CHAPTER II THE GREY FRIAR They made their way towards the road, not directly, but by a course with which Fra Sulpizio--as the friar announced himself named--seemed singularly well acquainted. It led transversely across the forest. And as they went, Fra Sulpizio plied Bellarion with questions. 'There was a letter, you said, that was stolen with your gold?' 'Aye,' Bellarion's tone was bitter. 'A letter worth many times five ducats.' 'Worth many times ...? A letter?' The incredulity on the friar's face was ludicrous. 'Why, what manner of letter was that?' Bellarion, who knew the contents by heart, recited them word for word. Fra Sulpizio scratched his head in perplexity. 'I have Latin enough for my office; but not for this,' he confessed, and finding Bellarion's searching glance upon him, he softened his voice to add, truly enough: 'We little brothers of Saint Francis are not famed for learning. Learning disturbs humility.' Bellarion sighed. 'So I know to my cost,' said he, and thereafter translated the lost letter: 'This is our dearly beloved son Bellarion, a nutritus of this house, who goes hence to Pavia to increase his knowledge of the humanities. We commend him first to God and then to the houses of our own and other brethren orders for shelter and assistance on his journey, involving upon all who may befriend him the blessing of Our Lord.' The friar nodded his understanding. 'It might have been a grievous loss, indeed. But as it is, I will do the office of your letter whilst I am with you, and when we part I will see you armed with the like from the Prior of the Augustinians on the Sesia. He will do this at my word.' The young man thanked him with a fervour dictated by shame of certain unworthy suspicions which had recurred. Thereafter they trudged on a while in silence, broken by the friar at last. 'And is your name Belisario, then? An odd name, that!' 'Not Belisario. Bellario, or rather, Bellarione.' 'Bellarione? Why, it is even less Christian than the other. Where got you such a name?' 'Not at the font, you may be sure. There I was christened Ilario, after the good Saint Hilary, who is still my patron saint.' 'Then why ...?' 'There's a story to it; my story,' Bellarion answered him, and upon slight encouragement proceeded to relate it. He was born, he told the friar, as nearly as he could guess, some six years after the outbreak of the Great Schism, that is to say, somewhere about the year 1384, in a village of whose name, like that of his own family, he had no knowledge.