Women in the Wall (24 page)

“I’ll look after her,” said Agnes. “Just help me get her to the sick cell.”

Alone with Ingunda, Agnes studied the delirious face as she had not dared to do before, looking for resemblances Fridovigia had claimed to find.

“Your mother’s nose,” Fridovigia had said. Was it? Perhaps. “His eyes! Blackberry eyes and she has a dimple when she laughs like your father’s father whom you wouldn’t remember, but…” Memory permeated
Fridovigia’
s
emotions and, now that there was no Fridovigia left, carried those emotions along with it when summoned. Scrappy images from Agnes’s own half-forgotten childhood and Ingunda’s unknown one mingled like coloured beads in a shaken container: the marbled villa, the peasant’s hut, a ball-game played with some faceless companions, a stretch of vaguely perceived mosaic where dolphins swam among geometric patterns, water, geese—why geese? Ah, Fridovigia had said “They’ve put her to minding geese.” Yes. Had they been rough with her? They would have been. They were rough. But it would have been their norm and hers too. She would not have been aware of suffering particularly. Now, perhaps because of that roughness, Ingunda was hard to get to know. A peasant. Were peasant responses different? How? More limited? Extreme? Or only slow? Fridovigia had said they had those throaty voices from shouting at each other across fields and into the wind. Must one shout at them to be heard? Or was their deafness protective? A blocking out? The girl was asleep now, drugged by the second infusion the dispensary sister had managed to make her swallow. Agnes touched her face.

Ingunda recoiled. “No!” she cried, “No!” She tossed and clawed at the sheet. “Don’t. It’s not my fault. Not mine … They’ve raped her! She’s all torn … But how could we … Don’t touch me.”

Thinking of her foster-sister. Agnes sat down. Time passed. Her own mind lapsed into emptiness then was jerked back. Ingunda was moving again. The drug was wearing off. She spoke a few phrases. Clearly and precisely. Her diction was perfect, her vocabulary good, but Agnes could make no sense of her ravings.

“Soup,” whispered Ingunda.

Agnes leaned close. “Do you want some?”

“Please, Merofled, don’t look at me like that! Take some. It’s not my fault. It’s made with meat. Her mind’s gone,” said Ingunda distinctly. “She’ll never be the same again. None of them will—not even me. We’re like that pot. Cracked. No, don’t throw it away. It’ll serve. It can hold dry beans.” Then she broke into a nonsense-rhyme, a skipping song. And in a little girl’s voice: “They don’t want to play with me. They don’t like me. But it’s not my fault …”

Agnes tried putting a hand on Ingunda’s forehead and this time was not pushed away. For a while Ingunda was quiet, then said very calmly and as though she had
pondered
this: “They’ve thrown me out.” Then seemed to sob.

“Ingunda!” Agnes stroked the girl’s cheek. “Please, stop it. Please!”

Ingunda looked at her. Her eyes focused, gathering clarity. “Mother Agnes,” she recognized. “Why are you crying?”

“For you,” said Agnes incautiously.

The eyes clouded with almost suspect speed. A tremor shifted across them. “Oh God,” Ingunda groaned. “I can’t, bear any more.” She turned, tossed herself onto her stomach and hid her face.

*

[
A.D
. 584]

At
this
time
a
son
was
born
to
King
Chilperic
who
sent
him
to
be
brought
up
on
a
country
estate
where
he
might
be
safe
from
sorcerers
…
That
same
year
Chilperic
was
mur
dered
by
an
unknown
man
,
and
King
Guntram
of
Burgundy,
establishing
the
infant
,
Clotair,
over
his
father
’
s
kingdom
,
made
himself
its
regent.
Guntram
was
now
the
most
powerful
man
in
Gaul
but
his
power
was
not
to
go
unchallenged.

A
group
of
nobles,
made
restive
by
the
overweening
conduct
of
the
kings,
now
brought
the
Pretender,
Gundovald
,
to
Gaul
where
bishops
and
leading
men
from
all
three
kingdoms
rallied
to
his
cause.
At
news
that
Guntram
had
sent
an
army
to
crush
the
Pretender
,
many
of
these
,
taking
fright
,
deserted
him
and
he
was
obliged
to
seek
refuge
within
the
town
of
Convenae.
This
was
stocked
with
a
rich
store
of
provisions
and
might
have
resisted
for
many
years
if
Gundo
vald
’s
supporters
had
stood
by
him.
This
,
however,
they
did
not
do
and
,
although
he
bitterly
reproached
them
for
luring
him
to
Gaul
with
false
oaths
of
fealty
,
swearing
that
but
for
their
coaxing
he
would
never
have
left
the
East
,
they
now
resolved
to
betray
him
in
the
hope
of
saving
themselves.
Speaking
with
honeyed
tongues
,
they
persuaded
him
to
go
out
of
the
city
to
parley
with
Guntram
’
s
generals
,
claiming
that
these
had
sworn
to
use
him
with
honour.
As
soon
as
Gundovald
had
walked
through
the
gates
,
the
nobles
who
were
with
him
drew
back
inside
and
closed
them
fast.
Gunt
ram’s
men
fell
on
Gundovald
and
,
pushing
him
over
a
cliff
,
hurled
a
stone
on
his
head
and
pierced
his
murdered
body
with
their
spears.
His
beard
and
hair
were
plucked
out
and
his
body
left
unburied
where
it
had
fallen.
The
treachery
of
the
men
of
Convenae
brought
them
little
prof
it
for
,
although
the
rich
managed
to
hide
their
treasure,
the
poor,
even
those
who
were
priests,
were
put
to
the
sword
so
that,
in
the
end,
not
one
of
such
as
piss
against
a
wall
was
left
alive.
The
buildings
were
burnt
and
many
laymen
among
the
leaders
killed.
As
for
the
bishops
who
had
supported
the
Pretender,
they
were
put
on
trial
by
their
peers
at
a
council
held
in
Mâcon.

Chronicle                  

*

[
A.D
. 587]

It’s wet here. A wet womb, tomb. My mind is slipping. Those men I heard—no, not them. Black. Shut in. Pray. Say the words of a prayer. Words hold the mind as skin holds bones.
Credo
in
unum
deum
patrem
omnipotentem
factorem
coeli
et
terrae
visibilium
et
invisibilium
… All invisible here. There is an anxiety abroad, demons in the air. On certain nights God lets them loose to tempt men. As a furnace tries gold, temptation tries the righteous. If no temptation, then no merit. Were the holy anchoresses led by their nature to choose the solitary life? I had to lead mine, had to beat and wrestle with it as one might with a mule. It is a buoyant nature, stubborn. Good at simple things. I might have been a good wool sister or cellarer or looked after the convent kitchen garden. I did work there for a bit and another time I worked with the convent bees. I liked that. Twice, since I have been here, a bee has strayed in through my slit. One paused at its outer aperture so that the sunlight lit up his furry body and the transparent petal of his wing. He stayed for as long as a minute although there can have been nothing here to tempt him—and how could I not see his visit as a sign? Yes, in all humility, I feel sure he was sent to give me courage. He was the only creature I saw since I came here and, when I choose to, I see him again as distinctly as though he had just flown away. Perhaps I had never looked as carefully at anything as I did at that brown bee. He brought with him the trumpet shapes of flowers he must have visited and the stillness of those days when the earth breaks into winding cracks and lizards sun themselves on stones. I cried when he left: not from regret, from happiness at the image he left with me. All my other memories are blurred or chopped. Sometimes I try to recall exactly how the convent gardens are laid out. But it is as though my eye had shrunk. I can see only a small part at a time with any clarity. Sometimes I try to see a face, but this too comes only in fragments. I am trying to see the sweet face of Agnes, but it is twisting up into a grimace. It is becoming the face of … no, oh no, now it is the face of one of the damned souls painted on the wall of our chapel, one of those tormented creatures all twisted like knotted rope who try to escape the devil’s pitchfork. Why should I see such a sight? God, you are letting me be tempted by despair. You allow the demon leeway. You loosen his bonds and let him tempt me with sick visions. How can you be sure I will not succumb? Do you think me so strong that you can try me in the hottest furnace? I will be. With your grace I shall resist, shall not go mad, shall not despair and neither shall I spare myself. I shall return and plunge myself into my most horrible memories. I offer them to you once more with their pain and shame. In atonement. I shall force your mercy. I shall defy you to withstand my prayer.