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He also realized, for the first time in more than a decade together, why the Chief smelled of sandalwood and rosewater. The sandalwood was his own cologne. The rosewater came from Madame Gamache, as they’d pressed together. The Chief carried her scent, like an aura. Mixed with his own.
A place no one was allowed to visit was used to lure visitors.
The chapel smelled of incense. But not the musky, stale scent of so many churches in Québec, that smelled as though they were trying to hide something rotten. Here the scent was more natural. Like flowers or fresh herbs.
In his experience when someone said “honestly” it was often a prelude to a lie.
For Frère Mathieu there were no more mysteries. He knew who took his life. And he now knew if there was a God. And a Heaven. And angels. And even a celestial choir. It didn’t bear thinking about what happened to the celestial choir when yet another director showed up.
Muscular Christianity.
Abbots and priors and monks, oh my.
They were like a Noah’s Ark, or a fallout shelter. Able to rebuild the world in case of disaster. Every major element present. With one exception. No womb.
The Blessed Chapel, Gamache now knew, was built to honor a saint so dull the Church couldn’t find some equally dull complaint to let him patronize. Few prayed to Saint Gilbert. And yet in his excruciatingly long life, Gilbert had done one spectacular thing. He’d stood up to a king. He’d defended his archbishop. Thomas had been killed, but Gilbert had stood up to tyranny, and survived.
As Beauvoir huffed and snorted beside him, Gamache closed his eyes and listened to the beautiful music. And thought about tyranny, and murder. And whether it was ever right to kill one for the sake of the many.
A civil war is never civil.”
They swung aside the words, and walked into the world.
Simon had, in effect, thrown the abbot to the Inquisition.
“Each claimed to know God’s will,” said the Chief.
“Jeez,” said Beauvoir. “The Inquisition. I didn’t expect that.” “No one does,” said Gamache.
“The Church considered them free thinkers, too independent. And gaining in influence. The Cathars became known as the ‘good men.’ And good men are very threatening to not good men.”
