Ogre's Lament

Chapter Five: The Priest

Chapter Five: The PriestWith great reverence, Luis gently eased open the heavy oak door of the church and poked his head inside.

The welcome coolness of the interior almost made him swoon and he paused. He held onto the back of the nearest pew for a moment before padding down the aisle towards the far end and the ornate altar, set upon its dais. Careful not to make a sound, he stepped up onto the raised stage. He glanced around nervously, picking out the life-size effigies of the Virgin Mother and the Lord Jesus, both of whom peered down at him with their unblinking, challenging eyes. Show respect, Luis, they were saying. We know what is in your heart.

He heard a sharp cough from beyond in the vestry and he waited, heart pounding. He shouldn't be here, the area off-limits to anyone but the clergy, or the invited. Nevertheless, he had to speak to the priest. There was much to sort out—last-rites, burials. He steeled his heart, took a deep breath and crossed the dais to the little door of the vestry. He gave two, short raps.

The door wrenched open and the priest, draped in his black shroud of a cassock, stood breathing hard, dishevelled and sweating. For a moment, Luis thought the man might scold him, out of surprise or anger. Perhaps even fear? His eyes were round, startled. Luis let out his breath as the priest spoke, in a voice full of relief. “Ah, Luis. It's you.” He nodded his head a few times and stepped aside, ushering Luis inside. “I was expecting someone else, that's all.”

Father Brialles had been the village priest for as long as Luis could remember. A quiet, reclusive man, often found down by the river, Bible in hand, lost in the Holy Scriptures, or in thought. People looked up to him, hoping his intimate contact with God would protect them in a world gone mad. So far, as everyone believed, it seemed to work. Brialles kept them safe, with God's good grace.

Luis stepped inside the vestry. On a thin trestle table a canvas bag lay open, partly filled with various bits of ornamental paraphernalia: silver candlesticks, gold crucifixes, the odd small painting. Luis took it all in, questions beginning to formulate in his head. Before he could speak, Father Brialles launched himself into an explanation. “I can't leave things to chance, Luis. I have to protect the church treasures. That's what I'm doing, you see.” He went over to the bag and pulled it further apart, making room for more sacred items.

Stepping up closer, Luis cast his hand over the assembled pieces. “But Father, protected from what?”

“Protestants, of course! The war grows closer, Luis. Once they get here, they will plunder churches such as this and tear them down. They have no thought for sanctity, Protestants. None at all.”

“Father, Don Martinez told me today the war is over, that a peace treaty has been signed. The Protestants won't be coming here; it's over, Father.”

For a moment Brialles stopped, pondering this news. He soon dismissed it, stuffing a couple of gold serving bowls into the bag. “I don't believe it. How can Martinez know such things?”

“Pablo told him.”

“Ah well, there you are. That i***t itinerate spreads nothing but rumour and gossips, touting them as truth! The man is not to be trusted, Luis. You'll do well to remember that.”

Luis noted what a hurry the priest was in, scurrying this way and that, hardly pausing for breath as he spoke, stuffing more sacred pieces inside the bag until it bulged. “We can never be too careful, Luis. All sorts of strangers wander around, most of them dangerous. Thieves, vagabonds, cut-throats. Nobody is safe nowadays. This used to be a quiet, peaceful place, in which people could live a simple, untroubled life.” He paused, closed his eyes and sighed. “Not anymore. And I'm sad for it, Luis. Sad, and a little afraid.” He looked down and seemed satisfied that he had gathered as much as he could. He pulled the drawstrings together and secured the bag with a knot. A smile spread across his face. “There! Now I can get ready to leave.”

“Leave? But Father, you can't go, not now.”

“Why ever not?”

“It's my mother, Father. Señora Gomez said I should prepare myself, that I should speak to you about what needs to be done…” He swallowed, casting his eyes downwards. “To get ready for when my mother…” His voice cracked and he turned away.

“Luis, please.”

“I'm sorry, Father.” Luis straightened himself. “If you could just come, just for a moment.”

Brialles rubbed his chin, his breathing becoming erratic, eyes darting around the small, cramped room. “I can't do anything now, Luis. It's just not feasible.”

“Feasible? But Father, I think she's dying.”

“Then there is little we can do anyway, is there? Luis,” he held onto Luis's arm, gripping it hard. “You must be strong. Your mother has been so ill for so long and she is due to cross into the realm of our Lord very soon. Pray for her, Luis, with all your heart and I am sure she will be received into His kingdom.”

“Please, Father, she needs you to be with her. To give her your blessing. I'm begging you!”

Luis had always found Brialles to be a kindly and caring man. Often, at the end of Sunday service, he would come up to Luis and share some time with him, asking him about his mother and Constanza. He never appeared rushed or impatient. Not like now. Now, he was a changed man, consumed with panic and a desire to escape.

“I can't Luis, I have to go.”

He grabbed hold of the bag and hefted it down from the table, but he lost his grip and it fell to the ground with a crash. He cursed and Luis, startled, stepped back. He wondered what else was inside, what other treasures Brialles had secreted away. For the first time in his life, he began to question the priest's motives. “Father, surely you don't have to go right now, this very second.”

Brialles groaned loudly as he swung the bag over his shoulder. Bowed down with its weight, he shuffled towards the door. “I do, Luis. You see, the war really has come to Riodelgado, and I have not a moment to spare before the Protestants begin to tear down this holy place!”

Like a light going on in his head, Luis suddenly saw everything in perfect clarity. The reason for the priest's haste, his fear of Protestants, a projection of his fear of something else.

The soldier.