Death and the Devil

“You should be praying instead of asking questions,” the second monk broke in, making the sign of the cross again, “praying all the time. Do you want to meet the poor soul in your dreams, accusing you of not having supported it with all your heart? Recite the Creed, sing the Te deum. Remember, at this very moment the dead man is on his way to appear before his heavenly Judge, weighed down with his sins, humbly offering up his remorse. But woe betide the sinner who stumbles, for the Devil’s fiendish crew lies in wait for the lamb along the path it must take to its Merciful Shepherd. Stinking filth, demonic obscenities, the wolves of darkness!” He made a grand gesture, as if to damn Cologne and all the surrounding villages. “Verily I say unto you, all of you, each and every one, will have to take that path, and you will long to have the prayers of the whole of Christendom to keep you safe from the clutches of the Evil One, who will try to drag you down to the darkest depths of hell where Leviathan writhes in transports of satanic delight on its red-hot grill, crushing human souls in its countless claws. Remember, we all must die! It opens its gaping maw, and its teeth are terrible round about! Its eyes are like the eyelids of the morning! Out of its mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out! Out of its nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething cauldron! Its breath kindleth coals and a flame goeth out of its mouth! There is not its like upon earth.”

The terrifying image the monk had neatly borrowed from the Book of Job had its effect. Many of those around turned pale, some putting their heads in their hands and groaning, “Lord, forgive us our sins.”

“Forgive us our sins, is it? Then pray. Did not the angels, when they were taking Saint Martin to the world above, have such terrible struggles with the Powers of Darkness, that even the heavenly choirs fell silent? Pray! Pray!”

“Yes, pray, pray.” The crowd took up his words, heads were bowed, hands clasped, some sank to their knees, sobbing and trembling.

The fatter of the two monks gave the other a meaningful look and jerked his head in the direction of the corner of the street. Time to leave. The pair of them slowly made their way out of the kneeling crowd, then gradually quickened their pace.

Urquhart’s witnesses.

Matthias gathered up the skirts of his cloak, pushed his way through the crowd, and hurried after them. “Reverend Brothers!” he called out.

The monks stopped and turned, their eyes full of suspicion. When they saw he was a patrician, they immediately bowed their heads and adopted a deferential posture. “How can we be of service?” asked the fat monk.

“You were the only ones who saw Gerhard fall?” Matthias asked.

“Definitely.”

“Then there is just one thing I would ask of you. Speak in praise of Gerhard wherever you go.”

“Well, er—”

“You are itinerant monks?”

“Yes.” The taller raised his chin and a smug look appeared on his face. “It is the Lord’s will that we preach His Word all over the land. We say mass in the villages and hamlets, but sometimes we come to the towns and cities.”

“A magnificent city, this Cologne, a holy city,” added the other in hushed tones, moving his head this way and that, as if he could not see enough of it.

Matthias smiled. “Yes, of course. Tell people what you saw at the cathedral. People everywhere. They say there are some”—he leaned forward and put on a conspiratorial air—“who would drag Gerhard’s name through the mud.”

“Is that possible?” gasped the fat monk.

“I’m afraid it is. They bear false witness against you and claim it was not an accident.”

A wary glint appeared in the monk’s eyes. “But?”

“But murder. Perhaps even the Devil.”

“Absolute nonsense, of course.” The monk drew out the words.

“And a great sin to make such a claim,” the other added. “A good thing such lies are without foundation, since we can testify to what really happened.”

Matthias nodded. “A real blessing, Brother. Let us thank the Lord that He led you to the right place at the right time. I can rely on you, then?”

The two nodded alacritously.

“Most certainly.”

“We will announce it wherever we go.”

“Provided God watches over us and supplies our modest needs.”

“Which He does not always do.”

“Brother! Who would criticize the Creator? If He does not always do so, then I am sure it is for the good of our souls. We will go on our way in humility—”

“And hunger. Sometimes.”

They looked at him, smiling. Matthias took out a coin.

“The Lord be with you,” the fat monk murmured unctuously. The coin vanished into the depths of his grubby habit. “And now you must excuse us. Our Christian duty calls.”

“Of course, reverend Brothers.”

They grinned their excuses once more and took off. Matthias watched them until they had disappeared around the corner. He hadn’t realized Urquhart would send the two to the funeral. Not a bad idea. The people had certainly swallowed their account of Gerhard’s death. That would make things more difficult for the redhead.

But not difficult enough.