A knight arrived in Arodes and saw the Church of St Kalandion and an ancient sarcophagus that the villagers called the Tomb of Holy Love. “Now I understand this village,” he said. “Love greets a person at the entrance to the church.” An old man sitting beneath a grapevine smiled. “You have looked only where everyone else looks. Go behind the church.” Old pine trees grew behind the church, and children played among them. There stood a second sarcophagus, cracked and almost erased by time. “Can this really be the Tomb of Holy Hate? Can hate truly be holy?” “No,” replied the old man. “St Barlaam rests here. But people have always brought more than hope to the saints. They asked one saint for love and sought deliverance from another person’s love through the other. Even today, young women come here to collect sand from the ancient stones, hoping either to enchant someone or to break the bonds of love. That is how these names were born. They preserve the memory of people and their superstitions, not of the saints themselves.” “Why, then, was this stone left here?” “Because we cannot pretend that hate does not exist. But we can refuse to let it prevail.” The one who first searches behind the church will always know where to seek the entrance to the Temple.