A Mortal Glamour (29 page)

"It must seem so to you, my poor child, with so much trouble in your ... flesh."

"They say that women are weak and erring creatures, and for that they are the prey of demons.” She ran one hand over the crest of her hip. “We are taught that we must be guided if we are to escape perdition."

"That is so,” he replied uneasily. “Yet you have refused confession before. Do you truly seek it now?"

"Oh, yes, mon Père. I must have some peace, or I will be madder than Seur Marguerite with her bees.” She lolled toward him, making no effort to touch him, but still impressing him with her nearness. “The Devil has sent his servant to plague me and I cannot endure it much longer. The demon has come to me often, and has done such things to me that I fear for my salvation.” She started to rise up her elbows but could not accomplish that simple action without wincing in pain. “You see, mon Père? What has been done to me?"

"I see that you are much aggrieved,” he answered, deliberately attempting to make less of her condition. It was an effort to avert his eyes, but he accomplished it, and thanked God in his heart.

"It is worse, so much worse. When I try to enter the chapel, the enormity of my transgressions drives me to fits. I have almost fainted at the sight of the Cross."

Père Guibert watched her with troubled eyes. He could not believe that she would permit such blasphemy to possess her—if possession it was. The nun was from a noble House, her father both a baron and vidame, high in the esteem of the Church. His daughter could not be so steeped in evil she would bring this disgrace on her family. “The Cross,” he said, swallowing once before going on, “will sustain you, if you open your heart to God and repent your sins with humility and accept your penance with submission."

"But it is the demon that does this to me!” she protested.

"What has taken place, I do not know and must rely on your true and complete confession to inform me,” he reminded her. “Are you prepared to do that, ma Fille, or are you still in the thrall of the demon?"

With a heavy sigh, Seur Aungelique crossed herself. “Very well. May God forgive me for my sins.” She picked at a small scab on her hand, then licked the blood that welled there.

"Confess them honestly and He will bestow His grace upon you and bring you again into His protection and love.” Père Guibert took refuge in the familiar admonition.

"For God is omnipotent and omniscient,” Seur Aungelique said wearily. “Yes, and He reads our hearts aright, for it is He that made us. We are the sheep He leads, for He is the Son and the Good Shepherd."

Père Guibert listened to this with a trace of satisfaction. “You should recall that when you are tempted by the messenger of the Devil, if it is truly a demon who comes to you."

"What else could it be? How could a lover reach me here?” She gave him an arch smile. “This is not Un Noveautie, mon Père."

"Think what you say, ma Fille,” he scolded her.

"Yes, mon Père,” she answered, once again contrite. “It is simply that I see such horrible things around me that I cannot endure the sight. This is a place of damnation and Hell stands open at our backs."

"No, no, ma Fille,” Père Guibert said, extending a solicitous hand to her. “You must be deceived. There is danger here, as there is throughout the world. God warned us of that long ago. You need not succumb to it. God protects His own, those who live with grace.” He paused. “You have strayed from the flock, Seur Aungelique, and you have lost the way. What have you done to fall from grace, ma Fille? Tell me."

She shook her head as he said this. “I have done nothing, mon Père. Nothing. It is not I who have done this. My suffering has been visited on me by the Devil, who delights in torturing me through the ... ministrations of his servant.” She stared up at the ceiling, as if watching something there. “You know what I am, Père Guibert; you know how God made me. I am a woman of the flesh and of the senses, and for that I am not a good nun, for the world calls me and I cannot turn away from it without denying what I am, which is a great sin. I am carnal: that is as God wills, and as I wish to live. But I am here, and thus I am tormented by the desires of my body until God brings me to His love. If God should waken a vocation in my heart, I will not deny it. For now, I cannot be what I am wished to be. I have done the penance given me.” Her chin jutted at that.

"This is known to me, ma Fille. What of the demon you claim visits you? What is his nature and how does he offend you?” It was a foolish question and Seur Aungelique made it plain that she did not wish to be made light of.

"You have seen my body; you know what he does to me.” She breathed deeply once. “The Devil has come to me in the form of Thibault Col, Chevalier de Bruges. He is most personable, this young man, very fair and gallant. He has shown me some favor before and it has delighted me to be in his company."

"Do you say this Chevalier is the Devil?” Père Guibert demanded, knowing how serious an accusation Seur Aungelique had made.

"I say that the Devil can assume any shape he wishes, and those that please us gain him an advantage. His demons are beautiful to see, so we are warned.” She crossed herself languidly. “Thus this Thibault comes to me, or the demon in his shape. At first he only courted me, paying me compliments and putting his hands on my breasts as he had done before. Then he came longer, and he demanded more."

Père Guibert cleared his throat and ran his tongue around his dry mouth. “You must tell me what he did and what he said. You must say what you did."

Seur Aungelique laughed softly. “You may be a priest, but you know what he did. At first he took my virginity, penetrating me to the vitals, or so it felt to me. He used me for his passion."

"You did not rebuke him? You did not defend your maidenhead?” His voice cracked on the second question.

"I wanted him. I desired he touch me and fill me. When he was gone, I was in terror that he would not come again. Had I been able to conjure him from the moonbeams, I would have done so."

"That is wrong of you, ma Fille.” He had to look at something other than her ravaged flesh. He was caught in the fascination of her lust and degradation in a way that he knew endangered his soul.

"Does that matter? God did not intend me for chastity. When Thibault came to me, he roused me as no prayer has done. He gave me pleasure in any way I told him I wanted. That was at first.” She yawned. “Later, he made demands of me, and they grew more exacting each time he came to me. Of late, nothing I do is enough for him, and he is more impatient with me.” Tears slid from her eyes and she wiped them away at once.

"Ma Fille, you are in the gravest danger,” Père Guibert said as he clasped his hands in prayer.

"He comes to me each night,” she crooned. “He feels all my flesh, and then he demands that I pleasure him however he wishes to be pleasured. He is too masterful for me to refuse him. He penetrates all my body, and if I am unwilling to accommodate him, then he bends me to his will with his body and his soul. His eyes burn at me.” She laughed again, this time with more spirit. “It is painful and hideous and he cares nothing for me."

"Seur Aungelique!” Père Guibert expostulated, shocked in spite of himself.

"Oh, how I scream and how I fight, and how he overwhelms me.” She smiled at Père Guibert. “He is endowed like a bull, and there are times when I fear he will eviscerate me when he is within me. I feel him swell and surge and his hands are everywhere at once. He is insatiable, I think. I have never given him the satisfaction he has required of me. Even when I have abased myself completely.” Now her voice was soft, husky with feeling. “Have I confessed enough, mon Père? Or do you wish to hear more?"

"I...” He could feel his face burn for shame at what he had heard. “You are not repentant, it would seem."

"Oh, yes. In the morning, always in the morning. But by the time midday has come, I know that night is on its way, and with it Thibault. Then I am satisfied with my lot.” This time her laughter howled at him, and he stepped back from her.

"You are damned, woman. You are vile!"

"He says so, as well,” Seur Aungelique murmured. “Perhaps he is not a demon, after all, since you agree."

For this Père Guibert had no answer; his head rang with her words and they were repugnant to him. Crossing himself for protection, he fled.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Padre Bartolimieu listened to Père Guibert with somber attention. “And does this demon continue to ... sport with her?” he asked when his fellow-priest was finished with his tale.

"So she claims. One of the other Sisters has also claimed that she has been visited by a creature of the night, a strange, dark creature that does things to her that she cannot describe for revulsion. She is a frail woman, and I fear that such predations will harm her more than she knows."

"It will harm them all more than they know,” Padre Bartolimieu declared as he paced the garden. “It was wrong of me to run from the confrontation of evil. I see now that my failure is more total than ever I thought. It is not enough that I retire from the world, but I must aid those in need of guidance, who are in peril of their lives and souls.” He lowered his head. “Tell me about this second nun: what has become of her since the demon assaulted her?"

"She ... she is very bright in the eye and her cheeks flame for the wrongs she has permitted this creature to do her. Seur Ranegonde is not strong, and when she is made to suffer in this way, her constitution fails her and nothing provides her succor, not even prayers.” Père Guibert was distressed to say this, and when he was finished, he stared away across the garden. “Mère Léonie prays for her Sisters and has said that she does not want a Process unless it is necessary. She has asked that you and I keep watch with her over her convent until it is sure the Devil is there."

"She is wise, this Mère Léonie? Or is she subtle?” Padre Bartolimieu put his head to one side. “I recall her with favor; it may be that God has given her more wisdom than He provides most of her sex. They are cunning, women are, and those who embrace virtue are few. They must guard themselves, even in chastity, for it is their nature to yield to the flesh, as Eve did.” He stopped by one of the stone benches and raised a foot onto it. “What do you think, Père Guibert? Do you think it is the Devil or the weakness of women that is to blame here?"

Père Guibert shook his head. “I pray that it is only the perfidy of women that must be corrected and not the incursion of Hell. The Pope has recently warned that the forces of Rome are growing stronger and seek to undermine the proper authority of Avignon and the French throne. To have demons present would weaken his assertion that it is Avignon that is right. It might be thought that these nuns were acting on behalf of Roman interests, that the women entertain Roman lovers and for that seek to cast doubt upon the sanctity of Avignon.” He could not admit it, but this consideration was not his own; Mère Léonie had spoken to him on this subject shortly before he left to seek out Padre Bartolimieu.

"It may be so,” Padre Bartolimieu allowed after thinking over what he had heard. “Rome is capable of such deceit, and we know that woman is a source of lies. It might be best if we observe these ... traces and learn more."

A flight of swallows raced over the walled garden and both men looked up briefly. Finally Père Guibert resumed their conversation. “Then you will come with me, back to Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion? Someone must advise me, before I report to the Cardinal and bring the attention of the Church to this."

"It may be the wisest course,” Padre Bartolimieu said after considering it. “I ... I do not wish this burden. I have asked God to take His cup from me many times, but to no avail. I suppose that He is testing me again, giving me another opportunity to find His strength, for surely I have none of my own.” He crossed himself slowly. “The women there are ... worried, with good reason."

"If there is a demon—"

"No, that is not their main concern. They worry that they may starve next winter. They have not enough food and there has been trouble with their plantings and their lambs and their orchards. At the moment they manage well enough, and they are able to give charity to those travelers who come to them. But in the autumn, it may no longer be so, and they may be driven to fast for long days.” He shook his head. “Mère Léonie has borne up well thus far, but she has not yet faced hunger such as they may know in the dark of the year."

"They must plan.” Père Guibert folded his hands into his sleeves.

"It is well that they fast. Perhaps even now, they should accustom themselves to the practice, so that if later they must deny themselves, they will do so happily, and with glad hearts, knowing that it will strengthen their souls,” Padre Bartolimieu concurred.

Père Guibert frowned. “I will recommend it to Mère Léonie. She will decide as she must."

"You are her priest. It is fitting that she follow your instructions.” Padre Bartolimieu took his foot off the bench. “Think of her awesome responsibilities and you will see that she must turn to you if she is to accomplish her tasks as she ought. You have become used to letting her decide for herself, but that is not proper. She is too forward a young woman, mannish in her ways and proud in her carriage. It is wrong for her to behave thus, and it sets a poor example to her Sisters, who should seek to model their behavior on that of la Virge Marie, who was meek and obedient to the will of God.” He began to walk toward the monastery. “Come, Père Guibert. I will inform the Abbot that I must depart with you."

"I may require your presence some little time,” Père Guibert said, wanting to be certain the other priest understood this.

"No matter. Should it become necessary, I will petition the Cardinal for leave to minister with you. No doubt he would be pleased to have another priest with you, after all the ... heretics did.” He walked more quickly, as if reminding himself of his failure spurred him to new action.

Seur Catant sat carding wool, but her eyes were distant. Her fingers moved as if they were not part of her, efficiently selecting wool, placing it on the toothed paddle, drawing them together until the wool was untangled and fairly smooth, then dropping that hank into the basket at her side and picking up another bit to repeat the process. “He put his hand on my breast. I felt him do that,” she muttered for the hundredth or the thousandth time. “I felt it. His hand. His fingers were long and cold. He put his hand on my breast."