The Miracle Thief

by Iris Anthony

  “The relic? May I have it?” The canon’s appeal was put to no one in particular.

  At the head of the table, Sister Berta stood. “If we give you the relic, they will leave us? They will turn around and go?”

  The canon clapped a hand to his chest as he looked toward heaven. “I promise you. I swear on the veil of the Holy Mother herself.”

  “We are all going to perish!” The abbess still trembled at his feet. “Please, save us!”

  Sister Berta turned to Sister Isolda. “Go to the chapel, take the canon with you, and give him Saint Catherine’s relic.”

  “No.” The word leapt from my lips before I knew I was even thinking it. “Stop!”

  For one long moment there was complete and total silence.

  Rising, I addressed myself to the canon. “Who are you? And what right do you have to demand our relic from us?”

  His mouth gaped wide for a moment, and then he shut it up. “You do not understand. They are Danes. If you do not give them the relic, they will come here and take it by force. And I cannot guarantee they will not take whatever else they want as well.”

  As he spoke, I closed the distance between us. “But in whose name do you come to us?”

  “The—the Archbishop of Rouen.”

  “And why should we give him what he asks?”

  “What he asks? It’s the Danes who want it now. If you wish to save your lives, you’ll do as they request.”

  Beneath us at our feet, the abbess moaned. “When have Danes ever kept their word? Whether we give it to them or not, they will kill us. They will murder us all!”

  “We’re to give you the relic because the Danes want it? What do you have to do with the Danes? Why should something holy be demanded by those who are so foul?”

  “If you would only—”

  Ignoring his pleas, I turned back toward my fellow sisters. “We must not do this. We must pray, all of us.” I sank to my knees as I spoke. “And we must ask God to save us.”

  The abbess had listened to my words. Now, chin quaking, she looked up at me in terror. “Ask God to save us?!” She stood then and looked around at us all with crazed eyes. “Run! All of you. Save yourselves!”

  I raised a hand. “No, please!” But I might as well have asked the wind to cease its blowing. No one listened. Leaving benches overturned and the tables a-kilter, the sisters had fled. And the abbess had followed on their heels.

  Only the canon and I remained.

  He clutched my hand. “Just tell me where it is. In the name of God, just tell me so I can take it!”

  “You call yourself a man of God? How can you be a part of this? How can it be right for you to lead the heathen here?”

  “If Saint Catherine wishes to leave, then nothing you can do will stop them from taking her.”

  “And why would she wish to go anywhere with the depraved and the wicked?” But then why would she wish to stay here, when the abbey had been turned into a brothel?

  “They don’t want it for themselves. It’s for the archbishop.”

  “And why does he want it?” From the courtyard came shrieks and bellows and other sounds of panic.

  “Because…” He sighed. “It’s for the princess.”

  “The princess? Gisele?” My daughter? “Then why did she not come herself?” Why had she sent Danes to take it from us?

  “She wanted to, but then…”

  “Please. Tell me!”

  “The princess has been promised to the chieftain of the Danes. She asked the king for leave to come to the abbey and inquire of Saint Catherine herself.”

  She would not have asked to come if she had wanted to wed the Dane. Of that I was certain. “And the king?”

  “The king agreed to allow it, but then he was called to Lorraine. They want to make him their king. So he left the princess in the care of the Count of Paris, and he did not want her to make the journey. The archbishop suggested the relic would be better housed at the cathedral in Rouen, so I was dispatched to bring the relic to her.”

  “He had no right!” None of them had.

  “And the Dane sent his men along to make certain I did not fail. So all has turned upon itself. What started out as an expedition to inquire of Saint Catherine has been overtaken by the pagans.”

  A great rage burned within my breast. It was not right that they should demand what did not belong to them, that we should be forced to forfeit what we held most sacred. And it was not just that my daughter was not to be allowed to inquire honestly of Saint Catherine. I did not suffer from delusions: if the saint wished to leave, there would be no stopping the Danes from taking her relic, but that did not mean I had to offer it to them. “They cannot have it.” My daughter had wanted Saint Catherine to decide. In this, at least, I would try to grant her wish.

  “But they will sack the place. No one will be safe! Not one. We did not have to warn you. Indeed, even now, we could just take it, but I persuaded them to allow me to ask you for it. To try to obtain it without damage.”

  “But we cannot leave. We cannot let you take it. Surely you must know that. If we flee before the vile and the wicked, will God not find us lacking in faith? If we cannot trust God, then why should we ask Him to save us? And besides, do we not have Saint Catherine on our side?”

  “What good is Saint Catherine in the face of pillage and rapine! She is—she is dead! And these Danes are not god-fearing men! I have done what I can, but if you refuse my request, I cannot be held responsible for their actions.”

  “They cannot have it.”

  “And you are going to stop them?” His tone was incredulous. “How? Look around you. The rest of the sisters have fled.”

  Speak truth; stand for what is right. “Then their faith has nothing to do with mine.”

  “The Danes will have no mercy.”

  “If God is for me, then who can be against me?” That is what I had always been taught. I could only hope it did not matter that the men like him who had done that teaching did not seem to believe the words they spoke.

  “If you refuse, I will not be able to help you.”

  “I do not look to you for salvation.” I hoped I sounded braver than I felt.

  He simply stared at me, shaking his head. And then he turned and started toward the courtyard. “The sisters said it was in the chapel. I’ll just take it myself and save them—and you—the trouble.”

  “For shame!”

  He turned, a cynical smile twisting his lips. “If you think to offend me, then you are mistaken. I have lived with shame for quite some time now.”

  “For God’s sake!”

  “For God’s sake I have perverted justice, I have bowed to every request of my uncle the archbishop, and I have thrown in with the Danes. For God’s sake I have done a hundred things I have begun to think have nothing to do with Him at all.”

  “But you’re—”

  He looked down at his robes, throwing his arms out. “A cleric. A canon. Yes, I am. But I am also a man of so little faith that—”

  “Our Lord has said, ‘Though our faith be so small as a mustard seed…’”

  Rage erupted in his eyes. “Yes! ‘Though it be as small as a mustard seed, still I can move mountains.’ But I care nothing for mountains! My faith is worn and beaten and so exceedingly small it cannot see any other way than this.”

  “Then it must never have been faith at all.”

  A wave of great sadness swept his face.

  “Or if it was, you must have placed it in the wrong thing.”

  “The wrong thing.” His eyes met mine. “The wrong man.”

  “Otherwise, you would not be so eager to give our treasure to the pagans.”

  “No.” He blinked as his mouth dipped and his brow convulsed. “I would not.”

  “Then do not take Saint Catherine fr
om us.”

  A tremor crossed his face as if there was great pain within him. “If you insist upon your own destruction, I give you my word, which is all that is left of my honor. I shall not keep you from it. I will go and tell the Danes they cannot have it.”

  ***

  Once I gained the courtyard, I saw there was no one left. There was not one sign of the sisters, nor were there any workers about. The smith had abandoned his workshop, leaving his fires burning. The cooper had left his task, and a barrel still stood on its splayed staves. Pigs were rooting through the mud with no one to stop them.

  Soon it might all lie in waste.

  A terrible, desperate fear washed over my soul. Surely I was mad. How could I ever have hoped to save the relic by myself? If I hurried, perhaps I could still escape with the others. Lifting my tunic, I ran toward the gate, following the path they must have taken.

  But why should we have so quickly abandoned a place meant to be a refuge? My steps slowed. It had been built to keep those within its palisade safe. By closing the great gate, we ought to have been able to keep the pagans at bay.

  But our defenses would not work if they were abandoned.

  The heavy gate meant to protect us lay unmanned; those thick doors that ought to have defended us had been left wide open. How could we keep those safe who would not stay within our walls?

  As I stood there, I surveyed the buildings that lay around me, this place where I had spent half of my life. The hospice and the kitchens. The workshops and the workers’ houses. All were lost now. If the canon was right, all of them would soon be turned to ashes. As I swept my eyes to the east, toward the mountains, I heard a cry lift from the hospice.

  Sweet Mary! Was that—?

  CHAPTER 28

  Running over to the door, I found what I prayed I would not see. They were there, all of them: the young lord, Ava, Pepin, Otker, Gerold, and that wriggling pile of the lame.

  The abbess had been right. If we stayed here, we would all be killed. Even these would not escape that fate.

  “Young Lord!” I held my breath as he turned toward me, hoping against hope he might be free of his tormenting demons.

  Stretching forth his hand, he approached me. Solicitous, eager, with every mark of the nobleman about him. “Sister Juliana?”

  I seized his hand. “You must help me.”

  “Of course, I shall help you.”

  “We must get all these here into—” Where? Where could we possibly find safety in an abbey filled with wooden buildings? My eyes lifted to the highest point in the place. To the roof of the church from which the spire projected. I remembered then that not all of this place was wood. It would not all burn. Saint Catherine might preserve us yet. “We must take them to the chapel.” Surely even godless heathens would respect the sanctity of the church.

  “Why?” His eyes were clear, his mind lucid. Did I dare to tell him the truth? His brows lifted in question.

  No. I could not risk his placid mood. “Because it is necessary.”

  “Would it not be better to do it later, perhaps? Once Sister Sybilla returns?”

  “No!”

  Ava shrieked, and then she wrapped her thin arms about her chest and began to cry.

  I tried to soften my tone. It would do no good to alarm them. Any unease would only slow their progress, and if nothing else, I needed them to move quickly. “No. We must do it now.” I stepped closer to him, deciding I must reveal my secret after all. When I spoke, it was beneath my breath. “We are in great danger, and none of us is safe here. The chapel is our only hope.”

  His brows tilted in alarm, but then he nodded and took the cheerful Otker by the hand. I gestured to Gerold, that eater of twigs, asking for his hand, and then put an arm around Ava. These I led to the young lord. “Otker, you must hold Ava’s hand.” I peeled her arms from her chest as I spoke. “And you, Ava, must hold Pepin’s hand.” I went to him, ignoring his flapping arms, and took up his hand, walking him over to the girl. Placing their palms together, I folded their fingers about each other. “Quickly now.” I nodded at the young lord. “You must take them. Take them all the way to the front of the chapel, to Saint Catherine herself. Go up and beyond the altar even. Do not stop until you reach the stone wall.”

  When I joined them there, just this once, I would snuff out the candles and the lamps. In the dark shadows, perhaps the children would not be noticed.

  Merciful Father in heaven… If I did not deserve his mercy, these poor ones did not deserve his wrath. I turned to the young lord. “Stay with them, there. I will bring the others just as quickly as I can.” I wanted to protect the relic, but were these little ones not more important? Saint Catherine could fend for herself, but they could not.

  “You should go with them, Sister Juliana. I can bring the others over.”

  He looked as if he could, but should I trust him? Could I hope the demons would not come over him as they had in the past?

  Those who remained were the lame and a few babes who had recently come to us. Those too feeble or too young to walk.

  Perhaps… I took up the babes in my arms. “If I take these, can you manage the others?”

  “I will do what I must.”

  ***

  “Come now.” I told Otker to take the sleeve of my robe between his hands, and we crossed the courtyard like a goose and her goslings. Pepin dawdled, stretching our procession to the point of breaking, and pausing to flap about, but finally, I ushered them into the nave of the church.

  “Come now. Come now. Come now.” Otker whispered, but the echo of his words vaulted up to the ceiling and then back down toward the floor and vibrated everywhere in between.

  I put a finger to my lips. “We must, all of us, be silent. There are bad men who are coming, but God will protect you. And I must protect Saint Catherine.”

  “Saint Catherine. Saint Catherine. Saint Catherine.” Again, his words vaulted up to echo around us.

  I laid a finger on his lips. “Do what I say, and no harm will come to you.” I prayed the words I spoke were true.

  Down at the end of the church, Saint Catherine’s chapel glinted with the shimmering candles’ light.

  “Quickly now!” Passing the font of holy water, I led them straight through the nave and down the stone incline into the chapel.

  Ava paused at the threshold. Dropping Otker’s and Pepin’s hands, she held up her own, entranced at the play of the candles’ light against her palms.

  Grabbing one of them, I pulled her forward, not stopping at the altar.

  “I am going to put out the candles. All but one. It will be dark here. Once the light is gone, you must all be silent.”

  Otker nodded and then sucked his lips up over his teeth and clamped down on them. I placed the others behind him, leaving him in front, since he was taller and broader than the rest.

  They watched, eyes wide as I snuffed out the candles and extinguished the lamps, and soon with only the one candle for light, I could not discern their features from the shadows.

  I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, and then I turned my attention to the relic.

  It could not stay atop the altar. It was still much too easy to see—and to seize. There was no time for confession or for kneeling in prayer. I hoped Saint Catherine would forgive my boldness as I took her box up between my hands.

  But where could I hide it?

  I glanced out toward the church. The floor had been swept clean, and there was no place to put it. I could hide it behind one of the wooden pillars that supported the roof and hope the Danes would not venture deep enough into the church find it, but why would they not do so?

  The canon might have promised not to take the relic from me, but that did not mean he would keep silent about where they might find it. He already knew where the relic must reside. And if these Danes had ever raided a church, the
y must know as well.

  I looked up at the open windows of the nave; if only I could reach them! But they were high above the floor, well beyond my reach. Beyond even them, the beams at the roof beckoned. Up there the relic would surely be safe, but I did not have the means to reach them.

  “Sister Juliana?”

  The young lord had come with the lame. They were clinging to him, about his neck and around his chest. He carried two of them in his arms.

  “To the chapel.” I turned and hurried before him, and then made a place for them on the floor near all the others. “Are these the last?”

  “There’s one more. But she’s the last.” The young man started back toward the church.

  I followed him out into the nave. “There’s no time!”

  “But you asked for me to bring them all.”

  “I will keep the door open for you.”

  “If there is danger, you must bar it.”

  “They are Danes, the men who are coming! This is the only place to hide.”

  The color drained from his face, but he squared his shoulders as he started off. “Then I must hurry.”

  Turning back toward the children, I thought, for a brief instant, of entrusting the relic to them and urging them to flee, but I had already delayed too long. Whatever was to happen, they could not now escape. Why should I put their lives in further danger by giving them the relic?

  The problem was the box. It was far too large. If it were smaller, if the abbess had let us keep the old one, then I could hide it as we used to do, in the alcove beneath the altar.

  Outside, there rose a shout and then a great thumping noise.

  They had come.

  Pray God the young lord would keep himself hidden.

  Did Saint Catherine want to go to Rouen? Was all my work, all of my effort for naught? Perhaps I should just let them have her. If I did, then maybe I could still save the others. But then my daughter would be lost.