Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Pierre shrugged. “Why plead with me, Illustrissimi? You admit that I am not part of the Church."
"But you are part of the nobility, and as such, you must do what you can to maintain the Church, by your oath.” Cardinal Seulfleuve looked around the library where they were speaking. “They have removed books from this room, believing them to be dangerous to the souls of men. When books are burned, mon Duc, it is little time before the people meet the same fate.” He shook his head. “I have done the only thing I could think of: I have recommended that the decision be left to the civil authorities. That would be you, mon Duc, until the matter is resolved one way or the other. It will keep the hounds at bay for a time.” He paced down the room, his hands clasped nervously at his waist. “I do not know what to say. I have done everything that I could without bringing the attention of—"
"Yes, you've said so already,” Pierre interrupted. “I would be pleased to be the administrator of your instructions. After all, I have a kinswoman there, and she is one that they claim to be afflicted. It may be simply that her lack of vocation is telling on her."
Cardinal Seulfleuve shook his head slowly. “It may be so many things. The Devil is subtle, and so are his Romans. I am at a standstill on this. If you were to agree to watch this until we are more certain of the cause of the commotion, then I would be most grateful. I have some authority in the issuance of Vidamies, and it may be that you will receive one for this service."
"It would be welcome,” Pierre said honestly, knowing how much his House would gain from the Church title and the revenue from the lands. “Since the Plague, my House has been struggling with its holdings. We lack peasant tenants to work the land, and much of our acres are fallow."
"A vidamie will not change that,” the Cardinal remarked.
"It will provide fields in good heart with men to work them. That in turn will give us the revenues to acquire more tenants. There are peasants that would be glad for a fief with a living lord and an assured succession.” He paused, giving the Cardinal a little time to get to the end of the long room and turn back toward him. “May I inform my father of what you have told me, or must I delay?"
"I will inform him myself, and in a manner that will please both of you. There can be no objection to that."
"Then my thanks, Illustrissimi,” Pierre said, going on one knee to the bent old man. “You will have word from me regularly. Courtenay, one of my men-at-arms, can write, and I will take him with me, so that I need not ask one of the priests to write for me."
"You are astute, mon Duc,” Cardinal Seulfleuve said with a faint trace of a smile. “It is wise to be careful."
"So I am learning.” He rose when the Cardinal had given him his blessing. “I will tell you this, Illustrissimi: I would rather face Turks in battle than remain here with the intrigue and deception and hypocrisy you find around you. With Turks you know where you are, but here ... “—he lifted his hands to show how inadequate he felt—"here a sword is about as useful as a plow in a river."
"Sadly, I must agree with you,” the Cardinal said. “I am grateful to you, mon Fils, for what you are doing. In time, the Pope will be grateful as well."
"I do not hope for that.” Pierre knew that he must not expect Clement to act on his behalf, especially in a matter as delicate as this one. “His Holiness has other concerns than this."
"Lamentably,” Cardinal Seulfleuve agreed. “Well, I will bid you Godspeed and pray that you have less to contend with than you fear."
"My thanks, Illustrissimi.” Pierre was halfway to the door when he added, “I do not want Cardinal Belroche to alter my instructions."
"He will not,” said Cardinal Seulfleuve with more sternness than Pierre had heard before. “He needs my support in the matter of the priests from Genoa, and until that has been settled, he will not interfere with my agreements with you."
Pierre nodded. Bargains of that nature he could understand and appreciate. “I will be grateful to learn of any change."
"You have my assurance on it,” the Cardinal promised, and waved him toward the door again. “You must recall, however,” he reminded le Duc, “we are speaking in camera and nothing we have said is official in the Church."
"Of course,” Pierre said, and backed out of the library.
Long after sunset, the halls of Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion rang with voices, some raised in prayer, some screaming obscenities and profanities, and some reduced to terrible laughter. Mère Léonie called those nuns who could respond to the chapel and ordered them to devote themselves to prayers on behalf of the other Sisters, those who were not able to pray for themselves.
"I wish the night were over,” Seur Victoire confided to Seur Philomine between responses to the Devotions to Saunt Jude.
"Hush,” Seur Philomine whispered to her.
"I wish I could petition the Superior General of the Order to send me to another convent.” Seur Victoire sounded both petulant and wistful. “It has been unbearable, these last few weeks. It was bad enough with Seur Aungelique running away and screaming to the Devil when she came back, but now..."
"You have been the refuge of those beyond hope. Who have lost every battle,” Seur Philomine said with the others in the modified Latin of the Church.
"Don't you want release from this?” Seur Victoire asked, prodding Seur Philomine in the side with her elbow.
"Who would not?” Seur Philomine was goaded into answering. “You must be silent, ma Seur, so the prayers will be recited properly."
"To the Devil with prayers,” Seur Victoire said lightly, her eyes turning away. “Everything else goes to him—why not our prayers?"
"What is your discussion, my Sisters?” Mère Léonie demanded from the altar where she had stopped the liturgy.
"Nothing,” Seur Philomine said quickly. “We are frightened, ma Mère."
"She wants to go away from the Order. She told me,” Seur Victoire said, more loudly than Seur Philomine.
"And for that you have interrupted holy service when the convent is in such dire need of aid?” Mère Léonie asked, her voice sweet and her eyes more icy than usual. “Would you care to explain to your Sisters how this comes about?"
Seur Victoire tossed her head. “I have done nothing, ma Mère. It was she. She has been tempting me."
Seur Philomine started to protest, but Mère Léonie cut her short. “If you have done such a wrong, ma Seur, you should be chastised as Évêque Amalrie has chastised others. Do you long for the caress of the thongs, or are you pleased with the misfortune that has been visited upon us?"
"You know I am not,” Seur Philomine said, feeling indignation rise within her. “I have been devoted to this convent, and though I am a tertiary Sister, I have performed my duties with contentment and humility.” It was not entirely true, but she did not feel she was lying as such. She was as reasonable about her work as any nun in the convent.
"Which you boast of?” Mère Léonie challenged. “You are guilty of a great wrong, ma Seur, and it is for me as your Superior to correct it; Our Lord commands us to obey him, and we who are in his service are pleased to do so. There is nothing any of us should desire more than the opportunity to find satisfaction in his service. To be afraid, as you say you are, is to doubt the very strength and majesty of the God you say you worship and trust. Think again: do you require more than this minor admonition to be rid of your sins?"
Seur Philomine had gone pale, but she kept her composure. “You know that I have not the vocation of the others, ma Mère, and that may lead me into error. I love and serve God, but another has achieved the crown of my heart, and God has not seen fit to change that. Therefore, since I do not know the adoration of those with vocation, I falter and know fear."
Seur Marguerite, who had been caught in her own inner reflections, suddenly addressed the Sisters. “It is not wise to listen too much, because that way lies fear. I remember how it was before the Plague came—everyone talked and it was worse because of it, I think.” She crossed herself. “My children always talk among themselves, constantly, and you see that they are dying."
"This is not important,” Mère Léonie said with great control. “You are not the ones to act, you Sisters. It is for Our Lord to enter your hearts, as Seur Philomine has said. But ma Seur,” she went on to the tertiary Sister, “you must fast and pray, for you may not have permitted Our Lord to touch you. He comes where he is invited, where he is wanted."
"And where He has made a place for Himself by giving a true vocation,” Seur Philomine said, knowing that her defiance would go against her.
"Three days of fasting, ma Seur, and instead of tending the stables, you may keep to your cell.” Mère Léonie stepped back so that she was braced against the altar. “Let us give one day to fasting, all of us, so that the tempestuous fires that have raged here will have the chance to be stilled and the soul will regain its tranquility."
"Fasting?” Seur Victoire cried out. “Starving, rather. We have not enough food, and the village can spare none for us. So we fast, pretending that it is because our souls are in need of it. Our larder is almost empty, and that is why we fast!” She made the sign of the cross and abruptly left the chapel.
Most of the nuns were silent now, trying to avoid Mère Léonie's piercing gaze. At last the Superior addressed them once more. “Yes, we have not as much food as you or I would wish, but that does not mean that Our Lord will neglect us, for we are His servants, and we are doing all that we may to honor Him.” She moved away from the altar, walking up and down the chapel between the nuns. “You each have doubted God. Who has not, in these times when the world seems to near an end? You have demanded that you be saved, now, in the body. Our Lord answers such prayers, my Sisters, and you must—"
"There are too many souls to save,” Seur Marguerite announced to the nuns. “There are so many that they are beyond counting, and God does not know what to do. I love my children, but I do not know how many of them have died. Think of all those who have perished. There is not space in the earth to hold them at Judgment day. How can the earth give up so many?"
"Sacrilege!” Seur Morgance shouted, and threw herself at Seur Marguerite, reaching to claw at her face.
In an instant the chapel was in disorder. Seur Marguerite whimpered in hurt and confusion as Seur Morgance bore her down, knocking aside the two Sisters who knelt beside her. One of them began to scream while the other scrambled on hands and knees for the door.
"This is forbidden!” Mère Léonie shouted.
Seur Victoire rolled on her side and drew her knees up to her chest, reciting the first line of Pater Noster over and over quickly and softly. Seur Philomine put and arm across her to shield her, but one of the Sisters caught in the scuffle reached out and struck Seur Victoire as she attempted to escape.
Two other nuns were fighting now, one of them accusing the other of unnatural desires. One well-aimed blow caused a nosebleed, and shortly there were small stains on many of the grey habits.
"By God's Grace!” came an outraged voice from the door as Évêque Amalrie rushed in. “What has...” His face was rigid with fury as one of the distraught nuns grabbed him around the waist and clung to him.
"Forgive them, mon Berger,” Mère Léonie shouted to him, hardly audible over the din. “It is the Devil's doing."
"The Devil may have begun it, but God will stop it!” he promised, his eyes sweeping over the Sisters in utter contempt.
Mère Léonie lowered her head as the chapel became silent once more. “We are in the hands of Our Lord."
"What are you telling me?” Pierre demanded as he faced Seur Aungelique in the herb garden. It was a warm, close afternoon; the scents of sage and thyme hung in the air.
"You heard what I said,” she answered him with a toss of her head. “I am with child.” She made a sound that was intended to be a laugh.
"But ... how?” Since his return to the convent two days ago, Seur Aungelique had been attempting to speak with him and this was her first opportunity. He had avoided her and now wished he had continued to hold her off.
"You know how, mon cher cousin,” she said. “You know the act. You know what it is that men do to women. You've done it many times, haven't you?” She plucked a sprig of tansy and sniffed at it.
Pierre's face grew harder. “You know what I meant. Answer me. Was it someone at Comtesse Orienne's gatherings?” He had heard many of the men speak of Seur Aungelique when she had been at Un Noveautie, admiring her.
"Yes. And no.” She cocked her head to one side. “It happened after you brought me back. I know. My courses came after my return.” She added angelica to the tansy. “But you know what it is to have a lover. Mine followed me. He came to me, to posses me."
"That's ... “—he was about to say “ridiculous” or “absurd” but could not bring himself to speak—"impossible."
Her expression was taunting but her voice was angry. “What? Do you doubt that I could inspire such devotion simply because you do not wish to love me? Well, you may not find me to your taste, but there is one who does, and he is willing to defy Heaven for me."
Pierre restrained himself, though he wanted to strike her or shake her. “You are not with child. You are saying this to force your father to take you away from here and find a husband for you. It's a stupid game, ma cousine, and one that may reap you a bitter harvest."
"Other women have bastards,” Seur Aungelique pointed out, making mock though reason. “They have lived well, those women, with pleased husbands and honored children. Do not threaten me."
"They may have bastards, but not while living in a convent,” Pierre growled.
"They don't? How strange. I have heard that other women have forsaken God for the flesh while in His house. You told me of Dacient Joberre, didn't you? She had three children while in a convent. Or was that a tale to amuse me?” As she came up to him, she held out the herbs she had picked. “Will you wear these for me, mon cher cousin?"
He struck out, casting the sprigs aside. “Stop it! Stop!"