Death and the Devil

A monk came hurrying toward him, a bundle of scrolls under his arm. “Excuse me,” Jaspar called out.

The monk started and crossed himself, dropping half his scrolls in the process. Jaspar bent down to pick them up.

“No!” The monk pushed him away and grabbed the scrolls.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Of course. It was my fault. Brother—?”

“Jaspar Rodenkirchen, physician and dean of St. Mary Magdalene’s.”

“Brother Jaspar, these scrolls must only be touched by those authorized.”

“Of whom you are one, I assume?”

“Precisely. Can I be of assistance?”

“Perhaps you can. I’m looking for the two monks who were witnesses when God called Gerhard Morart to Him. One was called Andreas von Helmerode and the other’s name could have been Justus—”

“Justinius von Singen!” The monk nodded eagerly. “We have the honor of entertaining them under our unworthy roof. They saw him when he was called to his Maker, but I must say, I think it was a damned shame he had to die.”

“Brother!” exclaimed Jaspar in horrified tones.

Shocked at his unconscious blasphemy, the monk was going to cross himself again, but restrained himself just in time. “God’s will be done,” he said.

“On earth as it is in heaven.” Jaspar nodded, a severe look on his face. “I don’t want to keep you from your important business any longer, Brother, so if you could just tell me where I can find Andreas and Justinius—”

“I will send a novice to fetch them.”

The monk turned and passed through an archway. A short while later Jaspar saw a spotty boy in a novice’s habit shoot out and disappear into the building opposite. After a time he reappeared, followed by two monks who clearly belonged to the mendicant orders.

“There’s the man who wants to speak to you,” he muttered shyly, head bowed. He stumbled backward along the cloisters for a few yards, then turned and ran off full tilt.

“Andreas von Helmerode? Justinius von Singen?”

The pair looked at each other uncertainly. “I am Justinius,” said the shorter, fatter of the two. “But who are you?”

Jaspar slapped his forehead. “You must excuse me for forgetting to introduce myself. I am dean of St. Mary Magdalene’s. A good friend of Gerhard Morart. They say you saw the tragic accident from quite close to—”

The suspicion vanished from the monks’ faces. They had answered this kind of question often enough. Justinius came closer and spread his arms wide. “Like a bird he was in the sight of the Lord,” he declaimed. “As his body approached the earth, from which it came and to which it will return, his spirit rose in glory to be united with the All Highest. As Saint Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, Seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.”

Jaspar nodded and smiled. “Beautifully put,” he said. “Though is it not in Colossians where we find those comforting words, while in Philippians it says, For our conversation is in heaven?”

The smile froze on the fat monk’s lips. “Yes, that is possible. For the ways of the Lord are unfathomable and Holy Writ more often than not perverted by irresponsible translators, to the confusion of honest seekers after truth.”

Andreas hastened to back him up. “It doesn’t affect the sense of the words.”

“No indeed, and it is a comfort to me,” said Jaspar, going over to a window from which the monastery’s magnificent orchard could be seen, “to know that you were with Gerhard when he died. Reports say you even heard his confession?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“And gave him extreme unction?”

Andreas gave him a funny look. “How could we have given him extreme unction since we didn’t have the oil with us? Had we known—”

“Which we didn’t,” Justinius interjected.

“Now I find that surprising,” said Jaspar softly.

“You do?”

“Yes, since you both knew very well that Gerhard Morart was to die at that time on that evening, as the murderer had told you.”

It was as if the two had looked back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

“What is more,” Jaspar went on, unmoved, “you also knew beforehand what you were to say afterward. Is that not so?”

“You are—you—” gasped Justinius.

“You must be mistaken, Brother,” Andreas quickly broke in. “I am sure you have good reason to make these accusations, these, yes, vile accusations, but you’ve got the wrong persons. We are but two humble servants in the vineyard of the Lord. And you are not an inquisitor.”

“Yes, yes, I know. And you are committed to the ideal of Saint Benedict.”

“Absolutely!”

“Absolutely,” repeated Justinius, wiping the sweat from his brow.