‘Just a little further.’ The friar, though he is old and bent and almost starved, pulls the brigand up the hill towards the chapel. The robber bleeds through his rusted hauberk and the friar knows the younger man’s remaining heartbeats are measured in their dozens now. The brigand is strong, he has a warrior’s build and was most likely a man-at-arms before he became what he is now, dishonoured, cruel, and cowardly, but not beyond saving.
The odd pair stumble through the heavy oak doors. Blood drops splatters on the stone flags as the friar hauls the brigand down the aisle. They almost crash into the altar.
The friar rests the brigand’s head on his own lap and sees that his eyes are rolling, that he is almost gone, seeing or unseeing the face of their Lord rendered in painted glass above them.
‘Do you renounce evil?’
The brigand coughs blood. The friar takes it as a yes.
‘Do you embrace the Lord?’
The brigand makes no answer.
The friar bows his head and mutters the last rites. Did he do it in time? Did he save this one, as he saved the others?
The friar gently rolls the brigand’s body from his lap and carefully removes his dagger from the brigand’s gut.
Paddy Dobson
27th December 2022