Judith Rock - The Rhetoric of Death

Guise came out of the rector’s office with a face like marble and disappeared toward the back of the house. Antoine followed him with angry eyes.

“At least he didn’t kiss old Louvois,” the boy muttered.

“What?!”

“M. Louvois was there, too. The fat pig.”

“The M. Louvois who is the minister of war?”

Antoine nodded. “After Lisette went away, Pere Guise walked on down the path, and I was climbing down, but I saw Philippe coming and I threw some gravel I had in my pocket at him, and he climbed up to get me back. But then Pere Guise came back with Monsieur Louvois. So we stayed in the tree because we didn’t want to talk to them. They stopped on the path beside the tree and argued for a while. Later I asked them about something they said and they said I was lying. And they were angry that I’d listened in the tree and my father sent me to bed before the cakes, like I told you after Philippe’s funeral. But I wasn’t lying! I didn’t mean to listen, but I couldn’t not hear them, could I? All I wanted was to know about dragons because they’d said that even if there aren’t any here, there might still be some in England!”

Charles stared blankly, trying to make sense out of that. Then his lips tightened as he realized that Antoine had probably heard Louvois talking about soldiers, his cursed dragoons. Charles smiled at Antoine. “Yes, I suppose there might be some dragons still in England.” When he was Antoine’s age, he, too, had explained France’s sad lack of dragons by deciding that they’d taken refuge in England, a heretical country where St. Michael and St. Mary Magdalene might not be able to fight them effectively. Suddenly another thought struck him.

“Did you tell Philippe about this kiss you saw?”

“Yes, on the way back into the house. He got angry and said he didn’t care who kissed her. She’d been trying to get Philippe to kiss her all day, but he wouldn’t.” The boy sighed. “He was angry a lot of the time.”

“What about?”

“Oh, about her. And other things. He was angry about the treasure, but that was after the fete.”

Charles twisted on the bench to see Antoine’s face, wondering if they were back in the land of dragons. “Treasure?”

“Will you keep it secret if I tell you?”

“If keeping it secret won’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh, it won’t.” Antoine wriggled closer. “Marie-Ange and I found it,” he whispered. “In the stable hayloft. A real treasure, a knight’s treasure! Marie-Ange cried, it was so sad-jewels and a scarf and a little portrait and some golden ribbons, all from the knight’s dead lady! And we weren’t trying to steal it! I was climbing out onto a rafter and the box was wedged between the rafter and the wall and it fell out. The latch part with the lock was so rusted it broke open. We were looking at the things when Philippe came looking for me and climbed up, and Frere Moulin came with him. When they saw the box, they were so angry that Marie-Ange was scared, but I wasn’t. I’m so tired of everyone being angry at me!”

“Another good reason to stay out of the stable,” Charles said, wondering if the sad little box of memories was poor Frere Moulin’s. If so, it was prohibited for a lay brother to have, but illicit or not, Charles was certainly not going to interfere in another man’s struggles with what he’d had to leave behind.

Heavy footsteps sounded and Guise re-entered the salon, followed by Maitre Doissin. With a hangdog look at Charles, Doissin went into the rector’s office. Guise swept past Charles and Antoine as though they were furniture and climbed the stairs.

Antoine leaned his head against Charles and yawned. “Will you come and see me tomorrow?”

“I’ll at least look in at your refectory door.”

“That’s all?” Antoine sighed and kicked half heartedly at the bench.

By the time a very chastened Doissin came out of the office with Le Picart, the boy was nearly asleep. Charles shook him gently and he scrambled up from the bench. Charles hauled himself to his feet, wishing that this was the end of the day’s events. But his own session with Le Picart was still to come. Doissin smiled apologetically and shrugged at Charles, who stared back accusingly.

“Antoine,” the rector said, “Maitre Doissin will take you to your chamber now. Where I expect you to apologize to him for lying and saying you were sick. Before you go to your bed, you will complete the penance I gave you. Tomorrow morning after Mass, Maitre Doissin will bring you to my office and we will consider the rest of the matter.” His expression softened and he tilted the boy’s chin up gently. “Do not trouble too much about it for now. God grant you a peaceful night, child.”

Blinking with exhaustion, Antoine let Doissin lead him away. Charles tried a tentative step toward the stairs, but Le Picart gestured him curtly to the office, where he shut the door and pointed him to a chair beside the empty fireplace.

“Not the evening any of us wanted,” he said, going to the tall oak cupboard beside the desk. “And you and I have still not talked.”

Charles swallowed. Here it came. “No, mon pere.”

He watched in confusion as Le Picart put glasses on the table between the two chairs, set a small brown pitcher beside the glasses, and sat down. He poured a wine dark as plums and held a glass out to Charles, who took it with wary thanks.

“You are thinking that wine-especially unwatered wine-does not usually accompany a rector’s chastisement.” Le Picart drank and smiled tiredly. “You are correct. It has been a very long day and I am indulging myself.” He drank again and set the glass down. “Now for the chastisement. I ordered you to leave finding Philippe’s killer and Antoine’s attacker to others. You have disobeyed me repeatedly. Why?”

Charles put his wine down untasted. “Because Philippe was my student, however briefly, and I was sent to find him. Because I found his body. Because I have been virtually accused of killing him. Because I think that Antoine is still in danger. Because I hate killing.”

“Did you not kill men as a soldier?”

Charles nodded.

“Under obedience to your commander.”

Charles nodded again. The silence stretched until he wished Le Picart would tell him to pack his things and be done with it.

“And now I am your commander,” Le Picart said softly. “But you refuse to obey me. Why?”

Charles groped for the right words and ended up saying bluntly, “Somewhat because I feared you wanted to avoid scandal more than you wanted to find the killer. More because I can no longer obey if it means ignoring evil.”

“I dread scandal, yes. As no doubt you will, if you come to a position of responsibility. But I grieve that you think so ill of me. Do you really think yourself the only man in Paris who can do what is needed in these affairs?”

“Of course not, mon pere. And I do not think ill of you. But I must do what I can do, if I am to live with myself. I am sorry-” Charles broke off and rubbed his hands over his face. “No, I am not sorry. But I do sincerely ask your forgiveness for disobeying you.”

“Why did you become a Jesuit, knowing that obedience to superiors would be required?”

Charles’s mouth quirked. “I suppose I didn’t think there would be killing.”

“That was naive of you. Evil is always killing good, one way and another. Or trying to.”

Charles stood up.

“Where are you going, maitre?”

“You have told me I have no business as a Jesuit. And you are right, because I cannot obey your order.”

“Sit down.”

“But-”

“Sit down. I suppose you can do that much without offending your conscience?”

Charles sat.

“I have not told you that you have no business as a Jesuit. Drink your wine. You have not even tasted it. It’s good, better than usual.”