The unspoken question shone in Hilarius’ eyes, and the other answered it.
“Nay, there is no blood on my soul, young sir. ’Twas good advice I gave, well meant but ill received, so here I dwell to learn the wisdom of fools and the foolishness of wisdom.”
“Does the Abbat know what evil men these are that seek the shelter of Holy Church?” asked Hilarius, perplexed.
“Most surely he knows; but what would’st thou have? It hath ever been the part of the Church to embrace sinners with open arms lest they repent. A man leaves wrath behind him when he flees hither; but should he set foot in the city without, he is the law’s, and no man may gainsay it.”
“Nay, sir, but these look far from repentance,” said Hilarius.
“Ay, ay, true eno’,” rejoined the other cheerfully, “but then ’tis not for nothing Mother Church holds the keys. Man’s law may fail to reach, but there is ever hell-fire for the unrepented sinner.”
Hilarius nodded, and his eyes wandered over the squalid place with the North Porch of the Abbey for its sole beauty.
“It must be as hell here, to live with robbers and men with bloody hands.”
“Nay,” said the old man hastily, “many of them are kindly folk, and many have slain in anger without thought. ’Tis a sad place, though, and thy young face is like a sunbeam on a winter’s day. Come, I will show thee thy road.”
He led Hilarius through the winding alleys and set him once more on the edge of the city’s stir and hum.