Stopping a few steps from the top where the staircase met with a panelled wooden door, the overweight monk paused to catch his breath. Beads of sweat trickled down the man’s neck and from the crown of his bald head to his brow. Perhaps he should have taken up Cédric’s suggestion and let one of the younger men fetch the ballot box, but it felt like his personal mission and Bénédict had insisted. This was something that nobody could take away from him. All the years he’d spent abiding by the values and protocols of living in a house of God were finally coming to fruition. In just a few hours’ time, he would be announced as the new abbot of Saint Augustin’s.
A stitch in his side kept Brother Bénédict hovering for several minutes, holding tight to the box with one hand as he rubbed gently at his ribcage with the other. Such a momentous day, he thought. They should arrange a way to celebrate, although, with Abbot Arnaud’s body due to arrive at the chapel any time, he wasn’t really in the mood for festivities. Bénedict smiled weakly. He would prepare a speech, something meaningful to outline his plans as the new leader, the changes that he would put in place, and as soon as the ballot box had been delivered, he would begin.
Brother Alberon was standing at a small washbasin in the infirmary, rinsing out bandages and laying them out on a large wooden board to dry. After a sleepless night at Brother Ernest’s bedside he was exhausted, yet a constant nagging in his brain told the elderly monk that he needed to find some answers, and quick. Whoever had inflicted the terrible injuries upon Ernest needed bringing before the counsel and punishing severely, but the younger man was remaining tight-lipped about the incident. Alberon wondered whether it was out of sheer fear, should there be repercussions if the deviant were to discover himself revealed; or perhaps there was more to this beating than Ernest would allow him to believe.
Alberon felt he had no choice but to bring the matter to the attention of Brother Cédric, despite the monk’s heavy workload with both the preparations for Arnaud’s funeral and the election that would take place that very day. Still, it had to be done. The simple matter was that there were three keys to the isolation cell and only Brother Bénédict had been left alone with time to inflict the beating upon poor Ernest – but for what reason, Alberon simply couldn’t guess.
“Ernest,” Alberon whispered, as soon as the young monk stirred that morning, “qui est responsable?”
The man shook his pale head, wincing with pain as his wounds brushed against the starched cotton bedsheets. “Je ne vais pas dire.” I will not tell.
Alberon bent down so that his lined face was level with Ernest’s and took the young monk’s soft white hand, insisting that it would be in the man’s best interests to tell all. Wouldn’t he feel better if the guilty person were brought to justice? the older monk reasoned.
Another shake of the head. Nothing, no words this time, just tight lips.
“Était-ce Frère Bénédict?”
This time, there was a flicker of fear in Ernest’s eyes, a stiffening of his limbs and the withdrawal of his hand from Alberon’s. It was enough for the older man to see the truth. He had been right. For reasons unbeknown to him, Brother Bénédict had done the unthinkable and whipped a fellow brother.
“Tout ira bien,” Alberon sighed, bringing a cup of water to Ernest’s dry lips, but even then, the medic wasn’t convinced of his own words. Would everything be all right? If Brother Bénédict were capable of such atrocities, was it possible that he could murder a man? It hardly bore thinking about, but in that instant, Alberon could see that the death of Noel Van Beek could have been far more than the accidental poisoning of a passing stranger as he had originally forced himself to believe. The traveller was the victim of a murderer, one who lived amongst them.
Brother Cédric smoothed out the bright blue satin cloth for the umpteenth time that morning and turned to ensure that oils and Holy Water were at hand. He wanted everything just so for the arrival of their beloved Abbot Arnaud’s body. The grief hadn’t yet settled itself upon the senior monk, he’d been far too busy comforting others and delivering prayers to see to his own mental wellbeing. Perhaps after the funeral the tears will fall, Cédric told himself, once he was away from the preparations and ceremony and alone with his thoughts.
The past few days had been challenging for Brother Cédric. Not only had he become privy to the abbot’s indiscretions, but now to lose the very man whom he had so revered all these years was causing an unimaginable mix of emotions. The simple fact that Arnaud had kept his child a secret for over fifty years was incredible. A man of God, having committed more than a few of the deadly sins, Cédric was dumbfounded as to how nothing had ever come to light before now. However, Cédric had known about the abbot’s practice of self-flagellation, and now, with the man’s history laid out bare, he could fully understand that his friend had wanted to purge those mistakes from his body and mind.
Cédric was a compassionate man, however, and upon meeting Annalise Van Beek he understood how Arnaud’s head might have been turned by such a beauty. Although never having succumbed to the sins of the flesh himself, Brother Cédric was well read and knew that a religious man such as the abbot would not have taken the decision to enter into a liaison lightly. And now, for Arnaud to have discovered that his own grandson had been murdered within the walls of Saint Augustin’s, a place that announced itself as a safe haven to all, that surely was the breaking point that had caused the old man’s final heart attack. Brother Cédric couldn’t imagine how the Van Beek woman felt, either, not having seen her lover for five decades and then to finally meet him again for one brief encounter before he went to meet his maker. It was tragic.
“Frère Cédric?” a deep voice called softly from behind him. “J’ai la boîte.”
Turning to face the speaker, Cédric was confronted by the sight of Brother Bénédict holding the sacred ballot box in his arms. A thin layer of dust lay in a light film across the top of the wood and Cédric silently cursed the other man for not polishing it before entering the sanctity of the chapel.
“Emmené-le dans la salle à manger,” he instructed, waving a hand towards the open door. “Merci, Frère Bénédict.”
Bénédict turned on his heel and headed for the dining hall, thinking to himself that this would be the last order he took from Cédric; after the vote, the tables would finally be turned. As the monk walked away, an unusual noise caught Brother Cédric’s attention. He bent slightly to see where the sound was coming from. The other man’s feet were flopping around inside his leather sandals as though they were far too big, causing a clicking sound as Bénédict walked away. Cédric had never noticed such a thing before and wondered why it should come to his attention now – unless, for some strange reason, the Brother was wearing another man’s shoes.
Satisfied that Brother Ernest was in the safe and capable hands of Brother Francis, Alberon set off down the vast hallway in search of Cédric. The timing of his quest was very unfortunate but, with matters clear in his mind, Alberon had decided that he could wait no longer to divulge his concerns about their fellow monk. Brother Cédric was still unaware of Ernest’s condition, and once he witnessed the deep gashes in the young man’s skin for himself, it wouldn’t take long for the truth to come out.
Alberon hurried, arms folded across his chest, hands tucked into the sleeves of his woollen cassock for warmth. The man’s pallor was luminescent against the starkly contrasting dark wooden beams and doorways of the corridor and Alberon felt a great sickness inside him at the thought of what he was about to reveal.
“Frère Alberon,” a voice called out, stopping the monk mid-pace, “où allez-vous?”
A flush crept up the monk’s body, threatening to turn his face as pink as a cooked lobster as he fought the overwhelming urge to blush in Brother Bénédict’s presence, but Alberon managed to breathe steadily through his nose as he nodded to towards the chapel.
“La chapelle, pour les prières.”
Brother Bénédict slapped a meaty hand on the med
ic’s shoulder and nodded his understanding. Naturally, Alberon would be heading for a second prayer session, they were all distraught over Abbot Arnaud’s death. Hovering for a second or two, Bénédict waited for the other monk to move away, watching the stooped manner and quick steps with which he did so. It seemed Alberon really was in a hurry to pay his respects, despite the prolonged Mass they’d all attended that very morning.
Brother Ernest lay on his side in the infirmary bed, eager to prevent his open wounds from pressing against the hard mattress and causing further distress. He was unable to sleep, frightened at the outcome of his brief conversation with Alberon. Now it seemed the older monk was on his way to find Brother Cédric and that in itself was sure to bring with it more questions. Ernest was ashamed of himself. His actions had caused untold grief. Firstly, the late night grave-digging, believing that there would be gold in those pauper’s coffins, then refusing to tell the police about the other monk’s involvement. It had seemed like the best policy at the time, for Brother Bénédict had promised Ernest a new van with some of the proceeds from the treasure, something that would benefit every member of the Holy Order at Saint Augustin’s.
Now, in the cold light of day, Brother Ernest doubted whether there really was anything to be discovered in the graves. Bénédict had used him in a foolish hunt, making Ernest do all the digging, not to mention driving around the French countryside in the middle of the night in freezing temperatures. And then the beating. Brother Bénédict was asserting his powers, that was how he had put it to the younger man, ensuring that the elder monk would not be implicated in any of the crimes. With spite and malice, Ernest had been convinced into believing that Brother Bénédict would be Saint Augustin’s next abbot, therefore nothing he tried to tell the others would matter one iota.
Lying with a feather pillow clutched to his stomach, Ernest watched as kindly Brother Francis prepared a mug of tea to bring over to the bedside. How he wanted to tell the infirmary assistant about Bénédict’s last request, that Ernest should confess to the murder of the Dutchman; but, once the bloodied tracks had healed, he would be alone again and unable to defend himself from the lies and punishment of the more powerful man.
Brother Bénédict positioned the ballot box in the centre of the table furthest from the door of the refectory. He thought it only right that the monks should have to walk the length of the room in procession to post their votes inside the wooden casket, to make a magnificent statement, a ritual of proceedings on this most important of occasions.
He stood back, satisfied that the location was perfect, blinking slowly as a burst of mid-morning sunshine pushed its way through the dark clouds and penetrated the beautiful stained-glass arched windows of Saint Augustin’s. It promised to be a glorious day later, not only an improvement on the recent bleak weather, but one that would bring satisfaction and triumphant joy, he hoped – although a few black patches of sky swirled overhead, looking ominous and dampening the old monk’s mood ever so slightly. Bénédict shivered, feeling as though something supernatural had just passed straight through his body and out the other side, but today was not a day for superstition, the monk reminded himself.
Brother Cédric was unconvinced of Bénédict’s guilt – after all, they had been good friends and brothers for several decades – yet he wasn’t quite ready to dismiss Alberon’s concerns right away, either. He had decided that the best way to allay any fears was for them to take a quick look in the elderly monk’s room, as an outright confrontation on the day of the secret ballot might seem like a tactic to win favour amongst the younger men. Therefore, hurrying as fast as his short, chunky legs would carry him, Cédric scurried after a determined Alberon, who, for all intents and purposes, was convinced that something foul was afoot.
Brother Bénédict’s modest room was empty, the occupant nowhere to be seen. One square window set high in the far wall allowed a small amount of light to enter, but otherwise it was poorly lit and a degree or two colder than the chapel from which the two monks had just ventured. The only unusual point of note was the pile of undergarments and spare cassock folded neatly on top of the bed. Alberon looked to his friend for answers but Cédric merely shrugged and stepped closer to inspect the items. It seemed that Bénédict was packing his belongings for some unknown reason.
Brother Cédric cast an experienced eye over the remainder of the room, expecting to find a small amount of clutter, or perhaps his fellow monk’s Bible on the bedside, but it seemed everything of importance had been stacked as though in preparation to leave.
With a sigh, Alberon got down onto his knees and peered under the metal-framed cot. He didn’t expect to find anything, but soon discovered that something had been pushed into the farthest corner, difficult for him to reach.
“Frère Cédric,” he gasped, dusting off his tunic as he stood upright once more, “aidez-moi à déplacer le lit.”
Together, the men tugged at the heavy bedframe until it moved away from the wall slightly, giving Alberon just enough room to reach over and retrieve the mysterious item from underneath.
“Qu’est-ce qu c’est?” Cédric asked, bending as far as his ageing knees would allow, the creak in them audible as he did so.
Brother Alberon turned, triumphant in his find, and lifted up a large pair of flat leather sandals caked in dried mud. “Voilà!”
As the monk moved away from the bed towards his colleague, something shifted from between the mattress and the springs. Cédric pounced and pulled the piece of leather as hard as he could, a fire burning inside him at the thought of betrayal from a trusted friend. One, two, three tugs, and it came free – a long-handled ancient whip with leather tails as long as the old monk’s arm. He couldn’t tell dear Alberon, but Cédric had seen the same whip somewhere before. He recognised the tri-coloured woven handle; he had seen in the sacred quarters of Abbot Arnaud.
The infirmary assistant moved forward to examine the find and pointed to the blood which had become encrusted in the leather tassels. Immediately, his thoughts were drawn to Brother Ernest and the terrible punishment that the young man had endured at Bénédict’s hands. Carefully, he pulled a bedsheet free and held it out for Cédric to lay the whip upon, satisfied that the police forensics team would be able to find a match and bring the perpetrator to justice.
“Dieu merci!” Brother Bénédict exclaimed, rushing towards the refectory door as the two senior monks entered. “Il est presque midi.”
Younger men milled around, waiting to receive their slips of paper, most in quiet conversation as they compared the merits of each candidate.
Cédric muttered a feeble excuse about having to phone the mortuary to find out what time Abbot Arnaud’s body would be arriving, well aware that it was almost noon and time for the Holy Order to begin casting their votes. Bénédict brushed the comments aside and proudly pointed at the ballot box. All was ready. Alberon bit his lip and faltered in the entrance for a few seconds, but Brother Cédric slid a firm hand under the medic’s elbow and steered him towards the front of the room.
It was tradition that the most senior men should begin the ballot, the men standing for election as prospective abbot, followed by the older fellows, seasoned Brothers of five or more years, and then finally the novices. Sixty-nine in total, and the man with the majority of votes would, of course, win.
The monastery bell tolled mid-day, incense was burned, and the proceedings began. Brother Cédric noticed a slight tremor in Alberon’s wrist as he posted his paper into the narrow ballot box lid. Bénédict had seen the nervous action, too and nudged him, raising his dark, bushy eyebrows in question. Cédric was as sharp as a knife and mouthed that Alberon was nervous, or excited. The taller man accepted the comment and took his turn, holding the paper up proudly for all to see, as though confident in his victory.
Suddenly, a pounding din came echoing down the deserted main hall, as police officers made themselves known and tried to gain entry. A novice at the back of the room looked towards Céd
ric for permission to unbolt the refectory door and was granted the right to do so with a faint nod. Almost running now, the young man drew back the bolts and flung the front door wide.
“What took you so long?” a fiery-red-headed detective asked in English.
At his side, a tall Frenchman stubbed out a filtered cigarette and lifted his head high as he strode through the double doors.
The novice stood back, allowing the team inside and, in a trail of stuttering French, guided them towards the dining hall where the Holy Order gathered.
Soon, Brother Bénédict was standing with his enormous hands cuffed behind his back, guarded by Gabriella Dupont, as Inspector Mallery conversed with the other two senior monks. Not only was Bénédict indignant about being arrested, but he felt it was a slight upon his religion that a female detective had been given the responsibility of keeping him in his place. However, Gabriella was oblivious to the old man’s chuntering complaints as he stood at her side; she was waiting for the main event, the retrieval of hard facts.
In Abbot Arnaud’s chilly office, Mallery and Hobbs were retrieving the bundles of evidence from Brother Cédric, the items carefully wrapped in cotton sheets.
“I think you will find the blood matches that of Brother Ernest,” Cédric said dolefully, his lids heavy with the enormity of what had been discovered, as he pushed the bedding into the evidence bags that Hobbs held out.
“We’ll need statements from all of you,” Mallery told the monk. “Do you think Brother Ernest is up to it?”
Alberon put a hand on the inspector’s arm. “Let us go and find out, he was very weak earlier.”
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