The Passion of Dolssa (41 page)

A wail went up from the crowd. The bishop’s sharp eyes turned to find the offender out.

“Woman!” he cried. “Step forward, and explain this outburst.”

Lisette de Boroc stepped forward with her infant in her arms. He’d grown fatter. Martin de Boroc held his daughter in his long arms and watched his wife in horror.

Bishop Raimon surveyed her appearance.

“You wish to defend the heretic, Dolssa de Stigata?”

Lisette genuflected. Poor simple creature. Her face was full of trust.

“Honored bishop,” she said, “spare her life, I beg you! Dolssa helped my baby eat when he wouldn’t. She saved his life. It was a miracle.”

She tried to slip back into the crowd, but Bishop Raimon would have none of that.

“State your name,” he said.

Martin de Boroc closed his eyes.

“Lisette de Boroc,” she replied.

“Your age?”

“Twenty-five,” said she. One of the younger Dominican friars who had accompanied the clerics from Tolosa produced parchment and ink to write her words.

“How many children do you have?”

I think it was then that Lisette caught the first scent of danger.

“Two,” she murmured softly.

“
How
many?”

“Two.”

“Two young children. What is your husband’s name?”

“Martin, Lord bishop.”

People began to stand apart from Martin. He had caught the disease they feared.

“His trade?”

She turned and faced him. She realized what she’d done, poor creature.
I’m sorry,
her face said.

“His trade?”

Martin nodded to his wife, whose face grew red.

“I’m a fisherman,” he called out.

Lucien de Saint-Honore had some words with the older Dominican friar, the one who seemed to be his superior. At length he said, “Present yourselves at church tomorrow morning.”

Martin pulled Lisette close to him and wrapped his arms around his entire family.

Saura stood, pale and stricken, at the forefront of the crowd. She crept forward in the sand, and hesitated, but when she opened her mouth, she poured out her words like water.

“Please, holy friars, pardon me, a poor ignorant woman. I am a mother and a wife, and my husband and son were ill, ready to die of fever, and this
femna
, Dolssa, healed them. The fever parted, and they got better. Please don’t hurt them. They were asleep when she came, and they didn’t know anything about it. It was I who asked her to come help them if she could. I know you will learn this anyway as you question people, for the whole town was there, and they saw it happen. We rejoiced together. Dozens came forward afterward to be healed and helped by her. She healed them all. And they know it is true. I know you will question me soon for saying all this. But I must tell it now.
Please
do not kill her. Dolssa de Stigata has the spirit of God in her.”

Bishop Raimon and Prior Pons recoiled at her last statement.

Martin de Boroc stepped forward, and did the bravest, most foolish thing he would ever do. “What Saura says is true,” he said loudly. “Only God could have healed my son. Na Dolssa does God’s work, and who can deny God?”

A breeze off the lagoon ruffled the assembly. We all, it seemed, held our breath.

“Do you hear her, my brethren?” the bishop cried. “How many souls has this creature infected already? The whole
vila
is reprobate. The damage is far worse than we’d feared. These people convict all Bajas with their damning testimony.”

The clerics huddled once more. Their wall of soldiers closed ranks around them. The churchmen whispered together for long, torturous moments, while seagulls cawed across the beach, and bells tied to fishing boats chimed a lullaby.

Then the circle broke.

“We have reached a decision,” cried Friar Lucien de Saint-Honore. “We recommend to Senhor Guilhem that he implement these sentences, to demonstrate that he is a true lord of the Christian faith.” Senhor Guilhem all but shook. “The heretic should be found, and struck through with an arrow, then burned. You three sisters, and the young
ome
, will lead the
bayle
to her, then share her fate.” He gestured wide with his arm, taking in the sweep of the assembled Bajas. “This entire village is guilty of fostering and concealing heresy, so the entire village—the houses, all the property, and those persons identified as believing her words—must burn.”

A cry went up from the assembled crowd. The clergy turned sharply to find the offenders, and the soldiers’ hands went to their scabbards. Then all was still. We couldn’t even mourn our homes, much less our friends or our lives.

Senhor Guilhem and Lop looked gray. The lord of Bajas could not impose such a sentence and keep his lands, nor his people’s obedience. Neither could he ignore the churchmen and their soldiers and keep his lands, much less his immortal soul.

The prior sent friars up the hill to ring the bells at Sant Martin. To smoke out any remaining villagers who might still be in their houses.

Soldiers were sent to ransack our barns, strewing hay around each
maisoṇ
, ready for burning. A few were left to keep a close watch on us.

The canons returned with a stack of candles and a glowing lamp. One by one they lit the candles, one for each of the churchmen. From the bishop down to the lowest monk, each in his own orb of holy light, they bowed their heads and prayed, asking God to bless them in their sacred work.

“I told Litgier to stay away at all costs.” Plazensa’s whispering voice shook. “He’s out fishing. Didn’t want him mixed up in the whipping.” She wiped her eyes. “Now I’ll never tell him good-bye.”

Oh, Plazi. To hear my sister admit what she never had before cut my heart.

On the beach, husbands and wives huddled together. They clutched their children against their breasts.

Behind me, Symo stood with his head hung down. My sisters, drained of hope, held each other.

Somewhere, in the darkness, Dolssa sat in her cell, and if her beloved kept watch over her, perhaps Senhor Hugo would not find her.

I had one last chance to try anything. But what? God in heaven, what?

My gaze fell upon Dominus Bernard, watching me. I remembered his words.
They even convict and execute the dead.
Who could hope for mercy from such monsters?

They dig up heretics’ bones and burn them.

There it was. My chance.

I stumbled forward and fell down upon my knees in the sand at the churchmen’s feet.

“Good bishop,” I cried. “Good prior. Good friar.” I licked my lips with a dry tongue. “Spare this village, I beg you. These people are innocent. The victims of my falsehoods. The heretic will mislead the village no more after this moment. Teach them, explain to them the error of their ways, and they will listen. They are ignorant, and they believed my lies. Correct them, and they will repent. But you need no longer fear the heretic, for she is dead.”

The churchmen continued their chanting prayers, but Bishop Raimon conferred with Lucien de Saint-Honore and the prior.

“Explain,” demanded Lucien.

I took a deep breath. If ever I’d lied my way out of trouble before, oh, Mamà’s magic, don’t fail me now.

“I found Dolssa de Stigata by the side of the road, nearly dead from starvation, on a journey, weeks ago. I brought her home and nurtured her out of pity, and nothing more. She told me she feared you, so I shielded her from you.”

“Hear how by her own admission she damns herself!” Lucien pointed accusingly at me.

What to say? My beautiful sisters. Could I not find a way to help them?

“All this was my own doing,” I said. “My sisters, and this young man, who fear God and his church, warned me against it.”

“They were complicit with you from the very start,” insisted Lucien.

I shook my head. “Only for kindness’s sake. After Senhor Guilhem burnt the
bona femna
,” I said, “I was content to let that story stand, that she had been Dolssa, so that we could all have peace. Because Dolssa de
Stigata died of fever two nights ago. She caught it from the sick Garcia family.”

I heard a cry in the crowd. Saura.

Felipa, forgive me for what I am about to do.

“The heretic Dolssa is the last person buried in the churchyard,” I said. “Go look for yourself, and see. Spare these who have been victims of untruth. Give them a penance, but let them live. If you must burn Dolssa de Stigata, you’ll find her in the graveyard. Burn her, and me along with her. Take my life for both our crimes.”

The sun sank behind Bajas. The sky was soft, a heavenly shade of lavender.

“Lop,” called Senhor Guilhem. “Bring more wood for the fire.”

“It isn’t so!” cried a loud, familiar voice.

My heart sank. Astruga.

“The last woman buried in the churchyard is the good Christian wife of Joan de Prato, may she rest in peace,” Astruga said. “Botille lies, not caring if she damns an innocent
femna
.”

Astruga, you stupid creature! You who once called yourself my friend. To please your new love, and guard his wife’s bones, you have robbed Bajas, and me, of our last hope.

“Botille lies,” repeated Friar Lucien slowly. “Again and again, Botille lies.” He approached me, cautiously, as if I might bite. “But why? It is curious, is it not? Even as she offers her own life, she lies. She is desperate to make us believe the heretic Dolssa is dead. Why? Because she is not dead. And Botille is so far gone in the service of Satan that she’s willing to die to shield the heretic.”

He was practically upon me now. The friar’s face swam before my tear-filled eyes.

“I pray you, man of God,” I begged. “Have mercy. We showed you pity last night. We saved your life, as the blessed Samaritan did, when you were left for dead.”

A confused look passed over Friar Lucien’s face. He raised a trembling hand to his forehead. “We?” he repeated. “We?”

I did not dare answer. God in heaven, did he remember Dolssa?

Friar Lucien towered over me now, yet he came closer still.

“Did you . . .” He bent over to speak to me words no one else would hear. “Did you summon the heretic to pray over me?”

His wild eyes burned into mine. Sea breezes ruffled his fringe of hair, and sweat shone on his brow.

I shook my head. An instant too late.

“You did.” His fingers shook. “You let her touch me. Her cursed hands were upon my flesh!”

In all that crowded beach, it was only we two.

And then I understood. He feared me. He knew who had healed him. He remembered now. And he knew I could tell it. How the heretic had infected him with her poison touch.

If I were willing to betray Dolssa.

Prior Pons appeared at Friar Lucien’s side. Lucien backed away from me, stumbling in the sand in his haste.

“The
toza
lies!” he cried. “The heretic lives. Find her!”

While Prior Pons tried to soothe Friar Lucien, the jowly bishop of Tolosa conferred in low tones with Senhor Guilhem, who argued heatedly with him. Finally the bishop spoke.

“People of Bajas, your lord Guilhem has pled for you tonight. You will all do a heavy penance for your sins and errors, but your lives and homes will be spared. You must renounce heresy and those who spread it. You will watch as the Lord’s avenging fire burns these four, who were clearly all confederates in this deception. And you must lead us to the place where Dolssa de Stigata lies hidden. People of Bajas, do you accept the mercy offered you?”

No one moved. Then Astruga and Joan de Prato came forward, knelt, made the sign of the cross, and added a log to the fire. Focho de Capa came forward and did the same. Garcia the elder came with his son, leaving his wife weeping behind him. Dominus Bernard took a pathetic stick. With tears streaming down her cheeks, unwilling to look at us, Na Pieret walked forward and took a piece of wood, supported by Gui and Sapdalina on either side.

Symo groaned behind me. I reached for his rough hand and wrapped my fingers around it.

There was one crumb of comfort to be found. I did not see the de Borocs anywhere. I prayed they had slipped away in the gathering dark to hide on Martin’s boat.
May it carry them far from here, to safety. May Saura find an escape of her own, whether her husband and son join her or not.