The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1 (43 page)

H
unched behind his wooden work table in the entrance to Nicolas Florin's office, Agnan knew the moment he looked up and saw him. The image of a noble sword flashed through the young clerk's mind. For days he had been praying for a miracle, an unlikely miracle, and now his prayer had been answered in the form of this man staring down at him with his dark-blue eyes, eyes that changed from deep sea blue to sapphire according to the light. Eyes which Agnan knew contained secrets, terrible but noble secrets of which he had no knowledge, but which stirred him to the depths as he sat behind his little table.

‘Would you be so kind as to announce Francesco de Leone, Knight of Justice and Grace of the Order of Hospitallers of Saint John of Jerusalem? I have come to ask after Madame de Souarcy.'

Without thinking or really knowing what drove him to act so rashly, Agnan heard himself say:

‘Save her, I beg you.'

The other man studied him for a moment then frowned. ‘Is it so easy to read my thoughts? You worry me.'

‘You are a great comfort to me, knight.'

The young clerk disappeared then reappeared in a flash. He moved closer to Leone and murmured:

‘He is more corrupt and dangerous than any incubus.'

‘Do you really think so?' replied Leone with a smile. ‘The advantage is that this one is mortal.'

Since his clerk had announced the man's arrival, Florin had been wondering what a Knight Hospitaller could possibly
be doing at the headquarters of the Inquisition. That Agnès de Souarcy woman had caused him nothing but trouble. Her torture would begin presently and end too soon for his taste in the eternal rest of the accused. Death. A few hours of inflicted pain, of screams, would bring him some compensation at least. He could have strangled her in her cell, of course, and pretended that she had hanged herself in order to avoid being tortured – this was not an uncommon occurrence. No. She had upset and annoyed him enough. Hers would not be an easy death.

Leone followed Agnan into the inquisitor's tiny office. The young clerk immediately left the two men. Contrary to what he had decided, Florin felt compelled to stand up when the knight entered. The man's striking beauty and palpable strength left Florin speechless. The absurd but irresistible idea occurred to him that he would love to seduce this man in order to destroy him. And why not? Of course he preferred to bed young girls, but what a remarkable demonstration of his power if he managed to lead the handsome Knight Hospitaller astray. After all, for him sex was merely a way of confirming his dominance.

‘Knight, I am greatly honoured.'

‘The honour is mine, Lord Inquisitor.'

Leone was filled with a sense of excitement, which made him feel ashamed. The excitement that precedes the most gruelling battles. Giotto Capella had been a weak adversary. In comparison the man standing before him was one of the most dangerous, most unpredictable he had ever encountered. Giotto Capella was a broken man, Florin a poisonous snake. He frowned at his sudden perverse desire to defeat the lethal creature by using his own weapons.

‘Pray be seated, knight. My clerk informs me that you are
concerned about the fate of Madame de Souarcy.'

‘Not about her fate, Monsieur, for I am sure it rests in the most capable of hands.'

Florin was flattered by the compliment and bowed his head graciously.

‘Nonetheless, Madame de Souarcy's mother was a great friend of my aunt's, and since I was passing through your beautiful province on my way to Paris on Hospitallers' business, I thought I might comfort her with a prayer.'

‘Hm…'

Florin was no longer listening. He was busy trying to think of the best way to seduce this beautiful man opposite him.

‘Would you do me the favour, brother, of allowing me to see Madame de Souarcy?' Leone asked in a soft, cajoling voice.

Suddenly sobered by the request, Florin forced a smile:

‘Certainly, knight, I feel powerless to refuse you such a simple favour. I greatly appreciate the generosity of some of the representatives of your order.'

Nicolas Florin was seething. Why was this knight meddling in his trial? He had no authority. He was furious at being forced to yield. However, since it was impossible to know whether a Knight Hospitaller travelling alone, especially a Knight of Justice and Grace, held the rank of commander or was a mere soldier, he had best tread carefully. Florin had reached a crucial stage on his ascent up the ladder to power but he knew that he had many more rungs to climb. Only then would he be above everything, above other men and the law. It would be better if he handled this stranger with care and made a show of welcoming his judgement with disinterest and gentle humility. He continued:

‘You understand that since you are not a direct relative of the accused this constitutes a breach of procedure. I would therefore
request that your visit be brief. Madame de Souarcy's trial is still in progress.'

Leone stood up and thanked him, gazing into the inquisitor's soft brown eyes. Florin asked:

‘Will you come and take your leave of me, knight?'

‘Naturally, Monsieur … I am surprised you even ask,' Leone replied in a hushed tone.

Agnan hurried ahead of him, mumbling unintelligible words of gratitude as he stumbled down the stairs leading to the cells. The young clerk's fingers were trembling so much that Leone was obliged to draw back the bolt for him.

‘Go now and be blessed,' the knight thanked him. ‘I can find my own way back. I have so little time, but it will suffice … for now.'

‘I prayed so hard that you would come, Monsieur,' the other man stammered. ‘I …'

‘Go, I tell you. Hurry back so as not to arouse his suspicions.'

Agnan vanished behind a pillar like some benevolent shade.

Leone did not notice the stench that pervaded the jail. Nor did he see the dirt, the deathly pallor, the dark shadows under the eyes of the woman who stood with great difficulty before him. She embodied the strength, the infinite resilience of womankind. Those blue-grey eyes studying him were recompense enough for all his pain and toil. It occurred to him that she was the light, and that he had waited all his life to see her. He fell to his knees in the filthy sludge, gasping for breath, overwhelmed by the emotion raging inside him, and murmured:

‘At last … You, Madame.'

‘Monsieur?'

Her exhaustion had left her too weak to respond. She tried
desperately to find some explanation for this extraordinary show of reverence, for this man's presence in her cell. Nothing made sense any longer.

‘Francesco de Leone, Knight of Justice and Grace of the Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem.'

She stared at him quizzically.

‘I have come a long way in order to save you, Madame.'

She tried to moisten her cracked lips and cleared her throat before speaking:

‘Pray rise, Monsieur. I don't understand … Who are you? … Did the Comte d'Authon …'

So, Artus d'Authon was one of her friends. The thought comforted Leone.

‘No, Madame. I know the Comte only by name and by his fine reputation.'

‘They occasionally send clever spies to extort confessions,' she whispered softly, leaving Leone in no doubt as to her own astuteness.

‘The Abbess of Clairets, Éleusie de Beaufort, is my aunt or should I say my second mother, since it was she who brought me up after my own mother, Claire, died at Saint-Jean-d'Acre.'

Despite her extreme fatigue, Agnès had a vague recollection of Jeanne d'Amblin mentioning that the Abbess had taken in a nephew after the bloody defeat that heralded the end of Christendom in the Orient. Finally feeling she could relax, she leaned against the wooden partition. He added:

‘We have so little time, Madame.'

‘How did you manage to persuade that wicked creature to allow you to see me?'

‘By playing him at his own game. There are few possibilities
open to us, Madame. One is the right of appeal …'

She cut across him:

‘Come, Monsieur, you know as well as I do that it would be futile. Inquisitors antedate their records to ensure that no appeal ever reaches the bishop in time. And even if it bore fruit, which I doubt, I will be dead before they assign another inquisitor to my case. In addition to which, the man would bear me a grudge for having challenged one of his colleagues.'

Leone held the same opinion. He had only alluded to this legal tactic in order that she accept more readily what was to follow. He looked at her again through the gloom, moved by what he saw, by what she was unaware of in herself. He thanked God for being the one whose life would be sacrificed in order to save this woman, this woman who had no notion of her extraordinary importance.

‘The torture will begin presently, Madame.'

‘I know. Should I confess my terror? I endured their screams for days on end. That man … He must be dead. I despise my cowardice. I fear I will behave ignobly, that I will be reduced to a screaming wreck, ready to confess to the worst sins in order to stop the pain …'

‘I am sure of my courage, and yet I, too, would feel afraid. However, we may both misjudge ourselves … I adhere to the principle of leaving nothing to chance where man is concerned … It generally brings disappointment.'

She tried to interrupt, to beg him to explain, to clarify his last remarks, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand.

‘Madame … you must endure the pain. You must hold out until tomorrow, for the love of God.'

‘Tomorrow? Why tomorrow and not today?'

More than anything she regretted her words, which were born of her anticipation of the suffering to come. But after all she was only flesh and blood.

‘Because tomorrow His judgement will be done.'

She did not even attempt to grasp the meaning of the knight's words. She was beginning to feel so strange, so unreal. He continued:

‘The judgement of God can be invoked, Madame.'

‘Do you still give it credence?'

‘Naturally, since I am His instrument. If Florin were to disappear before your torment began, he would quickly be replaced and the trial would continue and might even be extended to include those closest to you who have supported you …'

Agnès understood the allusion to Clément and did not even feel surprised that this strange knight should know of the child's existence. She shook her head.

‘… However, if God smites him down in retribution for your unjust suffering, no one – not even Rome – will want to continue with the accusation …'

‘Rome?'

‘Time is running out.'

He took from his surcoat a tiny ochre cloth bag and emptied its contents into his hand. He held out a greenish-brown ball the size of a large marble.

‘Chew this before the torture begins. Chew it, I beg you. You will barely feel the sting of the lash. This substance found its way to me from China after many misadventures. The resin tastes bitter, but it works like a charm if used properly.'

‘Who are you really? Why are you risking your life to help me?'

‘It is too soon to speak of that …'

He added to her confusion by declaring:

‘… Purity cannot exist without inflexibility, otherwise it leads to sacrifice, and it is too soon for that. You must live. It is my honour, my faith and my choice to protect you until my last dying breath.'

There was a knock at the ominous door. They could hear Agnan's muffled voice behind the thick panelling:

‘Hurry, please! He is beginning to get restless and will come down soon.'

‘Live, Madame. Oh dear God! Live, I implore you!'

Agnès slipped the little brown ball of paste between her breasts. After the door had closed behind him, she wondered whether she had been hallucinating. She felt for the ball under her dress in order to convince herself that the meeting had been real.

She lay down and closed her eyes, refusing even to try to comprehend the meaning of their exchange. She was only made of flesh and blood, and the obscure interlacing patterns she was beginning to sense above her made her mind reel.

A clear voice like a waterfall echoed in her head. Clémence. Clémence de Larnay.

Live, my precious. The hideous beast's end is nigh. Live for us, live for your two Clémences.

I will live, my sweet angel, Agnès murmured as she began to fall asleep.

A
shadow slipped through the darkness of the vast dormitory, hesitating, listening for the sounds of deep breathing and snoring. It glanced at the three rows of cubicles separated by curtains that offered the sisters a little privacy in which to undress. At the centre of each cubicle stood a bed.

Bees. A hive of bees busy doing what? A swarm of insects whose individual existences had no meaning. An unchanging world of rituals, routines and orders. The shadow felt overwhelmed by anger and resentment. How it loathed them all. To leave that place, to flee the mediocre monotony of a life that was no life at all. To live at long last.

The shadow moved forward a few paces. Its bare feet made no sound on the icy floor.

It paused, listening intently, then drew back the curtains to one of the cells.

Prime
⁺
had just ended. Annelette leaned over Jeanne d’Amblin’s shrunken frame and listened to her still-faint breathing. The extern sister’s exhaustion following her fight against the poison had kept her bedridden. And yet, thanks to the care lavished on her by the apothecary, and all the sisters’ prayers, Jeanne had managed the evening before to swallow a little chicken broth without instantly bringing it up. Annelette checked her pulse, which seemed more regular.

‘Jeanne, dear Jeanne, can you hear me?’

An almost inaudible voice replied:

‘Yes … I feel better. Thank you, my dear, thank you for all your care. Thank you all, my sisters.’

‘Is your stomach still hurting?’

‘Not as much.’

A sigh. Jeanne had fallen asleep again and the apothecary thought that it was for the best. As soon as she had regained some of her strength, she would be told the dreadful news of Hedwige’s death. Éleusie had instructed them all to keep quiet about it because of the long friendship between the two women.

The tall, sullen woman was overcome by a deep sense of sorrow. Adélaïde Condeau was dead and so was Hedwige du Thilay. Jeanne had narrowly escaped following them to the grave, and as for Blanche de Blinot, she owed her life to her dislike of lavender tea. The poor old woman was gradually losing her wits and had been plunged into a kind of retrospective terror. The constant expression of fear she wore gave her face the appearance of a death mask. As for Geneviève Fournier, she had become a shadow of her former self after witnessing the shocking death of Hedwige, to whom it appeared she had been a great deal closer than Annelette had previously thought. Indeed, it was as though all the vitality had been drained out of the amiable sister in charge of the fishponds and henhouses. Geneviève wandered through the passageways like a tortured little ghost, scarcely noticing the other sisters as they tried to smile to her.

In contrast, the treasurer nun’s gruesome death appeared to have restored the Abbess’s determination, which had waned since the arrival of the inquisitor. Annelette felt a nagging concern: what if Éleusie de Beaufort had made up her mind to fight to the death? What if she had foolishly decided to sacrifice herself in order to eradicate the evil beast that was attacking them from
within? She could not allow it. The Abbess must not die, and Annelette would do everything in her power to ensure that she did not.

Annelette Beaupré entered the herbarium to make the first of her two daily inspections. The bell for terce
⁺
had just rung and she had been excused from attending the service.

She paused in front of the medicine cabinet. A sudden excitement made her almost cry out with joy. She had been right! The mixture of egg white and almond oil she had been preparing each night had worked its magic. A sudden sadness dampened Annelette’s enthusiasm. Geneviève Fournier had stopped scolding her hens. Their unreliability and the dwindling number of eggs she found each morning in the nests left her indifferent.

Pull yourself together, woman! Save your tears for when you’ve trapped this vermin.

Two black footprints were encrusted in the sticky substance. So, somebody had entered the herbarium sometime between compline the previous evening and that morning. Somebody who had no business being there and therefore could only have been up to no good.

The apothecary rushed outside and headed straight for the Abbess’s chambers.

Éleusie listened, open-mouthed, hanging on her every word. After Annelette had finished telling her about her trap and what she had discovered, the Abbess said:

‘Egg white, I see … And what now?’

‘Give the order for everybody to assemble in the scriptorium and take off their shoes without mixing them up, and have a novice bring in two warming pans full of hot embers.’

‘Warming pans? Do you mean the ones we put in our beds to dry out the damp sheets?’

‘The very same. And I want them red hot. It will be quicker than taking everything into the kitchen and unmasking the culprit there.’

A tentative row of white robes waited. The sisters stood in their stockinged feet, their shoes lined up in front of them. Loud whispers had broken out when the unexpected order had been given:

‘Take our shoes off? Am I hearing things?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘The floor’s freezing …’

‘I’m sure Annelette is behind this madness.’

‘Whatever could they want with our shoes …?’

‘My stockings are filthy. We don’t change them until the end of the week …’

‘I doubt this is a hygiene inspection.’

‘There’s a hole in one of mine and my toe’s sticking out. I haven’t had time to darn it. How embarrassing …’

Éleusie had ordered them to be quiet and waited while a bemused-looking novice went to fetch the warming pans she had requested. Finally they arrived from the kitchens, smoking from the embers inside.

Annelette, accompanied by the Abbess, approached the left-hand side of the row of bemused or irritated women. She picked up the first pair of shoes and rubbed them over the lid of the piping-hot pan. She repeated the same procedure with each of the sisters’ shoes in turn, ignoring their murmured questions and astonished faces. Suddenly, there was a sound of sizzling, and a
horrible stench like rotten teeth or stagnant marshes issued from one of Yolande de Fleury’s shoes. Annelette continued brushing it over the pan until a flaky white coating formed on the wooden sole. She felt her face stiffen with rage, but forced herself to continue the experiment until she reached the end of the row of white robes. No other shoe reacted to the heat of the embers. She charged over to Yolande, who was as white as a sheet, and boomed so loudly that some of the sisters jumped:

‘What were you doing in the herbarium?’

‘But … I wasn’t …’

‘Will you stop!’ the apothecary fumed.

Éleusie, fearing a fit of violence on the part of the big woman, intervened in a faltering voice:

‘Yolande, come with us to my study. You others, go about your tasks.’

They had to drag the reluctant Yolande, who tried to defend herself, insisting that she had not set foot in the herbarium.

Annelette pushed the young woman into the Abbess’s study and slammed the door behind them. She leaned up against the door panel as though afraid Yolande might try to escape.

Éleusie walked behind her desk and stood with her hands laid flat on the heavy slab of dark oak. Annelette barely recognised her voice as she exploded:

‘Yolande, I am at the end of my tether. Two of my girls are dead and two more have escaped the same fate by a hair’s breadth, and all this within a matter of days. The time for procrastination and pleasantries is over. Any other attitude would be recklessness on my part. I demand the truth, and I want it now! If you insist on prevaricating, I shall have no other choice but to turn you over to the secular authority of the chief bailiff, Monge de Brineux, since I refuse to pass judgement on one of my own daughters. I have
requested the death penalty for the culprit. I have asked for her to be stripped to the waist and given a public beating.’

Despite the apparent harshness of the punishment, it was in fact relatively lenient for a crime of poisoning; execution was usually preceded by torture.

Yolande stared at her with tired eyes, incapable of uttering a word. Éleusie almost screamed at her:

‘I am waiting for the truth! The whole truth! I command you to answer me this instant!’

Yolande stood motionless, her face had drained of colour and was turning deathly pale. She lowered her head and spoke:

‘I did not set foot in the herbarium. The last time I went anywhere near the building, Annelette surprised me and reported my nocturnal outing to you. I’ve not been there since.’

‘You’re lying,’ said Annelette. ‘What do you think those white flakes on the soles of your shoes were? The cooked egg whites, which I spread on the floor in front of the cabinet containing the poisons. What do you think that evil smell was? It was the fetid rue I mixed into the preparation. I found the shoe prints in the mixture this morning – your shoe prints.’

Yolande only shook her head. Éleusie came out from behind her desk and walked right up to her. She spoke in a stern voice:

‘Time is running short, Yolande. You are doing yourself no favours. I will tell you the two suspicions I have formed about you. Either you are the murderess, in which case my wrath will follow you to the grave and you will never find peace, or … you have developed an excessive attachment to one of your fellow nuns, an attachment that drives you to seek privacy outside the dormitory walls. Such an attachment would result in the two of you being separated, but that is all. I am waiting. You may yet be saved if you confess your sins. Seize this opportunity, daughter.
Hell is more terrible than your worst imaginings. Quickly, I am waiting.’

Yolande, her eyes brimming with tears, looked up at this woman she had once so admired and who terrified her now. She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

‘My son …’

‘What?’

‘Somebody occasionally brings me news of my son.’ A smile lit up the pretty, round face, ravaged with sorrow. She continued:

‘He is well. He is ten now. My father brought him up. He passed him off as one of his bastards so that he wouldn’t be stripped of the family name. My sacrifice saved him. I thank God for it every day in each of my prayers.’

The other two women received this unexpected confession in stunned silence. The bewildered Éleusie murmured:

‘But …’

‘You wanted the whole truth, Reverend Mother, but some truths are better left unsaid. But now I’ve started I’ll go on. I was fifteen when I fell passionately in love with a handsome steward. The inevitable happened. I fell pregnant by a peasant, outside the sacraments of marriage. The man I was supposed to marry spurned the dishonoured girl I had become. There was no excuse for me, it is true, as I had given myself with complete abandon. My beloved was beaten and driven away. Had he remained he would have been castrated and wrongly branded a rapist. He was so caring, so passionately loving. My father shut me away for the last five months of my pregnancy. Nobody was supposed to know. My son was taken from me immediately after he was born and entrusted to a wet nurse. After that I lived in the servants’ quarters, on the pretext that I was no better than a beggar and deserved to be treated like one. And then my little Thibaut,
whom I would occasionally glimpse at the end of a corridor, was struck down, and I saw in his illness a sign of God’s wrath. I resolved to do penance for the rest of my days to atone for my sins.’ She seemed not to notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. She clasped her hands with joy and continued: ‘My sacrifice did not go unheeded, for which I am eternally grateful. My little boy is glowing with health. He can ride a horse now, just like a young man, and my father loves him like a son. I pray for him, too. He was so hard and unforgiving. Perhaps the love in his heart has been reawakened thanks to my child.’ She straightened up and concluded: ‘That is the whole truth, Reverend Mother. You, too, have known sensual joy, the love of a husband. I realise that in the eyes of mankind I was unwed, but I swear to you that when my beloved bedded me for the first time I was convinced that God was witnessing our nuptials. I was wrong.’

The revelation had shocked Éleusie de Beaufort. She felt hurt that Yolande had not confided in her. She attempted to comfort her, aware that it was futile.

‘Dear Yolande … The Church accepts that its sons and daughters have known physical attraction and the pleasures of the flesh within and even outside wedlock in some cases. It is enough that we vow to banish it from our thoughts for ever when we take the cloth. As our holy Saint Augustine …’

‘You don’t understand!’ Yolande cried out, suddenly becoming agitated. ‘I would never, do you hear, never have sought the deceptive calm of your nunneries, never have yielded to your stupid rules and regulations if I had not feared for my son’s life, if I had married my beloved. Never!’

She flew into a hysterical rage, hurling herself at the desk and sweeping up the papers with both hands, crumpling them,
tearing them to shreds, banging her fists down on the oak table and wailing:

‘Never, never … I hate you! Only the memory of Thibaut and my beloved keeps me alive in this place.’

She turned on the Abbess, her face twisted with rage. She raised her hands to claw the woman she had so respected during the long years spent in the nunnery, the long years of what in her eyes had been a less terrible form of imprisonment than any other simply because Thibaut had survived thanks to her atonement.

Annelette leapt in front of Yolande and slapped her twice hard on the face. The apothecary’s deep, gruff voice rang out:

‘Control yourself! This instant!’

Yolande stared at her with crazed eyes, ready to pounce. Annelette shook her and growled:

‘You little fool. Do you imagine that piety is what brought me here? No, I came here because it was the only place where I could practise my art. Do you think Berthe de Marchiennes took her vows because she longed for a life of contemplation? No. Her family didn’t need another daughter. Do you think Éleusie de Beaufort would have agreed to lead our congregation if she had not been widowed? And do you truly believe that Adélaïde Condeau would have chosen the monastic life if she had been well born instead of abandoned in a forest? And the others? You little fool! Most of us come here in order to avoid a life on the streets! At least we are close to God and lucky enough not to be hired out by the hour in some brothel in a town, ending our days riddled with disease and left to die in the gutter.’