A Mortal Glamour

Moonlight stretched its pale fingers through the orchard, touching the man and woman who walked there. One should have been keeping watch, the other should have been keeping vigil, but neither of them cared. It had been too long, and there was not time enough for all the phrases and courteous words that another night might have demanded; they could not let their opportunity be lost on emptiness.

"Then why did you accept the veil?" Tristan asked, his dark blue eyes black as the night as he looked down into her face.

Philomine had removed her gorget, wimple and coif, letting her fawn-brown hair curl around her face. "What else was there to do? I did not want to be a charge upon my House, when I had no intention of agreeing to any match but you. It was not honorable in me to stay with them. I have no relatives left who would have worked for me, and so, this way the best, I thought. Here I would do something.... "She let her words trail away.

"But what?"

"Give food to travelers, minister to their hurts, tend their animals." She shrugged. "I have taken only tertiary vows, my dearest dear. I am not a nun as the others are." She put her hand on his arm, glad that now all he wore was a short Flemish houppelande instead of a surcote with armor beneath it.

"Oh, Philomine." He stood still, hearing the movement of the wind in the grasses and the faint scratching of the trees as branches and twigs were jostled by the breeze. "There has never been a day when you have not been in my thoughts." He paused. "I did not expect that. I assumed it would be one of those encounters that glow for an hour like the forge of a smith, and then fade to nothing but pleasant ashes. It may be that the fires are banked, but they only burn hotter." He made no apology for his language, as he might have with another, for he thought of himself as a man-at-arms, not a poet.

In words that were half melody, Philomine said, "I will never forget; how green the grass was outside the window where we met." She laughed once, gently and freely. "I have wanted to make a song of it, but try as I will, I can find no more words."

"The grass was green," he agreed, and opened his arms to her embrace.

They were silent for a time, content to stand this way, knowing only their nearness.

"You," Philomine whispered at last. "You are what is real. And all the rest is ... so much smoke. To have you here - oh, my cherished love - is so sweet it is almost unendurable." Her arms held him more fiercely. "Everything else is shadows; you are the sun."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, very briefly, but he did not let her go. "What of God, Philomine?"

"God, the Devil, they are just other shadows, less than the women I see every day. I touch them, I hear them, I see them, but it means only that they are there and they speak. Your memory is ten times more vivid than that, and to be with you ... I am whole. I am immense and glorious." Their mouths touched.

"Don't speak of it," he said when he could speak again. "It's frightening."

Her fingers pressed his lips. "No; never frightening. Enormous, perhaps, but ... how could this frighten?" She never thought of herself as a bold woman - often she held back in the presence of others and had always been known for her good sense and modest demeanor. What drove her now was more than the intense hunger of her body to know him, the salt of him, the weight of him, but the need to reach his soul.

The way her breast was covered was profound knowledge to his hands, a thing to be treasured more than the heft of a worthy sword. The shiver that traveled from her feet to her brow entranced him.

The night was chill enough to make them gather their discarded clothes around them as they lay under the trees. In the clover and long grasses they welcomed one another, discovering the limitless delight in caresses and kisses, in looks that pierced the soul; each one different and complete while leading to other joys more fulfilling.

No hesitation marred their union, no lingering fear of intrusion or betrayal or shame held them back. They were as graceful as creatures of the sea, carried together as the tide carried waves to the shore, they carried each other with an exaltation that neither had known. Philomine held Tristan on her, within her, caught in the rhythm of his love. Soft, joyous cries like the call of night birds came from her to blend with unexpected laughter.

They lay joined long after their first passion was spent, murmuring loving, senseless words, finding their rapture undiminished, savoring the way their emotions and their senses met and blended with all the intensity of their flesh.

"And tomorrow?" he asked her as the resurgence of his need made her quiver.

"Hush."

"I'll take you with me." He wanted to say it before the words were gone again from his mind. "I should have..."

Her fingers trailed over his arm. "You would feud with my father for life, should you take me. Do you want that?"

"No," he said, so quietly that she had to move even closer to hear him. "But if it were necessary, then..."

"Don't. I want no death touching us. That's for tomorrow, my ever-dearest. Tomorrow is a shadow. You are all the world right now, and nothing is..." She did not finish, kissing him instead, rousing herself though his desire.

"Philomine."

Her mouth stopped her name; fingers, lips, a length of leg, the bend of elbow and knee, the rise of hip, each in turn glistened with moonlight and ecstasy in the new-leaved orchard.

* * * *

It was nearly dawn. They sat together, their clothes draped over shoulders so that they might touch a little longer. Both were pale and tired - both were so exhilarated that sleep would have been impossible.

"Let me take you with me when I leave," Tristan said for the third time that night. "I will not feud with your father. I will petition the King to permit the marriage and even your father must bow to that."

"But would he?" She shook her head. "You know what he is, and his pride. It is worse since the Plague took my brothers and uncles from him. He rages like a caged lion for the glory he has missed, and the battles he will be denied."

But you are no nun," he protested as he tweaked the soft curls by her ear.

"No," she agreed. "I have no vocation. I never said I had. I was and will remain a tertiary Sister." She reached to touch his face. "You are what I worship, you are my deity."

"That's blasphemous. Or heresy." He said it automatically, but the words meant nothing to him, not as he said them.

"If it is, then amen to it. Why should I give my life to shadows when you are here?"

He took her hands in his. "You say that, and will not come with me?"

Their eyes met. "Can you ask that, knowing the trouble that would come? Is it proper to give a god burnt offerings of his own House?" She rested her head on his shoulder in order to continue touching him. "You would hate me for that, in time. Your family would hate me from the first, and they would force you to choose. Not at the first, perhaps, but eventually they would insist, and you would have to decide what to do. I would follow you anywhere, Tristan, Tristan, but I will not go home with you."

"Then I will leave France. There are places a man-at-arms can find work, and princes who will offer good money and advancement for a skilled sword-arm."

It was true enough, and both of them knew it. "It is wrong to turn away from your House and blood," she reminded him, but lacking conviction. "I don't know what you would do, given time. But promise me, Tristan, for the sake of loving me, don't act quickly."

"We've waited too long already," he said, bending to nuzzle her neck.

"We may wait a bit longer, if it means that we will not part," she told him, the plan that had been shapeless an instant ago now taking form in her mind. "We might find a way, so that no one need suffer and you need not carry the weight of your father's curse along with my love."

"How?" He said it more sharply than he had intended, and she gave him a startled glance at his abruptness.

"Your House must be secure. That is the difficulty. The opposition to my House is too strong to be overcome by a marriage contract. Therefore, there must be another to succeed you, one that your father approves. Let him find a man-at-arms, a worthy man, to adopt as his heir, and settle you with - "

"As if I were his bastard?" This time he was not gentle; his dark blue eyes turned darker and his face was heated.

"Is that too much?" she asked sadly. "If it is, then I will be content to remain here."

He laughed in a harsh outburst. "You mean that this would be enough for you?"

"If it is all that we will have, then it must be enough. I cannot poison it with wanting more than we could have. If I did that, I would lose all that might be ours, and this as well. It would be too bitter a price, my dearest." She looked down in confusion, trying to find another way to explain herself.

"No, Philomine," he murmured, the anger gone out of him. He drew her close against him and felt her tears on his shoulder. "Do not weep, my only love. Do not weep."

They kissed slowly, tenderly, shutting out all the hurt that the world gave them. Their faces were alive with longing and anguish at the need to part. It was terrible to have to leave, more terrible to be separated.

"I will make myself a bastard," Tristan vowed to Philomine in a whisper. "I will find someone - a nephew, a cousin, anyone acceptable - and I will step aside, taking whatever portion my father will grant me. I will come for you then, and it will not matter."

"I will wait for you, and never forget this." Her lips brushed his. "I will tell my father only that I must leave since I have not discovered a vocation. I will say that I have been accepted at some minor noble's court, far from here, who needs a woman for his lady."

"That would be a lie," he said, scandalized that she should make such an offer to him, and the more concerned that he would accept so readily.

"Not a lie, perhaps, as much as a wish for what may happen." She pulled on her habit, reluctant to let it come between them. "There are birds singing in the trees already. The Sisters will gather for prayers shortly, and I must be with them or risk answering the Superior's questions."

To relieve the gloom that descended on him as he watched her dress, Tristan asked, "Is she very strict, this Superior?"

Philomine shrugged as she tightened her hempen belt and attached her rosary to it. "She has caused much excitement with some of the Sisters, but I don't know why. She is capable enough, I suppose, but to hear Seur Victoire or Seur Aungelique speak of her, you would think she came directly from la Virge or the Devil."

"And what does she make of this?" Tristan inquired as he tugged on his soft chemise.

"Who can say?" Philomine answered, grateful to have this to speak of instead of their good-byes. "She is a cipher, that one, shaping her mood and her ways to those who are in her company, or so it seems to me."

"And the others?" He was pulling on his belt and checking the heft of his small sword now, his mind more on the details of dressing in the pre-dawn half-light than what Philomine said. He wanted to hear the sound of her voice, though all she said was children's songs.

"I don't know. Some of them are pleased, I've mentioned that already. Others are distressed. It is strange that she would be so ... flexible and still be thought rigid by many of the Sisters." With one hand she smoothed her hair back, and with the other, concealed it beneath the coif. She was Seur Philomine once again, little as she liked it.

"You haven't got it all," Tristan said gently, coming up to her and tucking on trailing bit of hair under the coif. "There."

She pressed herself to him. "Do not be too long, Tristan. I will wait as long as I must - all my life, should it come to that. Yet if it must take time, let it take as little as possible." Her feelings were all contradictory as she said this, part of her wishing she had not refused to leave with him, careless of the consequences to their Houses and her vows.

"It will be soon. I don't think I can endure much more waiting. Philomine, do not think the less of me."

"Never," she promised him, kissing the corner of his mouth while he held her tightly. "I must go," she reminded him a bit later. "The bells will sound shortly, and I must be where they can find me then, or..."

His arms released her, though it was an effort to do so. "Shall I walk back with you?"

Seur Philomine shook her head. "No. It would not be wise. The warder Sister might see us, and then it would be difficult for you as well as for me." She was trying to think of a way to account for the grass stains that she knew were on her pale grey habit. "It would be too awkward."

"As you wish, treasured one." He touched her shoulder, trying not to hold her back, yet wanting to keep her with him. "One day we will not have to answer that summons any more."

"I pray that it is soon," she said with a half-turn toward him.

"You pray, after what you confessed to me?" It was not outrage but mirth that made him ask.

"You are real; the rest are shadows. Who better for me to pray to?" With this outrageous admission, she broke away from him and hurried away toward the tall convent walls, regretting every step she took.

* * * *

"It is the Devil who does this to you," Seur Catant said to Seur Aungelique as she waited for the rebellious nun outside the cell door.

Seur Aungelique moaned and tugged at her dampened shift. "I am ... loved," she insisted. "I am being taken in love."

It was wrong for a nun to sneer, Seur Catant was well aware of it, but she could not school her features to the sympathy her habit required of her. She compromised with a severe scowl. "There are only your lustful thoughts to blame for this, Seur Aungelique. You have wooed the Devil and he has taken you for his bride. If it were up to me, I would order you to leave this convent and the Order so that your disgrace would not bring dishonor on your Sisters."

"You are jealous," Seur Aungelique said shrewdly, coming closer than she knew to the source of Seur Catant's repugnance. "There is no one who seeks to take what lies between your thighs, and you are angry that there are those who burn for me."

"No nun would wish to have any burn for her. You bring peril to all of us by your confession. You are damned by your words."

"Then where is God, to bring me to His forgiveness?" Seur Aungelique taunted her. She was half-off the cot where she slept, her shift sticking to her where sweat had moistened it. "All of you pretend that you have forgotten or never wanted the love that God made me seek."

"Be silent," Seur Catant rejoined, wanting to be rid of the other woman entirely. "You must not speak to me."

"Why not?" Finally Seur Aungelique was enjoying herself. "Don't you wonder what it is like to have a demon come to you, to enter your flesh with a member the size of a log of wood? Don't you long for that pain? Don't you?"

"Be silent!" Seur Catant shrieked, stepping back from the cell door. "You have been overcome by the Devil! You are infected by him, as those with the Plague are infected!"

Seur Aungelique laughed, shaking her head so that her hair swung free of its confining wimple. "Listen to you, you demented old crone. You are nothing more than a husk, and not even the Devil can fill you." She leaned back against the wall and began methodically to tear the neck of her shift so that her breasts were visible. "You bring Mere Leonie. Go ahead. I want to hear what she says when you tell her that you do not want the Devil to violate your virginity. Saving yourself for the deflowering of God, are you? Do you think the Father and Son will take turns with you, the way the Flagellants did with the nuns they caught outside of Mou Courbet? Hum?" She tore the shift the rest of the way, so it hung open to the hem at her ankles. "But do you offer this? Come! Open the door and look! You have dugs as flat as an empty wineskin. I have something to offer a man."

"And you give it to the Devil!" Seur Catant burst out, then spun around and fled down the hall, shouting for Mere Leonie to come at once.

Smiling, Seur Aungelique lay back and began to sing the bawdiest song she had heard while she was at Un Noveautie. She had got into the fourth chorus when she was interrupted by hurrying steps in the hall. "Who comes, then?" she called out, and then went back to the outrageous lyrics.

Mere Leonie stood in the door, straight as a soldier, her pale eyes burning down at Seur Aungelique. "You have fallen again."

"Call it what you like," Seur Aungelique responded insolently. "Last night there was a lover with me, who filled me and made me abase myself for his pleasure."

"Did he?" Her voice was severe. "And you forgot all that you have promised to God and la Virge and you gave yourself to vice and sin."

"Yes," Seur Aungelique agreed smugly. "What would you have done?"

"I would pray to Our Lord to guide me," Mere Leonie answered, coming closer. "This Devil that Seur Catant says you boast of - what was he like?"

"He is beautiful, a man made of beauty, a splendid man," Seur Aungelique said in a sing-song tone. "He is slight and his face is soft. His eyes are light, almost as light as yours, and his hair is pale as the light of the moon. He is carved from ice, and he burns cold as the stars." She pulled open her torn shift to show the bruises that marked her. "He did this to me, my Thibault did, and he will do it again, and worse, before he is through with me."

"Beg Our Lord to welcome you. He will take you in if you pray," Mere Leonie said with increasing sternness. "In the meantime, I do not care that you wish to remain here, you will keep your vigil as you have been told to do, and you will go and confess your sins, no matter how heinous, to Pere Guibert as soon as he comes to hear our confessions. You will then come back to your cell where you will dwell on your sins. You will beg your bread and water from your Sisters, whom you have offended most deeply. Is that understood, or must I be more plain?"

"You are plain. Yes, very plain. You have a boy's face, not one that a woman would wish for. How plain you are, ma Mere. And nuns are the only ones who you will hear call you 'Mere'. No children will come from your womb."

"That is so, but it is the wish of Our Lord that this be so," Mere Leonie said with odd satisfaction. "You have decided that you must be debauched, instead of taking the salvation offered to you. That is what you have done, and if that is what you long for, that you will have. But not until Pere Guibert hears from your lips your desire to leave this Order and the protection of this house."

"I have said that from the beginning," Seur Aungelique insisted.

"And there is also your father to consider. At the first chance, I will personally send a message to him begging that he grant us the right to send you away from us, into the world, where the Devil cannot reach us."

Once again Seur Aungelique had to laugh. "The Devil is here. He is everywhere and you are mad to think otherwise. You should keep bees with Seur Marguerite, not sing the praises of God." She wriggled out of her shift and held out the torn cloth to Mere Leonie. "See? I cast off the habit the same way, as if it were my shroud."

"You are being foolish," Mere Leonie remarked with more heat than before. "You do not know what you might lose if you depart. But that is for you to contemplate when you confess, and when you spend hours alone here. Dwell on how much you have offended God. Our Lord hears all prayers. You must not forget that."

Seur Aungelique was examining the bruises on her abdomen. "Do you think that he will make me with child? Do you think his seed grows in me already? Do you think that a child of his get will bruise me as much, kicking in my womb? Do you?"

"If that is what you want, then doubtless it will be what the Devil gives you," Mere Leonie said harshly, starting away from the door. "You will be confined here until morning. You will come on your hands and knees, naked as you are, to beg a crust of bread and a cup of water from your Sisters, who will be told not to speak to you. That is how it will be until you confess."

"Until I confess?" Seur Aungelique demanded with another burst of derision. "I do not confess anything. I take pride in being as God made me, and I will not defile His handiwork with false repentance. Surely God knew what He was doing when He brought me into the world. If I am to be the plaything of the Devil, it is His plan to make me such. Else why do I resist Him as I do? Well? Have you no answer to that, Mere Leonie?"

The Superior studied Seur Aungelique, her face like a mask of saintly acceptance. "If Our Lord intends you to be an example to the Sisters here, then we must learn from you, I suppose. But that will not change anything I have ordered. You will have to learn to deal with this as best you can."

As the door closed on her, Seur Aungelique called out, "If there is a demon here, if the Devil comes to me, there are no doors strong enough to keep him out, and I will not resist him, you may be sure of that!"

Mere Leonie turned to the two nuns who had stood just out of sight. "Seur Adalin, Seur Morgance, guard her. If she harms herself, let me know of it at once. Otherwise ignore everything you hear. Think of the travail of Our Lord, if you find it difficult to shut out her ravings, but do not let yourselves be tempted by that ... woman!"

The two nuns bowed their heads in submission to Mere Leonie's commands, though both of them already listened to the cries that came from behind the bolted door.

* * * *

Pierre braced his feet apart and glared at Mere Leonie. "How could this happen? How could you let her ... do such things?" He had been silent for the first part of Mere Leonie's explanation of the latest crisis Seur Aungelique had brought to the convent, but he had become more and more aggravated as the Superior spoke, and finally could contain himself no longer.

"I have little say in the matter," Mere Leonie said, spreading her hands out to signify her helplessness. "You see that I am unable to stop these ... events, do you not?"

"I see that Aungelique is writhing about like a gaffed fish and screaming like one demented, and you can do nothing but pray!" This outburst shamed him, but once started, he could not hold himself back. "What is wrong with you, woman, that you permitted this to get so far out of hand? Can you answer me? Do you know what her father would do if he saw her? She would be sent to a dungeon and chained to the wall, with the rest of the lunatics, and the Pope would withhold his permission for marriage dispensation for the whole family. They cannot have such a thing to happen to them, not after the Plague and war have brought so many of them low. You know that Aungelique had been his only hope, and now she is making love to the Devil!" He stared hard at her, then looked away quickly, thinking that he did not want to be attracted to the woman again. He had suffered enough from his obsession with her, and now he wished only to have her become less than a child to him.

"What should I do? Should I beat her? You have seen her body, and those dreadful bruises and cuts were left by the Devil, or so she claims."

"Not the Devil. She says it was Thibault Col who came to her, and who will come again." This was grudgingly said, as if he wanted to dispute everything Mere Leonie revealed.

"The Devil can take many forms, and the demons he sends are as likely to be women as men. Why would they be ugly, Sieur le Duc? Why would they not be comely, in the likeness of those who are good to look upon?"

Pierre stared hard at her again. "God would not allow such treason," he said, but was dissatisfied with his remark.

"Our Lord..." She stopped, smiling strangely. "Think of the treason that cast Our Lord down into Hell. And he was the most favored of all, was he not? God did not spare him. Why should He spare a vocationless nun?"

There was nothing that Pierre could give to refute Mere Leonie, and it was infuriating for him. He came a few impetuous steps nearer. "I will say this once to you, Mere Leonie, and you had better listen to me. Aungelique's father intends that she will marry, and marry she shall, if she must be tied and gagged like a felon awaiting execution. But if she goes that way to the altar, you will be sent from here to the most remote part of France to say your prayers to rocks and snow. D'Ybert is a vidame and the Pope will listen to him, since his vidames are all that stand between him and the Deviltry of Rome."

If this threat worried Mere Leonie, it was not apparent in her demeanor, which remained tranquil. "You must do as your oaths bind you to do, Sieur le Duc, as I must abide by mine. Our Lord will send me where I am wanted, and it matters not what vidame and Pope do, for they are in the hands of Our Lord, as is everyone in the earth."

Pierre crossed himself and growled an "Amen," before resuming his argument. "You have a little time, and you had best use it well. When I return for that girl, she must not be clinging to me and reaching for my balls. Is that plain?"

"Of course," Mere Leonie said with the same calm tone she had used all through their conversation. "And if there is nothing I can do? If she is correct, and she was made wanton, then how do you wish me to treat her? Do you want us to find a village youth to indulge her, to sate her with the lust of his flesh so that she may be sent peaceably to her bridal bed? Or shall we keep her confined and raving? You have only to tell me what you require and it will be done." She stood up, smoothing her habit. Pierre's eyes followed the paths of her hands over her small breasts and down her lithe body. "What is it you want me to do?"

"By Christ's Nails, I want you to make a reasonable woman out of her!" He folded his arms as if to barricade himself against her. "You are a reasonable woman yourself, Mere Leonie, and that is what I wish you to ... to make Aungelique be."

Mere Leonie regarded him evenly, then made a sound that was almost a chuckle. "You wish me to form Seur Aungelique in my image? Best not to let Cardinal Belroche hear of that, or you will have too many questions to answer, Sieur le Duc."

"That was not what I meant!" he muttered, glowering at her.

"Then perhaps you are saying that I should instill a vocation in her, although we are both aware that none exists. You do not know how much trouble she brings to this convent, do you? Or is it that you do not care, so long as she marries as her father requires her to marry?" She waited a moment, then stroke past him toward the door. "You must give me time to pray for guidance. I cannot ask that God protect her if..."

"If she turns away from Him?" Pierre asked, reaching out to take her elbow. "Hear me out, Mere Leonie," he said, reveling in their closeness and the way his hand pressed her arm through her habit. "There will be no more talk of this Thibault Col. There will be no more lascivious songs and torn shifts. There will be no more laughter and swearing and declarations of ruttings, as she has been doing. I do not care how you effect this change, but Michau d'Ybert and I require it. We will not be satisfied with half-measures."

"Do not touch me," Mere Leonie said softly, her pale blue eyes boring into his. "If you lay a hand on me again, I will complain of it to the Cardinal and to the Pope, and you will have to answer for it."

The anger he heard in her voice fired the passion that already filled him; his hand closed more tightly. "Do you understand me?"

Mere Leonie raised her other hand, fingers curved so that her short nails became claws. "Release me!"

"Very well." He was pleased to see how she glared, but he did not like to admit, even to himself, how disquieting he found her ire. "I only wish to impress upon you the magnitude of my concern."

"Those who assault nuns are castrated," she reminded him icily, stepping back as he released her. "You may leave, Sieur le Duc. And when you come again, there will be other Sisters with me."

Pierre favored her with a mocking bow. "Then I will find another way, ma Mere, for what we must discuss is not to be heard by others. The daughter of Michau d'Ybert is not to be made the object of gossiping nuns. You will receive me when and where I direct, or you will be sent for and brought to her father." He grinned at her as her chin came up. "Then where would you be, without the Sisters and Pere Guibert to protect you?"

"Our Lord protects me," she responded, her calm deserting her.

"With help from the chirurgeon's knife. Of course." He wanted to touch her again, to see the flames leap in her eyes. A woman like that, he thought, belonged at some important castle as chatelaine, not here with these terrified women. It pleased him to see her, in his imagination, as the mistress of his fortress, where she would supervise fighting men, as she was meant to do.

"Leave."

"At once," he complied, turning abruptly and going to the door. "I will be back by mid-summer. See that Aungelique is ready."

"If that is the will of Our Lord, she will be." Mere Leonie stood straighter than usual, her shoulders squared and her head high. There was no lessening of her rigidity when she heard the courtyard door close and the sound of horses on the flagging. "Seur Odile," she called out.

"Yes, ma Mere," came the answer from the adjoining room.

"You heard what le Duc said to me?"

"All of it, ma Mere. He is a ... person who has much need of our prayers." This last was clearly difficult for her to say, and she almost choked on the good will that was required of her.

"Then pray for him," Mere Leonie advised her curtly. "Pray that he will not bring more sin upon himself."

"Yes, ma Mere," Seur Odile answered.

"And pray for Seur Aungelique. We must do that in any case, but now it is of the utmost importance that we bring her into the hands of Our Lord." She held her rosary tightly in her long, lean hands. "We have reasons to fear the Wrath of God."

This last pronouncement made Seur Odile quiver, and she made the sign of the cross quickly, in case she might have inadvertently exposed herself to the dangers of the demons said to haunt the air where sin had been committed. "She ... may repent. She has begged her bread for four days."

"Without humility," Mere Leonie reminded the other nun. "She is still in the grip of her demon, and she is proud of it, which compounds her sin."

Although she could not be seen, Seur Odile blushed for shame at her error. "Yes. Naturally. I ... had not considered that."

"You have only to listen to her speak and know that she is as defiant as the fallen angels." Mere Leonie put down her rosary. "Pere Guibert has told me that it is a great risk to all of us, keeping her here."

"Then..." Seur Odile began, finding it difficult to think of the proper thing to say. "There is danger enough in this world, ma Mere. Who are we to venture into more?"

"We are the servants of Our Lord," Mere Leonie answered at once. "We have dedicated our lives to doing work in His name. If we are tested more, it is that we prove the triumph of faith and the depth of our devotion." She straightened up. "Tell the others that, if they ask you what they should do."

Seur Odile remembered that Mere Leonie had said something of the same nature when the convent was surrounded by Flagellants, and they had managed to come through that ordeal without ruin. "I will, ma Mere," she assured the Superior.

"Deo gratias," Mere Leonie answered. "I must keep my vigil before the altar. Especially now, when I have been tempted to sin."

This last impressed Seur Odile, and she said to Mere Leonie as she withdrew from her presence, "I will think of those temptations that have been sent to me, so that I might know them better and turn from them with a glad heart."

Mere Leonie rewarded her with a trace of a smile. "That would please Our Lord."

* * * *

"God! Oh, my God!" The scream went through the convent like a winter wind. "What are you doing to me! No, I cannot bear it ... No! Oh ... oh ... oh, do not hurt me again. Don't."

The convent was roused abruptly, and nuns, most of them in their shifts, came hurrying our of their cells, some of them calling for aid, others silent with wonder at what they heard coming from the barred door of Seur Aungelique's cell.

"Thibault! ... Thibault! ... NO!"

Seur Ranegonde crossed herself and the others copied her action. "What do you think?"

"A demon," Seur Victoire said, not quite certain she was right.

"It must be. A woman like Seur Aungelique, what might she expect?" The words were condemning, but there was more fear than ire in Seur Elvire's face. "Where is Mere Leonie?"

"I..." Seur Philomine looked about. "No, she is not with us."

"She cannot be asleep," Seur Adalin protested. "She must have heard ... she must have."

"She is ... praying?" Seur Tiennette suggested, her large arms held over her girth. "Was it her hour to keep vigil?"

"THIBAULT!" The name was wrung from her.

The nuns drew together in their frights, each turning more pale at the agony in Seur Aungelique's voice: it was ragged with pain.

"Should one of us wake ... bring Mere Leonie?" Seur Odile asked in the most tentative accents. "Shouldn't she be here?"

"And Pere Guibert. He would know how to end this." Seur Catant huddled in her shift as far from Seur Aungelique's cell as she could. "Someone must know what to do."

The next scream was more terrible than the others, a wordless litany of torment that transcended mere suffering and became total despair.

"Bon Dieu," Seur Morgance whispered.

"It is not God Who touches her," Seur Theodosie warned them, her large, brawny frame cowering now.

"My children ... she hears them. They call to her and she cannot answer, so this is all she can do," Seur Marguerite explained, but no one listened to her. "She has tried to find them, and her heart is broken. It has happened before, but it may be that God is merciful and will bring her to grace. He may do it for anyone, so they say, and my children will speak well for me."

"By la Virge, be quiet," Seur Catant muttered.

"Leave her alone; she isn't clear in her head," Seur Adalin said, putting herself between Seur Catant and Seur Marguerite. "It's bad enough we must listen to this. We do not have to hear your carping as well."

"I meant only..." Seur Catant began, then stopped when panting sobs came from the closed cell.

The voice shuddered, too exhausted to whimper, and then there was a crack of low, pitiless laughter before the weeping began, slowly at first, and then building to wretched sobs.

"I will get Mere Leonie," Seur Philomine said to the others, and went before anyone could stop her.

"Sacre Mere Marie," Seur Ranegonde prayed, saying the comforting words without thought. "Pardon us and intercede for us so that we are not lost on the Day of Judgment and our souls go not into the pit."

Seur Adalin crossed herself and began to recite prayers of her own. She heard Seur Elvire join her, and the others followed their example, each of them speaking of her fears and helplessness. Their voices were soft and could not entirely blot out the sound of Seur Aungelique's crying.

Seur Philomine did not bother to pray as she rushed to Mere Leonie's cell. To her dismay, the Superior was not there. "Mere Leonie!" she called out, hoping that she could be heard. "I ask forgiveness for intruding, but we must have your aid now. There is ... trouble!" She went next to the study and saw that the small door leading to the convent's herb garden was standing open. With an impatient shout she went toward it, raising her voice again. "Mere Leonie! Mere Leonie!"

The Superior was at the far end of the garden, standing with her head bowed and her hands clasped before her. At this interruption she looked up sharply and stared through the darkness.

"Who is it?" Her tone was sharp. "I am - "

"I have no wish to disturb your prayers, ma Mere, but there has been more trouble. It is Seur Aungelique."

Mere Leonie nodded. "What now?"

"She ... is in great travail and distress of spirits." That much was correct and could not later be questioned. "The door is barred and none of us wishes to open it without your authority."

"I see. Very well." She crossed herself. "Seur Aungelique is in the hands of Our Lord and He will dispose of her as He sees fit. But it is for us to relieve the burdens of this world, even for the foolish and wayward, for God has made each of us what we are and for that we must honor every creature." She was walking swiftly, passing thought her study and her cell without pausing for anything. "Come, Seur Philomine. There is work for us to do."

Seur Philomine followed, grateful that it was not for her to minister to Seur Aungelique. She hurried to keep up with the Superior and tried without success to fathom the character of Mere Leonie. It frightened her to think that the Superior might fail them when she was needed most. She caught herself wondering, as she did more and more often, if she should have gone with Tristan when he offered to take her, and ignored the consequences that would be visited upon them for so impulsive an act. Then she heard the sobs again and put her mind to Seur Aungelique's tribulation.

* * * *

Pere Guibert listened in silence to all Mere Leonie told him. His brow clouded as she spoke, and by the time she was finished, his expression was desolate. "How could it have happened, and here, of all places?"

"Then you believe that it is a demon, mon Pere?" Mere Leonie asked.

"I will have to consult with Padre Bartolimieu, but it would appear to me that there is reason to fear she is possessed." He crossed himself, fighting an appalling exhilaration that was building in him. "We must pray that this is not so, but we must also prepare for that eventuality."

Mere Leonie looked down at her hands. "Surely it is only her lusts, mon Pere. She is so young and her blood burns in her veins. We have agreed that she is not a woman of vocation, and it may be that she yearns for release that is not permitted, and for that reason - not reason, but motive, perhaps, since no reason seeks out afflictions - imagines that she has become the victim of the Devil? It is not wise to enforce Orders on those who are not made for such a life." She had avoided his eyes, but now she stared hard at him. "To have the Church begin a Process here might bring more harm than it ends."

He could not deny it. Other priests had begun Processes that proved fruitless. All of them had been chastised and sent to parishes in parts of the world that were unpleasant to be in. It was bad enough going from convent to monastery to village as he did - being exiled to the warring states of Germany or the hostile English would press him to the limits. "You may be correct in your caution, ma Fille," he allowed, hoping that he had not given away the degree of concern she had awakened in him. "I believe it will be best for all of us if I pursue this matter myself for a time. I may decide to ask Padre Bartolimieu to aid me, but that is not the same thing as a formal Process." He added, feeling inspired, "In times like these, when the forces of Rome demand so much of the Church's time so that their error will not spread, it is prudent to bring such problems as this one to the attention of the Church only when it is a sure thing that their skills will be needed. God has often shown His support to those who have acted with sense and circumspection."

"That is true," Mere Leonie agreed. "And it must be wise to question these things, for there are those who are quick to label sin as Diabolic when in truth it is only the fallibility of man at work."

"God has made us fallible," Pere Guibert concurred, afraid that he might be one of those. "We must guard against our blindness."

"Our Lord will guide us," Mere Leonie said with great confidence. "Our Lord is our master and our greatest champion."

Pere Guibert crossed himself, thinking of nothing more to say. "I will want to hear Seur Aungelique's confession as soon as possible. If she is not reluctant to give it."

"She has said that she is in need of it," Mere Leonie told him primly. "She has said that there will be no rest for her until she has confessed. She wakes every night, screaming in misery of body and of soul."

"Then it may be that she will repent and come to God, if He moves her to cast off her fleshly desires. We must pray that she will be so moved, and that God will choose to bring her to Him after much suffering." He shook his head. "Ah, ma Fille, your task here has been a difficult one. Surely God has given you great trials since He caused you to come here."

"I thank Our Lord for this chance to do His will," she responded quite properly. "If Seur Aungelique is the most recalcitrant nun I meet in my life, then my path will be an easy one."

Pere Guibert was not certain that this pride was correct, but he did not want to contradict Mere Leonie while there was so much strife at Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion. So he contented himself with a mild rebuke. "Do not bring more upon yourself, ma Fille, through the mistaken belief that you are capable of bearing the ills of your Sisters. It is God Who provides the strength, and it is He Who endows us with the patience to hear our burdens for His Glory."

"For which we give thanks," she said, indicating the door. "Come. Seur Aungelique is waiting to speak with you, and I long to know that she has revealed her sin to you."

"Amen to that, ma Fille," he said, preceding her down the hall. "I have heard that you have suffered losses of hives and cheeses. Will that be a difficulty in the winter?"

"It may be, but if it is, we will do what we must to survive it. The valley is lying fallow where grain grew before the last Plague. There are not so many men to work the land, and few women to winnow the harvest. The miller died and there is no one to grind the grain to flour any longer, so that the peasants must take their wheat and rye and oats to the next valley, to Sangchoutte where they are charged more than they wish to pay for the milling. This year it is not a hardship, but the next, who can say?" She turned the corner in the hallway. "The hives are another matter. Poor Seur Marguerite mourns night and day for the two hives that are lost. There is a third, and so far it has not been touched by the blight that struck down the other two. The cheeses ... Seur Tiennette said that they have been tainted with mold, but she does not know which kind. There are more cheeses curing and it may be that they will all take, so that we will not have much of a loss there. With travelers so few, we have not had to deplete our supplies as we have had to do in the past, or so the Sisters have told me. Mere Jacinthe's records show that in other years, there have been more men upon the road seeking the protection of the hospice."

"It is the Plague and the wars," Pere Guibert said. "And the men from Rome, of course," he added as an afterthought. "Everywhere men are afraid to leave their homes, thinking they will not be there when they return."

Seur Morgance passed them, lowering her head in dutiful submission to her Superior and their priest.

"How are the Sisters responding to Seur Aungelique's ... " - he almost said "possession" but stopped himself in time - "affliction?"

"There are those who wish to be rid of her, who believe she will bring even more misfortune to the convent. There are those who pity her. And it may be that one or two of them envy her." She said this last as if the thought were new to her, and the silence that followed bothered Pere Guibert.

Seur Fleurette stood in front of Seur Aungelique's cell, her back to the door. A large white scar on the side of her face was a constant reminder to the attack of the Flagellants, as was the limp she revealed as she approached Pere Guibert.

"God be with you, ma Fille," he said, blessing her as he looked at the door.

"And with your spirit, ma Pere," she answered as she crossed herself. "It is my duty to keep watch. If you require me to remain, I will."

Pere Guibert disliked having to consult Mere Leonie, but in this instant, he had to rely on the Superior to advise him. "Is it better that she witness, or must this be under the seal?"

"For the good of the convent, a witness would be best," Mere Leonie answered. "Each nun knows the importance of confession and will not abuse the trust that it requires of us all." She gazed at Seur Fleurette. "Guard your tongue and your soul, ma Seur, for what you hear is holy confession and not for idle talk."

"I am honored to obey you, ma Mere." She gave her attention to Pere Guibert. "Is there anything you must know, mon Pere, or will her confession be sufficient?"

Pere Guibert pressed his lips tightly together. "Has she claimed that the Devil has been with her since sunrise?"

"She has been quiet," Seur Fleurette admitted. "Last night was another matter."

"That was last night," Pere Guibert said. "Today we must praise God for protecting His wayward child." He went to the door. "Remain nearby. Say nothing. This may be more vanity than Devil, but that is not an easy distinction to make when a nun is as obstinate as Seur Aungelique."

The two women lowered their heads and waited for what was to come.

Alone with Seur Aungelique, Pere Guibert attempted to compose his thoughts and calm his soul. But the sight of the young woman troubled him more than he had assumed it would. There were massive bruises on Seur Aungelique's exposed thighs, and deep scratches on her hips and abdomen, one of which had already begun to fester. The skin had been scraped from her collarbone and between her breasts there were the crescent marks of teeth. Some of the discolorations were fresh, others older, turning from purple to yellow-green. Little of Seur Aungelique's beauty remained, and as he stared down at her, Pere Guibert decided that it was just as well.

"Do you enjoy watching me, mon Pere?" Seur Aungelique inquired lethargically.

"I am troubled to see you, ma Fille." He made the sign of the cross over her and was pleased that she copied his action.

"Then why do you come? Why not leave me to the demon that robs me of my sleep and my peace of mind? And my purity? Don't you sense the corruption that has invaded me?" The challenge was spoken softly, as if she were too exhausted to do more than make a token show of resistance to him.

"God has given me His mandate of the priesthood," Pere Guibert said. Then to modify this statement so that it would not put her off, he added, "God wishes all His children to care for one another and to honor His commandments for their salvation."

"But surely God knows that He has made His children diverse and that they cannot come to Him but that He calls them?" Seur Aungelique threw back her head and rubbed her eyes. "God is far off, mon Pere, and the Devil is near at hand. Who calls us, and how are we to know what we hear?"

"God has given you His priests to aid you," Pere Guibert reminded her. His eyes were drawn to a large, livid bruise on her thigh, near the place where it joined the hip. The bruise was a fresh one, a purple splotch with a ruddy center, the size of his palm. What could have left such a mark, he asked himself.

She moved slightly, exposing more of her body. "Then how is it wrong to live as God made me to live, not seeking any change for fear that the change comes not from God but from the Devil? Is there not less sin in that than in heeding a false call?"

"It must seem so to you, my poor child, with so much trouble in your ... flesh."

"They say that women are weak and erring creatures, and for that they are the prey of demons." She ran one hand over the crest of her hip. "We are taught that we must be guided if we are to escape perdition."

"That is so," he replied uneasily. "Yet you have refused confession before. Do you truly seek it now?"

"Oh, yes, mon Pere. I must have some peace, or I will be madder than Seur Marguerite with her bees." She lolled toward him, making no effort to touch him, but still impressing him with her nearness. "The Devil has sent his servant to plague me and I cannot endure it much longer. The demon has come to me often, and has done such things to me that I fear for my salvation." She started to rise up her elbows but could not accomplish that simple action without wincing in pain. "You see, mon Pere? What has been done to me?"

"I see that you are much aggrieved," he answered, deliberately attempting to make less of her condition. It was an effort to avert his eyes, but he accomplished it, and thanked God in his heart.

"It is worse, so much worse. When I try to enter the chapel, the enormity of my transgressions drives me to fits. I have almost fainted at the sight of the Cross."

Pere Guibert watched her with troubled eyes. He could not believe that she would permit such blasphemy to possess her - if possession it was. The nun was from a noble House, her father both a baron and vidame, high in the esteem of the Church. His daughter could not be so steeped in evil she would bring this disgrace on her family. "The Cross," he said, swallowing once before going on, "will sustain you, if you open your heart to God and repent your sins with humility and accept your penance with submission."

"But it is the demon that does this to me!" she protested.

"What has taken place, I do not know and must rely on your true and complete confession to inform me," he reminded her. "Are you prepared to do that, ma Fille, or are you still in the thrall of the demon?"

With a heavy sigh, Seur Aungelique crossed herself. "Very well. May God forgive me for my sins." She picked at a small scab on her hand, then licked the blood that welled there.

"Confess them honestly and He will bestow His grace upon you and bring you again into His protection and love." Pere Guibert took refuge in the familiar admonition.

"For God is omnipotent and omniscient," Seur Aungelique said wearily. "Yes, and He reads our hearts aright, for it is He that made us. We are the sheep He leads, for He is the Son and the Good Shepherd."

Pere Guibert listened to this with a trace of satisfaction. "You should recall that when you are tempted by the messenger of the Devil, if it is truly a demon who comes to you."

"What else could it be? How could a lover reach me here?" She gave him an arch smile. "This is not Un Noveautie, mon Pere."

"Think what you say, ma Fille," he scolded her.

"Yes, mon Pere," she answered, once again contrite. "It is simply that I see such horrible things around me that I cannot endure the sight. This is a place of damnation and Hell stands open at our backs."

"No, no, ma Fille," Pere Guibert said, extending a solicitous hand to her. "You must be deceived. There is danger here, as there is throughout the world. God warned us of that long ago. You need not succumb to it. God protects His own, those who live with grace." He paused. "You have strayed from the flock, Seur Aungelique, and you have lost the way. What have you done to fall from grace, ma Fille? Tell me."

She shook her head as he said this. "I have done nothing, mon Pere. Nothing. It is not I who have done this. My suffering has been visited on me by the Devil, who delights in torturing me through the ... ministrations of his servant." She stared up at the ceiling, as if watching something there. "You know what I am, Pere Guibert; you know how God made me. I am a woman of the flesh and of the senses, and for that I am not a good nun, for the world calls me and I cannot turn away from it without denying what I am, which is a great sin. I am carnal: that is as God wills, and as I wish to live. But I am here, and thus I am tormented by the desires of my body until God brings me to His love. If God should waken a vocation in my heart, I will not deny it. For now, I cannot be what I am wished to be. I have done the penance given me." Her chin jutted at that.

"This is known to me, ma Fille. What of the demon you claim visits you? What is his nature and how does he offend you?" It was a foolish question and Seur Aungelique made it plain that she did not wish to be made light of.

"You have seen my body; you know what he does to me." She breathed deeply once. "The Devil has come to me in the form of Thibault Col, Chevalier de Bruges. He is most personable, this young man, very fair and gallant. He has shown me some favor before and it has delighted me to be in his company."

"Do you say this Chevalier is the Devil?" Pere Guibert demanded, knowing how serious an accusation Seur Aungelique had made.

"I say that the Devil can assume any shape he wishes, and those that please us gain him an advantage. His demons are beautiful to see, so we are warned." She crossed herself languidly. "Thus this Thibault comes to me, or the demon in his shape. At first he only courted me, paying me compliments and putting his hands on my breasts as he had done before. Then he came longer, and he demanded more."

Pere Guibert cleared his throat and ran his tongue around his dry mouth. "You must tell me what he did and what he said. You must say what you did."

Seur Aungelique laughed softly. "You may be a priest, but you know what he did. At first he took my virginity, penetrating me to the vitals, or so it felt to me. He used me for his passion."

"You did not rebuke him? You did not defend your maidenhead?" His voice cracked on the second question.

"I wanted him. I desired he touch me and fill me. When he was gone, I was in terror that he would not come again. Had I been able to conjure him from the moonbeams, I would have done so."

"That is wrong of you, ma Fille." He had to look at something other than her ravaged flesh. He was caught in the fascination of her lust and degradation in a way that he knew endangered his soul.

"Does that matter? God did not intend me for chastity. When Thibault came to me, he roused me as no prayer has done. He gave me pleasure in any way I told him I wanted. That was at first." She yawned. "Later, he made demands of me, and they grew more exacting each time he came to me. Of late, nothing I do is enough for him, and he is more impatient with me." Tears slid from her eyes and she wiped them away at once.

"Ma Fille, you are in the gravest danger," Pere Guibert said as he clasped his hands in prayer.

"He comes to me each night," she crooned. "He feels all my flesh, and then he demands that I pleasure him however he wishes to be pleasured. He is too masterful for me to refuse him. He penetrates all my body, and if I am unwilling to accommodate him, then he bends me to his will with his body and his soul. His eyes burn at me." She laughed again, this time with more spirit. "It is painful and hideous and he cares nothing for me."

"Seur Aungelique!" Pere Guibert expostulated, shocked in spite of himself.

"Oh, how I scream and how I fight, and how he overwhelms me." She smiled at Pere Guibert. "He is endowed like a bull, and there are times when I fear he will eviscerate me when he is within me. I feel him swell and surge and his hands are everywhere at once. He is insatiable, I think. I have never given him the satisfaction he has required of me. Even when I have abased myself completely." Now her voice was soft, husky with feeling. "Have I confessed enough, mon Pere? Or do you wish to hear more?"

"I..." He could feel his face burn for shame at what he had heard. "You are not repentant, it would seem."

"Oh, yes. In the morning, always in the morning. But by the time midday has come, I know that night is on its way, and with it Thibault. Then I am satisfied with my lot." This time her laughter howled at him, and he stepped back from her.

"You are damned, woman. You are vile!"

"He says so, as well," Seur Aungelique murmured. "Perhaps he is not a demon, after all, since you agree."

For this Pere Guibert had no answer; his head rang with her words and they were repugnant to him. Crossing himself for protection, he fled.