“I bring greetings from your lord, Baldwin,” he said for all to hear, stepping into the center of the square. “Word has reached him that a rabble passed through here a day ago, some babbling hermit at the head.”

As he spoke, his knights began to fan out through town. They pushed aside women and children, sticking their heads into houses as if they owned them. Their haughty faces read, Get out of my way, pieces of shit. You have no power. We can do anything we want.

“Your lord asked me to impress upon you,” Norcross declared, “his hope that none of you were swayed by the ravings of that religious crank. His brain’s the only thing more withered than his dick.”

Now I realized what Norcross and his men were doing here. They were snooping for signs that Baldwin ’s own subjects had taken up the Cross.

Norcross strutted around the square, his small eyes moving from person to person. “It is your lord, Baldwin, who demands your service, not some moth-eaten hermit. It is pledged and honor bound to him. Next to his, the Pope’s protection is worthless.”

I finally caught sight of Sophie, hurrying from the well with her bucket. Beside her was the miller’s wife, Marie, and their daughter, Aimée. I motioned with my eyes for them to stay clear of Norcross and his thugs.

Father Leo spoke up. “On the fate of your soul, knight,” the priest said, stepping toward him, “do not defame those who now fight for God’s glory. Do not compare the Pope’s holy protection to yours. It is blasphemy.”

Frantic shouts rang out. Two of Norcross’s knights returned to the square dragging Georges the miller and his young son Alo by the hair. They threw both into the middle of the square.

[16] I felt a hole in the pit of my stomach. Somehow they knew …

Norcross seemed delighted, actually. He went and cupped the face of the cowering boy in his massive hand. “The Pope’s protection, you say, eh, priest?” He chuckled. “Why don’t we see what his protection is truly worth.”