Judith Rock - The Rhetoric of Death

Le Picart remained expressionless. “Now,” he said, before Guise could speak, “let us clarify matters before we begin.”

His voice was flat and dust dry and he was using it, Charles realized with admiration, to soak emotion out of the air like earth soaking away rain.

“The points at issue,” Le Picart said, “are as follows. First, Pere Guise has just found these children in his study, where they had no right to be. Second, on their own admission, they were searching his belongings. Third, Pere Guise seems to feel that you, Maitre du Luc, are responsible for this intrusion. Fourth-and attend to me, all of you-” His glance caught and held on Guise “-this conversation will be conducted courteously, or not at all.” He eyed the children. “Let us start again, now that Maitre du Luc is here. Were you in Pere Guise’s rooms?”

“Yes, mon pere.” They nodded in unison.

“How did you get into the college, Marie-Ange?”

Charles, standing behind the children, saw Antoine kick her in the ankle. Marie-Ange kicked him harder in return and catapulted Charles back twenty years, to standing hand-in-hand with Pernelle in front of his mother, the two of them charged with some childish misdemeanor, and Pernelle’s sharp kick at his ankle bone when he’d tried to take all the blame.

“I went up the old stairs from the bakery, mon pere,” Marie-Ange said.

Guise drew in his breath with a hiss. “How dare you-”

Le Picart held up a hand. “Were the staircase doors unlocked, Marie-Ange?”

“It wasn’t her fault, mon pere,” Antoine burst out. “She was only helping me. I wanted to find Philippe’s note.” He pointed at his godfather. “He took it and it’s the last thing Philippe gave me and I want it back!”

“Silence!” Le Picart barely raised his voice, but Guise clamped his teeth together as quickly as Antoine did. “Marie-Ange, answer my question.”

“The doors were unlocked, mon pere.”

Le Picart looked fleetingly at Charles. “I see. Now, Antoine. You say that Philippe wrote you a note?”

Antoine recounted finding the note, putting it in his breeches pocket under his scholar’s gown, trying to meet his brother, and being prevented by the accident. Marie-Ange said that she’d seen Guise search Antoine’s pockets in the street and take something. Guise shut his eyes, slowly shaking his head.

“Did you search his pockets, Pere Guise?” the rector said mildly.

“I looked for a handkerchief to stop his bleeding. I had none myself.”

“And did you find a note as you searched?”

“I know nothing about a note, mon pere. I have told Antoine and told him. But he persists in this spiteful fantasy.”

Both children turned on Guise. “It is not-”

Le Picart slapped his desk. “If you want to be heard, you will obey the rules I have set. Pere Guise, what does Maitre du Luc have to do with this coil?”

“Though I grieve to say it, mon pere, he is corrupting my godson. He pays him far too much attention. After the funeral, I found him in the boy’s room. Just the two of them.” Guise let the words hang in the air until they were loud with what he hadn’t said. “He is alienating the child from me, filling his head with lies. He as good as told Antoine that I took this wretched note. How could I even have known such a thing was there?”

“Did you imply to Antoine that Pere Guise took this note, Maitre du Luc?”

Charles’s blue gaze was as wide and innocent as he could make it. “I told Antoine not to bother Pere Guise about the note, mon pere.” Charles shook his head. “I regret, Pere Guise,” he said silkily, “that I was unable to speak with the porter you pointed out, the one who witnessed the accident. Perhaps he could clarify this confusion. If we could only find him.” Ignoring Guise’s look of pure hatred, Charles turned to Le Picart. “Speaking of implying things, mon pere, I would like to know why Pere Guise has spread rumors, in the college and beyond, that I may be guilty of Philippe’s murder, when he knows I never met Philippe until the day he died. Does not murder usually have a history and an urgent reason behind it?”

“So I understand,” Le Picart said. “I, too, was puzzled by your remarks at our faculty gathering, Pere Guise.”

“I was overset with grief at Philippe’s terrible death,” Guise said indignantly. “I hardly knew what I said. But I am not the only one who wonders about du Luc. Before he had been here twenty-four hours, Philippe disappeared. And then this child was run down in the street! What do we truly know of him-besides his dangerous views, of which I have warned you? I will ask questions in the name of God’s truth, even if no one else in this college will! Du Luc-”

“He is Maitre du Luc, mon pere. And I and his former superiors know quite a lot about him and his views. As I do about you and yours,” the rector added, with a benign smile.

Guise went a shade whiter with anger. “Maitre du Luc was not ordered to pursue Philippe beyond our walls, we have nothing but his word that he did so. It is common knowledge that he is a heretic lover, and we all know that the evil of those who shield heretics knows no-”

“Common knowledge? You surprise me. Maitre du Luc, have you been disciplined for your theological views?”

“No, mon pere. Pere Guise did start a conversation about heretics on my first day here, and I remember saying that our God is a God of love. If he took that as heresy…” Charles spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

“I am sure that none of us would take that as heresy in itself,” the rector said smoothly. “And did you indeed talk with Antoine in his chamber the day of the funeral?”

“Yes, mon pere. I broke the rule about being in a student’s chamber. He was grieving and did not know where to find his tutor, and I was loathe to leave him alone.”

Guise wagged a finger under Charles’s nose. “It is not for you to decide what rules to follow!”

Careful not to look at Le Picart, Charles said, “I am very sorry, Pere Guise, if you were unable to hear us clearly while you were eavesdropping. I truly did urge Antoine not to bother you about this alleged note.”

“And that was well done,” the rector said, over Guise’s protest. “Now. To continue. Is anything missing from your rooms, mon pere?”

“I have not yet looked.” Guise turned his glare on Marie-Ange. “I am sure I shall find things missing. How this gutter child got a key to the staircase-”

“I am not a gutter child! And the doors were unlocked!” Flushed with outrage, her hands fisted on her hips, Marie-Ange looked so much like her mother that Charles had to put up a hand to hide his smile. “I don’t steal,” she spat at Guise. “But you do!”

“You see, mon pere?” Guise’s voice quivered with fury. “You see what she is? She runs in and out of the college, corrupting our boys, who knows all that she does. Maitre du Luc encourages her, her presence is his fault-”

“Oh, no, mon pere!” Charles said earnestly, stepping too close to Guise and forcing his attention away from Marie-Ange. “I can tell you definitively that her presence among us is not my fault-indeed, I trust it is Roger the baker’s fault!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw Le Picart’s thin shoulders shake with silent laughter. Which vanished as Guise whirled to face him.

“I demand that you discipline this man. He is as insolent as these children!”

“What I will do now is close this discussion,” Le Picart said evenly. “If anything is missing from your rooms, Pere Guise, report to me. We will consider the staircase doors at a future time.” He looked at Marie-Ange. “Whatever is true about this supposed note, child, it is not your business. Have nothing more to do with it.” A smile softened his face. “Antoine may visit with you when he comes to your shop, ma petite. I think you are a good friend to him. But you must not come into the college. As Pere Guise rightly says, it is not a place for girls.”