The Book of Love (22 page)

She went to the window to look out at the fading Tuscan summer sunlight, waiting in the heavy silence that followed. The explosion that Beatrice expected did not come. Finally, Matilda said softly behind her, “I will go with you to Verdun, if only to give Godfrey some peace at the end of his life. I love him, I owe him, and I will give him that. Our Lord said to honor my father and mother, and I will do so.”

She rose suddenly and strode toward the door, anxious to be out of this room and into what was left of the fading Florentine sun, a sun she would be forced to leave behind all too soon. She delivered her final words to her mother over her shoulder.

“For now, you win. But I promise you…only for now.”

Matilda waited until she was in the safety of Isobel’s presence in Santa Trinità to allow herself to show the extremity of her despair.

“How will I bear it, Issy? How will I let such a horrible man touch me? And how will I live without you, and the Master and Conn…and Tuscany?”

Isobel held Matilda and stroked her hair, allowing her to cry for a while before speaking in the strong yet gentle manner that had always calmed her charge.

“There are things in life that must be borne, Matilda. And when they occur, we must surrender to them as God’s will. Our prayer says ‘
thy
will be done’ and not ‘
my
will be done’ for a reason. What have I taught you about such things?”

Matilda wiped her hands over her face. She would be deeply challenged in her spirituality now to find the sense in this current situation. “That the day will come when I will see the wisdom in God’s plan, even though I cannot dream of seeing it today.”

Isobel nodded. “Correct. For when you accept that you are here for the express purpose of carrying out God’s plan, you will never know a day of pain. Surrender to it, Matilda. He is the great architect. We are merely the builders who carry out his plans, and we must do it by laying one stone at a time, just as he directs us. When we do this, we ultimately see that we are building something beautiful and enduring, just as the master architect in Lucca did while reconstructing San Martino. Clearly, God wants you to go to Lorraine as part of your destiny. Who knows what it is that you will find there?”

“It will not be the sacred union of the beloveds with a hunchback, I can tell you that.”

“I know, Tilda. And I’m so sorry that your first experience with a man will not be one of true love. But I promise you that one day you will find that kind of love and it will be all that you have dreamed of and worthy of any wait.”

“How do you know that, Issy? What hope is there, when at twenty-three I shall be married to a hunchback? I will be an old woman by the time that I am rid of him. If I am ever rid of him. May God forgive me.”

“I can promise you this because the prophecy says it specifically.” Isobel grew stern with her. “You either believe in the prophecies or you do not. But you cannot have it both ways, Matilda. You either are The Expected One, or you are not. And if you are, then you will fulfill your destiny according to the words of our prophetess: you will build important shrines for the Way to preserve our legacy, and you will know a very great love. Take comfort in that and find your faith, child. It will save you, when the times are bleakest.

“But for now, you must accept this trial, just as our Lord accepted his own trials. Surely, in comparison, being asked to wed a duke and live in luxury cannot be so bad.”

When put in that context, it was hard to despair of one’s fate and not feel terribly selfish. The Master was fond of asking Matilda, when she was feeling sorry for herself for one reason or another, “Is anyone approaching you or your loved ones with a large cross and iron nails? Because if that is not the case, you have little enough to complain about.”

The Master had lectured her often on the sacrifices not only of the Lord but also of his mother and his wife, who had to endure the pain of witnessing his final ordeal. They had debated well into the night, more than once, just which of those fates was more noble—the lot of the sacrificial lamb, or those who were left behind to carry the memory of his ordeal into the future. It was a question that had no answer but that never failed to inspire worthy discussion among people of spirit.

Isobel had an idea. “Come tomorrow morning, just after sunrise, to the Oltrarno. I will see to it that the Master is there, and we will work through this.”

On the other side of the river, called the Oltrarno, the Order possessed property in a more secluded area that was blissfully not under the immediate scrutiny of all eyes in Florence. Someone as recognizable and popular as Matilda could not simply walk unnoticed through a city such as this. When they were within the walls of the property at Santa Trinitá, they had privacy. But for other things, they had to get out of the city.

So it was for her that the Order built a labyrinth out of stone and brick across the river, which the Master had used for Matilda’s education over the years. It had become her greatest refuge.

“You need to walk this through in the labyrinth, Tilda.
Solvitur Ambulando
.”

Matilda nodded.
Solvitur ambulando
meant “it is solved by walking,” and it was an integral part of their teachings from the labyrinth. For Matilda had been taught that the labyrinth was a perfectly constructed device. It was created through the combined wisdom of Solomon and Sheba, a sublime indication of how beloveds can manifest great mira
cles through shared spirit. It was given to man as a means of accessing God most directly through inner listening. Walking the labyrinth gave the prayerful person ears to hear, so that upon reaching the center, the messages of God could be heard and understood most clearly. It was a walking prayer, a dance of meditation that brought the mind, body, and spirit together in a singularly powerful understanding. It was through the labyrinth that Solomon gained his legendary wisdom.

Perhaps Matilda would find her strength in the morning, once she listened to God in the center of the labyrinth. It had never failed her before. The six-petaled flower at the center of this labyrinth was her favorite place on earth, the safest, sweetest location ever created. Tomorrow she would go there in search of herself, her future, and God’s otherwise indiscernible will.

The summer sunrise over the Arno was a sweet play of golden light. Matilda paused to take it in, breathing in the beauty of her beloved Tuscany and allowing the tears to slide down her face as she did so. The rivers of this region—the Arno, the Po, the Serchio—they truly did run through her veins. To be deprived of them for any period of time, much less the years she would no doubt be required to live in Lorraine, was a hellish sentence. Perhaps it was even worse than being forced to marry a hunchback. She could almost stand that particular horror if she could at least do so while living in Tuscany.

But that was not to be. For whatever divine reasons, God had decreed that Matilda would both marry the hunchback and be separated from her homeland. Now she would try to understand why and, within that understanding, surrender to that will.

Isobel was waiting for her at the gate that separated the Order’s property from the main road. A copse of trees further shielded the sacred space from prying eyes, and they walked through the path, which Matilda could traverse with her eyes closed, so well did she know it and so much did she love it. The path ended at a clearing, where the enormous labyrinth had been carefully constructed utilizing Solomon and
Sheba’s principles, with brick and stone inlayed into the dirt to create the eleven circuitous pathways into the center. While Solomon’s original labyrinth contained a perfectly round center, this version had been carefully constructed to culminate in a six-petaled rose, the symbol of the Book of Love as designed by the messiah himself. The labyrinth was now a miraculous hybrid of the wisdom teachings of Solomon the Great combined with the central prayer of his descendant, Jesus Christ.

The Master was in the center upon Matilda’s arrival, on his knees and deep in prayer. Fra Patricio, the young Calabrian protégé, smiled at Matilda from the entrance. She greeted him quietly, not wanting to disturb the Master in his meditation but happy to see Patricio. They had been raised together in the secrets of the Order, sitting side by side at the foot of the Master. They had quizzed each other and studied together, played memorization games that allowed each of them to commit the Book of Love and the prophecies of the Libro Rosso to memory. Together they studied Solomon’s intricate and divinely inspired architectural drawings for creating temple spaces as they had been handed down for inclusion in the Book of Love. These were the most intense and difficult lessons, and studying this with a partner made processing the information easier. Both children proved so adept at the temple drawings that the Master commented on many occasions that either of these children could become most memorable architects.

They competed good-naturedly for the attention and praise of the Master, and sometimes not so good-naturedly as they learned to submerge their egos in the learning. Patricio had become the brother that Matilda had lost as an infant. The Master teased them that they were two halves of the same mind. Leaving Patricio would be wrenching to her soul.

The Master walked the eleven circuits out, bowing deeply to the labyrinth when he reached the exit-entrance. He walked the extra paces toward them, kneeling to touch the iron ring that was embedded in the dirt. With closed eyes, he thanked the Lady of the Labyrinth for her gifts and moved to embrace Matilda.

“Welcome, my daughter.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “This is in
deed a glorious morning, for the will of God makes itself known to us. I shall reserve my understandings until you have first found your own.
Solvitur ambulando
, child. Go and speak to your Creator.” He gestured broadly to the labyrinth. Isobel, Patricio, and the Master stepped away from it at a discreet distance to allow Matilda sole use of the space. There were times when they all walked it together, when it was a beautiful dance of camaraderie and sharing. But this morning was for her alone. She thanked them all and then approached the iron ring in the ground. She got on her knees to give thanks to the Lady of the Labyrinth. Through time, the Lady had many guises, for she was the divine feminine, the essence of love and compassion, the female beloved who completes the male through their union of love and spirit, trust and consciousness. She was Ariadne, she was Sheba, she was Magdalena, she was Asherah.

In honor of Ariadne, Matilda plucked a long strand of copper hair out of her head and tied it in a bridal knot on the iron ring in imitation of the thread that saved Theseus.

As she approached the entrance of the great space, she remembered what the Master had said to her all those years ago when she first entered. “There is no right way to walk a labyrinth, and there is no wrong way. There is only your way. Go at the pace that your soul dictates, and stay true to your path.”

Taking several deep breaths to clear her mind, Matilda entered the labyrinth. She walked slowly today, deliberately, watching her feet as they traveled the circuits, willing herself to let go of all the noise that filled her brain from the waking, conscious world. For her, the kinesthetic aspects of the labyrinth were the greatest balm to her mind. She was not skilled at sitting still in prayer or meditation for long periods of contemplation; she was far too restless a spirit for such quietude. Most humans are. But in the labyrinth, she could move, and think and feel, all at the same time. It was the most glorious form of prayer imaginable.

Breathing, purging, walking, following the winding paths; letting go of all the dross, telling God that she wanted nothing more than to
hear his voice clearly and know his will so that she could follow it. As she reached the sanctified center, the holy of holies, the place of the temple and tabernacle, she fell to her knees and asked God to speak to her. There were days when she came here to work through the Pater Noster and the six primary teachings of the Lord’s Prayer, in each of the petals. But this morning she did not do this. She had chosen to walk with a purpose, and that purpose was to understand her destiny.

God did not make her wait long. A vision awaited her in the center of the labyrinth.

Matilda was riding through a lush and verdant forest. In spite of herself, she had to acknowledge the beauty of the place. Patricio was by her side, had ridden out with her when she needed to get away from Verdun. They had ridden hard, as being on horseback was one of the few places where Matilda could find refuge here. And as there was no labyrinth, riding was her only means of escape, an opportunity to move and think at the same time.

They stopped when they came upon a small pond fed by a stream, so that they might water the horses and take some of the bread and cheese that Matilda had packed for their lunch. Patricio led the horses to the stream. Something compelled Matilda to walk on, toward what appeared to be a clearing up ahead. Something drew her that she could not explain at first. And then she heard it: the sound of a young girl’s voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but she knew it was a child. Was the child speaking to her? Calling out to her? She heard the girl giggle as she came closer to the clearing.

Beams of late afternoon sun glittered through the trees, bouncing off what appeared to be a pool of water just ahead. Enticed, she moved toward it. It was a well, or a cistern, wide enough for several men to bathe in at once. Leaning over to gaze into the water, Matilda was struck by the feeling of fathomless depths, that this well was sacred and ran deep into the earth.

The water was quite still, and then the tiniest ripple broke the surface. A wave of golden light began to suffuse the well and the area surrounding it. As she looked into the water, an image began to take shape. The scene was a beautiful valley, lush and green with trees and flowers. She watched as if looking into a scrying mirror, as a rain of golden drops fell from the sky, gilding everything in the vision. Soon the valley was flowing with rivers of gold, and the trees were covered with it. Everything glittered all around her with the rich warm light of liquid ore.