Daria pulled at Gianni’s hand, calling attention to their presence. They were too late to stall Piero’s defrocking. But could they aid the Gifted in circumventing endless questioning, torture, excommunication, banishment? Collectively they were the most influential of all of Provence. Armand had chosen well. God had chosen well.
Gianni squeezed her hand in response. Hope, said his touch. Hope.
Four priests moved forward and took the sacred elements from Piero’s hands. They took from him the alb, the stole, the censer, leaving him in his brown robe.
The Court stood and stared at the priest as the final words were uttered, the dissolution nearly complete. “Do you have anything left to say, Piero?” asked du Puy, carefully avoiding any holy title.
Piero smiled at him with kind eyes, and Daria understood his expression. He felt sorrow for the auditor, a desire to show him truth, light, to lead him out of the dark. “Yes,” he said. Slowly he undid the rope at his waist and carefully folded it at his feet.
Du Puy frowned, wary now.
Piero reached for the shoulder of his robe.
“Piero . . .”
But Piero continued, lifting the robe from his shoulders and pulling it away from his body, leaving only a flimsy undergown and leggings beneath. People stirred and covered laughter behind hands. But Piero continued, carefully folding the brown Benedictine robe into quarters and setting it down on the stair in front of the bishop, with the rope atop it.
He lifted his hands outward. “M’lord Bishop,” he said, staring back into the reddened and furious face of his prosecutor. “I could be naked and my God could still make use of me. The role of priest is a sacred task. I am called to speak to my people wherever I am, to reach them with the truth of Christ, the hope of the Everlasting. Our time on earth is fleeting. The Alpha and Omega is not contained on a gold and silver stole. He is all about us. Dress me in rags, in the clothes of a court jester—leave me in nothing but my undergarments—but you shall never take away the truth.”
Piero’s voice rose, and he pointed at the ground. “God is here. Right now. He is present. And I, recognized or not, am his servant.”
Silence washed over the halls, everyone holding their breath, eyes on Bishop du Puy. His chest heaved, as if he were having difficulty breathing himself in the midst of his fury, but slowly it eased. He sat back down upon his high wooden chair, one hand on the arm of it, the other rubbing his lips as he considered his next move.
At last, he spoke. “You declare yourself as his servant. Do you stand alone?”
“Nay, m’lord Bishop,” said Anette. “I stand behind him,” she said, stepping forward.
“As do I,” said Josephine. Each of the Gifted and their supporters said the same, stepping forward.
“And we do as well,” said the doge. The rest of the nobles followed suit. In the passion of the moment, others from the gallery moved forward, including a priest, a steward, and a knight of the palais.
The bishop stared down at them, now a collective group of about fifty. He had risen to his feet again as the group grew, obviously wondering when the momentum would taper. “Countess Devenue des Baux,” he said, coughing into his hand. “Are you certain that you wish to stand with this heretic?”
“If he is a heretic, then so am I,” she said, raising her chin. Gaspare leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. She took her skirts in hand and moved forward, Count Devenue at her side. “M’lord Bishop,” she said. “We all know what will come next. You have a holy charge. But you prosecute your own,” she pleaded. “Their gifting is something to be celebrated. Homored. Do you not see what they have done for my husband? Will you not give them the opportunity to prove themselves loyal to our God?”
Du Puy frowned.
“Beware of trickery,” said Cardinal Zambrotti. Abramo Amidei eased away, as if he had said nothing to him.
“What do you propose, my lady?” asked the bishop.
“I know not,” she said with an easy smile, looking back to the Gifted, letting her eyes rest on Gaspare. And it was then that Daria felt it, the urgent need, the desire from within to heal. Her eyes met Piero’s, then Gaspare’s. Was this the Father’s way out? His passage to safety?
“I do,” said Daria, stepping forward. “There is one to be healed. Before your very eyes. Would that not prove to you that we are who we say?” Her eyes sifted through the crowd. Who was it? Whom had the Lord picked to heal this very day?
“She has done it before,” said Duke Richardieu. “She healed me of my deafness.”
“And she healed my cancer,” said Lady Blanchette, standing beside him.
“And you have seen me at my near worst,” Count Devenue said. “You cannot deny, Bishop du Puy, that at our last meeting, you considered me a dead man upon my feet.”
The bishop stared hard at him. Daria could see the truth of it in his eyes. He had counted Dimitri dead, had undoubtedly seen his deformed head, riddled with tumor. And now he stood before the court again, the proud and healed husband of Countess Anette des Baux. He could not be ignored. Something significant, something obvious had occurred. Something that could not be denied.
The bishop’s eyes narrowed.
The pope entered, among some fanfare. He appeared better today, but Daria gave him scant attention. She was praying, asking God to identify who would receive healing this day. A child, Lord?
Daria searched her heart. Her eyes again ran over the crowd. There were precious few children among them.
“I shall determine who it will be, then,” said the bishop. He moved down the stairs and into the crowd before him, to Daria’s right.
“He cannot,” Daria whispered to Gianni. “It cannot be our determination . . .”
“Trust, wife,” he said, squeezing her hand. “God sees us. He knows us and our current crisis. He shall see us through.”
“But—”
“Him,” the bishop said. “You shall heal him.”
The crowd parted, clearing the path between the child he gestured to, then back toward Daria.
Roberto. Dear Roberto.
It was not possible. He needed surgery. Months of healing . . .
The bishop stared in cold challenge at Daria. “Well?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
IT was then Daria knew the truth of it, felt the familiar pull. She smiled into Roberto’s hopeful, wide, patient eyes. “Yes.” She nodded, grinning. “It is he that God has chosen.”
“I chose him,” dismissed the bishop.
“God is a part of everything we do,” said Piero as he passed him, heading back to the dais and his chair. The pope took a seat beside him.
“Yes, well you better hope that God is a part of this,” Vito whispered.
“Our Lord is a part of this,” Gaspare said, his eyes twinkling with excitement even as Daria moved toward Roberto. He knelt on the floor and raised his hands to the ceiling. “Our Lord on High placed the sun and the moon in place. He is our Creator, and he lives and rules the heavens to this day. No one can stop him,” he said, staring hard at Amidei.
Abramo was pacing, Vincenzo now at his side. He looked to Daria, his eyes appearing old and weary, reminding her of the pope . . .
She shifted her gaze to Gaspare. The old fisherman closed his eyes and was praying. Suddenly the windows became dim and then dark. Women screamed. Men rushed outside. Torches were lit. In a moment, one returned. “An eclipse! There is an eclipse of the sun!”
The bishop looked to his counterparts. No eclipse was foreseen. There wasn’t another due for months, and it was to be partial, at most.
“The world is in darkness,” Josephine said, as Gaspare continued to pray. “Only Jesus is the light.”
Daria stepped forward. “ ‘No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead he puts it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light.’ Roberto, are you ready to let Christ’s light shine through you?”
The boy nodded, eyes wide.
“Post tenebras, lux,” Vito muttered behind her.
“Post tenebras, lux,” Daria repeated. She moved toward Roberto and leaned down. She caressed his cheek. “You have been patient, my friend. God has chosen this day, this moment, to bring you healing. Do you believe?”
He nodded, eyes wide.
“Lie down here, Roberto,” she said softly. She looked to Tessa and Nico, right beside the boy, and asked them to stay on either side of him. She spoke clearly, loud enough that their judges could hear.
Piero held his hand out toward the bishop and the pope. “Please, come closer. You are wary of trickery. Bring two of your most trusted men on the Holy Court, and come close. There must be no dispute. What you are about to witness must be corroborated by three or more of you.” He looked about the grand hall. “You as well, m’lord Cardinals. Please. Draw near.”
He was wise, bringing them close, Daria thought. If enough truly believed what was about to transpire, knew it as truth, they had a fighting chance of making it out of the Court without a death sentence, mayhap even without an excommunication.
Hasani drew closer as well and pulled a parchment from the folds of his robe. He handed it to Bishop du Puy, but Daria began praying then, and his attention was solely upon her. He waved for three torch bearers to come closer.
Daria looked about the boy, now wreathed in the faithful—Hasani, Gaspare, Piero, Tessa, Nico, Agata, Vito, Ugo, Gianni, Josephine. Ambrogio edged near and took to his knees, reaching in a hand to touch Roberto’s deformed leg, and smiled his encouragement toward Daria.
Daria rolled up Roberto’s leggings to his thighs, leaving his healthy leg exposed as well. She wanted to see what his leg was supposed to look like, the goal before her and her God. She ran her hands over the deformed limb, the bad break, covered over in bone. Ligaments and tendons shortened where they not ought to be. Muscles bunched in knots in others.
She sighed and closed her eyes, making sure she understood all that was ahead.
“Faith,” Gianni whispered into her ear, his breath hot. “God can do this. He shall do this.”
“Faith,” she repeated in a whisper.
“Wisdom,” Piero added, staring soberly at Roberto’s leg. “May you know exactly what to do.”
“Wisdom,” Daria said.
“Power,” Gaspare said. “Know that the Holy One is present. And nothing is beyond his reach.”
“God’s own power, here among us,” she said, a smile growing across her face.
“A word from our Savior,” Josephine said. “ ‘For this people’s heart has become callused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise, they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.’ ”
“We turn to you, Lord,” Daria prayed. “We understand it is you that holds this mighty power and ask you to heal this child, now.”
Hasani grunted and she looked into his eyes. His eyes were at rest, confident. All will be well. I have seen it. He smiled at her.
Tessa moved closer and laid a hand on Daria’s shoulder. “We are not alone, m’lady,” she whispered. “There is evil here, but God’s own are moving among us as well.”
She looked from the child and into her friend Roberto’s eyes. “How long, little man? How long ago was your leg broken?” She spoke more for the bishop’s knowledge than her own.
“More than six years past, now, m’lady,” he said.
Daria rose slowly and looked to the people beyond their inner circle. “There must not be anyone here who does not believe or wish for God to heal this child. You must believe, hope, and join your prayers with our own, or you must leave.” She turned to Lord Amidei and Vincenzo, then back to Bishop du Puy. “Those two men must be ushered out of this hall.”
Cardinal Saucille stirred. “That is preposterous . . .”
She turned to the bishop. “This is your test for us, is it not?”
“It is.”
“Tessa, are those two men of the light or of the dark?”
Tessa stared where she pointed. “Of the dark, m’lady.”
Gaspare said, “Have them go, m’lord Bishop. They must not be present.” He looked toward the pope, as if he intended to directly appeal to the Holy Father.
“Take them out,” the pope said immediately, throwing a dismissive hand in the air as if to say he just wanted this nonsense done.
Abramo whipped his arm out of the hands of a guard and strode out of the hall, Vincenzo right behind him.
“Tessa, are there any others who must leave?” Daria asked.
The child turned in a slow circle. She pointed out three men, then a woman, and guards took them from the room. She paused over the six cardinals, standing in attendance beyond the Court council, those over whom Amidei had held sway. “You have been led down dark paths,” she said bravely. “Lord Amidei is our enemy. And we are the friends of God. Stay, m’lord Cardinals,” she said sweetly, “but I sense deep conflict within each of you. When you see what God is about to do through Lady de Capezzana, I ask that you search within, past the dark web Lord Amidei has spun, to the truth of Christ that remains there. I can see that as well. You are not his yet. You are God’s own. Fight back against the darkness. Choose the light.”
The men watched her, some glowering, some shaking in fear, others already looking repentant, caught in the truth of the young girl’s words.
Tessa returned to the group and laid her hand beside the others, atop Roberto’s head.
Daria waited for Roberto to look into her eyes. “Pray, Roberto,” she whispered. “Pray with everything in you. And believe. See your leg restored, as it was meant to be. Know that the God who brought you into this world can see you healed. Do you believe?”
He nodded at her, eyes wide and earnest.
Daria bowed her head. “Lord God, shield him from the pain,” she began praying. “Tear apart what is not right within his body. Tear loose the tendons and ligaments that are not where they should be. Break apart the bone that covers a break that should have been set differently. Align his bones before us, Father. Heal him, Lord God on High.”
Piero, Josephine, Gaspare, and Gianni all spoke, echoing some of her words, adding their own. Slowly, reverently, all in the hall went to their knees, all except the Court, who leaned forward from their chairs. As the last went to their knees, Daria felt the Spirit draw near, and with him came his angels. She looked to Tessa, whose face was alight in joy. Tears slipped from her eyes, wide and unblinking as if she didn’t wish to miss a moment of this, making tracks down her cheeks that reflected in the torchlight.
One look at the Gifted about Roberto, at Roberto himself, and she knew that all sensed that something mighty was about to occur. Bishop du Puy, mouth agape, slipped into Latin, reverently repeating, Dignus est agnus! “Worthy is the Lamb!” as he stared down at them, then all around them. Could he see the angels too?
Gaspare raised his hands. “You are Lord of the heavens and the earth,” he said softly. “You command the sun and the moon to move. We humbly ask you, Father, to move the moon from the sun’s path, just as you move this child’s leg back into the place you meant it to be.”
Daria nodded, smiling. It was the perfect prayer, the method majestic, fitting of her Lord, in this moment. “Proclaim your power here, Savior,” she said. “Rule over darkness. Bring us life and healing. Place your hands upon Roberto and heal him, Lord Jesus. Heal him. Heal him. Heal him.”
She felt the heat first, a rise in temperature beneath her hands. It was warm at first, then moved to the heat of a fevered brow. When it reached a searing heat, as if she had just touched a stone by a fire, she opened her eyes. “Hold, my friends,” she said to them all. Some had fallen back, alarmed by the heat. “Hold. Yes, Father,” she said again in prayer. “We know you are at work. Come, Jesus. Come, Holy Spirit. Come, Father God. Heal this child, your child. We beg you, Lord. Heal him. Heal him. Heal him,” she said in a
hushed whisper.
Two beings of white walked through the kneeling men and women, heading directly in their direction.
“M’lady,” Tessa said in an awed whisper.
“I see,” Daria said, joy washing through her heart.
“As do I,” said Piero.
“And I,” said Gianni.
“And I,” said Gaspare.
“And even I,” said Josephine, white eyes staring as if she could truly see. “They are here.”
“Do not fear,” Daria said to Roberto.
But the boy looked up at the angels with such peace, there was nothing but joy in his eyes.
The angels knelt, one on either side of Roberto, and placed a hand on either shoulder blade. Their features were difficult to make out, so bright were their faces, but Daria could see their wings spread wide, as if encircling their group around Roberto. One nodded toward her. She could see that much.
“Father God in heaven. We are your servants. We love and adore you. We praise your name! Come and heal this child now. We beg you, Father, we beg you, make his leg straight! Allow him to walk as he was created to walk!”
The heat intensified, and Daria pulled her hands away in alarm. But it was the scent then that caught her attention, the pervading aroma of cloves and orange blossoms and something else . . .
Roberto groaned, and then cried out as his leg trembled in the air before them. They could hear popping, and the awful crunch of bone cracking. “Sustain him, Lord Jesus, shield him, Father,” Daria whispered. She wanted to look to the child’s face, but her eyes could not leave his leg, hovering as if lifted by the angels, who still stood at the other end of the boy, nowhere near ankles or feet. But their faces, their shining faces, seemed to stare upon it.
The pope gasped. The leg was straightening, before their very eyes.
Toes came into line with ankle. Ankle in line with calf. Calf and thigh into place. Slowly Roberto bent the leg, and the knee moved as it should, a perfect hinge, restored. He shouted.
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