A Mortal Glamour
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Juno Books
www.juno-books.com
Copyright ©1986, 2007 by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
First published in this version: 2007, 2007
In 1305 the Roman Catholic Church elected Bertrand de Got Pope. This Gascon from Villandraut was a subject of the king of England, much of the western part of France then being ruled by the English. De Got, reigning as Clement V, established his papal court at Avignon, beginning the period of the history of the church known as the Babylonian captivity. The papacy remained at Avignon until Gregory XI decided to return the papal court to Rome; he left Avignon in September 1376 in order to end the antipapal league forming in Italy. He reached Rome the following January and died there on March 27, at forty-nine years of age. The cardinals in Rome elected Bartolomeo Prignano Pope on Thursday, April 8, 1378; he took the name Urban VI and reigned in Rome for eleven years.
The French cardinals, however, did not believe that the election of Urban VI was proper; they elected Robert of Geneva Pope, and he took the name Clement VII, beginning the great schism of Rome and Avignon, which was exacerbated by Urban VI's abrasive personality. His successor, Pietro Tomacelli, who reigned as Boniface IX, was a much more diplomatic man, but by then the damage had been done, and it was not until the Council of Constance elected Oddone Colonna Pope in 1417 that the church was once again united under Roman rule. There had been constant intrigue during the reign of the Avignon antipopes (Clement VII and Benedict XIII), which ended in a subtle shift of power from the papacy to the various royal courts of Europe and eventually led to the Renaissance and a return to humanism.
During this time the Black Death (bubonic plague) ravaged Europe. The first epidemic lasted from 1347 to 1349; the second from 1361 to 1362. The third and less virulent onslaught lasted from 1383 to 1384. The overall mortality rate for these three epidemics approached thirty-five percent of European urban populations.
This novel is fiction, though much of the background is taken from factual material. The characters, situations, institutions, relationships, locations, occurrences, and/or experiences portrayed are the product of the writer's imagination and do not, nor are intended to, represent any actualities of this or any other time.
French usage in the book is archaic, taken from medieval Provençal sources and based on maps, ballads, poems, and letters of the period.
Like those whose eyes hurt: they are painted and blinded by the light; but the dark, which disguises everything, they yearn for, it is so pleasant and desirable. Thus are they party to their own deception.
—Dio Chrysostom
In Saunt-Vitre-lo-Sur most of the houses were deserted; rye and oats stood unharvested in the frost-shriveled fields. Lean pigs and half-starved children scavenged the vineyards for grapes long since turned to raisins. At the door of the squat stone church, four women waited, three with listless infants in their arms, for the priest to bring them the thin, meatless stew charity required he provide them. A dank, neglected odor hung over the place, lending an inward chill to the February afternoon where shadows like bruises lay across the ground.
There was one marginally brighter spot in the desolation: some little distance beyond the village rose the cracking whitewashed walls of Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion where the Assumptionist Sisters had attempted to keep the soil tilled and the orchards bearing almonds and fruit. A century before there had been more than eighty nuns at the convent—now there were fewer than fifty, and those women who remained worked as strenuously as the hardiest farmers.
From her place under the barren trees, Seur Marguerite, who tended the hives, was the first to notice the wagon approaching, its sides heavily curtained so that even the portly monk who drove the pair of steaming horses could not see his passenger. The nun stood absolutely still, as if she were a doe attempting to hide from a hunter. Torpid bees settled on the frayed linen of her coif, but she made no move to brush them away. As the wagon turned up the lane to the convent, Seur Marguerite sighed and crossed herself, muttering a prayer to la Virge for her protection.
"Holá!” shouted the monk as he got down from the driver's box at the convent gate. “Open up here, good Sisters!"
There was no response; the thick-hewn doors remained shut.
The monk began to pace, rubbing his thick hands together to warm them, chafing at the deep, reddened groves left by the rein. His back was sore from the hours of jolting over hard, rutted roads and he was in no mood to be denied his well-earned food and rest. “Open! In le Bon Nom!” His voice was hoarse with fatigue and too much wine. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You there! Holá!"
From a grilled window to the side of the doors came a discreet cough. “God be with you, Frère."
"And with your soul,” he answered automatically.
"What do you seek here?"
"It is not I who seek anything. I come to bring to you what
you
have sought,” he answered brusquely as he strode toward the voice. “The Cardinal himself has sent me to you, in answer to your prayers.” His husky laughter was taunting, more flirtatious than was proper for a monk addressing a nun.
"What prayers are those?” asked the voice, suddenly haughty.
"Why, for a new Mère, of course. Is there anything else you wanted that I do not know about? Would other recompense answer your prayers?” He winked, but was wise enough not to face the grilled window when he did.
"A Mère?” the unseen nun repeated, as if she dared not believe what she heard.
"That's what I said. Cardinal Seulfleuve himself has entrusted me to bring her to you, with all speed."
"With what escort?” the nun demanded.
"I am he,” the monk replied, offended at her reasonable surprise.
"No men-at-arms?"
Frère Odo hawked and spat. “There were none to spare. You insisted that you needed your Superior as soon as possible, and so..."
"But to travel without armed escort...” the nun began, shock quieting her words.
"It was that or wait until spring. Your priest said the need was urgent,” the monk insisted, turning sullen.
"But to come now, without escort..."
"All the more reason to think that your new Mère is in the favor of Heaven. Our passage was safe enough."
"For which you should humbly thank God and His Saints for their care,” the nun on the far side of the grille snapped. She was prepared to continue her admonition, and had just drawn a deep breath when another voice whispered behind her and there was a brief, barely audible exchange.
"Well? What is it to be then?” the monk called out. “Do you open the doors to your Mère or do we wait here for Père Guibert or Père Foutin to come and insist that we be permitted to enter.” He was annoyed at having been ignored longer than he liked; he deserved their attention for his good act, not this cold reception.
"In a moment,” the nun called with less certainty than before.
"Your Mère is weary with travel. As am I,” he added.
"Oh. Yes. Of course. At once.” This was another nun, more flustered than the first and younger, by the sound of her.
"And do something for the horses, will you? The beasts have got to carry me to Avignon again the day after tomorrow.” He had learned long ago to seize any opportunity offered him, and he recognized that this was one such. “They're hungry and thirsty."
"We will tend to them, Frère,” the second nun promised him.
"When? Soon?"
"Yes. Yes. At once. We will."
There were more voices now, some shrill, some scolding, and the sound of hurrying footsteps. The heavy bolt on the inside of the doors was tugged noisily back, then the enormous iron hinges moaned as the doors were slowly pulled open to allow the wagon to enter the courtyard of the convent.
It was an old building, built around a square courtyard. On the east was the hospice, the tallest part of the convent, rising almost three stories from the old flagging. At right angles, on the north, was the nuns’ quarters, the refectory at one end, the rest of the two levels given over to the chapel and to the individual cells. Next to that was a more recent addition, with storerooms, still-rooms, and at the far end, a stable. The wall on the south completed the square and closed out the world.
The monk dragged on the reins, making sure the wagon was safely within the courtyard, then gave a gesture to close the doors.
There were about thirty women gathered now, all in grey habits. Two of them had removed their coifs and rolled up their sleeves—clearly these Sisters worked in the convent's kitchen. Gradually all of them clustered around the wagon, most of them afraid to speak louder than a whisper.
Frère Odo, now full of self-importance, tugged at the corner of one of the draperies that enclosed the wagon to conceal the passenger. “Mère Léonie,” he said in the most imposing way, “we have reached our destination."
"May God bless you as I thank you, Frère Odo,” came from behind the hanging. “La Virge will reward your service with her prayers and intercessions."
"Praise be to God,” the monk declared, crossing himself deliberately while he glanced over the nuns, hoping that one would catch his eye.
None of the women paid him the slightest attention. All of them were staring at the wagon as the draperies were drawn aside.
The hush that fell was eerie, at least to Frère Odo's ears. He wanted to do something outrageous to dissipate the spell that this new arrival had cast over the convent. It boded ill, he thought, to have nuns so quiet.
