Ordinarily Anselm had two periods of manual work – one in the morning before Mass, the other in the afternoon until Vespers. However, the Prior had agreed to release Anselm whenever necessary to pursue anything to do with the task he had received from Cardinal Vincenzi. That broad principle was stretched to encompass games of chess with Salomon Lachaise at the guesthouse. But since his trip to Rome Anselm had found it difficult to look his companion in the face – for he was now burdened with a riddle: ‘Schwermann had risked his life to save life: And his task of finding Victor Brionne now set them apart, for it was this man who would reveal the meaning of the words.
They sat either side of a table, black against white.
‘No talking,’ said Anselm as they were about to start.
‘But in the beginning was the Word,’ replied Salomon Lachaise.
‘Indeed,’ said Anselm.
Salomon Lachaise then sprinkled the early stages of play with abstract enticements – an unworthy attempt, thought Anselm, to distract his opponent: ‘A violation of language is a violation of God: (‘Mmm’, said Anselm.) ‘… in hell there are no words.’ (‘Mmm.’) ‘… and yet the silence of the Priory brings forth words of praise.’ (‘And other things,’ murmured Anselm.) ‘… the world will be redeemed by words.’ Anselm marked that one for future use. -
‘Is it not strange,’ continued Salomon Lachaise on a fresh tack, ‘that God, on one reading of Exodus, refused to disclose his name to Moses when he first revealed himself?’
‘Yes,’ said Anselm. He eyed the tight configuration of pieces. Each move seemed to spell trouble but there had to be a way out.
‘And is it not stranger still that God should change the name of his servants to mark a new beginning?’
Anselm looked up sharply into a face of restrained curiosity. ‘What do you mean?’
‘God made the covenant with Abram and he became Abraham. Simon the fisherman became Peter the rock. There are lots of examples.’
‘I see,’ said Anselm, returning his attention to the battle.
‘The change of name obliterates their past, bestowing a blessed future.’
‘That’s a good point. I might use that one Sunday’
‘And when the Amsterdam synagogue expelled Spinoza for his ideas, they invoked God to blot out his name under heaven.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Anselm genuinely
‘So who was it that dared to take the place of God and give that man across the lake a new name, a new life?’
The two men faced each other. A sensation of rapid foreshortening brought the gentle gaze of Salomon Lachaise unbearably close to Anselm’s secret. They sat as friends: one of them waiting patiently for judgement, the other, Anselm, engaged in an enterprise that might absolve the need for a trial – hope and its adversary at one table.
‘That’s another good point.’ They were the only words Anselm could assemble that did not require him to lie.
Salomon Lachaise reviewed the state of play upon the board and, with a look of quiet amusement, toppled his king. ‘Anselm of Canterbury, I resign.’