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careless, or indiscreet?” Again both men shook their heads. “Well then,” Hugo continued, “if neither one of you said anything you should not have said—and I believe you when you say you did not—how, then, could your wives have come by whatever information they have? Can you tell me?” He swung to look at his son. “Can you?”

      “No, Father.”

      The Baron grunted. “Then I will tell you,” he growled. “Because I know where their information probably sprang from. Your mother probably told them.”

      Hugh was aware that his jaw had dropped and he was sitting gaping, and he closed his mouth as his father said, “Think about it now, all of you, and think with your minds this time, not with your guts. Think about it logically and reasonably, and then accept what your intelligence tells you it means. The truth is there, right under your noses, and you are going to have to accept it and learn to live with it. I had to come to terms with it when I was your age. All of us have to, at one time or another, and for some men it is very difficult.” He looked from face to face, but none of his listeners stirred. They sat stunned, and he spoke into the silence, aware that they would hear him now as never before.

      “Our way of life teaches us to believe that women are less than we are in most things. They exist to bear our sons and to make our lives more comfortable and more pleasant. Is that not true? Of course it is, if you are a man. Women, however, tend to see things differently, through eyes and from strange viewpoints that men can never know. They believe they are more clever and more humane than men are, and from their point of view, they may have reason on their side to a great extent. They are certainly clever, in their own obscure ways, and they have little patience with our ways. They think of us, without exaggeration, as children who never grow up and never mature, despite the grayness in our beards and the wrinkles on our faces.

      “Here is the truth, gentlemen, and whether you like it or not, you cannot change it: very few of our confraternity are wed to stupid women, and fewer yet are married to women who do not spring from the Friendly Families. And the Friendly Families, according to the Lore of our ancient Order of Rebirth, have been holding regular Gatherings for more than fifty generations. Fifty generations, my young friends, not merely fifty years. Can any of you truly believe that, in all that time, our women, our wives and mothers, sisters and cousins, have been unaware that their men are involved in something to which they are not privy? They know all about the secrecy surrounding what we do, and about the dedication and effort brought into being around the time of the Gatherings. They see, even if they do not acknowledge, the changes being wrought in their sons’ lives and activities as they approach the age of eighteen. Any man who believes that a son’s activities can be completely hidden from his mother is a fool. The most important knowledge they possess, however, is that whatever is involved, it is a thing for men, ancient beyond antiquity, in which women have no place and no involvement. They know that, and they accept it. Some accept it more easily and readily than others, and there are always the occasional few who, in their youth, seek to discover more than they are permitted to know. Those, fortunately, are very few, and eventually they are all discouraged by our total silence. Then they resign themselves to the realities of life.

      “But never be tempted to believe they know nothing. That would be the worst kind of folly. They know. And we know they know, even if we never mention it among ourselves. But their knowledge is as close held as is our own. They never speak of it among themselves, to any great extent. They know, somehow, that it concerns an ancient trust of some description, and they are content, and even proud, that their men, their families, are strong enough and true enough to have earned that trust and to be worthy of it. And thus, in their silent knowledge, our strength grows the greater. Your young wives will learn that truth now, just as you are learning it, and you will see, no more will be said of any of it.”

      The Baron looked around at his three young listeners, and then smiled. “I would ask if you have any questions, but I know that it is still too soon for questions. What you all require now is time to think about what you have been told. Go then, and think.”

      “I HAVE A QUESTION.” Godfrey sat up straight as he made his announcement. It was the same day, and the sinking sun was throwing elongated shadows across the grass in the meadow where the three of them had been lounging under a tree, their backs propped against a sloping, mossy bank for the previous hour and more, thinking deeply and saying little.

      Hugh tilted his head and looked up at Godfrey from beneath an arched eyebrow. “For my father? I have no idea where he might be by now.”

      “No, not for your father, for you, because you’re the one who has been studying all the lore.” Godfrey was frowning, no trace of his usual levity present in his gaze.

      “Ask away, then. I’m still a tyro but I’ll answer if I can.”

      “What do you really think about all we’ve learned?”

      Hugh remained motionless for several moments, his eyes closed, and then he pushed himself up and around so he could see Godfrey clearly. “What kind of a question is that? Are you asking me for my opinion of all we have learned since we were born? If that’s what you mean, then let’s fetch our practice swords and go to it right here. Better a healthy sweat than wasting an afternoon wondering about nonsense.”

      “No, that’s not what I meant at all … I’m not sure what I meant, Hugh, but it’s important. What …” Godfrey’s face twisted in a frustrated grimace. “I know what I want to ask you, but I don’t know how to put it into words properly. Let me think about it for a moment.”

      “Think for as long as you wish. I’ll wait.” Hugh lay back and closed his eyes again. Payn had not stirred.

      Some time later, Godfrey tried again, “I wonder about what you believe.”

      Hugh did not even open his eyes. “How could that interest you in any way? Why should it? What I believe is in my own mind.”

      “Oh, come on, Hugh, don’t be tiresome. I’m asking for your advice because I don’t know what I believe.”

      That opened Hugh’s eyes. “How can you not know that? That may be the silliest thing I have ever heard you say, Goff.”

      “It’s not silly at all. You know me, Hugh. I am obedient to my elders and superiors in all things. And I believe whatever I’m told to believe—always have, since our first days in Brother Anselm’s classroom, when we were all tads. After all, there was no option, was there? The Church tells us we have to believe what we are told. The priests tell us we’re not clever enough to understand anything about God and His teachings without their help. They are God’s interpreters, and only they are qualified to explain His mysteries, His words, and His wishes to us. It was always that way, and I always believed them. Until very recently …”

      He sat staring into the distance for a while before he continued. “Now I don’t know what to believe … and I don’t know why I don’t know. When I joined the brotherhood and was Raised and learned about the Order’s origins, and about our ancestors being Jews and our Friendly Families springing from the priesthood of the Essenes, I had no difficulty with what I was learning, new and different as it was. Somehow, I managed to keep the two information sources separate. One was ancient history and the other was life today. I am amazed now, I admit, by how long I was able to keep doing that. But in the past few months I have lost my way. Everything is confusing now—the Church’s teachings and the Order’s, and how they fit and how they don’t—and it has all been swarming in my mind so that now I don’t know what I should believe. I have two sources of information, each appearing to be equally credible, each claiming supremacy, and each asserting itself as the One, True Way. And yet neither one of them makes complete sense.”

      He fell silent for a moment, and then added, in a strangely flat, emotionless voice, “Help me, Hugh.”

      Hugh opened his eyes and shifted his head slightly, looking up at his friend, but before he could say anything, Payn, whose eyes were still closed against the sun’s brightness, added, “Yes, help him, Hugh, for the love of God, because then you’ll help me, too. If Godfrey is as confused

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