Conspiracy

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‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been nine years since my last confession.’

From beyond the latticework screen came a sharp inhalation through teeth, barely audible. For a long time, it seemed as if he would not speak. You could almost hear the echo bouncing through his skull: nine years?

‘And what has happened to keep you so far from God’s grace, my son?’

That slight nasal quality to his voice; it coloured everything he said with an unfortunate sneer, even on the rare occasions where none was intended.

‘Ah, Father – where to begin? I was caught reading forbidden books in the privy by my prior, I abandoned the Dominican order without permission to avoid the Inquisition, for which offence I was excommunicated by the last Pope; I have written and published books questioning the authority of the Holy Scriptures and the Church Fathers, I have publicly attacked Aristotle and defended the cosmology of Copernicus, I have been accused of heresy and necromancy-’ a swift pause to draw breath – ‘I have frequently sworn oaths and taken the Lord’s name in vain, I have envied my friends, lain with women, and brought about the death of more than one person – though, in my defence, those cases were complicated.’

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