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They trudged through the forest, the sun casting golden figures through the pines onto their path. Thomas, lost, hungry, and weary, harbored bitterness for leaving Jacobea’s castle. Edward, though fatigued, remained hopeful.
“We’ll find help,” Edward assured. “Remember last night? We were hopeless until someone offered us shelter.”
The forest led them to a gorge, water trickling through rocks, a white horse grazing nearby, and a monk in a blue-grey habit sitting peacefully.
Thomas, scornful of all things holy since his expulsion from the Church, muttered, “What good is he?”
“We’ll talk to him,” Edward replied with a smile.
The monk greeted them with calmness, offering rest and food from his meager supplies. Despite their hunger, they ate in silence, Thomas consuming more than his share. Edward, more reserved, drank deeply from the cool water.
“You’re from Basle?” the monk inquired.
“We’re headed to Frankfort,” Edward confirmed.
“A long journey, but a pleasant one,” the monk remarked cheerfully. “I’m Ambrose of Menthon, returning to serve Christus here.”
Thomas, recognizing the name of Saint Ambrose, grew uneasy. “What brings you here, Father? I thought you were in Rome.”
“I’ve returned to serve Christus better,” Ambrose explained humbly. “If it’s God’s will, I’ll build a monastery up there,” he gestured toward the mountains.
His serene demeanor and purposeful words hinted at a deeper, hidden purpose.
As they journeyed, Ambrose of Menthon shared his plans for a monastery in the snowy peaks, funded by generous donations from the wealthy castles.
“Ain’t you scared of bandits, Father?” Edward inquired, his tone tinged with skepticism.
The saint’s serene smile remained. “Nay; God’s money is sacred even to the wicked. I fear nothing.”
“There’s much evil in folks’ hearts,” Edward remarked, his smile mirroring Ambrose’s.
“Judge with kindness,” Ambrose replied. “The world holds both good and bad. Your bitterness betrays a troubled soul. Earthly riches fade, but God offers eternal life.”
As they walked, Edward proposed joining Ambrose, feigning ignorance of the way.
“Welcome, my sons,” Ambrose welcomed warmly.
The trio journeyed together, discussing various topics. Ambrose spoke of nature, saints, and theological debates, surprised by Edward’s extensive knowledge. Thomas, envious of Edward’s intellect, stewed in silence.
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At dusk, they reached a valley with a town below. The Angelus bells chimed, prompting Ambrose to kneel in prayer. The students, hidden in the trees, whispered of seizing the monk’s gold.
“It’s our chance,” Thomas whispered eagerly.
“We could take it without violence,” Edward suggested, eyes gleaming.
“If need be, even that,” Thomas agreed, excitement mounting.
After their prayers, they joined Ambrose at the edge of the forest, overlooking the town.
“Now we can find our way,” Edward declared, his tone determined.
Ambrose, unaware of their thoughts, asked if they’d accompany him into town, unaware that Thomas had slipped behind him.
Edward’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he signaled to Thomas. “Let’s head into town, but we’ll leave you out of this, Saint,” he declared.
Thomas swiftly wrapped his mantle around the monk’s head, causing him to stagger backward. Edward swiftly bound the saint’s hands with a leather belt, and together they dragged him into the shadows of the trees.
Thomas sneered, “I’m tired of your preachin’, and your sickly face ain’t pleasant to look at.”
They tied Ambrose to a tree, the saint offering no resistance or protest. “Man’s heart is full of evil,” Edward jeered. “And saints ain’t immune to foolishness!”
Examining their spoils, they found parchments, books, and bags filled with gold coins, each stamped with the Emperor’s likeness. The sight of so much wealth left them silent and trembling.
Thomas, hearing the coins clink, felt his doubts fade. He was convinced that their encounter with Ambrose was no coincidence but a gift from the devil himself. The pleasure of having such riches was intoxicating, surpassing even the allure of Jacobea of Martzburg.
As they loaded the gold onto the pony, Edward chuckled. “I’ll fetch my mantle,” Thomas said, approaching Ambrose and removing the covering from his head. The saint slumped over, seemingly lifeless.
Edward joked, “Looks like he’s fainted.”
Thomas, noticing blood on the saint’s robe and straps, examined him closely. Underneath, Ambrose wore a belt lined with sharp points, inflicting immense pain when bound.
“Hurry!” urged Edward.
Thomas, troubled by the saint’s suffering, hesitated. “What do we do with him?”
Edward dismissed it. “Leave him. It’s not our concern.”
With the sunset painting the sky, they descended into the valley, concocting a story to explain Ambrose’s state to the townsfolk. They stocked up on supplies and ventured back into the wilderness, their hearts pounding with the thrill of their newfound wealth and darker deeds.
The two men spread out a lavish feast, a stark contrast to the humble meal of Ambrose. With the gold they had acquired, they indulged in yellow and red wines, baked meats, cakes, jellies, and fruits. Their laughter echoed through the tranquil night, a stark contrast to their previous hardships.
The sky above was clear, a vast expanse devoid of clouds, a sharp contrast to the stormy night they had endured. They reveled in their newfound wealth, toasting their mysterious benefactor with wine purchased with the very gold meant for God’s snowy sanctuary.
Edward’s spirits soared as he savored the fragrant pine-scented air, the deep hues of the forest, the verdant grass, and the shifting colors of the sky at dusk. A passing herd of mountain goats and the distant lights of the town were the only signs of life in the serene landscape.
As they enjoyed their meal, Edward broached a subject that had been lingering in his mind. “Do you recall the vision in the mirror, the woman’s face? Was it Jacobea?”
Thomas’s demeanor shifted, his expression darkening. “No, it wasn’t her. It was entirely different.”
He fell into a contemplative silence, lost in thought while Edward watched him intently. Eventually, fatigue overcame Thomas, and he drifted into sleep.
In his slumber, Thomas was enchanted by a hauntingly beautiful song, so exquisite that he feared it was merely a dream. The melodious voice soared and descended, filling the night with a joyous serenade. When he awoke, he searched for the source of the song in vain, realizing bitterly that it was but a fleeting dream, leaving him yearning for its return.