The Crusader

by Michael Eisner

  After the departure of King Jaime’s forces, I prayed every day for Francisco’s safety. Every day until Abbot Alfonso’s announcement in the chapter house.

  “I have received news that your former brothers Francisco de Montcada and Andrés de Girona were killed during the Muslim siege of the Krak des Chevaliers. They died in the service of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Hallelujah. Please keep them in your prayers. We have a few administrative matters to address before reading from the Rule. Brother Lucas, would you explain the new policy with respect to receiving visitors?”

  He said it just like that, as if he were announcing the crop yield for the month. The news struck like a mallet. I could not speak. The air drained from my body. Indeed, the chapter meeting was delayed for several minutes until I could catch my breath.

  One year ago, the Abbot received word that Francisco was alive.

  “Francisco was not killed,” Abbot Alfonso said, “but captured alive and imprisoned for two years by the infidels. He arrived by ship several months ago. Regrettably, the Montcada family does not rejoice. Francisco is possessed by demons. Do I not warn you daily? No one is safe, no one immune from temptation. The dark one plots, schemes, bargains for each one of your souls. The Montcada family has sent Francisco to the monastery at Poblet, where Father Adelmo, the renowned priest from Italy, shall perform the exorcism. We take our reading today from chapter sixty-eight of the Rule of Saint Benedict.”

  Abbot Alfonso, who spent fifteen years at Poblet, described Father Adelmo as a man who is not afraid to employ the same brutal measures as his adversary in the struggle for a soul.

  “Father Adelmo understands,” Abbot Alfonso said, “that one must sometimes speak to the devil in his own language.”

  Father Adelmo is said to have exorcised one thousand persons, most of whom did not survive, but who found salvation during their last breaths. He once exorcised twenty-five men in nearby Sabadell, fed to the Lord’s flames in the town square.

  With due respect, even reverence, for Father Adelmo and his accomplishments, I believed strongly that a different, perhaps softer approach would be more befitting Francisco. In the last two years, I have learned much concerning techniques of exorcism. My teacher, Brother Vial, is not an ordinary monk. He spent eight years on the crusade battling the infidels. He returned to his estate in the northern provinces of Aragón, but after a year, he took the cloth and gave all his property and wealth to the Church. Because of his reputation as one of God’s most ferocious soldiers, he was offered by Archbishop Sancho of Tarragona, a cousin and personal friend of Brother Vial, a position as the Bishop of San Victorián. Brother Vial declined. The Archbishop then offered Brother Vial the position of Abbot in the monastery at Montserrat. He again declined. He wanted nothing more than the habit of a monk, to live out his years in the poverty and humility that were Christ’s lot.

  He came to Santes Creus two years ago. Shortly after Brother Vial’s arrival, one of the peasant girls cast a spell on her pregnant neighbor, causing a miscarriage. Members of the victim’s family testified before the Abbot’s tribunal that they had seen the accused place her hand on the swollen womb just hours before the tragic event. Abbot Alfonso determined that the girl was Satan’s emissary and was responsible for the recent spate of infant deaths amongst the villagers. As no monk at Santes Creus was practiced in exorcism, Abbot Alfonso decided to send the girl to Father Adelmo at Poblet.

  The girl was kneeling inside a mule cart, bound to the front boards, pelted by rocks and sticks from her former neighbors, when Brother Vial emerged from the church. He walked resolutely toward the cart and called for the peasants to stop throwing stones. Brother Vial spoke as a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. Indeed, several peasants already had rocks in their hands, but they did not throw them. The cart stopped moving. The driver and the other villagers looked curiously at this new monk, a grizzled, bald, and burly man.

  Brother Vial climbed up on the cart and waded through the hay. He untied the girl and wiped her bloodied face with his smock. Then he picked her up and carried her into the church.

  I watched Brother Vial from the church steps. He walked right past me as he entered the church, the girl burying her head in the thick folds of his habit. The sight of a female polluting the holy sanctuary prodded me after Brother Vial.

  “Excuse me, Brother,” I called. We had been introduced once, but I forgot his name in the confusion. “Girls need special permission from the Abbot in order to enter the church. Brother, please, you do not know what you do.”

  Indeed, Brother Vial knew exactly what he was doing. If he heard my words of caution, he did not care. He continued into the courtyard, around the cloister, then up the stairs to the vacant annex on the second floor (the completion of the second story has been temporarily stalled for lack of funds). Brother Vial carried the girl into one of the empty cells, then set her down. She sat still in the corner, holding her hands up as if to ward off a stone.

  “Brother Lucas,” Brother Vial said, between heavy breaths, “bring me a stool, a copy of the Scriptures, twenty blank sheets of parchment, a quill, six loaves of fresh bread, and two jugs of wine.”

  As the prior of the monastery, I outranked Brother Vial. But it never occurred to me to question him. I retrieved the requested items and returned.

  The stool Brother Vial sat on. The bread he gave to the girl. The wine he kept for himself. The Scriptures he began to read.

  He read and read until the girl had calmed down. She ate two of the loaves and took a sip of wine from Brother Vial’s own proffered cup. As evening approached, she fell asleep.

  I had not left the cell except to perform Brother Vial’s errands. When he stood up to exit, I began to question him concerning his intentions. But Brother Vial raised his fingers to his lips and pointed to the sleeping girl, and I ceased speaking. I followed him out of the cell. I followed him down the stairs, across the courtyard.

  A cluster of monks had assembled in the cloister. They whispered to each other, no doubt discussing Brother Vial’s scandalous behavior. They fell silent as we approached, staring intently at Brother Vial.

  When we entered the Abbot’s chambers, he was pacing. He stopped abruptly, looking up at Brother Vial, then at me. I shrugged my shoulders uncertainly.

  “Brother Vial,” Abbot Alfonso said, “I know that you have many important friends in the kingdom and the clergy. I know that you have fought many battles in Jesus’ name. But I fear you do not fully understand our way at Santes Creus. The Abbot is the shepherd, the father of all members of the monastery. He leads them to the Lord. No monk, no matter how distinguished, can disobey his orders. I decided to send the girl to Poblet for the sake of her immortal soul and for the preservation of my flock. She is possessed. Rest assured, Father Adelmo knows how to deal with such cases. The Italian priest has been exorcising demons for thirty years in these parts.”

  “Abbot Alfonso,” Brother Vial responded, “I know Father Adelmo, and I witnessed one of his exorcisms when I was a young man on my father’s estate. Purification by fire—a sobering spectacle even for this battle-weary soldier. I too have experienced close combat with the devil. I know his wiles and his disguises. I ask for one week, Abbot Alfonso. One week to cure the girl. If she has not been exorcised, we will send her to Father Adelmo at Poblet.”

  Brother Vial would need only four days. As instructed by Abbot Alfonso, I never left Brother Vial alone with the girl, except to fetch food and drink when Brother Vial made requests. He seemed quite fond of the grapes in the monastery’s vineyard.

  “Battling the devil,” Brother Vial said, “can be rather dull, Lucas.”

  Indeed, Brother Vial spent most of the period reading Scripture out loud and napping.

  “Never underestimate,” he said, “the importance of a good nap in the afternoon heat, Brother Lucas.”

  When he was not reading or sleeping, Brother Vial conversed with the girl—about her work, her family, her neighbors. It seems
the girl’s father had a longstanding dispute over ownership of a field with their neighbors, the very same family of the victim.

  On the fourth day, Brother Vial summoned the fathers of the accused and of the victim. We met in an antechamber reserved for receiving nonclerical visitors. After introducing himself, Brother Vial told the two men that they would split evenly the land in dispute.

  “If there is any confusion or disagreement concerning the division,” Brother Vial said, “the monastery will confiscate the property. Do you have any questions?”

  Brother Vial returned to the cell where the girl was sleeping. He woke her and asked if she renounced Satan and embraced Our Lord Jesus Christ. She seemed frightened by Brother Vial’s grave tone and did not answer.

  “Lucas,” Brother Vial said, “do you renounce Satan and embrace Our Lord Jesus Christ?”

  “Yes,” I stated emphatically.

  He repeated the question to the girl, who answered affirmatively.

  That evening I spoke with Abbot Alfonso concerning the exorcism. Perhaps I left out a few peripheral details, including the meeting of the fathers in the antechamber, but I confirmed Brother Vial’s claim that the girl was free of demons. Indeed, she has cast no spells since Brother Vial’s exorcism.

  There were others. Brother Vial quickly developed a reputation as a formidable adversary of the devil, perhaps even as a rival to the Italian priest, Father Adelmo of Poblet. Brother Vial’s techniques of exorcism have the advantage of a low mortality rate, in fact, no mortality rate, a circumstance that concerns Abbot Alfonso.

  “I worry, Brother Lucas,” Abbot Alfonso said, “whether Tarragona will disapprove of Brother Vial’s unorthodox measures. The Church must be feared by its subjects. It would seem that during the intense spiritual struggle some of the possessed would die or suffer lasting injury. Perhaps you could speak to Brother Vial.”

  But I never raised the issue with Brother Vial, and the Abbot’s worries seemed to fade after the monastery received a chest of coins from Archbishop Sancho to construct a new dormitory to accommodate the influx of pilgrims visiting Santes Creus to receive the blessings of Brother Vial.

  Nevertheless, the Abbot remains a bit suspicious of Brother Vial and asked me to become his supervisor. Although I have never spoken a word of instruction to my charge, I attend all his exorcisms, missing many of the daily offices in order to give Abbot Alfonso a full report of Brother Vial’s activities. In truth, Brother Vial provides me the instruction, showing the different techniques to exorcise demons, some more resistant than others.

  “The Word,” he says frequently, “is our greatest weapon against the devil.”

  Brother Vial spends several hours each day reading the Scriptures aloud to his subjects. He also converses with them on a wide range of topics. Sometimes he speaks of the weather. Sometimes he receives the subject’s confession. At other times, he adopts a more confrontational approach, asking his subject how and why he came to the devil. For the stubborn cases, Brother Vial always takes copious notes, often sending me for more parchment when his supply runs low.

  “What are you writing?” I asked one evening, when Brother Vial finished a grueling session with a woman who had suffocated two of her children and remained unrepentant.

  “I transcribe her confession,” he said. “When I read my notes, I search for the map of the soul.”

  “A map of the soul, Brother Vial?” I asked.

  “We need a guide, Brother Lucas,” he said, “a map to help navigate through the dark forest of human frailty—vanity, greed, pride, and prejudice.”

  “Will the map help reveal the source of the subject’s possession?” I asked.

  “Yes, Brother Lucas, and light the path toward salvation.”

  “Have you found this path with the murderess?” I asked.

  “In this particular case, Lucas, I fear we are too late. I believe our subject has wedded the devil. In such cases, there is no chance of dissolution.”

  One week later, Brother Vial gave instructions to transfer the woman to Poblet to the care of Father Adelmo.

  “My methods,” Brother Vial explained, “are sometimes ineffective, Lucas. One must recognize his own limitations and take appropriate measures.”

  The aforementioned case is exceptional. Brother Vial has developed an impressive record battling Satan. Of thirty-seven cases, Brother Vial has managed a full exorcism in thirty-two instances. He has transferred two persons to Poblet. Three other cases have yet to be resolved. The subjects refuse to renounce Satan, but Brother Vial has not given up hope. These persons live on the second floor of the cloister in separate cells. Brother Vial has thus far resisted sending them to Father Adelmo, although he has mentioned the possibility to two of the three persons. Brother Vial described in detail the process of purification by fire to one of the possessed persons—the strident sound of the victim’s screams, the smell of burning flesh, the cries of the crowd. After we left the cell, Brother Vial predicted that the man would soon return to the Lord. We shall see.

  In short, I work closely with Brother Vial and have learned much concerning the art of exorcism. I consider Brother Vial a friend and mentor. I suspect Brother Vial has grown quite fond of me. He often addresses me informally and, despite the prohibition on frivolous expressions of emotion, he frequently smiles at me when we pass in the cloister.

  The news that Father Adelmo of Poblet would exorcise Francisco disturbed me. As Brother Vial says, each case of possession is unique and must be addressed on its own terms. I believed that Brother Vial’s methods would be more suited to Francisco’s sensitive constitution. I mentioned my concerns forthwith to Brother Vial, who seemed intrigued by my recollections of Francisco. We talked for some time.

  “Brother Lucas,” Brother Vial said, “Archbishop Sancho of Tarragona has jurisdiction over Francisco. Only he can transfer Francisco to Santes Creus, and he will only do so if Abbot Alfonso makes a formal request. Go to Abbot Alfonso. Tell him of your friend. Then ask him if the transfer of Francisco to Santes Creus might affect the distribution of funds amongst the sister Cistercian monasteries.”

  Brother Vial made me repeat the question before I set off for the Abbot’s chambers. I did exactly as Brother Vial suggested, reciting the question verbatim. Abbot Alfonso listened, rubbing his chin pensively.

  “I would love to see that little bastard’s face,” Abbot Alfonso said, “when the Montcada heir is snatched from under his nose.”

  “Whose face?” I asked.

  Abbot Alfonso did not respond, but I believe he was referring to Abbot Rodrigo of Poblet. The two men see each other once a year at the conference of Cistercian abbots. They maintain a close bond of friendship, exchanging written salutations on every major feast day.

  Abbot Alfonso immediately set about dictating a letter to Archbishop Sancho requesting Francisco’s transfer. He pointed out that before his journey to the Levant, Francisco had spent three years at Santes Creus.

  “No doubt,” the letter stated, “Francisco would feel more comfortable in familiar surroundings, in a location where Francisco spent what were probably the happiest and most peaceful years of his life.”

  In the following weeks, I found myself climbing the bell tower several times a day to search the horizon for a messenger from Tarragona. As the weeks passed without a response, the darkness seemed to draw out longer every night.

  After nine weeks, two soldiers from the Archbishop’s personal guard arrived at Santes Creus. They carried a short message, two sentences:

  To the esteemed Abbot Alfonso,

  On the subject of your recent letter, you and Brother Vial will come to

  Tarragona immediately. I have provided a covered wagon for your

  transportation and two soldiers for your protection.

  The Archbishop Sancho of Tarragona,

  the twelfth day of June, the Year of Our Lord 1275.

  As I read the letter to the Abbot, a wave of bliss swept over me. Soon I would see Fr
ancisco’s face. Soon I would hear his voice. Abbot Alfonso, smiling broadly, seemed quite pleased as well. He told me to convey the news to Brother Vial and inform him that they would leave for Tarragona the next day.

  I found Brother Vial in the cloister. I told him the contents of the letter. To my surprise, he became rather solemn. He put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You shall travel to Tarragona in my stead, Lucas,” he said.

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “You shall perform the exorcism.”

  “But I have no experience.”

  “Have you not seen me perform more than thirty exorcisms?”

  “Yes,” I responded, “but Francisco’s case will be most difficult. Besides, he is a Montcada. Abbot Alfonso and Archbishop Sancho would never allow me to perform the exorcism.”

  “I will speak to Abbot Alfonso,” Brother Vial said, “and I will provide a letter of introduction to Archbishop Sancho.”

  “I am afraid, Brother Vial, that your letter will not prepare me for such a formidable task.”

  “You are already prepared, Brother Lucas. You spent three years with Francisco at Santes Creus.”

  “I do not understand, Brother Vial.”

  “Many years ago,” Brother Vial said, “on the campaign in Syria, my deputy Simon disappeared from camp during a stormy night. Two hundred soldiers under my command, and not one of them had seen Simon leave. I sent out a search party during the morning, but they came back after a couple of hours with no sign of Simon.

  “That afternoon, an old man in Arab headdress entered our camp,” Brother Vial continued. “He asked to speak with the commander about a mutual friend. My soldiers led him to me. I was sitting beside my tent when he approached. He set forth a ball of white silk on the ground. I picked it up and unwrapped the cloth. A finger was nestled in the silk folds, freshly cut, still pulsing. At first, I thought that the old man was a merchant, selling the relic of some living saint. But then he said it was Simon’s finger. The next parcel, he said, would contain Simon’s head unless we delivered fifty gold dinars to a nearby cave. He gave us three days. After consulting with my lieutenants, I dispatched a company to Acre to collect the coins.