Door in the Sky

by Carol Lynn Stewart

  The creature had marched right up to her, ordered two of his minions to grab her arms. She had straightened her back. How dare he? "I am the Baroness de Reuilles," she said in the tone Johanna always used. "Unhand me!"

  It had almost worked. The pope's men fell back; even the creature paused. But a cold and hungry light had shone in the creature's eyes. The men reached out again, held her fast.

  Such stupid questions they had asked her! Always it was something about two peasants from Reuilles-la-ville, some Antoine and Pierre. As if she would even speak to anyone from Reuilles-la-ville. She had sealed her lips and glared at them. But the first time they asked about these two men, the air trembled. She had looked over to see the blood fade from Henri's face.

  And then, that creature, he made Henri leave! Henri had objected, but the baby was crying, long hungry wails that readied her breasts for feeding, brought milk spurting, staining the front of her gown. Henri had left with her baby, no, their baby cradled in his arms.

  So she was left alone. Alone with the creature and his men.

  Now Ysabel tried to move her smallest finger and stopped when it reached the limit of the splint Henri had placed upon it. She had refused to speak. Until she knew more, until her memory returned, she would say nothing. She was not stupid. They would take any words she uttered and twist them anyway. She had seen this happen in Gréves. A peasant, a frail slip of a girl, had answered questions. And had ended up on a pyre.

  So Ysabel said nothing. The questions grew louder and larger. A vile spark flared in the creature's eyes. He was glad she would not answer; she was sure of this.

  They broke her smallest finger first. She had wanted to scream but something crawled into her mouth, something that tasted of rose petals and honey. Tears had streamed down her cheeks when her finger snapped, but the sweetness in her mouth surprised her. She had kept her silence.

  Henri came into the cell just as they broke her other finger. She could not suppress a whimper. This break filled her whole hand with fire, a fire that traveled to her elbow. Even the flow of honey and rose petals that filled her mouth and coated her throat, could not stop her tortured lament. Rose petals. How did rose petals get into her mouth? But she could not dwell on this. Henri had waved a parchment in front of the creature's face.

  At first, the creature had turned on Henri, bared his teeth. That was when Ysabel noticed the hands. During the questioning, the creature's hands were clasped, like any priest. But when the Pope's men broke her fingers, one of the creature's hands moved to his groin, grasped and kneaded it. She was sure of this. When the creature turned to Henri, his hand was still there. Moving.

  She shuddered. If it were not for the message on the parchment, they would have broken all of her fingers. The creature had taken the parchment, his eyes slid and darted across the page. Then he signaled his men to release her.

  Ysabel had collapsed, cradled her hand in her lap. But even the agonizing fire that burned all the way up her arm could not stop her from leaning forward to catch the creature's words.

  "Very well, Bauçais," he had breathed, his face nearly touching Henri's chin. "We will wait." He made a sharp motion and the two men who had come in with him filed out. "For now." The last was delivered in a low, menacing whisper.

  Henri had splinted her broken fingers. She had tried to talk to him, but he would not answer. He had wrapped a dressing around her hand, then left the dungeon.

  Soon after, Henri had sent Jeanne in with her baby. He was big, this boy. His eyes were blue, like his father's. She had taken off his swaddling, counted his fingers and toes. When he kept grunting and rooting, she had placed him at her breast where he latched on and gulped the flood of milk that leaked from her. He had barely started on her other breast when Jeanne came in and took him away.

  They had not brought him back since then.

  Now the door to the dungeon opened, bringing sweet air from the room above. Could it be spring already? She heard Henri's voice, there was no mistaking that guarded murmur. Yet the person on the stairs was not Henri. He was dressed in a splendid tunic, the white cross on a red background, a tunic of the pope's men. It was silk, though, as were his breeches; the movement and sheen of the cloth told her it was very fine silk. His hair was gray, but there were few lines on his face. He held a clove-studded orange to his long nose.

  "Des Arcis." Henri spoke the name as he descended the stairs behind the man. "The women have been here since December." Her back stiffened. So this was Hughes des Arcis. The creature's superior.

  "These are the two?" Hughes asked, his eyes moving from Ysabel's cell to where Utarilla slept.

  Henri stood beside him. "Yes. The old woman is from the village and the other is Baroness Ysabel."

  Hughes made a clucking sound. "Bad business, this," he murmured. "A few peasants, perhaps; but a baroness?" He shook his head. "This is not good after what has happened throughout Provence. What could Jean be thinking of?"

  Henri favored Hughes with his withering stare, then replied, "Indeed. But it seems that she confessed to killing the gardener, although she denies this now."

  She could not stop the yelp that jumped past her lips. Her two broken fingers throbbed. She had clutched the bars too tightly.

  "Jean told me that." Hughes was looking at her.

  Henri cleared his throat. "However..." Now Henri glanced her way. She looked away, then up at Hughes. Henri's eyes upon her hurt. There was no longer any fire in his gaze when he looked at her.

  "Go on." Hughes turned away, held the orange to his nose again.

  "I questioned the man who had led her to the belargusia, the belladoña."

  Her breath caught and then spun into a swirling void. She had given Ibrahim a drink, hadn't she?

  "And?" Hughes' voice floated toward her.

  "He led me to the same plants." Henri again. "I will take you to them."

  Footsteps on the stairs, then silence.

  YSABEL shifted on the rickety stool, lifted her face to the soft fall of sunshine. She had almost forgotten its touch upon her skin. A sea of white crosses surrounded the long table in front of her. The creature's men were all there. Hughes was seated in a throne chair at the head of the table. The donjon loomed behind him. They had put Utarilla beside her. Henri paced around the periphery, whittling a small block of wood. The creature stood off to the side, hands clasped tightly in pious supplication, but his face was shiny with sweat.

  Louis-Philippe and Johanna de Reuilles sat upon fine chairs to the left of the table. The old woman Utarilla kept staring at Louis-Philippe. Chuckling, she leaned close and whispered, "I would do anything to keep that one in my bed, too." Ysabel tried to catch Louis-Philippe's attention, but all he did was stare at Henri. When had the hair around his temples turned white?

  She lowered her head. He had refused to come to see her in the dungeon. Well, she had killed his precious Ibrahim and now that might mean her own death. Or perhaps not. She looked at Henri, his hands making the black knife fly over the block of wood he carved. What image was he making? She pulled against the ropes that held her to her chair. No matter. Henri had told her that this would be a trial of sorts. Hughes des Arcis would be the judge. Henri had said that the man was fair... .

  Hughes hit the table with a wooden mallet. "We are gathered here to examine a case of witchcraft." He raised his hands to still the murmur that rippled through the crowd. "You must remember that we are acting under the common law of St. Boniface and Charlemagne."

  He unrolled a scroll and read: "St. Boniface has decreed that to believe in witches, or to hunt or to burn them, is unworthy of Christians." He met the eyes of every man at the table. "Until His Holiness decides otherwise, the only role for the Inquisition in these matters is to determine if actual harm has been done as a result of sorcery or witchcraft. If this is so, then the witches can be punished according to common law. As for heresy, we must give them to chance to recant. If they do not, then they will burn."

  He gestured
to the creature. "You may present the evidence."

  The creature stood, made a tent with his hands. "I was sent here by His Holiness to look into some accusations of sorcery." He paused and stared at Ysabel, but fell back when she widened her eyes and glared at him. "These accusations were against a man named Ibrahim Al'Khaldun." The name rolled smoothly off his tongue. Well, of course. She had given them this name, hadn't she? "These accusations were made by this woman." He pointed a tapered finger at Ysabel.

  The creature put his hands together again and paced. "My lords. Can you imagine my surprise when I arrived and found that not only was this man Ibrahim going under the false name of Jacques, but he was dead! Murdered. No one knew for certain how he was murdered, although the Baron of Bauçais," here he waved a negligent hand toward Henri, "suspected poison." He leaned his hands on the table and peered into the faces of the men gathered there. "But I have discovered how this man was murdered."

  Now the creature stood and pulled out her cloth doll, untied the threads that closed the abdomen, saying, "This was found in the cabinet in the baroness's chamber." She leaned forward. The mannikin was silent. Sweat coated her brow. What would happen if it spoke? The creature handed the mannikin to Hughes, who examined it closely. "See the hair and the fingernails. With these the witch aims to hurt, or even to kill her victim."

  Hughes fingered the lock of hair. "Or his victim," he said.

  "What?" The creature seemed flustered. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyelids fluttered over shiny hazel eyes.

  Hughes looked up, then waved his hand. "Not important. Please continue."

  "The other witch, Utarilla, admitted to instructing the baroness in the making of a dreadful poison." The creature paced around the table, coming to rest behind Utarilla. He pressed his hand on her shoulder. "Tell them what you told me."

  Ysabel looked around the table. Some of the men were clearly bored, while others watched intently. The silence lengthened. The creature leaned harder on the old woman's shoulder.

  "I don't remember," Utarilla finally said.

  The creature thrust a document under the old woman's nose. Ysabel leaned forward. It looked like a confession. "Is this your mark?"

  Utarilla glanced at it. "I suppose so," she muttered.

  It was a description of the making of yellow water. The creature read it, every blasted word. Disgust and a terrible, avid curiosity shivered the air around Ysabel. The men closest to her drew back. When the creature read "You must dig up a child's corpse," the inhalation all around her split her ears.

  When the creature finished reading, he placed the document in Hughes' hands and sat in a chair placed at the side of the table. At first, his face was impassive, but a muscle next to his left eye twitched, and his full red lips curved.

  Ysabel heard a murmur at her side. "Looks like it be the stake for us, girl," Utarilla sighed. Ysabel looked into the faces of the men around the table. Maybe.

  But now Henri stood and placed a goblet upon the table. What was this? Ysabel leaned as far as she could. The ropes holding her would not let her see more than a graceful curve of the silver cup.

  "Potions!" Henri strode the length of the table, his ice and fire eyes catching the gaze of all the men who sat there. "Dolls! What are these?" His voice reached out, taunted. "Is there anyone here who has ever seen a man killed by a doll?" His shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. "We have seen a blade strike down a man, yes. Axes and arrows, too." Now he leaned on the table. "But a doll?" His lip curled.

  Bravo! Henri was always smart, always knew what to say. None of the men wanted to speak. They were all looking down at their hands. Henri had challenged their vanity. None could admit to the belief that a mere woman could injure him, Ysabel thought.

  Henri looked from man to man. "As Hughes des Arcis has told you, what we have to determine is not that these women played such a foolish and unchristian game, even they do not deny that, but whether or not they were able to bring about harm as the result of their actions. The charge of heresy is the one that the bishop will decide upon." He appraised the men again, seemed satisfied by what he saw.

  Hughes nodded. "Go on, Henri."

  Henri lifted the goblet he had set upon the table. "I have prepared a draught of yellow water, using the same ingredients Ysabel used -- with one exception -- and the preparation of this draught was witnessed by Hughes des Arcis."

  "No!" Ysabel strained at her ropes as an ugly muttering swept through the crowd. Some shouted, others were content to hiss. Henri stood in silence through it all, icy eyes assessing the crowd as the angry rumble dissipated. When all was still, he turned to Hughes. "My lord?"

  Hughes leaned forward. "The Baron of Bauçais had the blessing of the church in this matter." He peered around at the men. "We used the bones of a cat in this draught, which Utarilla has said would be as effective."

  Beside her, Utarilla was trying to make herself as small as possible, shrinking down into her chair. Henri approached her with the goblet. Holding it under her nose, he asked, "Is this yellow water?"

  Utarilla shrank back even further. Henri did not look at Ysabel at all. Well, she had only made the wretched brew once. He could not possibly expect her to remember what it looked like.

  Utarilla pulled against her ropes, but finally looked into the goblet, at the pale yellow scum on top, and nodded. "Yes, `tis yellow water." She blinked as an angry murmur rippled through the village folk.

  Now Henri's icy stare passed over Ysabel. She shivered. Where did he think to take this? She had indeed poisoned Ibrahim. He must know that. Did he want her to burn?

  "And if I were to drink this I would die?" He held the cup toward Utarilla again. "Would I drop to the ground and die?"

  "Yes." Utarilla held her head up, her corded neck straining. "Just a little bit would kill you, even if it were put in water or ale."

  "What if I drink it as it is?" He held up the goblet and contemplated it in the morning light.

  "You would die before your body hit the ground."

  "Indeed!" Cup raised, Henri waited until all eyes were on him. Then he put the goblet to his lips and drained it to the bottom.

  Every one of the men lifted up out of his seat. Some raised their arms to stop Henri, and a roaring groan could be heard from the throats of all in the bailey. Ysabel leaned forward. "No!" she screamed. He could not be doing this!

  Henri placed the goblet down on the table and made a face, wiping his mouth. "Could use some honey." Then he spread his arms. "Well?" He walked around the table to Utarilla, arms still extended. "Shouldn't I be dead?"

  Utarilla had drawn away from him, her wrinkled face contorted. "What have you done?" she whispered.

  The creature jumped to his feet, shouted, "Trickery! You lie!"

  Hughes turned slowly to his left side where the creature stood. The creature's whole body shook. His face twitched. "Sit down, Brother," Hughes said mildly.

  The creature subsided after a long moment, but he was still shaking when he sat down.

  "Made yourself an enemy there for sure, Bauçais," Utarilla whispered.

  "Hush!" Ysabel said. She did not want to miss any of this.

  Hughes nodded to Henri. "Continue."

  Henri strode over to where Louis-Philippe and Johanna sat. A few servants stood in back of their chairs. He motioned to a slight young man with curling brown hair and a gentle face. Drat! It was the servant who had shown her to the poisonous plants. The man followed Henri to the table.

  "This is Yves, second gardener of the château." Henri placed his hands upon the young man's shoulders. "It was he who showed the baroness to the belargusia used in the making of yellow water."

  "I showed the baroness some plants when she asked me about belargusia," Yves stated. "But it was not belargusia I showed her."

  Insolent pup! But if this was true, perhaps she did not kill Ibrahim. Ysabel lowered her head and listened.

  The men around the table murmured to each other as Yves continued
, "I showed her yellow gentian instead."

  "Why is that?" Henri asked him, but his eyes were on Hughes.

  Yves looked over at Ysabel. Blast the man. His eyes smoked with pity. "She seemed to be out of her head, Baron de Bauçais." He swung his eyes back to the men surrounding the table. "She had been acting very strangely for some time, so I thought it best to show her to something harmless, like gentian." Here he cleared his throat. "She did not seem to know the difference between rosemary and fennel, so I felt if I showed her the gentian she would be satisfied, and no harm would be done." He turned to Hughes. "Gentian is used in making a brew to reduce fever. It is quite harmless."

  So. Her drink had not killed Ibrahim. Ysabel watched as the young man stepped down. Then what had killed the Moor?

  The creature jumped to his feet as soon as Yves returned to his chair behind Louis-Philippe, and shouted, "He did not deny that they grow belladoña. Why do they grow such a plant in their gardens? Why grow such a poisonous plant at all?" He swung around to face Hughes. "You, of all people, know that the only healing approved by the church is prayer! Prayer and repentance! None of this makes any difference." He looked into the faces of the men surrounding the table. Spittle flew with his words. "If the mixture Ysabel gave Ibrahim was not real poison, then the mannikin killed him! They are both witches and they must burn!"

  Hughes pounded the table with his mallet. The creature stood shivering as Hughes regarded him calmly. "Patience," Hughes breathed softly. "Patience." He stood up from his throne chair. "The church regards this matter as very serious, but we must proceed with proper procedure and caution."

  The creature stepped back, face now composed as Hughes leaned forward and rested his fingertips on the table. "The women will be held in the dungeon while I consult with Bishop Durand."

  Blast! The dungeon again.

  "I will leave tomorrow to take this new evidence to him." Here Hughes's cold eyes fixed on the creature. "Until I return with his decision, no one will be burned." He made a gesture of dismissal.