I was roused from my slumber by an insistent shaking. "Master," a fearful voice whispered. "Master - come quick!"

I struggled to wake. For a moment I wondered whether Lucifer himself had sent a demon for me; but as the fog of sleep cleared, I saw it was a novice, his face illuminated from below by light of a lantern. "Antoninus," I said, recognising the youth. "What is it?"

"Please, master!" The young monk tugged at the sleeve of my nightshirt. "Ad venite. You are needed in the chapel."

The stone flags of the floor froze my feet - the day's heat having long since fled - and I looked around my cell for my habit.

"Master! There is no time." Antoninus clutched desperately at me, then recoiled in fear of having offended me.

"At least allow an old man the luxury of his slippers," I grumbled. I found them by the side of my pallet and slipped them on, enjoying the relief they brought me. After offering up a prayer for the nameless cobbler who had fashioned my footwear, and being more suitably (or least less unsuitably) girded again the night, I followed the trembling novice.

"Would be so good as to explain yourself?" I asked as we crossed the yard. "I have indulged you this far, but my patience is in dire need of slumber." Especially when I have to deal with the shenanigans of your fellows during the day.

"It is the Abbé," Antoninus began, his teeth chattering either from cold or nervousness. "We were on vigil in the chapel when he came in. He was very agitated - uttering the most awful blasphemies. We tried to calm him, but - !"

"But?" I stopped outside the chapel door. "Compose yourself, boy."

Antoninus took a deep breath. "I think, perhaps, master, it would be better if you were to see for yourself." And, as he looked like he would not enlighten me any further, I had no choice except to enter the chapel.

The chapel was lit by a gross of candles, from the small votives to the great candles on the altar. A trio of novices were huddled, glancing nervously from the altar, to me and to themselves. A figure was kneeling In front of the communion rail. From the hunch of the back and the slope of the shoulders, I knew this was the Abbé."

One of the novices - Marcus - left his fellows and hurried to my side. "Master Patroclus. Forgive us. We did not know who else we could turn to."

"Please, Marcus, be calm. Your decision to involve only myself is understandable, particularly as this matter involves the Abbé. I shall lift the burden of responsibility from your shoulders and take it onto mine. Now - explain!"

Between the four of them, the novices told me how the Abbé had burst into the chapel just after the matin vigil had started; how he had shouted and raved at them before collapsing before the altar, sobbing in despair. I looked at the Abbé now. From his demeanour, he seemed to have calmed down.

"I will talk to him," I informed the novices. "It would be best if you give us some privacy. There may be some matters the Abbé might confess."

I approached the altar, pausing to make the appropriate obeisances, and knelt beside the Abbé. The Abbé looked towards me and smiled. "It will do you no good," he said, his voice hoarse and worn.

"I merely wished to offer a prayer," I replied.

"Precisely," the Abbé said.

I shifted slightly, so I was facing the Abbé. "Prayers are answered - provided it is the Will of God."

"There is no God."

I looked at the Abbé, trying to gauge his state of mind. His face was purple, his eyes shot with blood and staring. "You do not meant that," I said respectfully.

"But I do." The Abbé shook his head. "I have received a revelation. It has shown me that there is no God."

I looked up at the altar with its crucifix and, above it, a depiction of the celestial spheres and the beings within them. "But there is undeniable proof that God exists," I said and nodded towards the altar. "Every night, when the sun sets, we can see the Vault of Heaven and all that God has set in motion. You would deny that?"

The Abbé shivered and closed his eyes. "It is an illusion. It has been placed there to deceive us, not to enlighten us. The god we see above us is a false deity who has usurped the True God. I cannot say otherwise."

"How can you be so certain? God's plan is incomprehensible to us." I chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood between us, but my laughter only echoed hollowly under the chapel's roof. "Tell me, Durand."

"No. I cannot. Not in good conscience." The Abbé lowered his gaze, ashamed to meet mine. "I cannot visit you with the despair I feel. If I did, then my sins would only be compounded."

"God forgives." I placed a comforting hand on the Abbé's shoulder, but he ignored me. "Confess to me."

"Are you sure that your god forgives?" The Abbé looked up, his eyes bright with madness. "Your god has lied to us - borne false witness of the nature of the world. Why should your god forgive me? Why should any god forgive me? Patroclus, your only shield now lies in ignorance of the truth. I have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge and, like Adam before me, I am damned."

I could hear the hysteria in the Abbé's voice. "Please, Durand. Talk to me. We can restore your faith, but you must tell me what has happened to you."

"No. I am forever damned. Despair is a mortal sin, is it not Patroclus? I will never be forgiven. It is better that I am ended."

The Abbé's voice grew weak, and his head lolled forward like a drunkard's. I reached out to take his hands, to show him I cared, but they were covered in something slick. I looked down. The Abbé's hands were black with blood - his blood.

"Abbé!"

He fell forward, his body limp and sagging. I cursed my folly, my pride in sending the novices away. They could have brought help, but now I was left alone with the Abbé, unable to leave him in his last moments.

"Patroclus," the Abbé whispered. "God." And then his voice failed.

Of course I was questioned on my part in the Abbé's death, but the investigators agreed that I had done nothing wrong. The Abbé had obviously been disturbed - the testimony of the novices confirmed this - and he had chosen to end his life. No blame was laid on me. But, while my peers had exonerated me, I could not divest myself of the guilt I felt. I sought permission from the bishop to leave the order and to become an eremite. He believed that this would allow me to recover from the loss of my brother in Christ. I did not tell him otherwise. The bishop accepted this and sent me west.

"When you are ready, you may return. You will be welcome, Patroclus."

But I doubted that I would ever be ready to return - not until Judgement Day, the shattering of the celestial spheres and the revelation of the truth.