A Mortal Glamour (40 page)

"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 Géneve—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 Évêque 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 Évêque Amalrie. He preferred more stringent methods. He would have taken the hide off me but for the babe. He told Père 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 Évêque 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,” Évêque 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 Évêque? 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. Frère 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 Évêque 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 Évêque, 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."

Évêque 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 Évêque? Is this mere nastiness, or true debauchery?"

"Concupiscence,” Évêque 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 Évêque?” 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!” Évêque 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 Évêque. 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.