Englishwoman in France (24 page)

My fingers creep to my shoulder to press it hard: to make it ache more. My head is splitting. I breathe in very slowly to thin out the pain. Slowly, slowly a reaction ripples through me from my head to my heels. Then I realize that I'm breathing in clear sweet air that's not rank and foetid as it has been for days. I open my eyes to see the white sunlight of early morning flooding past wide open shutters through long window spaces.

I close my eyes. When I open them again it's pitch black beyond the windows and the space in here is lit by lamps. Now I can feel gentle hands stroking ointment on my bruised shoulder. I twist sideways and I see the broad face of the Empress's serving woman, I turn the other way and see the Empress herself sitting on a high-backed chair beside the couch on which I lie. Her troubled eyes meet mine; underneath and above them her skin is dark, shadowy. She looks older. ‘Lie still, Florence,' she says quietly.

‘Where am I?'

‘I came to get you. Lie still. Sarah will help you with your pain.'

I close my eyes and just lie there under those soothing hands, taking in the scent of lavender and some kind of resin. The hands stroke away not just the pain but the humiliation of being at the mercy of the Fox. Someone – it must be the woman called Sarah – has washed me top to toe. I can smell lavender and bergamot; I can feel clean linen against my skin. I am changed. Mine is not the stinking body left on its own in a filthy cell for days on end; not the body punished by the Fox Man for his own delight.

At last Sarah lifts me to a sitting position and drops a silk tunic over my head. She makes me stand and smooths the silk down my waist and on to my thighs. She sits me down again and lifts my legs back on to the couch, then she leaves.

The Empress sighs. ‘Now, Florence,' she says hesitantly.

‘Why has this happened, lady?' I burst in. ‘Why have you let this happen? We tended your grandson. He is well now!'

She looks at me steadily and I try to stop Siri being there in her eyes. I try to make this woman into the stranger she really is to me. I'm angry with
her.
But not in this or any world do I want to be angry with my Siri.

I storm on. ‘And what about Modeste and Tib? The Fox Man did those terrible things to them. Did he really do that? Allow Tib to see the torture of Modeste? Did Tib fall to his persuasion? I can't . . .' A sob catches my throat. ‘And Modeste . . .'

She leans across and puts a hand on my lips, to stop the words tumbling from my mouth. ‘Enough! I've been tried enough with all this suffering.'

All right for her, I think sourly. ‘You!' I say. ‘That horrible man, the man with the fox rod . . .'

‘He's but an instrument, Florence, recruited for his base character. He's but a willing instrument for his allotted task. A cunning, resourceful man who knows how to twist minds his way. But he does it at the command of others.'

My head is aching. ‘Others? Who? The Emperor?'

She shakes her head. ‘The Emperor's a soldier. He works only for the good of the Empire. But he's loyal to the old gods and his advisers fear this new sect whose beliefs, they believe, will flush away the world as we know it. And replace it with . . . who knows what?'

‘But you joined Modeste and his friends in the lower room for the blessings! And Tib and Modeste rescued the Emperor's grandson from that terrible sickness. They're good, mild people, as are their friends, whatever sect they belong to.'

‘Things are not so clear-cut, Florence,' she sighs. ‘Look at this! One part of His Imperial Majesty is pleased at their success with the boy. Even grateful. He's not a terrible man. His grandson climbs to his knee and plays with his beard. But the Emperor is a soldier. He's responsible for the greatest empire the world has ever seen. Now he sees it as his mission to stop it collapsing from within, or being invaded from without. He relies on his soothsayers, who see this new sect as fouling the Empire with a new religion that only sees one God and despises the old gods of Rome. Now these Emperor's soothsayers have seen the future and he's approved a new edict to destroy them, to wipe out all people like Modeste and his friends.'

I sit up straighter so I can scowl at her. ‘But us? Tib and Modeste? How were we betrayed?'

Her shoulders move in a shrug under her velvet cloak. ‘It was the child. He dipped his finger in the Emperor's wine and made the sign of the fish on his grandfather's forehead. The sign that Tibery made on the boy's forehead in the sea.'

My heart sinks as I imagine the drama of this moment. ‘Cat out of the bag,' I say.

She frowns, then smiles. ‘Ah yes, such a quaint saying.'

‘So they came to find us?'

‘Yes. And I was called before the Emperor and his Oracles. I had to assure them I had nothing to do with the sect and they told me to persuade Tibery and Modeste to recant. I tried to do so but they would not. Modeste smiled his forgiving smile at me. Then, in my presence they were badly abused but still would not recant. I stood there and watched them, but I stayed silent, fearing that my turn would be next.'

My distaste, my revulsion, must show on my face.

‘You look askance?' she says. ‘Martyrdom is sought after these days by believers, determined to live in eternity on the right hand of God. It's almost fashionable.' She shakes her head. ‘But I have to be practical. I have more work to do here. I'm sure of it. One more martyr will make no difference.'

‘But we're no threat to the Empire, lady! We're just people who live in a place by the sea called Good Fortune. Tib and Modeste help people, the most ordinary of people.'

She draws her breath in another deep sigh. ‘Don't you understand that the oracles and their advisers see this as a problem? The fact that you influence ordinary people to believe in the Nazarene through your good works? To them, that threatens the Empire from within.' She falls silent and seems to sink within herself. Even from my poor bruised body my heart goes out to her.

‘And Modeste and Tib?' I whisper. ‘Are they dead?'

She shakes her head. ‘Young Tibery did not give into them. They became afraid of him because his body healed itself before their eyes when they rested from their savage labours. And the stalwart Modeste resisted the most awful assaults although he does not have Tibery's gift of healing and remains injured. And you yourself didn't concede.'

I shake my head. ‘You saw me?'

‘Yes. Through the grille. The Emperor saw too. He heard your cry and commanded it to stop.'

‘Why? Why has he decided to give up on us? Wouldn't our deaths still have been a victory for him, and those people who whisper in his ears?'

She stands up, moves her stool forward and sits again, very close to the bed. I can smell musk and cinnamon. Her mouth is close to my ear. ‘The tragedy, and my guilt, Florence, is that it's not you, or Modeste, or even Master Tibery over whom they wished to be victorious; it was me.' She pauses. ‘They are all as subtle as foxes. In the end, I could stand it no longer. My friend Modeste, the boy, and then you. I could bear it no longer so I gave in.'

‘So . . .?' I am still puzzled.

‘So, this morning, in the great temple here I made sacrifices to the old gods. I made pleas and poured libations. It is nearly two years since I have done that and this has been troubling to the Emperor and his Oracles. Such a bad example, you see? A crack at the centre. Now he and his oracle are satisfied.'

‘How terrible . . .'

She smiles faintly. ‘It took some consideration, I may say. But I meditated on it and knew I must do this so that Tibery and Modeste can go on with their work with you by their side. In this way your courage would be balanced with my cowardice. I feel sullied, spoiled by my action. But there are other times, other days, to live true.'

Again I shake my head, which is tumbling now with all sorts of emotion. I feel proud of her. It's taken courage to do what she has done, in this nest of foxes. I want to cry, not for my Siri, but for this noble woman of her time who is above all a midwife for change.

She puts her hand over mine; I can feel her heavy gold rings. ‘I will survive this time,' she says. ‘And I can pray in private to the one true God. I need no oracles or priests.' She pauses. ‘My daughter, the boy's mother, is a true follower of the Way. I sent her away for her own safety. It's for her also that I do this. And now the boy is healed and on his way to be with his mother, lest, in his innocence he . . .
lets the cat out of the bag
again. Is that how you said it?'

Now she leans across and kisses me on the cheek. Her kiss burns my flesh. It's as though she is the mother, not I. She picks up a bell sitting on a table and rings it. I hear the echo of the bell I heard through the blood in that stinking cell. Then she turns to me and frowns. ‘Are you sure we haven't met before, Florence? I have this feeling . . .'

But then her serving woman comes bustling through the door, followed by the big soldier who was the boy's nursemaid. She greets him. ‘Ah, Lupinus! Your new mission. The boy you cared for is lost to you but now you must play carer for these three friends.'

She turns to me and smiles. My heart turns over. ‘Lupinus is named after the wolf. He keeps the jackals and foxes at bay. He'll take you and your friends to safety. All the way back to Good Fortune. The oracle doesn't know it but this is agreed with the Emperor.'

‘All of us?' I say quickly.

‘All of you. As I told you, the boy Tibery is on good form, untouched by the worst of the tortures. In the end his torturers feared him. I have to say, though, that my good friend Modeste is sore afflicted. But with Lupinus to guard him and you to love him and take care of him and Tibery to bless him he's in good hands.'

She stands up and pulls me to my feet, then takes the velvet cloak from her own back and wraps it around me, and I am standing there in clouds of cinnamon and sandalwood. From the table she takes fur lined canvas sandals and kneels to fasten them on my feet. Then she thrusts me in the direction of Lupinus. ‘Take care of this woman,' she says. ‘She's as a daughter to me.'

You can see how tangled up this is getting.

The giant called Lupinus picks me up and holds me in his arms as tenderly as he held her grandson. Then he strides away, away from her down the corridors and under colonnades. There are Imperial guards on all the corners, but they stare straight ahead, ignoring us.

At last we're out into the cold night alongside this long covered chariot set behind four thickset horses held still by a man in a long hood. Lupinus thrusts a coin in his hand and lifts me into the covered cart. Once inside, by the light of a tiny swinging lamp, I see the woollen carpet that lines the interior of the cart and the wolf skins on the floor.

On one side I see Modeste rolled in a thick blanket. His face is livid with purple weals. Beside him, sitting cross-legged like a gnome, is Tib. His flawless face splits into a grin. ‘Florence!' he says. ‘We've been waiting for you! Look! The Empress saved our pendants!' He holds his hand up and their pendants, the gift from his mother, dangle on their silver chains: two fishes glittering in the light of the little lamp.

Modeste's eyelids flicker and he mutters something but Tibery puts a hand over his eyes and quietens him. The voice of Lupinus comes from the darkness behind me. ‘The lady must lie down, master. She's been sore tried by that devil. She needs to lie down and rest.' His voice is deep, like the creak of a ship's timbers.

Tib pulls back Modeste's blanket. ‘She can lie here with my Modeste. They can keep each other warm.'

So I lie beside
his
Modeste and Lupinus throws a wolf skin over us both, saying, ‘Have no fear, madam. I'll drive this beast myself. We'll have no more treachery.' I know him now as a great soul, if not an old one. In minutes the long cart is moving.

So here I am, lying beside
my
Modeste with Tib holding my hand, in a long cart driven by the great Lupinus. I feel sure I've seen the last of the Empress who has Siri in her eyes and I'm setting out again with my friends on my journey back to Good Fortune. Surely nothing worse can happen to us now.

I
lose track of the days on the long journey home. Home? Home for me in these days has to be Good Fortune and Cessero. One part of me is sad. But as we travel – first by fancy cart, then by barge, then by large sailing boat – the sky seems to brighten with hope; sail tackle jangles and the breezes whistle with optimistic fervour.

On our journey, under Tib's healing hand, Modeste recovers from his savage injuries, even though he emerges a thinner, wirier man, more shadowed under the eyes than was his former self. Modeste's recovery makes Tib merry, allows him to become the child again. Each day he looks forward to the moment the sun sets and they set about their prayers and religious offices. Despite my misgivings I now feel obliged to join them. After all, I've joined them in their suffering which, even in my dream, has proved a harsh reality. For good and all I am one of them. So, alongside the captain of the boat and Lupinus, I join their circle, I say the words, although I do not allow Tib to make the sign on my forehead.

As Modeste recovers he and I stay late on deck and look at the stars together. But now there's no discussion about the cosmos or locating the cult of the Nazarene within a larger concept of the universe and the confluence of time. His tortures have locked Modeste solidly into this present time and place. His pain has somehow squeezed out the larger concepts and left him with the immediacy of his faith in the teacher Jesus of Nazareth, who was put to death almost within memory of these times. His faith is now one of conviction rather than reason: in this he is now at one with the child Tib.

As we move about the boat he touches and holds me freely, although we can't make proper love under the lugubrious eye of the captain or the sailor on watch. At long last we reach Marseilles – called Massalia in these times.