Le Colonial by Kien Nguyen Read Free Book Online Page A

redemption, our Lord is a just and forgiving God. Confess to me, and I shall give you absolution.”
    François remained silent, his eyes shut. Another sob broke from his lips—a wounded cry of pain and regret. “Please do not enter Villaume,” he begged.
    “You must give me a reason not to.”
    Tears fell on François’s cheeks. “The mention of my name could be enough to kill Father Dominique. My disgrace is a heavy burden on his frail shoulders. Please do not trouble him.”
    “Enough of your evasion,” the priest shouted. “Stop this dance of deceit and tell me the truth.”
    The mare skittered.
    François was being swept away by the priest’s force of will, with no strength to retaliate. “As you wish,” he said. “That dagger in your hand belonged to my rival, Vicomte Étienne de Charney, son of the governor of Villaume. You can see the vicomte’s initial carved in its handle.” He looked away and lowered his voice. “I killed him in a duel. It was an accident, but he died—all because of my selfish indulgence, led blindly by a licentious woman. I keep his weapon as a reminder that I have lied, fornicated, and taken a life. Because of these crimes, as well as the anger of de Charney’s family over the loss of their firstborn, I was forced to abandon all that was dear to me in this world: my childhood home, the monastery.” He covered his face with his hands. “So you understand my reckless effort to leave France and begin a new life elsewhere.”
    The monsignor dismounted from his mare and extended his open hands.
    François jumped to the ground, grabbed the priest’s fingers, and buried his tear-streaked face in the sweaty palms.
    “Hush,” whispered the monsignor soothingly. “Be still, my son, and let us pray for your sins.”
    François nodded without looking up.
    The priest intoned, “Dear Lord, I am very sorry to have offended Thee.”
    François repeated the words.
    The prayer continued. “For Thou art infinitely good, and sin is revolting to Thee. I firmly pledge, with the help of Thy grace, never to disappoint Thee again and to do penance humbly and sincerely, from the depth of my soul.”
    He lifted François’s chin and stared at him with his honey-colored eyes. “By the rite of confession, I grant you absolution of your immortal soul. Will you wholly submit yourself to God? Will you become His shepherd, a painter for God, secluded and shut apart from society until you are ordained? Will you rescue the souls of others and turn God’s house into a temple of beauty?”
    François nodded. “I will.”
    “Then I shall send you to study discipline and virtue for the next two years at the University of Avignon. As soon as you complete your education and are ordained, you will join me. I have no fame or fortune to offer you. What I can give is the single most valuable secular gift our Lord has granted me: freedom. Once you step onto the soil of Annam, you will be free to perform God’s work in whatever way you see fit. You can travel to any Annamite city, accept novices, teach the Bible, serve the Annamese king as a counselor, or even join in his army—anything to wrest Annam from impiety. My son, your choices are endless. Through your hands our Lord’s magic shall prevail.”
    François wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “I am glad to have heard you speak so candidly. My mind is clear now. Take me, Monsignor. I want to go.”
    “You may join my next expedition to Annam,” announced de Béhaine. “But first you must be ordained a priest. As a missionary, you must swear allegiance to the pope, as well as undergo questioning as to your fitness for this mighty undertaking. It is, I must warn you, an extreme vow, not for the weak at heart.” He raised his voice. “
Iustum necar reges impius
—it is just to exterminate impious kings, heretical governments, and barbaric rulers.”
    “When will your next voyage be?” François asked.
    “My son,” said the monsignor,