Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

Jaspar slapped his forehead. “You must excuse me for forgetting to introduce myself. I am dean of St. Mary Magdalene’s. A good friend of Gerhard Morart. They say you saw the tragic accident from quite close to—”

The suspicion vanished from the monks’ faces. They had answered this kind of question often enough. Justinius came closer and spread his arms wide. “Like a bird he was in the sight of the Lord,” he declaimed. “As his body approached the earth, from which it came and to which it will return, his spirit rose in glory to be united with the All Highest. As Saint Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, Seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God .”

Jaspar nodded and smiled. “Beautifully put,” he said. “Though is it not in Colossians where we find those comforting words, while in Philippians it says, For our conversation is in heaven ?”

The smile froze on the fat monk’s lips. “Yes, that is possible. For the ways of the Lord are unfathomable and Holy Writ more often than not perverted by irresponsible translators, to the confusion of honest seekers after truth.”

Andreas hastened to back him up. “It doesn’t affect the sense of the words.”

“No indeed, and it is a comfort to me,” said Jaspar, going over to a window from which the monastery’s magnificent orchard could be seen, “to know that you were with Gerhard when he died. Reports say you even heard his confession?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“And gave him extreme unction?”

Andreas gave him a funny look. “How could we have given him extreme unction since we didn’t have the oil with us? Had we known—”

“Which we didn’t,” Justinius interjected.

“Now I find that surprising,” said Jaspar softly.

“You do?”

“Yes, since you both knew very well that Gerhard Morart was to die at that time on that evening, as the murderer had told you.”

It was as if the two had looked back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

“What is more,” Jaspar went on, unmoved, “you also knew beforehand what you were to say afterward. Is that not so?”

“You are—you—” gasped Justinius.

“You must be mistaken, Brother,” Andreas quickly broke in. “I am sure you have good reason to make these accusations, these, yes, vile accusations, but you’ve got the wrong persons. We are but two humble servants in the vineyard of the Lord. And you are not an inquisitor.”

“Yes, yes, I know. And you are committed to the ideal of Saint Benedict.”

“Absolutely!”

“Absolutely,” repeated Justinius, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Jaspar smiled and started to walk up and down. “We all subscribe to Benedict’s interpretation of the poverty of Christ and His disciples,” he said, “and we are quite right to do so. But it sometimes seems to me that the hunger that accompanies it—and I mean the hunger for everything: life, whores, roast pork—causes certain rumblings in our pious bellies. I’m sure you know what I mean. Being a mendicant entails accepting alms—”

“But not for one’s personal possession,” insisted Justinius.

“Of course not. You have taken on the ideal of poverty and devoted your whole lives to the praise of the Lord and the well-being of Christendom. Nevertheless, could it not be that someone came and offered special alms for, let us say, a special service?”

“‘Special services’ can cover a multitude of sins,” said Justinius, cautiously if not inappropriately.

“It can?” Jaspar brought his perambulation to an end right in front of the two monks. “Then let me be more specific. I’m talking of the ‘alms’ you were paid to present Gerhard’s murder as an accident.”

“Outrageous!” roared Andreas.

“Blasphemy!” screeched Justinius.

“I have not blasphemed God,” said Jaspar calmly.

“You blaspheme Him by blaspheming His servants.”

“Is not the opposite rather the case? Is it not His servants who blaspheme Him by telling lies?”

Justinius opened his mouth, pumped his lungs full of air and swallowed. “I see no point in continuing this discussion,” he said between clenched teeth. “Never before have I been so offended, so insulted, so…so humiliated!”

He turned on his heel and left in high dudgeon. Andreas flashed Jaspar a quick glance and made to follow.

“One hundred gold marks,” Jaspar said, more to himself.

Andreas was rooted to the spot. Jaspar turned to face him, his index finger on the tip of his nose. “Was it that much?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Andreas sullenly, but with an undertone of uncertainty.

“I’m talking about money, reverend Brother. Since you are obviously unwilling to help me formulate my offer, I can only guess.”

“What offer?”

“Twice what Gerhard’s murderer paid you.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” insisted Andreas, but stayed where he was.

“We both know whom I’m talking about, the tall man with long hair. Tell me, have the pair of you thought how you are going to justify your paid lie on Judgment Day? The Devil and his minions are looking over our shoulders, Brother, every day. Counting every syllable missed out during the anthems, every minute slept during the sermon. Now just imagine: not only do I absolve you of your grievous sin, as my office permits me, within certain limits, but you come out of the affair both purified and enriched.”

Andreas was staring. His fingers clenched. “God will reward me,” he said, not very convincingly.

“I know, Brother,” said Jaspar soothingly, patting Andreas on the cheek. “But God will be unhappy, to say the least, with the fact that you have shielded a murderer and accepted bloodstained money. Money can be washed clean, of course, but can you wash your soul clean? Is not our first reward that purgatory of which Saint Paul says it is a fire that shall try every man’s work, of what sort it is? Does not Boniface tell us of the terrible pits of scorching fire we must pass through on our way to the heavenly kingdom to decide who will arrive purified on the other side and who will descend into the sunless abyss? Do you want to burn eternally for your sins, Andreas, when I am offering you the chance of atonement and a reward into the bargain?”

Andreas looked to the side as he considered this. “How much will my remorse be worth?” he asked.

“How much were you given?”

“Ten gold marks.”

“Only ten?” Jaspar said in amazement. “You sold your souls too cheaply. What do you say to twenty?”

Now Andreas looked at him. “Each?”

“Hmm. All right, it’s a promise. But for that I want the truth.”

“The money first.”

“Not so fast.” Jaspar jerked his thumb in the direction Justinius had gone. “What about your friend?”

“Justinius? For twenty gold marks he’d admit to the murder of the eleven thousand virgins.”

Jaspar smiled. “Better and better. And just so there’s no misunderstanding: I want the truth. Then a statement to the city council so that no more innocent people are killed. Your stupid lie has had unfortunate consequences. I give you my word that I will purify your soul and”—he gave Andreas a wink—“your purse.”

Andreas looked around nervously. Monks and pilgrims kept passing, though none came too close. But the curiosity on the faces of the monks, especially the younger brethren, was unmistakable. They were always curious, about everyone and everything.

“Not here and not now,” he decided.

“Where then?”

“After mass Justinius and I were going to the bathhouse opposite Little St. Martin’s for, er, for a good wash.”