Stormbringers (Order of Darkness) (8 page)

They arrived at the quayside and turned towards the inn, dawdling to prolong their time together.

‘I’m going to go too,’ Isolde said fervently. ‘I won’t go to Hungary, not now that I have heard this. I carry the death of my father like a wound. It is terrible to me. Every day I wake up and I think I am in my old bedroom at Lucretili and he is alive, and every day I have to remember that he is dead, and I have lost my home and I am half-lost myself. If I could only see him again! Just once. I would go anywhere for that chance.’

‘You really think you will see him again in Jerusalem? You believe Johann?’

‘While he was speaking I was certain of it – but now – when you ask me like that, of course I’m not so sure.’

She paused, and they stood together: her hand on his arm, the seagulls crying over their heads, and the boats beside them, bobbing at anchor. A pale moon started to lift in the twilight of the winter afternoon and lay a silver path across the sea.

‘I know it sounds so incredible. And yet – you are here, commanded by the Pope because he believes that the end of days is coming. The Pope himself thinks it could be any day now. We all know that the dead will rise on Judgment Day . . .’ She puzzled over it, then put her hand to the neck of the plain gown as if to feel the pace of her heart. It was as if the steady beat reassured her: ‘Why should it not be true? I believe Johann has a vision. This must be a sign. It has to be a sign. I’m going to Jerusalem and I pray that I will meet my father there, among the risen dead, and that he will forgive me for failing him. And he will tell me how I can win back my home.’

Moved by her grief, Luca reached out his hand and touched her shoulder, and then, more daringly, put the back of his hand against the smooth line of her chin. As soon as she felt his gentle touch on her skin, he felt her tremble. For a moment she stood quite still and then, with an inarticulate murmur, she moved aside.

‘Why do you say that you failed him?’ he asked very quietly.

‘When my father was dying my brother told me that he didn’t want me to see him in pain and despair. I believed him, and I prayed in the chapel while my father died alone. When I discovered that my brother had lied to me and stolen my inheritance, I feared that he had lied to my father about me too. What if my father died asking for me, but my brother told him that I would not come? I cannot bear to think of that.’

Her voice was choked with tears. She cleared her throat.

‘Why did you trust your brother?’ Luca asked Isolde gently. ‘Why did you not defy him at once?’

Her beautiful mouth twisted. ‘I was raised to be a lady,’ she said bitterly. ‘A lady should be above lies and deceit, she is honourable and trustworthy. A lady plays her part in the world with honour, and trusts a man to play his. I believed my brother to be an honourable man, the son of a great lord, raised to be as good a man as my father. It has taken me a long long time to see him as a thief. It took me long enough to understand that I had to choose my own life, find my own road. I could not trust his honour. I could not wait to be rescued.’

They resumed their slow walk towards the inn, Isolde’s hand tucked in the crook of Luca’s arm, their steps matched. ‘D’you really think your father will rise from the grave?’ he asked her, curiously.

‘I don’t know how such a thing could be; but now I can’t help but think it. How could Johann look at me, and describe my father? How could he speak of a cold bier in a chapel if he was not seeing, with the eyes of God, my own father’s bier in our cold chapel? He must know the unknown things, see things that we are blind to.’

They paused before the open door of the inn, unable to prolong their walk any longer, and Luca took both of her hands in his. ‘Odd that we should both be orphans,’ he said.

Isolde looked up at him, her face warm. ‘‘It makes me want to comfort you,’ she whispered.

He took a breath. ‘And I, you.’

They stood handclasped. Ishraq and Freize hesitated on the quayside behind them, watching the young couple.

‘Would you think of me as your friend?’ Luca said very quietly to Isolde.

She did not hesitate for a moment. ‘We’re both alone in the world,’ she said. ‘I would like to have a friend who could be constant as my father was, patient as he was, faithful as he was.’

‘I’d want a friend that I could be proud of,’ Luca said quietly. ‘Perhaps I’ll never be able to take you to meet my mother. Perhaps my mother has been dead for many years. But I would like to think that I could have taken you to meet my mother and she would have liked you . . .’

He broke off, suddenly remembering his vows. She felt him almost snatch his hands away from their warm mutual hold.

‘Of course, I cannot think of anything more than a friendship. I am in the early stages of the priesthood, I am going to be a priest, a celibate priest.’

‘Only the early stages,’ Isolde whispered. ‘Not yet sworn.’

Luca looked at her as if she was tempting him. ‘I am not yet sworn,’ he confirmed. ‘I am not bound by my word. It was my intention to join the priesthood . . . before . . .’ He broke off before he could be tempted to say, ‘before you.’

While the crowd before the church slowly dispersed, wondering at what they had heard and what it might mean, Brother Peter waited patiently for Johann to finish his whispered confession to Father Benito. After a little while the young man stood up, crossed himself, nodded respectfully to the priest and then walked across the church to kneel in silent prayer on the chancel steps, his head resting against the thickly carved rood screen which protected the mystery of the mass from the congregation. No-one but an ordained priest was allowed near to the altar.

Behind him, in the silent church, Brother Peter glanced around, and seeing that he was unobserved, crossed the church to kneel in confession. On the other side of the screen the parish priest waited in silence.

‘Father Benito, I need your advice on this matter,’ Brother Peter confided, folding his hands together but clearly not preparing to confess his sins.

The priest was bowed over his rosary, saying his prayers. His hands were shaking. He hardly lifted his head. ‘I can tell you nothing.’

‘This could not be more important.’

‘I agree. This is the most important thing. I have never known anything of greater importance in this world.’

‘I have to ask . . .’

The priest collected himself and sat back. ‘Ah, you will want to know if he has a true vision,’ he guessed.

‘I
have
to know. This is not a matter of curiosity about a herdboy with a following of half a dozen. This is becoming a mighty crusade. If they get to the Holy Land it could change everything. I have to advise Milord who advises the Holy Father whether this is a true crusade. If this young man is a charlatan, I have to know at once, we have to be prepared. If he is a saint, it is even more important: we need to know all about him. He just confessed to you. Your opinion is most important.’

The parish priest looked through the carved wooden screen at the great man from Rome. ‘My son, truly, I cannot help you.’

‘It is a matter of the good of the Church itself. I command you to speak.’

Again the priest refused. ‘I cannot help you.’

‘Father Benito, I don’t need details, you need not break the seal of the confessional. Just give me an idea. Just tell me: does he sin like a mortal boy? For if he confesses like a foolish ill-educated boy who has the knack of talking to a crowd, but nothing else, then he is a fraudster on a great mission, and we can treat him as such. We have dozens like him popping up every year and we manage them for the good of the church and the glory of God. Help me to know what we must do with this lad.’

The priest thought for a moment. ‘No, you misunderstand me. I am not refusing to help you. I mean that I cannot tell you anything. He confessed nothing.’

‘He refused to confess?’ Brother Peter was surprised at the defiance.

‘No! No! He confessed nothing.’ The priest looked up and met Brother Peter’s amazed face. ‘Exactly. I am breaking no confessional secrets for there was no confession. I have nothing to hint at, nothing that I have to hold in silence, as a sinful secret. Johann came to me and made a full confession: and there was nothing. He lives a life without major sin. I set him no penance for he had no sins to atone.’

‘No man is without sin,’ Brother Peter said flatly.

The priest shrugged. ‘I questioned him, and there was nothing.’

‘Pride,’ Brother Peter said, thinking of Johann’s sermon and the hundreds of people listening, and how he himself would feel if he could preach like that and call people out of their homes to walk across Christendom. ‘He sees himself as a vehicle of God,’ he said, thinking that would be how the boy felt.

‘He takes no pride in himself,’ replied the priest. ‘I tested him, and this is true. He takes no credit for himself. He has no pride, though he is a leader of hundreds. He says God leads them and he walks alongside.’

‘Greed.’ Brother Peter thought of the young man who ate a good breakfast.

‘He fasts or eats as God commands him, it depends on whether God sends them food or not. Frequently he fasts because he believes that God wants him to hunger as the poor. Mostly he just goes hungry because there is little food to be had, and all that there is, they share. I am not surprised if he ate well at your table. He would believe that God had brought the food to him, and it was his duty to eat. Did he say grace?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he thank you for your hospitality?’

‘He did,’ Brother Peter grudgingly allowed.

‘Then what more do you ask of him?’

Brother Peter shrugged.

‘If God commands him to eat, he does so. If God commands him to thirst, he does so. Then God releases him and he is free to do His work.’

‘Does he take the children? Does he call them away from their parents when they should stay at home? Could we call him a thief? Does he covet followers?’

‘He says he does the will of God. I asked him about the children. He says that since he was called by God his sins have emptied out of him so he is a vessel, not a man. He holds only God’s will, not the sins of man. I asked him specifically, and he answered with conviction. He convinced me. I think that he may be a saint in the making. In all my years of hearing confessions I have never spoken to a young man who opened his life to me and it was a clean page. I never would have expected this. It is beyond the dreams of a priest.’

‘Lust?’ Brother Peter said thinking of the usual confessions of young men.

‘He says he is a virgin and I believe him.’

Brother Peter’s head was spinning. ‘Can this be true? A pure young man? An innocent?’

‘Brother – I believe in him. If he will allow me, if the bishop will give me leave, I am going with him.’

‘You?’

‘I know. I must seem ridiculous. I am a comfortable parish priest, grown plump and lazy in a good living. But this boy knows that the end of days is coming. He told me some of the signs. They are all as the Bible predicts them. He has not been taught what to say, it has been revealed to him. He says we must be in Jerusalem if we hope to be saved. I believe God has told Johann of the end of days. I will close up my house and go with the Children’s Crusade to Jerusalem, if I am allowed. I want to go more than anything in this world.’

Brother Peter rose to his feet, his head whirling. ‘I must send my report,’ he said.

‘Tell them,’ the priest urged him. ‘Tell them in Rome that a miracle is happening right here and now. A miracle in this little town, before us, worldly fools. God be praised that I am here to see it. God be praised that into this sinful house should come Johann the Good to lead me to Jerusalem.’

Brother Peter and Luca wrote the report together, while Freize found a stable lad willing to undertake the long ride to Avezzano.

‘You’ll take the old Roman road,’ Freize explained to the lad who had been summoned into the dining room to take the precious letter. ‘It’s clear enough, you can’t miss your way.’