A Mortal Glamour (20 page)

Mère Léonie brought her folded hands up, concealing her mouth.

"We are told that the Devil roams the earth and that we, the children of God, are his victims. Every thought, every desire, every act that does not lead to virtue gives aid to the Devil, and admits some portion of his vileness in your lives. Pray that God will guide you away from the snares of the Devil and his servants, so that you may return to God at the end of your sojourn here a soul as pure as when He gave it to you.” Père Guibert cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked. “Be very sure that you do not taint yourself with secret sins, and think you are safe because they go unconfessed. Those are the very sins that will be your downfall. Do not imagine that anything is hidden from God, Who is Omnipotent and Omniscient. You are weak and imperfect vessels, all of you. None of you is worthy of the great sacrifice God made for you. Each of you is consumed with iniquity, but so long as you live in faith and hope, there is a chance that your evil will be purged. With the heretics, the purging of their sins is too late, for they are given to the Devil. You need not face such an end, nor such utter damnation. You must all beg God to give you His Grace, that you may not succumb to your base desires and appetites."

Seur Odile let out a long, keening sob.

"Be rigorous. Examine your thoughts and your deeds for Deviltry. Do not excuse yourself any little lapses, but chastise yourself the more for making light of sin."

A few of Pierre's men were growing restless and two of the infants were howling. The sun, which had been veiled by gauzy clouds, was now beating down on the gathering.

"Go each of you to your beds tonight, and pray that all your sins may be revealed to you so that you may the sooner repent them and be absolved. This is God's Mercy to you—the heretics have forfeited it, and with it, they have lost their souls.” It was not nearly enough, Père Guibert thought, but it was all he could bring himself to say for the time being. Later he would find other words, other phrases to fire his flock with the zeal that smoldered in his soul.

"All right,” Pierre said in his loud, rough tones. “Those of you who live here, go home. You Sisters, come with us back to the convent. Père Guibert, let me offer you my horse to ride.” This last was not an entirely sincere suggestion, and he hoped that the priest would not accept."

"I will walk,” Père Guibert muttered. “Our Lord walked."

"As you say,” Pierre agreed, and went for his mount.

Mère Léonie came slowly up to Père Guibert and took her place beside him, though not quite even with him, so that he would lead the nuns back to Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion. “You are much moved, mon Père?"

"Yes, ma Fille. You should be, too.” He did not want to admonish her too unkindly, but he was stung by her apparent lack of concern.

"Yes,” she said promptly. “But I cannot turn my mind to such matters quite yet. I would hope that my Sisters will take your exhortations to heart, but Our Lord will show the way. I must devote myself to the securing of our convent before I will think it right that I pursue the cleansing of the spirits of my Sisters."

There was nothing in her manner that hinted at disrespect, but Père Guibert, excited to a rare level of passion, could not contain himself. “It is not enough! No, Mère Léonie. You are confusing the temporal with the eternal. Walls will come down, but the spirit will remain forever. You are entrusted not with the bodies of your nuns, but their souls."

Mère Léonie crossed herself. “May Our Lord grant that I carry this burden as He would wish."

"Amen to that.” He was being churlish, he knew it.

"But if they cannot keep their lives Ordered and with our Rule, then I have not acquitted myself as I have vowed to do. Nuns who live in wild places are suspect by the Church. Those living decently in cloisters preserve themselves in the eyes of the Church as well as of God. Therefore I must see that the walls are repaired and the convent made safe once again.” She paused. “Think what would happen with Seur Aungelique if I do not repair the doors and the walls."

Père Guibert blanched. “Yes."

"Then perhaps you will pray for me, and guide me with your wisdom?” In another woman, her tone might have been thought taunting, but not in so devoted a Superior as Mère Léonie. Père Guibert, listening to her, railed at himself for his harshness that only brought confusion, where he most wanted to bring light and salvation.

"Hear me, ma Fille,” he said when he had gathered his thoughts. “You are the key to the peace of your convent and the protection of your Sisters, and for that God must put you in His especial care. You cannot ask for such notice, for that would be pride, and the worst sin. You must humble yourself before Him and petition la Virge to intercede on your behalf, in order that you might have not only Grace for your tasks and your life, but true piety as well.” He walked unsteadily, his fatigue catching up with him at last and rendering him light-headed. There was a pebble in his sandal, but he refused to bend down and remove it, trusting instead that this minor discomfort would serve to vilify his flesh and exalt his soul. “After such trials, your Sisters will be much in need of religious exercise to restore their tranquility and serenity."

"I will do all that I am able to comply,” Mère Léonie said, turning subservient in her manner. “Forgive me for treating your instructions improperly."

"Of course,” he replied, not paying much heed to his pardon. He was already trying to frame his next sermon in his mind, so that when he addressed the nuns again, they would partake of his faith and share in his saintly lust for vengeance.

Seur Philomine, keeping her vigil in the chapel, was the first to hear the strange cries that came from Seur Aungelique's cell three nights after the heretics had been sawn to pieces. Her thoughts were confused, and she welcomed the intrusion that the sudden urgent sounds provided. Rising from her place before the altar, she stood in the darkness, trying to determine where the shrieks came from, afraid that they might originate in her mind. Then she heard a few jumbled words, and rushed out of the chapel.

"Oh, no. Not that!” Seur Aungelique yelled, but not with repugnance.

Outside the door to her cell, Seur Philomine paused to listen to Seur Aungelique's protests, hardly aware of her own breathing. “God protect me,” she murmured before she rapped on the door.

"No, no. Oh, God, no more. Don't touch me there!” Seur Aungelique whimpered. “Oh, not there. Not ... there. You don't ... know ... Ah! Jesus and Marie! ... your hands are ... sweet. No.” There were two or three high, childlike yelps, and then she spoke again. “You mustn't ... Thibault, you must not ... must ... not ... Yes, there ... There, Thibault ... Oh, for Pierre!"

Seur Philomine frowned deeply as she knocked once, hesitated and knocked again, “Seur Aungelique? Is there anything the matter?"

"AH-H-H-h-h-h-h!” came the sudden, desperate outcry, trailing off into what sounded like exhausted panting.

"Seur Aungelique!” Seur Philomine repeated, this time more loudly. “Is anything wrong?"

Seur Aungelique's cell was quiet all at once. Then a bleary voice called out, “Who's there?"

"It is Seur Philomine,” she answered. “You ... called out in your sleep.” She very nearly made a question of it rather than a statement. Had Seur Aungelique been asleep? Had she made any sound at all?

"Oh.” The nun's tone was dull, listless. “I ... must have ... had a bad dream. The Devil sends such dreams, doesn't he?"

"So we are told,” Seur Philomine said, not sure of it as she spoke. “Should I get Mère Léonie or..."

"No!” This was more forceful, and almost at once, Seur Aungelique modified her objection. “There is no point. It would make ... too much of a ... bad dream. Let me be, Seur Philomine."

By rights, Seur Philomine knew that she ought to insist that Seur Aungelique open the door to her cell and admit her so that they might pray together, but she could not bring herself to intrude so much on the other nun. “I ... others may have heard you call out."

"I will beg their pardon when we break our fast,” Seur Aungelique assured her. “I am very tried, Seur Philomine. The ... bad dream has worn me out.” This last was breathless, almost like inward laughter. “You're kind to ... bear with me."

Nothing of what Seur Aungelique said was satisfactory, but Seur Philomine did not press the matter. “I will have to speak of this to Mère Léonie. And Père Guibert."

"Do that. Oh, yes, do that.” Seur Aungelique's words ended with a catch in her breath, as if she had yawned.

"Seur Aungelique?” Seur Philomine ventured, still troubled.

"Yes?” This time she was curt.

"I will pray for you.” It was not what she had intended to say, but she could not bring herself to press further. Reluctantly, she turned back toward the chapel and was startled to see Seur Odile standing in the door of her cell. “What?..."

"She's at it again, is she? It's bad enough with Seur Marguerite screaming when the fits are on her, and Seur Lucille moaning of her wounds, but...” Seur Odile crossed herself. “God will know what will heal Seur Aungelique. We may only pray on her behalf."

Seur Philomine looked down at her hands and fancied she could still see the burns in the gloom. “We paid a great price, we nuns, to keep our convent."

"That's pride, Sister, and for that you will beg your bread. Mère Léonie would be the first to reprimand you for such sentiments.” Seur Odile shook her head. “There is more hazard in pride than in all the heretics in the world. Père Guibert said so."

Seur Philomine nodded, remembering the fierce sermon the priest had delivered the morning before. “I don't know if I..."

"What we know and do not know is not important where heresy is concerned; it is faith that matters, not knowledge.” She raised her head, showing more importance than she had ever felt in her entire time as a nun.

"But...” Seur Philomine began, then stopped. “They say that the Devil may come here, in order to corrupt us."

"So he might,” Seur Odile answered with satisfaction. “My faith is staunch. Let the Devil come and try me."

"Isn't that pride, too?” Seur Philomine could not resist asking.

"It is the strength of my faith. I am not like some who falter and question. My path is clear to me, and my steps are guided."

It was tempting to challenge this assertion, but Seur Philomine said nothing; her vigil had been penance for such doubts and she did not want to spend any more hours than necessary in the chapel at night. “May your good angel guard you then, my Seur,” she said, and started away from the other nun.

"You will tell Mère Léonie what transpired?” Seur Odile called after her.

"I must,” Seur Philomine said.

"Very good. Report what I have said accurately.” A tinge of accusation had come into Seur Odile's tone. “I do not wish Mère Léonie to be mistaken."

"I will ask that you be present.” It was the best solution she could think of, and as Seur Philomine said it, she decided that in future, she would always use such devices to avoid unpleasantness.

"Pray well, Seur Philomine,” Seur Odile told her, and shut the door to her cell.

How many others had heard? Seur Philomine asked herself as she took her place prostrate before the altar. How many had listened? How many had listened to Seur Aungelique and lain silent in their beds? The questions haunted her as she recited her prayers.

A light spring rain was falling as Seur Tiennette bustled through the stillroom, turning the cheeses that had just been brought in from the creamery. There were fewer than usual, in part because the ewes had not been producing as they had in the past, and in part because the convent was more short-handed than usual. Seur Tiennette pursed her lips as she examined the rounds, sniffing each critically and inspecting its color. The first six had gained her qualified approval, but the seventh was another matter: there was a mold on the rind that did not belong there, and the smell of it was offensive, like the stench of rotting eggs. With disgust, Seur Tiennette dropped the cheese into the sack she carried, annoyed at the waste. The next cheese on the rack exuded the same dreadful odor, and the one after that. In all, five cheeses had gone bad, far more than Seur Tiennette might have expected.

"But it might have been for many reasons,” Mère Léonie soothed her when Seur Tiennette reported her find to her Superior. “You yourself said that you were not confident that the Sisters aiding you knew what they were about. You warned me something of this sort might happen."

"But five cheeses...” Seur Tiennette protested. “And so far gone, too."

"Yes; you showed them to me. It is most unfortunate, and it may that we will have to speak to the women in Mou Courbet to arrange with them to have a few of their cheeses. You are right that we will be hungry without them. Though,” she added in a thoughtful manner, “an occasional fast would not be a bad notion for the Sisters here. They have become too confident of their pleasures and of the table, and they do not observe fasts but for penance. It may be that Our Lord has sent us this test to show us that we must nurture the spirit as well as the body. Let me think on it for a little while.” She made a gesture of dismissal.

Seur Tiennette did not leave. “I do not mean to overstep my bounds, Mère Léonie, but I fear that we will need more than a few cheeses if we are to come through the summer without hunger. The heretics lost us more than our walls. We have fewer animals, and only half the number of chickens as before. It might be best if Père Guibert were to speak to the Cardinal, to explain our situation."

"When Père Guibert returns, doubtless I will speak of this with him,” Mère Léonie said at her mildest. “You cannot think that I would neglect the well-being of my Sisters, can you?"

"No; of course not.” Seur Tiennette sighed. “If you do not object, I will inform you of our needs tomorrow after Vespers."

"That is good of you,” Mère Léonie told her. “For the moment, however, you must excuse me. It is time for my prayers and it would be a poor example to the others if I shirked my duties."