A Mortal Glamour (44 page)

"Perhaps,” Mère Léonie said, resuming her climb.

For the last month Pierre had slept badly; he had lost flesh and his face was grey but for the scar which had become more bruise-like. He paced through his house in Avignon like a caged animal. “NO!” he shouted at his visitor. “I have no reason to go there. I do not wish to go there!” The sweep of his hand knocked the filled goblet he had offered the other man off the table, and the wine ran red as blood in the rushes.

Père Guibert bowed his head. “I know: every time I leave the convent, I feel I have been released from a dungeon. While I am there, it is an eternity.” This confession weighed heavily on him, and he looked up at le Duc again. “That is why I come to you for aid, mon Duc. Whatever evil lurks there, it is more than I can fight alone."

"Then arm yourself with more priests!” Pierre growled. “Surely one of the Cardinals would lend you another Évêque for an investigation.” He wiped his forehead, trusting it was the sultry weather and not mention of Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion that had caused him to sweat.

"Both Cardinal Belroche and Cardinal Seulfleuve have refused to do anything more. They have heard what Évêque Amalrie and Frère Renaut have said, and they do not wish to have a Process now.” He stopped, then went on in a different voice. “They are afraid the Romans will take advantage of the Process and use it to make it seem the Devil is confounding the Church, and then they will gain the support of more of the faithful. They are more worried about Romans than the Devil himself.” He started to make the sign of the cross, then his hand dropped. “If these Sisters are lost, then I am lost with them, for I am the one who was entrusted to guide their souls."

Pierre had listened with a scowl deepening on his face. “My cousin is pregnant and says she wants nothing more of me. Her father will not remove her, no matter what she wishes to believe. He will discard her rather than bring the child of an unknown man into his House.” Then he considered. “She claims that the demon gave it to her, or perhaps that fop Thibault Col. She had the opportunity, certainly, while she was at Un Noveautie.” Bitterness made his voice ragged; he signaled the nearest servant to bring more wine. “That Mère Léonie, though,” he went on when the servant left the room. “That one would make Saunt Paul lust for her."

Père Guibert blinked at that, startled. “She is a most ... admirable woman."

"Admirable? Admirable?” Pierre barked, not daring to laugh. “That woman is a canker in the flesh. She fires you and eats at you until there is nothing in your heart and mind other than her slender body, and the degradation she brings with it.” He knew he had said too much to this priest, that he must not continue, but the words had been dammed within him too long and now that he had given them release, he could not stop them. “Do you know she came to my tent while we were there? She sought me out and did such things to me that in the morning I had barely the strength to rise and not courage enough to tell my men or my confessor what had passed between us.” He saw the servant enter the room, and he hurried to take the two goblets from him. “Leave us alone,” he ordered, then came across the room to hand one of the goblets to Père Guibert. “She was with me early in the night, and for the rest of the night, I could not sleep. My mind was—"

"Possessed?” Père Guibert interjected.

This time he was able to laugh but the sound of it was wrong, verging on an angry sob. “Yes! No Devil could have done more."

"Perhaps ... it may have been the demon. They assume such shapes as will draw us all into sin. If you ... if you were filled with desire for Mère Léonie, the demon would ... take the shape that ... that most ... pleased you.” Père Guibert stared down into the wine, then quickly took a draught of it. “I have had dreams there, such dreams as should make me unfit to hear confession, but ... who is there to take my place? And so I have committed a terrible sin, listening to the Sisters with lust on my own soul."

Now Pierre's laughter was a roar, not genial but not ferocious. “And what does that make your absolution? By Saunt Gabriel's Horn, we are all in the Pit, mon Père.” He dropped into one of the three chairs in the room and hooked his knee over the arm of it. “Those poor nuns, thinking you were their salvation, and you already lost!” He drank off almost all the wine at once.

"I have listened in humility and the knowledge that God pardons those who are truly contrite.” It sounded as thin to him as it did to Pierre. “I asked Padre Bartolimieu to hear them, but he would not, and once he was gone, what could I do?"

"You might have told the Cardinal you were unfit. But that was too much to ask, perhaps. You want to have the nuns around you, no matter what you say, and the convent is as much a lure as a prison to you.” Pierre shouted suddenly. “More wine! Bring the jug!” He winked at Père Guibert and said more quietly, “The servants want to listen, you know, but they are beaten if they are caught at it, so they stay just out of earshot, hoping to catch a word or two. Then they start the rumors, and it is no wonder that they are as garbled as they are."

Père Guibert found all this hard to follow, but he nodded in an obedient manner. “Padre Bartolimieu asked that there be measures taken. He offered to be the one to conduct the investigation, but there has been no decision made."

"And there will not be. I have seen what it is they are doing to Avignon, and you may be certain that no one will make a decision until Clement decides that he wishes action to be taken. They are all watching him closely.” He gestured to the servant who appeared in the door. “Mine first, then leave the jug on the table. When we are through, you can take it away again."

The servant, a young man with expressionless eyes, did as he had been ordered, putting the jug down with a bit more force than necessary before leaving the chamber.

"Now we may speak more freely,” Pierre said, drinking impulsively. “So Padre Bartolimieu wishes to advance in the Church and plans to climb up on the rubble of the convent, does he? He's had a taste of power and he wants more? Well, God makes most men greedy, and they do not know it."

"Greed is a Capital Sin,” Père Guibert said, as if by rote. “God creates us without sin."

"Except Original Sin, which makes way for all the others,” Pierre said with a belch. “We are made in Sin, everyone knows that."

Père Guibert nodded before drinking. “Padre Bartolimieu is ambitious, but he is a good priest."

"If you say so,” Pierre responded. “He looks craven to me, and they are always the most ambitious: it makes them forget their cowardice.” He emptied his goblet and got unsteadily to his feet to refill it. “What about Évêque Amalrie? Those two would go far if they could agree long enough who was to be the leader."

"Évêque Amalrie has petitioned Cardinal Belroche to permit him to undertake a pilgrimage to the Holy Land,” Père Guibert said slowly. “He has refused to be drawn into the investigation in any way. He insists that he is tainted and must make the pilgrimage to be free of his sin."

"Why? I would have thought his pride would carry him through anything,” Pierre said, making no effort to guard his slurring tongue.

"He claims he has been used by a demon and that his soul is no longer pure.” Père Guibert looked at the wine jug, a lugubrious expression on his worn features. “He confessed to the Cardinal, and the Cardinal ... would not give him absolution."

"What kind of a Cardinal is that? He has absolved murderers in his day!” The indignation her felt was short-lived. “Well, which of the nuns did he futter, do you know?"

It took more concentration than earlier for Père Guibert to gather his wits. “No,” he said, enunciating carefully. “No, it was not one of the nuns. Or, indeed, anything at Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion, it was something that happened later. He told the Cardinal that a demon in the form of a woman had driven him to madness and to debauchery.” He looked up blearily as he heard Pierre howl with mirth and slap his thigh. “What is amusing in a man's degradation?"

"Degradation be damned! That was no demon!” His laughter turned to giggles. “She'll be delighted to hear this. It will please her so much!"

"What?” Père Guibert poured himself a little more wine, muzzily hoping that it would make him more sober. “On a warm day,” he announced to the room at large, “a man must take something for his thirst."

"Never mind your thirst! Orienne will be pleased! She'll be overjoyed. No one has ever thought her a demon before. Occasionally, they call her Angel, but never a demon.” Pierre swilled down a fourth goblet of wine, then reeled to his feet. “Poor sod doesn't know what he had. Best leman in all of France. That woman knows more about love than all the Saints in the calendar."

"Who is this? What are you talking about?” The wine had failed to revive him, but it had given him the curious detachment that sometimes came upon him when he was drinking. “What do you know of this, mon Duc?"

"I took him there!” Pierre shook all over with the force of his guffaw. “I wanted to take him down a peg, with his manner what it is. We had to break the journey for the night in any case, so I decided we would stop at Un Noveautie. You do know the place, don't you, mon Père?” He chuckled at the dawning shock in Père Guibert's eyes. “I asked Orienne if she would amuse our Évêque in the manner she knew best, so she went to his bed. She told me afterward that he was worse than a twelve-year-old peasant."

"Comtesse Orienne slept with him?” Père Guibert asked, needing to be sure he understood what he was being told.

"Hardly slept. She came to me afterward, and we frolicked most of the night, so that we wold not be forced to think of Évêque Amalrie any more.” He settled back in his chair. “So he thinks he met with a demon, does he? And now he is off to the Holy Land because of it! Marvelous!"

"This is most unfortunate,” Père Guibert said, misery coming over him like a damp cloth.

"Why? The Cardinal knows all about it. No one is upset but Évêque Amalrie who needs merely spend half an hour in confession to be free of the sin. Still, a walk to Jerusalem would show him a bit more humility."

"Where does that leave the Sisters, then? Can you find a way to comfort them in their distress? They will suffer because no one will defend them.” Père Guibert could feel tears form in his eyes and spill down his face. It surprised him in a mild way, but he did nothing to stop them or to call attention to them. “I do not want to go back there, because of the dreams. You do not want to go back there because of your lust. What shall happen to the Sisters, if everyone turns away from them?"

"They will manage: they have thus far.” Pierre shifted restlessly in his chair. “What do we say to explain it, if the Church asks? That you and Padre Bartolimieu were mistaken? Or do you put the blame on Évêque Amalrie, off in the Holy Land to purge himself?” He had another tot. “I don't like it. I don't like what it could mean. If we are held to be lacking in this, it might go badly for us and for the Church. Rome could say we did not take care of our own, and there are priests who would be swayed by that argument."

Père Guibert was startled to hear le Duc defend the Church's position. “I did not realize you were aware of what is at stake here."

"Oh, there is a vidamie I have been offered; I have been listening to more Churchmen than I have heard before in my life. I know what they think. They want to go to war, but no one has enough men. They want to challenge Rome, but there is no legitimate way to do it without leaving many of the flock exposed to needless danger.” He emptied the last of the jug into his goblet. “I tell you what, mon Père. I do not want to go back to Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion, that is true enough. But if you can bring me good reason for such action, I will find my men and we will return."

"How will you justify this to your Cardinal? He will wish to know why you are resuming your guardianship there."

Pierre stared hard at Père Guibert, his bleary eyes narrowing. “I have a cousin there, and no matter what her father does, we are of the same House, and I cannot have a question of diabolism hanging over my becoming vidame.” He nodded several times. “Might as well clear it up once and for all."

Slowly Père Guibert got to his feet. He swayed, but only a little, and that gave him a great satisfaction. He had not become completely drunk. “I ... I will inform the Cardinal. And I will speak to Padre Bartolimieu."

"Oh? Is that pious old swine here?” He rubbed his face briskly. “Your pardon, mon Père. It is not proper for you to hear me speak this way."

With great dignity, Père Guibert informed Pierre that Padre Bartolimieu was indeed in Avignon. “He has been trying to get another investigation under way, as I have. He thought Évêque Amalrie would aid him, but I have told you what has transpired there."

"The Holy Land? Yes, that was it.” Pierre lurched erect. “You leave Padre Bartolimieu out of this if you want my help, is all I can say."

"Very well, but I should let him know something is being done. He will then turn his attention elsewhere.” Père Guibert heard himself and was astonished at how grand he sounded. He might be an equal of le Duc's, so magnificently did he express himself. Delighted by this, he continued with enthusiasm. “You must see, mon Duc, there can be no deception now. All must be open and clear, so that the demon cannot distort or erase what we do."

"Since you are certain it is the demon's work, well and good.” He cast his goblet against the wall, the silver clanging as it dented. “We are in agreement, are we not? We will go back there, and the Devil be damned for a dog's turd."

A coldness washed through Père Guibert and the light-heartedness of the wine faded like dew in sunlight. “Yes. Yes, mon Duc. We will go back to Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion."

Seur Tiennette looked with dismay at the barrels in the pantry. She had opened three of the eight, and so far all had been infested with strange insects like water striders, making their way through the flour and the dried peas. She was sufficiently shocked that she could feel her heart race within her. She had been concerned earlier with the loss of cheese and vegetables and piglets, but now it appeared there would be a shortage of bread as well as everything else. Her eyes stung, and she dashed her tears away with the back of her wrists. “There is no time for such nonsense,” she said aloud, as if to convince herself that she had to maintain her composure for another Sister, one more worried that she.