I crept into the Archbishop’s chamber, quietly that I would not intrude on the Templar and His Holiness’ discussion. If I could but slip by unheeded, I thought, perhaps the servant beyond would give me direction.

But as I skirted the edge of the chamber, my eyes turned toward the two at the dais. The Templar was down on one knee with his head bent low. The Archbishop stood before him and in his outstretched hands was a small ebony carving. It was an odd scene, to be sure, but something even stranger happened then. On my skin I felt the waft of a warm breeze—a breeze with no origin in an enclosed room. I stopped, perplexed, my eyes riveted to the scene before me.

Suddenly the darkness of the carving began to slowly change. It grew brighter and the wind blew stronger. The candle flames flickered in a way that made the room shimmer with light.

Without thought I dropped to one knee mirroring the position of the Templar. In moments the whole of the chamber was as bright as the pure light of day. I heard the Archbishop’s voice from far away. His words were in a language of beauty unknown to me.

A platform was filled with witnesses. Angry words were hurled into the air. A crowd pressed close, their anger like a hot wind, stirring embers.

“Focus. Ground. Shield.” The Templar snapped the words at me and I felt myself react. The force of the vision broke but my eyes and mind were still filled by the scene. My body trembled.

The Templar was on his knees before me. “Shhh. Leanabh.” The gaelic endearment felt like home, but I was far away. “It’s gone. You are safe. Breathe deeply.”

“A crowd was gathered. They were frightened. Four men were brought in in chains.”

My words came haltingly, but I forced my impressions into the air of the chamber. “High above a man shouted. Blasphemer. Heretic.”

The Archbishop stepped down from the dais. I felt his eyes on me, staring as if I were a specimen in an alchemist’s lab. “What more did you see?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Nothing. It was images and sounds, colors and feelings.” I struggled to explain how the visions came to me. My breath felt short, my chest tight. My head was swimming.

The Archbishop approached. The Templar and I stood. “To see what lies ahead is a frightening specter.” He spoke softly, almost as if he were riddling something out for himself. I wondered why he was not surprised at my vision state.

“I cannot stay with you for I must ready to journey to Rome. Stay. Eat. My staff will see to your reprovisioning.” His mind was elsewhere, already dismissing our presence.

“A moment, Your Grace, if I might . . .” Their eyes turned toward me. My face burned. My body’s persistent need still compelled me and I felt a sudden embarrassment. “A chamber pot?”

“Are you ill?” The Archbishop moved quickly to the sideboard and drew a pot from beneath.

“No, but if I don’t hurry I will be wet?”

My words were so completely out of place that the Templar let burst a sharp laugh. Shaking his head, he said, “Beyond the door is a garderobe, Tormod.” The bewildered smile that played about his lips distracted me from the worries that lingered in my mind.