A Mortal Glamour (10 page)

"Yes. And I believe her.” This addition was spoken more firmly, more like the capable leader he was.

"Do you suppose her father would agree to send her to court? It is not my wish to have nuns here who are not devoted to their calling.” She tapped her long, thin hands together with worldly impatience.

"I am truly sorry, ma Mère, that circumstances have brought us all to this pass.” He did not know if he should say more, for fear of overstepping the proper bounds more than he had done already. “I have no say in the matter, unfortunately, or I would see Aungelique wherever she wished to go."

Mère Léonie gave him a look that hinted at a smile. “Would that include taking her to Comtesse Orienne de Hautlimois at Un Noveautie?"

This challenge startled Pierre. “It is not in my hands, ma Mère, no matter what my cousin wants."

"Ah. I see.” She nodded once. “And you know la Comtesse?"

"I have met her,” Pierre answered, continuing to evade her.

"And what do you think of her? Does she live as you wish to see your cousin live? Well?” Her fingers tapped together again, and Pierre had the uncomfortable feeling that Mère Léonie was taunting him.

"It would not be to the honor of my family if I consented to that,” he replied.

"But you. What would you want, Sieur le Duc? Are you so wholly disinterested as you claim, or is there another reason for your compliance in Seur Aungelique's desires?"

"I...” This line of inquiry was vexing him. “My confessor will know of it, if my thoughts are corrupt."

"Certainly,” Mère Léonie agreed. “But I must ask, mustn't I? For it may be that your presence recalls old doubts that you play upon, and thus you turn Seur Aungelique from her life here to that sink of perdition that Comtesse Orienne wallows in.” Her fixed stare grew more intense. “I must ask, mustn't I?"

"If you perceive your duty that way,” Pierre responded shortly. “It is not for me to judge you, ma Mère. Nor you me."

Mère Léonie smoothed the front of her habit, pressing the rough fabric so that some of the lines of her tall body were revealed. “Seur Aungelique's confessor will know of your visit."

"That is fitting.” Pierre wanted to look away from her, but that would mean a surrender he had no intention of awarding her. “Is there any word you wish me to carry to le Baron d'Ybert?"

"Only my promise that I will continue to watch over his daughter to the best of my capacity.” She stood and turned, letting the shapeless garment swing around her. “I will think over what you have said, Sieur le Duc. No doubt le Bon Dieu will guide my thoughts and bring me wisdom to deal with your cousin."

Pierre was not entirely satisfied with this remark and his pride was smarting from Mère Léonie's high-handed attitude. “It may be that you will find Seur Aungelique is not truly suited to be a nun. If that should be the case, send word to me and I will see that she is spared further ... discomfort."

"Discomfort? Do you think she is not comfortable here?” Mère Léonie did not sound angry so much as teasing.

"Look at her!” Pierre demanded. “She's half-starved and dazed for need of sleep. How would you describe her, then?"

With a sidelong glance, Mère Léonie at last released him from the magnet of her eyes. “But then, there are so many kinds of comfort, aren't there? And not all of them come with soft beds and full bellies. Do they?"

The messenger who came in the last dapplings of a spring shower wore the tabard of Avignon and carried a staff topped with the device of the Pope. He drew up his horse before the gates of Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion and called out as custom required, but his voice was husky from other such announcements and it took him several attempts to be heard at all, even by the warder Sister who waited at the grilled window.

"Those true and faithful to the teachings of Christ and His Church, give your attention to the will of your one true Pope, descendant of Saunt Pierre and reigning in glory at Avignon as Clement VII. This is the word of the Pope, repeated faithfully on pain of Hell."

Seur Catant was watching the doors that day, and she heard the messenger with a shock. Until she noticed the man, her mind had been taken up with her various worries stemming from slights and insults that occurred all too often to suit her. She shook herself and came to the grille. “Good traveler, may God be with you."

"And with your soul,” said the messenger as he rode closer to the grille. “Your pardon, good Sister, but my voice is failing. Will you give me entrance so that I may speak to your Superior and your Sisters?"

Seur Catant was entranced by the sight of the messenger's tabard and staff. Any objection she might have voiced was lost in her awe of him. “Naturally. At once. It pains me to say that most of the Sisters are working in the fields just now, and there are few present to receive you."

"Just as well. I should find your Superior first.” It was not proper for him to dismount until he had entered the courtyard of the convent, but he ignored this and came out of the saddle with a sigh.

"Good Herald,” Seur Catant admonished him as she watched through the grille. “I'm surprised that you so much forget yourself."

The messenger had been on the road for three days and had become adept at excuses. “You must forgive me, but my horse suffers from saddle sores and I do not wish to injure him more. The Papal Court does not look with favor on those who misuse their animals.” It was a facile lie, one that came easily to his lips, so minor that he doubted he would bother to confess it when he returned to Avignon.

"Oh,” Seur Catant said, chastened. “I will open the doors for you, but you must remain in the courtyard until I can find the Superior."

"Yes,” the messenger agreed promptly. “I will be pleased to do that.” He welcomed the rest, but knew better than to admit it.

"Very well.” Seur Catant went to open the doors, then stood aside for the messenger to lead his horse in. She wished now that there had been more nuns about to see this triumph, but consoled herself with the thought that she would be able to tell of the messenger's arrival for several days.

"You were going to fetch your Superior, good Sister?” the messenger prompted her gently.

"Yes. At once. At once.” She gathered up the skirts of her habit and scurried away toward the nuns’ quarters, breaking almost into a run once she was indoors.

The messenger would have been pleased to have more time than allowed, but very soon he saw one of the inner doors open and the tall figure of Mère Léonie approaching with six other nuns in her wake.

"God be with you, ma Mère,” he growled, trying to raise his voice to a more acceptable level.

"And with your soul. Seur Catant tells me you have word from the Holy Father.” She looked imposing, though her garments were as plain as the other nuns'. She crossed herself and gave her attention to the messenger. “Be pleased to inform me of the Pope's wishes."

"This is more properly done in chapel.” He was not sure how to proceed with this young woman, but he knew his authority was not as great as hers within the walls of the convent. “If you prefer ... I'll read.” He reached inside his tabard for the folded parchment he carried.

"I think of your voice, good Herald,” Mère Léonie said quickly. “We will provide you with a soothing draught and a meal as soon as you have finished. I pray you will read to us all.” She folded her hands in front of her, setting an example for the nuns.

"As you wish.” The messenger capitulated as he opened the parchment and began to read. “'We, Pope Clement VII, reigning in the Name of Christ for the Glory of God, charge those who keep to the True Church and True Succession to give their aid to their beleaguered faith. It has come to Our attention that agents of the perfidious Roman impostor have been found among us, seeking to subvert the devotion of those who adhere to the Rites of Avignon. Often have we been warned of the evil that goes through the world seeking to devour the souls of those who are among those blessed by the One Catholic Church and given to Salvation by the Blood of the Lamb. Truly have we been warned of the evil that strikes at home as well as the evil that strikes from afar. Already we are sorely pressed, tested in ways that try our courage and our souls.

";'Be not suborned by these agents of Satan, for they are no less than that in their desire to supplant Salvation with Damnation and lure our flock to follow the teachings of their anti-Christ whom they exalt as Pope in Rome. To say that this fall is terrible is to minimize the crime it commits, for you, Our children are not heathen, ignorant of Salvation, but baptized Christians who have been taught to love and fear the Word and Will of God.

";'If you fall, you fall twice, and surely your Damnation is the more appalling, for you deny all that God has given you in His Mercy. It is the desire of the Devil to bring the world into his snares so that all will be subjected to his rule. Those who are tormented by doubts are tormented by the Devil, and those doubts, engendered by others or by your errant body, are the very essence of Satan and his demons. Let none of you question this, for to do so is the gravest sin. Rather than become allies of these pernicious forces, immure yourselves in sacred walls and end your lives in prayer.

";'The Devil is everywhere and his minions are going through the land in every disguise, from humble priest to ravening brigand, from simple child to godless soldier. Be vigilant so that this evil';"—the messenger, who had been growing steadily hoarser, paused to cough and clear his throat—";'may be defeated and your souls, each so precious to Our Savior, may grace His Throne at the Last Judgment that will surely come, where each will answer for his life to the Holy Spirit.’ It is signed and fixed with the seal and cipher of the Pope.” He folded the parchment, taking care to crease it along already established lines. “I am charged to ask if there have been strangers here attempting to win your support and aid for Rome.” He coughed again, and looked about with a dismal expression.

"Seur Ranegonde,” Mère Léonie said sharply, “take the messenger and see that he is given food and medication. Seur Adalin, take his horse to the stable. The rest of you come with me to the chapel."

Her orders brought about a flurry of activity, and the messenger was hurried off to the relief he sought while Mère Léonie hastened to the chapel.

Seur Philomine bowed her head to the messenger and spoke in a quiet voice. “I have listened to what you have said,” she began, “both in repeating the words of the Pope, and in your admonition this morning after Matins. I believe that you speak with sincerity and conviction that comes from great faith. But I am only a tertiary Sister, and it is not appropriate for me to turn myself from doubts."

The messenger glared at her. “You leave by a crack in your faith and the Devil will enter.” He did not want to listen to this young nun, or concern himself with what he feared were the trivial questions of an inexperienced woman.

"But might not the cessation of all questions be a sign that the Devil has triumphed, and not God? Isn't it possible that the Devil is as certain as God? Isn't it?” She turned away from him. “I do not have a true vocation, so I do not know what it is to have the love of God pervade my soul; my love is bound to this world and to the love of one ... man. I cannot, in good faith, turn my heart elsewhere, not and do so in truth."

The messenger shook his head. “That is for your confessor and Superior to consider.” He wanted to be away from Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion before the day was much older, and he resented being held up in the stable this way. “For your goodness, Sister—"

Seur Philomine stepped back. “I did not mean to intrude. I wished only to know what the Holy Father has said in cases such as mine. If he has said nothing, well, then I must resign myself to doubts and ... all the guidance of the Saints.” She crossed herself. “May God speed you, good Herald."

"And guide you, good Sister,” he answered automatically as he mounted. “I will return in two months to bring further word from His Holiness.” He let the horse walk into the sunlight, frowning at the brightness. His eyes would be sore long before he reached Saunt-Elizair.

Seur Philomine watched the messenger ride away, her eyes shielded by her hand. She was not content, and nothing that had been said to her had resolved the trouble that made her restless and worried. She looked toward the orchard and saw the distant figure of Seur Marguerite bustling among the hives, for all the world like a cook tending her oven, and for a moment Seur Philomine envied her the gentle madness that possessed her. Seur Marguerite had no doubts to contend with now; they had all been driven away by her altered wits. Sighing, she went back into the stable and took down the rake so that she could muck out the stall the messenger's horse had occupied the night before.

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Comtesse Orienne held out her gauntleted hand and offered the hooded-and-jessed gyrfalcon to Pierre. “See. Isn't he a pretty darling?"

"Very nice. When do you fly him?” Pierre was tiring of the banter which Comtesse Orienne had indulged in since his arrival the night before. “Are you hawking today?"

"No, I don't think so. It's windy, and that makes the birds so wild.” She let her eyes rove over him, not quite caressing him. “Another time, Sieur le Duc?"

"Another time,” he said, shifting in the saddle. “I have to speak to you seriously, Orienne.” His tone had become heavy with his words. “I am charged to speak with you."

She laughed. “Oh? By whom? Have I offended one of your fellow Ducs, or have the powers that be in Avignon decided to put me out of sight again for a while?"

"It is not so simple as that.” He stared at the gyrfalcon.

"Not your tiresome little cousin, surely?” She pretended to be weary of the matter and kept her tone bantering, but under her words were the first stirrings of apprehension. It was not like Pierre to be distant with her.

"No. She is once again at the convent, and her father is determined she should stay there ... Unless she cooperates.” He knew that he should not discuss Aungelique with Orienne, but prudence gave way to his inner sense of failure. “I have tried to convince, well, both of them to bend a little—"