揑 must tell the hotel chef how much I enjoyed the meal,?he said to the younger man.
And he meant every word.
The stuffed courgette blossom in tomato velout?had been the perfect starter. The local trout, baked with mushrooms and sweetbread, the ideal second course, augmented with some roasted cauliflower in brown butter. Dessert had been particularly exquisite. Cr鑝e br鹟閑 with hazelnuts, topped with chocolate sauce and a scoop of caramel ice cream.
A feast fitting for this grand occasion.
揂re you ready??he asked.
Andre nodded. 揑 have been for a long time.?
揂nd you wish to fully accept??
揑 do.?
揧ou know what that entails??
揑n every way.?
揧our past sins? Have you atoned for them? Are you remorseful? Prepared to lead an exemplary life from this day forward??
揑 am.?
He was pleased. 揟hen proceed.?
Andre rose from the chair and dutifully knelt on the carpet. 揟hou just God of all good souls, thou who art never deceived, who dost never lie or doubt, grant me to know what thou knowest, to love what thou dost love, for I am not of this world, and this world is not of me, and I fear lest I meet death in this realm of an alien evil god.?
The declaration had been delivered in perfect Occitan, the language in which the prayer had first been uttered more than eight hundred years ago. Precious words that drew a stark contrast between the just God of all good souls and the alien evil god of the physical world.
揑f God wills it,?Bernat said, 揼ood souls, like yourself, can have knowledge of the world of the Father. Whether we can have knowledge of the other world, in this life, or only in the next, remains to be seen.?
Andre抯 head remained bowed, eyes to the floor. Reverent. Respectful.
揇o you wish the consolamentum??he asked.
揥ith all that I am,?Andre said.
揌ave you properly prepared??
The head nodded. 揑 am ready.?
揊or every duty that might be required??
揈very one.?
Andre had begun his journey three years ago as a credente, a mere believer. He had shown both promise and desire, so when he抎 requested further training梩o test his sense of faith with rigorous examinations梩he Elders had been pleased. He抎 been allowed to participate in seminary, the maison des h閞閠iques, where his devotion had been honed and tested. Now, after lengthy fasts, vigils, and prayer, he was ready for the final step.
Only a Perfectus could administer the consolamentum, the laying on of hands, which meant that every new Perfectus stood at the end of a chain linking them all the way back to the apostles and Christ himself. The ceremony marked the transition from credente to one of the elect. Not a cleric or a priest or anything special, merely believers who抎 chosen to become teachers, their task to aid other believers in becoming part of the Perfecti, too. Each one lived a solitary life, at the last phase of their worldly existence, practicing self-denial, finally assured that they would never again return to the physical world. Long ago their name had been born as an insult, reflecting how the Holy Roman Church saw them as 損erfect heretics.?But they抎 kept the label as a badge of honor, out of defiance, signifying an element of completeness in their spiritual lives.
揝hall we keep going??he asked.
Andre nodded.
It was during the consolamentum that the Holy Spirit inhabited the Perfectus?corporal body as a symbolic death from the material world and a rebirth in the Spirit. The ceremony was striking in its simplicity. Unlike other religious baptisms no water or anointing oil were required. No towering churches laden with idols, or priests clad in gold-embroidered robes. Only belief and devotion cemented the bond, most times administered in the forest, beside a lake, in the mountains, or before a hearth in the homes of those wanting salvation. Once done, any deviation from the righteous path and you were no longer a Perfectus. The journey to salvation had to be restarted. The consolamentum had to be immaculate, without blemish, that element necessary as a counter to the corrupt priests and bishops that had existed in the thirteenth century and whose profane acts were still allowed to go unpunished. The cursed Catholics had long considered the rite a distorted imitation of their own baptismal ritual. But that was not the case. Instead, the consolamentum dated back to the earliest Christian church, handed down from generation to generation without the interference of priests or popes.
揚ray God to make a good Christian of me, and bring me to a good end,?Andre repeated three times.
He抎 been fully apprised on Andre Labelle by those who抎 worked with him over the past three years. Thirty-one years old. Possessed of an arrest record. Petty theft. Assault. Disorderly conduct. Once a wild, impulsive man who never admitted a mistake living what some would say was a wanton, reckless life. Thankfully, he抎 come to the attention of another Perfectus who抎 started him along the right path. Andre had been born not far away to the south, in the Roussillon, where nature loomed larger than life and mystery reigned. An extraordinary place with a rich heritage full of all sorts of legends and tales involving Moors, Charlemagne, and Roland. Andre was reflective of the hearty stock bred there. A slim, muscular youth with dull black, curly hair and a flat nose that projected a tough-guy look. Only the dark eyes betrayed the clouds of pain that still haunted a troubled mind. But every report Bernat had received had noted an exemplary record and a deep dedication to the faith. The road to salvation stretched long and narrow, reserved only for those in full possession of their faculties and enjoying the support of the Elders, which Andre had earned.