“This man,” said the abbot evenly, “has made certain charges against you, Elave. He says that last night, in his master’s house, you gave voice to views on matters of religion that run counter to the teachings of the Church, and bring you into grave danger of heresy. He cites these witnesses present in support of what he urges against you. How do you say, was there indeed such talk between you? You were there to speak, and they to hear?”
“Father,” said Elave, grown very pale and quiet, “I was there in the house. I did have speech with them. The talk did turn on matters of faith. We had only yesterday buried a good master; it was natural we should give thought to his soul and our own.”
“And do you yourself, in good conscience, believe that you said nothing that could run counter to true belief?” asked Radulfus mildly.
“To the best that I know and understand, Father, I never did.”
“You, fellow, Aldwin,” ordered Canon Gerbert, leaning forward in his stall, “repeat those things of which you complained to Brother Jerome. Let us hear them all, and in the words you heard spoken, so far as you can recall them. Change nothing!”
“My lords, as we sat together, we were speaking of William who was newly buried, and Conan asked if William had ever taken Elave with him down the same road that got him into straits with the priest, those years ago. And Elave said William never made any secret of what he thought, and on his travels no one ever found fault with him for thinking about such matters. What are wits for, he said, unless a man uses them? And we said that it was presumption in us simple folk, that we should listen and say Amen to what the Church tells us, for in that field the priests have authority over us.”
“A very proper saying,” said Gerbert roundly. “And how did he reply?”
“Sir, he said how could a man say Amen to damning a child unchristened to hell? The worst of men, he said, could not cast an infant into the fire, so how could God, being goodness itself, do so? It would be against God’s very nature, he said.”
“That is to argue,” said Gerbert, “that infant baptism is unneeded, and of no virtue. There can be no other logical end of such reasoning. If they are in no need of redemption by baptism, to be spared inevitable reprobation, then the sacrament is brought into contempt.”
“Did you say the words Aldwin reports of you?” asked Radulfus quietly, his eyes on Elave’s roused and indignant face.
“Father, I did. I do not believe such innocent children, just because baptism does not reach them in time before they die, can possibly fall through God’s hands. Surely his hold is more secure than that.”
“You persist in a deadly error,” insisted Gerbert. “It is as I have said, such a belief casts out and debases the sacrament of baptism, which is the only deliverance from mortal sin. If one sacrament is brought into derision, then all are denied. On this count alone you stand in danger of judgment.”
“Sir,” Aldwin took him up eagerly, “he said also that he did not believe in the need because he did not believe that children are born into the world rotten with sin. How could that be, he said, of a little thing newly come into being, helpless to do anything of itself, good or evil. Is not that indeed to make an empty mockery of baptism? And we said that we are taught and must believe that even the babes yet unborn are rotten with the sin of Adam, and fallen with him. But he said no, it is only his own deeds, bad and good, that a man must answer for in the judgment, and his own deeds will save or damn him.”
“To deny original sin is to degrade every sacrament,” Gerbert repeated forcibly.
“No, I never thought of it so,” protested Elave hotly. “I did say a helpless newborn child cannot be a sinner. But surely baptism is to welcome him into the world and into the Church, and help him to keep his innocence. I never said it was useless or a light thing.”
“But you do deny original sin?” Gerbert pressed him hard.
“Yes,” said Elave after a long pause. “I do deny it.” His face had sharpened into icy whiteness, but his jaw was set and his eyes had begun to burn with a deep, still anger.
Abbot Radulfus eyed him steadily and asked in a mild and reasonable voice: “What, then, do you believe to be the state of the child on entering this world? A child the son of Adam, as are we all.”
Elave looked back at him as gravely, arrested by the serenity of the voice that questioned him. “His state is the same,” he said slowly, “as the state of Adam before his fall. For even Adam had his innocence once.”
“So others before you have argued,” said Radulfus, “and have not inevitably been called heretical. Much has been written on the subject, in good faith and in deep concern for the good of the Church. Is this the worst you have to urge, Aldwin, against this man?”
“No, Father,” Aldwin said in haste, “there is more. He said it is a man’s own acts that will save or damn him, but that he had not often met a man so bad as to make him believe in eternal damnation. And then he said that there was a father of the Church once, in Alexandria, who held that in the end everyone would find salvation, even the fallen angels, even the devil himself.”
In the shudder of unease that passed along the ranks of the brothers the abbot remarked simply: “So there was. His name was Origen. It was his theme that all things come from God, and will return to God. As I recall, it was an enemy of his who brought the devil into it, though I grant the implication is there. I gather that Elave merely cited what Origen is said to have written and believed. He did not say that he himself believed it? Well, Aldwin?”
Aldwin drew in his chin cautiously at that, and gave some thought to the possibility that he himself was edging his way through quicksands. “No, Father, that is true. He said only that there was a father of the Church who spoke so. But we said that was blasphemy, for the teaching of the Church is that salvation comes by the grace of God, and no other way, and a man’s works can avail him not at all. But then he said outright: I do not believe that!”
“Did you so?” asked Radulfus.
“I did.” Elave’s blood was up, the pallor of his face had burned into a sharp-edged brightness that was almost dazzling. Cadfael at once despaired of him and exulted in him. The abbot had done his best to temper all this fermenting doubt and malice and fear that had gathered in the chapter house like a bitter cloud, making it hard to breathe, and here was this stubborn creature accepting all challenges, and digging in his heels to resist even his friends. Now that he was embattled he would do battle. He would not give back one pace out of regard for his skin. “I did say so. I say it again. I said that we have the power in ourselves to make our own way towards salvation. I said we have free will to choose between right and wrong, to labor upward or to dive down and wallow in the muck, and at the last we must every one answer for our own acts in the judgment. I said if we are men, and not beasts, we ought to make our own way towards grace, not sit on our hams and wait for it to lift us up, unworthy.”
“By such arrogance,” trumpeted Canon Gerbert, offended as much by the flashing eyes and obdurate voice as by what was said, “by such pride as yours the rebel angels fell. So you would do without God, and repudiate his divine grace, the only means to salve your insolent soul - ”