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are heretics— Arians. An Arian is one who has been shown the light of truth, and has chosen a foul heresy instead of the Catholic faith. The sainted Ambrose has declared that heretics are more blasphemous than the Antichrist, more than even the devil himself. Akh, son Thorn, if the Ostrogoths and Visigoths were only outlanders, and only savages, they might be tolerated. As Arians, they must be loathed.”
    Not Dom Clement or anyone else could then have foretold that, within my own lifetime, all the world about us would be ruled by those Arian Goths—and that one man among them would be the first ruler since Constantine to be universally acclaimed “the Great”—and that he would be the first man since Alexander to deserve to be called “the Great”—and that I, Thorn, would be beside him when he was.
     

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    What worldly education I received at St. Damian’s began when I was very young, taking instruction from a Gepid monk, Brother Methodius, who spoke in the Old Language. As children will do, I kept asking foolish questions, and the monk had to exert all his patience to answer those queries as best he could.
    “To God all things are possible,” he was reciting in Gothic—“Allata áuk mahteigs ist fram Gutha”—when I interrupted:
    “If everything is possible to God, Brother Methodius, and if God made everything for the good of mankind, then why did God make bedbugs, niu?”
    “Um, well, one philosopher once suggested that God created bedbugs to prevent us from sleeping overmuch.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps God originally intended for the bugs to torment only the pagans and—”
    Again I interrupted. “Why are unbelievers called pagans, Brother Methodius? Brother Hilarion, who is teaching me to talk Latin correctly, says the word ‘paganus’ means only ‘a simple countryman.’ “
    “So it does,” said the monk, sighing and then taking a deep breath. “The countryside is harder for Mother Church to purge of misbeliefs than are the cities, so the Old Religion has persisted longest among the countryfolk. Hence the word ‘pagan,’ meaning a rustic, came also to mean anyone who is still mired in ignorance and superstition. The country clods are also oftenest guilty of heresy and—”
    Again I interrupted. “Brother Hilarion says the Latin word ‘haeresis’ means only ‘a choice.’ “
    “Akh!” grunted the monk, grinding his teeth a little. “Well, now it means an evil choice, believe me, and it has become a filthy word.”
    Again I interrupted. “If Jesus were still alive today, Brother Methodius, would he be a bishop?”
    “The Lord Jesus?” Methodius sketched the sign of the cross on his forehead. “Ne, ne, ni allis! Jesus would be—or rather, he is—something infinitely grander than any bishop. The cornerstone of our faith, the sainted Paul calls him.” Brother Methodius consulted the Gothic Bible he held on his lap. “Ja, right here, St. Paul says to the Ephesians, regarding the divine purpose, ‘Af apaústuleis jah praúfeteis—’ “
    “How do you know, Brother, what St. Paul says? I did not hear the book say any words at all.”
    “Akh, liufs Guth!” groaned the monk, almost writhing. “The book says nothing aloud, child. It says its words in strokes of ink. I am reading what it says. What St. Paul has said.”
    “Then,” said I, “you must teach me how to read, Brother Methodius, so that I too can hear the words of Paul and all the other saints and prophets.”
    So there began my secular education. Brother Methodius, perhaps in simple self-defense, commenced teaching me to read the Old Language, and I persuaded Brother Hilarion to teach me to read Latin. To this day, those are the only two languages of which I can boast any considerable command. Of Greek I have learned only enough to hold my own in conversation, and of other tongues only a smattering. But then, consider: in all the world, no one has ever been fluent in every language, except the pagan nymph