Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Although Évêque Amalrie had some experience of courtiers, he did not often recognize them when they wore the livery of the Church, and so he took much of what he heard as vindication of his worth rather than the appeal to his vanity it was. “I am always determined to defend the Church and show how worthy Avignon is. Rome has shown itself corrupt and evil. Avignon is the only hope of the world. But I fear for these unfortunate Sisters, who will have no one to watch over them."
"Their priests will be here,” the messenger said, doing his best not to appear bored. “They will have protection. If there is any danger, le Duc de ... uh ... Parcignonne is still mandated to defend them."
"Do you mean he is to remain here?” Évêque Amalrie demanded. “Here? His men near these women who have fallen to demons?” He half-rose from his chair. “I will need escort back to Avignon. Since Frère Renaut has left—and doubtless told you many lies about what has transpired here—there is my page to lend me his protection, and that is not enough, especially in these times, when a Papal messenger must travel wrapped in a cloak.” He smiled in appreciation of his own wit.
"It is proper that a man of your dignity have escort, yes,” the messenger said in a bland, practiced manner. “It is proper that le Duc provide it. Had the Pope created this area a vidamie, then it would be for the vidame to extend that honor, but His Holiness has not yet decided how this area is to be assigned. Doubtless you will be able to advise him, since you have been here."
This morsel was snapped up at once. “It is true that I have some thoughts on the matter. Mou Courbet is not the sort of place that would bring credit to one of the nobles, and certainly Saunt-Vitre-lo-Sur is a prize that most men would not want. Yes, there are matters that we should discuss, the Pope and I.” He leaned back, folding his hands in complacent satisfaction.
"I will inform the Superior of your orders, if that is your pleasure,” the messenger said, rising. He had managed to discharge his obligation here without making more of an issue of the Bishop's removal than the Cardinal wished, which would be to his credit later on.
"It would ... be best that you do, I believe,” Évêque Amalrie said, his voice a little wistful; it would have been enjoyable to tell Mère Léonie himself, to see how dismayed she became, but it was more impressive and appropriate to have this done by the Papal messenger himself.
"Then I thank you for your gracious courtesy, mon Évêque, and I pray that God will speed your return to Avignon.” He knelt to kiss the ring Évêque Amalrie extended to him. “With some dispatch, you should be prepared to depart in two days. Is that reasonable? May I inform the Cardinal that you will be on the road then?"
"It will be my intent to obey. If le Duc is willing, then I will be at his disposal.” Évêque Amalrie's small eyes glinted. “Avignon. I have longed to be there so many times."
"You will be there soon,” said the messenger, and left the study. He made his way toward the chapel, trying to decide if his impressions were the same as those Frère Renaut had relayed. It was clear the Bishop was a petty man, of limited ability and tremendous vanity, but there were many such in the Church. He often was puzzled that God should call men of that temperament to His service, for they were not of the same dedication and virtue as the Apostles, in whose footsteps the clergy trod. So intent were his thoughts that he did not hear a voice call out to him until the second time.
"You're the messenger, are you?” said Pierre, striding along the narrow corridor, making the walls appear too close together. “How is it that they sent an old reprobate like you?” He clapped the messenger on his shoulder. “How many years, Jean? Five? Six?"
The messenger's expression changed at once; he grinned and gave Pierre a resounding kiss. “Seven years, as well you know.” He returned the hug Pierre gave him. “Now what is the name of the Angels of Heaven are you doing on sentry duty here? When I was told you were keeping watch on this place, I almost went off in a faint. You, Pierre?"
"I have a cousin here, and her father—d'Ybert; you've met him—has just been made a vidame, so he is generous with his favors to the Church."
"Generosity is not how I should describe it,” the messenger said. “You could be better employed.” As he said this, he was not entirely certain it was true, for he saw deep lines of fatigue in le Duc's face, and noticed that the man was thinner than before, his eyes dark and feverish.
"Amen to that. Every time I have returned here, I have vowed it would be the last, but then something happens and we are back here to fix the doors or keep watch for demons. It's a dreadful way for a good fighter to have to spend his days.” Pierre made an exaggerated sigh. “My men. You knew Ivo, didn't you? He has said that if he comes back here, he'll rape a few of the women and say that the demon impelled him. He does not like being away from his leman for so long a time, and there is nothing to do here that would interest him. One of the villagers, from Saunt-Vitre, that little hamlet you came through to get here, asked Ivo if he would help catch his pigs that had escaped. And Ivo, if you can picture it, was so hungry for something to keep him busy, agreed. He killed one of the pigs, but the man did not object. We've been eating it for the last three days.” He stopped and gave Jean a long look. “And you? What are you here for? And in that tabard?"
"My father is one of the new vidames, and he, too, is generous with the Church. You do not know what it is to have a family brought back from the brink in that way. Two of the old fiefs are gone to ruin since the Plague was there. Now there is a chance to save them, but it means that those of us who are able must give our service to the Pope. I'd rather be fighting Romans, but this is what they have given me to do, so—” He opened his hands in acceptance of his predicament.
"Do you think it will come to that? That we will fight the Romans instead of this eternal spying and bickering?” Pierre spoke with animation, but Jean sensed that there was a more frantic need for battle than mere boredom.
"It might,” he said. “My father heard one of the Cardinals say that he favored a war. God would defend the true Pope and there would be no more of this nonsense. But there are not enough men to mount a real campaign, not yet. If the English had not been so busy in the north, then we might have been able to do something before now. Oh, I think it may drag on another three or four years until both sides are more prepared. It cannot go on indefinitely."
"Three or four years is too long as it is,” Pierre declared. “But that's a Churchman for you—take more time and make it all much worse. They cannot see when a single, powerful blow can do more than all the prayers in the world."
"True enough.” Jean stopped, then said in another tone, “You do not approve of Évêque Amalrie, then? If you find priests slow to act, this man—"
"That man does not act, not in any way I would think worthy of a man of honor. He is one of those who likes to see men flogged, and so much the better if he can flog women. It is not such punishment as any sensible man must mete out from time to time, but that other, reckless sort of beating that brings pain and dread.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “That Captain in Lyon—do you remember the man, with the yellow hair and dark eyes?—he used to have his men flogged that way, so that they howled and gibbered. This Évêque Amalrie is the same sort."
"I recall that man. Strange, that a man with such a bent should want to be a priest.” Jean lowered his chin. “He isn't a second son. It's not as if his family sent him here. He is said to have a vocation.” He began to walk again, motioning for Pierre to keep up with him. “Évêque Amalrie has been recalled to Avignon, by order of the Pope, and you will be required to escort him."
"What? Why should I let my men be lackeys to that miserable—"
"Be calm, Pierre,” Jean said with a grin. “If you escort him, it may be that you will be able to appeal to the Pope to send others here next time, and you will then be free to return to your estates or to prepare for battle with Rome, whichever is more to your liking."
"That's possible,” Pierre said slowly, as if he could not entirely make sense of what he had heard. “But so far, d'Ybert has insisted that I be the one to speak to his daughter Aungelique, who is a nun here."
Jean reached the door into the courtyard, but he did not go out at once. A reminiscent smile touched his hard, square mouth. “Aungelique. Is that the one that keeps running off to Un Noveautie? The one Comtesse Orienne calls ma Frèrée? No wonder that d'Ybert wants you to be here. Any other man would make short work of that girl.” He chuckled as he opened the door. Hot sunlight met them, making both men squint and shade their eyes.
"That is part of Michau d'Ybert's reason. He also desired to impress the Cardinal so that eventually he will regain the lands that are currently disputed by him and Courtenay."
"That will continue until the Last Judgment. It is three generations already and there is no sign of an end,” Jean said, pleased to have something so remote to discuss. “But you. You are not bound to d'Ybert for that, are you?"
"By Heaven, no. Courtenay's son is one of my men-at-arms and I will not be asked to arm for d'Ybert should they ever come to battle over the land.” He stared around the courtyard. “When are we to take this precious burden to Avignon? Do you know?"
"You would do well to leave in two days. The Cardinal wishes to have the man back where he can reach him before the Cardinals meet to discuss the new vidamies that are being awarded. There is no saying what the nobility will expect, but there are lords holding out for vidamies before they will prepare for war. It is not a great consolation, their dedication is predicated on what we can provide them in land and revenues.” He gazed at the wall of the hospice. “Would there be room for me with your men? I don't relish passing the night in such a place as that one, not if the nuns are as Frère Renaut described them."
"In my tent, if you wish,” Pierre said, then wished he might withdraw the offer, for he did not know what would transpire in the night. He had had more visions of Mère Léonie, and if there should be another such while Jean slept near him, it might be a very bad thing.
Jean inclined his head, saying, “I thank you, and another time I would be most pleased to accept, but not, I fear, tonight. While I wear the tabard, I must keep to my own quarters. I will need a man to stand guard, but Ivo should not mind."
"He's done it before,” Pierre said with a terse laugh.
"As well we both remember,” Jean agreed. “And in the morning, I will have to leave again, I have another message to deliver to Saunt-Elizair. It would seem that they caught a Roman and killed him after pulling out his nails and breaking all his teeth."
"What is the matter?” Pierre asked. “You would have done the same, wouldn't you?"
"True, and worse,” he answered, shaking his head at the waste of it. “But we would have questioned him while we worked on him and there would have been someone there to record the answers. That is what has me most concerned, Pierre, I confess it—many Romans, if Romans they are, are being caught and held and killed without any attempt at discovering what they have been sent to do. Some of them, I would guess, are not Romans at all. If the word goes out that Avignon is permitting the slaughter of innocent travelers, you know what that will do to trade and the treaties le Roi has made with other rulers. There would be war then."
"Excellent!” Pierre exclaimed. “I would be ready in three days, with two dozen men to ride with me."
"And we are not preparing for war. You know that. And we must have more intelligence if we are to prevail.” He stared around the courtyard. “This is the most forlorn place."
"That it is. I'd rather camp in the desert than here.” They resumed their walk toward the doors. “Our camp is over there, at the edge of the fields by the orchard. I'll see if one of the Sisters will care for your horse. The one who usually does it has been ordered to keep to her cell and meditate on her sins and her lack of vocation. This Évêque Amalrie is like that. The only Sisters he has not confined to their cells for more than a day are the cooks."
Both men let themselves laugh at that revelation as they ambled out of the convent into the open fields.
"Nothing much growing, is there?” Jean observed. “The orchard and a few vegetables. It could go hard with them come winter."
"The whole valley is like that. The Plague hit hard, and there aren't enough peasants to work the land. There used to be more Sisters here, and the land produced what they need with sufficient simple fare for the travelers who came to the hospice.” He pointed to a row of spindly gourds. “They need water, but with all the nuns doing penance, the plants are withering for lack of care."
"A pity,” Jean said, shrugging. “I'll mention it in my report. The Cardinal may order some relief, if he has time to do it."
"It would be sensible, I think,” Pierre said, then abandoned the subject of the nuns for the more interesting matters of spurs and dirks.
As the men-at-arms grouped around the wagon that carried the petulant Évêque Amalrie, the Sisters came out of the convent to pray for his safe journey and to ask God's blessing for his great service to them.
"You are all in need of the Grace of God,” the Bishop reminded them as he addressed them for what he devoutly hoped was the last time, “and you are all frail women without the aid of God's guidance to bring you to His Glory. You must take the way of la Virge, observing all holy rites and doing nothing that would bring temptation to you. The presence of the demons here shows that you are now turned from God. Prostrate yourselves, mortify the flesh for the glory of the soul and it may be that God will show His mercy to you and save you from the Pit. You cannot do that by denying the evil that has come to you, but by acknowledging the demon and welcoming the chastisements that must free you at last.” He signaled to Pierre. “You may start, Sieur le Duc."
"'You may start, Sieur le Duc',” Pierre mimicked under his breath, then raised his right hand and called out his rough, ringing cry, “Onward for honor of the bees!” that had been permitted to his family by le Roi for service to him—the badge of the royal household was five golden bees.