A Mortal Glamour (43 page)

"I thank you for her, mon Père,” Seur Adalin responded with proper deference.

"Then who will take her place? Is one of the Sisters ready to confess now?” He hoped it was not Seur Aungelique; that young woman had turned increasingly sullen with her advancing pregnancy.

"Seur Catant would like to speak to you,” Seur Adalin informed him.

"Speak to me?—this is time for confession, and it would be well that she rid herself of her sins.” He was aware that Seur Catant would be willing to repeat all the slights, real and imagined, she had endured over the last few weeks, and praise her own forbearance in dealing with her catty Sisters. He could feel her bristle with indignation as she came to stand in the door. With a deep breath that just missed being a sigh, he motioned her to come forward. “Enter, ma Fille. I will hear your confession in the name of the Trinity."

Seur Catant's face was drawn. “It is not a confession for myself, mon Père, except that I believe that if I say nothing, I will sin as much as my Sister has, if not more, and I will expose the rest of the convent to diabolical hazards.” She came up to him, but did not kneel. Her voice was higher than usual today, and the rasping edge of it more pronounced.

"It is for your Sister to confess her sins, not for you to report her in this way,” he pointed out, hoping to avert her latest recitation of abuses.

"She would, if her soul were her own and she could speak openly, but she cannot. She is in the thrall of the demon. I tell you, the demon is here, it has been here from the first. Nothing you nor Padre Bartolimieu nor that Évêque Amalrie has done has changed it. I know that the demon is here and that he possesses the nuns who live and serve here as his own concubines, and they protect him and guard him as they once guarded their chastity. Now they are caught up in the toils of the flesh and if I love them as my Sisters, I must speak. Mustn't I?” At last she sank to her knees and waited for him to answer.

Reluctantly, Père Guibert blessed her. “What is it that troubles you, ma Fille?"

"It has happened for several nights, and each time, I have resolved to tell you, and each time I have relented. Now, you are about to leave, and if I say nothing, it will be the worse for all of us."

"Yes; yes. You've made that plain to me,” he assured her. “What have you seen that causes you this distress? Is it something that you have heard the other nuns discuss, or have you more ... certainty than that?"

Seur Catant hesitated once more, her breath coming more quickly. “It is always late when this happens. It is always very late, so that no one can know of it. I sleep poorly because of the pains in my shoulders, and because my cell is across the corridor, I have heard what has transpired."

"Across the corridor?” Père Guibert inquired, expecting to hear other names than Seur Ranegonde's.

"Yes, my Sister who suffers terribly with fever has another, more terrible complaint. I pity her so for her failing health, and now this, that a demon should rob her of her tranquility in these days...” She paused to shake her head to show how great her sympathy was for Seur Ranegonde. “This demon has taken her and used her; he continues to use her, and she to suffer the damnable embraces of the hellish thing."

Père Guibert could not keep from wondering how long Seur Catant had thought about her revelation, and how carefully she might have planned this talk, so eloquent were her words. “But you say that this continues, late at night?"

"Yes, it continues. The demon comes, and although she protests, she does not deny him once he has gained access to her cell.” She almost smiled, but was able to contain herself sufficiently to appear cast down.

"Then you have seen this ... demon?” He watched her closely. “You have actually seen the demon enter her cell? How could you be sure it was not a lover?” He hoped it was simply that; he would not fault Seur Ranegonde for finding a little pleasure with death hovering so near her in the fever that continued to weaken her. It would be a sin, and one that he would need to require her to confess and repent, but that was minor, compared to being the consort of a demon.

"If he is a lover, he is most strange, for there is no one in Saunt-Vitre or in Mou Courbet who resembles him. I asked the cowherd if he has seen such a man, and he said he had not.” This was announced with satisfaction. “I am not one to be deceived by village youths looking for an idle hour's entertainment. I know that such men must find access to the convent through various doors, and that the doors may be watched. I have taken it upon myself,” she went on with real pride, “to follow this demon when he has left, to see which door he used. He has never left the convent. Yet no one has found him."

"Perhaps he has hidden in the hospice?” Père Guibert suggested. “There are many rooms there that remain empty, and it would be an easy thing for an enterprising lad to find a way in and not take the risk of leaving."

"But what of food and water? What does the creature live upon?” She flung back her head, her coif slipping precariously. “Unless there are other nuns here who are taking what little food we have and giving it to him? Do you think they would do such a thing?"

"It is not impossible, but no, I do not think they have done so. I doubt very much that there is anyone in the hospice, but I will order the whole building searched, to end such suspicions at last.” He would have been glad to be able to do that at once, but Seur Catant was not finished with him. “I have heard such things from their trysts that I am ashamed to hear, or to admit I have heard.” She crossed herself, licking her thin lips as she did. “There are such things said and done that my shame at hearing them has kept me awake until the dawn, when my prayers have banished them from my mind until later, when they occur again.” Her eyes grew brighter. “I am ashamed now to tell you of it."

"You need not speak, ma Fille,” Père Guibert ventured, trusting that she would not persist, but knowing he would be disappointed.

"It is disgusting what they say and do, to hear her cry aloud for his touch and his organ, saying she has no will to keep him away.” She rocked back and forth on her knees, teetering occasionally when she moved too far. Her coif bounced on her head, flapping as if a wounded bird had settled there.

"Seur Catant ... ma Fille—” He was cut off before he could find the suitable phrases to calm her.

"She welcomes him, and her soul is made foul with his touches. She takes him and he possesses her!” With a strange gurgling shout, she hurled herself on her side, kicking out so that her habit bunched around her waist. “It is me he wants, me me ME! But he takes her because I have resisted him. It is my faith that has saved me, no matter how he longs for me."

Père Guibert rose, very much alarmed. “Seur Catant! You must not behave in this way! Take heart and courage, ma Fille! Do not succumb to this possession. You may entreat le Virge to give you her aid, and you will be yourself again.” He was already backing away from her, too perplexed to do more than talk. He blessed her and said a hurried prayer in an undervoice.

"What is this?” Seur Adalin cried out as she came through the door. At the sight of Seur Catant, she halted. “Again? What has come over this woman?"

Père Guibert looked down at her. “Évêque Amalrie would say it was a demon entering her and turning her from God.” He had not been able to believe that, not after watching her. “He wishes to find demons everywhere, Évêque Amalrie. He wants to discover them in all things."

"What should I do, mon Père?” Seur Adalin asked as she stared down at Seur Catant who twitched and writhed on the floor. A thin line of foam had come to her lips and her tongue protruded.

"You had best send for Seur Morgance. She knows the Falling Sickness; her father and brother suffer from it. Also find Seur Odile to sing to her, so that she will not be harmed by any malignant things that hover in the air waiting to seize the afflicted and do them harm.” He sighed, thinking that the burden was growing too great. He would be wholly soured on his work in another year or so it if showed so little improvement in his flock. “I will stay with her until Seur Morgance arrives. The Falling Sickness is very ancient, Seur Adalin. In time, she will be herself again."

"If you say it is so, mon Père...” She started away, then said to him over her shoulder, “While Seur Catant is being attended to, would you wish to hear Seur Tiennette's confession in the refectory?"

Grateful for this opportunity to get away, he agreed at once, adding, “And I must speak to Mère Léonie. Seur Catant must be placed in another cell for a time. She has convinced herself that Seur Ranegonde has taken the demon for a lover, and one with the Falling Sickness must not be ... encouraged to such notions.” He moved a bit nearer Seur Catant, noticing that the froth on her mouth was tinged pink from where she had bitten her tongue. Her thrashings increased and her eyes had rolled up in her head. Gingerly he knelt beside her and made the sign of the cross. “God and la Virge protect this unfortunate, who languishes in the throes of the Falling Sickness, and has seen visions sent to her by the Devil to torment her to fits.” As he continued, he hoped ardently that Seur Morgance would come quickly.

The old sow had littered in the night; before Seur Philomine found her shortly after morning prayers, she had eaten most of three of her piglets and the two that remained were not sucking as they should. Seur Philomine gazed at the pigs in mounting dismay: the convent was counting on having enough pork to see them through the early winter. Even if they slaughtered the sow as well as the remaining piglets, they would fall far short of what was needed. After putting other food in for the sow and removing the pitiful bodies of the piglets, she hurried away to find Mère Léonie.

The Superior was just coming from the storerooms under the refectory. “I know,” she was saying to Seur Victoire, “that new habits are in short supply, and there are not enough to issue on to all the Sisters on the Feast of Saunt Bavon. There is not enough new wool to make sufficient habits for all of us by then, but we must try, ma Seur. You will choose three other Sisters, who are adept at the loom and the needle, and you will set to work to make the habits as soon as may be. That will mean that only one or two of us need go without for next year.” She gave such a determined smile that Seur Victoire did her best to return it.

"I will speak to the others at once,” she assured her Superior, then added, “Seur Marguerite is adept with the needle, but during the day she will not leave her bees. If I entrust work to her for the evening, she will not have time to keep vigil."

Mère Léonie shook her head slightly. “Poor Seur Marguerite. Her whole world is the hive, now. Well, she harms no one and we need the honey. I think Our Lord would permit me to stretch a point and consider her hours at the hive her vigil, for she keeps it with a devotion I could wish the others demonstrated.” She had motioned Seur Philomine to wait when the tertiary Sister approached, but now she gave her a nod. “What is it, Seur Philomine? You may be about your tasks, Seur Victoire."

Seur Victoire gave Seur Philomine a terse greeting as she passed. Her habit brushed the floor, disturbing the dust and causing Seur Philomine to sneeze as she began to speak.

"May Our Lord guard you,” Mère Léonie said automatically. “You appear concerned, ma Seur. What is it that troubles you, will you tell me here, or must it be discussed in private?"

"It is about the sow,” Seur Philomine answered. “You may discuss it wherever it suits you."

"Then you will accompany me. I must go to Seur Catant and see how she is faring today. It is a pity about her tongue, but Seur Morgance could not stop her from biting it off, no matter how she tried.” She walked more swiftly, her long-legged, clean stride making Seur Philomine trot beside her to keep up. “I suppose that Évêque Amalrie, or Padre Bartolimieu for that matter, would say that it was fit punishment for a woman who spread slanders and gossip, but...” She did not finish her thoughts.

Seur Philomine could think of nothing to say. “The piglets ... there are two left, and they are weaklings. This litter may not be all we had hoped it would. I would like to speak with the swineherd in Mou Courbet about getting two or three piglets, so that we will have pork in the autumn."

Mère Léonie turned her head and regarded Seur Philomine curiously. “What have we to give the swineherd for his piglets? We have had no travelers here, and there are no donations. We have very little cloth because we have so little wool, and we may not trade that, since we need it here. There are fewer trees bearing in the orchard, you know for yourself that the herbs and vegetables are not doing well, and our fields do not thrive."

"He might give us one or two for a dispensation of some sort. Père Guibert could arrange it, couldn't he?” She was troubled by the attitude of the Superior, who appeared to her to be pleased with the situation. “Do you want us all to starve come Christmas, ma Mère?"

"What a question!” Mère Léonie said with an angry titter. “No, I do not wish to see you or anyone starve. You have been too much in the heat today, ma Seur, and would do well to retire to your cell until you are calmer.” She had reached the narrow stairs that led to the second level where Seur Catant was now kept. “Do you come with me, or do you go to pray?"

"I will see Seur Catant later, when I have had time to compose myself,” Seur Philomine answered in her most demure attitude. “I beg your pardon, ma Mère, if you believe that I offended you. I am distressed by what I see here, and I wish to remedy it in whatever way I can. This may cause me to speak in a way that is not becoming in an Assumptionist Sister, but for that I may only offer my concern as an excuse.” She knew it was the proper thing to say, and if Mère Léonie accepted her apology, she would be unusually fortunate.

"Pray for the afternoon, ma Seur, and we will speak again of this.” She started up the stairs, then said to Seur Philomine. “You are not like the rest, you know. They have strong feelings about me, all of them. Except you. Why is that?"

Seur Philomine modified her reply, not wishing to add to her difficulties with her Superior. “I am a tertiary Sister, ma Mère, and my vocation is not established. It may be that because of this, I am not as much at one with the others and you as the rest of the Sisters."