“These humble monks become superstars,” said Beauvoir. “Not only rich, but way more than that. They’re powerful. People love them. If the abbot of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups got on CNN tomorrow and announced he was the second coming, you can’t tell me millions wouldn’t believe it.”

“Millions will believe anything,” said Gamache. “They see Christ in a pancake and start worshipping it.”

“But this is different, patron, and you know it. You even felt it yourself. The music does nothing for me, but I can see that it does something to you.”

“True again, mon vieux,” Gamache smiled. “But it doesn’t drive me to murder. Just the opposite. It’s very calming. Like the tea.” He picked up his mug again, and toasted Beauvoir, then relaxed back into his chair. “What are you saying, Jean-Guy?”

“I’m saying there was more at stake than another recording. And there was way more at stake than petty squabbles and the right to boss around two dozen singing monks. Whether the monks like it or not, they’re very influential now. People want to hear what they have to say. That must be pretty intoxicating.”

“Or sobering.”

“And all they have to do is get rid of an inconvenient vow of silence,” said Beauvoir, his voice low and intense. “Go on tour. Do concerts. Do interviews. People would hang on their every word. They’d be more powerful than the pope.”

“And the only one standing in the way is the abbot,” said the Chief, then shook his head. “But if that was true then the wrong man was killed. Your argument would make sense, Jean-Guy, if Dom Philippe was dead, but he isn’t.”

“Ahhh, but you’re wrong. Sir. I’m not saying that the murder happened to lift the vow of silence, I’m just saying there’s a whole lot at stake. For the prior’s camp it’s power and influence, but for the other? There’s a motive just as potent.”

Now Gamache smiled, and nodded.

“To keep their peaceful, quiet life. To protect their home.”

“And who wouldn’t kill to protect their home?” asked Beauvoir.

Gamache thought about that, and remembered collecting the eggs that morning, in the soft light of dawn, with Frère Bernard. And the monk’s description of the planes overhead, and the pilgrims pounding on the door.

And the abbey laid to waste.

“If Frère Mathieu had won the battle he’d have made another recording, ended the vow of silence and changed the monastery forever,” said the Chief. He smiled at Beauvoir and got to his feet. “Well done. Though there’s one thing you’re forgetting.”

“I can’t see how that can possibly be true,” said Beauvoir, also getting up.

The two men left the dining hall and walked down the deserted corridor. Gamache opened the book he’d carried everywhere. The slim volume of Christian meditations. From it he drew the piece of yellowed paper found on the body, and handed it to his second in command.

“How do you explain this?”

“Maybe it’s meaningless.”

The Chief made a not very encouraging face. “The prior died curled around it. It sure meant something to him.”

Beauvoir opened the large door for the Chief and both men entered the Blessed Chapel. They stopped while Beauvoir studied the page.

He’d glanced at it when it was first found, but hadn’t spent the time with it the Chief had. Gamache waited, hoping maybe fresh, young, cynical eyes might see something he’d missed.

“We don’t know anything about it, do we,” said Beauvoir, concentrating on the script and the strange markings above the words. “We don’t know if it’s old, or who wrote it. And we sure don’t know what it means.”

“Or why the prior had it. Was he trying to protect it when he died, or was he trying to hide it? Was it precious to him, or was it blasphemy?”

“That’s interesting,” said Beauvoir, examining the page. “I think I’ve figured out what one of the words is. I think this,” he pointed to a Latin word written in script and Gamache leaned toward it, “means ‘ass.’”

Beauvoir handed the page back.

“Merci.” Gamache returned it for safekeeping, and snapped the book shut. “Very enlightening.”

“Frankly, patron, if you have a monastery full of monks and you come to me for enlightenment, you deserve what you get.”

Gamache laughed. “C’est vrai. Well, I’m off to find Dom Philippe and see if there’s a plan of the abbey.”