Heart of Gold (12 page)

B
REAKFAST AT
M
ADAME
C
ALVERT'S WAS SO FINE THAT
George was extremely reluctant to miss it. Aubrey
promised he'd make it up by selecting from the many
cafés they passed. This mollified George and he treated
the whole city as a gigantic buffet, choosing a pastry here,
a hot chocolate there.

So, despite their early departure, they were actually late
arriving at the Hepworths' apartment on the Isle of the
Crown, right in the middle of the Sequane River.

Caroline was waiting on the doorstep. Aubrey saw she
wasn't wearing a hat. Instead, her hair was caught up at
the back of her head in a roll, pinned with a tortoiseshell
comb that was carved with geometric interlacing. Her
skirt was long and plain, with large buttons down the
front, gathered with a white belt at her waist. At least, he
told himself, that was all he noticed in the brief glance
he gave her.

She wasn't tapping her foot, but she looked as if she
wished to. 'Shall we go?'

Aubrey had had experience with Caroline's walking.
When she was making for a specific destination, she
didn't mince along, but strode purposefully. Aubrey had
prepared himself for this eventuality by wearing his most
comfortable boots instead of his most stylish. This helped
somewhat, but this morning his knees were aching with
a brittle, dreary pain that gnawed with each step. His
weariness had not deserted him either, and George's
gorging at breakfast had left Aubrey feeling slightly
nauseated.

He admitted – to himself – that he was concerned over
his physical condition, but he was reasonably confident
that if things didn't worsen, he could manage. After all,
he'd coped in the past.

Even though the Hepworths' apartment was close
to Our Lady's, the maze that was the Isle of the Crown
meant they had to take a circuitous route to get to
the front of the cathedral. It was early and the narrow
streets were already busy. Delivery carts, cabs and workers
were making their way on their daily rounds. The aromas
of coffee and baking bread signalled that a thousand
breakfasts were being eaten in the cafés and apartments
they passed.

'Remarkable place,' Aubrey said as they strode along,
'the Cathedral of Our Lady.'

'In what way?' Caroline glanced at him. 'Because it's
the main cathedral of the city? Because the second
crusade was launched from its steps? Or because it's
hosted coronations, royal weddings and christenings for
seven hundred years?'

'Don't forget that it's at the exact geographic centre of
Lutetia.' He stepped around a street sweeper. 'It seems as
if we've both read the same guidebook.'

Caroline gave a cheeky smile, taking Aubrey by surprise.
'We may have something in common, after all.'

Aubrey was about to begin itemising all the things he'd
catalogued that they had in common when Caroline
arched an eyebrow and resumed their journey.

Aubrey was taken aback at Caroline's unexpected playfulness,
and rather enjoyed it. His spirits lifted and he
found it easier to ignore the nagging pain in his back. He
whistled a jaunty tune until George pointed out that
he was scaring the stray dogs.

Besotted
, he thought. He rolled the word around and
accepted that it fitted.
Besotted.

Ice-cream vendors wheeled their carts around the
square in front of Our Lady's, optimistically looking for
early business. Aubrey stood a moment and admired the
steeples, the flying buttresses, the enormous rose window
and the phlegmatic gargoyles who had little to do on the
warm, cloudless morning.

The church doors were open. Aubrey's eyes took a
moment to recover, moving from the bright daylight to
the relative darkness of the interior, but once they had he
stood just inside the narthex – the enclosed area before
the church proper – marvelling.

At the eastern end, pews were arranged in front of the
altar. A few worshippers were praying while visitors kept
close to the walls, examining tombs and inscriptions,
daunted by the immense space.

Aubrey shivered. This was a place where silent contemplation
had gone on for centuries. For generations,
people had spent time pondering the fate of their souls,
wondering about life, death and what it held for them.
Surrounded by this accumulation of introspection,
Aubrey felt the transience of human existence. The
solidity of every pillar, every block of stone, every tomb
contrasted with it, remaining in place while thousands of
lives passed.

He bowed his head. For a moment, he took time to
consider the fate of his own soul. The nearness of the
true death made him conscious of the importance of life
and the need to amount to something. He was determined
his existence wouldn't be a meaningless one.

I will make something of my life
, he promised himself.
And if I trip over feet along the way, they're going to be
mine.

When he lifted his head he saw a group of visitors
nearby. One of them appeared familiar, but Aubrey was
more interested in the maps that several held, orienting
themselves. 'I wonder where we can get one,' Aubrey
muttered to George.

'One what?'

'A map. It'd be helpful. I don't know where to start.
Bertie's notes are cryptic, to say the least.'

A voice came from Aubrey's left. He nearly jumped.
'My name is Sister Claire. Can I help you?'

The nun had been standing near the entrance, obviously
with the duty of assisting bemused visitors. She was
a young woman with arresting green eyes. Smiling at
Aubrey, she continued in Albionish. 'From Albion, are
you not?'

'Indeed, Sister.' Aubrey introduced himself and his
friends.

'Would you like a tour? Or is there something in
particular that you would like to see?'

Aubrey wasn't sure why he hesitated to reveal his
plans. Perhaps caution was growing customary. 'A general
tour would be helpful, Sister.'

'Excellent,' Sister Claire said. 'It's a marvellous cathedral.
We're very proud of it, even though the upkeep is
very, very costly.'

George was the first to take the hint. He reached inside
his jacket for his wallet. 'I don't suppose there's anywhere
to make a donation, is there, Sister? Can't have a place
like this falling into ruin.'

'There is a donation box just inside the entrance.' Sister
Claire smiled, dimpling.

Sister Claire was bright and chatty; Aubrey could see
why she'd been chosen for visitor duty. She took them into
the wide central aisle, pews stretching away on either side,
and ushered them to a spot in the nave. 'Look up,' she said,
and had them face the rose window over the entrance.

Aubrey smiled as they were bathed in reds, greens,
yellows and blues. 'It's like being wrapped in a rainbow.'

'It's one of my favourite places in the whole cathedral,'
Sister Claire said. Her face was dappled red and blue.
'Don't tell the Mother Superior, though. She thinks I
need to spend more time praying and less time smiling.'

'You live here, in the convent?' Caroline asked.

'Yes. It's a wonderful place.'

'It's your choice, this life?'

Aubrey tensed. He knew that Caroline had very
modern views about the role of women. How would
she view women who devoted themselves totally to the
service of others?

Sister Claire frowned, confused. 'This life?'

'Becoming a nun.'

'I'm not sure if it's a matter of choosing.'

'But it was your decision?'

'Oh yes. My family tried to convince me not to.'

Caroline looked satisfied. 'Very well then.'

Rather than be offended, Sister Claire was amused. 'If
you'll come this way.'

She conducted Aubrey, George and Caroline around
the walls of the cathedral, moving in an anti-clockwise
direction, she explained, to fit in with the other nuns
who were also guiding visitors.

The immense space both magnified and muffled
sounds. Whispers became murmurs that moved in vague
burbles of sound, rolling off the hard marble surfaces and
chasing each other into the heights.

Tombs and memorials were set into the walls. Some
were austere, some were flamboyant and baroque, but
none bore names that Aubrey recognised from Bertie's
notes. Mixed in with prominent clergy were more than a
few nobles, but occasionally an artist or a soldier was
honoured with a place in the foremost church in Gallia.
It was a mark of respect accorded to few, Sister Claire
pointed out, and only those who'd done something
special for their country.

When they reached the transept, Sister Claire paused.
'The convent opens off here. If you like, I'll show you the
cloisters. They're very fine, very peaceful.'

Aubrey couldn't deny her. 'By all means, Sister.'

A dusty, wood-lined passage took them from the
cathedral. Aubrey spied a narrow doorway. 'The convent
is through there?'

Sister Claire shook her head. 'The convent is at the
western end of the cloisters. That's the entrance to
the Chapel of the Heart.'

'Can we see inside?' Caroline asked.

'Of course. It's very simple compared to the cathedral,
but it's very special.'

The Chapel of the Heart was tiny, no more than a
dozen paces in length. The ceiling was low, and appeared
lower after the lofty extravagance of the cathedral. It was
a plain, rectangular chamber with no windows. A simple
altar stood at the far end. The body of the chapel was
filled with backless benches and a narrow aisle ran up the
middle. Candles and a single lamp illuminated the space.

It was close, but Aubrey didn't feel confined. The tiny
place had a comfortable scale and, in some ways, was
more human than the cathedral's magnificence.

He stopped, frowning, and rubbed his hands together.
Magic was hereabout, of a deep and primeval kind, but
where was it?

'Oh.' Caroline's voice was full of wonder. Aubrey
glanced to find that she was staring at a niche in the
western end of the chapel. He came closer to see what
had taken her attention so completely.

The alcove was unadorned, bare stone, windowless.
A nun sat and gazed back at them with such tranquillity
that Aubrey was quite dazed. She was young, younger
even than Sister Claire. In her simple habit she looked
complete, perfect, as if she wanted for nothing at all.
When she smiled at them, it was with such overwhelming
goodness that Aubrey nearly wept. Then she dropped
her gaze to her lap.

Nestled in her hands was a golden heart.

It was the size of a large man's fist. Its surface was dull,
but it glowed with a lustre that was seemed to come from
deep within.

Aubrey's breath caught in his throat. A profound, slow
pulse of magic was coming from the golden heart. It
rippled outwards with the majesty of a deep ocean swell.

'The soul of Gallia,' Sister Claire said. 'The Heart of
Gold.'

'I didn't know it was here,' Caroline murmured.'But it
makes sense: the heart of the country residing in the
middle of the country.'

'We don't hide the fact, but we don't trumpet it about,'
Sister Claire said. 'This is its rightful place.'

Aubrey didn't like being nonplussed. But here he was,
totally at a loss. He saw the rapt faces of the three women
as they stared at the Heart of Gold.

'I've never heard of it,' George said softly. For a
moment, Aubrey regretted missing the chance to
honestly profess his ignorance, but it passed.

'My mother told me about it,' Caroline said. 'The
legend is that Gallia will never fall as long as the Heart of
Gold remains here.'

'This chapel was here before the cathedral, at the very
middle of Gallia,' Sister Claire said. 'Our convent, too. It
is the duty of our order to hold the Heart of Gold, for it
needs to be cradled by a living person. If it is parted from
the presence of a human being, it will die and our nation
will not endure.'

George scratched his head. 'She must be older than she
looks.'

Sister Claire dimpled again. 'It is Sister Anne's turn
now, but we take our duty in shifts, as you would say. Our
order has provided an unbroken line of attendants for
over eight hundred years.'

'That must be reassuring,' Aubrey said. 'Especially in
such troubled times.'

'It means much to every Gallian to know that the
Heart of Gold is with them. It is the basis of our nation,
much more so than kings or queens or presidents. With
it, Gallia endures.'

Aubrey stared. He could feel its intense magic. He
gnawed his lip and tried to banish the thought, but his
mind kept circling it:
What happens if it's lost?

Sister Claire ushered them out.

The cloisters were special, as she had promised. The
regular, pointed arches opened onto a green sward
bordered with rose bushes. They walked along the
covered way, Sister Claire pointing out the garden of
medicinal herbs on the eastern edge of the long convent
building. It was a paradise for bees and they droned about
engrossed in their labours. Caroline leaned down and
picked a sprig of lavender. Aubrey enjoyed the soft
fragrance of thyme and lemon balm. He followed
Caroline's lead, but plucked rosemary instead and rolled
it between his hands. The fresh, green woodiness tickled
his nose.

It was idyllic, restful. Aubrey began to forget his aches
and weariness in the drowsy, herbal warmth.

'Lovely,' he said.

'It feels safe,' Caroline said. 'A refuge.'

Aubrey was intrigued, but before he could question
her a scream echoed along the cloistered way. Aubrey
dropped the rosemary. 'It came from back there,' George
said, already running.

Sister Claire put a hand to her mouth. 'The Chapel of
the Heart.'