‘That is so,’ I agreed.
‘Now, what reasons could a man of God have for doing away with his fellow monks? And notice I don’t just see him as a man because he is not any man, he is a monk whose life is devoted to relinquishing sin. Either he is not a good monk – which we may say at the outset is most likely – or he doesn’t see these murders as sinful, he justifies them in some way, as holy necessities. Let us consider what kind of monk would do such a thing, shall we?’
‘A man who hates another, obviously,’ Eisik contributed, ‘and considering the powerful hate of a gentile . . .’
‘All that aside, Eisik, hate is a strong motive, and usually a passionate one. In such a case the crime would be more violent, less . . . planned.’
‘Greed, fear, jealousy, vanity, power?’ I ventured.
‘Very good, very good,’ he nodded his head.
‘But which one? Which one, for the love of Israel?’ cried Eisik, overcome with an access of emotion.
‘Perhaps a mixture of all of them, my friend. Let us see, he has succeeded in his crime, so he is clever, and those who are clever . . .’
‘Are envious of others whom they suspect of being more clever than they, this is well known,’ Eisik finished, pacing the room.
‘We must remember that a community of monks is like a mirror of the world, only many times smaller,’ Andre said.
‘You mean that monks are no better than those peasants in the village who are envious of each other, who blaspheme and who go about their greedy business?’ I asked aghast. ‘Master, how can that be so?’
‘There are not many men, be they monk or peasant, who are not this very day performing penance for some sin of pride or vanity. In any case we must continue by surmising that our killer may be envious, but why is he envious of older monks?’
‘Perhaps the killer was envious of another’s wisdom, master, because he is ambitious to be thought wiser.’
‘The boy is brighter than you credit him,’ said Eisik, ‘for he sees that either the killer is young and therefore despises the wisdom of the old because it is not new, or he is old and envies the young whose fresh new ideas he detests, or perhaps he envies his equals because he falls a little short of having what they possess. This is usual in the case of envy, especially among learned men.’
‘But that brings us no closer, Eisik, for he could be any age at all!’ I cried.
‘Precisely,’ answered Eisik, ‘but knowing nothing is also something, for now we can surmise that he is also vain. You may ask me how I know this but I will tell you that only a vain person will kill another to possess more knowledge than he already has! There again we see the avarice of learning.’ He threw my master a pointed look.
‘That is assuming envy is at the root of it,’ my master replied serenely, ‘which, of course, it may not be. What else? Oh, yes . . . fear! If you have done something horrible or perhaps not horrible, but punishable, would you be terrified that those with a knowledge of your secret might one day betray you?’
‘So you are saying, master, that the old monks knew something about the killer? Some terrible secret from the past? What about the cook? It is possible that he told others of his time in Italy.’
‘On the other hand,’ Eisik’s face took on a reflective seriousness, ‘the killer, God forgive him, may have done something to someone else who may be in a position to do something to him, and so he forestalls him . . . perhaps his motive is fear?’
‘I do not think so,’ Andre retorted, ‘the killer must be confident. Who else but the most confident of men would go on a killing spree when the abbey is not only crawling with men at arms, but also a temporary home for the inquisition? Either he has never experienced brutality, or his experience gives him the means to deal with it. Those whom we do not fear are either weaker than ourselves or we have more supporters than they.’
‘So there may be more than one killer?’ I asked, so caught up in our puzzle that I momentarily forgot the seriousness of our subject.
‘In truth, we must not discount this. The one who hit me on the head today was able-bodied, for this was shown by his quick actions, he is also shorter than I.’
‘How do you know that, master? Because of the angle of his strike?’
‘No, and you may take some credit for this, my good Christian, because you asked me about his shoes which drew my attention to his feet whose dimensions were small. It is only natural that people with small feet are generally shorter than those with large feet.’
‘So the demon is short and able-bodied . . . Oh son of David! That is why he is not afraid of the old, fragile monks. He must be young or in his prime. These are always the most dangerous men.’