hard to believe human hands built it, the actual sight of the marvel of the Romans far surpassed his expectations.

To think, such a thing was built by a people now long gone...

"That's where your trial by ordeal will be held," said Sir Emeric, a hint of distaste in his tone. "The place where the Romans fed Christians to lions and pitted prisoners in battles to the death against each other. The Coliseum is steeped in blood, both of the innocent and of the guilty. Then, about a hundred years ago, the Frangipani family took control of it and made it their castle. Until they found the place far too haunted to hold. Only Golgotha, where Christ was crucified, is a more cursed and blessed place than this. Which means it is full of vengeful spirits."

Giradin's blood ran cold at the words. He might have expected that the College of Cardinals and the Pope would have him face one wicked spirit, maybe two, but Sir Emeric made it sound like there was an army of hateful ghosts in that place.

"I'm going to give you my sword," said Sir Emeric. As the horse trotted, he untied the scabbard from his belt and held the weapon back for Giradin to take. "The edges are silver, and the blade itself was quenched in holy water. It may give you the extra edge you need in order to survive the night."

Giradin took the sword and looked over the leather scabbard. "Are you sure? If I die in there, you may never get this back."

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Sir Emeric turned his head slightly, so he could peer at Giradin over his shoulder. "You are far more valuable than anything a man can possess in this world. Don't let anyone ever tell you different."

With no further argument, Giradin tied the scabbard to his own belt, just above his seax.

Sir Emeric slowed his horse down as they approached the gathering of cardinals, priests, Templars, and papal guards outside the Coliseum, all surrounding the Pope, who greeted Giradin with a solemn expression. When the horse came to a stop, Sir Emeric climbed off his horse and reached up to help Giradin down.

"Giradin of Elekvaz!" the Pope called out. Part of Giradin wanted to correct him and explain that he was not actually from Elekvaz, but he decided it best not to argue with his Holiness, especially in front of his subordinates. "It is believed by many that you are a saint, chosen by God Himself to guide us in His ways and lead us to a better future. We here wish to prove that this is so, and thus we have devised this Trial by Ordeal."

The Pope turned and gestured toward the Coliseum. "You will spend one day and one night here, in this place where blessed martyrs and wicked criminals alike were slain. Saint Ignatius himself was torn asunder by wild beasts in this place. But, if God favors you, then He will not allow you to die a death that has no meaning. Come forth and kneel before me, Giradin of Elekvaz."

Giradin swallowed the stone-hard lump in his throat and approached the Pope, kneeling before him.

The Pope placed his hand upon Giradin's head. "Blessed Mary, Mother of God, we ask that you will intercede on this young man's behalf. If Giradin be truly a saint blessed by the Father, then may God's hand of protection be upon him as he delves into this den of evil spirits. Shield him with your grace and mercy so that he may be proven innocent of any wrongdoing. But, if he is not innocent, if this young man has practiced witchcraft and is in league with Anti-Christ, may he be consumed by the spirits in this place, who will welcome him into Hell where he belongs. We only ask that his death be quick and painless, for there will be plenty enough suffering in the life to come. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

"Amen," the cardinals and priests repeated.

Giradin's heart sank as the Pope's final words hit him. He knew he should feel no fear going into this, for he was innocent, he was sure of it. Even so, he started to feel the slightest doubt about himself. When they'd met the witch in Kinhan, he'd gazed upon her lustfully. Could he truly be sure that she had not used those moments to conjure some sort of unholy spirit into him? Could he be certain that the power burning within his bosom was of God and not of the Devil?

His mind raced back to his sins, many as they were. He remembered when, in a panic, he listened to Fulk's orders and took a family hostage. On that day he'd even killed a woman, and the memory had haunted his dreams almost every night since then, until that night in Elekvaz. Then there were all the purges he'd taken part in, where he'd slaughtered innocent people and burned their bodies merely because they were sick.

How could a man with so much innocent blood on his hands be a saint?

For a moment, he considered running. Maybe he could get back to Sir Emeric's horse and ride away, disappear into the wilderness. No, he'd never make it. The Templars and the papal guard would surely catch him, and if they did not then others would hunt him down and burn him at the stake.

He peered up at the walls of the Coliseum and imagined the voices of a mob of Romans within, cheering for the gladiators to arrive and fight to the death. Terrible as it seemed, facing the ghosts of the Coliseum's violent history seemed his best chance for survival.

He glanced back at Sir Emeric, who, in spite of his fears, gave an encouraging smile and comforting eyes.

Giradin took three deep breaths, releasing each one slowly, and then started walking towards the arena's entrance.