The Lady in Blue

by Javier Sierra

  “Which investigation was that, Your Eminence?”

  On the other side of the screen, Saint John, the coordinator of the Chronovision project, let out a short laugh. “Benavides left New Mexico convinced that the Lady in Blue was a nun famous in Europe as a miracle worker, a woman by the name of María Luisa de Carrión. The only problem with that theory was that the Indians described a woman who was young and attractive, and at that point Carrión was well over sixty years old. However, that still was not enough to convince Benavides. So instead of believing that the Lady in Blue could be a new apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe, he preferred to believe that this ‘voyage through the air’ had somehow rejuvenated Carrión.”

  “Ridiculous!”

  “It was the seventeenth century, my son. Nobody knew what might happen to someone who could fly through the air.”

  “Of course, but . . .”

  “And another thing,” the Monsignor cut in. “Something I learned this morning in the Secret Archive.”

  Giuseppe Baldi’s ears pricked up.

  “In Mexico City, the Archbishop showed Benavides a letter from a certain Franciscan friar by the name of Sebastián Marcilla, in which he spoke of another nun, younger, with mystical powers, who suffered all sorts of supernatural ecstasies.”

  “She was able to bilocate?”

  “That was, in fact, one of her graces. Her name was María Jesús de Ágreda. Manso y Zúñiga, unnerved by the letter, sent the very same Benavides to Spain to investigate. The latter crossed the Atlantic at the beginning of 1630, disembarking at Seville, and from there traveled to Madrid and then Ágreda to investigate. He personally interrogated the alleged Lady in Blue, and afterward took up residence in Rome, where he wrote his Memorial.”

  “Then why did you say that the copy of Memorial he made for the Pope is of no use to us?”

  “Because the copy in the king of Spain’s possession and the one in the Pope’s library are not identical. To begin with, the copy given to the Pope was incorrectly dated 1630, and it is still listed under that date in the archive, which is why Corso never found it. Second, in the copy that Benavides sent to the king, the Portuguese friar added notes in the margins, specifying how he believed the nun was able to transport herself physically, taking with her liturgical objects that she gave to the Indians.”

  “Liturgical objects?”

  “Rosaries, chalices . . . The Franciscans found them when they arrived in New Mexico. The Indians had preserved them, regarding them as gifts from the Lady in Blue. Benavides obtained one and asked to be buried with it.”

  “And how could this lady—”

  “It seems, my son, that at the same time that the nun in the monastery in Ágreda plunged into a trance that left her in a sleeplike state, her essence materialized in a different location. It became flesh.”

  “Exactly like Ferrell’s ‘dreamers’!”

  “What’s that?”

  Baldi imagined Cardinal Zsidiv’s surprised expression on the other side of the screen.

  “I thought you already knew about that, Your Eminence.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That the final experiment undertaken by Corso, in conjunction with the doctor, was an attempt to project a woman whom they called ‘the dreamer’ back to the time of the Lady in Blue. They hoped she would discover the secret of those voyages, which they would then present on a silver platter to INSCOM, an organization within the CIA.”

  “And did they succeed?”

  “Well, they dropped the woman from the experiment. They said she became distraught and broke off all connection with them. She returned to the United States, but I have not as yet been able to verify her whereabouts.”

  “Find her!” Zsidiv ordered solemnly. “She has the key! I am sure of it.”

  “But how will I do it?”

  The Cardinal leaned in so closely to the partition that Baldi could feel the man’s breath on his face.

  “Let yourself be led by the signs,” the Cardinal said.

  FIFTY-TWO

  VENICE BEACH, CALIFORNIA

  From the severity of the New Mexico desert to the suffocating heat of the Castilian plain: Jennifer Narody leaped over the barriers of time and place with a facility only dreams permit. But were they only dreams and nothing more? And why were they linked together as if in logical sequences? Perhaps she was “channeling” memories from another time, from an age to which she was connected for some mysterious reason.

  Was Dr. Meyers right when she mentioned “genetic memory”? And if so, did her visions of her Indian ancestors, all of them from the remotest past, share a common source?

  Jennifer shifted in bed, seeking the most comfortable position to go on dreaming.

  If it was true that all her dreams were part of a real history, she wanted to know about it. She was beginning to believe that during her sessions in the “dream chamber” at Fort Meade, or perhaps during the time she spent in Italy, they had injected her mind with images that were now flowering in her oneiric world. She felt unclean, as if they had desecrated her intimate life. But at the same time she was intrigued, wanting to know where her visions would take her. Thus, dream after dream, Jennifer found herself faced with scenes that became increasingly distant and exotic.

  Spain, for example.

  She had never been there. The history of the Hapsburgs, Spain’s ruling imperial dynasty, and its capital, Madrid, had never interested her. Nevertheless, the clear image of a fortified building, its balconies with their iron railings and its spacious rooms sunk deep in shade, permeated her retinas. And now Jennifer knew the era and the location of the building.

  She went from one surprise to another.

  FIFTY-THREE

  THE ALCÁZAR, MADRID

  SEPTEMBER 1630

  You have made a deep impression on His Majesty, Friar Alonso.”

  “That was my intention, Father.”

  “The king receives dozens of memoirs every few months on the most varied subjects, but only yours has merited the honor of being printed at the Royal Printing House.”

  Friar Alonso de Benavides took his time passing through the Tower of France, enthralled by the paintings by Titian, Rubens, and Velázquez that Philip IV had displayed there. As opposed to his austere predecessors, the young king had sought to enliven the dark corridors of the Alcázar with majestic works of art.

  Friar Bernardino de Siena, commissary general of the Franciscan Order, accompanied Friar Benavides. The former was an old acquaintance of the king’s, and one for whom he expressed a genuine sympathy.

  Bernardino de Siena was a man skilled in diplomatic relations, and was envied for it by heads of other orders, none of whom were the recipients of such royal favor. And Bernardino was the one man responsible for the rumor that had made the rounds at court, that a miracle was the force behind the Franciscan conversions in the New World.

  In short, a genius when it came to palace strategy.

  “Your audience with His Majesty will take place in the library, which is a rare occurrence,” he confided to Friar Benavides as the king’s black-clad steward escorted them down the corridor.

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed. The usual practice is to be received in the king’s salon, but it pleases His Majesty to overlook protocol depending on the matter at hand.”

  “Is that a good sign?”

  “An excellent one. As I told you, your account made a great impression on him. He wants to hear, from your own lips, other details relating to your expedition. And most especially, everything you remember on the subject of the Lady in Blue.”

  “Then it is true that he has read my report?”

  “From the first word to the last,” the commissary said with a smile of satisfaction. “That is why, Father, if we manage to interest him, we will be guaranteed control over the future diocese of Santa Fe. The fate of the order rests in your hands today.”

  The steward came to a halt in front of an unadorned oak door. He
spun around to face his guests, asking them to wait. Without a pause and employing great ceremony, he walked into a precariously lit room, making an exaggerated bow.

  Standing on the threshold, Benavides could see that it was a large room that ended in balconies with iron railings. A red carpet covered part of the floor and an enormous copper globe of the world cast its shadow from one of the corners.

  “Your Majesty,” the steward said in a booming voice, “your visitors have arrived.”

  “Show them in.”

  It was a strong, serious voice. Friar Bernardino, familiar with court protocol, took the lead, letting Friar Benavides trail behind him. The certainty of being in the palace, a few feet away from the most powerful monarch in the world, produced a slight chill in Friar Benavides.

  At the far side of the room, which was filled with books and tapestries, seated on a silk-upholstered chair with leather armrests, Philip IV silently contemplated the new arrivals. Standing behind him was the chief steward. As soon as he saw them enter, his voice loudly announced the visitor’s names.

  “Your Majesty, the commissary general of the Order of Our Seraphic Father Saint Francis, Friar Bernardino de Siena, and the last governor of its dominions in New Mexico, Friar Alonso de Benavides, beg your attention.”

  “Very well. Bring them to me.” With an informal gesture, the king silenced his steward.

  The king was a fine-looking man. Despite the languid, fatigued face he had inherited from his grandfather Philip II, he had a rosy glow in his cheeks. The rumors concerning his health were unfounded. His blue eyes had more luster than his blond hair, and his body seemed reasonably strong. Leaving aside protocol, the young monarch rose from his throne and walked over to Friar Bernardino to kiss his hand.

  “Father, I have wanted to see you for some time.”

  “And I you, Your Majesty.”

  “Life at court is monotonous. The latest developments in my overseas dominions are the only things that distract me from my worries.”

  A mere twenty-five years old, Philip already spoke like a seasoned king. He had just left behind an adolescence spiced with excess and a life controlled by his guardian, the Duke of Olivares.

  “I have brought Friar Benavides, the author of the document you found so interesting, along with me. He landed in Seville on the first of August.”

  Friar Alonso gave a short bow as a sign of respect for the king.

  “Well, well, Friar Benavides. So you are the man who states that Mother María Luisa has herself appeared in the Province of New Mexico, converting several tribes to our faith.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, but for the moment this is only a hypothesis.”

  “And perhaps Your Grace knows that Sister Luisa of the Ascension, better known by her popular name as the nun from Carrión, is an old friend of the royal house?”

  Friar Benavides’s eyes opened wide.

  “No, Your Majesty. I was completely ignorant of this.”

  “Nevertheless, your report has left me confused on one point. According to what you have written, the woman who appeared before the northern Indians was young and beautiful.”

  “Yes, that is so. This also confused us, Your Majesty.”

  “And how could it be, if Mother María Luisa is already old and infirm?”

  “My king”—Friar Bernardino interrupted the monarch as soon as he saw the custodian of New Mexico wavering—“although the description that the Indians gave to Friar Benavides does not agree with how she actually looks, Mother Luisa’s ability to bilocate is more than proven. It would not therefore be strange if—”

  “I already know this, Father.”

  The king’s eyes, lit by a spark of playfulness, bored into the commissary’s; he then proceeded to address his subsequent questions directly to him.

  “Perhaps you do not recall, Friar Bernardino, that my father exchanged letters with the nun from Carrión over the course of many years, or that my queen does so to this day? You yourself questioned her about her bilocations several years ago. It was you who determined that this nun went so far as to miraculously transport herself to Rome, where she shattered a glass filled with poisoned wine before Pope Gregory the Fifteenth could drink from it.”

  “May he rest in peace,” murmured the commissary.

  “And you also confirmed that Mother Luisa was, by the grace of God, present at my father’s deathbed, accompanying him until the moment when he ascended to heaven.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. My memory is fragile and I lament it. Nevertheless, I remember how Madre María Luisa spoke to me of an angel who transported her from her monastery to this court, and how it was she who convinced His Majesty Philip the Third to die wearing the Franciscan habit.”

  “That did indeed happen.” The king became uncomfortable when speaking about his father, and he turned to look at Benavides once again. “Nevertheless your report does not match Mother María Luisa’s current physical description.”

  “We are at present making inquiries in other avenues.”

  “Other avenues? To what do you refer?”

  “We believe . . . ,” and here Benavides’s voice was shaky, “we believe that we may be faced with the bilocations of a nun from another cloister.”

  “How is that?”

  Philip crossed his hands just beneath his chin and stared at the friar.

  “You see, Your Majesty,” Benavides said and took a deep breath. “When Friar Bernardino was investigating the prodigies of Sister Luisa, he visited a monastery in Soria where he questioned another nun, a young woman who was suffering from strange enchantments and ecstasy.”

  “Father Bernardino! You never spoke to me about this.”

  “No, Your Majesty,” the commissary apologized. “I did not believe the case would be an important one, and I abandoned the subject.”

  “Tell me now about this nun,” the king said, with rising interest.

  The commissary general’s weathered face assumed a certain air of solemnity as he took charge of the discussion and began to explain, while his hands traced small circles in the air.

  “Shortly after questioning Sister Luisa in her monastery at Carrión de los Condes, I received a letter from Friar Sebastián Marcilla, who is now the provincial of our order in Burgos.”

  “I know him. Go on.”

  “Father Marcilla was at that time confessor for the Monastery of the Conception in Ágreda and he observed that one of the nuns, a woman by the name of María de Jesús, suffered strange bouts of hysteria. When in a trance state she became light as a feather, and even the look on her face changed dramatically, becoming beatific and pleasing to behold.”

  “And why did they ask you to visit her?”

  “That much is easy to explain, Your Majesty. It was known within the order that I was very interested in proving the truth of Mother María Luisa’s bilocations, so as a result, since that young woman also took part in several incidents in which it seemed she had been in two places at once, I presented myself at the monastery to question her.”

  “I understand,” said the king, lowering his tone of voice. “I suppose this nun is a Franciscan as well?”

  “God so rewards our order. I remind you that Saint Francis also received the stigmata of Christ.”

  “And could not this whole matter perhaps be a question of some other sort of phenomenon?”

  Philip, already accustomed to disputes over information depending on the particular interests of one or another party, wanted to show his guests that he no longer was the guileless lad of yesteryear.

  “I do not follow, Your Majesty.”

  “Indeed, my dear Father. Have you not considered that perhaps the woman who brought the Gospel to the Indians was someone other than a nun? She could be the Virgin, or a devil!”

  The two friars crossed themselves.

  “But Your Majesty,” Friar Alonso answered, “a devil would never teach the Gospel to souls he has already won over to the fiery depths.”

  “And
the Virgin?”

  “This was a theme much discussed in New Mexico, and the truth is we did not find the proofs necessary to affirm it. We have no evidence that confirms her presence, such as occurred with the miraculous image of Our Lady that the little Indian at Guadalupe delivered to Bishop Zumárraga in Mexico.”

  “Aha! The famous Virgin of Guadalupe!” the king exclaimed. “I would like to see that image some day.”

  “Many painters have copied it by now, Your Majesty. It shows a beautiful young woman, her face unearthly and sweet, wearing a blue garment sprinkled with stars, which covered her from head to foot.”

  “A blue lady, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” the friar said hesitantly, “but she appeared almost a hundred years ago, in 1531. And in a populated region like Mexico. Why would the Virgin appear in a desert region like the Rio Grande?”

  “Very well,” the king conceded. “Tell me, what will be your next steps with regard to this subject, Fathers?”

  Friar Bernardino stepped forward.

  “Two, with your indulgence, Your Majesty. The first, to send friars to New Mexico, as reinforcement in converting your new subjects to the Christian faith. And second, to send Friar Benavides to Ágreda to interview Sister María Jesús.”

  “I would like to be kept up to date on these matters.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

  “As for now,” the king announced with solemnity, “Friar Benavides’s Memorial will be printed in our workshop during the coming week. That is correct, Gutiérrez?”

  The steward sprang to life for the first time during the meeting. He walked over to the ebony desk next to the bookshelves, and after searching through its drawers, filled out a routine document confirming the king’s wishes.

  “Four hundred copies will be printed, of which ten will be sent to Rome for review by His Holiness Urban the Eighth,” the steward intoned gravely.