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The moment he saw the letter on his desk and read the name Tassing, Mathieu felt the weight of dread descend on him. He opened it, not because he wanted to, not even out of curiosity, but because he had no choice. If he ignored it, it would only come back to haunt him like everything else from that place.
A bitter taste coated his tongue by the time he had finished reading it. His response was written quickly, the tip of his quill digging into the paper with every stroke. Anger flared in his gut at the memory of the fire, the senseless waste of life. No matter how many years passed, Mathieu sometimes still smelled it, the violent end of Kiersau Abbey as it went up in smoke.
He did not know Fräulein Druckeryn, had no desire to continue the correspondence, and even resented her a little for opening old wounds. Because whenever he thought of Kiersau and Tassing, he always thought of him .
Rüdeger. His lips formed the name he dared not speak aloud.
Twenty-five years had come and gone since he had last seen Rüdeger. Twenty-five painful, lonely years. Mathieu got up from his seat, sealed his letter and walked stiffly down the stairs into the hall. “Odette,” he called, ill humors fraying his voice.
As usual, he had to repeat himself. Her half-deaf great aunt, whom he had employed until she was too old to do the housework and who had vouched for the girl, had reacted more quickly than young Odette did.
He called her name once more, his mood souring further.
Finally, she came running, not from the kitchen but from outside.
“I’m so sorry, your reverence,” she mumbled as she cast down her gaze and curtsied sloppily. “Pierre called me outside because the messenger came back. He had another letter for you.”
“Another letter?” Mathieu glared at the crumpled envelope she held out to him. He was not in the mood for more reading and writing, all he wanted was to sit and nurse old wounds.
But the seal caught his eye. It was business. He snatched the letter from the girl’s hands, causing her to flinch. “Thank you, Odette, that will be all. You may return to your duties. I expect dinner will be served on time tonight? In an hour?” And not a minute later, he allowed the sharpness of his tone to convey.
“I will do my best, your reverence.”
Mathieu wrinkled his nose in displeasure. “The correct response would be, yes, your reverence,” he told her sternly. “Try again.”
The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “Yes, your reverence.” With that, she hurried off, no doubt already behind on her chores.
Mathieu rolled his eyes towards the Heavens and slipped the envelope into the pocket of his robes. He was not keen on opening it, surmising that its contents would not be pleasant.
Letters from the inquisition seldom were.
*
Upstairs Mathieu sat on his bed. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. While the memories of the fire tended to overcome him like an avalanche, rushing him and smothering him when he least expected it, memories of his time with Rüdeger - so brief now compared to the rest of Mathieu’s life - had to be painstakingly unearthed. When he had time, Mathieu would spend hours digging them up from the charred ruins of Kiersau Abbey, his recollection as dark and confusing now as the smoke-filled halls he and his brothers fled that horrible night.
It became ever more difficult to find these shards of remembrance. To relive moments shared with the only person he had ever truly loved. Rüdeger. While he recalled that Rüdeger had the most beautiful singing voice he had ever heard, Mathieu could no longer hear it the way he had been able to for a few years after Rüdeger had gone. Whenever he thought about Rüdeger now, those painful years at Kiersau Abbey following his disappearance pushed to the forefront of Mathieu’s mind, casting their long, cold shadow over what had preceded them.
Mathieu wanted to remember their first secret meeting in the library, their first kiss. He tried to picture the oak shelves, the rows of leatherbound volumes. Imagined the coarse fabric of the Benedictine habit on his skin, the smooth beads of his rosary slipping through his fingers. He tipped his head back and tried to picture Rüdeger’s face. Dark eyes, dark hair and beard. Mathieu pressed his lips together as the image blurred, details melting away. Trying to hold onto the memory was like trying to hold onto water. He let out a frustrated sigh. What was he doing, dwelling on the past like that?
Rüdeger was long gone.
Mathieu still prayed for him every night, of course he did, but the day he had turned his back on the smoldering ruins of Kiersau Abbey, he had given up all hope of ever seeing him again.
Warm breath caressed his cheeks and Mathieu’s eyes popped open. His glasses fogged up but not enough to obscure the giant dog standing in front of him.
“Mollis,” he grunted. “We both know you are not allowed up here.” She wagged her tail at him and he patted her head. The smell of Presskopf wafted in his face, betraying an earlier excursion into the kitchen. He would scold Odette later for letting her out of her sight.
“Thou shalt not steal,” he told the dog without heat. She continued to pant at him, blissfully oblivious. Remembering the letter, Mathieu sighed once more in defeat and reached into his pocket.
He broke the seal, unfolded it and was instantly struck by recognition. He knew this hand. The letters were large and elegant while the message they spelled out was brief and severe.
An den Hochverehrten Erzdiakon der Stadt Sion,
mit Verlaub bitte ich im Namen der Inquisition um Euer Urteil in einer Angelegenheit, die sich im Kloster der Allerheiligen in Eichenau zugetragen hat. Ein Mönch, bekannt unter dem Namen Matthäus von Würzburg, steht unter dem Verdacht der Sodomie. Das Kloster und die Inquisition erwarten Eure baldige Ankunft.
Hochachtungsvoll,
Ferenc Nagy, Inquisitor
Mathieu was not a man prone to taking the Lord’s name in vain, but this time he was tempted. He folded the letter back up, withstanding the urge to crumple it up and throw it away, and got to his feet. Mollis watched him as he made his way downstairs, bones heavy with new dread.
Ferenc… An image of the man floated up from his memory. Two reminders of that cursed town in one day, what were the chances? Was God testing him? And then the awful accusation… A hot blade of shame and fear twisted in his gut. Sodomy. Only a few months earlier two men had been found guilty of the crime and burned at the stake in Zürich. When the news reached Mathieu he had thought of Rüdeger, had closed his eyes and prayed silently.
Of course, he and Rüdeger had never committed that particular sin. The consequences were too terrifying. Even so, there had been nights when they were alone, when Mathieu’s skin had been singing from Rüdeger’s touch, and a yearning had opened up inside him. He’d never spoken about it, not even to Rüdeger. Mathieu had not wanted him to know how deeply twisted he was. It had been the only thing he kept from Rüdeger.
“Odette!” he called. “I will not be here for dinner! In fact, I will leave Sion today! I don’t know how long I will be gone! I expect you to take care of the house in my absence! Odette!”
Something clattered in the kitchen and Mathieu rolled his eyes. Finally, the girl appeared, a large stain on her apron and a dark smudge on her cheek. God only knew what she was doing. She herself probably did not.
“Your reverence?” she asked breathlessly.
“Do feed the dog,” he told her. “I must pack and prepare for my journey.” He eyed her critically. “I expect you to have a meal ready when I return.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But… when? Where are you - Your reverence… when will you -”
He waved a hand in the air to signal her to stop her babbling. “A few days, I think,” he muttered, the sick feeling in his stomach settling like a rock. “I hope it won’t take long.”
*
The last time Mathieu had seen the former prior of Kiersau Abbey had been on the morning after the fire. Smoke hung over Tassing, thick and toxic, driving tears into their eyes and burning their throats. There was weeping in the streets and the gazes directed at them were cold and sharp as blades. The soldiers who had struck down the revolt were curt with them, telling them that they would grant them safe passage out of the village, but then they would have to await orders.
Mathieu remembered waking to the decision after a nearly sleepless night. Misery weighed heavily on all of them, even before they discovered that Brother Guy had stolen away under the cover of night, and Mathieu knew in his aching bones that he needed to go home.
His memory of Ferenc was of a man, dressed in a singed black habit, standing among his fellow monks and looking at a loss.
Stepping out of his carriage at his destination at Eichenau Abbey, Mathieu was greeted by the same man, if somewhat older, now wearing the unmistakable habit of the inquisition.
“Archdeacon,” Ferenc said, his face betraying no emotion.
“Inquisitor,” replied Mathieu.
“Thank you for making the journey. We were relieved when your man reached us and informed us of your imminent arrival. The abbot is waiting inside.You are just in time for vespers.” Ferenc led the way.
“Your letter came as a surprise, Ferenc. The inquisition does not usually turn to the local clergy for judgment.”
“No, but this is a special case. As you will see soon enough.”
Mathieu bristled but did not ask for an explanation. They stepped into the church and he was struck by the similarities with Kiersau. It felt almost as though they had passed through some magical gate into the past. The weight in his stomach clawed up into his throat. He cleared it noisily, causing Ferenc to shoot him a knowing glance.
“It looks almost the same, doesn’t it, Mathieu?”
Mathieu nodded. He could feel the memories pressing in on him, not to mention the hollow ache in his heart where his love was still locked away.
*
They ate with the abbot and the monks, in silence as was Benedictine custom, while one of the brothers read Genesis 19. Mathieu found this very on the nose but withheld comment. After the Hell that was travel, he was glad to sit and eat and not think about the reason he had been summoned. At least for a few blissful moments.
Of course it did not last. As soon as the meal was finished, he had to begin his investigation into the matter.
“Where is the accused?” he asked. “And what evidence do you have against him?”
Ferenc led him out into the garden. It was dusk, the sky darkening around a ribbon of orange on the horizon, the sight all too reminiscent of the glow of a distant fire. Mathieu swallowed and averted his gaze. His eyesight was poor and all he could do was stumble along after Ferenc, until he stopped abruptly, and grabbed Mathieu’s shoulder.
“Careful now. There, in the dried well. There was no other suitable place to hold him, so they threw him down there.”
Mathieu had almost run into the uneven stone wall that went up to his shoulders. A wooden lid was placed upon the well. It had to be pitch black in there. “Mon Dieu…” he breathed, thinking back to poor old Brother Piero in the cellar. At least he had been spared something like this.
Wordlessly, Ferenc pushed the large wooden disc aside and lifted his lantern. Mathieu stood on his tiptoes, hands on the cold stone rim. He squinted down into the dark. The prisoner was huddled on the ground. Dark hair around the pale tonsure spot with streaks of silver in it, catching the light.
“Brother Matthäus,” called Ferenc and the man lifted his head, tipped it back to peer up at them, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the glow of the lantern. He whimpered softly and Mathieu’s blood turned to ice.
“...daz er uns firtanen giuuerdo ginade…” the voice drifted up, painfully familiar, and for a second, Mathieu saw him, despite the darkness, despite his visual impairment, he saw him .
Mathieu recoiled with a gasp. He tripped and fell backwards onto his behind. Stunned, he sat in the grass, his heart beating furiously against his ribs.
Ferenc towered over him, the lantern light animating the shadows on his face. “So I was right,” he said. “It is him. The man who fled from Kiersau Abbey more than two decades ago. Brother Rüdeger of Bad Tölz.”
Mathieu’s fingers dug into the dirt as he tensed. He thought of denying it, but that would be foolish. His reaction had already betrayed Rüdeger. He got up, brushed the dirt from his robes and glared at Ferenc.
“I want to speak to him, right now,” he said, heart fluttering in his chest. “Get him out of this hole at once.”
“Of course, your reverence. However, you must not forget that he is accused of a serious crime. And that you yourself have just proven him to be a liar.”
“Lying… a common sin as many men wish to leave their past behind, wouldn’t you agree, Brother Ferenc?” snapped Mathieu, remembering the transcript of Andreas Maler’s testimony in the Rothvogel case. Father Gernot had shown it to him, very much beside himself. For all Mathieu knew, Ferenc had escaped the executioner’s blade by a hair’s breadth. An occultist turned inquisitor, he thought, had no moral superiority over Rüdeger. Righteous anger flared in his stomach.
Without waiting for the inquisitor’s reaction, Mathieu turned away and stalked back towards the building. He could feel the pull of the well behind him, of Rüdeger, whom he had found again. This time, Mathieu swore to himself, he would not fail him.
*
The abbot, Father Benedikt, carried himself with an air of constant apology. He was soft-spoken and referred to the circumstances exclusively as “this regrettable incident”. Mathieu would have felt optimistic about him had he not shown such deference to Ferenc and his scowling brethren who lurked about the abbey and glared at everyone hurrying past.
The chapter house was where he would be hearing testimonies, Mathieu was told. The large hall reminded him painfully of Kiersau and the stormy day that had changed the trajectory of many lives. He breathed in the cool night air and looked up at the giant mural covering the wall. The crucifixion of Christ. A beautiful yet intimidating work of art. Mathieu felt as though the mournful, knowing gaze of their Savior pierced his very soul. Man was fallible in his judgment, but there was no obscuring the truth from God.
Footsteps behind him. Mathieu turned and saw Ferenc enter, flanked by two more members of the inquisition. “Your reverence,” they greeted him in unison. Mathieu nodded despite the ribbon of nausea unwinding in his guts. He would not be alone with Rüdeger. These men would be here, hoping to find enough evidence to burn Rüdeger at the stake - or perhaps both of them? Was that why Ferenc had brought him here?
No, no. Mathieu shook off the fog of paranoia threatening to cloud his mind. He took his seat and clasped his hands before a tremor might betray his nerves. Twenty-five years, he thought. Oh God. So much time had passed. They were old men now, surely whatever passion had been between them was gone. Perhaps Rüdeger would not even remember him.
Sodomy. Had he really committed the crime? With whom? Where was the second accused? There had to be one, had there not?
Mathieu turned to Ferenc, who had taken his seat beside him. “Sodomy is not a deed one man can commit all by himself. Where is the other one?” Unless, he thought, the act had been one of violence which would mean there was no partner in crime but a victim. But Rüdeger would never. It was unthinkable.
“He attacked the man who caught them and fled,” Ferenc said evenly. “We have been looking for him, but to no avail so far.”
“And who is he?” asked Mathieu, trying not to wonder whether Rüdeger loved this man the way he had once claimed to love Mathieu.
“A younger brother, who only took his vows a few weeks ago. His name is Helmut. Fifth son of Baron Walpenhorst. According to the other monks he was a spoiled, foul-tempered boy. Insolent, moody. But a gifted singer. Anyway, his father gave monthly donations to the abbey. I’m certain he would like to see the incident resolved quickly.”
And his son absolved of any sin, Mathieu thought. They would want Rüdeger to confess not to sodomy but to attempted rape. They would not want to think of their son as having been sodomized but they could live with a version of events where Rüdeger confesses to trying to violate their child and being caught before anything could happen. It would be enough cause for an execution. Rüdeger would be burned at the stake and their son could return, his honor restored. Then again, if the whole thing was ruled a misunderstanding and Rüdeger was expelled from the abbey, the baron should also be satisfied. Maybe there was hope.
“Hm.” Mathieu drew in a deep breath, steeling himself. “Bring in the accused Brother Matthäus of Würzburg,” he ordered, his voice echoing in the large hall.
The doors were pushed open and a guard dragged in a man. The light of the candles illuminating the room revealed just how filthy and exhausted he was.
Mathieu’s heart seized at the sight of him, so much older, his face darkened by dirt and bruises, eyes cast to the ground, but still unmistakably Rüdeger. Mathieu would have known him anywhere. His heart recognized him even if his eyes did not.
“The most Revered Archdeacon of Sion, Mathieu Faux-Saucigny,” announced Pierre, Mathieu’s manservant.
Rüdeger hung his head. He was muttering something under his breath, a prayer, Mathieu guessed, though he could not hear the words, but remembered Rüdeger withdrawing deep into prayer once or twice during their time together when he was scared, angry or otherwise overwhelmed. Mathieu had liked this about him, the way he never lashed out at anyone but pulled back from the world, searching for solace in his connection to the Lord.
“Brother,” he said gently, the word heavy with emotion, “look at me.”
The sound of his voice achieved what the declaration of his name had not. A jolt passed through Rüdeger’s body. His head snapped up, his eyes going wide as his mouth dropped open.
“Mathieu,” he gasped. “It can’t be… Oh no… oh no… oh no no no…” Hiding his face in his hands, Rüdeger crashed to his knees. The guard audibly bit back a curse and pulled hard on his arm, trying to get him to stand.
Seeing Rüdeger writhe on the ground in what seemed like agony, Mathieu leapt to his feet. He wanted to run to Rüdeger, but Ferenc’s hand closed painfully around his shoulder.
“We can’t interrogate him like this. Take him away,” he commanded.
“Do not throw him back into that hole,” Mathieu snarled. “Don’t you dare! This man has not been found guilty! Take him to the infirmary. Give him fresh clothes and a bed, lock the doors if you must. I want to speak to him alone.” He could feel Ferenc bristle, but there was no taking back his words, not that Mathieu would have, even if it had been possible.
A lump rose in his throat. He did not know what he had expected but certainly not this. He could still hear Rüdeger whimper, “No no no…”, his voice shaking with fear and pain as though Mathieu was the Devil himself who had come to drag Rüdeger down into the fires of Hell with him.
*
“I want to speak to him alone,” Mathieu repeated as soon as the guard and one of the inquisitors had taken Rüdeger away. Mathieu had dismissed Pierre and Ferenc had sent his second henchman on an errand. They were unobserved. A shadow of displeasure fell across Ferenc’s expression. His mouth pulled into an unhappy line.
“I must say, I did not expect this,” he said. “I thought bringing you here would help him.”
“You wish to help him? The inquisition is hardly known -”
“I’d advise you to choose your words carefully, your reverence,” Ferenc cut him off.
Mathieu grit his teeth, feeling the weight of Ferenc’s cold stare. “You do important work. I believe the fight against heresy to be vital for the church. However, is it not true that one of the sayings of the inquisition is God will know His ? Rüdeger is my friend. He was your friend as well if I remember correctly. I do not wish to see him burn.”
“Neither do I. The fire is a last resort. If there is any other way to cleanse a soul and return it to Christ without purging it from earth, I will gladly take it.”
Mathieu nodded, not fully convinced, but willing to give Ferenc the benefit of the doubt. There was no way for him to know why his former prior had called him here, knowing what he did. Though, what did he know, really? Wasn’t that the question.
“Speak to him tomorrow morning,” Ferenc said. “Perhaps he will have calmed down by then.” He shook his head. “I thought your presence would be a comfort to him. After all, he named himself after you.” A strange sidelong glance accompanied the statement. “You two were inseparable back then, until the night he fled.”
“Matthäus…he obviously named himself after the apostle, the evangelist, not me,” Mathieu said, although he himself had wondered about it. Ferenc’s piercing gaze made him uneasy, the last thing he wanted was for an inquisitor to take an interest in his relationship with Rüdeger.
“The tax collector, the sinner,” mused Ferenc. “An example of redemption through Christ’s love. Did you ever ask your parents why they chose that name for you?”
“No. Even so, I think they were more enamored of the lexical meaning than the implication of sin… or tax collection, for that matter,” Mathieu replied wryly.
“Gift from God,” Ferenc said. He gazed down at Mathieu thoughtfully. “If any other two brothers had been as… close as you and Rüdeger were, I… well, as their prior I would have tried to separate them so they might not be tempted, but you…You always were such a funny little man.”
Mathieu said nothing. He understood the implication. No man could be tempted by someone like him. It was unimaginable.
“Good night, Inquisitor,” he said finally. “God bless you.”
“God bless you,” replied Ferenc, before leaving Mathieu standing alone beneath the image of their crucified Savior.
*
The night was long and sleepless for Mathieu. Twenty-five years he had waited, longing for a chance to see Rüdeger again, to speak to him. What were a few more hours compared to that? Too much, he thought.
He got up and prayed with the brothers at Matins, then in the early morning at Lauds, where Ferenc joined him. Together they walked to the infirmary. A guard was placed outside, one of Ferenc’s, a tall, broad-shouldered inquisitor with eyes dark as coals. Ferenc gestured to Mathieu. “His reverence will see the accused now. No one is to disturb them.”
The guard hesitated. “He will go in alone? Is that not unwise?”
Ferenc raised an eyebrow at Mathieu. “Is it unwise, your reverence?”
“I am not alone. The Lord is always with me,” Mathieu said archly. “I have nothing to fear.”
He wished they would go away, but there was no chance of that happening. He waited for the man to unlock the door, which the guard did after exchanging another glance with Ferenc, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
Finally, Mathieu stepped inside where he found the second guard, standing by a bed on which Rüdeger sat, knees drawn up to his chest.
Ferenc called his man outside and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock seemed to echo in the small room. Rüdeger raised his head and looked at him. He drew in a breath, then released it shakily.
“You are really here,” he whispered. “I thought it was a dream, but you are really here.”
A searing pain in his chest and Mathieu’s body moved of its own accord, carrying him to the bed.
“Rüdeger…” Mathieu reached out and grasped one of Rüdeger’s hands. He was shocked by how thin and papery Rüdeger’s skin felt, how brittle the bones seemed in his grip.
“ Are you really here?” asked Rüdeger, his eyes finally meeting Mathieu’s, startling him with the darkness of their depths, the glitter of tears in their corners.
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh…” Rüdeger’s brow knit. His fingers tensed beneath Mathieu’s hand. “I prayed… I prayed and prayed, Mathieu.”
Mathieu stroked the back of his hand, trying to calm him down. How long had he waited for this moment? Far too long. He couldn’t believe he was touching Rüdeger after all those years. “So did I.”
“I prayed…” Rüdeger swallowed and Mathieu gently squeezed his hand, his heart bursting with love. “...That we would never meet again.”
Mathieu froze. The words, spoken so softly, pleadingly, tore into him like vicious claws. He drew air into his lungs and still felt like he was drowning. Abruptly, he pulled his hand away, his fingers curling into a fist.
Rüdeger, too, flinched as if struck. Emotions flickered across his bruised face, too quickly for Mathieu to read them.
“I see…” And he did. He saw it now, his own foolishness. Rüdeger had left in the dead of night. For all these years, Mathieu had blamed Andreas Maler, but perhaps the one at fault was not the painter but Mathieu himself.
Tears silently slipped down Rüdeger’s face, cutting bright tracks through the dirt on his cheeks. There was dried blood there, Mathieu realized, and so he got up and walked over to a cabinet to look for supplies. He found clean strips of fabric as well as ointment and a bowl of water. He carried all of it to the bed and sat gingerly on the mattress.
Mathieu dipped the fabric into the bowl he’d set on the nightstand, then the ointment, then he reached out and when Rüdeger remained where he was, sitting up against the headboard, Mathieu began dabbing at his face, wiping off dirt and blood to clean the wounds.
“Are you aware of the accusations against you?” he asked.
To his surprise, he felt Rüdeger lean into his touch. “Yes…”
Mathieu’s heart ached. A drawn-out pain as if a hook had been sunk into his flesh and was steadily being pulled.
“Yes what?” He fixed Rüdeger with a glare, but Rüdeger merely gazed at him fearfully, uncomprehending. “I am not here as your friend. I am here as your judge,” Mathieu said in a colder tone of voice than he had never used with Rüdeger before. “The correct response would be, yes, your reverence.” Rüdeger sniffed, eyes brimming with fresh tears, and though it hurt Mathieu to be this cruel to him, he commanded, “Say it.”
Rüdeger averted his gaze. “Yes, your reverence.”
Mathieu dipped his rag into the bowl, wringing blood and dirt from the now stained cloth.
Although he should have, he did not look at Rüdeger when he asked, “Did you commit the unnatural, disgusting act of sodomy?”
“No,” came Rüdeger’s reply. Then, after a beat, “No, your reverence.”
Was he relieved? Mathieu found that he did not know, that his own heart suddenly was a mystery to him. He felt removed from it, as though his skin and bones had been peeled away from it, left it pumping naked in the distance while he watched, uncomprehending.
But he did know which questions the archdeacon had to ask. So he continued.
“What was the nature of your relationship with the young man who has fled, Brother Helmut, I believe?”
Rüdeger hesitated, choosing his words.
“I…I thought he would succeed me as cantor. We often rehearsed together. His voice… God has given him a great gift.”
A gift from God , Mathieu thought. A tax collector, a sinner.
“Was there anything more between you? Anything untoward?”
Did you grasp his hand after prayer one night? Did you hold onto it and say, I think about you, Brother Mathieu? Did you tell him, when I close my eyes and sing, it is your face I picture?
Rüdeger shook his head. “No…”
“Did you wish there was?” Without waiting for a reply, Mathieu pressed on, “Were you ever tempted by him? Did you feel desire in his presence?”
“No!” For the first time, color returned to Rüdeger’s cheeks. His nostrils flared and his hands balled into fists. “He is just a boy. He was so unhappy here… Angry and sad. He felt his family had abandoned him. I would try to cheer him up from time to time. I told him that God was with him, that God’s love was the greatest gift - ” He interrupted himself, concern filling his eyes. “Is he alright? They… haven’t hurt him, have they? They wouldn’t…”
Something inside Mathieu hardened. “As of yet, he has not been found.”
“Oh. May God protect him,” mumbled Rüdeger.
“You should worry about yourself,” Mathieu snapped, stung by sudden irritation. “Do you know what will happen to you if you are found guilty?” Rüdeger gazed at him, eyes wide, the lines of his face smoothed by that strange innocence he had. Somehow, for everything else they had taken, the years had not robbed him of it. “You will burn at the stake, Rüdeger,” Mathieu said. “You have already been proven to have given false testimony. You have lied about your identity for years. Your brothers do not know you; you are a stranger in their midst. They will turn on you when they find out and they will find out. Trying to deceive Ferenc was foolish. You should have known that he would recognise you.”
A stifled sob. Rüdeger’s shoulders were shaking. He sagged, burying his face in his hands. Despite everything, Mathieu felt the urge to reach out, to pull Rüdeger into his arms and comfort him.
“No, no, no, no…” Rüdeger whispered. “I never thought he would bring you here. I prayed - “
He could not bear to hear it again. “Enough,” Mathieu said, a tremor in his voice. “Tell me about the accusation. How did it happen?”
“Brother Modlisz, Brother Adelbert and Brother Helmut stormed into the church where I was praying, perhaps an hour after Matins…”
“You were alone there? In the middle of the night?”
“I was circator. I had finished my rounds and I couldn’t sleep. I was praying…” For a moment, Rüdeger’s gaze grew distant. He seemed to be looking through Mathieu, at something only he could see. His brow creased. “They interrupted me. They were fighting. Helmut hit Adelbert. I was shocked. It was all so sudden. I tried to intervene, but they pushed me to the ground. Then Helmut ran outside. Then the other brothers came running into the chapel, asking what had happened. And Brother Adelbert said - “ Rüdeger’s expression darkened. His lips opened and closed without producing a sound.
“He accused you?” Mathieu tried to picture the scene and thought of Brother Piero standing over Baron Rothvogel’s body, the bloody knife in his hands. This, however, was different. There was no corpus delicti, no physical evidence at all.
“He… said that… that they had seen me and Brother Helmut, that they had seen us…” Rüdeger swallowed. “That we had been committing a grave sin, right there in the church, a shameless act defiling ourselves and the house of our Lord. He told everyone Helmut had become enraged with him for interrupting us and had attacked him before fleeing. I remember how he turned to Brother Modlisz and asked, Is that not what happened? And Brother Modlisz nodded and said, yes, that is what happened. ”
“Was there animosity between you and Brother Adelbert? Did he have reason to hate you?” The question was a formality. Mathieu knew the answer already. Rüdeger had never been anything but kind and thoughtful, always helping out his brothers, always volunteering for chores. In Kiersau, everyone had liked him, even Brother Guy.
As expected, Rüdeger shook his head, his fingers kneading the blanket. “I don’t - I don’t think so. I don’t understand why he would say such a thing about me. I’ve been thinking about it since the night it happened and I’ve prayed to God looking for an answer, but there is nothing.”
“And the other one, Brother Modlisz?”
“No. I liked him. I thought of him as a friend.” Sadness tinged Rüdeger's voice.
“But you lied to them, gave them a false name, told them you were from Würzburg.” A grave sin. Technically, Rüdeger had no right to even be in the abbey. He had broken his vows in Kiersau and whatever vows he had taken here were based on deceit. “Could they have suspected something?” Even if they had, it would have made more sense to tell the abbot of Rüdeger’s lies than to make up a false accusation.
Rüdeger looked shocked, as though he had forgotten all about Matthäus, the man he had invented.
“No, I never gave them any reason and they never asked any questions.”
Mathieu nodded. He did not ask about the name. It hardly mattered.
He rose. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Rüdeger shook his head. His salt and pepper locks rippled with the movement and Mathieu imagined running his fingers through them. He cleared his throat.
"And you swear that what you told me just now was the truth?"
Rüdeger raised his chin, almost in defiance. For a moment, the years seemed to melt between them and Mathieu saw him as he did on that first day, bathed in the colors of the stained glass window above him, a light in his eyes that stripped away any defense Mathieu might have had.
"I have never lied to you, Mathieu."
Mathieu closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, twenty-five years had passed once more and he answered with regret, “I know.”
*
In the chapter house Mathieu gazed cooly at young Brother Adelbert and said, “I want you to tell me exactly what you saw when you entered the church that night.” Next to him Ferenc shifted in his seat.
“I saw Brother Matthäus sodomize Brother Helmut. I saw it with my own eyes, as God is my witness.”
Mathieu raised an eyebrow. “My son, God is always your witness and you did not answer my question. I want you to describe what you saw, not tell me how you interpreted the scene before you. I ask you again, what exactly did you see that night? Where were the two men and what were they doing?”
The young man frowned. “I- well-”
Mathieu sighed and glared at Rüdeger’s accuser. “You entered the church from the cloister, is this correct?”
“Um… yes,” said Adelbert, casting a pleading gaze at Ferenc.
“And you saw…?”
“Brother Matthäus and Brother Helmut.”
“And what were they doing?”
“Committing the sin of-”
“What did that look like? Describe their actions.”
The monk blanched.
“Archdeacon,” grumbled Ferenc, “this is hardly necessary. We all know what the act looks like.”
“Do we, Inquisitor? Am I truly to assume that all minds in this abbey are tainted to that extent? That every man here would hear the word sodomy and be able to picture the foul act? What do you know of sodomy, Brother Adelbert?”
“Scripture says… uh,” he stammered, face now reddening, “qui dormierit cum masculo coitu… uh…”
“Femineo uterque operati sunt nefas morte moriantur sit sanguis eorum super eos,” Mathieu finished impatiently. “Yes, but what did it look like? Were they lying on the ground?”
“Uh, yes…”
Mathieu huffed a breath as the last of his doubts were vanquished by the idiotic boy in front of him. “Then how did you see them?” he asked, voice cutting. “If you entered from the cloister as you said, your view would have been obscured by the pews.”
Brother Adelbert gaped.
Mathieu sighed, “Do you know what it means to perjure yourself, brother,” he asked.
*
After they had heard the testimonies, Ferenc shot him a sidelong glance. “It seems like there is no cause for my men and me to remain here much longer.”
“There is no sodomy here, inquisitor, just the petty little lies of petty little men,” Mathieu said. Even to himself he sounded bitter, knowing full well that these kinds of lies cost men and women their lives all across the Holy Roman Empire.
“Which leaves the matter of Brother Rüdeger’s fate,” Ferenc pointed out.
“Yes,” Mathieu replied, chest suddenly tight.
*
As it turned out, Rüdeger confessed to his actual crime himself, prostrating himself on the ground in true Benedictine fashion, just moments after Mathieu had declared him cleared of the original charge.
He was banished from the abbey on the spot.
“I’m sorry,” Father Benedikt said, “but I have no other choice. You lied to all of us. Therefore the vows you took under your false name are null and void. You must never return here again. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Mathieu watched Rüdeger’s face crumple and, knowing he would be stripped of his habit and with it his entire existence, he stepped in, putting himself between the abbot, the brothers and poor Rüdeger and said, “Though your offense is great indeed, I will not excommunicate you. If you seek redemption, you can come with me. God knows Sion could use a cantor.”
It was a foolish act indeed, but what else was Mathieu to do? Turn his back on Rüdeger and return to Sion, live out the rest of his days pretending nothing happened? Impossible.
The moment stretched into an eternity as Rüdeger stared at him in disbelief.
I prayed and prayed, Mathieu heard him say, the words echoing in the chambers of his heart. That we would never meet again.
Finally, to Mathieu’s great relief, Rüdeger nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
*
“Do you think this is wise?” Ferenc asked him when they parted. His gaze tracked Rüdeger as he climbed awkwardly on the horse Mathieu had bought him. The brown mare flicked her ears and Rüdeger leaned over to pat her neck and whisper to her.
“It might benefit you both if he stole that horse and made another run for it.”
Mathieu said nothing.
“A man accused of sodomy is not one to be kept close,” Ferenc added, eyes narrowed.
“Matthäus of Würzburg was accused of sodomy and found not guilty, but I’m not bringing him to Sion, am I?” Mathieu glanced over at Ferenc in a manner he hoped conveyed that while there were things Ferenc knew, as well as others he might suspect, there were also things Mathieu remembered.
In many ways, Mathieu felt himself being reevaluated in Ferenc’s gaze. The inquisitor's brows lifted as he arrived at some kind of conclusion. “You always were a funny little man,” he said finally with disdain but also begrudging sort of respect. “God bless you, Archdeacon.”
“God bless you, Inquisitor,” replied Mathieu, thinking, as Ferenc walked away, May we never meet again.
*
When they arrived, Rüdeger gaped at the house, eyes big as a child’s on Christmas. The sight made Mathieu smile, only later did he realize that the lightness in his chest was in part relief.
Odette had no food prepared, but Mathieu did not scold her. He instructed her to clean the guest room and told Rüdeger, who was by then busy petting Mollis, to make himself comfortable.
*
The first time Mathieu heard Rüdeger sing in the cathedral, his beloved voice rising to the high ceilings, to the very Heavens, he had to hide his tears. He could not remember the last time he had felt such joy.
No, he could. He closed his eyes and recalled the first time Rüdeger’s lips had brushed his.
*
Mathieu knew it would not last, of course he did. Rüdeger was too quiet, too withdrawn. He flinched when Mathieu touched him, however fleetingly, and averted his eyes whenever their gazes met by accident.
Rüdeger would smile for the dog, for his horse or for Odette, who taught him bits of French and giggled at his horrible German mangling of them. But never for Mathieu.
It was painful, but still Mathieu was happy, just to have him close, to know that he was safe. If he was never allowed to touch him again, that was fine, Mathieu was an old man now, after all, and to see Rüdeger smile was more than he would have dared to dream of.
So when the night came, the night he awoke suddenly from sleepless dreams and knew, knew in his very soul, that it was over, he was devastated.
Mathieu felt an oppressive silence as he blinked in the darkness. Then he heard one single bark from Mollis. It cut through the night like a flash of thunder in a clear sky.
He slipped out of bed, lit his candle and went downstairs.
Rüdeger was in the hallway, bundle over his shoulder, petting Mollis’s head.
“Are you leaving?” A jolt went through him upon hearing Mathieu’s voice. He whipped around, dropping his bundle.“Please don’t,” Mathieu said quickly, anguish filling every inch of him. “Even if you no longer care for me, you will always be safe here.”
Rüdeger stared at him, his skin ashen, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I cannot be around you, Mathieu,” he said finally, his voice as hoarse and strained as it usually only became after one of the major holidays.
“Do you resent me this much?” asked Mathieu, sounding, even to himself, smaller than he was.
There was genuine surprise on Rüdeger’s face. “Resent you? No. No, I could never resent you.”
“Then why? You have everything you need here. If there is anything else you want, I can probably arrange - “
“I don’t need anything,” Rüdeger interrupted gently. It had always been his kindness that undid Mathieu.
Tears rose in his throat, but he swallowed them down. He needed to be rational. “I understand that you no longer love me, I accept it. Even so, you can still live here. Wherever I am, there will always be a place for you. Running away is foolish, where would you even go?” To another abbey, under another false name? Mathieu bit his lip. This was his own fault. Rüdeger had told him. I prayed and prayed that we would never meet again.
Rüdeger frowned and shook his head. “You think I no longer love you? Of course I still love you, Mathieu. I will always love you.”
How easily the words flowed from his lips, offering unexpected salvation. Mana from the Heavens, when Mathieu had been starving all this time. He couldn’t believe it. He took a faltering step towards Rüdeger, but Rüdeger averted his eyes. Splotches of color appeared on his cheeks, reminding Mathieu of the beating he had taken in Eichenau.
“That’s why I cannot stay,” Rüdeger said, voice trembling. “When I am close to you, all I want is to be closer still, to touch you, to kiss you! Don’t you understand? The things I want to do to you could get both of us killed.”
Mathieu’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Rüdeger, now agitated, take two steps toward him, then stop, shake his head once more and whisper, “Loving you the way I love you is a sin. A sin God will never forgive. If I must burn in Hell for it, then so be it, but I cannot bear to drag you down with me!”
Mathieu closed the distance between them. “Rüdeger…” he sighed and smiled, sure of himself now. “How can it be a sin to love? Don’t you see that God brought us back together? We were apart for twenty-five years and yet we found each other again!” He felt like laughing, like dancing with joy because he knew he could take away Rüdeger’s fears. He had proof, they themselves were proof. “Who but the Lord Himself could have worked such a miracle?” he asked. “If this is wrong, then where is our punishment? How come we are blessed with all of this?” He gestured at the entrance hall around them, decorated with his worldly possessions. “Do you think God does not see us for who we are? Do you think He did not make us this way? Nothing happens without His knowledge, nothing happens against His will.”
Rüdeger raised his eyes and searched Mathieu’s face, not yet convinced but opening himself up to the possibility. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, I do,” Mathieu replied without hesitation.
He reached out and took one of Rüdegers hands in his. “Will you stay?”
Lightly Rüdeger’s fingers curled against his. Mollis, who felt she had been ignored too long, let out a soft whine.
Rüdeger nodded and so Mathieu blew out his candle and led him, for the first time, up the stairs to his bedroom.
*
When he saw the word Tassing on the envelope on his desk, Mathieu almost groaned. The seal of the inquisition did nothing to assuage his misgivings either, however, it was already broken. Mathieu raised an eyebrow and turned to the man sitting on the bed behind him.
“It seems Brother Ferenc is proselytizing heretics near our old home,” Rüdeger said, leaning over to scratch Mollis behind the ears. Her tail began thumping the floor.
“What does he want?” grumbled Mathieu.
“Nothing. Well, praise, I think; but he mostly just wrote to congratulate you on your ordination to bishop.”
Mathieu sighed. He pushed the letter aside without reading it and walked over to the bed.
“You should probably write him a thank you note,” Rüdeger suggested, a slight smile on his lips that wasn’t at all reminiscent of his ordeal with the inquisition. But then, he had always been more forgiving than Mathieu.
“I suppose I should.” He reached out and brushed a hand through Rüdeger’s hair, more silver than black now but still soft as silk. “But that can wait, don’t you think?”
“I do,” said Rüdeger and smiled a real smile, wide and genuine, as he opened his arms to Mathieu, who stepped into his embrace, and closed his eyes, all bad memories erased by the joy of the present moment.