The Miracle Thief (25 page)

“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 from 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—?

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, they 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.

Smoke curled through the windows high above me as foreign tongues filled the air with their cries.

Speak
truth; stand for what is right.

The abbess had trusted me to do what was right. And my daughter had trusted Saint Catherine would tell her what to do. If the Danes wanted the relic, then they would have to first find it. I retreated back toward the chapel.

I did not have much time. If it weren't for the box, then I could hide it beneath the altar, where no Dane, at least, would think to look for it. The box itself was nothing. The true treasure lay inside it. The
true
treasure! I opened the lid and emptied the contents into my hand. Then I fished the shard of bone from the dirt.

Forgive
me, Saint Catherine.

Placing the bone beneath the altar, I poured the dirt on top of it, covering its telltale shape. Satisfied with my deceit, I set the box in its rightful place.

“It's too dark.” Otker's voice came whining through the gloom.

Someone, Ava perhaps, began to whimper.

I rose and put a hand to each of them in turn. “But did you not know? Even darkness is as light to God. He can see you just as clearly as He could before.” Though I would have much preferred to stay in there with them, trying to hide myself in the gloom, my object was not to spare myself. It was to save Saint Catherine and to protect the children from the Danes.

I might have given the pagans the box itself, but it was empty. And what if they discovered my subterfuge? In their rage, might they not murder us all? I needed something to place inside it. Something that would substitute for a bone.

There were candles aplenty, but those would not do. They were the wrong shape, most of them, too squat and stout. The lamps had wicks, but those were much too slender.

Lifting that last of the lighted candles from its holder, I used its light to search the floor for something, anything, that might work for my purpose. But the floor here had been swept clean as well. And so had all the crevices of the walls. In this one area at least, the abbey was being well cared for. I needed something thin and sturdy. A bone. A quill pen. A…
twig
.

Gerold!

Setting the candle back into its holder, I went to the children and knelt in front of the boy. His gaze crept toward mine, and then it dropped away. He jammed his fist into the folds of his tunic.

Taking hold of it with what I hoped was a gentle hand, I tugged it away from his side. “What have you got there?”

His jaw clenched as his brow folded. He pulled his hand to his chest.

“I have tried to help you these many days. I have tried to give you good food to eat.” I covered his hand with my own. “I have tried to make certain you have everything you need.”

He was looking down at our hands, his lower lip extended in a pout.

“This time, I was wondering, if perhaps,
you
might be able to help
me
.”

Slowly, his gaze rose. It did not meet mine, not exactly, but it was not far off.

“I need what you have in your hand. And I am not going to throw it away. I am not going to scold you. I just want to put it in this box.” I let go of his hand and held up Saint Catherine's reliquary.

Just the single candle was lit, but still the jewels somehow captured its light. The rubies glowed. The emeralds glinted. And the gold reflected back the light. Red and green flickered across Gerold's face as he stood there, gazing at the reliquary.

I took off the lid.

He leaned forward and looked inside.

“There is nothing there right now. Would you not like to put your twig there?”

His fist clenched.

“You could do it yourself. Here: I will hold the box, and you can put it inside.”

He looked down at his hand.

“You can even put the lid back on top if you want to.”

Opening his palm, he revealed a short, splintered shard of wood, which he must have pulled from the hearth before we'd taken him from the hospice. It did not look too different from the bone I had hidden beneath the altar. I wanted to force him to do it. I wanted to snatch it from his hand and drop it inside, but I could not risk his tear-filled cries. The Danes must never suspect the children were here.

“If you put it in this box, then I am going to show it to some other people—”

His fist closed.

“But only so they can admire it too. They have traveled so very far to see it. Everyone who comes here wants to see what's in this box. Did you know that? And now, if you wish it, you can put your twig in here. Would you like to?”

He was gazing out across my shoulder.

“Can you help me?”

He blinked.

“Please?”

Looking down, he held his fist over the box and opened it.

I heard the twig clatter at the bottom, and then handed him the lid.

He took it, rubbing at the rubies with his thumb.

“Can you put it right there? On top?”

He held it up, staring into the jewels as he turned it first this way and then that. Finally, bless heaven, he pushed it down onto the box.

Leaving the children huddled against the back wall, I stepped out into the church, box between my hands, and I waited.

***

I did not have to wait long. The door flew open, slamming against the wall, causing the building to shudder. The birds that nested in the beams squawked and rose to flutter about the roof. Men filed in, one after the other. They were tall and fair, clad in strange costumes and cloaked with furs. Their faces were bearded. The tallest of them, the man who wore a helmet, led them toward me as I stood in the middle of the nave. And there they came to a halt, axes glinting.

I had never known such terror.

The canon had come with them and stood now, just inside the door. They had a second cleric with them as well. A monk. After the man with the helmet had spoken, the monk translated.