A Mortal Glamour (16 page)

"Nevertheless,” Mère Léonie persisted. “I wish I had done it."

"It was a missed opportunity,” Père Guibert said, annoyed at himself for letting so obvious a precaution escape him.

"There isn't time enough now, I suppose,” Mère Léonie sighed. “Well, we will do as we must. That and trust to Our Lord to bring us safely through."

"Amen."

"Deo gratias,” Mère Léonie said softly. “I will say it again with greater fervor if at the end of the day these walls are still standing and the Sisters unharmed."

"Do not treat God as a bargaining merchant, to barter for the preservation of your life and the salvation of your soul,” Père Guibert admonished her as he tried to match her stride about the courtyard. “You risk more than ... an unpleasant death if you do. Rather ask la Virge to remember you and beg that your sins be set aside."

"I have done as much praying as I can in good conscience. The lives of my Sisters, and their honor, are in my hands, and they are a great charge upon me. I will lose more than my own soul if this goes badly."

Père Guibert sighed in sympathy. “Then it might be better if your Sisters did not see you in such distress, and learn fear from you."

She stopped, her eyes filling with tears. “I ... I will do ... Yes, mon Père. You are right, and you correct me most properly."

"It is natural that you would be worried,” he said, glad for the excuse to talk and to deceive himself with his own authority, to take courage from the illusion that he could influence Mère Léonie. “You wish to see your Sisters preserved by the Might of God, as we all hope to be saved. Yet you know that God does not defend those who are heedlessly reckless any more than He condones those who do nothing but await the axe and abandon His children. Where does the line fall between the two?"

"We will know that tonight, I think,” Mère Léonie said, exerting herself more sternly to an outward tranquility. “The Sisters will be out of chapel shortly. You will have to tell them what to do, for they have forgotten much of their former preparedness, and the sight of that smoke..."

"And you, Mère Léonie, ma Fille? Do you need any reminder?” He wanted her to open her heart to him, to reveal her fears so that he could console her, and through that consolation, gain some echo of it for himself.

"I fear that ... I fear that no matter what I may do, it will fail Our Lord, and we will be lost. She crossed herself. “If it were possible for me to be a man now, then I might face those irreligious creatures with their whips and their fires and believe myself able to fend them off with my sword and my wits. But as I am, well, what woman can endure what those men wish to do?” She had begun to pace again, this time not so rapidly or frenetically as before. “I want strength in my arm, as God gave to Adam and His champions. Samson, even chained and blind, was more than enough for those heretics. But we are a community of women, dedicated to the service of travelers, recalling the parable of those who entertain angels unawares. What means have we to defend ourselves from such as those?” She turned toward the smoke over Saunt-Vitre-lo-Sur. “They are more than we have ever intended to know."

"Everywhere we see that God has come to the aid of the weak,” Père Guibert reminded her unwisely.

"And we see where He has not, where the Plague has been, and war.” She paused to stare at the smoke again. “What had those few women done that deserved that? What had God required of them?"

"Do not blame God, but the Devil, who has inspired those men to do his evil works.” He felt more confident saying these words, as if the questions he might have posed could be erased by his affirmation of the work of the Devil.

"Then how should we ward him off? If we may not bargain with God, may we not bargain with the Devil?” She shook her head. “You need not remind me, mon Père: to bargain with the Devil is to insult God, and is a greater sin than falling to the hosts of the fallen angels."

"Yes,” Père Guibert said, and was about to go on when he saw the other nuns coming out into the courtyard. “We will speak later,” he said to Mère Léonie, and faced the other women, trying to find the phrases that would lend them the faith to get through their coming ordeal.

It was late in the afternoon before they heard the low humming growl that had so terrified Père Foutin and Frère Loys. The nuns, gathered in the courtyard for hours, looked about with expressions ranging from dismay to panic. Seur Odile nearly fainted and was held up by the sturdy bulk of Seur Theodosie, who milked the nannies and ewes to make the convent's cheese. She gave Seur Odile a hearty pat and shook her head at the sound. Seur Ranegonde almost had to be taken back to her cell when it was noticed how pale she had become.

"There is burning in the village,” Seur Marguerite announced, as if it had just been discovered. “There was a shepherd by my hives today, and he said that the church was burning. He is a simple boy, that shepherd, and has visions."

"When were you at the hives?” Mère Léonie asked with more sharpness than usual.

"Why, during the morning,” Seur Marguerite answered. “My children were calling to me, and sure as God watched His children, so He has entrusted me to watch mine. They sang today, my little darlings, and they swore that they would be true to us. They have their Saints and Virgin, too, my children, and they exalt them.” Her face was dreamy now, and distant. “They are singing loudly today, aren't they? I have heard them many times, but never so loudly.” She took a step toward the door. “They will sing for all of us, if we let them in. Do not worry for their stings, for they will do no harm if you sing with them."

Two of the nuns grabbed Seur Marguerite by the arms and held her back. She looked at her captors in bewilderment, more disappointed than alarmed. Seur Tiennette tightened her hold as she looked to her Superior for guidance.

"Seur Marguerite,” Mère Léonie said, making her voice loud enough so that the other nuns would hear her. “That your bees are devout no one questions, for they are examples of humility and industry to the world. But as the Devil sends evil in many disguises, so that the most virtuous and fair may be a sink of vicious iniquity, so there are those who emulate your bees and serve not God but the Devil with their wiles. Those who have come here are followers of the Devil, and they do his work with the same dedication that your bees show to the Will of God. You must not let your love of your bees render your judgment faulty. It is a task for us all.” She looked around her. “You must heat the kettles and set up the ladders. I want us to have hot water to throw upon those heretics. It is no sin if they are warned first of what we will do. You need not fear to see them scalded, for the fires of Hell will do worse than scald them.” She folded her arms. “You have been told your duties. You know what we must do. Those who are not able to defend with their strength must go to the chapel and pray for God's Aid. It may be that men-at-arms have been dispatched, but we must not assume this is so. If God has marked this convent for destruction, then nothing will save it, nor should it be saved. If God has determined that we will come through unharmed, then we are in the Palm of His Hand, and what petty actions we take mean little. Still, we must take them, for to do otherwise would show that we are not prepared to defend our faith with the same purpose as Our Lord, which disgraces the habits we wear.” She had to speak louder, for the noise beyond the walls was increasing. “My Sisters, each of you must go to her task. You have been shriven and need not think of death with horror."

There was a loud report as the Flagellants threw a large rock at the convent door. The wood reverberated with the impact, and for a moment those gathered on both sides of the wall were still.

"God will be with you. Be sure of that.” Mère Léonie turned to Père Guibert. “If you will give us your blessing, mon Père.” And she knelt to receive it.

The benediction was hastily given and the nuns dispersed from it with unseemly haste. Another volley of stones rattled on the door, sending all the women scurrying to their tasks.

Outside the humming stopped.

"God save us,” Seur Odile murmured as she went toward the refectory, where it had been decided that injuries would be treated.

"God will do as He pleases,” Seur Aungelique told her. “It does not matter what they say, or what they do. God does what He pleases and we are less than ants in the path of an armed knight.” She leaned on the wall, her emaciated face framed by gorget and wimple and coif. “Listen to them. They talk. Talk and talk and talk, and it means nothing. God does not care what we do or we say or we think. God does not hear us. God does not listen. God does not see.” She met the terrified eyes of the nuns around her. “We are fools to talk and reason and pray. The words are gone. We are nothing for them, and we have lost the time when we might have taken some measure of pleasure for ourselves."

"Seur Aungelique...” Seur Philomine said as she pushed her way through the other nuns. “You are to join the others in prayer."

"In prayer?” Seur Aungelique demanded, laughing in an immoderate way. “Have you heard nothing? It will not save us to pray. We should have run when we had the chance. We should have gathered stones and barrels and weapons to kill these men, rather than think God will find a way to save us. They tell us that the Devil is the father of lies, but even God lies—He told Adam that if he ate of the Tree of Knowledge, he would die. That was not true, was it? Adam did not die. Then why should we believe that God will keep His promise to save us, when we know He has lied from the first?” She let herself be taken in hand and led into the hall leading to the chapel. “If those men put this place to the torch, it will mean nothing. If they rape and gut us, it will mean nothing. Nothing."

Seur Philomine could see the others begin to waver, and she decided to take the matter into her own hands rather than wait for the Superior to learn of this harangue. She approached Seur Aungelique with a determined set to her face. “It will matter to me if any of those things occur, Seur Aungelique. It will matter to each of us if we must suffer. Whether it is for true martyrdom or for nothing, the suffering is real. And I care how I conduct myself. If it matters to no one but myself it is enough.” She could see that the others were listening to her. “We do talk, and it means little. Now there are duties we must perform, and yours, whether you like it or not, Seur Aungelique, is to pray.” She shoved the other woman through the chapel door, then turned to the nun near her. “If she is unreasonable, ask Père Guibert to take her in hand."

The nun was mildly shocked, but she nodded, saying nothing to the tertiary Sister as much from respect as surprise at her behavior.

When Seur Philomine got back to the courtyard, she could see that the ladders were already in place and Seur Lucille and Seur Tiennette were supervising the heating of cauldrons of water in the middle of the flagging.

"It is most important,” Seur Lucille was saying to the nun beside her, “that you continue to brush cinders back into the fires, else they would bring fire to the whole building and the heretics’ work would be done for them."

Mère Léonie was by the door, studying it as the rocks thudded and rang on it from the other side. “It will hold a while. They have nothing heavy enough to break it, but if they continue for a time, it will weaken. That must not happen.” She turned toward the nearest ladder. “We will start with the scalding water first. Be careful that you use the quilted gauntlets so that you do not burn yourself."

"Yes, ma Mère,” Seur Elvire answered, looking more determined than Seur Philomine had ever seen her. “I will do all that I may."

"Excellent.” Now that she was actually setting the nuns to defending Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion, Mère Léonie appeared for the first time to be truly in her element. As Père Guibert watched her, he was reminded of those battle maids of the north who led men in battle. Demons, of course, and heathenish, but if they were like Mère Léonie, he could understand how it was that a man might follow them, though they led to death.

"I will inform the heretics of what we are prepared to do,” Mère Léonie declared loudly, and started toward the nearest ladder. All the nuns turned toward her as she gathered up her habit and went up the rungs. At the top, she braced herself against the wall and leaned over. “You!” she shouted in a voice, that though light, might have satisfied a herald. “You came here without provocation to do us grievous ill. It is our intention to defend ourselves. Nothing you can say now will change that. We have boiling water and we have lengths of wood that we will hurl at you, burning, if you persist in this attack."

One of the men with the long bullock's whip uncoiled it from his shoulder and swaggered toward the wall. In silence, he prepared, and there was only the slice of the lash though the air to disturb the fading afternoon.

Mère Léonie almost fell from the ladder when the end of the whip touched her face. Blood appeared over her right eye from a puckered cut. She steadied herself. “You will pay for this, craven,” she said in a manner that was almost amiable. Then, taking care not to lose her balance, she went back down the ladder.

The blows of the rocks on the door increased, and a few now were hurled over the wall, striking where they might in the courtyard.

"Ma Fille...” Père Guibert said as he approached the Superior. He saw the blood welling, running down her face, obscuring the vision of her right eye.

"I need only a cloth,” she said curtly. “My Sisters!” she shouted. “Commence!"

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Six of the nuns were injured by the time the sun went down. One of the company of Flagellants had been able to start a fire in the stables and so far it had not spread, though no one had been able to stop it; the screams of the animals trapped there were pitiful to hear over the cries and rumble of the fighting.

Seur Adalin, at the top of one of the ladders, had been struck by rocks; she would not quit her post, but it was apparent that she could not continue much longer without falling, as much from exhaustion as from bruises. Seur Elvire had come down to help prepare the boiling water and for the time being, Seur Philomine took her place, working coolly to drench the Flagellants in scalding water. There were a number of minor burns on her hands, but she paid them little notice. Later they would hurt, and she would have them treated with herbs and salves, but now they were unimportant compared to the presence of the heretics below.