Night Blooming
Page 53
“I suspect the father may have been a priest of the old gods, and gave his daughter to their use,” said Bishop Gondebaud. “Many simple people still try to follow the old ways, forsaking their salvation.”
“Sublime Gondebaud is right,” said Cardinal Archbishop Paulinus Evitus. “Even here in Italy, the old ways still have adherents.”
Rakoczy wondered what Olivia would think of this condemnation, with her lares still on display on the iconostasis, presented as Saints instead of household gods and ancestors. How many others, he asked himself, used similar devices to keep up the traditions of Imperial Roma?
“You can see her eyes are red,” said Bishop Didier. “Surely this can’t be a sign of Heavenly favor.” He had got to his feet and began to pace.
“No, indeed,” said Cardinal Archbishop Ittalus. “God requires that we be vigilant.”
“We are doing so,” said Pope Leo. “We are here to do His work.” He leaned forward. “White Woman, do you recall anything your father might have said that would account for your condition? Remember you are in God’s Court here.”
“I have always been dedicated to God and His Good,” said Gynethe Mehaut, beginning to feel as if all this was futile.
Cardinal Archbishop Iovinus regarded her narrowly; he rose and approached her, looming above her so that his shadow fell across her. “It is a simple thing to say, but how can we know it is anything more than sophistry?”
“If Bishop Freculf were here—” Gynethe Mehaut began, then stopped herself: Bishop Freculf was in Franksland, and anything he might have said on her behalf was of no consequence here. “I have spent many years doing penance; I have kept the night-blooming gardens at convents where I have lived, because I cannot easily endure the light of day without hurting my eyes and burning my skin. I have prayed in my cubiculum, keeping all the Hours, and I have lain before the altar from Vigil to Matins, reciting the Psalms.”
“Very commendable, if the prayers you say are to the Glory of God, and not the worship of Satan,” said Cardinal Archbishop Ittalus.
“I have prayed as the Priora and the Abba, and the Bishop, have instructed me, remembering always that Christ suffered to take our sins away and to redeem us.” She had to fight back tears; they weren’t listening to her, they were deciding among themselves already, and she could not change their minds. She saw two more drops of blood on the floor and wished she could rewrap her hands.
“That is worthy conduct,” said Bishop Gondebaud dubiously. “But if you have been so devoted, how is it that you are still white and your hands bleed?”
“I cannot say,” Gynethe Mehaut told him.
Pope Leo clapped his hands. “We have witnesses,” he reminded the Bishops and Cardinal Archbishops. “It is fitting that we let them speak.” The men were immediately silent: they resumed their seats and became decorous once more; the Pope cleared his throat. “I will hear the first witness. Come forward and give your testimony.”
One of the witnesses came around the end of the benches and knelt before the Pope; he was an old man, with gnarled fingers and a bent spine, his eyes rheumy and moist “May God save you, Holiness.”
“Amen,” said Pope Leo. “Who are you and what is your testimony in this matter?”
“I am Foudu. I am a mendicant, and have been since I escaped from slavery in Carinthia. I was despised because I am a Christian, and I prayed when they said I should work. When I escaped, I came here to Roma as a pilgrim and have remained, a tertiary monk and mendicant” He rubbed his knotted fingers together. “I have begged in Roma for four years. I saw this White Woman arrive in Roma; she came surrounded by a flock of black ravens, and they swept about her in a cloud. She spoke to them in their tongue and they did her homage. She pointed to men in the street and they fell dead, the ravens alighting to feed upon them.”
Rakoczy got to his feet. “Holiness, may I question this man? I escorted Gynethe Mehaut to Roma, and I saw nothing of this.”
“You may ask him three things,” said Pope Leo. “But remember that God gives special sight to those who suffer in His Name.”
“I won’t question his devotion,” Rakoczy said, and turned to the kneeling mendicant. “Tell me, Foudu, what time of year was it that you saw this portent?”
“I saw it as Holy December was beginning, and the churches set out their lights for Sant’ Ioseppi and Santa Maria.” He made a sign of protection.
“And what time of day was this? What Hour was being sung?” Rakoczy inquired.
“Sept was sounding,” said Foudu. “I had knelt to recite the Psalms.”
“Very good,” said Rakoczy. “And other than ravens, what companions did she have?”
“A hunchback with one empty eye and the other white as hoar,” said the mendicant.
Rakoczy turned to face Pope Leo. “Holiness,” he said, “I swear before you, and your God, and by the trust reposed upon me by the Emperor Karlus Magnus, that I and three armed men escorted Gynethe Mehaut into Roma in September. She rode in a plausterum, covered, and drawn by a mule. If this man saw us arrive, he did not see the things he has described. I do not say that this man has not had a vision, but he has not seen Gynethe Mehaut in it. The soldiers of the escort are still in Roma; I can summon them to testify before you. If you wish to hear these men, I will go to the House of Franks and bring them to you before Sept. I can ask our hostess to tell you how long we have been guests at her house, and in what state we arrived.”
“You are with Bonna Dama Clemens, aren’t you?” asked Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus. “A most useful woman, beyond all doubt.”
“Yes. We are guests of that widow,” said Rakoczy.
“I will send a messenger to her, a monk, so that she may swear to her account,” said Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus. “If it will suit your purpose, Holiness.”
“Oh, yes. By all means see it is done,” said Pope Leo. He contemplated the mendicant. “Do you say it was this woman you saw? This woman, and no other.” He pointed to Gynethe, Mehaut “By your soul. Bearing false witness is a grave sin.”
“The woman I saw had skin like milk and eyes like embers, young and of a hideous beauty. It had to be her,” said Foudu.
“There, you see?” Bishop Iso demanded, pointing to Foudu. “He knows her for what she is.”
“The Anti-Christ is not a woman accompanied by ravens, no matter what color her skin and eyes may be,” Rakoczy said. “The Apocalypse has no such avatar in it. The Whore of Babylon rides on a many-headed beast, and has no ravens.” He stared over at Bishop Iso. “You’ve read the signs, haven’t you, as Sant’ Ioannes saw them, and wrote them in his book?”
“Yes,” said Bishop Iso. “And I know Satan is filled with wiles and has as many disguises as there are stars in the sky.”
“Why should Satan, if he can disguise his demons, send one into the world so obvious as this?” Rakoczy asked, and glanced at Cardinal Archbishop Ittalus. “You are said to be learned. What would be the point of having such a woman as this be the agent of Satan? Wouldn’t it be more in keeping with the trials God gives to those who might achieve sainthood?”
“Blasphemy!” shouted Bishop Iso.
“Possibly not,” said Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus, studying Gynethe Mehaut as if seeing her for the first time. “But if Satan wished to deceive mankind, he might present us with the model of sanctity but in such a way that all eyes would be on her, and her example, by appearing virtuous, would lead others to emulate her and thus fall from Grace.”
“But that would only be if she were considered deserving of emulation. If that were the case, this Court would not be sitting,” Rakoczy said, speaking directly to the Pope. “She has lived withdrawn from the world, doing humble work and praying. What more can she do to prove her merit?”
Pope Leo shook his head. “This is one of the matters we must consider, with all the rest. Let us hear another witness.” He gestured to the gathering behind the benches. “Fratre Lothar. Come forward.”
“Amen,” said Pope Leo. “Give us your testimony, Fratre, and may God give you to know the Right. We will attend to your words and your manner.”
“So I pray,” said Fratre Lothar. “I tell you this in all duty, in humility and devotion. To this end, I tell you that I have been in Roma more than a year. I came from Franksland with my Fratri, and have resided in the monastery attached to the House of the Franks, Sant’ Ioannes. But before I was a monk, I was a soldier, and because of that, I sometimes talk with Frankish soldiers, to learn what has become of my old comrades. This is not uncommon; many monks who were soldiers do the same. In that habit, I had reason to dine with the remainder of Gynethe Mehaut’s soldiers, those who accompanied her from Franksland to Roma. These men are known to Magnatus Rakoczy and the Emperor.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “I spoke with these men—they told me of their travels with this White Woman, and what became of them in their travels.”
“What did they tell you?” the Pope inquired.
“They said that they had lost three men—almost half their number—coming here. The first was killed in Franksland by a bison. This was a terrible misfortune, or so they all supposed. What else could such a death be? They said at the time, that they thought nothing more of it, and that in their journey over the mountains nothing more worrisome occurred.” Fratre Lothar made a sign of protection. “So they were safe enough for some of their journey, but then two of the men quarreled for reasons that had not troubled them earlier, and Einshere, the leader of the escort, killed Notrold, and, I have learned, succumbed himself to fever in a penitent’s cell. All this could have happened by God’s Will without any intervention of the White Woman, but the soldiers who rode beside her to guard her are certain that their misfortunes were caused by her presence, and they hold her responsible for the loss of Pepin, Notrold, and Einshere.”
“How did you come to learn of this?” Bishop Gondebaud asked. “You say you have been a soldier. Is that why they would impart such things to you?”
“Of course, and Sulpicius is my kinsman, although a distant one,” said Fratre Lothar.
“Why have their Confessors told us nothing?” asked Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus.
“I don’t know what they have Confessed. I am only a monk, and I hear nothing under the Confessional Seal.” Fratre Lothar lowered his eyes. “I can’t tell you what their Confessors know.”
“May I speak to this witness, Holiness?” Rakoczy asked.
The Pope paused for a moment. “All right. But you may not question this monk’s character or his veracity—that has already been established to my satisfaction.”
Rakoczy contemplated Fratre Lothar. “When you had your discussions with the soldiers, where did they take place?”
“In the House of the Franks,” said Fratre Lothar. “I thought that was plain.”
“But where in the House of the Franks? The building is large and has many halls and chambers for any number of purposes. Where were you when you talked with these soldiers?”
“With the other soldiers, of course. In their dining hall.” He shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “They would not come to the monastery, and if they did, they would not come for talk, but for worship.”
“Yes,” said Rakoczy. “That is my point. They welcomed you to the soldiers’ dining hall. The men eat and drink there, do they not?”
“Of course. All men dine in dining halls,” said Fratre Lothar. He considered Rakoczy narrowly. “They said you were a very capable soldier in your way.”
“That was good of them,” said Rakoczy, refusing to be distracted. “Is it possible that the stories they told were improved, made more exciting, more boastful?” He held up his hands. “No. Don’t tell me that never happens; we both know how soldiers love to tell of their adventures. So it could be that some of their tales were meant to entertain the listeners as much as impart the truth.” He bent down to look into Fratre Lothar’s eyes.
“Soldiers do like to boast,” said Fratre Lothar.
“And some soldiers are wary of signs, so that they see them in everything from clouds to cheese.” He let Fratre Lothar think about this. “Do you tell me you have never seen this?”
Fratre Lothar shrugged. “I knew a Bellatore who would not attack if the opposing leader rode a spotted horse.”
“Exactly,” said Rakoczy, and was about to go on when the Pope lifted his hand.
“I take your meaning, Magnatus. Stand back. Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus, you may question this monk on behalf of all the Cardinal Archbishops. If others have questions, let them wait until Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus has finished, and then inform me of what they wish to ask.” He sat back, his hand on his jaw as if to support it.
“Tell me, Fratre,” said the Cardinal Archbishop, “since you have been studying all the accounts of the White Woman for three months, what indications has she given that she was one of Satan’s hosts?”
“There were deaths among those who escorted her,” said Fratre Lothar.
“Is there anything that made them suppose—at the time—that she was the cause of the deaths, or did that only come to them later?” Cardinal Archbishop Rufinus Colonnus kept his voice calm.
“I cannot know. I only spoke to them after they arrived here in Roma,” said Fratre Lothar. He bent forward and touched his forehead to the floor.
“But this is what they told you,” prompted the Cardinal Archbishop.
“Yes. That is what I was told. On my honor as a soldier and my vows as a monk.” He sat up again, looking directly at the Pope. “And so I swear.”
Pope Leo nodded. “You were right to come forward. Rise and go to your prayers, Fratre.” He waited while Fratre Lothar got to his feet, reverenced the Pope, the Cardinal Archbishops, and the Bishops, then hastened out of the chapel without looking again at Gynethe Mehaut. “Who is the next witness?”
Sorra Celinde stepped forward, her head lowered and her whole manner subdued. “I am, if you will permit me to speak, though I am a woman.”
Bishop Iso rose. “This nun has served me for many years. You may repose trust in her. She will put herself in the service to the Church by giving her testimony if you will permit it.”
“You have told me so already,” said Pope Leo, and turned to Sorra Celinde. “It is fitting, since a woman is at the center of this inquiry, that a woman should speak as a witness.” He gestured to the nun. “Kneel; give your testimony.”
Sorra Celinde did as the Pope instructed her. “May God support me in this hour, and aid me in this difficult time,” she said, making a gesture of protection.
“Amen,” said the Pope, indicating that she should speak.
“As Bishop Iso has said,” Sorra Celinde began, just above a whisper, “I have served him for many years, and I am devoted to him as the embodiment of the Church in Franksland, and the source of God’s Wisdom for all in the world.” She turned her gaze on Bishop Iso as if she adored him. “This is a rigorous matter, and I cannot easily speak of what I have seen and what I have suspected.” She glanced at Gynethe Mehaut “In Franksland, I saw her when she was brought for examination into the bishopric of Bishop Iso. Her former guardian, Priora Iditha of Santa Albegunda, could no longer fulfill her duties to this woman, who was then entrusted to me on behalf of Bishop Iso. I accepted this responsibility because Bishop Iso required it. I shared a cubiculum with the White Woman, and I was able to observe her for many days. She prayed as she was required to do, and she tended the night-blooming gardens, as she has stated. She rested indoors for much of the day, and read holy texts.”
“All admirable acts,” said Pope Leo.
“When they are sincere and devoted,” agreed Sorra Celinde, with a hint of doubt in her face. “But anyone can mimic piety.”
“Yes,” said Cardinal Archbishop Ittalus. “So one
can.” He put his hands together in supplication. “May we be preserved from such deception.”
“In all things,” said Sorra Celinde, and waited for a signal from Pope Leo to continue. “I was charged with following this woman in order to see what she did, that she kept the Hours as she was required to do. I was also told to determine what caused the bleeding in her hands. I thought she must have a needle somewhere about her clothing, and that she must use it to prick her palms in order to keep bleeding. I never actually saw her do such a thing, but I am certain she must do something.” She sighed heavily. “It must be that she wounds herself, or she is truly a messenger from Hell, and been given the blood as a sign of her perfidy.”
“Is there anything more?” Pope Leo asked when Sorra Celinde stopped talking.
“Yes, Holiness,” she murmured. “I have watched her in the night-blooming garden, and seen her dance to the moon. She has made wreaths of night flowers and worn them in her white hair, in the manner of the ancient pagans. She has summoned a lover out of the darkness and embraced him. I saw it. I heard her cry aloud in passion.”
Gynethe Mehaut put her hands to her face. “I never did that!” she protested.
“You did,” said Sorra Celinde, swinging around to face her. “You don’t think anyone can see what you are, and you believe that if you pose and posture, you will deceive the Church and all good Christians. But I know you for the monster you are. I have seen you when you thought you weren’t watched, and you cannot tell me that you didn’t summon a lover, and engage in the lewd acts of carnality.”
“No. No!” Gynethe Mehaut cried. “You have spied upon me, and now I know why: you planned to betray me from the first. You have sworn to see me condemned, and all to please your Bishop. If Bishop Freculf had come here, Bishop Iso would not dare to let you do this!”
Sorra Celinde scrambled to her feet and moved out of Gynethe Mehaut’s reach. “Unspeakable!” she shrieked as she backed away.
“You have nothing to fear,” the Pope admonished her. “You are in a holy church, and everyone here will protect you.” He motioned her to move to his side. “Now you cannot doubt that you are safe.”