A Mother's Love

by Marian Unn

  *****

  I twisted my words carefully so as not to lie, but even by twisting the words, I still felt the truth behind them exposed before these men. “Please do not misinterpret me. There are many persons here, but there is something about the townsfolk that is simply lacking in the people here. Townsfolk live so simply and kindly. They thrive off what they themselves have earned and slaved the day away to create. Such people, excuse me for saying so Sirs, make for much more delightful company.”

  Smiling softly back at me, the displeasure in their eyes burned through their fake smiles. I chose to look past them, into some dark corner far off behind them, avoiding their molesting gaze. I was telling the truth. God and the other church people are such delightful company. Or at least they were…I do not imagine many, if any of them, have survived whatever my son has done to them or plans to do with them.

  “You speak honestly, I can tell, madam,” the General held his head up high, combing his white tangled beard. “However, your eyes are mourning, as if you have lost something.” His old eyes were clearly not weak from age. I was no fool to him.

  I bowed to him, “Well, sir, I am no longer there, but here once more.”

  “Indeed,” his sharp green eyes slowly cut through me, his words easing out with confidence and undeniable factuality. “Madam, you were found in a flower shop which held an underground meeting place for people who worshipped. It was a fugitives’ den of lawbreakers and heretics. You do realize that your fraternizing with such people, who perform the illegal action of worship, is not an incident in which we can easily ignore in factoring the final outcome of our judgment for your case.”

  With heavy lungs, I smiled as I struggled for a breath, “Of course, sir.”

  Eyeing me suspiciously, he nodded, gesturing for Laurence to continue as he pulled out a piece of tobacco to chew on. Clearing his throat, Laurence peered shyly over his glasses, his strong voice so very foreign to his timid eyes. “You were in the care of the man known as Joshua Quetell. This could be excusable since you had no memory; however, it is unclear when it did return, and when it did, it was inexcusable for you not to report his or Bartholomew’s treachery to the King. What have you to say of this?”

  “You are trying to get me to admit to something. What is it, I wonder?” I glanced quickly to my son, “I have little recollection of many of my adventures. I only know that I was happy as I was when my son was still a child, and my husband still breathing at my side.” Balling up my fists, I clenched my dress. I kept my head raised high. I must not let it be known to these vultures that such talk brings such painful recollections to the surface of my tender heart.

  Those days I spent with the children are so hazy to me now. The more the days pass, the faster the memories of them fade. I cannot even seem to recall half of their names or faces. The joy, along with the pain, I experienced then, moves me to immeasurable bounds. My thoughts become so entangled in these emotions that my soul is beaten by their thrashing inside of me. Joy, Sadness, Anger. They have all become so contorted lately. I sometimes begin to see why my son does what he does, and it becomes clear as to why he is as mad as he is.

  “Madam?” Laurence’s words brought me back to the world. “Pardon?” I looked up to the young man who had called to me, that shy look still on his face. “I seem to be quite weary for some reason,” I whispered, touching my head.

  “Are you sick, Madam, because if so, we may postpone this trial till you are well. It is better after all to be in good health when you are-”

  “No,” Merek spoke above him before he could finish, “Pardon me, I am also as weary and anxious as my mother. However, she and I both know that this hearing must be done today. We can postpone it no longer. Please go on, and be more direct in your interrogations. She is my mother, after all, and clever when it comes to negating the answers you seek.” He did not look at me, but through me. Like some ghost, he saw through my being, labeling me as some insignificant entity, just as meaningless and helpless and dead as the ghost I already seemed to be.

  Without a word of objection or disagreement, Laurence flipped his paper. Upon reading the question to himself, he glanced up at me and then back at whatever words were on the page. “You have been going to town on Sunday nights as previously mentioned, Madam, and it was evident that you were going to the flower shop at the times in which our intelligence has made known to us that Mass was held in the underground chambers. It was at a late time that these ceremonies took place, the same time you claimed that you were going out to see a certain group of people. However, there are no people out so late at night, especially at a flower shop. No one that is, but those who attend those forbidden services late at night in that little cave. The witness will now be brought forward.”

  Tugging at him harshly, the guards forced Father Bart to his knees. Nearly falling over as they did, the guards were forced to hold him up, for he was too weak to do so by his own strength. “It is surprising really,” the General said, examining the poor half dead man. “Indeed!” Huverstein, who had been taking notes most of the time, agreed with him.

  “To think our own Minister of Foreign Affairs was in fact an actual minister! To think he snuck his way so high into the system is simply remarkable! How do you suppose he did it?” The General’s twisted smile nearly made me sneer. I knew the answer to his question, how he got where he was. He told me, but I dared not speak it aloud.

  “I hear he was born into a noble family but fled from them to be a priest!” Huverstein commented. “But when the law was enacted he went back to his family who were highly influential in the political world. Joining the family business, he simply glided his way to his position. He probably faced little opposition. After all, the Ygrates are a great family you know, rich and powerful. They were highly influential during the previous reign.”

  “Enough!” Merek waved at them, exhausted with their rambling, as was to be frequently expected in old men such as these two. “Get on with the questions. You are dragging this on longer than I would have liked.”

  “We beg your deepest pardon, your Highness,” They both bowed, fresh beads of sweat dripping nervously down their cheeks. They both gave their attention to Laurence who had been waiting patiently for them to cease their chattering.

  A frail man, he struggled to look at Father Bart. Still he racked up his courage and addressed the man with just as much respect as he had the other gentlemen who were not chained, beaten, and seen as heretical tyrants, enemies to the King.

  “Sir Bartholomew Ygrate,” he began strongly, “The Court here finds you guilty on the charge of being a priest. Do you deny this?”

  Father Bart said nothing. He spun his head dizzily and opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words were able to come from his cut and swollen lips.

  “Bring him water,” Merek ordered. One of the soldiers stepped out quickly for a moment to yell at a startled maid who had the misfortune of meeting the soldier. Through the doorway, we could see the terrified thing. Used to soldiers’ harassments, she pulled away from him, but upon hearing that it was an order of the King, she obediently handed a half full glass of water to the dying man. As it was pressed to his parched lips, his neck bobbled back and forth. The water must be fresh and reviving to him. A wonderful sensation, I imagine. Slapping his lips together, he spoke in his lovely voice. Even though it was cracked and strained with every syllable he spoke, it was still his own. Confident and proud, it was truly a defining trait of his which even at such drastic and dreadful times could not leave him.

  “I-” he coughed, “I, am whom I am.” Breathing heavily from the strain which speaking seemed to have on him, he heaved his chest back and forth, as if speaking was suffocating to him. But he smiled at his words, repeating those of our great Lord, not that these worldly men would know of such things. “I,” he breathed once more, “I am the man who has seen this town transform. I have witnessed it in its prime, full of life and love, and I have seen it fall, the war taking
a deathly toll on these people.” As he smiled his proud, irresistible smile, the men drew back from him in shock. As he drew from some unseen power, some hidden strength pushed him to speak louder and more clearly. “I have seen it rise with the coming of the King. But, as his wealth and influence rose, the people’s spirits dropped. They have become lost in this new strange town that still bears the name of their homes. I helped them to find the heart of the town, to find themselves amidst the chaos that one of their own had brewed.” He raised his battered head high for all to see. Clenching his teeth to subdue the pain, he growled his words, “I have seen that boy grow up from a poor loving family, rightly questioning the world around him! I have seen him grasp hold of the wrong answers building a kingdom on weightless values! And I have seen him build himself up, crushing down his own heart. How sad I thought, how sad it is that he does not realize he murders not just himself but his mother whom he has now put on trial!” He raised his voice high, a fire burning strong in his eyes, “His mother, for whom, though he now tries her, I know in his heart, there burns a love for her that he knows he will never be able to extinguish! Not by her or anyone else’s death!”

  With a pale face, Merek stood. Turning to the gentlemen, he spoke quickly in a grave and heavy voice, “Clearly this man has been beaten so severely he can no longer be of any use to us. Do you agree my fellows?”

  The General, with his red face, nodded. Huverstein gave a light gesture of agreement as well, but Laurence said nothing. He stared at Father Bart, just as pale as Merek.

  Saying nothing more to them, Merek’s eyes lingered on Laurence for a moment and then swung past mine as he pulled a dagger from his belt.

  No. No, he would not do this in front of me again. No, Merek, not again! “Please, do not do this to me again! Merek!” I reached for him. This time he did not resist my desperate tugging at his sleeve. “Please, Merek, not again! I cannot bear to see the blood of those around me spilt! I cannot bear to see you kill, please!” I touched his cold face.

  “Mother, do not interfere with such business. It is not your place.”

  “But, Merek!”

  “Silence, woman!” His raised knife changed directions, its point directed towards me. I fell back paralyzed in shock, not by the sudden danger, but by his eyes. Their darkness, that void of black that was so enchantingly deathly, clung to me, capturing my very soul in their depths. I felt my eyes begin to water. I cannot bear it! I cannot bear to look into his eyes and witness with my own that he truly has transformed into some other creature. I cannot look at this man and accept that he is my child. I cannot! I simply cannot bear it! I cannot!

  Shuttering at his rough touch on my hand, I mindlessly let him guide me to my seat. Tucking the knife away, he crouched next to me. Not seeming to care anymore about the company or the manners necessary to practice in their presence, he peered up at me, staring deeply into my eyes.

  “You truly fear me, Mother,” he whispered, his expression unchanging. “You are truly terrified by your very own son. What kind of mother are you?” Standing tall, he turned to the guards. “Draw your sword, soldier! This man is of no use to us! Slay him now!”

  “Sir, if I may,” Laurence spoke quickly, his voice rapid, quivering as he spoke. “The Ygrates may pay a good price for his life. Perhaps it may be worth keeping him alive?”

  “You make a valid point. However, they will pay just as fine for his body.”

  With that, the sword came down, but before it could pierce his flesh, he cried out in a language unfamiliar to them, “Deus est donantes!” And, as he fell, so did I.

  Yes, it is weak of me to fall at such an hour, but I could not bear the pain any longer. As I slept, Father Bart’s last words rang in my ears. “Yes. Yes, God is forgiving,” I whispered the words of my undoing.

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