Leap forward a century from the days of Ellis Peters' Brother Cadfael.... She stretched out her hand, struggling to grasp him, reaching for the crude wooden cross he wore on a thin leather strap around his neck. But something seemed to hold her back; some black force scrabbled to keep her soul from deliverance. The priest had not heard her cry. He did not see her fighting to reach him. She must tell him. She must! After all her years devoted to God, Satan should not win her soul over such a misunderstanding, a judgement she'd made with imperfect knowledge and mortal blindness. An innocent person would be hurt, even die, if she did not. She could not have that fouling her conscience. She fought harder to reach her confessor, twisting, crying, moaning for help. Suddenly a hand materialized from the tapestry. It grasped the old prioress firmly and pulled her back to the ground. It was a woman's hand, and the touch was warm. The old prioress looked up and saw St. Mary Magdalene smiling. ''Tell me, my child,'' the saintly voice said. ''I will tell Our Lord.'' She gestured to the glowing man at whose feet she sat. ''And He will forgive all as He always has.'' The old prioress wanted to weep for joy. ''Please tell him that I accused wrongly. It was not the one we feared, but rather the other!'' she gasped. And with that, the world turned black.