Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [19]
“Maybe,” Max allowed. “But that’s the Herr’s lands.”
“What then? Will you go in and chase them off?”
The Swiss shrugged. “Or Everard will hire them for the grain harvest. Why hunt trouble? The Herr will be back in a few days. He’s had his fill of France, or so the messenger said. I’ll ask his will.” He stared a while longer at the woods. “There was a strange glow there, before dawn. Then the smoke. I suppose you’ll tell me that was ‘Nature,’ too.” He turned and left, touching his cap as he passed Hildegarde Müller.
Dietrich saw no more movement among the trees. Perhaps he had seen nothing earlier, only the swaying of saplings within the forest.
III
AUGUST, 1348
At Compline, The Vigil of St. Laurence
“DISPÉRSIT,” SAID Dietrich. “Dédit paupéribus; justítia éjus mánet in saéculum saéculi: córnu éjus exaltábitur in Glória.”
Joachim answered him. “Beátus vir, qui tímet Dóminum; in mandátes éjus cúpit nímis.”
“Glória pátri et Fílio et Spirítui Sáncti.”
“Amen.” That they said in unison, but with no echo from the church save that of Theresia Gresch, who knelt solitary on the flagstones of the nave in the flickering candlelight. But Theresia was a fixture, like the statues that lurked in the niches in the wall.
There were only two sorts of women so perfervid in their devotions: madwomen and saints, nor were the two species entirely distinct. One must be a little mad to be a saint, at least as the world measured madness.
Theresia had the soft, round face of a maiden, though Dietrich knew her for twenty. She had never to Dietrich’s certain knowledge gone with a man, and indeed, still spoke with simplicity and innocence. At times, Dietrich knew jealousy on her account, for the Lord had opened Heaven to those who became as little children.
“… from the oppression of the flame which surrounded me,” Joachim read from the Book of Wisdom, “and in the midst of the fire I was not burnt …” Dietrich gave silent thanks for their deliverance from the fires three days before. Only Rudolf Pforzheimer had died. His aged heart had stopped when the elektronik essence had been at its thickest.
Dietrich shifted the book to the other side of the altar and read from the Gospel of Matthew, concluding, “If any man will come after me, let him take what he has and give it to the poor.”
Joachim cried, “Amen.”
“Na, Theresia,” he said as he closed the book, and she sat back on her heels to listen with a guileless smile. “Only a few feasts possess a Vigil-Night. Why is St. Laurence among them?” Theresia shook her head, which meant she did remember, but preferred that Dietrich tell her.
“A few days since, we remembered Pope Sixtus II, who was killed by the Romans while praying Mass in the catacombs. Sixtus had seven deacons. Four were killed at the Mass with him and two others were hunted down and killed the same day. That is why we say, ‘Sixtus and his companions.’ Laurence was the last of the deacons, and eluded capture for several days. Sixtus had given him the possessions of the Church for safekeeping—including, so they say, the cup from which Our Lord drank at the Last Supper and which the Popes had used at Mass until then. These he had distributed to the poor. When the Romans found him and ordered him to hand over ‘all the wealth of the Church,’ Laurence took them into the hovels of the city and showed them the poor, declaring—”
“There is the wealth of the Church!” Theresia cried and clapped her hands together. “Oh, I love that story!”
“Would that more Popes and bishops,” Joachim murmured, “loved it as much.” Then, seeing himself heard, he continued more forcefully: “Remember what Matthew wrote of the camel and the needle’s eye! Someday, O woman, artisans may fashion a singularly large needle. Somewhere in far Arabia may live an exceedingly small camel. Yet if we take the Master’s words at their least meaning, it is this: Wealthy lords and bishops—those who dine at groaning tables, who sit their asses on satin pillows—are not our moral guides. Look to the simple carpenter! And look to Laurence, who knew where true treasure