A Mortal Glamour (4 page)

"I will wait for her; I do not wish to distract her.” This information surprised him, since he could remember the many times Mère Jacinthe excused her nuns from strict exercise of faith. Undoubtedly there was a new spirit in Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion. He was more curious than before about the new Superior.

At the door to the chapel, Seur Ranegonde once again stood aside. “Mère Léonie is at prayer,” she said, and bowed her head before turning away.

"You need not wait, Seur Ranegonde,” Père Guibert said, his attention already on the prostrate form of Mère Léonie.

"Deo gratias,” Seur Ranegonde whispered, her trembling hands fluttering in her full sleeves. She waited a moment in case there should be any other service required of her, then hastened away.

Père Guibert stepped inside the chapel, crossing himself and sinking to his knees a little distance behind Mère Léonie. He quietly began to recite his beads while studying the figure in grey who lay face-down with arms outstretched in front of the altar. He was struck, as he had been with increasing frequency, with the anonymity of religious life. Even the habit conspired to remove all trace of the person who wore it. At one time it had seemed laudable to the priest but now he no longer trusted the garments; there might be anything inside them. He stifled a sound in his throat, and was not entirely displeased to see Mère Léonie look up.

"God be with you,” she said as she got swiftly to her feet.

"And with your soul,” he answered, caught off-guard.

"You are our priest? Père ... Guibert?"

He liked her confusion; it made her less of a puzzle to him. “I am a day or two early. I could not reach Fôrlebene, and so I came directly here. The monks will have to wait until the road is passable."

"Has the winter been so severe?” Mère Léonie inquired.

"Apparently so. They have been much troubled by their isolation.” He felt that he had to explain his lack of tenacity a bit more completely. “If I still had my escort, then it would have been another matter."

"Of course,” Mère Léonie agreed. She knelt for his blessing. “You are thrice welcome here, Père Guibert. My Sisters have great need of you, I fear. With so much despair and suffering around us, there is...” She made a gesture of resignation. “There is much to ... to pray for,” she finished, though Père Guibert had the oddest feeling that she had intended to say something else. “I am grateful you have come."

Such a forthright declaration was disconcerting to Père Guibert, who was used to more subservient nuns. “Mère Léonie—"

"I do not mean to overstep myself, mon Père,” she interrupted him, “but my concern prompts me to tell you of my worry.” She looked up, as if appealing to Heaven itself. “These nuns, this convent ... all are ... neglected."

This touched so closely to Père Guibert's doubts that he almost spoke of his own anguish, but frowned deeply and made a compromise admission. “There are many such. We have reason to worry."

"Yes. I have seen that. Yet though I pray for the salvation of all mankind, as we are enjoined to do by the Savior, it is this convent that has been entrusted to me, and before I turn my eyes and my prayers to the world, I must first tend to the well-being of my Sisters, for if I cannot bring some peace to them here, what chance has the world?” Her eyes flashed and Père Guibert had the sensation of being challenged. “You must see that my duty demands this of me. My Lord sets each of us tasks."

"Mère Léonie, you...” He stood back and blessed himself a second time. “If we must speak of this, rise and—"

"We may come to my study. Doubtless that is where Mère Jacinthe spoke to you, and it is fitting that we should converse there.” Her manner was entirely accommodating, but the way in which Mère Léonie directed the course of their speech bothered the Cistercian. She stood aside for him, but nothing suggested that she was prepared to render him unending and humble service. “When our evening devotions begin, I will have to return here. It is not fitting that I should shirk the duties I require of my nuns."

"Certainly.” Her attitude was entirely correct, Père Guibert thought as he went down the hall ahead of her. There had been many times he had wished that Superiors would not take advantage of their exalted position to avoid the more strenuous demands of their Order. Still he longed for a more deferential attitude from Mère Léonie. “It is wise to observe all the rites.” His tone was measured, even ponderous, but he felt as if he had lost all direction with the young Superior. “A true Mère imposes upon herself all the exercises she requires of her charges, but to take on more or less is improper, for this distinguishes you and causes rancor to rise in the hearts of your Sisters. Our Lord—"

"Be pleased to enter,” Mère Léonie cut in, opening the door to her study. “I will take the stool so you may have the chair."

Père Guibert did as he was told, and tried to convince himself that he was not, in fact, obeying an order, but taking his rightful place in the room. “You have begun well, Mère Léonie."

"If it appears so, it is to the credit of my Sisters, who are sincerely devoted to their calling and the Glory of God."

"Of course. It is true that those who are unworthy are...” He fumbled with his beads as he strove to bring order to his thoughts. He sighed and began again. “Mère Léonie, you have accepted a great task here, for it is the Will of God who..."

When Père Guibert fell silent, Mère Léonie folded her hands and waited. There was the unrealized hint of a smile in the curve of her mouth, an air of expectation. “I have taken the liberty of imposing stricter penance than my predecessor did,” she volunteered once the stillness had become intolerable.

"But...” He broke off again. “Do the Sisters acknowledge their sins through their penance?"

"There are a stubborn few. Seur Aungelique was one, but she has bowed to the necessity. Hers is a nature much given to the flesh, and her soul needs purging.” She saw Père Guibert nod. “Seur Elvire is not of a patient disposition, and so I have assigned her to keep the night watches in the hospice chapel, where she may consider her life more calmly. Seur Fleurette is given to folly; I have told her that she must care for the ailing children that the women bring us from the village. Seur Marguerite ... well, God has deprived her of half her wits, and so we must accept her ways. She continues to tend the hives, but I have required that she sing psalms, as she works, to the Praise of God. Seur Philomine is only a tertiary, and I have not the authority to impose upon her, but I would wish to require her to contemplate the suffering of the Saints, that she may be more sure of her vocation or lack of it. Seur Odile is of uneven disposition, and for this she is set to mend clothes and prepare bandages, so that she may soon come to see that it is steadiness in small things that gives merit in Heaven. Seur Lucille, who is advanced in years, has come to believe that she has greater—"

"Mère Léonie,” Père Guibert protested, holding up his hands to stop her. “May God grant you strength for your tasks in years to come equal to what you show now.” He caught himself wanting to reprove her for giving penance, for over the years, he had come to regard that as properly his own work. Mère Jacinthe had left such matters to him, though she might well have done so on her own authority. He felt usurped, and begged God to pardon him for his ambition and vanity. He would have to do penance himself for the resentment Mère Léonie awoke in him. “Let me first hear confession, so that we may discover what improvement your rule has wrought here. If the penances have corrected error, then God will reward you for your diligence, but if there have been lapses, we will decide upon another course."

"As you wish, mon Père,” she said without expression.

In order to mitigate his warning, he went on. “You do not come from France, do you, Mère Léonie?"

She shook her head. “No, mon Père. I am from Dalmatia, that thrives under the banner of the Venetians. My family is distinguished.” She looked away from him. “It is of no consequence here, and it was not for pride that I told you. But I know I am young, and you have reason to question my right to...” She crossed herself. “We have long been devoted to the service of Our Lord."

"Most commendable,” Père Guibert said, delighted to have found that hint of pride in her. He would watch her for more evidence of sin.

"It pleased Heaven to bring me here, to tend to these women in the time of our faith's greatest travail. I do not know what I will do, if Rome is victorious over Avignon in the end.” She wrung her hands, distress in her handsome features. “I look to you for guidance."

This was more the attitude that Père Guibert expected, and his initial impression was mollified. “In your zeal, ma Fille, you bring too great importance to yourself, which is an error. It is not for us, but God to bring humanity to salvation. All we may do is pray for that wonderful fulfillment and live as we were enjoined to live by Our Lord. God sees our lives and His power guides the world. Do you think that He will permit evil to rule forever?"

"No. Not forever.” Mère Léonie crossed herself again. “I thank you, mon Père, for all you have said to me. I will keep your thoughts foremost in my mind. And may le Bon Dieu and la Virge bless us."

"Amen to that, with all my heart,” Père Guibert agreed. He took on a more indulgent manner. “You must not be too anxious, ma Fille,” he added, pleased that he had seen how determined she was to obtain his approval.

"I will pray for tranquility, mon Père,” she vowed. “I wish to impart something of myself to my Sisters. If I am distracted, I will fail as surely as if I were venal and corrupt."

"Oh, that is too harsh, surely,” Père Guibert chided her. “Who among us has been free of the taint of sin? To believe any but Our Lord is so is as great a fault as venality."

"Where there is the greatest sanctity, there is the greatest danger,” she murmured. Then she looked directly at the priest. “Forgive me, mon Père, here we are so much isolated that it is an easy thing to magnify the sins I find around me and respond to them as if they were enough to bring down the world to the fires of Hell itself."

At last Père Guibert permitted himself to relax his guard. “Your devotion is most admirable, especially in so young a woman, but those of us who have been about the world a little longer know that error cannot be uprooted in a day, and we must remain steadfast in our faith, trusting to the Will of God to see us to the Light of His Grace."

Mère Léonie looked toward the crucifix hanging over her prie-dieu. “No; you are right. Evil cannot be uprooted in a day."

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On this first market day of spring, the muddy road from Saunt-Vitre-lo-Sur to Mou Courbet was busy; carts and wagons lumbered along through the deepening ruts, the drivers cursing the various beasts harnessed or yoked to their vehicles. In Saunt-Vitre-lo-Sur a space had been cleared at the center of the village and there the people gathered, as eager for the visit of their neighbors as for the produce and goods that would be offered for sale or trade.

A pasty-faced man on a donkey turned aside at the lane of Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion. When he was near the convent, he dismounted and led the animal toward the hospice entrance where he rang the traveler's bell.

Seur Aungelique answered his summons. “God give you good day, stranger."

"If you and your Sisters will give me a meal and a place to sleep, He certainly will,” was the answer he offered in a sarcastic tone. “I haven't eaten since day before yesterday and my donkey hasn't had anything but what grows by the roadside."

"Then come, stranger. There is food ready and a place to sleep. I will take your donkey to the stable and see that he is fed.” She made the offer almost jubilantly, her eyes shining.

"Thanks,” the man said shortly, and went into the hospice without another look at her.

For a moment, Seur Aungelique was consumed with worry. The notion that had sprung into her mind at the sight of the stranger now seemed daring, even diabolic. But, she thought, the d'Ybert blood had always been wild and those who had it, reckless. A chance like this would not come again, and she was a fool if she let it go by. Resolutely, she dragged the donkey off toward the stables, determination in every line of her body.

By nightfall the village of Saunt-Vitre-lo-Sur was as lively as it had ever been in the last dozen years. Roistering marketers reeled between the squat houses, singing loudly and taunting those who remained indoors. No one paid much attention to the hooded monk on the donkey who passed down the narrow main road toward Avignon, and those who were aware paid the monk as little mind as possible, for the conduct tonight was not fitting for a monk to see.

By the time the Sisters rose for worship, those who had caroused for market day were fallen into heavy sleep.

"Mère Léonie,” Seur Philomine said timidly as she knocked on the door of her Superior's cell. “Forgive my interruption of your prayers, but I fear it is urgent."

Mère Léonie answered sternly, “What is it you require of me that is more important than my devotions?"

"There is trouble, Mère Léonie.” Seur Philomine hated to say it so boldly but could think of no other way to inform her.

"Is it one of the Sisters?” Mère Léonie demanded. “Is someone ill, or worse?"

"Not that, ma Mère,” Seur Philomine said, her courage all but failing her. “It is ... Seur Aungelique."

This time there was a sharper sound in Mère Léonie's response. “What has happened? What of Seur Aungelique?"

"She is ... She is not ... here.” There. She had said it and the worst that could happen now would be facing the brunt of Mère Léonie's displeasure.

The door to Mère Léonie's cell opened abruptly and the Superior, already fully habited and prepared for morning prayers, appeared. “Tell me the whole."

Seur Philomine ducked her head. “It fell to me, Mère Léonie, to wake the others. I had the last vigil in the chapel, and..."

"And?” The question was asked politely but behind it there was an ominous disapproval.

"When I rapped at the door of Seur Aungelique's cell, there was no response. At first this did not alarm me, for there are those who do not leave sleep as easily as others. I waited, as our faith requires, then tried again, more firmly so that it might be heard through slumber."