The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1

by Andrea Japp

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘The illegitimate recognised child of a lowly baron, Robert de Larnay.’

  A disbelieving frown creased Madame de Neyrat’s pretty brow.

  ‘What an absurd story. What possible part could a minor French noble play in a clash between the forces of conservatism and reform within the Church?’

  ‘An admirable summary of the chaos into which I have been plunged for years.’

  ‘Moreover, a woman. What are women in the eyes of a prelate? Saints, nuns or mothers on the one hand, and whores, delinquents and temptresses on the other. What possible importance could a woman have?’

  Honorius said nothing as she reeled off her list. He was clever enough to know that she was right. Be that as it may, what other role could a woman play? Was not she, Aude, the charming murderess, living proof of this?

  ‘I am hopelessly in the dark, my dear. All I know about the woman is that she represents a terrible threat, the exact nature of which escapes me. She must die, and quickly.’

  ‘And you want me to carry out her execution?’ Madame de Neyrat enquired with a smile.

  ‘No. I took care of that long before I called upon you.’

  ‘What is it you want from me, then, dear Honorius?’

  ‘I need that Vallombroso treatise. I need it urgently so as to be able to calculate the second birth chart and pre-empt my enemies. I engaged the services of a henchman whose incompetence worries me and is beginning to exasperate me. I counted upon his anger, his bitterness, his need to exact revenge on life for the injustice of which he believes he is a victim.’

  A brief silence followed this admission. Aude de Neyrat responded thoughtfully:

  ‘Honorius, Honorius, it is wrong to place your trust in fear and envy. They are the attributes of a coward, and cowards are the worst traitors.’

  ‘I did not have much choice, my lovely woman. Will you help me?’

  ‘I told you once that I am a woman of my word and a woman of honour. I always repay my debts, Monsieur,’ she replied unsmilingly for the first time. ‘Moreover, very few of those I have incurred I hold dear. I will help you …’ and then, aware that the tone of her conversation had become rather serious, she added light-heartedly: ‘And, who knows, I might even be doing our future pope a service.’

  He shook his head before replying:

  ‘I prefer to remain in the shadows, my dear. I am waiting anxiously behind the scenes for a man whom I can serve better than I serve myself. Benoît … Benoît, though I loved him dearly, was not this man.’

  ‘And what shall I do with your spy?’

  ‘Eliminate him if the need arises; he has given me proof enough of his ineptitude.’

  ‘I find the idea quite appealing, Honorius.’

  Aude stood up, and the camerlingo followed suit, clasping her hands before raising them to his lips. She murmured:

  ‘I will remain in Rome for two days in order to rest. Do not hesitate to pay me a discreet visit if you so wish.’

  ‘I think not, my dear. We know each other too well, but above all we like each other too much.’

  She closed her eyes and, flashing one of her most dazzling smiles at him, whispered:

  ‘Why would I have given you the same reply had you been the one to make such a brazen proposition?’

  ‘Precisely because we know each other too well and like each other too much.’

  Inquisition headquarters, Alençon, Perche, November 1304

  Hunched 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.

  Clairets Abbey, Perche, November 1304

  A shadow slipped through the darkness of th
e 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.’