“Ah, it was told me last night, by one that meant it kindly. I knew it would come sooner or later.”
“What will they do, think you?” Gerhardt hesitated. It was not so easy to guess in 1165 the awful depths to which religious hatred could descend, as it would have been some two centuries later. They knew something then of the fury of the Church against open unbelievers or political enemies; but persecution of Christians by Christians on account of nothing but their belief and the confession of it, was something new at that time.
“They will impose penance on us, I suppose,” suggested old Berthold.
“Doubtless, if we stand firm. And we must stand firm, Berthold,—every one of us.”
“Oh, of course,” replied Berthold calmly. “They won’t touch the women?—what think you?”
“I know not what to think. But I imagine—not.”
“Fine and scourging, perchance. Well, we can stand that.”
“We can stand any thing with God to aid us: without Him we can bear nothing. Thanks be to the Lord, that last they that trust Him will never be called upon to do.”
“I heard there was a council of the bishops to be held upon us,” suggested Berthold a little doubtfully.
“I hope not. That were worse for us than a summons before the King. Howbeit, the will of the Lord be done. It may be that the hotter the furnace is heated, the more glory shall be His by the song of His servants in the fires.”