A Mortal Glamour (28 page)

"THIBAULT!” The name was wrung from her.

The nuns drew together in their frights, each turning more pale at the agony in Seur Aungelique's voice: it was ragged with pain.

"Should one of us wake ... bring Mère Léonie?” Seur Odile asked in the most tentative accents. “Shouldn't she be here?"

"And Père Guibert. He would know how to end this.” Seur Catant huddled in her shift as far from Seur Aungelique's cell as she could. “Someone must know what to do."

The next scream was more terrible than the others, a wordless litany of torment that transcended mere suffering and became total despair.

"Bon Dieu,” Seur Morgance whispered.

"It is not God Who touches her,” Seur Theodosie warned them, her large, brawny frame cowering now.

"My children ... she hears them. They call to her and she cannot answer, so this is all she can do,” Seur Marguerite explained, but no one listened to her. “She has tried to find them, and her heart is broken. It has happened before, but it may be that God is merciful and will bring her to grace. He may do it for anyone, so they say, and my children will speak well for me."

"By la Virge, be quiet,” Seur Catant muttered.

"Leave her alone; she isn't clear in her head,” Seur Adalin said, putting herself between Seur Catant and Seur Marguerite. “It's bad enough we must listen to this. We do not have to hear your carping as well."

"I meant only...” Seur Catant began, then stopped when panting sobs came from the closed cell.

The voice shuddered, too exhausted to whimper, and then there was a crack of low, pitiless laughter before the weeping began, slowly at first, and then building to wretched sobs.

"I will get Mère Léonie,” Seur Philomine said to the others, and went before anyone could stop her.

"Sacre Mère Marie,” Seur Ranegonde prayed, saying the comforting words without thought. “Pardon us and intercede for us so that we are not lost on the Day of Judgment and our souls go not into the pit."

Seur Adalin crossed herself and began to recite prayers of her own. She heard Seur Elvire join her, and the others followed their example, each of them speaking of her fears and helplessness. Their voices were soft and could not entirely blot out the sound of Seur Aungelique's crying.

Seur Philomine did not bother to pray as she rushed to Mère Léonie's cell. To her dismay, the Superior was not there. “Mère Léonie!” she called out, hoping that she could be heard. “I ask forgiveness for intruding, but we must have your aid now. There is ... trouble!” She went next to the study and saw that the small door leading to the convent's herb garden was standing open. With an impatient shout she went toward it, raising her voice again. “Mère Léonie! Mère Léonie!"

The Superior was at the far end of the garden, standing with her head bowed and her hands clasped before her. At this interruption she looked up sharply and stared through the darkness.

"Who is it?” Her tone was sharp. “I am—"

"I have no wish to disturb your prayers, ma Mère, but there has been more trouble. It is Seur Aungelique."

Mère Léonie nodded. “What now?"

"She ... is in great travail and distress of spirits.” That much was correct and could not later be questioned. “The door is barred and none of us wishes to open it without your authority."

"I see. Very well.” She crossed herself. “Seur Aungelique is in the hands of Our Lord and He will dispose of her as He sees fit. But it is for us to relieve the burdens of this world, even for the foolish and wayward, for God has made each of us what we are and for that we must honor every creature.” She was walking swiftly, passing thought her study and her cell without pausing for anything. “Come, Seur Philomine. There is work for us to do."

Seur Philomine followed, grateful that it was not for her to minister to Seur Aungelique. She hurried to keep up with the Superior and tried without success to fathom the character of Mère Léonie. It frightened her to think that the Superior might fail them when she was needed most. She caught herself wondering, as she did more and more often, if she should have gone with Tristan when he offered to take her, and ignored the consequences that would be visited upon them for so impulsive an act. Then she heard the sobs again and put her mind to Seur Aungelique's tribulation.

Père Guibert listened in silence to all Mère Léonie told him. His brow clouded as she spoke, and by the time she was finished, his expression was desolate. “How could it have happened, and here, of all places?"

"Then you believe that it is a demon, mon Père?” Mère Léonie asked.

"I will have to consult with Padre Bartolimieu, but it would appear to me that there is reason to fear she is possessed.” He crossed himself, fighting an appalling exhilaration that was building in him. “We must pray that this is not so, but we must also prepare for that eventuality."

Mère Léonie looked down at her hands. “Surely it is only her lusts, mon Père. She is so young and her blood burns in her veins. We have agreed that she is not a woman of vocation, and it may be that she yearns for release that is not permitted, and for that reason—not reason, but motive, perhaps, since no reason seeks out afflictions—imagines that she has become the victim of the Devil? It is not wise to enforce Orders on those who are not made for such a life.” She had avoided his eyes, but now she stared hard at him. “To have the Church begin a Process here might bring more harm than it ends."

He could not deny it. Other priests had begun Processes that proved fruitless. All of them had been chastised and sent to parishes in parts of the world that were unpleasant to be in. It was bad enough going from convent to monastery to village as he did—being exiled to the warring states of Germany or the hostile English would press him to the limits. “You may be correct in your caution, ma Fille,” he allowed, hoping that he had not given away the degree of concern she had awakened in him. “I believe it will be best for all of us if I pursue this matter myself for a time. I may decide to ask Padre Bartolimieu to aid me, but that is not the same thing as a formal Process.” He added, feeling inspired, “In times like these, when the forces of Rome demand so much of the Church's time so that their error will not spread, it is prudent to bring such problems as this one to the attention of the Church only when it is a sure thing that their skills will be needed. God has often shown His support to those who have acted with sense and circumspection."

"That is true,” Mère Léonie agreed. “And it must be wise to question these things, for there are those who are quick to label sin as Diabolic when in truth it is only the fallibility of man at work."

"God has made us fallible,” Père Guibert concurred, afraid that he might be one of those. “We must guard against our blindness."

"Our Lord will guide us,” Mère Léonie said with great confidence. “Our Lord is our master and our greatest champion."

Père Guibert crossed himself, thinking of nothing more to say. “I will want to hear Seur Aungelique's confession as soon as possible. If she is not reluctant to give it."

"She has said that she is in need of it,” Mère Léonie told him primly. “She has said that there will be no rest for her until she has confessed. She wakes every night, screaming in misery of body and of soul."

"Then it may be that she will repent and come to God, if He moves her to cast off her fleshly desires. We must pray that she will be so moved, and that God will choose to bring her to Him after much suffering.” He shook his head. “Ah, ma Fille, your task here has been a difficult one. Surely God has given you great trials since He caused you to come here."

"I thank Our Lord for this chance to do His will,” she responded quite properly. “If Seur Aungelique is the most recalcitrant nun I meet in my life, then my path will be an easy one."

Père Guibert was not certain that this pride was correct, but he did not want to contradict Mère Léonie while there was so much strife at Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion. So he contented himself with a mild rebuke. “Do not bring more upon yourself, ma Fille, through the mistaken belief that you are capable of bearing the ills of your Sisters. It is God Who provides the strength, and it is He Who endows us with the patience to hear our burdens for His Glory."

"For which we give thanks,” she said, indicating the door. “Come. Seur Aungelique is waiting to speak with you, and I long to know that she has revealed her sin to you."

"Amen to that, ma Fille,” he said, preceding her down the hall. “I have heard that you have suffered losses of hives and cheeses. Will that be a difficulty in the winter?"

"It may be, but if it is, we will do what we must to survive it. The valley is lying fallow where grain grew before the last Plague. There are not so many men to work the land, and few women to winnow the harvest. The miller died and there is no one to grind the grain to flour any longer, so that the peasants must take their wheat and rye and oats to the next valley, to Sangchoutte where they are charged more than they wish to pay for the milling. This year it is not a hardship, but the next, who can say?” She turned the corner in the hallway. “The hives are another matter. Poor Seur Marguerite mourns night and day for the two hives that are lost. There is a third, and so far it has not been touched by the blight that struck down the other two. The cheeses ... Seur Tiennette said that they have been tainted with mold, but she does not know which kind. There are more cheeses curing and it may be that they will all take, so that we will not have much of a loss there. With travelers so few, we have not had to deplete our supplies as we have had to do in the past, or so the Sisters have told me. Mère Jacinthe's records show that in other years, there have been more men upon the road seeking the protection of the hospice."

"It is the Plague and the wars,” Père Guibert said. “And the men from Rome, of course,” he added as an afterthought. “Everywhere men are afraid to leave their homes, thinking they will not be there when they return."

Seur Morgance passed them, lowering her head in dutiful submission to her Superior and their priest.

"How are the Sisters responding to Seur Aungelique's ... “—he almost said “possession” but stopped himself in time—"affliction?"

"There are those who wish to be rid of her, who believe she will bring even more misfortune to the convent. There are those who pity her. And it may be that one or two of them envy her.” She said this last as if the thought were new to her, and the silence that followed bothered Père Guibert.

Seur Fleurette stood in front of Seur Aungelique's cell, her back to the door. A large white scar on the side of her face was a constant reminder to the attack of the Flagellants, as was the limp she revealed as she approached Père Guibert.

"God be with you, ma Fille,” he said, blessing her as he looked at the door.

"And with your spirit, ma Père,” she answered as she crossed herself. “It is my duty to keep watch. If you require me to remain, I will."

Père Guibert disliked having to consult Mère Léonie, but in this instant, he had to rely on the Superior to advise him. “Is it better that she witness, or must this be under the seal?"

"For the good of the convent, a witness would be best,” Mère Léonie answered. “Each nun knows the importance of confession and will not abuse the trust that it requires of us all.” She gazed at Seur Fleurette. “Guard your tongue and your soul, ma Seur, for what you hear is holy confession and not for idle talk."

"I am honored to obey you, ma Mère.” She gave her attention to Père Guibert. “Is there anything you must know, mon Père, or will her confession be sufficient?"

Père Guibert pressed his lips tightly together. “Has she claimed that the Devil has been with her since sunrise?"

"She has been quiet,” Seur Fleurette admitted. “Last night was another matter."

"That was last night,” Père Guibert said. “Today we must praise God for protecting His wayward child.” He went to the door. “Remain nearby. Say nothing. This may be more vanity than Devil, but that is not an easy distinction to make when a nun is as obstinate as Seur Aungelique."

The two women lowered their heads and waited for what was to come.

Alone with Seur Aungelique, Père Guibert attempted to compose his thoughts and calm his soul. But the sight of the young woman troubled him more than he had assumed it would. There were massive bruises on Seur Aungelique's exposed thighs, and deep scratches on her hips and abdomen, one of which had already begun to fester. The skin had been scraped from her collarbone and between her breasts there were the crescent marks of teeth. Some of the discolorations were fresh, others older, turning from purple to yellow-green. Little of Seur Aungelique's beauty remained, and as he stared down at her, Père Guibert decided that it was just as well.

"Do you enjoy watching me, mon Père?” Seur Aungelique inquired lethargically.

"I am troubled to see you, ma Fille.” He made the sign of the cross over her and was pleased that she copied his action.

"Then why do you come? Why not leave me to the demon that robs me of my sleep and my peace of mind? And my purity? Don't you sense the corruption that has invaded me?” The challenge was spoken softly, as if she were too exhausted to do more than make a token show of resistance to him.

"God has given me His mandate of the priesthood,” Père Guibert said. Then to modify this statement so that it would not put her off, he added, “God wishes all His children to care for one another and to honor His commandments for their salvation."

"But surely God knows that He has made His children diverse and that they cannot come to Him but that He calls them?” Seur Aungelique threw back her head and rubbed her eyes. “God is far off, mon Père, and the Devil is near at hand. Who calls us, and how are we to know what we hear?"

"God has given you His priests to aid you,” Père Guibert reminded her. His eyes were drawn to a large, livid bruise on her thigh, near the place where it joined the hip. The bruise was a fresh one, a purple splotch with a ruddy center, the size of his palm. What could have left such a mark, he asked himself.

She moved slightly, exposing more of her body. “Then how is it wrong to live as God made me to live, not seeking any change for fear that the change comes not from God but from the Devil? Is there not less sin in that than in heeding a false call?"