by Andrea Japp
He trembled for a long moment against the torso of his dead brother before managing to stand up to go and notify the people crammed into the anteroom where a deathly hush reigned.
Manoir de Souarcy-en-Perche, July 1304
Dawn was breaking, pushing back the night. Clément had not slept for two days. His head was spinning with exhaustion, or was it the euphoria of success?
A thought suddenly occurred to him that tempered his complacency. The poisonous snake! In those few lines he had transcribed from the message Vigil was carrying when he was pierced by an arrow was all the hatred and jealousy in the world. The venom was concealed in one of Mabile’s famously delicious recipes for broad bean purée.
Place the beans on the heat and bring them to the boil, then drain the water from the pot and add fresh water to cover the beans, salt according to taste …
Eudes and Mabile had made no effort of imagination, beginning their code with the first letter of the first line.
The deciphered text made Clément shudder with horror. Following the details of his birth, his lack of a surname, godmother and godfather, were the wicked words:
Chaplain Bernard bewitched by Agnès. Sharing a bed?
The evil scoundrel. She was lying shamelessly in order to please her master. Another more likely reason suddenly occurred to Clément. She was lying in order to hurt him, and also to take revenge. Eudes’s deep-rooted hatred of his half-sister was so confused, so mixed up with his unrequited love and unsatisfied desire. He wanted Agnès to grovel even as he continued to believe that, were it not for their blood ties, she would have loved him more than anyone. Mabile was aware of this. Her hatred was keen and merciless, like the blade of a knife.
Clément waited another hour before stealing down to his mistress’s chamber to inform her of his discovery.
Seated on her bed, the lady studied him. A flush of anger had gradually replaced the pallor on her face when she learnt the contents of the message.
‘I’ll unmask her and throw her out on her ear. I’ll give her a good thrashing!’
‘I understand your anger, Madame, but it would be a mistake.’
‘She accuses me of …’
‘Of sharing your chaplain’s bed, indeed.’
‘It is a crime, not a mere error of judgement.’
‘I am well aware of that.’
‘Do you realise what would become of me if anyone were to give credence to this monstrous calumny?’
‘You would lose your dower.’
‘And more than that! Brother Bernard is not a man, he is a priest. I would be dragged before the courts, accused of demonically driving a man of God to commit the sin of sensual pleasure. In short, of being a succubus. And you know what fate is reserved for them.’
‘The stake.’
‘After everything else.’
She fell silent for a few moments before continuing:
‘Eudes is expecting this message. How many more has he received from the loyal Vigil since he offered him to me? No matter. The pigeon is dead and we have no way of replacing Mabile’s original note. Worse still, I cannot even rid myself of her without rousing my half-brother’s suspicions. What am I to do, Clément?’
‘Kill her,’ he proposed, with great solemnity. Agnès looked at him aghast:
‘What are you saying?’
‘I can kill her. It is simple; there are so many plants I could use. I would not be guilty of committing a capital sin since she is not a human being but a snake.’
‘Have you lost your senses? I forbid it. Killing is only justified when one’s life is threatened.’
‘She is a threat to us. She threatens your life, and therefore mine.’
‘No. You will not taint your soul. Do you hear me? It is an order. If anyone is to send that witch to her damnation, it should be me.’
Clément lowered his head and murmured:
‘I refuse. I refuse to let you be damned. I will obey you, Madame, as I always obey, just to please you.’
Damnation? She had lived with the possibility for so long that she had ended up no longer fearing it.
‘Clément. There must be some other defence against his evil. I need precise information about the state of Monsieur de Larnay’s mines. I will give the order to saddle a horse for you. Our draught animals do not go very fast, but the journey will be less tiring for you and its imposing physique will deter brigands.’
They were running short of time.
Returning to her room that evening, Mabile discovered sooner than expected that her recipe book was missing. She charged to the end of the passageway leading to the servants’ quarters, and burst into Adeline’s chamber like a fury. The evil woman set upon Adeline’s sleeping form, tearing at her hair and punching her.
The portly girl tried to scream, but a brutal hand clamped itself over her mouth and she felt the tip of a knife pricking her neck and a voice growled in her ear:
‘Where is it, pig? Where’s my recipe book? Give it to me now! If you cry out, I’ll skin you alive. Do you hear me?’
‘I haven’t got it, I haven’t got it, I swear on the Gospel! I didn’t take it,’ squealed Adeline.
‘Who did then? Quick, out with it, you ugly cow, my patience is wearing thin.’
‘It must’ve been Clément. He was asking me where you kept it – the recipe book, I mean! So I told him, I did.’
‘A pox on that sneak of a boy!’
Mabile’s thoughts were racing. She had been careless. They had certainly found the message meant for Eudes de Larnay – contrary to what she had believed so as to put her mind at rest. No doubt knowing that she would try to recover the dead pigeon, that loathsome dwarf had placed it in the Dame de Souarcy’s chamber for her to find. The missing recipe book showed he had discovered the nature of the code and probably already deciphered it.
She must leave the manor. Agnès had sufficient reason to demand her punishment.
Why did that miserable bastard always triumph? And why did Clément love her so much that he was prepared to risk Mabile’s vengeance? And Gilbert? And the others? Why?
A sudden calm came over Mabile. Up until then she thought she had hated the Dame de Souarcy, but she hadn’t. She had been content merely to hurt her. True hatred, the hatred that destroys everything, was only just beginning. It drove her and nothing could withstand it. It eclipsed all fear, all remorse.
Adeline was still sobbing as the tip of the knife pulled away from her neck.
‘Listen to me carefully, you little fool! I’m going back to my room. If I so much as hear you move before dawn or raise the alarm, you’re dead. Do you understand? Wet the bed if you have to, but I don’t want to hear a sound!’
The girl nodded her head frantically.
Mabile left the tiny chamber. She only had a few hours’ head start to put a distance between her and Agnès de Souarcy’s men.
Agnès was not surprised to learn the news of Mabile’s disappearance. Even less so was Clément, to whom Adeline had confessed, her face puffy from crying.
‘May she be torn apart by bears,’ Clément began, as they stood in the hay barn where the corpse that the Bailiff’s men had brought back had lain.
‘They, too, are wary of snakes.’
‘Are you thinking of sending some men after her, Madame?’
‘She has several hours’ head start and they won’t catch up with her on our draught horses. And even if they did find her, what would I do with her? Remember, she is my half-brother’s property. I would be obliged to hand her over in order for him to mete out justice.’
‘Indeed, we would do better to let her roam in the forest. Adeline said she must have left in a great hurry. She took very little food with her and even less water and clothing. Who knows …?’
‘Do not hope for miracles, Clément.’
‘Then the war is at our gates.’
Agnès ran her fingers through the child’s hair, and murmured in a voice so weary it startled him:
‘You have summed up our situation admirably. Leave me now, I need to think.’
He appeared to hesitate, but did as she had asked.
Agnès climbed the stairs to her quarters, her limbs weighed down by an immeasurable fatigue. No sooner had she closed the door than the façade of self-control she had kept up for Clément’s sake fell away. If Mabile managed to spread her poisonous lies, Eudes would believe them or pretend to give them credence. If her half-brother then concluded that the irregularities in the chapel register regarding Clément’s birth and Sybille’s death were designed to conceal Sybille’s heresy, Agnès was lost. Her supposed crimes would be brought before the Inquisition. Choked with sobs, she slumped to her knees on the stone floor.
What would she do – what could she do? Her mind was flooded with questions, each more insoluble than the last.
What would become of Clément? He would be handed over to the Baron de Larnay – unless she managed to convince him to flee. He would never leave without her – she would force him. Above all, he must not suspect the danger Agnès faced, or he would cling to her in the hope of saving her, forgetting about his youth, the circumstances of his birth and what he knew he must conceal.
And what of Mathilde? Mathilde must be protected – but where could she send her? The Abbess of Clairets might take her in for a while. But if Agnès were accused of having incited a priest to commit concubinage, she would be stripped of her dower and her parental rights …
A garbled prayer came from her lips:
‘I beg you, Lord! Do not punish them for my sins. Do what You will with me, only spare them for they are innocent.’
How long did she cry like that? She had no idea. She fought against the exhaustion that made her eyelids heavy.
Fear will not save you from being bitten, my dear, on the contrary.
Agnès’s fury roused her and she castigated herself.
Stop this at once!
Stand up! Who do you think you are, grovelling like this! If you falter, they will pounce on you and rip you to shreds like the hounds their quarry.
If you falter, they will take Clément and Mathilde, your name and your estate. Think of what they will do to Clément.
If you falter, you will have deserved your fate and you will be responsible for what befalls the child.
Growl more fiercely, raise your ears and tail, and bare your teeth to ward off the dangers that threaten you.
Fight.
Taverne de la Jument-Rouge, Alençon, Perche, July 1304
Nicolas Florin, the Inquisitor, had swapped his robe for breeches, a chemise, a fustian doublet28 and a rather old-fashioned long dark-grey tunic that would help him to go unnoticed. A taupe-coloured cowl, the pointed end of which was wrapped round his neck, concealed the tonsure that would have drawn attention to him the moment he entered the tavern on Rue du Croc. There were few customers seated at the tables that early afternoon.
He identified the man who had requested the meeting by his affluent appearance, and walked over to his table. The man greeted him without a smile and invited him to sit down, beginning as soon as the innkeeper had served them another jug of wine.
‘As my messenger told you yesterday, this is a delicate matter and requires the utmost discretion.’
‘I understand,’ Nicolas nodded, sipping his wine.
Something struck his knee under the table. He grasped hold of it. A nice full purse, as agreed.
‘There is a hundred pounds, and a hundred more will follow when the trial is over,’ affirmed Eudes de Larnay in a murmur.
‘I am interested to know how you came to me.’
‘There are only three appointed Inquisitors in the Alençon region.’
‘This does not explain how you ruled out the other two candidates.’
‘It hardly matters,’ retorted Eudes, uneasily. ‘What matters is that the information I was given turns out to be correct. However, if you are not interested in the … affair, we shall let it rest,’ he concluded weakly.
Nicolas was not fooled. The other man needed him or he would never have risked arranging such a meeting. And he was not about to let go of two hundred pounds – a small fortune. He agreed wholeheartedly:
‘Indeed, you are right. Let us return to business.’
Eudes took what he hoped was a discreet gulp of air, before commencing the little speech he had rehearsed a dozen times.
‘My half-sister Madame Agnès de Souarcy is a wanton woman of loose morals. As for her devotion to the Holy Mother Church … the least I can say is that it lacks conviction …’
Nicolas did not believe a word of Larnay’s preamble. He had become very gifted at detecting liars and, aided by his own extraordinary talent for deception, was clever at discovering other people’s motives. What a fool the Baron was! Did he really believe Nicolas needed a good reason for dragging somebody before an inquisitorial court? Money more than sufficed. As for evidence and witnesses, he was perfectly capable of providing or procuring these himself. Yes, the wine was good and Baron de Larnay was the first real client on a list he trusted would be long and lucrative. There was no shortage of impatient heirs, vengeful or jealous vassals, or even ambitious or bankrupt merchants. It was worth spending a little of his time listening to this man spout his nonsense.
‘She indulges in carnal relations with a man of God, whom she has no doubt led astray through witchcraft. The man in question is her young chaplain – a certain Brother Bernard. The poor fool is so in her thrall that he has betrayed his faith. Moreover, for some years she has carried on unspeakable dealings with a simpleton who is as faithful to her as a dog.’
Well, well. Here was somebody who might help him. His patience had been rewarded.
‘Really? And what is the nature of these dealings?’
‘Potions, poisons and philtres in exchange for her favours.’
‘Do you have any evidence or witnesses to support this charge?’
‘The testimony of a very devout person who lived in Agnès de Souarcy’s household, and I’ll wager we can find others.’
‘I do not doubt it. Demonology is becoming more and more bound up with the pursuit of heretics. It is understandable – for what is the worship of demons if not the supreme form of heresy, an unforgivable offence against God?’
Eudes, who was uninterested in these finer points, continued:
‘A number of friars have met their deaths under strange and terrible circumstances near to her estate.’
‘Indeed! But is murder not a matter for the high justice of Seigneur d’Authon and his Bailiff?’
‘They have made precious little progress since the bodies were discovered.’
‘Are you suggesting that this lady might have cast a spell on Comte Artus and Monsieur de Brineux?’
‘The possibility cannot be ruled out – though it would be difficult to bring the matter to light given the rank and reputation of the two men.’
‘Indeed.’
Since his arrival at Alençon, Nicolas, who was a judicious manipulator, had spent part of his time familiarising himself with the powerful people of the region. It was out of the question for him to make an enemy of the Comte d’Authon, a friend to the King, and this reticence applied equally to Monge de Brineux. He continued his enquiry:
‘Madame de Souarcy, then, enjoys the backing of influential men even if she obtains it by demonic means?’ asked Nicolas Florin in a hushed voice.
Eudes realised he had made a tactical error. But his desire to drag Agnès through the mud blinded him. He tried to reassure the Inquisitor, correcting himself over-emphatically:
‘She is only another of my father’s bastard offspring. Why did he have to recognise her so late in life?’
His violent outburst caused some heads in the tavern to turn. He lowered his voice:
‘She has almost no property of her own, and I doubt whether Comte Artus and Monsieur de Brineux would defend her if she were found guilty of witchcraft. They are pious men of honour.’ Eudes
paused suddenly. He had for some moments had a niggling suspicion, but his thinking was clouded by resentment and emotion.
‘Pray continue,’ urged Nicolas.
The Inquisitor’s soft voice made Eudes uneasy. However, he kept going:
‘The final and, no doubt, most serious charge, my Lord Inquisitor, is that Agnès de Souarcy once offered her protection to a heretic and with such zeal that one wonders whether she herself did not espouse the same theories. Moreover, she brought up the woman’s posthumous son whose devotion to her is such that he would lay down his life.’
A greedy smile formed on the Inquisitor’s exquisite lips.
‘The facts, for pity’s sake … you are keeping me in suspense.’ The sentence terminated in a sigh.
‘In the chapel register there is no surname entered for the child, Clément, or his mother, Sybille, for whom no funeral mass was held. Nor is there any mention of the name and status of the child’s godparents. Notwithstanding the cross planted on her tomb, Sybille was buried just outside the consecrated ground reserved for the servants of the manor.’
‘That is extremely interesting,’ Nicolas observed. Heresy remained the ideal grounds for accusation. The charges of witchcraft or demonic possession, which were more difficult to substantiate, suddenly seemed incidental.
Nicolas continued:
‘In accordance with your wishes the lady will be tried for heresy and complicity in heresy. Do you wish her confession to be … drawn out?’
At first, Eudes did not understand the precise meaning of the words. And then it struck him with full force and the blood fled from his face:
‘Let us be clear … it is out of the question for … for her …’ His voice had become so choked that Nicolas was obliged to lean over. ‘… Flogging will be sufficient. I want her to be afraid, to believe she is lost. I want her whipped until her pretty back and belly turn black and blue. I want her estate and her dower to be confiscated according to the law and to revert to her daughter, who will become my ward. I do not want her to die. I do not want her maimed or disfigured. The two hundred pounds are contingent upon this.’
