Vindicta by Judy Colella (most popular novels TXT) 📕

behind his desk. A tall, strong-looking man, he carried his surprising number of years better than most of his younger charges. His face, however, which normally settled into pleasant wrinkles from smiling, was making a different set of folds and lines from a deep frown. Hands clasped before him but hidden inside the sleeves of his robe, he looked at the tips of his sandals as they appeared from under the coarse hem with each measured step.

Brother Bayard was sitting on the upholstered chair in front of the desk watching him. He knew better than to say anything, even though he was screaming inwardly to be left alone. Apparently, dear Brother Renford had felt it his duty to report Bayard’s threats against the robbers to the Abbott, and just before dawn, while making his morning ablutions prior to Matins, Bayard was summoned to the man’s offices.

Abbott Friselle explained the summons in short, concise language that made it clear he was not at all pleased, but something in the man’s eyes bespoke both an understand- ing and acceptance of why Bayard felt as he did. He had then gotten up and begun pacing, an action well known among the brothers as a sign that the older man was about to make a vitally important decision.

He stopped at the beautiful tapestry hung on the side wall closest to his desk and stared for a moment at its depiction of the Resurrection of Christ before turning to face the younger monk. When he did, he looked deeply distressed. “Brother Bayard, I know you’re angry. I also know you’re very aware of the words of the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Ephesians that tell us - ”

Bayard expelled an impatient breath, effectively cutting off the Abbot’s words. “Yes, yes. ‘Irascimini et nolite peccare sol non occidat super iracundiam vestram.’ ‘Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger.’ I’ve copied it dozens of times into the manuscripts.” He shook his head, nostrils flaring. “Never thought I’d see a day when I would find myself feeling only derision toward such sentiments.”

“Derision? For God’s words?”

“Yes, Abbott. Derision. Because as wise as they may seem when read, they turn bitter in the mouth of one who says them after he is rendered incapable of carrying them out. I can no more shake off my anger than I can shake off my very skin, and the sun has already set several times on that.” He regarded his superior with a mixture of sorrow and defiance, the whole time fighting to block out the mental image of his damaged sister that kept intruding on his every thought.

Friselle sighed and sat once more, his frown deepening further. “You told Brother Renford that you wish to find the men who did this and, er, make them suffer, I believe he said. How will you do this? Find them, I mean.”

“It won’t be that difficult.” Bayard uttered a short, unpleas- ant laugh. “Men like that will have been boasting about what they did. They’ll go somewhere for drink and let everyone know how they - ” He stopped, shaking his head quickly, unable to finish the sentence or the thought.

“So what then? Assuming you’re able to eventually track them to wherever they’ve gone.”

“I…I don’t know, well, yes. I do know, but not how. Everything depends on their numbers and the circum- stances when I reach them.”

“I see. You are determined, then, to go.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I’d go right now, if I had your permission to do so.”

“Meaning what? That if I refuse to give my permission, you won’t leave?”

Now Bayard sighed. “You know as well as I that regardless of whether or not you allow it, I’ll be leaving. It’s really more a question of wishing to go with your blessing.”

“Ah, Bayard! How can I possibly bless such an endeavor? You expect me to condone murder?”

“Not murder, no. But since we’re quoting the scriptures, please let me respectfully suggest a section of them to you. Surely you recall the story of Dina and Sychem in the Old Testament?”

“Of course I do.” The Abbott sounded annoyed now. “That wasn’t the same thing, and you know it.”

“Oh? How was it different? Life in the days of Genesis 34 may have been different, but human nature was not, nor was the natural sense of justice mankind has been given.” No way was he going to lose this argument. For one thing, he’d given it all far too much thought; and for another, he was willing to be excommunicated, condemned to eternal damnation, for the sake of avenging his poor sister. So what did he have to lose at this point?

Something of this must have been clearly evident to the Abbott, because after staring silently through narrowed eyes at the monk for a long minute, he sat back and pursed his lips, nodding. “I won’t argue this with you, Bayard. To what end? No, you’re going to do what you feel you must, and nothing I can say will deter you. But know this.” He sat forward again, drawing one hand from his sleeve to point a finger at the younger man. “You must never think I have blessed your venture or in any way conclude that you are leaving here as a representative of the Holy Church. What you do, you do entirely on your own, under your own auspices. I may understand your reasons, may even agree to some extent, but it is my obligation – my duty – to condemn your actions.” He lowered his hand and clasped it with the other on top of the desk. “You’re a good man, Bayard of Exeter, and I’ve watched your spiritual progress with great joy. What happened to your beloved sister is a tragedy, and I realize you have to do what you believe to be the most honorable thing on her behalf. I only ask that you not abandon our God, that you remember to pray every day, and that when you do, ask the Lord to mend your heart so that one day you may walk in His grace once more.”

Bayard nodded, biting back the question he really wanted to ask, but aware that Friselle couldn’t possibly have the answer. He wanted to know why God had allowed this to happen, especially to a girl whose life had held so much promise, so much potential for doing good as a mother and a wife. Why? Ask God to mend his heart? What about his sister’s life? She might recover physically, but the girl with whom he’d grown up was gone, blasted into the darkest regions of a personal hell, leaving behind something pitiful and strange, a shell with no soul, no light, no reason to continue living.

He stood up, kissed the ring on the hand the Abbot extended, bowed, and went out to make his preparations for what he suspected would be a long, terrible journey.

TERTIUS: CAPTIO

The monks of St. Gervaise were told only that Brother Bayard was taking a temporary leave from the monastary in order to go home to inform his family of his sister’s fate, nothing more. That much, at least, was true. The girl had neither improved nor worsened, so it seemed sensible for Bayard to take the opportunity to go to Exeter now. He would have preferred to set off in search of the robbers immediately, but he felt he had a moral obligation to inform his family of the situation, for even if she lived, she would never be the same.

The morning after his interview with the Abbott found him in the stables on one side of the frosty courtyard, saddling his horse with hands that were stiff with cold, the smell of snow insinuating itself in and around the warmer, somewhat more comforting scents of manure and hay. Abbott Friselle had already been to Bayard’s cell before daybreak to be sure the monk understood he was to tell no one of his true mission. Short of rescinding all of his vows to the Church, there was no other way he could carry it out without bringing a lasting disgrace upon the Abbey. Bayard had assured the older man that all would be kept secret, and that once his terrible duty to his parents was accompished, he would proceed not in his monk’s garb, but in the clothing of his former life – that of a nobleman. He would use an alias as well, since most who knew him knew also of his religious calling.

Regardless of the outcome, Bayard would have some serious penance to pay, and to that end, he suggested to the Abbott that upon his return he submit to taking a vow of silence, the duration of which would depend upon how he had resolved the issue. If he found the perpetrators and killed every one of them as he so dearly wished to do, that vow would last the rest of his life. This would mean, of course, the abandonment of all ambitions to achieve a higher status than that of mere monk; his life thereafter would consist of nothing grander than the daily chores and prayers attendant upon that lowly station. He would never be able to preach, to hear Mass, to rise above what he did right now – in fact, he’d be in an even lesser position.

He didn’t care. His sister…he tugged fiercely on the final strap securing his saddle, causing the horse to protest with a whinny and a reproving snort.

“Sorry, old boy,” he murmured, patting the animal’s whithers apologetically. Those men had taken more than they’d known, their actions having tainted not only his sister’s life, but also his, his parents’, and perhaps even those of the monks of St. Gervaise. And then there were the possible suitors of the wounded girl – none would be sought now, that was certain, and it might be that some man’s life that could well have been improved by marriage to her would instead be empty, worsened somehow.

He finished preparing the large gelding, mounted, and they exited the stable. His cloak did little to dispel the sudden drop in temperature; the air within the enclosure may have contained winter’s bouquet, but the large bodies in all the stalls provided heat that defied the actual weather. Bayard shivered involuntarily and removed his thick gloves to readjust the brooch at his throat, pulling the cloak up more closely.

Almost predictably, Brother Renford came rushing outside, his hands filled with what could only be a freshly-baked loaf of the monastery’s excellent bread wrapped in a coarse, clean cloth. Feeling somewhat ashamed of his behavior toward the man on the evening of his sister’s arrival, Bayard pulled up on the reins and smiled down at the other monk.

“Brother Bayard, I couldn’t let you leave without something to warm you