The Seer and the Scribe (31 page)

Volmar was now a smudge in the blurry drifts of snow that relentlessly fell about her. She did not have the heart to tell him of her own visions, those that foresaw the return of the lost father of his youth. This she knew to be Volmar's most persistent life story, and one she
knew would surely end in tragedy. And yet, there was more to Volmar's story, another man she could not identify, his role still shrouded in mystery.

Hildegard shivered uncontrollably, longing for the warmth and certainty of the heavenly light. She could not call upon a vision, it had to seek her out, and for the moment she felt like an empty vessel, wanting and abandoned. Deliberately, she brought the fingers Volmar had kissed to her lips. Was she deceiving herself? Could Disibodenberg be her safe spiritual harbor, or was she merely accepting a future as a caged bird? In time would her song fade perhaps to a whimper?

It was so tempting to run away with Volmar. Wouldn't their life together be so much more than the prospect of being locked away in a damp and cold Anchorage attending to the self-inflicted wounds of her Anchoress? Could she survive such a dismal future?

Hildegard felt for the herbal remedies in the pouch under her habit. In all the turmoil, she'd forgotten the reason for her mission. Their crushed leaves and seeds had the power to heal, and yet Jutta resented her efforts and made each of her attempts to restore her to health a lost cause. She contemplated her breath as it escaped in great wisps of smoke. Are not all the arts serving human desires and needs derived from the breath that God sent into the human body? God gave her, a female, a peculiar charge to use her mind, her hands, and her music to reach Him, and by example inspire others to do so. And yet, He also gave her a singular vision that alienated others and set her at odds even with her own Anchoress. If she hadn't been given to the church, surely she would have been locked away as mad, or worse, burned as a witch. The enclosure ceremony formally confirmed what her unique gifts had always dictated: She could only survive here, at an Anchorage, locked away and on the thin, fragile border between this life and the life hereafter.

Hildegard lingered outside the ice-coated wood-framed window. Behind the leather flap, she heard the deep, steady sleeping sounds of Jutta and Hiltrud's less elegant snoring. Both were blissfully oblivious to the chaos going on around them. They knew nothing of Matthias's murder or the Holy Relic and nothing of the love deepening between her and Volmar. Was this how her life would be? A life lived in the midst of others, yet always separate and lonely?

Volmar in his anguish had rebuked her high-minded, reclusive life. As he put it, “Is what I'm feeling towards you so unnatural that it should be considered a sin?” Had she been too hasty in making the decision to stay the course and not give in to love and stray from her vows? And yet, there was also something to be said for love from afar; love without hope of consummation. Could this be love in its purest sense?

There was an unexpected noise behind her, footsteps of one trying not to be detected. She turned around a moment too late. In an instant, a large cold hand seized her wrists and knotted her arms behind her back; a sharp knife pressed at her throat. A deep voice whispered fanatically into her right ear. “Boy, where is the Holy Relic? I saw you conspiring with Volmar. I must have it now!”

Hildegard knew who her assailant was even though she could not see him. She detected a strong smell of distrust emanating from him towards all human beings. Rudegerus must have witnessed Volmar and her leaving the altar of Saint Peter and stalked them, hoping they had the Holy Relic, which could save his life. She sensed that Rudegerus's soul was in a stupefied sleep and did not know what his flesh was doing. A demon was warping him into insanity and was moving his limbs outwardly with its clever ways. God had allowed this to happen because of the man's own arrogance. Somehow she must confound this malevolent spirit.

Indignantly, Hildegard lowered her voice, attempting to sound like a boy, and answered him deliberately. “Sir, if you let go of my hands, I shall give you what you deserve.”

Rudegerus had plunged so far into madness he'd lost all sense of reason. He relented, dropping his knife to his side and waited as Hildegard reached inside her habit. She fingered the leather pouch of herbs she'd stolen earlier from the Infirmary for Jutta. “Lord, help me,” she whispered before flinging a fistful of herbs into the shocked face of Rudegerus.

The terrified monk let out a yelp and cried, “My eyes! What have you done to my eyes, you fiend!”

Hildegard wasted no time. She lifted the leather flap of the Anchorage's window and within seconds slipped through into safety.

By the time Rudegerus opened his stinging eyes, his victim had disappeared without a trace. He held his face upward, welcoming the cold
flakes of falling snow as they soothed the burning sensation in his eyes and growled bitterly at God.

Stable at Disibodenberg Monastery

6
^th
of November, Lauds

Bells of Prime would ring in less than two hours. Rudegerus's existence, Volmar reasoned, however miserable, was not beyond redemption. Inaction was not the answer to this frightful predicament. Volmar quickened his steps, determined to uncover this nest of serpents. The heavy snowfall made his hike back up the hill more arduous. Halfway up, he paused and spread his arms wide. He twirled about several times, lifting his head to the heavens, tasting the cold flakes of snow and thanked the Holy Spirit for Sister Hildegard's safe return to the Anchorage and for her professed love towards him, even if it was of a spiritual nature only. And he also prayed for guidance.

Volmar stomped the snow from his boots as he entered the stable. Several men were standing on the edge of a cart, under Matthias's corpse. As one held a burning torch aloft to shed light, another one supported the body, and the other one cut the rope. Matthias's body collapsed with a heavy thud onto a cloth. Conversation in the stable fell silent out of respect for the fallen knight, as one of the men wrapped his body in a clean cloth.

The Magistrate raised his hand to keep the silence and announced in a voice well accustomed to diplomacy and leadership, “Matthias's body will not be desecrated in any way. In my educated opinion, I believe we have been called at this early hour to investigate a heinous crime of murder, not suicide. Matthias's body will be carefully laid out in the Infirmary where it will be further examined by Brother Paulus and our own learned village physician. Perhaps this examination will throw further light on this dreadful mystery.”

Abbot Burchard looked visibly relieved to hear the Magistrate declare this verdict, the same as his own. The heavy wheels of the wagon jerked forward as the sturdy mules strained and tugged, pulling the wagon through a snowdrift, its wooden wheels crunching on the crisp surface.

Several horses suddenly entered the courtyard beside the stable's entrance. The steam rising from their nostrils and panting mouths made it difficult to make out their exact number. The soldier who seemed to be the leader of this search party dismounted and went directly to report their progress to the Magistrate.

“Quite a storm . . . I'm surprised to see you back so soon. Any luck?” the Magistrate said, his voice almost silenced by the howling wind.

“We've been tracking two horses all night. Come to find we've fallen for a simple ruse.”
⁹¹

“Explain yourself,” Wolfe said, trying to keep his disappointment at bay.

“Men, you may all take a break.” The leader dismissed the others with a wave. Turning to his superior, he said with little emotion, “I will do better than explain myself, I will show you. Come.” Volmar approached with the others, noting all but one of the search team had dismounted. The leader walked up to the powerful warhorse and took its reins from his sergeant. The man left in its saddle was slumped forward, his face indistinguishable under the wrappings of woolens.

The chatter slowed down, then all the voices around died. There was a brief moment of bewilderment. The Magistrate put his arm on the Abbot and the two watched as the sergeant hoisted himself up into the saddle and pulled off the mysterious rider's woolens. In the light of the torches Volmar saw the poor man's face. It was the very image of death—rigid, taut, and dry, the color of his cheeks yellowing into shades of brown, like a bruise. The eyes were fixed, staring sightlessly at the audience who beheld him with shock. The Abbot and Volmar crossed themselves.

Volmar approached the body and slipped the leather glove off the dead man's right hand. He could see the man was missing both his forefinger and half of his middle finger. He turned to the Magistrate. “Justice has been only partly secured. This is the body of the murderer's accomplice. I believe his name was Donato.”

Infirmary at Disibodenberg Monastery

6
^th
of November, Lauds

“H
is companion did in fact call him Donato. He, like Matthias, was a brother of the Knights Hospitaller. He spoke with an Italian accent and fondly recalled his family in Florence.” Paulus drew up the sleeve on the dead man's arm and showed the severe cut he'd bandaged. “I dressed this wound on Saturday. This man's so-called friend had cut him while sparring outside my Infirmary.”

“Do you know the name of his dueling companion?” the Magistrate asked. His brows were knitted intently after instructing his men to lay the two soldiers out on the stone slabs in Paulus's laboratory.

“His name is Ulrich, and he too belonged to the secret order of the Knight's Hospitaller of Saint John. Both were paying guests here at Disibodenberg.” Paulus decided to leave Sophie's ordeal out of the discussion for the time being. She had been through enough torment for a while, and even if she could be awakened, he knew she would be in no condition to answer questions. “Ulrich has, in my opinion, the temperament of a python, docile and placid until he feels in danger. Then he will strike with a vengeance. As you know, despite an owner's affection, snakes will not build a relationship with people. These two had been on the road for years, and you see what Ulrich has done to his friend.”

Volmar bent over Donato's corpse for another moment, seeing the same clean, expert wound as Atif's in this man's heart. “He tried to warn me, but I didn't really listen.” He backed off. It was hard to believe that all this had happened within the past two days. “Three deaths,” he whispered in disbelief, “a devil's triangle. Father,” Volmar said, lightly touching the Abbot's shoulder. Abbot Burchard jerked
from the touch but instantly relaxed upon seeing Brother Volmar. “Father, could I have a moment with you? I must speak with you—it is urgent.”

Volmar took the Abbot's arm and led him to the common room by the roaring fire, well out of hearing range. He gave the details of what he observed and overheard while hiding in the secret chamber, and then he paused. “Father, there is more, but I must beg your forgiveness first before I reveal how I found out.”

“Brother Volmar, please tell me that you have not engaged in wrongful acts trying to unravel this murder.” His voice was both sharp and protective.

“I have not; but you see, Sister Hildegard . . .” Volmar began.

“Oh dear, what is it with you two and having to abide by the dictates of the church's rules? Is the Holy Relic safe?”

“It is, Father. But Sister Hildegard is the one who has been visiting the Infirmary late at night.”

“Go on, I am listening,” the Abbot said sternly, focusing on the crown of thorns carved on his Savior's head on the crucifix which hung around his neck.

“Sister Jutta endangered her health so much that she required immediate medical attention. Sister Hildegard disguised herself as a monk and went between Compline and Matins to find the herbs she needed to concoct the healing remedies which have strengthened and returned a modicum of health to our Anchoress.”

“I see. To her credit, she is a young woman of action. So, last night on one of her Infirmary pilgrimages, she must have seen something, for it is between those hours when the Magistrate feels the hanging took place.”

“She actually saw very little, but she overheard a great deal. She was hiding in very close proximity to the stable doors, so she was able to eavesdrop on the conversation between Matthias and the man whom we suspect to be Ulrich.” Volmar went on and explained the link between Brother Gerard's desire to retrieve the Spear of Longinus and his plan to move the Knights Hospitaller of Saint John from Palestine to the island of Malta. Abbot Burchard listened intently. Volmar also told of the chance meeting he'd overheard in the sanctuary between Ulrich and Brother Rudegerus, and the fact that Rudegerus's life was in considerable danger because he did not possess the Holy Relic.

“You are right, it doesn't bode well for our own misguided brother.” The Abbot rubbed his brow. “He is acting stranger than usual out of guilt, I am sure of it; but guilt over what exactly?”

“I do not know. Ulrich must have been sorely upset when he did not find the Holy Relic on Matthias's person and now feels that Rudegerus knows something of its whereabouts, which we know is not true.”

“Nevertheless, Volmar, Rudegerus's life has been threatened, and we must do everything in our power to protect him.”

“I know. That's why I've come up with a plan,” Volmar continued, explaining how he was going to entrap the murderer.

The Abbot nodded a firm assent. “I'll explain it all to the Magistrate, and we will be there at the well at Prime. Go with my blessing, my son. But be careful, we are dealing with a man who would think nothing of taking a human life to satisfy his own personal greed.”

The Magistrate eyed the two suspiciously as he approached and cleared his voice loudly. “More revelations?” he asked, studying Volmar's features, as if looking for answers to a much deeper, more inscrutable question.