The Atwelle Confession

by Joel Gordonson

  “He’s an ugly brute,” declared Don finally as the pain pounding in his finger continued to build.

  Carved out of the beam arching up and over them was a grinning, beak nosed, devil-like figure about a meter in height. Its wide, penetrating eyes peered at Margeaux and Don out of the shadows of their sunken sockets. Below its intense staring eyes, a pointed triangular nose was carved into the top of an oversized protruding upper lip whose edges curled up into an evil smile. The smile revealed short crooked teeth crowded between two longer jagged fangs. Sticking out from the sides of its head were cauliflower ears whose ends abruptly curved upward to sharp points. Beneath the ears, two folded bat-like wings resembled a cape with a tall collar sitting on its shoulders.

  “At least he’s smiling,” remarked Margeaux.

  “Of course he is. He’s got a lovely young lady to look at in front of him,” Don replied.

  The claw-like hands of the carving were resting on the shoulders of a smaller female wooden figure that stood before it on a semicircular platform affixed to the base of the beam. Carefully carved curls of hair surrounded her face and cascaded over the folds of her gown.

  “Why would a gargoyle be here, inside the church?” Margeaux puzzled.

  “Technically speaking, it’s not a gargoyle,” Don answered with the tone of an academic lecture. “In architecture, for centuries a gargoyle was a carved stone figure, usually a grotesque or frightening animal or demon-like form, which actually camouflaged a spout designed to convey rainwater from a roof and away from the side of a building to prevent erosion of the mortar between the stone blocks of the masonry walls.

  “Again speaking technically, a sculptured figure of this nature is referred to as a ‘grotesque’ because it only has an artistic or ornamental function without being a waterspout. But now in layman’s terminology, all such figures are often called gargoyles, whether ornamentation or waterspouts.”

  “But what is it doing inside the church?” Margeaux asked again.

  “Good question. It doesn’t make any sense that it’s been placed here on the ceiling beams. Gargoyles were used to convey strong messages to worshipers who were for the most part illiterate. The first message was to scare people into coming to church by suggesting that a greeting from a nasty beast like this one was what awaited them if they didn’t go to church. But the people who could see this fellow here were already inside this church.

  “More importantly, gargoyles were placed outside the church to frighten away the devil and evil spirits. Their presence on the exterior assured everyone that evil was kept outside of the church’s walls. If any carvings were inside a church, they were of Jesus, Mary, or the saints. This one, however, puts the evil inside and directly above the worshipers’ heads.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” he mused as the two of them continued to examine the wooden carvings.

  “Well,” Margeaux offered after a few moments’ thought, “cathedrals and churches of this era were called ‘sermons in stone.’ They spoke to the presence of evil, and represented how God was the only protection from a fallen world. Maybe that’s why this carving ended up inside the church.”

  “But what about the fact that this figure is clearly some sort of demon, and yet it’s next to a perfectly lovely human?” Don asked. “It’s not just a devil or an animal alone.”

  “There seems to be a dual nature to the function of gargoyles,” she suggested. “They look evil, but yet they keep out evil spirits or incite worshipers to do good. You could say they represent the struggle between good and evil. Maybe the human and demonic figures suggest a contradiction in the essential being of a gargoyle.”

  “Now you’re sounding like an academic,” accused Don in a friendly voice. “You’ve also forgotten another important possibility.”

  Margeaux turned away from the carving for a minute to look at him.

  “Maybe the architect or the sculptor just thought this would be really cool,” he grinned.

  She responded with a dismissive look.

  “I’m serious,” he protested. “Don’t underestimate the artist’s joy of creation. They don’t just think about what the church’s message is. They make their own personal statements as well, consciously or unconsciously.”

  Margeaux begrudgingly acknowledged his thought with a nod before she noticed Don looking at the roof over the rest of the church.

  “Do you see something else?” she asked. She strained in dim light to find what Don might be seeking.

  “Well if we have this bad boy and young lady here, I’m wondering if there are more carvings on the other beams down the length of the church. There traditionally are twelve figures placed in the interior of church architecture, twelve being the number of disciples.”

  Don ended up focusing on the opposite corner at the back of the nave.

  “We should have some idea soon. The scaffolding in the other corner over there starts going up tomorrow.”

  Don looked around once more. “What time is it anyway?”

  It had grown dark while the two of them had been puzzling over their discovery.

  “Let’s go, Margeaux. Be careful now.”

  He held the flashlight on the ladder as he helped Margeaux start her long descent down. He hesitated before following her down.

  “Don’t like heights?” she asked.

  “Not my favorite,” he confirmed.

  Margeaux finally reached the bottom and felt her foot on the solid stone floor. As she turned away from the ladder, a figure stepped up behind her.

  “Don!” Margeaux reached up to grab Don’s arm.

  She recognized the man’s face in the dim light, staring at her once again.

  SEVEN

  1532 Kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, Molly enjoyed one more time the satisfying weight of the leather purse filled with coins resting in the palm of her hand. She considered the task for which she had been paid handsomely in advance as she pulled back the floorboard to hide the purse. It was a simple task for such a great deal of money. Still, she questioned whether she wanted to do it.

  She slid the floorboard back into place and covered it with the turned-back rug when she heard the knock on the door downstairs. It was expected. That would be her commission from Richard Lanham.

  Molly smoothed the front of her dress and ran her hand over her hair in an attempt to feel that all was in perfect order. She quickly walked down the stairs to the door where she paused, took a deep breath, put on a pleased smile, and pulled it open.

  There stood Christopher Lanham.

  “Good day to you, Molly.”

  “Good day to you, Christopher,” she greeted him. “Do come in.”

  She eyed his monk’s cowl and tonsure haircut as he stepped by her while she closed the door.

  “You have changed since the last time you were here, Christopher.”

  “You could say that.” He looked around at the familiar setting. “It was kind of you to invite me,” he said.

  “It was kind of you to come.”

  “I have to say, Molly, that I am not entirely sure why you would have me here.”

  “I have to say, Christopher, that under the circumstances, I am not sure why you would come.”

  They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

  “Where are my manners?” she finally exclaimed, taking his arm and leading him to a large high-backed chair with thick cushions. Then she pulled another chair around where she sat, facing him within touching distance. Christopher could smell her perfume. He inhaled deeply. The fragrance brought him a vivid memory.

  “How long has it been?” she asked. “A year?”

  “Two,” he replied.

  “And how did you ever—” she stopped with embarrassment at her clumsy question.

  “How did I ever become a novitiate about to become a monk?” he finished her question.

  She blushed.

  “It’s all right. I do not mind your asking, and I do not mind telling you.”

 
; She smiled as she thought how much he had matured since the times when he would come to her as a very young man to satisfy his energetic appetites.

  “I can explain it entirely. My life with my father at Lanham Hall was not fulfilling. And the manner in which I spent my time was—” he gave her with a slightly embarrassed look. “Well let’s just say some of it was ill spent.”

  He noticed a slight look of sadness pass over her face.

  “Do not misunderstand me, Molly. I was not talking about you,” he tried to apologize.

  “Oh, yes you were.” She smiled to ease his discomfort. “A young man’s pursuing your, shall we say, unusual preferences, would be described by most people as ill-spent time.”

  Now it was his turn to blush. He looked down at the floor to hide it. When he raised his head, they smiled at each other.

  “But it was great fun,” he said with a laugh.

  She laughed in return. “It was . . . different from most,” she conceded.

  “Well, even at my young age I had a sense that life should not go on like that. Then one evening when my horse came up lame near the friary in Walsingham, I went in and ended up spending the night. I spoke with several of the brothers the night through. By the time it was dawn, they had revealed to me an entirely different way of looking at life and my future.”

  He looked directly at her.

  “It was then that I sensed that my calling might be to the service of God and the brotherhood of that order. I began my studies under the brothers at the monastery, then went to study among the monks in Bavaria. It was there that I learned how monks deal with what you called ‘preferences’ that are even more unusual than what you experienced with me.”

  Molly thought of the purse full of coins under the floorboard upstairs and felt uneasy. Christopher stood up and walked behind her chair. He leaned over and once again inhaled her perfume.

  “There are still times, Molly, when I am unsure about this calling.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “It is a difficult life, and the requirements are sometimes hard to bear.”

  One of his hands moved around her neck and tightened. The other grabbed her hair. Suddenly he pulled her roughly to her feet.

  “There are times when I don’t think I can honor all the vows.”

  He put a hand over her mouth and with his other arm pulled her backside hard against his body.

  “And there are times when I think I do not want to.”

  She felt his pelvis grinding against her and his teeth on her neck. With a duck and a twist, she freed herself from his grasp and stepped out of his reach. Facing him, she recognized the same look of strange lust in his face that she had seen before. He took a step toward her.

  “Christopher!” Her voice stopped him cold. “You must take your vows.”

  He stood there tense with indecision about what to do. She could see the sweat on his brow.

  “You want to do and you can do what you have to,” she said in a firm voice. “You are strong enough for that life.”

  His look quickly turned to embarrassment.

  “You have never refused me before,” he said.

  “I have never had a reason to before now,” she answered.

  “And if I gave you a reason not to refuse me?”

  He drew a purse of coins out of his sleeve.

  “Your father already has, and it did no good.”

  A dark look crossed Christopher’s face. His hands clenched into fists. He gave her a long hard look before he spun around and lurched the door open to flee into the night. After a moment, Molly softly closed the door behind him and with a deep sigh, laid her cheek on its hard wood.

  In the dark alley outside, the sergeant watched intently as Christopher hurried away. A moment later he followed the young man up the lane until he stopped suddenly and looked down to his left. Peter was sitting on a stoop in the shadow of a doorway.

  The sergeant’s hand crossed to the handle of his sword and started to slide the sword out of its scabbard. The large man watched Peter pull back in fear before throwing his arms pitifully over his head.

  The sergeant stopped, slowly slid the sword back into the scabbard as Peter cowered below him, and started striding after the young Lanham.

  2017 “Margeaux, I’d like you to meet Father Adams. The vicar saved me from certain death right here on an old ladder I was about to climb.”

  Don turned from the scaffolding and shook hands with the vicar. The cleric’s grip was as strong as when it had prevented him from climbing the ladder two days earlier. Don grimaced slightly at the pressure on the sliver under his fingernail.

  “Father, this is Margeaux Wood, the historian from Cambridge who is doing research on the church.”

  “Miss Wood.” Father Adams held out a pale hand to shake hers. The strong bass of his voice surprised her for some reason. One would expect such a voice to come out of a much larger man.

  The first thing she observed about him was his unusual cleric’s collar. There was no traditional small white square or white band contrasting with his black clergy vest and suit coat. The band circling his neck was solid black, like his shirt and suit. His thick eyebrows were just as black, and seemed even darker beneath his closely cropped white hair.

  Don could not contain his excitement. “Father Adams, we found the most remarkable thing on the church ceiling at the top of the scaffolding. There is a wooden gargoyle carved into the beam just above the wall stone.”

  “A gargoyle—inside the church?” The cleric squinted upward, trying unsuccessfully to see something in the dark ceiling.

  “Yes,” answered Don. “It’s half demon and half human. And sitting in front of it is a smaller figure of a girl or woman. His claws are resting on her shoulders like she was his friend or daughter. It’s quite extraordinary.”

  The vicar turned to Margeaux. “Have you ever seen anything like this before, Miss Wood?”

  She felt slightly uncomfortable as the dark eyes under his bushy black eyebrows gave her a penetrating look. It was the same look she had seen when he had watched her earlier from the shadows of the church.

  “No Father, I have not. But gargoyles in architecture are not something I’ve really focused on in my research.”

  He seemed content with her answer and looked up at the ceiling once again.

  “Are there any church histories or other documents that might shed some light on how a gargoyle like this came to be here?” Don asked him.

  The older man paused.

  “I seem to remember a reference in some historical church documents to wooden carvings.” He looked at Don and Margeaux apologetically. “But I’ve been away for many years, and my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “The Caribbean, I understand?” Don asked with his usual pleasant conversational smile.

  “Yes,” was the vicar’s curt reply.

  “I believe someone told me you were in Haiti,” said Margeaux.

  “That’s right,” he answered before changing the subject. “Well, there’s not much to be done about our gargoyle and his companion tonight, is there? We can’t even see them in daylight.”

  Don pointed at the partially constructed scaffolding in the corner across the back of the church. “But I suspect we may find there are more like him on the other beams. And history teaches us that in your business, Vicar, good things come in twelves.”

  He gave the man an even bigger smile to reinforce his friendly attempt at humor.

  “Except the commandments, of course. Fortunately there’s only ten of them,” Don added and smiled again in a losing cause.

  “Yes, of course,” answered Father Adams who showed no signs of being amused. “Let me know what you find, will you?

  “Well, I must be going. A pleasure, Miss Wood, Mr. Whitby.”

  With a nod, he turned on his heel and started walking away into the darkened church. Don and Margeaux watched him disappear under the low doorway into the stone spira
l stairway leading up to his study.

  “Charming chap,” noted Margeaux in a sarcastic tone after she heard the creaky wooden door close at the top of the stairway.

  “Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Don replied.

  “Have you gotten to know him?”

  “Not really.” Don tried to avoid her mildly castigating look and changed the subject.

  “So the platform in the other corner should be finished tomorrow.” He put the enthusiasm back in his voice. “And the workmen should be done by early afternoon. Can you come back tomorrow and have another look?”

  “But of course, mon ami,” answered Margeaux. “But I really must be going now.”

  “Great! We should be able to see better in the daylight.”

  She had just decided she really liked his smile when she saw the eagerness in Don’s face start to fade.

  “Listen, I’ve got to fetch some things I left in the crypt. Can you make your way to your car all right?”

  Margeaux could not help but see the slight shudder as he checked his flashlight.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Do you really have to go down into the crypt? I know you said you don’t like being in churches at night?”

  He put the grin back on his face.

  “Afraid I must, though afraid I am. Good night then. See you tomorrow.”

  As Don turned to head to the altar, he waved cheerily at the ceiling. “And a good night to you two up there.”

  Margeaux chuckled at him as she pulled on the heavy church door to close it. This time it did not seem so ominous, even in the dark, until once again, with her hand still on the cold iron of its latch, she was startled by a voice.

  “Good evening, Miss Wood.”

  A man in a dark raincoat stood between her and her car. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his shoe.

  “I’m Detective Richard Steele from the Norfolk Constabulary Investigations Division.”

  “Yes?” she asked, wondering what he wanted with her and why he would be there at night.

  “We’re investigating the disappearance of Father Charleton, the previous vicar here at St. Clement’s.”