by Sam Meekings
Though Lovari’s eyes remain closed, a smile plays about his cracked lips. ‘I am sorry to shock you, Brother Rosso, but it is not remorse that compels me to tell you of my past. It is not for myself that I make this confession. I am telling you what I have done, so that you will see what you must do when I am gone. Besides, I would gladly do it all again. Do you really imagine what I did was so dissimilar from what the courts do every day? Do you really believe the justice of a king or a pope is so different? A man might be set on a pyre and have his flesh charred for denying the smallest tenets of the Roman Church. Every day men have their skin flayed from their twitching muscles, every day men are broken on the rack, have their hands severed in public displays before a braying crowd, have their eyes hooked out, their tongues plucked from their gagging throats, their nails wrenched from fingers and toes, all for the tiniest of misdemeanours. I have been to public beheadings, hangings, amputations and brandings. At least I tried to be humane. Sebastiano did not suffer as the victims at those abhorrent spectacles do.’
I am appalled by the ease with which my brother has begun to utter poisonous heresies. I have never known him to speak thus before, and so I must conclude that his present malady is corrupting his mind as well as his body.
‘You cannot seriously be comparing yourself to the king or His Holiness the Pope?’
‘Of course not. But what is a king, what is a pope? Both derive their power from the idea that they have been chosen by the Lord, that they are His vessels, carrying out His will here on earth. Yet how can we be sure that the king and the Pope are truly carrying out the Lord’s will? What if they are merely acting to protect their own interests, to store up wealth and power and to keep the world as it has ever been? You have lived in so-called Christian lands your entire life, brother. Can you really claim that they are fair and just, that they are a mirror of Heaven? No? Then you must admit that the king and the Pope do not know the Lord’s will as well as they think they do.
‘I do not claim to know it either, but I do know that all the Order of the Eternal Light has ever worked for is the chance to bring about the Lord’s Kingdom here on earth. When every man on earth is free from the yoke of tyranny, when there is true justice, when every soul is alive to the Word, when there is no more hunger, no more war, no more plague, no more poverty; then the people of the world shall thank us for what we have done for them.
‘Now, I lived in that huge complex in Palermo for close to five years before I was ordered to return to the parish from which I had fled. Scarcely a week went by when I was not asked to talk my way into a church, seminary, courthouse, mansion, or even a back-street tavern in pursuit of information. Can you imagine what it was like for me, to have grown up in fear and squalor, in the meanness and ignorance of a dirty village, and then suddenly to be presented with an opportunity to devote myself completely to the pursuit of knowledge? I awoke each morning giddy with excitement, and on the days when I was not required to slip into the private libraries of princes or notaries to steal books and documents for the Order, I was free to work my way through its own vast collection of laboriously copied books. The Carthusian happily sat with me and introduced the mathematics and logical reasoning of the Greeks, and I found myself joining many late-night discussions on the exegesis of the Gospels as my brothers and I crowded into the small refectory. The Order shared my fury at the injustice and tyranny of the world, the hypocrisy of the Roman Church, and the squalor in which many poor souls languished. The Order was a family, a school, a brotherhood. For the first time in my life I belonged. And so, when its importance was explained to me, I accepted my mission without question.
‘It was the first month, and the frost was still crunching beneath my feet when I returned to the church where I had first heard the Lord calling me. The mule and cart had dropped me some hours from the village, and as I made my way across the ice-touched fields towards my old home, I recalled the words Father Teodoro had said to me only a few days earlier.
‘“We live in dark times,” he had said. “Do not take my word for it. Look around you. Pestilence, violence, ignorance. The church grows rich, the Pope consolidates his power and the monks grow fat while the ordinary family toils and strives. Every parish priest has the chance to deliver his community into the light. They have all failed. The Church was supposed to be a fraternity of the faithful, a brotherhood of belief. There would be no need for money, for private possessions, for servants or contracts or courts. Men might share their bread with one another, might work and study together in harmony. This has not happened. Most men cannot even read the word of Our Lord, and spend their sad lives squabbling for coins that kings and princes have dropped in the dirt. Yet there is still hope. When the world grows corrupt it must be cleansed, so that it may be remade anew. And that cleansing is the sole pursuit of the Order of the Eternal Light. The corrupt Roman Church wants to silence us. They call us heretics, traitors. Yet they know we are right. They cling to their power, their riches, and fear the day when the faithful shall rise up and prise them away.”
‘Those words rang through my head and steeled me for my task. A light snow began to fall, and by the time I had reached the top of the hill and saw the tiny stone church in the distance below me the leather overshoes and the sackcloth cloak I had been lent by the Order were already damp with the prickly flakes of ice drifting through the evening air.
‘As I scrabbled down the slipshod trail, the rest of the village soon became visible through the hazy wash of slow-falling snow. I found myself clutching the dagger in my belt tighter to me as I made out my uncle’s slanted dry earth house, sunk between shuttered-up barns and frozen fields. It took me another hour to reach the border of the cemetery. Despite the urgency of my mission, I could not help but make a detour to kneel awhile beside the graves of my mother and my sister. I wasted many minutes searching for them for they were buried without headstones or markers and the plots were now well grown over, yet I was finally able to find the twisted yew that watched over them. How long, I wondered as the snow silently fell upon the graves, till the Last Judgement is given and they might rise up from their suffering?
‘I loitered there among the dead until I saw from the fading light from the church’s high windows that the candles were being snuffed out. I readied myself and, with my back to the damp stone wall of the old building, sidled slowly round to the wooden door. It was kept, as ever, ajar – which is to say that it participated in the illusion that the arms of the Church were always open, though I had never known a villager visit when there was not a Mass, a feast day or a tragedy to attend to.
‘A couple of worn stone saints watched with disinterest as I walked down the nave. I would have felt dishonest had I tiptoed to hide myself, and so I took comfort that the sound of my heavy overshoes slapping against the cold stone might cover the clamorous pounding of my heart. A tearful Christ of knotted wood stared down from behind the altar, and in that instant I knew He would forgive me. The shuffling coming from behind the dark curtains at the back of the church suddenly stopped. He had heard me.
‘“Please be patient, my son, I shall be with you in a moment.”
‘Father Sebastiano’s voice boomed out through the nave, and I drew to a halt in front of the altar. A pewter chalice drew light from the last of the fat candles still burning, and as I moved closer I caught the reflection of my face curved in its gleam. Upon it was a look I did not know I possessed. I thought about hiding, springing upon him as he emerged from behind the curtain. That would have been the easier path, yet it also would have been cowardly. If you are to kill a man – and I hope, Brother Rosso, that you never have to – then you must not shy from it. You must deceive neither yourself nor your victim, nor should you debase the worth of his life by turning away at the final moment. You must partake of the act with the reverence it deserves.
‘The priest’s white hair emerged from the darkness, followed by his hunched body. He tottered uncertainly towards me, one arm leaning on a bo
wed staff, the other arm stretched out in front of him.
‘“I am sorry, but you must tell me who you are, my son, for my eyes do not see as they should. The world is all light and shadow now, and nothing is as clear as it once was.”
‘As he drew closer and steadied himself on the altar, I saw that his eyes were indeed misted over with grey, though some flicker of the deep green still danced beneath.
‘“It’s me – Tommaso.”
‘His wrinkled face broke into an uncertain smile.
‘“Tommaso, my best student. I can tell from the strength of your voice and the certainty of your step that you have grown into a fine young man. You have returned to your family?”
‘“No. I have come to see you, father.”
‘Suddenly I felt the cold beneath my damp clothes and noticed that my leg was all a-jitter.
‘“Come, you jest. No one would take the pains to travel in this foul weather just to seek out a feeble old priest. I know your aunt has been most sick these days; she will be glad of help at home. But tell me, what have you been doing these last years, my son? You have been in the capital, am I right? Yes, I can tell. Your accent has changed. The same thing happened to me when I was young. Tell me, though, have you kept up your studies?”
‘“I have, thanks to most learned teachers. For I have become a member of the Order.”
‘I had expected a shocked gasp, or a look of panic or fear. Yet Father Sebastiano merely smiled and nodded. He stared into the darkness at the end of the nave and let a thin, crumpled hand run slowly over the white stubble that dotted his pinched and crinkled jowls.
‘“I have been expecting this visit for ten years, though I never imagined they would enlist one of my own pupils to carry out their foul deeds for them. That you have succumbed to their honeyed rhetoric and dark heresies pains me more than anything else. I am an old man; my life is over. But you are young, and you are gambling with your immortal soul. Recant, my son, leave them. I still have some contacts across the sea who would keep you safe.”
‘“You would have me live a life like yours, cowering in backwaters and villages, hiding away in the hope of being forgotten? Why would I desire such a thing? You have wasted your chance to change the world – I will not make the same mistake. It was you, Sebastiano, who taught me that Christ said he came not to bring peace, but the sword. Yet you shirked your sacred responsibility. You turned your back on the enlightened work of the Lord, for what? To mumble your high Latin over the starving and the poor. Will it feed them when harvests fail? Will it keep them warm in bitter winters such as this? Does that even trouble you anymore? I wonder whether you care about anything except groping your charges in the darkest corner of the Lord’s own house.”
‘I thought my words might provoke him, yet all the old priest did was continue to smile that same old wide, beneficent grin, and I felt myself becoming enraged. I had been preparing myself for a showdown, yet it seemed as if he had second-guessed everything I would say – he was beyond surprise, beyond recriminations.
‘“I will not argue with you, for I once burned with fury too. Doubtless you have been told how I joined the Order as a young man, how I was set alight, as you are, by the desire to right the wrongs of this dark world. I took the Oath, just as I am sure you have been pressed to, and when I realised the error of my ways, I knew there would be a reckoning. I knew about the spies, the informers, the loyal servants who would do anything to stop the secrets spilling out. I was never naïve enough to think I might escape the Order, but, yes, I tried all the same. I came here. I made a new life. Have I lived in fear? Certainly. Every day I trembled at the shadows thrown by the altar candles, every day I have jumped at the sound of unexpected footsteps. I knew this time would come. Yet it was still worth it. I have done many things I regret most deeply, but leaving the Order is not one of them.”
‘I stepped closer, my clammy hand tightening around the dagger.
‘“You made a vow. Sworn on the most Holy of Books. You gave your word, on pain of death. You of all people should know that there is no place a man may hide from justice.”
‘“When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to the wicked. Proverbs, 21, verse 15. Think on that. Would you call yourself righteous, though you have placed the rules of a group of deluded men above the Lord’s commandments?”
‘“The Lord sees all,” I replied as calmly as I could. “He understands the nature of sacrifice.”
‘“Let me tell you about justice. Justice is growing out of your youth yet having to live with your mistakes the rest of your life. I beg you Tommaso, do not let sin overcome you, as it overcame me.”
‘“I do not have time for this, Father. You know what must happen. Take this chance to make your peace with the Lord.”
‘He did not argue. I watched as he turned and, using his old staff to support him, sank to his knees before the altar. I crossed myself and asked the Lord to welcome Sebastiano into His arms and cleanse him of his sins. I slipped the dagger from the leather sheath, planning to drive it between the old preacher’s huffing shoulder blades and prick the very marrow of his heart.
‘I stood and waited for his prayer to be completed, for, whatever you may now think of me Brother Rosso, I would never deprive a man of his last rites. His white shock of hair bobbed up and down as he mumbled, his creased hands clasped tightly in front of him. The seconds slowed down, and I felt a breeze trawl through the nave, picking at the threads of his words and carrying them past me. I shuddered, and shrugged down deeper into my sodden cloak.
‘“There, it is done. You need not fear for the state of my soul. Yet let me entreat you one last time to think on what you do, Tommaso, my child. There are other ways to work for a better world, to help the poor, to —’
‘“I am sorry, father,” I interrupted, and he bowed his head, sank down in supplication on the cold stone floor.
‘As I stepped forward, raising the dagger high above my head, I could not tell whether the sound of heavy, laboured breathing was coming from him or me. I had not thought he would give himself over with so little struggle. Then I was behind him, standing over his bowed form, and I drove the blade down with all the ferocity I could summon.
‘Yet just when I thought it would pierce through his aged flesh, he spun round and, with an agility at odds with his frail appearance, thrust his staff up to block the path of the dagger. I was taken off guard by this unexpected show of dexterity, and when the gnarled wood struck my fist the dagger was knocked from me and sent clattering across the wet stone. I gasped at the stinging pain of the blow, and made towards where the blade had fallen. But the old priest was quicker. His show of calm acceptance and resignation had been little more than a ruse – once more he swung his heavy staff, and this time caught the side of my ankle, bringing me crashing to the floor.
‘By the time I had hauled myself up, dizzy and stumbling as the church spun around me, Sebastiano had reached the dagger. He turned to face me, holding it aloft, then began pacing forward. Beneath the milky fog covering his pupils, I thought I could make out the gleam of satisfaction.
‘“Tommaso, did you really think it would be that easy to break the commandments in the Lord’s own house? Did your precious Order not tell you of the missions I was once sent on, of the uses they put me to? It seems you are not as wise as you suppose.”
‘He lunged forward, and I ducked back, tumbling into the altar. Despite his bravado, his movements were clumsy and his aim ill-judged. I grabbed one of the candles from the altar and waved it through the air in front of me. Sebastiano turned his head wildly, trying to follow the light, suddenly unsure of himself. Then I threw it towards his face.
‘The old priest screamed as the candle struck his cheek, the burning wax sizzling as it splattered across his wrinkled face. As he recoiled, howling and tearing at his reddened skin, I seized my chance. Taking hold of the pewter chalice on the altar, I leapt upon him.
‘The first strike sent his
legs buckling and he fell, clutching out at the empty air around him as though he was trying to take hold of the Holy Spirit itself. The second called up spasms from his outstretched body, and the third ended his screams. I cannot be certain of how many more times I brought the great chalice smashing down upon the back of his skull. I remember his fine white hair becoming damp and tangled with blood. I remember the crackle of the bone, the thick soft swell beneath. Only when I once again caught sight of myself in the curved reflection of that most blessed chalice did I stop.
‘I let it fall beside him, that holy cup from which I had first tasted the blood of our Lord. I said a blessing that his soul might be guided through the dark fires of Purgatory, then retrieved my dagger and stumbled out into the night.
‘As I limped back up the hillside towards the woodland where a covered cart awaited me, padding with great smoke-wreathed breaths through the fresh fall of snow, all I could think about was how brittle the human body is. When the Lord walked among us, what sacrifice it must have been just to be bound to flesh. The animal urges, the desperation. The blood that bubbles and boils, the bones that buck to cold weather, the skin that shrivels and burns. How strange that the imperishable soul is wrapped in such a fragile shell. A few blows and our time on earth is over. We might as well be made of glass.
‘Rosso, I know I must sound callous, cruel. Yet I did what I did so that you and all our brothers in this world might have the chance for a better life. When I reach the end of my story, I hope you will feel the same. However, I will not force you. If you wish to call a halt to this confession, I will understand.’
I must admit that I feel sickened by his description of such godless violence and savagery most foul. Furthermore, though I search for a hint of remorse in his voice, instead it seems that he revels in his hellish sins, and even now seeks to explain them away. But I had suspected it might go something like this.