Chapter 38: Opportunity to explain

Our family's chapel is situated at the end of another long corridor. It's actually in a completely separate wing of the castle from everything else as I understand that father was extremely taken aback by the request from my mother that he have a chapel built inside his grounds. All the outside buildings and space were taken up by existing needs and plans so that when we moved in, everyone was already moving to their allotted areas when I understand that Mother turned to father rather abruptly on maybe their second day of residence.

She said something like...

“But where's the chapel going to go?”

Witnesses claim that father was utterly taken aback by the question. The historian in me notes that no specific person knows what was said, or actually witnessed the discussion but everyone knows that it happened in the same way that everyone knows that fire is hot.

I was maybe four or five at the time that this conversation was taking place so I, of course, remember nothing of it. What I do remember is the flurry of extra activity that went into the building of the new wing of the castle. Father was determined that we should be... well considered in the local area, that we should be social climbers and pursue an agenda that results in our climb to the top of the ladder so, as well as the chapel, there were several more guest rooms built as well as a number of studies and school rooms for the use of churchmen whenever they visited which, given the reportedly obscene amounts of money that father donated, was regularly.

As an aside I should mention that it's one of these rooms that brother Mark uses as his study.

But one of the other things that I should say is that, despite the fact that it was clearly an afterthought on the part of my father and although the other rooms in that wing of the castle are rather perfunctory, some of which have only rarely been used, the chapel itself is rather beautiful.

It's a corner room on the highest floor of the castle on the side that would be least accessible and therefore the least likely to be assaulted in the event of an actual siege. There are several small stained glass windows and it is blissfully quiet there being so far away from the rest of the castle's bustling activity although it can get cold in the winter there is an overall feeling of warmth and coziness about it. The ceiling is clad in wood, carved into many intricate patterns so that if you look up you can follow them with your eyes and spend time looking at the patterns and counting the points if that's the kind of thing that you want. There are six, simple wooden pews on either side of a central aisle, each pew could comfortably seat three people if you want plenty of room, or four people if you squeeze together. They are cushioned with surprisingly comfortable padding which have been embroidered and patterned with the stories of great holy people from over the years including the prophet Lebioda and others.

At the front of the chapel there is a prayer rail with more cushions that at various times have been the pride and joys of Mother's, Emma's and other women's industry. Behind the rail there is a prayer rest and chair for an attending priest as well as an assistant. The Alter is a simple wooden block made from a tree that had been uprooted from within the castle grounds where my father had wanted to build some of his barracks. The wood then being used for various purposes round the castle but it is perhaps most fitting that it had been used here. Craftsmen had worked on that alter, carving holy words and symbols into it and I'm told that it is a true work of art.

Not that I've ever seen it. The alter is then covered with a plain white cloth and a golden trim. On the top of the cloth in the very centre of the table there is a fire bowl filled with oil which is refilled on a daily basis by my mother, by Mark if he's around or if neither are present then a servant does it. The bowl is always alight.

The warmth of the flame along with the sound and smell of the burning fuel are what lends a sense of peace to the place. More than once I have slept on one of the pews, just listening to the sound of the fire and being hypnotised by it's movement.

The chapel feels like a refuge from the rest of the world. As though it's it's own little bubble of contained peace, separate from everything else. I used to spend a lot of time here when I was living at the castle as I could take my books here and perch in a corner to read or make notes on my learning and it was rare indeed that I would be disturbed.

My religion is important to me in a small way. Kerrass is correct in that I try to pray every night and leave offerings and prayers for the souls of those men who I have killed. Who I have murdered, no matter the justification. I find I have had to make a conscious separation in my mind about my religion. My faith in the Eternal flame and my ideas about it being a guiding light rather than a scourge, of offering warmth and comfort rather than cleansing fire has never changed from the gentle teachings that I received at the hands of good and kind men and women from a young age. I keep those thoughts close to me and they have been no small comfort to me during those long vigils on the road waiting for whatever darkness might crawl out from beneath the earth to be slain by the hands of a waiting Witcher.

But I have had to separate those opinions from my feelings towards The Church.

The Church worries me. More recently, the history books will show that the systematic destruction of magic users as well as the persecution of non-humans was largely politically motivated prejudice. Churchmen in the greater hierarchies of the church wanting the change of beneficial progress to come quickly and resenting the positions of power that the Council of mages and more recently the Lodge of Sorceresses have had over the Northern Kings. So they used the madness of King Radovid as well as fear of Nilfgaard as an excuse to pursue their own goals.

I will admit to dismay that so many, otherwise good and devout men and women have fallen into the trap of practising religious hatred of others and encouraging those feelings in the rest of the populace. It was not an exaggeration the thing that I said to Mark about the most monstrous acts that I had ever seen had been committed by humans rather than so called “monsters”.

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I had talked with Mark about this in the time after our arrest of the cult of Crom Cruarch and to my brothers credit he agreed with me. Talking about his earlier demonstration regarding the web of life I had asked why the recent activities of the church had been so violent when, by his own demonstration, such actions were catastrophic to people's lives.

Mark told me that I was correct. That the church was divided into two halves of thought. The first being that the activity did indeed need to be slow, gentle and careful. That we needed to take our time and gently guide and help people towards that light. Towards that flame.

The other school of thought was the more doom-saying school of thought. That the eternal frost was getting closer and that the only way of stopping it was for us all to worship the flame as soon as possible. That there was no time to waste and that people should be saved despite themselves.

My brother favours the first school of thought whereas the previous Hierophant went the other way with the support of King Radovid.

But that separation in my head still exists although I am grateful that my brother was supportive and understanding of my...crisis of faith.

But even despite all of that. The family chapel has a special place in my heart. I had visited it when I had gotten home.

(I left that bit out when I was writing about it because it didn't seem important)

I had prayed there for Father's health and lack of pain. I had read and wept and laughed and talked there

many many times. It was a communal room and it was important to all of us. My family was in those walls and in those chairs and kneeling at those prayer rests.

I loved and still love that room and more so than the castle, it is that room that I look forward to visiting whenever I go home. In reality it is that thing that is home to me. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

But this time I didn't want to go there.

Kerrass and I arrived back at the family castle having taken our gentle time to travel back. We had spent the previous night at my lodgings in Oxenfurt.

The order of events was that we hadn't really slept more than a couple of quick, stolen hours the night that we had brought so many heretics to justice. We had to give statements and answer questions about it all many many times, both to the Watch and to the Church investigators. Cousin Raynard had been right in that there were lots of people there that were DEMANDING that their darling children, or more accurately, their client's darling children be released IMMEDIATELY so everyone involved wanted the whole thing to be done properly and without any mistakes being made. My own interrogation was carried out by the High Sheriff of Redania who had been in Novigrad on some business of state, but had ridden south when he heard what had happened.

I was very good, I didn't criticise his subordinates even once.

He took my statement and I answered his questions in as much as detail as I could. He brought in a minor wizard who I allowed to ensorcle me to tell the entire truth and I understand that the answers that I gave were sufficiently close to the ones that I had given earlier.

Kerrass had a bit more difficulty in convincing everyone that he was telling the truth as he was immune to those spells so instead they asked the same questions over and over and over again until, in his words, they got bored of listening to the same words all the time and let him go.

Much to his amusement although I'm told that this situation was not uncommon.

Afterwards we were both rather in demand from people demanding to know what was going on. Sir Rickard managed to smuggle Emma and Laurelen out of the city to avoid criticism from the numerous families who would seek to discredit the investigation, although I should mention that this was done so with the High Sheriff's permission. The High Sheriff is a good man trying to maintain order in a realm that doesn't have a King or even a client head of state yet so is finding that he has to make far reaching decisions himself that he would normally have deferred to the King. He was living in Novigrad so that he could still work in Redania while sending daily reports as well as daily requests for governance and guidance for the North. I promised him that if he needed any help from the Coulthard family then we would happily render such aid as we were able.

Looking back I am lucky that he took the offer with the correct intentions rather than a comment about how his life would be much easier if I had just minded my own business.

I spent some time wandering about Oxenfurt so that people could direct their anger at me rather than anyone else. Fortunately in Oxenfurt that anger tends to be of the Eggs and Tomato kind rather than being dragged into an alley and being murdered. I kept telling people that it was in the hands of the church and that they should stop pestering me. Even then I was eventually driven to seek refuge in the University where a set of very grim faced guards kept every one out until the crowds dispersed.

That evening I drank myself insensible in the office of my tutor who was full of sympathy (despite wanting a considerable account of the events for posterity) and have no memory of making it back to my own bed.

Kerrass was sleeping on my couch, we had a large breakfast and made our way back to the castle at a leisurely pace while we discussed what to do next.

I think we were maybe a third of the way home when Kerrass groaned. He actually had to get off his horse and pace around a bit to walk it off but even despite the massive thought that had clearly just hit him, I still needed to force him to tell me what it was.

We rode the rest of the way back to the castle in silence.

Shani once told me that there is a mood or a state of being, called disassociation which is when you feel almost distant from the events and circumstances around you. It's like you are controlling your own body through an elaborate system of levers and puppet strings. It doesn't really feel like yourself doing and saying these things. It's like watching the events from the corner of the room like watching a play or as if the events were happening to someone else.

We rode up to the castle and through the gate. I acknowledged the salute of the guardsmen that was standing on duty before slowly walking my horse up to the stable. I proceeded to take proper care of my horse, brushing, feeding, watering and a good rubbing down. She had been with me a long time now and I suddenly felt as though she deserved the proper attention of a companion rather than just a thing. Possibly sensing something of my mood she nuzzled me a bit in the way that horses do when they're hunting for an apple or lump of sugar.

I left reluctantly.

Kerrass had already finished caring for his own horse and was leaning against a fence post while he waited. I knew he was worried but at that point there was nothing really that he could say or do to make me feel any better.

We walked up to the keep.

The courtyard was deathly silent, black flags and bunting were everywhere and those servants that we did see were also dressed in black. At first I was surprised at the lack of colour and noise but then I realised what had happened. I had forgotten that my Father and Edmund were going to be interred tomorrow. I looked around at those places where I was used to seeing noise and colour for a moment before Kerrass put his hand on my shoulder. At some point I had stopped walking so I started to move again.

Father and Edmund. My thoughts had told me “Father and Edmund” rather than “Father and Brother”. I would need to think about that.

Emma greeted us in the entrance way with a sad smile but her cheer faltered when she saw us. Kerrass reacted first and moved forward, taking her gently by the elbow he steered her away. They talked quickly and quietly for a moment before she put her head in her hands.

I ignored them and went up the stairs to my room where I asked one of the servants to run me a bath.

For a moment I looked for a piece of paper and a quill to note down a thought. I thought that the noble world was divided into two camps, the first was those people who ordered their servants to fill a bath and the second was those people who asked their servants to fill a bath. I wondered what made a person fall into one camp or the other.

I bathed thoroughly. So thoroughly that by the time I was done, my fingers had shrivelled but I felt the need for it. I felt so tired and dirty as a result of the events of the last few days. It was a bone deep weariness that went beyond physical or mental tiredness. Physical fatigue can be cured by eating, or sleeping. Mental fatigue can be cured by spending some time with friends or taking a break and thinking about something else. This was a soul-deep fatigue. I wanted to crawl away into a warm, dark hole and scream until my throat bled and oblivion came for me.

I dressed. You needed to dress properly for these kinds of things. I didn't want to look rumpled or scruffy. I took care with my clothing making sure that each piece of clothing settled right on my frame and that it looked... correct. Some enterprising soul had put my mourning garb onto a stand in the corner. For a moment I considered wearing that instead but no. That would send the wrong message.

That was tomorrows problem.

I spent a long time looking at my weapons stacked against the wall next to the head of the bed.

When I had first been given the spear it had been uncomfortable and ungainly in my hand. I was awkward with it and it had taken many long hours of practice and training drills with Kerrass before I could even be considered “OK” with it. Truth be told, I still considered myself to be far from “good” with the weapon. Most of those people that I had fought and beaten had underestimated me, giving me an advantage that I could use. Others had been surprised by the fact that I knew how to use it or simply didn't know how to fight a man with a spear. But that spear had become as close a companion to me as my horse, or Kerrass.

The dagger was newer. Short, thin and designed for up close use, sitting across my belly at an angle designed for easy use by my right hand. I was still at the stage with it that I still noticed the weight of it when it was on my belt but at the same time, in some way I had compensated for it, and missed it when it wasn't there.

I left them where they were.

Something struck me as I turned to leave and I stood at the doorway with new eyes. There was something different here, more than just the changes in furnishings (I had needed a bigger bed) and I didn't know what it was. It took me a while to figure out in all truthfulness but the simple fact was that this was no longer my room. It was a truth about the entire castle really.

It is a strange thing when you realise that the place where you grew up is no longer your home.

I left the room and walked slowly towards the chapel.

It felt oddly like saying goodbye.

The halls and landings of the castle are filled with paintings, tapestries and other ornaments that Father had seen in other castles that he wanted to emulate. My favourite picture in just about the entire castle is on the landing just as you go up the stairs. It's just on the left before you go down the second corridor.

What the picture shows is a landscape of a vast marsh at twilight. In the distance you can just about pick out a large mountain range but all they really are are shadows against the sky as the sun sets behind them. In the foreground there is an island in the marsh made where a few trees have grown up on a small hillock. One tree has fallen over creating a small barrier against the elements. A man has made camp. His horse is tied to a stake in the ground with it's saddle and things next to it and a blanket over it's back where it's eating from some of the tufts of grass around the place. The man himself has already laid out his bedroll and is staring into the fire, poking it with a stick. The important detail that catches a young man's imagination is that the man has long white hair. When I was younger I had always wondered if this person might be the famed Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself.

Nowadays I know better of course. There is no way that a Witcher would camp in such a spot unless at the absolute end of desperation. There are likely to be all kinds of monsters in such a swamp, drowners, the drowned dead and large insects. Kerrass would have spat out his incredulity at such an amateurish mistake.

How the illusions of childhood are shattered.

I walked on down the long corridor towards the chapel.

I didn't bother knocking and just opened the doors.

There are rituals that you have to obey though.

After I had closed the door I bowed deeply towards the flame on the alter before walking down the aisle to the prayer rail and bowed again.

The little rituals are important. There is comfort to be found in performing them.

I knelt, slightly to the left of the centre line of the chapel, and I started to pray. My hands clasped together in the oldest ways of prayer and with closed eyes I began the first prayer of the prophet Lebioda.

Old rituals to soothe the heart and soul.

After a long time that I wished might have been longer I opened my eyes and looked up at the flame that danced before me.

“We know almost everything.” I said as clearly and distinctly as I could. “We know that Edmund was angry and upset at the pressure that Father had placed upon his shoulders, regardless of whether he was right to think that or not. We know he wanted to enjoy himself and fled home to sample the worlds pleasures where he fell in with “The Wrong Crowd” although that term doesn't seem to do the lot of them justice.

“He joined a cult. The cult of what is described as “The crooked man” although Mark tells me that they have just put one of many faces onto a different entity that is much more terrifying than “The man on the mound” who is, in reality, one of the older pagan gods who were worshipped to give people comfort when the crops failed.

“That cult was lead by Cousin Raynard of all people.

“I wish I knew that I had a cousin, not that I know that I would have done anything different but it would have been nice to have known that he existed at the very least.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. My vision was flickering in the way it does at the edges of extreme fatigue. I so desperately wanted to run away and hide somewhere but these things needed to be seen through. I so wished, right then and there, that I had been somewhere extremely remote when the messages had been sent out so that I wouldn't have had to deal with all of this. But I wasn't and I did.

“We know that the cult made a hobby, as part of their worship, of kidnapping and brutally torturing young people in rites that include, but are not limited to beatings, whippings, rape, mutilation, cannibalism and living cannibalism although the fact that I have to make a distinction between two different kinds of cannibalism is frankly disgusting, and degrading. We don't know what kind of actual effect these rites had but estimates range from the considerable to the “hardly any changes at all”.

“We know that father found out about this. We know that he found several victims and was researching others. We fount out that he had made provisions for the families of some of the victims in an effort to make restitution. We also know that he told Edmund to stop.

“Edmund did not.

“Instead Edmund panicked and ran back to his friends and Cousin Raynard. During a drunken evening involving wine women and generally awful depravity, Edmund decided that Father needed to die. During that evening a plan was concocted to make this happen. Arguments differ as to who actually started the entire thing with cousin Raynard blaming Edmund but I feel, as does Mark, that Edmund was simply not intelligent enough to come up with such in intricate plan let alone having the nerve or the knowledge to implement it.

“That point is likely to go with Cousin Raynard to his grave as we can't find anyone else who was at that meeting.”

I sighed.

“Edmund engineered the accident and administered the poison to convince everyone that Father had died from complications arising from his accident. Unfortunately, Fathers chief groom and stable-master realised that Fathers riding equipment had been tampered with and brought the problem to Edmund's attention. During that conversation the groom realised who the culprit was and ran for it taking his wife with him. They were caught and killed a few hours away from the castle.

“Putting it together we think that you also knew about all of these things. Or figured them out somehow and that finally, after all these years you decided that enough was enough. You obtained a knife from the kitchen under the pretence of needing it for some sewing task which is well within your capabilities. You had a mannequin from the tailor to practice your strike a few times which you then hid somewhere.

“Then, when Edmund was gloating over the business empire and the amount of money that he was about to inherit, you walked into the study and killed him with a short, sharp and strong thrust to his neck before you left so that he could bleed to death.

“My guess is that you are astonished that you haven't been caught yet. I bet you even walked through the castle with the knife in your hand on the way to that study. But in the end you wiped the knife clean on Edmund's clothes, secreted it about yourself and left. You had the keys to the entire place and so... no-one would even think that anything was out of the ordinary.”

I shifted my weight a little as my knees had gone numb.

“But,” I went on.

“What I don't know is why you encouraged us to investigate. Without your input, Mark would have run Kerrass and I off. I've no doubt that he would have cooled off eventually in the event of Father's death but without your speaking up to encourage us to investigate, you would have gotten away with it. So why did you speak up?”

There was a long pause, the only sound being the guttering of the lamp flame.

My mother looked up from where she had been kneeling in prayer, just a little further down the rail. It was the first time that she had moved since I entered the chapel. She stood, slowly, and smoothed out her plain dress and made the sign of the flame before sitting down on the nearest pew.

“The answer is not complicated.” she said after correcting a few creases and wrinkles in her dress. “It wasn't that I wanted to be caught, nor is it because I thought that you wouldn't figure it all out.”

“In truth, the reason that we did figure it out in the end was because it could be no-one else.” I found myself smiling. Not good. I needed to be cold and hard.

“Be that as it may.” She said carefully. “I once made a promise to your father. That neither you , nor anyone else, within this family or outside, would ever know about my families secret history. I could not tell you all what had happened without that coming to light. Also, you and Mark were about to murder each other. I was confident in your good natures that you would have gone away to calm down and that he would forgive you but I find that such things are easier to forgive than forget. I was concerned that a rift in the family at this stage would be...irreparable.

“But also, I don't know why. Both of those reasons are correct as well as some others. I must think on them.”

I waited a while but it seemed that there wasn't going to be anything else said.

“Very well,” I said, standing up. I stood straight and forced myself to look her in the eye. “Madam. It is my duty to inform you that you are being placed under arrest for the crime of murdering your own son. This power has been given to me by the High Sheriff of the client Kingdom of Redania who has instructed myself to try the matter as I see fit. As there is a connection to the possibility of Heresy according to the teachings of the Mother Church, permission was also sought from the ranking church official present and permission has been given.”

I took a deep breath. I held my mothers gaze as hard as I could although I desperately wanted to look away. I have held the gaze of Lords and ladies, monsters and non-humans, creatures of darkness and an elder vampire but, up until that point. This was the hardest to do.

“You will be taken from this place to somewhere where you will be able to give an account of yourself to the ranking church official and ranking feudal lords where a decision will be made regarding your future. When I leave this room, two guards will enter the room who will escort you to this place with every courtesy unless you resist or try to escape. You will be given as much time as you wish to make your peace but those men are under orders to prevent you from harming yourself by any method, including starvation or deprivation.”

I took another breath. I thought through all of the things that needed to be said and couldn't think of anything else.

“Do you understand what I have just said?”

“I do,”

I nodded and marched to the door.

“Frederick.”

“Madam?” I turned to look at her. She had stood again.

“I am very proud of you.”

I couldn't speak. I nodded sharply and fled.

I took a few minutes to splash some water on my face before joining everyone else downstairs. My stomach was churning with acid.

Mark had done me proud. Despite having, by now, been told what Kerrass and I had figured out and therefore being told that he would have to sit in judgement over our own mother. He had done nothing to make the situation formal. I had been terrified that I would go back downstairs to discover that our main hall would have been transformed into some kind of inquisitorial docks with a rack and torture implements being laid out.

Instead Sam, Emma and he were sat in comfortable chairs taking their ease as much as possible. Kerrass was sat in the corner, watching everything without moving in the way that he does when he doesn't want to be noticed.

Sam was pacing quietly next to the fireplace. Emma was sat, trying to read a book and Mark was sat on the couch. I joined Mark and he squeezed my shoulder as I sat down.

As it turned out we didn't have to wait for long.

Mark stood as Mother was escorted into the room by the two church guards. They waited at the door but Mark waved them off with a wave and a nod.

Mother came and stood before us all as Sam pulled out another chair.

“Here I am,” Mother said.

“Would you like to sit down?” Mark asked carefully.

Mothers eyebrows rose. “No thank you.”

“So,” Mark sat back down. “Do you deny the charge of murder?”

“No,”

Mark nodded.

“Then this is your opportunity to explain. I cannot say that it will mitigate your sentence. Oh, I should say that as this is a feudal court as well as a church one, Emma, Samuel and Frederick will be acting as advisor's regarding this as the feudal position is still pending. If you wish, this can be put off until feudal responsibilities are...set down. We are aware that this means that you have a familial relationship with your judges.”

Sam snorted in what I assumed was bitter amusement.

Mother seemed to consider things. “No,” she said after a while. “Better to get it done although I would ask to witness my late husbands internment before whatever sentence is carried out, whatever that sentence may be.”

“That will be taken into consideration.” said Mark. “Then do you have anything to say. I should say that the church, at least, requires an explanation for your actions.” He put a certain hint of steel into his voice there.

For a moment I pitied those potential heretics in Tretogor.

It took a long time for my mother to start speaking but when she started, it was almost impossible to stop.

“There isn't really that much to say.” She said after a while. “I haven't told anyone about my past, at least I don't think I have, certainly not in one go. Your father knew, he'd pieced it together from the various bits and pieces of gossip that he'd managed to pick up and put together in his brain.

“Flame but I loved your father.

“I was inducted into the family religion by my father who was rather forced into it by my Grandfather. Grandfather was one of those dyed in the wool kind of heretics that like to tell people that things were much better back in their day. Looking back I kind of think that it was treated a bit like an old man's club where they got together for a bit of idle child abuse and raping to keep the young folk servile and knowing their proper place.”

It has been said that I get the dryness in my sense of humour from my mother.

“Anyway, I was finally inducted by my Father who raped me at Grandfathers insistence for my eleventh birthday. I remember it being really strange that I got up, was bathed, got given gifts and a pretty dress before being raped. Then my big brother was given a turn which he was unable to finish. He was only a year older than me and as such he was still struggling to see girls as being anything other than icky.

“Then the religion, the cult I should say, fell into the back ground. It was simply there, in the same way that many people treat the church of the holy flame. My brother and I would do our studies, be presented at court and things but then on certain days or other “holy” days, we would be stripped, beaten, degraded and raped by sinister old men in robes.

“Another sad truth is that I don't remember much about it. There are reasons for this. I was often amazingly tired and so used to it that it kind of became normal after a while. They also drugged us until we were high enough that we would be properly...attentive and behave properly. Grandfather used to complain about that kind of thing saying things like “We didn't drug them back in my day. They struggled and we had to hold them.”

“It went on and on until eventually it had to stop so that I could attract a husband. I had tried to kill myself, I think twice on the whole. The first time I took a razor blade to myself although I had no idea how to do it so you can only see the scars if you know what you're looking for. The second time I tried to overdose on some kind of herb that someone told me could kill me but instead of killing me it just made me vomit it all back up again. But all the hell that I had been through up until that point was absolutely nothing compared to the hell of drug withdrawal.

“Eventually I sweated, swore and bled my way to sobriety enough to be properly able to receive guests and one of those guests was your father.

“My family had fallen on hard times, largely due to the fact that Grandfather was an elitist imbecile who refused to deal with anyone that he saw as being of lower station than himself and insisted on living to a certain standard which our lands could no longer support. My father had caught some of this illness and by the time my brother inherited the family was in truly dire straights financially. As a result of this my dowry was less than impressive. With Grandfathers death, the families religion started to wane and Father would go to fewer and fewer meetings. It turned into that which I had always thought it was which is an old man's club for old men where members would sit around, drinking and taking drugs while complaining about how commoners didn't know their place any more.

“I should say that my brother is a lapsed heretic in the same way that you get lapsed followers of the eternal flame. They go to church when they've got nothing better to do at the time and pay lip service to it.

“But, your father came a calling. He was well aware of our lack of funds but he wanted the “noble” name to add credence to his growing power base and popularity. I didn't care. He was my knight in shining armour and swept me off my feet. I was besotted with the man and I loved him fiercely giving him everything that he could possibly want including two sons and a daughter.

“Proving that there's no fanatic like a convert I was baptised into the church of the holy flame, I made my confession and was given the penance of bringing up one of my sons to serve the church. I thought that it was fairly lenient but my confessor pointed out that I had been forced to become a heretic and therefore it wasn't my fault.