“No.”
“I cannot hide in here.”
“Not unless my visitor has nostrils covered with garlic. Unseen or not, your presence could not be ignored.”
The knock was repeated.
Raphael pressed something hard and flat into Juliana’s hand. “Purchase clothing for me,” he said. “Meet me tomorrow at midnight. Beneath the same arch that held the rowboat.”
“You trust me?”
“You freed me once. And I have nowhere else to turn.”
Another urgent knock.
Raphael turned away from her. “Food too. Please bring me food. I have not eaten since leaving Avignon.”
With those words, he left with a quickness and agility that amazed her.
She opened the door to discover Aliena with fresh water and towels. Juliana hardly remembered acknowledging Aliena or closing the door after her departure.
Raphael. Alive. Here in Avignon.
How could she help him without betraying him once more?
Chapter Fourteen
Again, Juliana found herself alone at night staring at the Rhone River. This night, however, her view was not from the cliffs of the palace gardens. She now stood beneath the massive stone arches of the Bridge Saint Benezet, the river within her reach. All she need do was stoop and she could trail her fingers in the water.
She shivered, not entirely from the cold air of midnight. Some of the shiver was fear; some of it was anticipation.
Would Raphael be here as he had promised? All of last night and the following day had passed. Could he have remained hidden that long?
Juliana assured herself that word of the jester’s capture surely would have reached her. Especially through Aliena. Their friendship was growing stronger with each hour of shared conversation, and Juliana had made sure the servant spent as much time as possible on nearby duties.
A click of stone against stone interrupted her thoughts. She strained her eyes but saw nothing in the shadows of the great bridge. The bank that led to the river was flat and grassy, and the dim starlight showed no approaching figure. She told herself that the click had been a splash of water.
Five minutes passed. She set down the sack that held clothes and food for Raphael.
Church bells tolled midnight.
Another five minutes.
Juliana walked a tight, nervous circle. The full moon that had aided her a few evenings earlier had shrunk to a half circle, but it still provided some light. She looked hard in all directions as she paced.
Twice she imagined strange noises, but twice she saw so little that she was able to convince herself that she was alone.
The strain of waiting and not knowing became worse.
It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps her concern should be not for his safety, but for her own. She was alone, after all, outside of the town walls of Avignon, a difficult situation to explain to palace officials, who expected their guests to behave as guests. Worse, she had little protection against passersby with unkindly intentions. And she could expect any passersby at this time of night to carry unkindly attentions.
She began to imagine what might happen if a band of cutthroat thieves happened by. Not only did she have food and clothing — well worth stealing — but she also carried the leftover money from her purchases for Raphael.
Bandits could easily surround her here, dispatch her with brutality, then throw her lifeless body into the river.
She shuddered at the thought. And if she were dead, how then could she fulfill the purpose of her visit here to Avignon?
Another strange noise. This one a whispered softness, as if a bat had winged past her head. She began to turn to search for the noise, and a hand gripped her shoulder.
Without thought, she whirled and drove her fist into her attacker. Her knuckles sunk deep into his stomach, and the figure fell to his knees.
She raised her foot to kick.
“No…ugh…more.” The figure raised its hands in plea.
“Raphael?”
“I’m not certain,” came the groan. “I need to collect my senses.”
“Raphael! You nearly caused my death of fright.”
He clutched his stomach and moaned. “Well, apparently you were wanting to cause my death by blows.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t have…” Juliana stopped, puzzled. “Where did you come from, anyway?”
On his knees, Raphael pointed above her. “Rope,” he managed to croak.
She looked above her to see a darker shadow, a straight thin line that reached from the top of the arch to below the height of her waist.
“There’s a ledge below the top of the bridge,” Raphael explained in slow, pained words. “It seemed the best way to observe whether you were alone.” He tried to chuckle. “When I lowered the rope, it almost hit your head. I had to wait until you moved before I could lower myself.”
“Did you have to be so dramatic?” Even as she asked, Juliana was wondering why she was changing her admiration to scorn.
“Is there…” he coughed for breath, “…two pounds of gold as reward for your head?”
She nodded understanding.
Raphael slowly wobbled to his feet. Juliana caught the stench of the dried hog wallow mud in the evening breeze.
He groaned again.
Juliana tried not to giggle, but she didn’t succeed.
“I find little humor in this.” He staggered a few times. “It seems you bring me nothing but grief.”
“Grief. I have clothes and food. Some would show gratitude to one who brings such to a wanted criminal.”
He groaned again, but she suspected this one was for effect. “Food? Until a few moments ago, I had great hunger. Now, my stomach protests the prospect of eating.”
Juliana was able to see by his grin in the pale gray of the moonlight that he was only kidding.
He stepped closer and she gave him the bag, pinching her nose with the fingers of her free hand to avoid the smell of the mud.
He noticed her movement and his grin widened. “I’ve become accustomed to my own stench,” he said. “Still, it will feel good to discard the jester’s colors. Were I not so afraid of drowning in the river’s flow, I would ask for the privacy to bathe this very minute.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Stones swim better than I do.”
“Perhaps a bath later,” Juliana felt herself blushing and smiling all at once.
“Then I shall stand aside as I attack this food.”
“Downwind, please,” she teased.
He chuckled. The sound of it warmed her and also filled her with dread. She would have to betray him yet again, to save his life. He would never know or understand why. How could she hope to have his laughter ever warm her again?
It took him what seemed like seconds to devour a whole roasted chicken. He sucked dry a water-filled wineskin then peered into the sack and fumbled for more provisions.
“Don’t eat it all now,” she warned. “What will you have for tomorrow?”
“Only questions,” he said. Still, she noticed, he heeded her advice and set the sack on the ground.
“Yes, questions,” she said coolly. She feared the loss of dignity that might come if he knew how he affected her. Aloofness seemed the best way to handle the situation. “It was the purpose of our meeting.”
“Questions.” Raphael’s voice lost its warmth to match hers. “Who told you to expect me in the garden? The same one who arranged for the boat to wait for me here?”
“I cannot answer.” Much as she wished she could tell more, the levels of duty were clear to Juliana. First, she had a duty to her faith in God. Second, to her upbringing and the traditions of her Normandy family and its obligations to Clement VI. After that, if possible, she would help this jester.
“Cannot? Or will not?” Raphael’s tone was accusing.
“Cannot,” Juliana said after some thought. That much she could tell him.
“Cannot…” he mused. “That supports my belief that a story
teller is behind all of this.”
“Storyteller? Last evening you had said the same. What of a storyteller?”
“You tell me,” Raphael said.
“I cannot,” she told him.
“Why did you betray me during our audience with the pope?”
She shook her head.
“You did see the assassin on the rooftop.”
She could not ignore his pleading, as if he were afraid for his sanity. “Yes,” she said after much inner debate. “I did see him.”
“But you said otherwise to Clement VI. What can that mean?”
“I wish I was permitted to answer.”
“Who denies you permission?” Raphael asked.
“I cannot say.”
“This is useless,” he said in sudden disgust. “You merely answer in circles.” He lifted the sack. “I thank you for the provisions. And the clothing. Now, at least, I can ask questions of those who might answer.”
He reached for the nearby rope.
“No,” a deep voice reached them. “You will not ask questions.”
Raphael whirled.
Three dark shadows advanced upon them.
Chapter Fifteen
“Betrayed again,” he hissed at Juliana. “I was a fool to believe in you.”
She did not deny his accusation.
Raphael did not pause to wait for any answer she might have. In a swift motion, he swung the sack upward and clamped his teeth on the edge of the material. Both hands free now, he grabbed the end of the rope and tucked it in the waistband of his tights. He jumped upward, reaching high with his hands. His fingers closed over the rope.
With incredible swiftness, he began to pull himself upward, hand over hand. Because the end of the rope was tucked in his tights, the loop of the rope followed him upward.
Two heartbeats later, he and the bottom loop of rope were out of reach of any man standing on the ground. Two heartbeats later, the three figures had reached Juliana.
She saw the uniforms of guards of the court and recognized the largest of the men.
“Alfred!” She put as much surprise into her voice as possible.
He ignored her as he watched the upward progress of the jester.
“He climbs faster than most men might descend,” commented one of the guards.
“His reputation as king among jesters is well deserved,” agreed Alfred. “Unfortunate, then, his attempt is doomed.”
“Doomed?” Juliana echoed. She needed to act well, to play the role of a horrified spectator.
Alfred finally addressed her. “Doomed. Soldiers await him atop the bridge.”
“But how —”
“You showed poor judgement to travel so freely in the markets of Avignon. Even the most dense could have figured out what you were doing. Buying clothing that was far too large for you and purchasing provisions when you could freely choose from the best of palace foods.”
Above them, Raphael disappeared into the darkest shadows of the arch.
“And you paid little heed as you made your way here tonight,” Alfred continued. “You were easy to follow.”
Juliana clenched her fists as if furious with herself. Now Raphael was safe. He would be captured by the pope’s soldiers. The gold reward would be paid for his capture alive, not dead. And once within the pope’s dungeon again, she would find a way to hide him once more.
Raphael appeared briefly in the pale moonlight as he hugged the ledge that led to the outside of the arch. The rope was no longer tucked in the waistband of his tights. Two, three, four sliding steps and he was ready to scramble upward onto the top of the bridge.
“He is good,” Alfred said softly. “Few men could have done that.”
Raphael’s grunt of effort reached down to them clearly. With a graceful leap, he hooked his fingers on the top edge of the stone, then pulled himself upward.
“Halt,” came the clear, loud voice of one of the waiting soldiers.
Juliana could imagine the thoughts going through Raphael’s mind. Two pounds of gold for his head. She wanted to cry out in anger and fear.
Instead, she did nothing. Already sick numbness filled her stomach. Nothing would ever convince him that she had not betrayed him yet again.
“Halt or die!” The commanding voice was clearer and louder in its insistence.
Juliana looked up again and saw nothing. She could only imagine what was taking place on the bridge as soldiers advanced upon Raphael.
How could he fight against men armed with swords? Where could he run?
One of the guards beside Alfred pointed to the top of the bridge.
Juliana caught a glimpse of Raphael balanced briefly on the lip of the bridge, sack of clothing and food dangling from his left hand.
Then he leapt outward.
The image froze in her mind. His arms spread wide as if he were trying to fly. His body tumbling forward on itself in midair. The sack in his hand thrown back by rushing air.
It was a moment that stretched far too long. Then with a hard splash, he plunged into the deep, swirling waters.
The mighty current threw him into the arch of the bridge. He bounced back into the waters, rose briefly as he clawed for air, then disappeared.
Stones swim better, he had said. I’d bathe were I not so afraid of the water.
Alfred and the two guards ran to the edge of the bank.
“He can’t swim!” Juliana shouted.
Raphael rose again, like a log spun upward as a plaything in the current.
Alfred and the guards ran along the edge of the bank.
They don’t dare risk themselves, Juliana realized. Either they wish him dead, or they are as terrified of the river as Raphael.
As those thoughts were going through her head, Juliana found herself running toward the bank. Too surprised to question herself, she dove full length into the water.
Angel Blog
Angels rarely get credit where we deserve it.
Once, when Raphael was six years old, he climbed to the top of a church tower because he had it in his mind that he wanted to see the town like a bird. Unfortunately for him, he got more than a bird’s-eye perspective. As a flock of pigeons scattered in panic at his appearance, one of them hit him squarely in the eye with a dropping. Raphael instinctively reached for his eye with his hands and lost his grip on the tile of the tower. He began to tumble down. Later, townspeople said it was a miracle that the end of his untucked shirt got caught in a crack. He dangled in the air, held only by his shirt, until a priest rescued him.
In a way, the townspeople were right. It was a miracle. What they didn’t know was that I’d made sure the end of his shirt caught where it did. And I made sure the fabric of his shirt did not rip until he was rescued.
At nine, he first began to try to juggle pins. He chose ones that were too heavy. One hit him in the head and knocked him unconscious. His parents found him on his back in a mud puddle where he’d fallen. His head was propped up on one of the pins, like it had formed a pillow for him. If Raphael had fallen in any other position, he would have drowned, even though the puddle was barely four inches deep. Again, everyone agreed it was a miracle.
You probably won’t find it a surprise when I tell you that, once again, I was simply doing my duty.
Another time, to test his heart, I approached him in the form of a crippled old man. He was eleven then and had just celebrated his birthday. He was walking through town, jingling coins in his pocket that had been a gift from a doting uncle.
As the crippled beggar, I told him that I was hungry.
It disappointed me when Raphael walked away. I said nothing. A few steps later, he turned and offered me one of his coins. I accepted it and he walked away.
But then he came back and gave all of them to me.
He had no idea how much I rejoiced - and how much more our Father rejoiced. And imagine Raphael’s surprise when he rounded the next corner and found double the coins on the street, where it looked like they’d f
allen from the purse of a wealthy merchant.
As you can see, I had entered Raphael’s life on more occasions than he knew, and, because of directives from our Father, I’d been there every time that he desperately needed help.
There, in the river below the bridge, was yet one more time.
I had no doubt he was about to drown unless something or someone could rescue him. Nothing in his power could save him. The current of the black waters was too strong, the water too deep.
It was sweet and noble that Juliana had given into her impulse to dive in to save him. But it was also dumb. The river was far too powerful, and she was throwing her life away with his.
All she was able to do was reach him and hold his head above the water. She was unable to swim with him to safety.
The current bounced them around like little chips of wood, occasionally throwing them under, with both coming up again to gasp for air. They had only minutes left until the cold water dragged them down or until their legs caught on the branches of a water-logged tree waiting to drag them to their deaths.
I did not panic. Angels never panic. We trust our Father.
If this had been their time to die, I would have, of course, allowed it to happen. You humans sometimes see an early death as tragic, and we angels share the agony of that grief. But our grief is balanced by understanding that death on earth does not end a person’s existence. And we also understand that in our Father’s presence time does not pass as it does on earth. With our Father, a day may seem like a thousand years, and a thousand years like a day. After you have stepped through the border to enter fully into His presence, a moment or two might pass for you while a generation passes on earth. And then, your loved ones step across the border to join you, so that on our side, you haven’t had a chance to miss the ones you love. And those who missed you on earth suddenly understand, too, how temporary their grief was at your passing.
So if this was the time for the souls of Raphael and Juliana to leave behind the prison of their bodies, I would accept it.
I wasn’t surprised, however, when I understood it was time to intervene.
The Angel and the Sword Page 7