The Book of Love (27 page)

Thankfully, her husband had avoided her like the plague itself since the night of his humiliation in their bedchamber. Matilda was certain that he didn’t trust her and that he thought she would deliberately harm their child, which was the reason for the intense and omnipresent observation from his staff. It was horrible to know that all these people thought her capable of something as wicked as that. But it was equally hard to feel the quickening life in her body and know that it had not been conceived immaculately in the ways taught by the Order.
This poor babe, through no fault of its own, had not been created in a sacred environment. The Book of Love taught that all children born from the union of true beloveds are immaculately conceived in the eyes of God, but when a child is conceived outside of love, it does not have so great a blessing at its birth. This was taught not as a judgment upon the poor infants who have no choice, but as a warning to adults not to bear children outside the realm of love.

Dear God, why did you take me from Isobel and the Master at a time like this?
Matilda needed spiritual guidance now, more than ever. She was starved for it, and she was miserable. Her only sanctuary was the private chapel, the sole place where she could escape and close the door to shut out all the hunchback’s spies. She entered, touching first as she always did the little statue of Saint Modesta, which was now perched upon a gilded altar.

As a surprise for her equinox birthday, Patricio painted a six-petaled rose in the center of the floor. While she would not have a labyrinth in Lorraine until Orval was completed, he could create a sacred place for her to work through their most holy prayer. Perhaps this would provide her with the spiritual strength that she required to get through her current tribulations.

Matilda relished this place, and she entered the rose now to begin her prayer. She started in the first petal and made her gratitude known for all that she had been blessed with in her life before moving into the second petal.

Thy will be done
, she whispered to herself over and over again.
Dear God, why do you want this from me? Why have I been removed from everyone I love and the only place I will ever call home? How can I better understand your will?

Sometimes she heard his voice clearly, but this was most often in the labyrinth. At other times, she heard only the sound of the silence in her ears. Today she heard him with a force she had not anticipated.

“When the Vale of Gold is finished, you may return home, where you will find great love as reward for your obedience to your destiny and your promise.”

There were puzzles in that answer, such as how, precisely, she would
be allowed to return home, but she was comforted by what she heard. God’s will was for her to build Orval, and that was what she was doing. The construction of it was proceeding at a rapid pace; a mild winter had allowed the builders to work well past the normal season. And the Calabrians were here, working in earnest to copy the Libro Rosso. It was all going perfectly to plan.

She completed her prayer in the six petals, spending ample time in the fifth, the petal of forgiveness. She prayed to find the strength to forgive Godfrey for his wretchedness by having compassion for his condition and the pain it had caused him. Matilda prayed to God to forgive her for despising her husband as she did, and for perhaps not behaving in a manner that was more loving toward him. When she was finished, she felt a sense of peace that had eluded her previously. And God rewarded her for her piety, because Patricio arrived unexpectedly from Orval the same afternoon.

He came to inform her of the quick progress on their beautiful abbey, and to share drawings of the structures as they had been raised to illustrate their beauty and majesty. She wished more than anything to see the great, six-petaled rose window, which had already been erected, its outline visible from the garden labyrinth just beginning construction. Patricio was very excited about the grandeur of the entire structure and tried to share that passion while at the same time not making her feel despair at her inability to ride out with him. He could see the wistful longing on her face.

“Oh Patricio, I wish I could be there with you.”

“Time passes so quickly. You will be there before you know it. And by the time you are able to travel, we will be nearly finished with the first buildings and I will have a perfect labyrinth constructed for you in the garden.”

“I look forward to it, more than you know.”

It was the early fall when Patricio came again to Verdun to see Matilda early one morning, full of the news that the labyrinth was finished. He
was buoyant in his excitement as he had christened it himself with the very first walk in and out of the eleven circuits the evening prior. He wanted to share this success with her. Together, they had created a magnificent library and training ground for the teachings of the Way of Love, and it was something to be celebrated.

The Matilda who greeted him was not herself and was in no frame of mind for a celebration. She was well into the seventh month of her confinement, and the child was showing on her small frame. They were walking in the direction of the stables now, Matilda gazing longingly at the horses. “What I wouldn’t give to walk that labyrinth now. Within the labyrinth is the only place I have ever found real peace, you know.” She stopped suddenly, looking around. They had not been followed, that she could see. Patricio knew her well enough to sense what was in her head; there was a reason the Master said they shared the same brain.

“No, Matilda. Don’t even think about it. It’s too dangerous.”

“Godfrey is gone for the next three days. If we leave now, we can be back here before it is too dark. I won’t stay long, Patricio. Just long enough to view the new construction and walk my labyrinth just one time.”

“Have you gone mad? You are in no condition to ride. And you cannot ride in what you are wearing, even if you were.”

“Listen to me. Have you ever known anyone more comfortable on a horse than I am? It is no different than sitting in a chair. I will take one of the older and more stable mounts. It will cost me an extra hour in each direction, but if we leave immediately, it could work. And there are riding garments in the tack room. Men’s garments, but all the better to disguise myself and my condition.”

“Do not ask me to do this with you, Tilda. Please.”

“Whom else can I ask, my brother?”

Her aquamarine eyes filled with tears as she pleaded with him. “Please. I have had no joy in my life these past six months. To see what we have created in Orval, to celebrate it as you have said, is something that will give me life again. It will see me through the rest of my confinement.”

“God forgive me if anything happens to you or that child,” Patricio grumbled, shaking his head. “Come quickly then, before we’re seen.”

Once they were in the forest, Matilda forgot she was with child. She urged the horse into a canter and began to ride at her customary breakneck pace.

“Matilda, slow down!” Patricio was sweating, despite the early autumn chill in the air. He had had a sense of foreboding about this adventure from the moment he saw her face back at the stables. While he knew she would never intentionally hurt herself or the baby, she was behaving in a most reckless way.

Matilda pulled up on the reins and slowed the horse. “I’m sorry. It just feels so good to be out again.” She breathed in the scented air of the great pines that surrounded them in the Ardennes. They were close now, and she was tingling with anticipation. As they passed the pond where the lone swan glided, Matilda gasped in awe.

Ahead of her were the pointed arches of the nave, golden marble columns gleaming in the sunlight. The sight was positively magnificent. “Oh Patricio, look what we’ve done.”

She dismounted carefully with her friend’s help and walked toward the magnificent building. It was all she had dreamed it would be, a remarkable monument to the Way of Love.

“Come, you must see this.” Patricio was excited now that they had arrived safely, with Matilda looking no worse for the ride. In fact, she looked more alive than he had seen her since her confinement. He helped her step across the threshold and into the great chamber that held the six-petaled rose window.

Matilda stood before it and cried. When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper. “It’s perfect. Just the way I dreamed it would look.”

He took her to the scriptorium, where the three monks from Calabria, two elders and an apprentice, were at work on the Libro Rosso translations. Matilda hadn’t seen them since the earliest days of their arrival in Lorraine and was happy for the reunion. While the
brothers were clearly surprised to see her, they were warm in their greeting and invited her to rest while they provided a lunch of bread, watered ale, and cheese, all of which they made on the abbey premises. Orval was already on its way to becoming a thriving and self-supporting community. Matilda could not have been happier with the progress.

After her lunch and an update from the Calabrians on the state of the translations, which were much further along than she would have guessed, Matilda was anxious to see the pièce de résistance.

“Take me to our labyrinth,” she commanded of Patricio, who humbly complied.

It was magnificent. Patricio had worked with master stonemasons for over a year to fashion hundreds of matched paving stones, which had been carefully laid into the ground one by one to create the outlines of the eleven circuits. At the center was a perfect rose, outlined in a lighter-colored rock for contrast. It was a masterpiece of stonework.

“Look here.” Patricio led her toward the entrance, which faced perfectly to the west. He walked approximately ten paces away from the entrance before kneeling to show her where the iron ring had been embedded in the earth. “For Notre Dame, our Lady of the Labyrinth.”

Matilda beamed at him as she pulled several strands from her plaited hair and tied them to the ring in the bridal knot. She kissed Patricio on the cheek and thanked him, before making the long-awaited walk into her very own labyrinth, where God awaited her at the center.

Matilda’s time in the labyrinth was beautiful, if puzzling. She saw a vision of herself in Tuscany with Conn and Bishop Anselmo and Isobel—and someone else, another man, strong and striking, whom she did not recognize. She thought it odd that she looked no older than she did today. Surely if Tuscany was in her future, it was in a more distant future. Godfrey would never allow her to travel once the child arrived. Flash to another vision of Lucca, and it was Christmastide. She was standing outside the Cathedral of San Martino. Her cathedral of
the Holy Face. And she was happy in both visions, almost unbearably happy. Could such happiness be possible? What time in the future was she glimpsing? Perhaps this was just the dream of her soul that she was seeing, rather than a glimpse of a reality that awaited her. She was disconcerted that she saw no vision of her child, and yet she could feel the baby stirring in her womb. Perhaps God did not want her to see the child prior to its birth.

Patricio, waiting for Matilda outside the labyrinth, was becoming concerned. She had been in there a long time, and if she did not come out soon, there would be no way they could get back to Verdun before dark. He closed his eyes and willed her to come out, praying all the while that she would do so at once. But he waited a long time before she finally emerged, breathless with the visions.

“Tilda, there’s no time. We have to get to the horses now. You can tell me on the way.”

She nodded, looking at the sky and realizing with trepidation that it was far later than she had anticipated. Patricio helped her onto her horse and followed immediately behind her as they rode toward Verdun.

It was well into the autumn, and the days were getting shorter. Matilda had to make a choice: to ride faster and make the most of the daylight, or stay at a slow and steady pace but risk the darkness. She chose the former and kicked her horse into a canter.

“God help us both,” Patricio muttered, as he tried to keep up with her.

Whether it was written in her destiny or the actions of her free will had caused it, Matilda would never know. But the diminishing light and the enforced speed upon the older horse were a deadly combination. The mount lost his footing and stumbled, midstride, in a full canter. A more balanced Matilda might have taken the fall with an athletic roll and endured a few bruises at worst. But her ungainly body at late pregnancy and her disrupted equilibrium were no match for the circumstances she found herself in. Matilda was thrown completely from the horse, landing hard on her side.

Patricio roared with fear and anguish as he watched it happen,
following behind her. He jumped from his own mount and ran to Matilda, relieved that she was breathing, if not conscious. He checked her for blood but didn’t see any immediate signs of external injuries that would be life-threatening. Removing the heavy woolen blanket from his horse, he covered his best friend with it and said the most fervent prayer of his life over her. Leaping bareback on his mount, he rode to the palace of Verdun for help, rode as if the devil himself were chasing him.

The pain that shot through her abdomen was like ten heated swords plunged into her from all sides. She was regaining consciousness, but if this was how it felt, she much preferred the delirium. Another searing pain, and then the warm gush of fluids covered her thighs. Her eyes were opened now and she could see that she was in her bedchamber, with two of Godfrey’s spies on either side of her. Midwives. The younger one wasn’t so bad. Her name was Greta, and she was the only member of Godfrey’s staff who had ever made any real effort to be friendly with the new duchess. She wiped Matilda’s face with a cool cloth now and cooed to her in German that it was all right, that she was home.

The elder woman was hardly as kind. She was giving orders sharply to others in the room and prodding at Matilda’s womb all the while.

“Push,” she commanded in clipped tones. “This baby must come now if there is any hope of saving it.” Matilda could only imagine what the rest of the sentence contained, muttered inaudibly under the midwife’s breath in angry German. No doubt it was a curse for the duchess of Lorraine’s wickedness in endangering the duke’s child.