Pope Clement III remained seated long after Edward Marshall had left, lost in thought over their recent conversation. Eventually, he spoke to the empty air.
“What do you think?”
A hidden door in the wall, disguised as a bookshelf, swung open to reveal a bishop.
“It seems promising. In fact, isn’t it an ideal situation?”
The Pope nodded in agreement.
“Bishop Pietro, you were the one who guided Marshall when he first arrived in Pisa. Was he always like this?”
“Yes, Your Holiness. He seemed more at home on the battlefield than anywhere else—a typical young knight.”
Pietro, who had eavesdropped on the entire conversation through a secret passage, was filled with certainty.
“Didn’t you see it too, Your Holiness? How overwhelmed he was at being named a saint. His faith and respect for you seemed genuine.”
“Indeed, it did appear that way.”
“Do you suspect he was acting, Your Holiness?”
“Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not certain he was acting. It’s just a possibility.”
Pietro shook his head, finding it hard to believe.
“Unless he’s a seasoned knight commander, it’s unlikely. Edward Marshall is barely twenty, with no experience in administration—just combat on the front lines.”
“I’m aware, especially that his father, William Marshall, is hailed as a paragon of knighthood.”
“While sons don’t always take after their fathers, they are often influenced by them. Given his history, the saying ‘like father, like son’ seems apt here.”
“At least, there’s no reason to delay the canonization.”
“Is there a particular reason for your caution, Your Holiness?”
“The first prophet recognized by the Papacy—it’s a title that warrants caution, don’t you think?”
The Pope’s authority was unchallenged in Europe, unlike the Eastern Orthodox Church, which claimed its patriarch as the head. But Marshall was different—a prophet emerging after Christianity had been firmly established. His presence could overshadow even the Pope or the Eastern Patriarch.
If Marshall expanded his influence, the Papacy’s authority might diminish, potentially shaking the very foundation of the Pope’s divine status.
“We understand your concerns, Your Holiness. That’s why we arranged this evaluation.”
“Indeed.”
While a prophet could be a threat, he could also be the Papacy’s greatest asset if managed well. If he was easily manipulated, he could be used as a pawn, especially to challenge the legitimacy of the Byzantine Empire.
God had given a prophet to the Catholics, reinforcing the idea that Catholicism was the root of Christianity, a claim the Orthodox Church couldn’t easily refute.
“From what I’ve seen, Marshall is simple, devout, and deeply respects you, Your Holiness. It would be a waste to miss this opportunity.”
“I agree. But isn’t it strange? As soon as we start worrying, he turns out to be exactly what we hoped for. Is it really just a coincidence?”
Pietro found it hard to believe that a young knight could be so calculating, but he couldn’t dismiss the Pope’s concerns outright.
“Of course, one could suspect that. But isn’t it a bit excessive?”
“My suspicion stems from his actions before arriving here. He revealed his prophecy at a very opportune moment. If he were truly simple, wouldn’t he have declared himself a prophet much earlier?”
“That’s true, but…”
“That’s why I was wary of Marshall. I believed he was cunning and strategic. Yet, he showed none of that.”
Was it all just a coincidence? A perfect alignment of events leading to unintended outcomes? The Pope couldn’t be sure.
“I can’t afford to be caught off guard. If he thinks he can deceive me, he’s mistaken.”
Pope Clement III rose from his seat.
“Pietro, find a trustworthy knight and relay my message.”
“Understood. What should I tell him?”
Whether Marshall was genuinely simple or hiding a cunning nature, it remained to be seen. If it wasn’t apparent yet, they would force it out.
The canonization ceremony went off without a hitch, much to my surprise. I expected them to find some fault or test me further, but they added my name to the list of saints without issue.
Of course, I wasn’t letting my guard down. This was likely a ploy to make me relax.
How do I know? Because of the trait I saw hovering around the Pope last time:
Someone with that title wouldn’t be convinced of my nature after one conversation. They’re probably watching my every move, suspecting I might be acting.
I had prepared excuses if they questioned my past actions, but the fact they hadn’t asked was suspicious.
They must be planning something.
My suspicions were confirmed two days after the ceremony during a mass. A knight I didn’t recognize approached me as I knelt toward the eastern cross.
“Are you Sir Marshall?”
“Yes, but you can drop the ‘Sir.’”
“You’re humble, as expected of a saint. Haha! I’m Bruno, a knight of the Order of St. John.”
The Order of St. John, a precursor to the Knights of Malta, was known for defending Tripoli during the Crusades. Many of them were still stationed there.
I wondered if he was here to bond over shared experiences, but his demeanor suggested otherwise. Despite his polite smile, there was a mocking undertone to his words.
He seemed like the type to provoke and then retreat when things got heated.
Sure enough, Bruno, with his smug demeanor, began to spout nonsense designed to irritate.
“I was curious about what kind of person hears the future from God. It’s a bit frustrating, though. Why did such a person come from the Templar Knights?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t have?”
“Well, everyone knows the Templars are eager in the Crusades but lack substance…”
“Oh, I see.”
“Not that I think that way. But take the Battle of Hattin, for example. The Templars were too arrogant and lost. Some say if our Order had taken the offensive, things might have been different.”
Was he trying to provoke me by insulting the order I once belonged to? But I had no attachment to the Templars, so his words had no effect.
Bruno continued, oblivious to his failure.
“Common sense says you reap what you sow, but God’s grand plan is beyond us. Haha!”
“If you said that to a Templar, you wouldn’t get a warm response.”
“I’m just stating facts, not making things up. I understand it must be hard for you to hear your former comrades criticized.”
If he understood, he wouldn’t be here provoking me. What reaction was he hoping for with such weak taunts?
Perhaps he was testing the waters, planning to escalate if I didn’t react. It was likely someone was behind him, possibly the Pope or his representatives, ensuring the provocation didn’t cross a line.
For now, I decided to observe and gather more information before making a move.
If that guy dares to say something offensive, I could lodge a formal complaint with the Benedictine Order and reap some benefits from it.
The same goes for dealing with Bruno personally.
Instead of reacting immediately, the most effective approach would be to tip off the Order or the Pope and have them reprimand him.
After a moment of contemplation, I quickly realized the ploy of whoever sent him.
They wanted to see how I would handle the situation to gauge my true nature—a shallow trick.
No matter how much one pretends to be simple, dealing with such matters inevitably reveals a bit of one’s true self.
A truly smart person finds it hard to perfectly mimic a fool’s ways.
No matter how much you try to simplify, reason instinctively applies the brakes.
With that in mind, I fixed a stern expression on my face and addressed Bruno.
“Sir Bruno, I may not be a member of the Knights Templar, but those close to me have dedicated their faith and passion to it. You knew that when you spoke, didn’t you?”
“Oh, if I’ve offended you, I apologize. However…”
His intention to provoke further while pretending to apologize was all too clear.
I raised my hand to cut him off and gazed steadily into his eyes.
“Consider this your own doing from now on.”
”…Pardon? What do you mean…?”
Smack!
Before Bruno could even react, I swung my fist faster than he could raise his hands in defense, landing a solid punch on his face.
“Ugh!”
With a single cry, Bruno collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth and knocked out cold.
Punching someone in the face right where a mass was about to begin naturally drew everyone’s attention.
Amidst the shocked stares, I slowly pulled off my glove and dropped it over the unconscious Bruno’s head.
“If you insulted another’s comrades, you should have been prepared for the consequences. For the honor of those who risked their lives for the glory of God, I, Edward Marshall, formerly of the Knights Templar, challenge Bruno of the Order of St. John to a duel. If you wish to decline, speak now.”
A fool never considers the consequences before acting, as they say.
Complex calculations? Strategic maneuvers?
All of that can be neatly resolved with a single punch.
I offered him a chance to object, but unsurprisingly, Bruno, knocked out by my corrective punch, had nothing to say.
Silence is often taken as consent, so the duel stands.
This is the quintessential medieval conflict resolution that satisfies everyone.