The Beautiful Mystery

That was the thing with the bad apple. It was insidious. Slow. It looked just fine, from the outside, until the rot spread. And by then it was too late.

“Maybe,” said Gamache. “But maybe the bad apple is still here.”

“The murderer?”

“Or maybe it was someone whispering in the murderer’s ear.” On that thought he leaned back. “Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?”

“You think that’s what was said?” asked Beauvoir. “Seems a little flowery to me. I’d probably say, ‘Fucking die already.’”

Gamache laughed. “You should write to Hallmark with that one.”

“Not a bad idea. There’re lots of people I’d send it to.”

“Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest,” Gamache repeated. “It’s what Henry the Second said about Thomas à Becket.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Gamache grinned. “Hang in there, young man. This story ends in murder.”

“Better.”

“This was almost nine hundred years ago,” the Chief continued. “In England.”

“I’m already asleep.”

“King Henry promoted his good friend Thomas to be archbishop, thinking that would give him control of the Church. But it backfired.”

Despite himself, Beauvoir leaned forward.

“The king was worried that there was too much crime in England. He wanted to crack down on it—” As Gamache spoke Beauvoir nodded. Sympathizing with the king. “—but he felt all his efforts were undermined by the Church since it was pretty lenient with criminals.”

“So this king—”

“Henry,” said Gamache.

“Henry. He sees his chance and makes his friend Thomas an archbishop. What went wrong?”

“Well, to begin with, Thomas didn’t want the job. He even wrote to Henry saying that if he took the job their friendship would turn to hate.”

“And he was right.”

Gamache nodded. “The king passed a law saying that anyone found guilty in a Church court would be punished by the royal court. Thomas refused to sign it.”

“So he was killed?”

“Not immediately. It took six years, the animosity growing every day. Then one day King Henry muttered those words and four knights took it to be an order.”

“What happened?”

“They killed the archbishop. In Canterbury Cathedral. Murder in the Cathedral.”

“Will no one…” Beauvoir struggled to remember the quote.

“… rid me of this troublesome priest.” Gamache finished it.

“You think the abbot said something like that, and someone took it as an order?”

“Maybe. In a place like this the abbot might not even need to speak. A look would be enough. A raised brow, a grimace.”

“What happened after the archbishop was killed?”

“He was sainted.”

Beauvoir laughed. “That must’ve pissed off the king.”

Gamache smiled. “Henry spent the rest of his life regretting the murder, and said he’d never meant for that to happen.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

“I think it was easy to say, after the fact.”

“So, you think the abbot here might have said something like that, and one of his monks killed the prior?”

“It’s possible.”

“And knowing what happened, Dom Philippe turns around and does the unexpected. He appoints one of the prior’s men to lead the choir.” Beauvoir was picking his way through it. “Guilty mind?”

“Penance? Amends?” Gamache frowned, thinking. “Could be.”

It was so difficult to know why these monks did anything, thought Gamache. They were so different from anyone he’d ever met, or investigated.

But finally, he had to tell himself, they were just men. With the same motives as anyone else, only theirs were hidden behind black robes and angelic voices. And silence.

“The abbot denies there’s a split,” said Gamache, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together.

“Wow.” Beauvoir shook his head. “The things these monks can believe without evidence. But give them proof of something, and they don’t believe it. The split’s so obvious. Half want to record more chants, half don’t. Half want the vow of silence lifted, half don’t.”

“I’m not sure it’s half and half,” said Gamache. “I suspect the balance had shifted, in the prior’s favor.”