A Vision of Light (26 page)

“Now, both of you leave me alone,” Mother Hilde said, “for I have another duty to perform.” With the softest of steps she crossed the bedchamber, taking with her a candle to light in the embers of the fire in the great hall. “And don’t follow me, Margaret, for I must go alone.” She turned and looked at me so fiercely that I wondered suddenly if I had offended her. I held back and watched her as she glided quietly through the sleeping figures in the great hall, the lighted candle in her hand. I knew I had to follow her. Hilde had a way of walking straight into danger, and she might be in need of help. But underneath this pious sentiment, I fear, was deep curiosity and a growing suspicion.

I watched as she turned down a narrow staircase and, feeling something of a traitor, followed her at a discreet distance. Another set of stairs, and another, and I realized we had descended below to the guardroom. Only the distant light of her candle guided me, and I felt carefully for the stairs, for they were dank, slippery, and without a handrail. As we reached the deepest basement, I knew my suspicion was right. As softly as a cat I crept along, feeling the wall. When the light flickered and turned into the dusty storeroom, I looked silently into the room to see Mother Hilde kneeling before the straw mattress of Belotte. Feeling her head and listening for her heartbeat, she saw that although the woman was unconscious, she lived still. Hilde set down her candle carefully at her head, sticking it to the floor with a little puddle of wax.

“It is done,” she whispered into the ear of the still breathing woman. “Go on your long journey in peace.” Was it fantasy? Or did I see her head stir, and an eye flicker, before those last terrible gasps? The mouth moved slightly, the horrible teeth parted—and she was dead!

Mother Hilde said the shortest of prayers and then drew forth from her basket a terrifying object. It was the limp, blue, still form of a swaddled baby! Her face looked thousands of years old, as with a grave and quiet voice she addressed the poor bundle.

“Poor, poor child! You could not last even two days on this wicked earth! God take you into his keeping and set you among his angels.”

She made the sign of the cross upon his forehead and folded him into the dead arms of Belotte. But before she hid the face in the dead woman’s sleeve, I got a clear glimpse of it in the candle’s little circle of light. The head rose above the forehead in a long, lopsided point, the nose was smashed to one side, and a deep, livid bruise covered one eye….

B
ROTHER
G
REGORY STOPPED HIS
pen abruptly.

“This is a grave sin, a grave sin you have committed! Have you no shame, no shame at all?”

Margaret looked him in the eye. Her jaw was set.

“I see no sin in this,” she said firmly. “I see an honorable act, done from loyalty and love.”

Brother Gregory glared at her.

“You have just proved from your own mouth that women are dishonorable, deceitful, and devious liars. You don’t have the right to speak of honor. Your mind is incapable of perceiving it.”

“Hear me out!” said Margaret firmly, “—for I have given this affair more thought than you have, and you are hot, hasty, and righteous. Truly, men speak before they think!”

“Hmmph! I cannot see how the most sentimental imbecile could put a good face on what you did that night!” Brother Gregory’s mouth was turned down in disgust; his dark eyebrows were wrathful.

“You do not notice small things, Brother Gregory, as I have learned to do, and by this you miss much. First, you note that Hilde did the deed so that no one else was involved. Whatever sin there was, whatever risk, she took upon herself. With a few smells and a little ointment she kept even her accomplices ignorant. I think that was loyal, and honorable.”

“That just shows she is deceitful. It was clearly a plan to keep a flock of idiot women from running to their confessors, so that the truth would never emerge.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That a vicious, base-blooded bastard was substituted for an heir of noble blood.”

“That, I never said. I said what I saw, and what I think, but since I never saw the deed done, I could not prove it. And if the thing were true, I do not see the sin in it. After all, had not Sir Raymond threatened to commit many great sins if God willed that he did not have a living son? Would he not have profaned the sacrament of his marriage and done many irreversible, violent acts in his fruitless, sinful rage against God’s will? And was he not saved, then, from terrible sin?”

“You argue like a scholastic! A mind was lost to scholarship when you were born a woman.” Brother Gregory could not withdraw from any argument, for he loved a war with words better than any battle with swords, and even while his wrath was fading, the joy of the quarrel drew him on.

“The Church, woman, determines what is sin, not you, not any other individual,” he barked.

“And so you say, but for a bit of money a man can get his marriage invalidated on a technicality. For the price of an indulgence he may commit murder, incest, and mayhem. I say that sin is always the same, and a matter between God and man, and no cardinal who lives with whores and takes bribes for forgiveness can make it vanish with a wave of his hand.”

“If you truly think that, you arrogant little fool, then you will burn!” roared Brother Gregory ferociously. “You deny Christ’s vicars on earth the power to forgive sins.”

“Christ did not forgive sins for money, nor do I recall Him saying, ‘Blessed are the rich’! By what right do these vicars think themselves great enough to change his words?”

Brother Gregory shifted to what he thought was stronger ground and opened a second front.

“But when you put a baseborn child among those of high blood, you upset God’s plan for the ruling of the world. God created those of high blood to rule over those of low blood. And Christ Himself did not demand the overthrow of rightful rulers. Therefore, in the name of denying possible sin, a great sin against God’s plan for the order of the universe was committed.” Brother Gregory gave a triumphant look.

“Who says such a child is baseborn? What is baseborn? Are we not all equally descended from Adam?”

“And so say the rabble outside your door, madame,” sniffed Brother Gregory, and adopting a yokelish accent, he sang derisively:

“‘When Adam delved and Eve span,

Who then was the gentleman?’”

“That’s no answer at all.” Margaret folded her arms triumphantly.

“Yes it is,” answered Brother Gregory with a superior air. “This silly song is the product of low, discontented minds who, in absolute ignorance of the Scriptures, deny that, since Adam, God has raised up rightful rulers over mankind. Great families rule by right, for high blood is stronger, abler, and superior to low blood.”

“How, then, is high blood known?” replied Margaret craftily.

“The children of lords are handsomer, stronger, more capable of learning and of gentle deeds than the children of churls.”

“Oh, really? Then obviously there was a mistake. The weakling was born to the lord by accident, and the beautiful, strong child was also a mistake. How odd of God to make two mistakes! All we did was put things back the way He obviously wanted them. So there was no sin after all, and you must apologize.”

“Ha, you sly woman! And I suppose you’ll say that this is proven because it was God’s will you weren’t caught!”

“And so I shall,” said Margaret. “But don’t you want to know how the end comes out?”

“I suppose I do,” Brother Gregory grumbled. “But if it weren’t for my Curiosity, I’d say that those other priests who refused to write your book for you were wiser men than I. They at least understood that when a woman decides to do an outlandish thing like writing, it means nothing but trouble. And now with your tale you have led me into collusion with your sin, and you knew that beforehand.” He frowned as he picked up a quill, and sharpened it with his knife.

“Still, let’s get on with it,” he said.

Y
OU WILL REMEMBER THAT
I had followed Mother Hilde secretly, and now I realized I was in terrible trouble. I had betrayed her and seen her dreadful secret and now must surely be found out. For I had brought no light and must follow her candle to get out. Yet there was no place around the door to hide as she left the room. Surely she would see me and disown me for my treason!

Before I could think of a plan, I heard heavy footsteps in the corridor and, turning, saw the sergeant of the guard, half dressed, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other.

“I thought I saw a light pass here,” he growled. “You can’t hope to sneak past soldiers!” He peered closer and saw my form in the darkness.

“Who’s there? The little midwife! Is the big one inside? You are a pair of fools for venturing here unescorted! How fares Belotte?”

As quick and untroubled as if nothing had happened, Hilde’s voice came from within: “May Our Lady bless you for your concern! We need your assistance here, Master Watt, for Belotte has died of childbed fever in the night and taken the poor little one with her.”

“I suppose it’s better that way,” he said gruffly. “But it’s the devil of a time I’ll have explaining how she got here.” He had come closer, and held up the torch to scrutinize my face.

“Why, you’re younger than I thought! Do you know,” he added sadly, “
she
was not so old either. Only twenty years old. It’s a bitter end for a pretty village girl who followed her sweetheart into the army.”

“She was pretty?”

“Oh, very pretty, when she first started with the garrison. That was three years ago, I’d guess. Of course, she hadn’t a penny to her name. Her face was her fortune, she used to say. I guess she wanted to marry, but then he tired of her and didn’t want her, and so it goes.” He glared at me fiercely in the dark. “You’re a lucky girl—you can sell the skill of your hands, not your kisses and your body! Keep it that way! You are young enough yet to marry and be saved from—this.” And he held the torch high at the door, illuminating the scene within.

Marriage, I thought, ugh. Saved by marriage? That is just selling the body another way. God preserve me from marriage. Yet he means well enough, I suppose, so I won’t be rude to him. I nodded humbly, as I knew he wished.

Hilde had by this time composed herself, although not without a sharp look at me, and stood beside us in the doorway.

“If it please you, sir, could you notify the priest about the burial? It is not seemly for us to be involved with such a one,” said Hilde, and the sergeant nodded his wordless assent.

He was as good as his word, but I do not know how he managed to break the news that Belotte had been hidden there against the lord’s command, without anyone being punished. But having seen something of the way things worked there, I imagine a few filthy jokes and a bit of raucous laughter could set things right with all but the priest. As it turned out, Father Denys refused to read the burial office on account of her sins. And so Belotte and the baby were borne away unceremoniously through the town gate and buried in unconsecrated ground. No mourners attended, and no prayers were said but mine. Only I knew that I owed Belotte many prayers for revealing to me my hidden sins, my vanity, my envy, and my cowardice, for which I vowed to make amends.

D
AYLIGHT WAS FAILING AS
Brother Gregory put up his pens and inkhorn. He looked wearily at Margaret and massaged his right hand with the thumb and fingers of the left.

“You are weary and the hour is late, Brother Gregory. Will you not stay to supper? It is not a great meal with us, on account of my husband’s gout. But he loves a learned man for conversation at his table, and you would be most welcome.”

What remained of Brother Gregory’s annoyance was stilled by the thought of a much welcome supper taken in unaccustomed comfort, and a bit of serious male conversation. Since he had started writing, he had been hearing all over town that Roger Kendall was a man as well traveled as he was wealthy, a wonderful raconteur with an inexhaustible store of curious stories from foreign lands. When Brother Gregory’s friends had badgered him one day to find out whether a particularly tall tale about Kendall had any truth in it, the slumbering serpent of Brother Gregory’s Curiosity had been roused once again.

But despite the proddings of his Curiosity, Brother Gregory had so far only managed to get a brief glimpse of the celebrated merchant when he had gone to ask about the reading lessons. Kendall had been standing by the window in his office off the great hall, inspecting a length of newly received crimson that his two journeymen had unfolded for him. A clerk stood beside him, tablet and stylus in hand. A ray of light from the window caught the folds of deep red, and he could see Kendall incline slightly to catch the rich scent of the dye that rose from the fabric as he took it up between thumb and forefinger to test its “hand.” Kendall had glanced up at the open door when the little apprentice boy had tugged at his sleeve and repeated Brother Gregory’s message. In a pleasant but somewhat curt voice he had answered, “Yes, of course,” and nodded in Brother Gregory’s direction. Now, at last, Brother Gregory would have a real talk with Kendall and find out if his reputation was merited.