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In Crusade: The Heretic's Secret, Book I, by John Wilson, two friends are set at odds by the religious fanaticism of Medieval Europe. John, a teenager with a questioning mind, watches his friend Peter fall in with Arnaud Aumery, one of the architects of the Albigensian Crusade that swept through France in the early 13th century.

The book follows the characters in alternating chapters that function as a debate of sorts between free-thinking and doctrinaire philosophies. John and Peter are raised in the same Catholic orphanage where they are similarly indoctrinated, but each takes from it a different message. Where John pursues a life of learning, Peter is seduced by the earthly power of the Church. Their arguments begin innocently enough, each aggravated by the others' apparent intolerance. But these differences become enflamed, literally, when the minute differences between Cathar and Catholic inspire a Christian holocaust.

Crusade: The Heretic's Secret, Book I, by John Wilson, Key Porter, 348 pages, $17.95

It's heavy material. The history alone could weigh the book down. Yet, in Wilson's hands, the subject entertains as it horrifies. Wilson never lectures readers, but allows his characters to participate in history. All the major campaigns of the early Albigensian Crusade are presented with accuracy, but from a personal perspective. The walled cities and treacherous paths between them are vividly recreated without lapsing into lengthy descriptions. The grand history of the events is left for the reader to extrapolate.

Another admirable trait of Wilson's writing is his respect for the reader. Exotic weapons like trebuchets and mangonels are explained through their functions, with minimal description or exposition. The result is an active reading experience that instructs and entertains.

Crusade is the sort of book that should inspire many questions. It is unflinching in its criticism of the Medieval Catholic Church, laying out in gruesome detail the ruthless slaughter of the weak and defenceless undertaken in the name of religion. The church, its militant clergy and their hired assassins are portrayed as merciless zealots.

“ Wilson neither glorifies war nor softens the raw violence of the Inquisition ”

And while history supports the portrayal, it could – perhaps should – upset the reader. The Albigensian Crusades, among the first in which the Catholic Church targeted fellow Christians, exposes the entire enterprise of conversion spirituality for the brutal, myopic and self-serving practice it is. And Wilson is unforgiving with the facts.

The book could be an excellent tool for the discussion of religious bigotry and intolerance. On the one side, there is John, who identifies as neither Catholic nor Cathar, but wishes to understand each. While he, like everyone in Medieval Europe, professes Christian faith – there were no obvious alternatives at the time – John is determined to investigate faith with reason. Doubt for John is a tool with which to perfect his faith.

In one scene, before the slaughter has begun, John is sent to spy on the gathering Crusaders. Meeting his old friend Peter for the first time since leaving the orphanage, John reflects, “The more I learn, the less clear everything becomes. For every black there is a white and countless shades of grey between. There is so much I need to learn.”

Peter, on the other side of the growing schism, responds by quoting Anselm of Canterbury, saying, “I believe so that I may understand.” Anselm, remembered largely for his ontological argument for the existence of God – that a perfect God must exist – provides a justification for Peter's unquestioned belief. John watches helplessly as his friend becomes an active participant in a highly political and brutally oppressive Mother Church, a remorseless machine favouring murder over debate. Through the character of Peter we see how good people become desensitized to unimaginable violence, and later come to embrace violence as a solution to perceived problems.

There is tremendous brutality in this book. Wilson handles it well. He neither glorifies war nor softens the raw violence of the Inquisition. The book's dedication hints at an agenda. “For all those who suffer in the name of unproven beliefs,” it reads. Parents of young readers will want to remain open for the ensuing discussion, especially from Catholic children.

A passage that could raise questions comes when one of John's teachers, a Cathar elect named Beatrice, instructs, “The Catholic Church has spent untold energy over the past one thousand years building a single version of the truth. From the vast literature available, they have selected what fits with their story and with it, constructed their religion. They have suppressed the rest, burning books and people who have spoken against them …”

Crusade could serve both as a medieval history text and a method to open dialogue about the religious violence of our own day. It is a brave book, an unsettling book, and one that is very much needed at this time.

Writer and musician Mark D. Dunn teaches writing and communications at Sault College.