Saint Fire (Secret Books of Venus Series)

by Tanith Lee

  For the Maiden, a trial was decreed essential. And, though it had been thought unwise to conduct it publicly, (the rabble would crowd in and interrupt, mistaking it for a show) even so, representatives of the people must attend.

  The Ducem himself might well have been called to do so; this was a rare case. But he was miles away, lying sick at Forchenza. He had sent instead two of his advisors, Prince Tizanio and Prince Ulisse.

  God’s Chamber of Justice, though underground, was powerfully lit, night or day, by flaring torches. It was a large room, and the torches needed for it numbered over a hundred. The rising heat of the City above would soon be nothing to the heat of this buried space.

  On a raised platform, under the theological banners of the Lion with Child, and the winged Lion, and the white and gold banner which proclaimed in Latin Peace to you, Ve Nera, sat three judges.

  Each was clad, not in black, but a heartening, cloudless white. They had been appointed by the Council of the Lamb, (which sat now, all twelve members, ranked to the right of the dais.) Collectively, these judges bore the name of Shepherds of God. Their duty was to drive off menacing sin from the soul of the accused. They would do this as sternly and brutally as any good shepherd faced by a ravening wolf.

  Before the ranked Council sat the Interlocutor, in gray. Next, sat the Pro-Sequitor. His duty was to follow after any hint or scent of wrong, driving it towards the Shepherds. This man wore red. He was not Brother Isaacus, and yet, in the strangest way he almost seemed to be. For Isaacus sat directly at his back, and was speaking to him often, very low, the hoarse words indecipherable. To the left of the dais, on a bench, sat one Magister Major of the Primo. Normally no Magister would be summoned, but in such an unusual case, his presence was asked. And today his purpose was dual. He, and they, knew it. But Danielus sat composed, without any papers or books about him, such as the Council and the Pro-Sequitor had laid out. His hands were clasped lightly. And the emerald gleamed on his finger, steady, disturbed only by fluctuations of the lights.

  Behind Fra Danielus stood a line of the Bellatae Christi, of the Upper Echelon. This was not, given the importance of the case, anomalous. However, the Council had looked askance at it. The Soldiers of God were counted. In all there were twenty-five of them. It was known besides that almost all the lower Bellatae Militia salvaged from Ciojha, were above, packed in around the square. There were also the bemused crowds, some of whom had come to the Primo, it was understood, because they thought the Council meant to honor the Maiden there. And how would it go when they learned otherwise?

  Now the Pro-Sequitor rose. He bowed to the white judges, and then to the Magister Major.

  The Pro-Sequitor spoke. “I ask you, Fra Danielus, to let off some of these Bellatae. They’re needed more urgently to keep order upstairs.”

  Danielus raised his brows. “Surely not. The Primo guard will see to that. These, remember, brother, are the Soldiers of God.”

  The Pro-Sequitor, schooled, replied, “Then why are so many Bellatae on the square and walks above?”

  Danielus said, without rancor—or concealment, “To wait, brother, on what you will do in here.”

  The Pro-Sequitor turned to the Council. It was Jesolo who now rose. “Magister, I request you then, and the Council requests you, send out the Bellatae.”

  At his back, Danielus heard no movement among them. They too had been well schooled.

  “Church law recommends a presence,” said Danielus.

  One of the Shepherds responded. “Seven only, Magister”

  Danielus nodded. “Seven then. The rest may go.” As all this had been considered beforehand, eighteen of the Soldiers of God detached themselves at once, and left the Chamber, without fuss or formality. Behind him now, as Danielus knew, waited the five he had selected with, at his right shoulder, the two he must not leave out: Jian, and Cristiano.

  By the wall, the table of scribes was writing busily, with many hands, recording all this. Beyond these, down the room’s length, the bank of priests and lay brothers sat agog.

  The remainder of God’s Justice Chamber was a wide space, which had yet to be filled.

  Danielus watched, as, to the impatience of God’s Court, the two princes now dawdled in, masking their unease with gestures and a great play with cushioned chairs. Once settled, their servants would go out.

  The representatives of the people were let in next, men from the guilds and from positions of minor authority. Not more than ten persons.

  (But how hot and stifled the vast room would shortly seem.)

  Out by the wide doors, which presently would be closed, runners stood, to fetch and carry, to bring in and take away. At intervals also they must, by law, go up to instruct any crowd above how things progressed. That would be a cause of concern to the court. Or not, if they had seen to things, as Danielus believed they had seen to rumor. Truth was adjustable.

  Danielus knew, how well, their motive—also better than they did themselves. To make men carefree was not their aim. Men unafraid and charged with hope—were not governable. When once they grasped that joy was not a sin, as Christ told them, they would no longer be slaves. And what chance then for the slave-masters?

  None of this showed upon him. Nor the fact that he had ascertained by now, Sarco was not among the twelve members of the Council, had been replaced. But Danielus had warned Sarco. Had he eluded them? There was no means of knowing until Danielus might leave the court.

  Behind him, the Bellatae were quiet and fixed as seven spears.

  A runner now came trotting down the room, as tradition demanded, and standing before the dais, exclaimed, “Are you prepared to receive the prisoner?”

  “We are prepared. Let her be brought. God watch over us all to bring this, her examination, to a perfect end.”

  They had not permitted the Magister Major to see her or speak with her through the days they had kept her here. Danielus had not, beyond the first, attempted it. To his avowal that the Maiden valued above all things her religion, and would need at least her confessor, they assured him they would provide one. They, the still-omnipotent Council of the Lamb. She could not read. He could not write to her. Besides, any letter would be scanned. Cristiano had entered the primo on the morning after the Eyes and Ears, ministers of that supreme Council, had taken her. Cristiano knew nothing of it, as, then, the City did not.

  Light was still gray. Cristiano was like a white flame burning through it. He had all the coolth and self assemblage of the very mad.

  “Magister—I must leave off my pride—descend from it—”

  “Where have you been?”

  Never had Cristiano heard this voice from Danielus’ lips.

  “Helping them,” he said. “The buildings that came down.”

  “More has come down than buildings, knight. Much more.”

  Danielus told him first how the girl had woken from her trance, and thought Cristiano to be dead. “Why?—She brought the fire—”

  “Now she can’t. She believed therefore she failed, the enemy triumphed, and killed you.” Danielus did not say that he was to blame for her belief. This was not subterfuge. He knew there was no time for the indulgence of his confession, now. He must shoulder it, if anything was to be done.

  And Cristiano’s face was like a boy’s, all doubts, having missed the absolute way he meant to take—(downwards had it been? To Hell or to what? Oh, he had learned nothing. Or everything. Perhaps that was it.) Cristiano said, “But—I’m alive. And the City—the proof’s everywhere.”

  “She trusted nothing. None of us would do. It’s you, Cristiano, who are her angel.”

  Exasperated at last, as Danielus had hoped himself never to be again—naturally, such a fallacy must fail him, as connivance had—Danielus sampled a moment’s acute delight in Cristiano, confused, undone and falling from the sky. But it was not a cruel delight. A loving one. A thankful one. And he became, Danielus, instantly Magister of himself enough to say, not: She loves you, but, “She has seen th
e good in you. Your example shines. It gives her comfort, after the human swine she has had to encounter.” Then he gave Cristiano a glass of wine. Cristiano did not quibble that the glass was ill-made, knowing nothing better. Danielus described for him how the girl had wept like a child, and saw Cristiano go whiter still and then, very red. Red to the ears like a boy, indeed. And next master himself, as Danielus had mastered himself. And get out, “Before Christ—why didn’t I know—why wasn’t I here—”

  “Never mind it. Now you are.”

  Then he told Cristiano, carefully, a little of the poison crumbs at a time, how the Council had sent for her, and he had had to let her go.

  Danielus expected anything, despite his care. Cristiano might go raving mad, against the cool madness he had come in with. Faint even. One saw men who were capable of battling bare-handed with a lion, told that their mother was dead, or their son, and dropping headlong. But Cristiano only stared.

  And he whispered, “Is this my fault?”

  “No. Dispense with that. How can it be.”

  “I love her.”

  “I know it. And she you.”

  “No, no—”

  “And she you. No other must know but you and I and her. And we three must.”

  “Oh God. Oh God forgive me.”

  “Silence.” Cristiano was silent. “Why do you think, Cristiano, God brought love into this world? For us to shut it up in a lead coffin and drop it in the sea?”

  “It’s sin—”

  “Yes. To insult God, the worst sin. Accept His gift. Thank Him.”

  Cristiano said, after a moment, “The Council—what filth have they invented?”

  Danielus informed him:

  “She let Ve Nera off her necessary penance of rapine and slow death. She failed to kill all the men of Jurneia, who are infidel fiends. She be-glamored and damned us and is in league with Hell.”

  “They are in league with it.”

  “Bravo. Now listen. They must have a trial. She’s famous here. And they will let me in to the trial, because one at least would like to catch me, too—”

  “Isaacus.”

  “He. And I may summon to the court seven Soldiers of God. Or more, if they’re lax, though this I doubt. One should be you.”

  Cristiano had sworn to himself to end his knighthood. He said so.

  “Not yet,” Danielus said. “Think of her. She needs to see you as she knows you. Besides, only as a Bellatae can you be present. I wish I could prepare her, I have no means. Whatever else, when she stands before them in that Underworld of theirs, she’ll behold you, living and whole. It’s all that I can be sure of for her now.”

  Cristiano looked at him. “The Bellatae would rally to you, Magister. And to her.”

  “Again, bravo. You reassure me of your humanness at last, speaking as you do. But the Bellatae are no longer enough. Ciojha saw to that.”

  “The Council’s hated.”

  “And dreaded. Don’t forget the power the Church has given them, direct from the highest, in Rome.

  Others remember.”

  “What will it come to?”

  “At the worst, her death.”

  It had not been reasonable to prevaricate in this, as it had in the matters of love, and arrest.

  And Cristiano said, making the heart of Danielus turn suddenly inside him, “If she dies—have I damned her?”

  Danielus thought, Your cold and frigid sense of only God. Ah, Cristiano. If God had wanted us tied by a rope to Him, would He have cast us from the Garden? The only means He could find to enlighten us was by infantile rebellion, by a forbidden fruit, and an angel with a flaming sword.

  Forget God, Cristiano. He made us in His image. Live in life for one small moment. Or you will never know His Face.

  But aloud the Magister said, “If she dies she will go up to Paradise. But there’s also the world.”

  2

  “Beatifica, called the Maiden. This is your name?”

  As custom ordained, the Interlocutor had risen, and addressed her as she entered. He had ringing tones, big even for the Chamber.

  The girl looked at him. She shook her head.

  There was some disarray.

  Jesolo spoke for the Council. “She must not pretend to idiocy. We shall decide if she is sane or not. This, now, won’t save her.”

  It was the Pro-Sequitor who got up, almost placatory.

  He said, “A misunderstanding, I think. Woman, what is your name?”

  Beatifica said, in her Primo-minted voice, “I forget my given name. Here I have another I’m known by.”

  “And that is Beatifica.”

  “Yes.”

  Jesolo said bluntly, “Were you never asperged for Christ?” Nothing. He said, “Sprinkled with holy water in his name?”

  Beatifica said, “My mother told me I was.”

  “But in another name.”

  “I forget the other name.”

  “You were a slave,” said Jesolo, “so we hear. How did your master call you?”

  “Volpa,” she said.

  There was quiet then. She had been titled for the familiar animal of the devil. She could have said nothing worse. But she did not lie. Until now, her truthful answers had always been fortuitous.

  Jian moved a little. Danielus did not check him, but Jian had quickly restrained himself.

  Cristiano stood motionless.

  As she came forward now, up the torchlit hall, he waited for her eyes to find him out. If she screamed then, aloud, he must not go to her. He knew this. She seemed small and far away, as if behind a magus’s distorting lens. They had not let her wear her white and gold, but allowed her male clothing, probably to better demonstrate her fault. She wore a padded black tunic, stitched breeches and leather shoes, and seemed inappropriately dapper, a young gentleman.

  The princes Tizanio and Ulisse gawped at her. Cristiano thought they had not been at the Ducal feast when she brought the fire, had never clapped eyes on her before.

  Behind her walked two of the Primo guards, and two of the Eyes and Ears, who had questioned her, although without instruments.

  Her hair was beautiful, shining. It looked too strong for her, there was too much of it, as if it had leached away her vitality. Until she was nothing but the hair, and the gentlemanly clothes.

  Now she reached the area where they wanted her to be, in front of the Shepherds on their dais. A stool was put for her and she was shown she might sit down. She sat down.

  Cristiano, rigid, saw her head turn now, for the first. She looked at them, one by one, the judges, the Pro-Sequitor, the Interlocutor, the Council. Then, to the left, Danielus, and the seven Soldiers of God. Though no longer only a slave of lowered eyes, there was no curiosity and no interest in her face, and no alarm. There was hardly any face to display a mood. Yet, one by one, looking. And now

  And now

  And now at him. At him.

  His heart twisted. Dropped down.

  Her eyes were only a pale hazel.

  He might run forward and take her up, and cut a way through several men with the sword. But they would not get more than a hundred steps, if so much. And if still she lived, then they might do anything to her. He must stay, as Danielus had told him, stationary.

  Besides, he meant nothing to her. She had looked at him fully, and not seen. She had turned away.

  Suddenly her whole body slipped bonelessly forward.

  Despite himself, he moved. Wrenched himself back, rigid.

  One of the Eyes and Ears had bent over her. Her sliding downward toward the floor was only like the action of someone exhausted, and for a second falling asleep. Was it only that? She had been lifted on to the stool again, seated.

  One of the Shepherds said, “Does she swoon?” To Cristiano, the voice was juicy with enjoyment. Perhaps Cristiano mistook.

  And she was sitting upright now, she looked straight before her. She looked up at her three judges.

  She was changed.

  Oh God, h
ow changed. She was ablaze within. Her eyes like two bright flames. She looked at them, these men who might—who must—condemn her to death. She looked at them with radiant happiness and love.

  She saw me. What now she is has come from me.

  Better than any warrior, she did not say one word, but she was filled by light. The clothes, even her hair, returned to the place of mere apparel. She was alive.

  And—she had disconcerted them.

  “What is it?” one demanded. “Why do you laugh at us?”

  “I don’t laugh, signore.”

  “Call me Shepherd of God. I see you laughing.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “But I don’t laugh.”

  “Why? You are here to answer dreadful charges.”

  Beatifica did not reply.

  The Pro-Sequitor spoke to her, roughly at last.

  “Don’t add to your crimes by insolent sullenness.

  Whatever is asked of you, in this sanctified Chamber, you must give reply.”

  She glanced at him.

  She said, “Then, I will tell you. I glimpsed my good angel.”

  A commotion. And under it, Cristiano heard Danielus take one abrupt involuntary breath, not exactly a gasp.

  “An angel? In your inner eye do you say?”

  “No, Shepherd of God. He is here.”

  “Where then?”

  Beatifica considered a moment. Then she did smile at the Shepherd, individually for him. She had been warned, and also she had learned a little here and there. She said, without cunning, but only in order to obey them all—these men who demanded, Danielus who had said she must show herself to have no favorites, “He is at my right shoulder. Where I have heard the nuns say, one’s own good angel always stands.”

  The Interlocutor exclaimed, “Take care. You blaspheme.”

  It was one of the Shepherds of God who rapped out, “She does not. It’s some childish thing. She may be addled, or simple, we know that. The nuns do tell the children so. It’s harmless. She isn’t here to stand on trial for such a toy.”

  The Pro-Sequitor: “She says she sees him.”