A Mortal Glamour

Chapter Thirteen

Pierre broke their journey at sunset, motioning his men off the high road onto a pleasant lane. "We will stay at this villa tonight," he informed his men and eveque Amalrie. "It is not wise to be abroad after dark."
"Indeed not," eveque Amalrie said, crossing himself. "Devils and brigands and all the dangers of..." He stopped, not wanting to frighten himself more than he already had. "What place is this?"
"Oh, you need not think we would bring you to some low soldiers' haunt, mon eveque," Pierre said smoothly as they made their way through the first, fragrant gloom of twilight. "This villa is the home of a noblewoman who is often in the company of Cardinals and other high Churchmen."
eveque Amalrie nodded, his smugness returning as he listened. "You are most proper to observe the courtesy of my rank, mon Duc. You, being a man of arms, may be at liberty to move in places that would bring odium to one such as myself." He drew the curtains of the wagon back even further. "It is a pleasant building."
As they approached the front of the villa, two pages came running out, one of them holding a torch to light the entrance which was now fallen into deep shadow. "Good strangers, we - "began the nearer page.
"Jaques, tell your mistress that Pierre Fornault is here, will you? And say that I have brought eveque Amalrie as well as a few of my men." He was already dismounting, rubbing his eyes that ached from a day on the road. "We are hungry and thirsty."
Jaques bowed deeply, as was proper to honor Pierre's suzerainty as a Grand Seigneur of France. "You are welcome, mon Duc."
Pierre, who knew this display was for the benefit of the Bishop, assumed his most imposing hauteur. "You may inform your mistress we have arrived."
"My mistress," Jaques said as he took the reins from Pierre, "is in the pavilion in the garden and would be grateful to receive you there."
"The pavilion in the garden?" Pierre asked with a speculative smile. "I will visit her before I eat. But pray attend the rest of this company and be certain that le eveque is properly honored."
"It shall be as you wish," Jaques said, signaling the other page. "Have grooms come, and then prepare the table in the smaller salon. I will inform the cooks that a meal is to be set." He bowed again to Pierre as le Duc strolled away around the corner of the villa.
eveque Amalrie, puzzled at this unusual reception, permitted the pages to help him dismount, and instructed his own page to accompany the others to the servants' quarters while he sought the smaller salon with the men-at-arms. He was tired and very hungry; the heat had made him surly for a time, and then turned to lethargy. Now he felt the renewal of appetite and interest and he determined to make the most of it. He addressed the page Pierre had called Jaques. "What place is this, mon serve, and who is its mistress? I fear I do not know of it."
Jaques inclined his head and paused in his progress through the corridors. "This is Un Noveautie, and the mistress is Comtesse Orienne de Hautlimois. You are most welcome here, mon eveque."
Ordinarily, eveque Amalrie would have been terribly offended by the familiar tone of the page, but he was too overwhelmed by what he had heard. This was the infamous Un Noveautie, a place reputed to be the center of every vice and the home of every degraded person in the whole of the south of France. Of Comtesse Orienne, he had heard such tales that he dreaded having to meet the woman. He was certain that she was not French at all, but Roman, so appalling was her reputation. "I ... thank you, mon serve," he managed to say through his suddenly tightened throat.
"The salon is there on your left," Jaques pointed out, and stood aside for the visitors to enter. "Refreshments will be presented shortly."
"I..." Properly, eveque Amalrie knew they he ought to refuse anything offered him in this iniquitous place, but he could not quite utter the words; he was too hungry and thirsty to be able to watch others eating and drinking without desiring the same for himself. He was able to achieve a kind of inner compromise. "I will wait until le Duc has come to us."
Jaques shrugged and left the room, but the men-at-arms chuckled.
"That may be some little time," Ivo suggested as he found a padded bench and sank down on it.
"I am prepared to wait," was eveque Amalrie's austere reply.
* * * *
Oil lamps were hung in the pavilion, and their light gilded everything within it, including the shell-shaped bath, where Comtesse Orienne lounged in scented water while her musicians played to her.
"Well met, Orienne," Pierre said as he strode through the doors. "I see you are - "
She gave a squeal of delight and flung water at him. "Pierre! Oh, thank goodness. I was ready to die of boredom and exhaustion, and then you come!" She half-rose, her flesh glistening where the lamp light struck it. The water running off her was like golden tears. "I have missed you, Pierre. Where have you been?"
"No place you would enjoy, ma belle," he said, indulging her with his grin. "Bathing again? What does your confessor think of it?"
"He thinks that I am steeped in sin, of course," she replied, sinking back in the water. "Doubtless he is right. But still, there are those who do not mind that I am steeped in sin. And some of them are Churchmen." She trailed her fingers over the surface of the water. "Do you care to join me? There is room enough. I could scrub away the dirt. You look as if you might be able to use a wash." She was teasing him, but carefully; many of the nobles were chary about baths.
Pierre was about to refuse, then changed his mind. "Very well. I've never bathed in a tub like a seashell. That will be new."
She laughed and made a sign to her musicians. "Play outside the pavilion, my dears. Accord le Duc's dignity some respect." When she had been obeyed, she gave an arch smile to Pierre. "Do you need a valet, or will I do?"
"I dress myself when traveling," he answered austerely as he began to tug his surcote over his head. Shortly all his clothes lay in a heap, his grimy chemise being the last item he cast aside. The linen was dingy and there were large stains on it.
"I will have that washed in saffron water, if you would like, mon Duc," Comtesse Orienne offered, the smell of the garment even stronger than her perfume.
"As you wish. Just provide me one of those Turkish robes until morning and I will be well-content." He came toward her, completely naked now, and got into the tub as if mounting a fractious horse. "How am I supposed to sit in this engine of torture?"
"Just bring your knees up," she instructed, sliding between them. "There. You see how well it works?" She kissed him long and slowly. "It is good to have a man here again. This last month, it has been nothing but Churchmen and their retinues. A soldier is more welcome to me."
Pierre put his arms around her shoulders and was disappointed that he did not feel the rush of desire she usually inspired in him. He sighed. "I am afraid I have brought you another one."
She drew back a trifle. "Another one what?"
"Another Churchman," he said, thinking that she was a beautiful woman with her lush body and her cat's face. But he could not free his mind from the tall, lithe form of the vision of Mere Leonie that tormented him so. "I have the honor to escort an ass of an eveque back to Avignon."
She giggled. "Oh, dear. Is he that bad?"
"I fear so. He has spent several weeks whipping nuns and he is disappointed that he will not be permitted to do so in the future." He sighed as she took a sponge and squeezed water over his shoulder. "That's very pleasant."
"Yes. I know." This time she took the other shoulder.
Pierre moved a little, sinking deeper into the bath. "Ah, how good of you to do this." He let her wash him in silence, so that only the splash of the water competed with the airs of the three musicians outside the pavilion. Finally he decided he had to explain more. "The Bishop was sent to Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion, to investigate the claim that there were demons possessing the nuns there. He chose the most direct means to discover the truth: he beat the Sisters and set them long and arduous penance until the demons should be revealed."
"Oh, my poor Aungelique," Orienne said with a sudden rush of sympathy. "She is not the sort of woman who benefits from a beating; she only becomes more headstrong and stubborn."
"She has not been much beaten," Pierre said with a trace of bitterness. "She is with child, and eveque Amalrie will not touch her until it is known if the babe is demon spawn."
"With child?" Orienne gasped. "But how could she?"
"She had plenty of opportunity here. She insists that her courses came after she went back to the convent, but that may be a ruse. She is a sly creature, that one, and she would lie if she thought it would benefit her." He propped himself more firmly by hooking his elbows over the side of the shell. "You know what she is like. Do you believe that anyone here had her maidenhead?"
Orienne frowned, and for a moment she ceased her ministrations to Pierre while she thought. "There was Thibault Col, of course, but I did not think that they had gone beyond fondling and bussing. Perhaps I am wrong; she is a clever child and she may have decided to do the act in secret." She recommenced her sponging of his chest and arms. "What of this Churchman, then?"
Pierre gave one angry laugh. "He is one of those godly eunuchs, who despises the flesh, or so he says." He grabbed her roughly and clutched her to him. "You can fire the loins of an angel, Orienne. You are more than Lilith ever was."
She slid her hands between his legs. "I do not seem to be doing that well with you, Pierre." She was not chiding him, but there was disappointment in her eyes. "I would rather fire you than an angel. You know how to enjoy a woman; these Churchmen have no more notion of it than those pious camels." Gently she kneaded his thigh. "Say you will take me, mon Duc. Say you will rut with me."
It was difficult for Pierre not to call out "Mere Leonie" as Orienne worked his flesh with her hands. He felt oddly dizzy at first, and his breath came quickly; yet there was no answering thrust of his flesh. "I ... I am tired, Orienne. I did not know that I was so tired. It is the bath. Water enervates a man."
She went on with more determination. "It stimulates a woman."
He released her and pulled her hands away. "Leave off, woman! I am tired, I tell you! When I am rested, I will fuck you until your eyes bulge from their sockets." He fell silent, and she was wise enough to say nothing while he gave himself to his thoughts. "This Churchman, though. He is one that might profit from your touch. I'll warrant he has never known any sheath for his dart other than his hand."
Her brows raised. "What pleasure then, for me?"
"Perhaps not pleasure, but satisfaction. You do not wish to have Churchmen here - well, then, take this baby and make a man of him, and you may be sure that they will know of it in Avignon. He will crow his guilt like a cock in the sunrise."
She leaned back from him, considering it. "If I do this, what will you do for me in return?"
He sighed. "I have little to offer you, ma belle. You know that the power I wield has little weight in Avignon." He scowled down at the water. "What should I do that would benefit you?"
She lifted her shoulders, making that commonplace motion seem more sensual than anything else she had done. "Have I your word that you will serve me if I have need of a champion? It may come to that with all these rumors of the men from Rome. I have your vow that you will defend my right?"
"You have," he said promptly, confident that he would never have to honor his promise. In the back of his mind there was an element of caution for he knew that once given, he could not be released from his vow except by the specific exoneration of the Pope himself. "I am your champion to death."
She smiled, and began once again to wash him, this time concentrating on his thick-muscled thighs. "Very well, then; I will have my way with this eveque and give you proof of it by first light."
"I will welcome it," he said, contented now that he knew for certain he would have the opportunity to revenge himself on eveque Amalrie.
* * * *
Seur Aungelique was on her knees tending the herbs when Seur Philomine came upon her. "The rosemary's not doing well," she said when she noticed that the other nun was nearby.
"That is unfortunate," Seur Philomine answered. "One of the lambs was killed last night; one of the village dogs got it, I think."
"What a shame," Seur Aungelique said, straightening up to ease her back. "The babe grows. They say that I cannot feel it, but I know that it grows."
"Does it trouble you?" Seur Philomine could not help wondering.
"No. There are plenty of bastards in the world. I have six or seven cousins who are not legitimate but who have been advanced by my uncle. He could not get a dispensation to marry his mistress, and so they have done without." She started to lean forward again, then stopped. "You are not permitted to marry that Chevalier of yours, are you?"
"Tristan? No, I am not. If I had been, I would not be in this habit now. Even in tertiary Orders, I find this life is not what best suits me." She got down beside Seur Aungelique. "Here. Let me help you."
"As you wish," Seur Aungelique said and went on with her weeding. "Do you think you will leave the Order?"
It took a while for Seur Philomine to answer. "If that is what is needed, then yes. If it cannot be possible, than I must remain here." She pulled out four insidious creepers of morning glory.
"How can you be so serene when you know that you are being kept from what you want most? I would not stand for it." Seur Aungelique sighed. "I will not be able to tend this garden much longer, not if the babe gets larger."
"Which it will, given time." She found a large, pale green spider hanging in the savory and pointed it out to Seur Aungelique.
"Oh, kill it. I don't want it crawling over my hand when I come to pick the herbs. And if Seur Catant finds if, she will go off in a fit." Without waiting for Seur Philomine to act, she reached over and squashed the spider under the flat of her hand. "There. It's gone."
"Do you want the babe?" Seur Philomine asked a little later. She had sat back on her heels and was wiping her face with her wide cuff.
"Want it? Why not? If it is the Devil's get, then it will mean that I am damned, and I will not have to remain here with these endless prayers and hours of meditation. I will be free to live as I wish to, to have other lovers and enjoy my appetites. If the Devil has taken me to be his, then there is no sin in turning from God, is there?" She finished with the bed of parsley and moved on to the borage. "This has got a mite on it. You see that the leaves are rusty at the edges."
"There is some of the same thing in the orchard," Seur Philomine said as she finished up with the pennyroyal.
Seur Aungelique saw what herb Seur Philomine had been tending. "I might ask Seur Tiennette to make an elixir for me, using that and the other plants that would rid me of the burden, and then we would never know whose it was - man's or demon's. I do not want to do that. Seur Geneve - you would not know her, she was before you came here - was raped by one of the monks who used to serve in Saunt-Vitre, and she had such an elixir. She died of it, though. It was my first month here, and I saw what became of her. They found the monk, too, and he was castrated for his sin. My father had one of his enemies castrated, I remember. His family had a standing challenge with ours now."
"It is not quite so drastic with our Houses, his and mine, but it is enough to keep us from marrying." Seur Philomine stared down at the plants, at the green light that filtered through them, staining the earth beneath with strange shades of olive and chartreuse.
"But you could go away with him, where neither family could reach you. Then if you decided to marry, it would be all right." Seur Aungelique said this as sensibly as she could. "I would want my lovers to do such things for me - to throw aside honor and family because I asked it of them, to fight in the Holy Land or sink English ships or ... anything I wanted. And then, if they had done as I asked and it suited me, I would be their mistress for a time, but not too long, because then they would think that they had the right to treat me as they treat their wives, and that would not suit me at all." She went on with her weeding, paying no attention to the stains and grime on her habit. "I believe it would be best to have an island all to myself, where only my most worthy lovers could come, and only when I invited them. The priest at home preached about such a woman, once, some ancient queen with the whole world coming to her for her pleasure." She looked over at Seur Philomine. "Would you enjoy such a life?"
Seur Philomine thought about it, concentrating on the question so intently that she almost pulled up two small thyme plants. "No," she said at last. "I was not made so adventuresome, ma Seur. I have no wish to be a foreign queen or to have lovers who die for me. I have one lover, and I pray that he will live for me, for I do not want to be in a world where he is not."
"There's always Heaven," Seur Aungelique reminded her. "It would not be where I would come. I am doomed to that whirlwind, I know I am. But are you not, as well?"
"I may be," Seur Philomine said. "If that is where he is, then I will be there, too."
"Such fidelity," Seur Aungelique marveled, trying not to laugh.
Seur Philomine gave her a serious answer. "No, not fidelity. It is something else entirely. It is as if together we are a coin; he one side and I the other. It would not matter through whose hands we passed, or for what reason, because we are always the same coin, and wherever we were, we would each be part of the other; as long as we both lived, it would be thus." She shook her head and sweat ran in her eyes. She had to keep back a short reprimand.
"Then this is your ideal lover, this Chevalier of yours you are a coin with?" Seur Aungelique was not so much mocking as doubting. "How can you want so much from only one man?"
"Not an ideal lover," Seur Philomine said seriously. "He is Tristan, and that is sufficient to my joy."
"And you are his Iseult?" Seur Aungelique mocked, smacking more spiders with her hand.
Seur Philomine frowned and the color in her face deepened. "No. I did not mean it that way. His name is Tristan. Truly. I would have said the same thing if his name were - " she chose the name deliberately - "Pierre."
Seur Aungelique tossed her head. "You might have him, as well, for all of me." She stifled a yawn. "One lover is not enough; you don't believe that, but I know it is true. What one man can encompass me? None of them are able. And so I will have the ones that please me while they please me, and then I will choose another until he bores me. Men have their wives and their mistresses and their whores, and I will do the same."
"You sound like a pagan, with one little god for each hour of the day, and all the different aspects of life and death. You cannot love such things, Seur Aungelique," Seur Philomine said, no longer irritated by her.
"I can love them as I wish: easily. When it is over, I will not have to suffer. You, from what you say, would be cast out into eternal darkness if you lost that other side of your coin." She did not disguise her mockery and made no apology for it.
"Yes, I believe I would be." Seur Philomine said it quietly, with the certainty of faith.
"Then he would fail you," Seur Aungelique pointed out. "And he would be the flawed side of the coin for that, wouldn't he?"
Seur Philomine broke off a little basil and crushed it between her fingers, sniffing at the scent it released. "No," she said after a moment. "No, he would not fail me: I would fail him. I would deny everything that he is to me, if I were to do that." She looked across the herbs at Seur Aungelique. "You are right, Seur Aungelique. I was afraid I would go into darkness, but ... I would not have his light, but my own would have to sustain me, or what he and I have is nothing."
"And with all this light, what of God and la Virge?" Seur Aungelique teased.
"They are names I recite in prayers, they are not a fire in my heart nor the light of my soul. He is." She stopped, smiling suddenly. "If eveque Amalrie were still here, he would have me flogged for heresy, or give me one of his penances to do, such as washing every stone in the courtyard with a kidskin while singing Psalms."
"That sounds mild for eveque Amalrie. He preferred more stringent methods. He would have taken the hide off me but for the babe. He told Pere Guibert that a woman of my sort is worse than the Flagellants, for I wear the mask of piety. Imagine that! Piety! I told him I did not wish to be here, but it was for naught. He ... he was..." She let her voice trail off. "There is something wrong with the tarragon. You see how the stems droop? This place! It has a Plague of its own."
"Or it has caught it from us, as some take madness from the bite of a mad dog." Seur Philomine broke off one of the twigs Seur Aungelique had indicated. "It does not smell as it should. It might be as well to pull up the whole bed and plant it again next spring."
Seur Aungelique laughed. "You may plant it if you wish. I will have my child at my breast and be wearing samite and damask instead of this endless grey." She got with some difficulty. "The vegetables are next. Do you want to weed them with me, as well?"
"With Seur Victoire stricken by the heat - "
"And laziness, and the notion that a demon is trying to enter her body," Seur Aungelique interjected.
"It might be best that I do the weeding with you," Seur Philomine said as she trudged behind Seur Aungelique. They saw Seur Marguerite in the distance, hovering near her one remaining hive, but neither made any greeting for fear the older woman would call to them to help her with her bees.
"Something has been at the carrots again," Seur Aungelique pointed out. "I suppose it's because the peasants are planting less, and the animals are hungry."
Seur Philomine wiped her brow again, throwing her coif askew. "We will be hungry too, if this continues."
"Certainly, if you remain here," Seur Aungelique said cheerily, getting onto her knees again. "Perhaps we should put up a shrine to ... whichever Saint looks after vegetable gardens."
"And perhaps we should get a puppy to chase away the hares," Seur Philomine suggested as she knelt near the three long lines of onions.
* * * *
It was late afternoon, when the heat lay heavily on Avignon. Most of the men of the Papal court had retired to their apartments for the day to meditate and rest. Cardinal Belroche longed for a nap, but he had granted an interview to eveque Amalrie which he now bitterly regretted doing. As far as he was able to determine, the young Bishop was distraught. "You think that the demons have left Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion, is that what all this outburst means?"
"Yes," eveque Amalrie panted, his skin the color of tallow, slick with sweat that stank of fear. "Yes, I have seen for myself how far the demons have come. They are near, mon Cardinal, very near. We must take precautions now if he Devil himself is not to enter the city and besiege the Pope!"
Cardinal Belroche tapped his fingers on his writing table. "What convinces you of this danger, mon eveque? Have you some evidence to offer, or is this speculation and conjecture on your part? We are aware that there are Flagellants still abroad, but there are men-at-arms in pursuit of them."
"Not Flagellants, no. This is much worse! This is subtle and a snare for all virtuous men. I though I had seen the worst of it at the convent, but beyond, it is worse." He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the writing table. "You have blinded yourself to the problem, mon Cardinal. You believe that because we are the servants of God, nothing can touch us, not the threat of Hell!" He had to stop and gulp in air.
"You are upset. Doubtless you believe we have underestimated the hazard you encountered. Frere Renaut has reported as much to the College. Therefore, it might be best if you ... had a retreat." He saw at once that this suggestion was a mistake. "Not at an inappropriate place," he amended. "There is a Papal villa near the coast. A most pleasant place, with guards and a chapel and a good kitchen to make for - "
It was a terrible insult to interrupt a Cardinal, especially when he was speaking to the benefit of his listener, but eveque Amalrie could not contain himself. "No! Cannot you see that this is the very means of conquest that the Devil has set out upon? Are you unaware that the Devil is insidious, and he enters through all the sins that surround us, especially the pleasant ones, the ones that no one wants to give up entirely. That is how the Devil changes us, by turning us through indulgence from the true way to his waiting maw, where we will be swallowed up in the fires that burn forever." He started to tremble but forced himself to go on in spite of it. "Illustrissimi, you do not know what dangers we face here; you have been lulled by the knowledge that it is we who defend the faith and uphold the standard of Christ."
"Therefore we are the most desired victims of the predations of Hell?" the Cardinal said, knowing the argument thoroughly.
"Yes; of Hell, of Rome. We are the ones that must be defeated, not by force of arms or by dangers, which can make men stalwart instead of timorous." He was afraid that he was not convincing the Cardinal. "There are insidious ways, things that can be done to make the most godly man corrupt."
"Now we are getting to the heart of the matter," the Cardinal sighed. "Very well, mon brave, what happened? Did one of those nuns in the throes of her possession cause you to feel lust? It is common enough. The Devil brings such thoughts to us then, and it is for us to confess them and know that the Devil is an alert enemy." He pushed back, thinking that if he handed it adroitly, he would be away from this tiresome interview in very little time. "You are a conscientious man, mon eveque, and no one doubts it. You did your best at a thankless task, but now there are other matters that require your attention. Pray for God to give you the guidance, to enter your heart and make you a better priest. Nothing comes to us but through Him unless it brings us to damnation."
eveque Amalrie slammed his hands on the table, his face rigid with terror. "No! NO! You have not listened to me, Illustrissimi. You are not one to let such iniquity go unanswered, when you learn of it! There is terrible Deviltry close at hand, and it is permitted to continue."
"Gracious," Cardinal Belroche said, his little eyes brightening. "What have you unearthed, mon eveque? Is this mere nastiness, or true debauchery?"
"Concupiscence," eveque Amalrie ventured, his pasty features turning very bright. "The most terrible sins are born of it."
It was an effort for Cardinal Belroche to keep from bursting out in derision or anger. "Did you rape one of the nuns, mon eveque?" Once again he saw that he had erred and made haste to correct his mistake. "When the Devil or his messengers are present, many terrible things happen. You have seen what it is to have the demons come. Good, pious Churchmen fall at such times."
"No. I was on guard then. I was aware then that there was much danger, and I guarded myself with severity and purpose. You do not know with what care I examined my soul each night."
"Like a physician inspecting a wound?" the Cardinal suggested.
"Yes!" eveque Amalrie seized on the idea. "Yes, searching for laudable pus in the bandages." He lowered his head. "I saw that the Sisters were chastised and exhorted for their errors and gave them exercises to make them more godly in their thoughts and actions. Yet the Devil is stubborn, and when I was recalled, it was apparent to me that the danger still existed there."
"You have done what the Church requires of you. Do not be concerned, mon eveque. You are an able man, and your devotion is not in question. God alone can perfect us, and until He chooses to do so, we must not aspire to perfection, but to as godly conduct as we have been able to achieve." This, he hoped, would satisfy the Bishop and he would be able to have some time to himself.
eveque Amalrie clapped his hands to his face and dropped to his knees; now only his head was visible at the edge of the table, eerily disembodied. "It was not that. God has shown us the way and we must be as He intended us to be. That is what any worthy Christian must believe. But we are told that when the Devil enters our hearts, then we are lost to the light of God, and we go into darkness and fire." He crossed himself, and his hands appeared at the edge of the table for a moment. "And the Devil entered my heart, Illustrissimi. I had thought in my vanity and pride that I had come through the test the God had made for me in a manner that pleased Him, and I relaxed the guard I had set upon myself, confident that I was inured to the flesh and had demonstrated it." His mouth shook and he had to compress his lips before continuing. "I was under escort and returning here. We stopped for the night at a villa near here. It was a wild place, with flowers and fruit trees run riot."
"In fact, an Eden?" Cardinal Belroche said, smiling.
"If you meant the home of the Serpent, then it is apt." He closed his eyes and began to weep. "Le Duc de Parcignonne was the one who brought me there, saying that the mistress was noble. I thought that it would be appropriate for one of my station to be there, for it was not an inn where godless men come. Better I had slept in a hovel than in those fine sheets." He wiped his tears. "I am not worthy to bear this guilt, for my sins stink to Heaven."
Now Cardinal Belroche was curious. He had already heard what le Duc had reported, and had found it amusing. This self-castigation perplexed him. In a cloistered monk, it might be understandable, but in a young Bishop, it was ridiculous. "You have done nothing to suggest you are beyond redemption, mon eveque."
"I have fallen. The Devil sent his demon to me, in a form so sweet and so bound in the pleasures of the flesh that..." He stopped, swallowed hard and went on. "I had not known what it was that the Sisters felt when the demons came to them. I had thought that it was the weakness and deception natural to their sex that made them long for the touch of the demons, and that they persisted because of the obstinacy of women. I did not know what it was to have a demon with ... with me." The last was a whisper.
"A demon came to you? At Un Noveautie?" Cardinal Belroche turned away so that eveque Amalrie could not see his expression. "What need of a demon when there is Comtesse Orienne?"
eveque Amalrie boggled at him. "But ... you cannot know ... what she did. What I did because of her. It was a demon. It had to be a demon. You do not know what she is capable of, what she can cause others to do. It cannot be ... no woman is so far gone in ... corruption that she will..." He turned a deeper shade of plum. "Women are the seat of iniquity and the snares for the souls of men. But they are foolish and without reason. This woman, this demon was ... was with reason ... God protect me!"
This time Cardinal Belroche got to his feet. He looked at the weeping man kneeling before his writing table and he gave a short, discontented sigh. "There are many who would think you were fortunate beyond reckoning for what you have tasted, and I would be one of them, if I believed you knew what you have had." He flicked a mosquito off the fresh vellum that was spread on the table for his later use. "You have let yourself be seduced by the most accomplished courtesan in all France, and you fear that this is evil. God does not expect men to turn from being men, but to choose the godly part. You have been chaste for most of your life. That you have lapses from time to time is reasonable. God did not make you to be without these lapses." He blessed the young Bishop. "Confess your sin, such as it is, and then accept the offer of a short time of retreat. You have magnified your transgression beyond all thought."
"It was a demon. It was. I tell you, I know that it was!" He had started to rise, his hands reaching out as if to grab the Cardinal.
"Stop this at once!" Cardinal Belroche ordered in so stern a voice that eveque Amalrie quailed at the sound of it. "You are indulging yourself in your guilt as you have indulged yourself in the flesh. Take care that you do not sin for pride and vanity in this as in your piety." He stepped back. "If you intrude upon me again, I will have my guards remove you." He hesitated, then decided to soften the blow a little. There was no telling how far this difficult young man might advance within the Church. "Take heart in knowing that others have sinned as you have, and with less concern for their souls while they did it."
eveque Amalrie gave a strange sob, then flung away from the Cardinal, staggering toward the door. "Pernicious! Pernicious! There is sin everywhere. The Devil is here before me!"
"Mon eveque - " Cardinal Belroche called out, but the Bishop paid him no heed.
* * * *
By the time Pere Guibert reached the convent, he was too tired to want to do more than sleep. He rang for the warder-Sister and had a considerable wait for a yawning Seur Odile to come to admit him.
"God be with you," he said to her as she swung the doors closed behind him.
"And with your soul, mon Pere. We are grateful you have returned." She looked about, then said quietly. "You are alone?"
"When eveque Amalrie was recalled, Padre Bartolimieu decided to petition the Pope to continue the investigations here. I am not certain when he will return. He ... thinks highly of eveque Amalrie." He held the reins out to Seur Odile, and was startled when she did not take them. "Ma Fille? What is this?"
Seur Odile was in a quandary. "Your pardon, mon Pere. I would take the mule, but the last time I ventured into the stables, the Devil found me there and I was set upon by his fiends, who tormented me." She crossed herself. "I have prayed and fasted since then, and Mere Leonie has said that she believes the worst has passed, but I dare not go there again. Not until you have heard my confession and have determined that it is safe for me to go there." Her breath was shaky, but she was able to say the rest. "I know that the fiends came to me because I desired them. That is what Mere Leonie said to us: that the Devil comes where he is welcome and only when he has been summoned, just as those who are Saints are called of God."
Pere Guibert heard this with misgivings. "Mere Leonie has the right to it, but not all of it. Those who are godly and in grace can nonetheless be tempted. That is what we must guard against." He patted the mule absently. "Do you wish me to stable the beast, or is there another Sister who will tend to him for me?"
"There is Seur Tiennette, who is making cheese in the still-room, and Seur Marguerite is awake." It was all she could legitimately offer to him, and both were aware of it.
"Ask Seur Tiennette if she would mind stabling my mule for me. I must have half an hour for prayer and then I will sleep. If I do not, I will not be in the clear state of mind I must be to hear your confessions tomorrow." He stood still, waiting for Seur Odile to do something. "Seur?"
"Yes. I will tend to it," she promised, then crossed herself in fear. "Our Lord between me and evil," she whispered, then hurried away, calling back, "I will not be long. And I will inform Mere Leonie that you have arrived."
"Deo gratias," Pere Guibert said, watching her go. He did not like this time of day, when all but the last of the light had faded from the skies, when the stars began to show overhead, for at such times, he knew he was most vulnerable, thinking himself still safe. He looked over his shoulder at his mule. The animal was getting old, he thought, for he had ridden it now more than nine years. Shortly the Church would have to find him another.
"Mon Pere!" Seur Tiennette called as she lumbered into the courtyard. Her girth had expanded of late, and there was a wheeze in her breathing that had not existed a year ago. Her habit was covered with a patched apron and it reeked of the curds she had been handling. "I am sorry to have to greet you this way, but I trust you will give me your forgiveness?"
Over the years, Pere Guibert had come to regard Seur Tiennette as something of an older sister, a part of the family he could not remember, and he responded now with a warmth that was not often apparent in his manner. "I am pleased to have such industrious escort, Seur Tiennette, and I am only regretful that I must take you from your own labors to tend to me." He gave her the reins. "He will need water as well as feed."
"I am thankful for the task, mon Pere," she said, then looked at him closely. "Will they be back, those men from Avignon, or will we be left in peace, do you think?" She misinterpreted his silence. "It is not proper for me to ask, but there has been such turmoil here, that I must do what I may to discover how much more of it I will have to endure."
"Endure?" he asked.
"Oh, I know that if there is reason for correction of sins, then we must be thankful for the rod that brings us once again to virtue. I have no argument with that. But I do not wish to be corrected for wrongs that are not my own." She stopped to put her hand to her brow. "It is nothing, mon Pere. Do not listen to me. It is late and I have become ... cranky. In the morning, I will have rid myself of these resentments."
This was so unlike what Pere Guibert was used to from Seur Tiennette that he almost urged her to tell him more. But his back was sore, his eyes ached and he could not give her the attention he felt she wanted, and so he made the sign of the cross over her. "God guide your thoughts and your steps, ma Fille. I will hear your confession tomorrow."
"Deo gratias," she murmured, then led his mule away.
* * * *
Lightly the blows fell, lightly, persistently, to the count of the nun with the scourge in her hand. She was naked to her waist and her back bore evidence of the rigor of her devotions. "Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty," she said breathlessly. Here she paused, the sting and burn of her stripes making her dizzy when she struggled unsuccessfully to get to her feet. Her body was clammy to the touch as she pulled her habit back over her shoulders, trying to transcend the pain that blossomed in her like an enormous, appalling flower. She thought of the martyrs who had suffered far worse trials than she had for God's Glory, but this did not serve to improve her feeling, nor make her movements any easier.
"Seur Ranegonde," said the soft voice in the shadows.
"Apage, Satanas," she muttered, her eyes swimming as she searched for the speaker.
"I am behind you, ma Seur," was the pleasant response. "Would you like me to face you? Or would you wish to face me?"
Seur Ranegonde closed her eyes, determined to shut out all awareness of this intruder. "Where hearts are pure and the devotion of God is genuine, then the Devil and his messengers cannot enter, and the true Christian may rest secure in the arms of the Lord," she whispered determinedly to herself. "Where there is evil, goodness will drive it out. God does not bargain with the Devil."
"Doesn't He?" asked the gentle voice. "What of Job? Did not God and the Devil play for his soul?" He waited while Seur Ranegonde continued to pray.
"Virge Marie, hear me, for I am weak and in danger, and but for your mercy and the mercy of God, I am lost to the Pit. God made me pious, but I have no courage but what you will lend me. I am afraid, and my heart will fail me for fear, if you will not enter my heart."
"Poor Seur Ranegonde," Thibault said, coming up behind her. "Do you think the ceiling will open and show you visions of Heaven? Do you think that Virge Marie will wrap you in her mantle?"
"Let me not hear the words that the Devil has spoken. Let me hear only the hymn of praise that the Angels sing forever at the Throne of God," she said, her words coming faster and faster, as if their speed alone could carry her to safety.
"There are other hymns, Seur Ranegonde, and they are more pleasant to hear," Thibault said, deliberately placing his hands on her shoulders so that the hurt of her scourging rushed through her. "What glory is there in this agony? What good father permits his children to harm themselves in this way?"
"Bon Dieu!" she sobbed, stricken with terror. "Save me! O Thou Who brought Moses out of the desert, save me!"
"He brought Jesus to the Cross, as well," Thibault reminded her in the most gentle tone. "What will He do for you, if that is how He treated His Son?"
"Do not say that. I will not listen to you!" Seur Ranegonde cried. "You do not speak the truth."
"It is part of your faith, Seur Ranegonde. You have sung of it every Pascal Feast. You ask aid of a deaf assistant. You cannot wait for God to serve you. But I will serve you, and not in Heaven. I will serve you as you long to be served, here, now, in this cell." His hands had moved down her arms so that he held them pinned to her sides. "You are weak with fever, little dove, and you persist in these scourgings. What is so hideous that you must treat yourself in this way?"
"We are not worthy," Seur Ranegonde answered, then closed her mouth firmly, determined not to be tricked into talking again.
"Of what? Of the death of a carpenter over a thousand years ago?" He gave her a little silence, then went on. "Do you think that whipping yourself to ribbons will make you more acceptable a sacrifice?" He sounded almost amused as he asked, and when she still remained silent, he made a third suggestion. "Tell me, little dove, do you believe that you will be taken to the marriage bed by Father, Son and Holy Ghost, to know at last what you have denied for so long? Must it be deities only that violate you?"
She wrenched in his arms, but her weakness was too great for her to fight free of him. "Let me go!"
"To what? To another beating? To dream of a lover that is without body or passion?"
"There is passion! There is!" she insisted, then wished she could recall the words. "There is passion, but it is not - "
"Is not what?" Thibault cut in. "There is no surrender? But there must be; you surrender in prayer hours every day. There is no embracing? You lie prostrate with your arms outstretched, and they hold nothing but stones. Think of this, little mouselette. You are afire, you kindle the flames in your heart, and then you strive to subdue the very embers you have fanned. That scourge will change nothing except the number of scars on your skin."
"No. No, no, no, you must not do this! Let me go. I swear I will pray for you and forgive you for what you have done if you will let me go." She knew that her pleading was more of a whine, and it shamed her that she should appear so craven to this diabolic creature that stood behind her and held her as easily as she might hold a day-old lamb.
"But I do not want your forgiveness and your prayers, mon ange. I want your passion as mine. I want you writhing and screaming for the satisfaction of your desires."
She felt one surge of hope. "Then release me, and I will lash myself for your sins as well as my own."
"What sins?" he asked in his most caressing voice. "You have committed no sins. After I have taken you, there will be time enough for that." Abruptly he jerked her and she found herself facing his hot, pale eyes. He held her more tightly. "You want to be lost in your passion. It would delight me to do this for you."
"But not that - " She was afraid that she was about to weep, and there was nothing she could do to prevent him from seeing it, increasing her shame.
He fixed his hands now, digging them deeply into cloth and flesh, and he began to press her down, ruthlessly, relentlessly, to her knees. "You desire to worship, little dove? You may worship me, and I will give you the reward you are seeking."
"I ... you blaspheme," she objected, but so weakly that he guffawed. "No."
"Oh, yes. It is what you will offer your God, isn't it? You are prepared to lose your virginity, ma Seur, if it is sacrificed to the most puissant lord, and you will give him sacrifice and honor, won't you?" And then he was atop her.
She gritted her teeth through it all, her eyes closed, the comforting image of Christ in her mind, superimposed on the creature that pressed her. She could feel his movements, and the weight of him was enormous for a man so slight. For all the indignity and humiliation, the only hurt she had came from her shoulders, from the welts she had put there with her scourge. The rest was as remote as it was appalling.
When he had finished, he still lay atop her, giving her no option to move in any way. "You will have a child of this, and I will come for it."
Seur Ranegonde finally wept, but without a sound. "I want nothing of yours," she said hollowly.
"Oh, it is not of mine. Demons have no progeny, we have only the seed we carry from others." She stiffened under him. "You are not the first tonight, my mouselette. I would not have been able to start a child in you but that another warmed me earlier." Thibault sniggered, then loosened his hold on her enough to let him be able to see her face clearly. "Why, ma Seur?"
She was disgusted to hear herself answer him. "I weep for the loss of my chastity. I am not a worthy nun any longer."
"No; I did not mean that." He supported himself on his elbows as he asked this time. "Why did you surrender to me?"
Her eyes opened wide; she could not convince herself she had heard him correctly. "You gave me no choice," she said, loathing him and her admission with equal intensity.
"There is always a choice, my mouselette," he said, this time with sadness that distressed her; she did not wish to think what it meant.
"You were too strong for me," she said after a little silence.
"I?" He reached down and touched her face. "But I am weak." This was said with such forthrightness, wholly unlike the blandishments he had used earlier, that she blinked. "It is your desire that is powerful, not mine. You have the strength; I possess none of my own." He got up after that, and dressed quickly.
She lay watching him, refusing to think. The lassitude that had come over her at his confession was like the fatigue she often felt from her fever. She saw him pull on his sleeves, noticing how beautiful he was. Many women, she knew, might be foolish enough to want him for his beauty, for his pale hair and pale skin. She had not wanted him, she insisted to herself, but there were doubtless countless others who might.
It was as if he had heard her thoughts. "There are always those who desire what I am, who long for what I give them. They will give me their passions, so that they may have their desires. Men, women, it makes no difference: I become what they want me to be." He made a fussy adjustment in the little ruff around his neck. "Where I am truly not wanted, mouselette, I am powerless to do anything."
He was almost at the door, when she made herself ask the question that had been burning in her, that she dared not give voice to, for fear it would confirm her inmost horror. "If you are not the father, who is?" She already accepted her pregnancy; it was fitting that she should suffer for what she had done.
Thibault thought this over, then gave a mischievous, triangular smile. "I do not think I will tell you that just now. In time you may discover it for yourself." Then he blessed her and while she drew away from him in repugnance, he left her cell.