"The next morning, Father Robert arose with fewer creaks and groans than usual, and Friar Rudel elected to join this band of travelers, as it had been a long time since he had seen so many wonders at all -- much less in one night. The going was slow, however, as Friar Rudel's mule -- whom he called Bluebell -- was still quite weak. But every time they stopped to rest, Father Robert would find herbs in the surrounding wilds and offer her one or two choice delicacies. Bluebell's strength slowly returned.
"So it was that eighteen days passed. And in those eighteen days, Friar Rudel was shocked to observe a very distinct change come over Father Robert. It began with his relative vigor on that first morning after the abomination on the spit. The next morning, he was more energetic. Two days later, Friar Rudel was heard to remark, 'Father Robert, you are downright bouncy. Are you feeling alright?'
"Father Robert smiled and remarked that he never felt better, or that perhaps he had, but that it had been so long that he had perhaps forgotten.
"It was on the seventh day that Friar Rudel gave a gasp at the morning fire, pointing at Father Robert's head. Thinking perhaps a great spider was lurking in his silver hair, Father Robert swatted his head a few times, looking askance at Friar Rudel to see if the offending crawly was still present. Friar Rudel could only shake his head, eyes wide and face pale, pointing; noting Friar Rudel's silent distress, Hannibal the Talkative (as he had been dubbed by the Friar) stepped over to have a look. He dropped a log of firewood on his foot in shock, shouting some choice words before following his cry with,
"'Good Lord, Father Robert, your hair is dark!'
"Father Robert, for his part, did not believe either man. He felt it must be some effect of the water or the food, but upon laborious discussion it was agreed that they had all eaten the same food and drunk the same water. Even Friar Rudel's splendid wine -- a delicacy they allowed themselves to ease the burden of travel -- had been shared by both men. Only when every point had been discussed would Father Robert look in the same small mirror he had used to spy upon the Merry Guardian at the crossroads so many days ago.
"What he saw astounded him. His hair was no longer silver-white, but dark with silver at the temples and a few silver hairs scattered about what was otherwise the hair of a man in his early forties. But that wasn't all. The lines around his eyes, nose and mouth had faded. Age spots were gone. His vision was better. He was peeing normally. Truth be told, he had awakened that morning in a state every male knows so well, a state he had not experienced for years.
"Not, at least, until the female apparition in the fire.
"Father Robert kept this last observation to himself, but was open in his wonder at every change he felt. Even as the day progressed, he felt himself stronger, firmer. His muscle tone had increased, his fat had decreased. His eyesight was near perfect. His back was straight. His breath came full and clear.
"By the next morning, he appeared to have lost another five years. And though he was delighted in his sudden youthfulness, he was also wary: surely this was a double-edged sword, and surely there would be a price to pay. He also felt bad for Friar Rudel, for, as his friendship with the Friar grew with each day, so Father Robert wished that the old Friar could know the same return to youth. He said as much that evening.
"'Oh, you needn't worry about me,' was Friar Rudel's response. 'When I was young, I was fat and uncomfortable. Now, I am old and fat and very comfortable, with a superior palate. I like it this way. Besides, I suspect that with your return to youth you may engage in some great youthful folly or other, and I know that only my great years and wisdom will save you from foolishness.' Friar Rudel left it at that.
"Each day, Father Robert was younger and stronger and better-looking. This last was made clear to him when, obliging some passing travelers with confession and the like, Father Robert found himself in a shady copse of trees presented with the firm, ripe breasts of an eager lass of about sixteen whose certainty of their impending physical union was almost impossible to escape.
"Almost.
"After narrowly avoiding breaking countless vows, Father Robert added a new one: he vowed to turn away or look down if they happened to see any further travelers.
"Curiously, they did not.
"And on the eighteenth day, with Father Robert a strapping lad of about nineteen years, they came at last to another crossroads. Both roads were lined with grey and white river rocks, the road they were on moving North and East or South and West, the road that crossed theirs heading either North and West or South and East.
"They made camp in a stand of Ash, and Father Robert performed his nightly ritual with the trees and incense, now joined by Friar Rudel, who had observed and become fascinated by this prayer to the trees since their second night traveling together. As they sat down to a meal of rabbit snared by Hannibal and potatoes grown by Father Robert back when he was old, Father Robert looked around him, and paused. Noting his stillness, Friar Rudel halted his fork halfway to his mouth.
"'Don't tell me these rabbits are rotting buttocks, and my wine the pus of a rutting buzzard,' he whispered.
"But Father Robert was looking back the way he thought they had come, then the way he thought they were going, then at the opposite road. The more he looked, the more certain he became. Testing himself, he took a bite of rabbit.
"So did Friar Rudel, who chewed his rabbit exactly the same number of times as Father Robert, and only sipped his wine when Father Robert did. When Father Robert looked up again, it was at the roads, not Friar Rudel. Father Robert frowned. Friar Rudel could bear it no longer.
"'What?! What is it?! I hunger for this tasty morsel to be in my mouth and fat belly, but you stare at the roads as if you expect Asiatic acrobats with the heads of boars to leap from the trees and serenade us!'
"'I am sorry, my friend,' said Father Robert. 'But it appears as though each of these roads, from the number of rocks to the precise patterns in the bark of the trees, is exactly the same.'
"'My prick looks the same each morning, I still piss through it, God be praised,' said Friar Rudel, and went back to his meal.
"But Father Robert was too engrossed in his concerns about the road, so Friar Rudel leapt -- as best he could leap, anyway -- to his feet and bounded -- if it could be called a bound, you understand -- to each rock and tree and root and tuft of grass and pebble and leaf and leaf and pebble and tuft and root and tree and rock and ... 'Good Lord, Robert, I think you're right!'
"Then there came the sound of mocking laughter from the night beyond their fire, and a figure stepped into the light -- though not into the circle of trees.
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