A Mortal Glamour (30 page)

Sitting apart from her, Seur Morgance could not hear what Seur Catant was saying to herself and assumed it must be prayers, for Seur Catant often made a show of her piety. She was occupied with darning old habits, repairing ripped sleeves and worn skirts where kneeling in the garden had worn the fabric thin. Her hands were stiff this morning, in spite of the warm spring weather, and she wielded the needle with difficulty. A little conversation might have helped pass the time, but Mère Léonie had enjoined all the Sisters to keep silent because of the gossip that had been spreading about Seur Aungelique and the demon that was said to seduce her each night. There were other things to talk about, Seur Morgance insisted inwardly. There had been travelers the day before who had said that they had encountered men from Rome on the road who had boasted that Pope Urban would emerge the victor in the dispute with Avignon. That was worthy of a word or two, and it was not precisely gossip. She felt justified, but said nothing.

Without warning, the carding paddles fell from Seur Catant's hands. She let out a long, wailing shriek and clutched her elbows. “He touched me! He put his hand on my breast!"

"God protect us!” Seur Morgance said, looking up in baffled surprise.

"Oh, God; oh, God! He touched me!” Seur Catant dropped to her knees, rocking and sobbing.

Seur Morgance put her darning aside and got up from her stool, then hesitated. She did not especially like the other nun—it was a sin, but she had felt Seur Catant's sharp tongue once too often to be fond of her—and this change in her frightened Seur Morgance more than she wished to admit to herself. She took a step forward. “Seur Catant, are you ill?"

"He touched me, touched me touched me touched me touchedmetouchedme,” she repeated, running the words together until they were only a babble.

This astonished Seur Morgance, who drew back. “I ... Do you need aid, ma Seur?” It was a foolish question, but she could think of nothing else to say.

Seur Catant moaned and rocked more quickly.

"Seur Catant?” Seur Morgance said tentatively, and when there was no response, she said, “I am going to ... get help. You need ... someone. Mère Léonie or Seur Tiennette.” As she bolted for the door, another name came to her—Seur Marguerite.

"And who else has been afflicted?” Padre Bartolimieu demanded of Mère Léonie as he stared at her where she knelt before him.

"I told you of Seur Aungelique, Seur Ranegonde, Seur Fleurette, and Seur Catant."

"And the others? Have there been others?” His voice grew louder with each word, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, as if he were containing a need to do battle with her.

"Perhaps Seur Victoire and Seur Adalin, but we cannot be sure. They have had dreams that disturb them and have come to me to tell me of them. It may be that they, too, have been visited by a demon, or it may be that with the screams and great turmoil in the night, they have had bad dreams only.” She lowered her head. “I have listened to them and I ask Our Lord to give them His help."

Padre Bartolimieu stepped back, mollified by her attitude as much as her words. “You did well, ma Fille. It is not for women to decide these matters, but for men to act. Père Guibert and I will hear the confessions of your Sisters and pray for divine guidance in our quest."

"May Our Lord assist you,” Mère Léonie said humbly, not looking up at him. “You are a good priest, Padre."

"That remains to be seen,” he said, but stood a little straighter at this praise. “I must show the strength of God to those who are in doubt."

Staring down at the worn stones, Mère Léonie smiled.

Pierre came out of the saddle impatiently and tramped over to the warder Sister's grilled window. “Le Duc de Parcignonne!” he snapped without exchanging proper greetings with the nun waiting there.

"God be with you, Sieur le Duc,” said Seur Elvire in her most imposing voice.

"And with your spirit, Sister. Now give entrance to me and my men. This is urgent.” He was in no mind to visit the convent again, but he had been enough disturbed by what he had heard at Un Noveautie that he had decided to find out for himself if the rumors were true. He had been regretting his impetuosity for more than an hour and now he was determined to make his stay as brief as possible.

"Mère Léonie must first be informed of your arrival. Be good enough to wait in the...” she paused, realizing that she could not send a titled man and his armed escort into the hospice. “There is shade in the orchard, Sieur le Duc, and you and your men may wish to go there."

"We'll remain here at the gate, if you please.” He twisted around. “Tristan! What's the name of your—"

Before Pierre's unruly tongue could compromise her, Tristan Courtenay answered, “My friend here is Seur Philomine. She's a tertiary Sister."

"Yes. Well,” he said, addressing Seur Elvire once more, “you might mention our arrival to that Seur Philomine as well. Anything to get us inside more quickly."

Seur Elvire was affronted by his manner, but grateful that he had come. Now there would be something else to talk about than demons and possession, and of the ways those creatures offended God's Brides with their importunities. It was better that they have le Duc there, so the Sisters could direct their attentions to the men. “I will return as quickly as possible,” Seur Elvire said to Pierre before leaving her post at the grille.

"Those doors are well made,” Pierre said as he came back to his men-at-arms. “Did any of you work on them?"

Two of the men spoke up. “I didn't,” Tristan said.

"Christ on the Cross, why did I bother to come here? Like as not they have been frightened by children stealing green fruit.” He had thought this from the first and now he let his men share his feelings. “The sooner we are through with this, the better it will be for all of us."

"You don't think there is any real trouble here?” Tristan asked and heard Ivo snort his derision.

"I think that Aungelique is up to mischief again. She was far too tractable when she returned here, and now I think she is trying to find another way to leave the convent without waiting for her father's permission to do so.” He clapped his hands to his belt, hooking his thumbs over the thick leather. “When I heard that they're saying the nuns are bedeviled here...” He broke off, knowing that he should not say so much to his men. “We will see what she has done, and if her behavior warrants it, we will remove her and return her to her father, no matter what he says. I will not have the disruption of a convent laid at my door, or the door of my House."

Ivo laughed and nudged Choce. “There are many ways to disrupt a convent, wouldn't you say?"

The other man-at-arms winked and was about to add his own comment when Tristan cut them short.

"These are dedicated women, most of them, and have good reason to retire from the world."

"Listen to Le Durand,” Ivo said. “He cannot have his woman out of here, so he must make saints of all of them."

"Stop it,” Pierre ordered the men, and glared at them as they fell silent. “I don't want to give them any reason to complain of us. Is that understood?"

His men agreed that it was.

A short while later the doors were drawn open and the men were bade enter the courtyard, not by Mère Léonie or one of the other Sisters, but by Père Guibert, who regarded Pierre soberly.

"I am grateful that you are here, Sieur le Duc, though I confess you were not expected. Mère Léonie has retired to her cell for meditation while this ... investigation is under way. It is more fitting that I welcome you in any case."

Pierre heard this out with growing consternation. “By the Brass Balls of ... Pardon, mon Père.” He cleared his throat. “I have heard certain disturbing rumors. I came to find out if they are true.” He looked about for one of the nuns to take the reins of his horse and was startled to find that only Seur Elvire was present.

"I regret that you will have to stable your beasts,” Père Guibert said with embarrassment. “Most of the Sisters are in their cells, meditating."

"Ivo, see to it,” was Pierre's brusque order. “Make sure they get enough water."

"As you wish,” Ivo said, dismounting quickly. “What of Choce and Courtenay?"

"They'll have work to do, never fear, “Pierre told him. “What has been going on, mon Père,” he went on to the priest, “that the nuns stay in their cells during the day? Is it true there are demons here?” He could not keep the skepticism out of his tone.

"There is something, mon Fils,” Père Guibert told him. “Padre Bartolimieu and I are attempting to determine what it is.” He belatedly made a blessing for Pierre and the three men-at-arms. “You are most welcome here, for it may be that these Sisters will need your protection before we are finished."

Pierre wanted to protest, but knew that he could not. “My men will not torture women, mon Père, not even for the Church. If that is what you need, send for one of your own to do it."

"You say this, after the two women you raped in Huy demanded recompense from you?"

"They were not nuns, and well you know it, mon Père. Merchant daughters, that's all they were.” He shrugged. “There are many who do not balk at having a man of my rank in their beds."

Père Guibert did not want to make an issue of it. “We do not intend to use such methods unless it is absolutely necessary. There is no hint of witchcraft here, and perhaps nothing Diabolical. If that is the case, then no Sister need fear Padre Bartolimieu or me. Or you,” he added with less certainty.

"As long as that's acceptable,” Pierre said firmly, then turned to Tristan and Choce. “We'd better make camp in the orchard. See to it at once."

Both men complied without comment, leaving the courtyard through the passage to the stable. Tristan looked back once, but Choce only grumbled and followed le Duc's orders.

Père Guibert watched the men depart, then faced Pierre squarely. “What have you heard, Sieur le Duc, and from whom?"

Pierre fixed his gaze on the top of the courtyard wall, squinting at the sun. “I was at ... well, you know the place: Un Noveautie. That fair-haired courtier from Bruges was there, paying attention to Comtesse Orienne. He made a point of speaking to me, telling me that he had heard from travelers that this convent was not available to them because there were demons here who were ravishing the nuns. He laughed at that, and said that as far as he was concerned, Aungelique had enough of the Devil in her to make every nun in France forget her vows.” He coughed once. “I assumed he was making light of Aungelique's desire to leave the Order, and told him that it was no service to her to speak in that way. But he said that he believed that there might be some truth to it. He said something more, and it caused me a little worry; he said that if ever there was a convent that begged for a demon, it was this one.” Finally he looked at Père Guibert. “Pardon, mon Père, but that is what the man said to me."

"Yes, pardon; naturally,” Père Guibert said in a distracted way; he was still trying to make sense of what he had been told. “I did not know they had turned any travelers away."

"Perhaps it was before you arrived,” Pierre suggested, not wanting to get distracted with such minor questions. “Col learned of it somehow, and he is not the sort to make pilgrimages."

"No,” Père Guibert said, his tone still vague. He gave himself a shake and put his mind on his unexpected visitor. “Doubtless you are right, and Mère Léonie did not mention it to me. When she emerges from her seclusion, I will ask her about it.” He indicated the door into the convent. “Come. We must discuss what has been going on."

"Demons and all?” Pierre asked, falling into step behind the priest.

"I think it is more likely that we will find Romans behind this, not demons. But that is for later.” He entered the corridor half a step ahead of Pierre. “This man you spoke of—do you think he might have been suborned by the Romans? It would explain why he would spread such a rumor."

"He's not a Roman, mon Père, just one of those parasites that thrive at court. They long for gossip and rumor as a peasant longs for butter.” He chuckled at his own humor, but did not fail to notice now distressed Père Guibert was.

Père Guibert was still closeted with Pierre and Padre Bartolimieu when a second unexpected visitor appeared. It was nearing sunset and he rode in from the west, so that Seur Elvire saw him as a dark blot on the road that swelled as it came nearer.

"We are not permitted to have travelers here, stranger,” she called out in a quivering voice.

"What?” came the light, taunting reply as Thibault Col dismounted and sauntered over to the grille. “When I have come all this way, ma Seur? How can you admit le Duc de Parcignonne and deny me?"

"I ... I do not know that, stranger.” She leaned forward, peering at him.

"Come; I am not an adventurer to make demands of you.” He leaned close to the grille, smiling with half of his mouth. “I am Thibault Col, Chevalier de Bruges."

"Le Duc did not say that there would be others.” For some reason she did not understand, she was breathing faster.

"There are no others, ma Seur. There is only myself. And my horse,” he amended with a flick of the reins he held in his hand.

Seur Elvire crossed herself. “I will have to speak to Père Guibert."

"By all means. I will await you here.” He braced his shoulder against the wall and gave her his most affable smile. “Go at once, ma Seur. Night is coming on and I do not want to be abroad after dark."

"Yes,” she said, not at all confidently. “I will return. Shortly."

"Fine,” he said. “God be with you, ma Seur."

Chagrined that she had not greeted him with this phrase, Seur Elvire blurted our the response, “And with your spirit,” and then hurried away into the convent to see out Père Guibert.

The priest took rather longer to answer this summons than he had the last. When he did arrive at the gate, it had grown noticeably darker. “Seur Elvire said that you wished to stay here."

"That's not exactly what I told her, mon Père, but let it pass,” Thibault said in answer. “I have come here because I saw that le Duc was coming here, and I am, I admit it, curious about everything I was told.” He smiled at Père Guibert. “I am somewhat connected with your Mère Léonie."