“We all do, I fear, but I did not know that there is a great difference between longing to do the deed, even planning it, and actually striking the blow.”
With growing interest, Thomas encouraged him to go on.
“I came here under the guise of being a pilgrim, walking to Canterbury in expiation of my many sins.” Philippe rubbed at his eyes. “Surely it is blasphemy to go on pilgrimage with the intention of committing murder. I did not think of that when I began my journey, but heated and willful obsessions blind us.”
“You would not be the first to commit that sin,” the monk replied as the events in Walsingham last year flooded his memory.
“After I had obtained a bed in the hospital, I decided to search the apothecary hut for a poison I could use to kill the priest.” He shrugged. “My hope was to slip something lethal into Father Etienne’s food.” His laugh was a brittle thing. “I must thank you for catching me there, Brother. I think you brought God with you, for my eyes were opened slightly and I saw how foolish I had been to plan such a deed. I realized I could never come close enough to the priory kitchen, or to the lay brother who brought the meals, unless I wished to injure an innocent. My heart held no passion for that crime.”
“Yet you struck the priest’s clerk.”
“With a very light blow. The youth lived. I saw him leave the hospital with his master after a brief stay. I now believe that God stayed my hand and allowed that clerk to take the blow in order to save his master’s life.”
And later try to kill the priest himself, Thomas thought sadly, but this information was also irrelevant to the man from Picardy. “We shall return to that,” the monk said. “Go back in time with your tale. Did you know that Jean, the clerk, had died?”
“I did and that perplexed me. My fear was that someone else had arrived with a deep grievance and accidentally poisoned the clerk instead of the priest. Yet I knew of no one with a cause as terrible as mine, and so I assumed the clerk had been felled by a swift fever with no earthly cure.” He hesitated. “Then I heard a rumor that his death was not from a fever but a deadly herb.” He began to shake. “I swear I had nothing to do with the lad’s death, Brother. On the cross I give my word.”
“Nor do I accuse you. The killer has confessed.”
Philippe looked hopeful that the monk would elaborate.
The monk shook his head. “You have not told me the reason for following Father Etienne here with this murderous intent. After you have explained that, I want to hear how you pursued your desire, after you rejected poison as the means, and yet failed to accomplish it.”
Philippe again looked into the fog at the ghostly figures of the gathering pilgrims. “My brother was once a clerk to Father Etienne, his most favored clerk in fact. But my brother fell from grace when it was discovered that he had a weakness for female flesh. Although he fought against it, he needed help to gain the strength to resist, a gift he dared not beg from his master. Father Etienne may be flawed like all mortals, but women have never tempted him, and he has no tolerance for men who copulate. My brother would have been banished in disgrace just for the sin of craving the act. Instead, he was caught in a brothel, dragged before his master, and mocked for his frailty.”
“And sent away from the grace of his master’s smile.”
“To a poor parish, filled with whores, to whom he administered the compassion he had never received. Some might say the appointment was a blessing, for he lost all lust and was able to counsel the women in chaste encounters. But he ate little and drank only water until he grew too weak and fell victim to a plague that killed him slowly and in great agony.”
Thomas suffered enough from weakness of the flesh, although mostly in his dreams. He shook his head, not in condemnation of the dead man, but out of profound sympathy.
“I blamed Father Etienne for his lack of charity. I saw him as my brother’s murderer.”
“And for that you chose to follow him here.”
“And kill him, Brother, without the chance for confession, with all his sins festering in his soul. I wanted him to go to Hell.”
The Church could not condone that, Thomas thought, for all mortals had the right to cleanse their souls before death. And yet he heard an insistent voice from his heart suggest that this favored priest might never recognize his harshness as a sin and never confess the wickedness. With such an inadequate confession, the man would certainly suffer longer in Purgatory. The image did not trouble him unduly, nor was this the first time he had felt this way about those he thought cruel.
Shaking the image from his mind, he continued. “After you learned of Jean’s death, you were seen spying on the guest quarters.”
“Something was not right, and I became curious. One of the lay brothers said the sub-infirmarian had been arrested for killing the lad, and yet there was talk of setting a guard for the priest. If she had been locked away or the lad had only died of a fever, I asked myself, why have a guard? Then I worried that the priest had learned of my arrival. He knew I had sworn to kill him after the death of my brother. Had he seen and recognized me?”
“He had not,” Thomas said.
“I concluded I must swiftly act if I was to achieve my desire and even escape before the deed was discovered. That night, I found the gate to the guest quarters unlocked so eagerly slipped in. When I saw that only Renaud patrolled, I knew I had my best chance. As quietly as possible, I followed the clerk and waited for the right moment. When he stopped to peer into the shrubbery, I struck him down.”
“You might have accomplished your intent, had you entered the chambers after hitting Renaud. The priest would surely have been asleep and most assuredly alone.” The monk did not mention that Conan had been close by and might have caught him in the act. It was this man’s failure to proceed that interested Thomas. “What stopped you from entering the guest quarters and killing the priest?”
“God took mercy on my soul and his. As I looked on the fallen clerk, I knew I had only rendered him unconscious. If I did not kill him, he might awaken and raise the hue and cry. May God forgive my evil heart! I raised my hand for the fatal blow, but my hand inexplicably faltered and slipped to my side. I knew I would be unable to crack open his skull and sent him for judgement. Like Saint Paul on the road to Damascus, I fell to the ground as if the hand of God had struck me. It was then I heard a voice telling me that murder is an act beloved by Satan, one forbidden by the Commandments and abhorred by Him. I rose and fled the grounds.”
And in that moment Thomas believed God had spoken to the man whose eyes were glazed with the wonder he had experienced. The monk waited to hear what more this would-be assassin might say.
Philippe covered his eyes as if he could no longer bear what they now saw. “My brother feeds worms in his grave, whether or not I kill the priest. Were I to plunge a dagger into Father Etienne’s heart as reprisal, I would still never hold my brother in my arms again. I would only add the horror of my crime to the pain of loss. How could I live with the understanding that I had willingly committed a great wickedness and was no better than the man I hated? Revenge is not the balm for grief. At least my brother was shriven of his sins before he died. God has said that such men will not suffer the agonies of Hell.”
“And the suffering he endured on earth may also cut short his time in Purgatory.”
“I confess that I still can not forgive Father Etienne for what he did to my brother. May God give me the strength to do so! But He did stop me from committing an act that would never heal my heart and would only add to the chains which may yet drag me down to Hell.”
“Father Etienne must face God’s judgement for the sins he has committed against your brother and others.”