Night Blooming (68 page)

“With the other soldiers, of course. In their dining hall.” He shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “They would not come to the monastery, and if they did, they would not come for talk, but for worship.”

“Yes,” said Rakoczy. “That is my point. They welcomed you to the soldiers’ dining hall. The men eat and drink there, do they not?”

“Of course. All men dine in dining halls,” said Fratre Lothar. He considered Rakoczy narrowly. “They said you were a very capable soldier in your way.”

“That was good of them,” said Rakoczy, refusing to be distracted. “Is it possible that the stories they told were improved, made more exciting, more boastful?” He held up his hands. “No. Don’t tell me that never happens; we both know how soldiers love to tell of their adventures. So it could be that some of their tales were meant to entertain the listeners as much as impart the truth.” He bent down to look into Fratre Lothar’s eyes.

“Soldiers do like to boast,” said Fratre Lothar.

“And some soldiers are wary of signs, so that they see them in everything from clouds to cheese.” He let Fratre Lothar think about this. “Do you tell me you have never seen this?”

Fratre Lothar shrugged. “I knew a Bellatore who would not attack if the opposing leader rode a spotted horse.”

“Exactly,” said Rakoczy, and was about to go on when the Pope lifted his hand.

“I take your meaning, Magnatus. Stand back. Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus, you may question this monk on behalf of all the Cardinal Archbishops. If others have questions, let them wait until Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus has finished, and then inform me of what they wish to ask.” He sat back, his hand on his jaw as if to support it.

“Tell me, Fratre,” said the Cardinal Archbishop, “since you have been studying all the accounts of the White Woman for three months, what indications has she given that she was one of Satan’s hosts?”

“There were deaths among those who escorted her,” said Fratre Lothar.

“Is there anything that made them suppose—at the time—that she was the cause of the deaths, or did that only come to them later?” Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus kept his voice calm.

“I cannot know. I only spoke to them after they arrived here in Roma,” said Fratre Lothar. He bent forward and touched his forehead to the floor.

“But this is what they told you,” prompted the Cardinal Archbishop.

“Yes. That is what I was told. On my honor as a soldier and my vows as a monk.” He sat up again, looking directly at the Pope. “And so I swear.”

Pope Leo nodded. “You were right to come forward. Rise and go to your prayers, Fratre.” He waited while Fratre Lothar got to his feet, reverenced the Pope, the Cardinal Archbishops, and the Bishops, then hastened out of the chapel without looking again at Gynethe Mehaut. “Who is the next witness?”

Sorra Celinde stepped forward, her head lowered and her whole manner subdued. “I am, if you will permit me to speak, though I am a woman.”

Bishop Iso rose. “This nun has served me for many years. You may repose trust in her. She will put herself in the service to the Church by giving her testimony if you will permit it.”

“You have told me so already,” said Pope Leo, and turned to Sorra Celinde. “It is fitting, since a woman is at the center of this inquiry, that a woman should speak as a witness.” He gestured to the nun. “Kneel; give your testimony.”

Sorra Celinde did as the Pope instructed her. “May God support me in this hour, and aid me in this difficult time,” she said, making a gesture of protection.

“Amen,” said the Pope, indicating that she should speak.

“As Bishop Iso has said,” Sorra Celinde began, just above a whisper, “I have served him for many years, and I am devoted to him as the embodiment of the Church in Franksland, and the source of God’s Wisdom for all in the world.” She turned her gaze on Bishop Iso as if she adored him. “This is a rigorous matter, and I cannot easily speak of what I have seen and what I have suspected.” She glanced at Gynethe Mehaut “In Franksland, I saw her when she was brought for examination into the bishopric of Bishop Iso. Her former guardian, Priora Iditha of Santa Albegunda, could no longer fulfill her duties to this woman, who was then entrusted to me on behalf of Bishop Iso. I accepted this responsibility because Bishop Iso required it. I shared a cubiculum with the White Woman, and I was able to observe her for many days. She prayed as she was required to do, and she tended the night-blooming gardens, as she has stated. She rested indoors for much of the day, and read holy texts.”

“All admirable acts,” said Pope Leo.

“When they are sincere and devoted,” agreed Sorra Celinde, with a hint of doubt in her face. “But anyone can mimic piety.”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Archbishop Ittalus. “So one can.” He put his hands together in supplication. “May we be preserved from such deception.”

“In all things,” said Sorra Celinde, and waited for a signal from Pope Leo to continue. “I was charged with following this woman in order to see what she did, that she kept the Hours as she was required to do. I was also told to determine what caused the bleeding in her hands. I thought she must have a needle somewhere about her clothing, and that she must use it to prick her palms in order to keep bleeding. I never actually saw her do such a thing, but I am certain she must do something.” She sighed heavily. “It must be that she wounds herself, or she is truly a messenger from Hell, and been given the blood as a sign of her perfidy.”

“Is there anything more?” Pope Leo asked when Sorra Celinde stopped talking.

“Yes, Holiness,” she murmured. “I have watched her in the night-blooming garden, and seen her dance to the moon. She has made wreaths of night flowers and worn them in her white hair, in the manner of the ancient pagans. She has summoned a lover out of the darkness and embraced him. I saw it. I heard her cry aloud in passion.”

Gynethe Mehaut put her hands to her face. “I never did that!” she protested.

“You did,” said Sorra Celinde, swinging around to face her. “You don’t think anyone can see what you are, and you believe that if you pose and posture, you will deceive the Church and all good Christians. But I know you for the monster you are. I have seen you when you thought you weren’t watched, and you cannot tell me that you didn’t summon a lover, and engage in the lewd acts of carnality.”

“No. No!” Gynethe Mehaut cried. “You have spied upon me, and now I know why: you planned to betray me from the first. You have sworn to see me condemned, and all to please your Bishop. If Bishop Freculf had come here, Bishop Iso would not dare to let you do this!”

Sorra Celinde scrambled to her feet and moved out of Gynethe Mehaut’s reach. “Unspeakable!” she shrieked as she backed away.

“You have nothing to fear,” the Pope admonished her. “You are in a holy church, and everyone here will protect you.” He motioned her to move to his side. “Now you cannot doubt that you are safe.”

“She is the handmaiden of Satan.” She made a sign of protection. “My God keep you from her many stratagems.”

“You speak as if she has worked them upon you,” said Cardinal Archbishop Paulinus Evitus.

“Of course she has. I began by wanting to protect her, but when I discerned her purpose, the scales were lifted from my eyes.” She pointed at Gynethe Mehaut. “Let her say what she likes, she is the heart of evil.”

Rakoczy listened with a sinking sensation in his chest. “May I ask the witness a question?”

“No!” Sorra Celinde shouted. “He is in her thrall!”

Pope Leo smiled sadly. “It would not be right” He motioned Rakoczy into silence and looked back at Sorra Celinde. “You see? You have nothing to fear.”

“But who will speak for me?” Gynethe Mehaut asked desperately.

“God will defend you, if you are virtuous. If you are not, then you will know that Satan has forsaken you,” said the Pope.

Listening to this, Rakoczy felt a fatalistic gloom settle over him; Sorra Celinde continued to rail against Gynethe Mehaut, and no one was willing to stop or question her. He wondered what he could do to protect Gynethe Mehaut now, and tried to think of some way to comfort the pale woman kneeling near enough for him to touch, and yet as far away as if he were in the land of the Great Khan and she at the ends of Hispania.

T
EXT OF AN ORDER OF REQUISITION SUBMITTED TO THE
E
MPEROR
K
ARL-LO-
M
AGNE FOR HIS APPROVAL ON
J
ANUARY 4, 801.

For the north-bound journey of Magnatus Rakoczy, ordered by Karl-lo-Magne, the Emperor, the following men and supplies are requisitioned:

All these are ready to pack in chests and put on mules on the day after Epiphany, if there is no rain.

Approved by the Emperor

Karl-lo-Magne

prepared to the order of the Potente Edelfus

Chapter Twelve

A
T
O
LIVIA’S HOUSE
, the torches and oil-lamps gleamed long into the night, shining off the snowflakes that drifted over the city, turning everything pale as marble. In Gynethe Mehaut’s apartments the window, made of small, costly sections of glass, turned the falling snow to many-faced crystals. It was cold, but the heating channels in the walls from the floor below kept the rooms fairly warm, so that Gynethe Mehaut was wrapped only in her stolla and gonella as she sat in a chair lined in marten-fur, her pale face lit by a stand of oil-lamps.

Rakoczy sat at her feet, holding her bandaged hand in his. “I’m sorry I must leave,” he said for the third time that evening.

“It is the order of the King … the Emperor,” she corrected herself. “You are his vassal.”

“His vassal? In some respects,” said Rakoczy, “I am. In others, as I am a foreigner, I am not.” While this was true, he was aware it made no difference in the orders he had been given; it was only an admission of his diminished protection.

“But you won’t stay here,” she said, touching his hair with the tips of her fingers.

“It wouldn’t be safe for any of us if I did,” said Rakoczy with a rueful smile. “Not you, not Olivia, and not I would be able to avoid scrutiny and condemnation.”

“You’re certain of that,” she said, wanting to be persuaded otherwise.

“So are you,” he pointed out. “And if I were to remain in Roma, I would have to leave this house, or bring the Church and Karl-lo-Magne’s men down upon you. No, I must leave.”

Gynethe Mehaut sighed. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I you,” said Rakoczy, already feeling her pull away from him, though she did not move.

“I’m sad,” Gynethe Mehaut said a short time later. “I shouldn’t be, but I am.”

Rakoczy rose on his knees and put his arms around her. “If you are sad, then it is what you should be.”

She shook her head. “It is giving way to sin. God sends us what He wishes us to have, and to be sad denies His Goodness. It is the sin of Indolence.”

“Who taught you that?” Rakoczy asked, knowing the answer.

“The Sorrae,” Gynethe Mehaut said.

“You have a right to your sorrow; it isn’t Indolence, it is mourning,” said Rakoczy. “If you cannot honor your grief, you lose much of your love.”

“Love is for God and the Emperor’s Will, for children who live, and for those who protect us.” She spoke dreamily, as if far away from him. “That of men and women is mere Lust, and a sin.”

“More of the nuns’ lessons,” said Rakoczy. “You need not accept those things—”

“I don’t want to talk about such matters.” She pulled her hand away from him. “You speak so … I can’t believe … It isn’t as if I … I can’t tell you; you’ll be angry.”

“No, I will not,” said Rakoczy quietly. “Tell me: I will listen.”

“So you say,” she murmured. “But you will grow angry with me, and then—”

“I won’t be angry—I may be disappointed, and that more for myself than on your account—but never angry. I have tasted your blood and you are part of me. How could I be angry with you?” He turned her face toward him with a light touch of his fingers. “You have my Word, Gynethe Mehaut—I will not be angry.”

She studied his eyes as if seeking deceit. She finally mustered her thoughts, took a deep breath, and said, “I never thought anyone would be as kind to me as you have been. But you put questions to me that I cannot answer. No one has ever touched me, but you, without disgust and fear. Yet it has to end. You said, yourself, that you cannot lie with me again after tonight or I will become what you are when I die, and I want no part of such a life. I am what God made me, and to Him I shall return. I will not be compelled to be what you are, no matter how benign you may be.” She put her bandaged hand to her brow in an attitude of supplication. “I will accept my life because it is what God has given me. But to rise into a life that isn’t His, that would make a true blasphemy of my skin and my eyes, and show that I am what I have been accused of being. I would become what I have been called so unjustly: I would truly be the demon they think I am now.”