That summer the gambling houses were closed, despite the threats of Pierre Ameaux, a gaming-card manufacturer.
Dancing was no longer permitted in the streets.
The Bordel and other places of prostitution were emptied.
The slit breeches had to go.
Drunkenness was no longer tolerated.
In defiance, a chinless reprobate, Jake Camaret, marched down the aisle in St. Peter's one Sunday morning, followed by one of the women from the Bordel, whose dress and walk plainly showed the lack of any shame.
Plunking themselves down on the front bench, they turned to smirk at those around them.

John's first impulse was to denounce their blasphemy.
But the thought occurred that God would want this opportunity used to tell them about Him.
Calmly he opened the Bible and read of the woman at the well.
He finished the worship service as if there had been no brazen attempt to dishonor God and man.

The next morning, as the clock struck nine, he appeared at the Council meeting in the Town Hall and insisted that the couple would have to be punished if the Church was to be respected.

"I have told you before, and I tell you again", Monsieur Favre said rudely.
"Stick to the preaching of the Gospel"!

John stiffened in anger.
"That is the answer the ungodly will always make when the Church points its fingers at their sins.
I say to you that the Church will ever decry evil"!

John's reply was like a declaration of war.
Monsieur Favre sat down in his high-backed stall, lips compressed, eyes glinting.
Ablard Corne, a short man with a rotunda of stomach, rose.
Every eye was on him as he began to speak.

"What Master Calvin says is true.
How can we have a good city unless we respect morality"?

Abel Poupin, a tall man with sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes, got to his feet.
"We all know that Jake Camaret and the woman are brazenly living together.
It would be well to show the populace how we deal with adulterers".

Philibert Berthelier, the son of the famous patriot, disagreed.
"Do not listen to that Frenchman.
He is throttling the liberty my father gave his life to win"!

John was quietly insistent.
"There can be no compromise when souls are in jeopardy".

A week later the sentence of the Council was carried out: Jake Camaret and the woman were marched naked through the streets past a mocking populace.
Before them stalked the beadle, proclaiming as he went, "Thus the Council deals with those who break its laws -- adulterers, thieves, murderers, and lewd persons.
Let evildoers contemplate their ways, and let every man beware"!

John's thoughts raced painfully into the past as he read the letter he had just received from his sister Mary.
Charles had died two weeks before, in early November, without being reconciled to the Church.
The canons, in a body, had tried to force him on his deathbed to let them give him the last rites of the Church, but he had died still proclaiming salvation by faith.
Burial had taken place at night in the ground at the public crossroads under the gibbet, so that his enemies could not find his body and have it dug up and burned.
The Abbot of St. Eloi, Claude De Mommor, had been a good friend, but not even he thought Charles deserved burial in hallowed ground.

John closed his eyes and saw once again the little niche in his mother's bedroom, where she had knelt to tell the good Virgin of her needs.
The blue-draped Virgin was still there, but no one knelt before her now.
Not even Varnessa;
she, too, prayed only to God.
For an instant John longed for the sound of the bells of Noyon-la-Sainte, the touch of his mother's hand, the lilt of Charles's voice in the square raftered rooms, his father's bass tones rumbling to the canons, and the sight of the beloved bishop.
But he had to follow the light.
Unless God expected a man to believe the Holy Scriptures, why had He given them to him?

The white-clad trees stood like specters in the February night.
Snow buried the streets and covered the slanting rooftops, as John trudged toward St. Peter's.
A carriage crunched by, its dim lights filtering through the gloom.
The sharp wind slapped at him and his feet felt like ice as the snow penetrated the holes of his shoes, his only ones, now patched with folded parchment.
The city had recently given him a small salary, but it was not enough to supply even necessities.

As he neared the square, a round figure muffled in a long, black cape whisked by.
John recognized Ablard Corne and called out a greeting.
How grateful he was to such men!
There were several on the Council who tried to live like Christians.
Despite their efforts, the problems seemed to grow graver all the time.
Quickening his steps, John entered the vast church and climbed the tower steps to the bells.
Underneath the big one, in the silent moonlight, lay a dead pigeon, and on the smaller bell, the Clemence, two gray and white birds slept huddled together in the cold winter air.

John leaned upon the stone balustrade.
He brushed back his black hair, shoving it under his pastor's cap to keep it from blowing in his eyes.
Below the moon-splashed world rolled away to insurmountable white peaks;
above him the deep blue sky glittered with stars.
He stood very still, his arms at his sides, staring up at the heavens, then down at the blinking lights below.

"How long, my Lord?
How long?
I have never asked for an easy task, but I am weary of the strife".

Sleep was difficult these days.
Indigestion plagued him.
Severe headaches were frequent.
Loneliness tore through him like a physical pain whenever he thought of Peter Robert, Nerien, Nicholas Cop, Martin Bucer, and even the compromising Louis Du Tillet.
An occasional traveler from Italy brought news of Peter Robert, who was now distributing his Bible among the Waldensian peasants.
Letters came regularly from Nerien, Nicholas, and Martin.
He had Anthony and William to confide in and consult.
But William continued to find a bitter joy in smashing images and tearing down symbols sacred to the Old Church.
John found it difficult, but he held him in check.
And Anthony was busy most of the time courting this girl and that.
His easy good looks made him a favorite with the ladies.

Geneva, instead of becoming the City of God, as John had dreamed, had in the two years since he had been there, continued to be a godless place where all manner of vice flourished.
Refugees poured in, signing the Confession and rules in order to remain, and then disregarding them.
Dice rolled, prostitutes plied their trade, thieves stole, murderers stabbed, and the ungodly blasphemed.
Catholics who were truly Christians longed for the simple penance of days gone by.
Libertines recalled the heroism of the past and demanded: "Are we going to allow the Protestant Pope, Master Calvin, to curtail our liberty?
Why, oh why, doesn't he stick to preaching the Gospel, instead of meddling in civic affairs, politics, economics, and social issues that are no concern of the Church"?
And John's reply was always the same: "Anything that affects souls is the concern of the Church!
We will have righteousness"!

Tears burned behind his eyes as he prayed and meditated tonight.
Unless the confusion cleared, he would not be coming here much longer.
Monsieur Favre's threat would become a reality, for he continued to proclaim loudly that the city must rid itself of "that Frenchman".

The slow tapping of a cane on the stone steps coming up to the tower interrupted his reverie.
Faint at first, the tapping grew until it sounded loud against the wind.
Eli Corault!
John thought.
What is he doing here at this hour?
He started down the steps to meet the near-blind preacher, who had been one of the early Gospelers in Paris.

"John?
Is that you?
I came to warn you of a plot"!

John stood above him, his face ashen.
What now?
Slowly, like a man grown old, he took Eli's hand and led him below to the tower study, guiding him to a chair beside the little hearth where a fire still burned.

"Plot"?
John asked tiredly.

"Monsieur Favre just paid me a visit.
I went to your rooms, and Anthony told me you were here.
Two Anabaptists, Caroli and Benoit, are to challenge you and William to a debate before the Council.
It is to be a trap.
You know the law: if you lose the debate after accepting a challenge, you will be banished"!

"What will be the subject"?

"You are to be accused of Arianism to confuse the religious who remain loyal".

Anger and fear fused in John.
Ever since the fourth century a controversy had raged over the person of Christ.
Those who refused to believe that He was the eternal Son of God were termed Arianists.
Peter Caroli had come to Geneva, saying that he had been a bishop of the Church of Rome and had been persecuted in Paris for his Reformed faith.
He asked to be appointed a preacher.
But Michael Sept had unmasked him, revealing he had never been a bishop, but was an Anabaptist, afraid to state his faith, because he knew John Calvin had written a book against their belief that the soul slept after death.
So John had refused to agree to his appointment as a preacher, and now Caroli sought revenge.

John sighed.
"If William agrees, we should insist on a public debate", he said at length.

"There is more to the conspiracy.
Bern demands that the Lord's Supper be administered here as it used to be, with unleavened bread.
Furthermore, Bern decrees that we must do as we are ordered by the Council, preach only the word of God and stop meddling in politics"!

"It was always the spirit with Christ;
matters such as leavened or unleavened bread are inconsequential.
Geneva must remain a sovereign state.
We will not yield to the demands of Bern"!

The firelight played over Eli's flowing white locks and rugged features.
"Monsieur Favre indicated that if I would co-operate, after you and William are banished, following the debate, I will be given a place of influence".

"What was your reply to that"?

"That I would rather be banished with two such Christians than be made the Chief Syndic"!

The following morning, as John entered the Place Molard on his way to visit a sick refugee, he had a premonition of danger.
Then suddenly a group of men and dogs circled him.
He wanted to run, but he knew that if he did, he would be lost.
He stood very still, his heart thumping wildly.
On the outskirts of the rabble the Camaret brothers and Gaspard Favre shook their fists.

"Are you going to comply with the demands of Bern"?
The chinless Jake called.

"Arianist"!
A rowdy with a big blob of a nose roared.
"Heretic"!

John lifted his hand for silence.
"Know this: the ministers will not yield to the demands of Bern".
His voice shook a little.

Somebody heaved a stone.
For an instant John was stunned.

When he felt the side of his head, his fingers came away covered with blood.
Before he could duck, another stone struck him.
And another.

"Let him be now"!
Pierre Ameaux, the gaming-card manufacturer said, his little pig eyes glaring.
"We have taught him a lesson".

The crowd moved back and John started dizzily down the hill.
Fists pummeled him as he staggered forward.
Then he slipped and went down on his hands and knees in the melting snow.
At once a bevy of dogs was snapping and snarling around him.
One, more horrible than the rest, lunged, growling deep in his throat, his hair bristling.
With great difficulty John clambered to his feet and started to run, sweat pouring down his face.