The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  I remain faithful to God and know I will be reunited in heaven with my entire family, papist or not. It has never been you, dear daughter that I despised, but those that perverted the Lord’s teachings for their own earthly desires. I am, and always will be,

  Your loving father

  Jean Postel

  The prioress let the tears flow now, weeping for her father, her brothers, and the nephews she had never met. She knelt to pray for guidance but could not stop the memory of that horrific day so long ago. She had burst into her father’s study. She could still see him now, turning to her as she spoke.

  “Father, I will not and cannot marry that despicable man.” Her father’s face turned hard. He spoke harshly.

  “Enough of this, Marie. He is a good match and will make a fine husband.”

  “You are wrong, Father. I have just seen him beat his dog to death for not coming to him quickly enough. I watched it from my window. He is a vile human being and will mistreat me, I am sure. Is that what you want for your only daughter?”

  Her father stood and he yelled, “Go to your room and do not leave it until you come to your senses.”

  Neither she nor her father relented. For three weeks she remained in her room, where she heard arguments between her parents, some frightening loud. Her mother begged her to relent, to marry this man chosen by her father, but still Marie refused, the cries of the beaten dog still in her head. Desperate, she managed to send a note to the local priest by way of the cook, Rebecca, asking to be rescued and taken to a convent.

  The story of the Huguenot girl who had forsaken her faith and taken orders in the Catholic Church had humiliated her father. She doubted that in the thirty years since, the story had been forgotten by anyone in Dieppe or the small villages surrounding it.

  The prioress remained on her knees for a long time, patiently waiting for God to reveal his will. Finally, she felt a sense of peace come over her, and she stood, hurrying to complete the day’s duties. She would find her niece this evening, after prayers.

  Chapter 41

  The prioress tugged the heavy wooden door open and stepped into the south corridor, into the prison rooms. Each room had been fitted with a thick oak door with a grille at face height. Faces began to appear as the inhabitants of the rooms heard footsteps. A variety of expressions showed in those faces: defiance, despair, hope, and desperation. How was she to find the one she wanted to find? Finally, she cleared her throat.

  “I am the prioress of this convent, Sister Marie.”

  She heard nothing, and continued. “I understand you are afraid and worried for the safety of your other loved ones. We will allow some correspondence to be given to you, and weekly you will be allowed to write letters after service on Sunday.” One of the women started to speak but was hushed.

  “I wish to speak to Mistress Pepin, of Dieppe,” the prioress said.

  “Here.” The voice came from the small room behind her, and the prioress turned to the sound. “Here.” The prioress walked to the grille and recognized the older woman she had spoken to last night by the wagon. The woman’s eyes were swollen with weeping, and her hands on the bars had ragged, ripped nails, white at the knuckles that gripped around the iron.

  “I am Mistress Pepin, of Dieppe, where the others are from as well. What do you want of us? What further misery will you now bring upon us? I have lost my husband, my sons, and the dragoons have shamed me. What more do you papists want?”

  How could she possibly single out one of these women, assuming of course that her niece was in the group? The prioress put her hands on the woman’s fingers and felt them loosen just a little.

  “I have come to hear your stories.” At this, she could hear murmurs from the others who had heard the exchange. Looking beyond the woman in front of her, she could see a few other women, their expressions hard. Suddenly realizing that that it might be dangerous for her to enter the rooms alone, she stepped back from the door.

  “Tomorrow we will speak about your situation. Tonight I will pray for each of you.” At that, more sounds of disbelief came from the cells, but she chose to ignore them. “Good night and may God have mercy on you.”

  She turned and began her long slow walk back to her rooms, her mind already at work on a plan to have the youngest girls brought to her one by one over the next few days.

  Chapter 42

  Several days passed before Sister Marie identified her niece. At first, she planned just to interview the young women, but had changed her mind and decided she would hear all of the Huguenot stories. She had endured hours of weeping, cursing, singing and recitation of the Bible from the Huguenot women. A few of them had indeed told their entire stories, from happy times when they were allowed to worship in peace, to the dragoons coming to Dieppe to destroy what the king believed was a revolution against his country and himself. The tales of the dragoons horrified the prioress. One woman’s husband had had his feet plunged in boiling water. Another had been held by two soldiers, screaming, made to watch her daughter’s rape.

  She was listening to the lamentations of an old Huguenot woman who had lost her husband and five sons to the galleys when she heard a light knock on the door.

  “Sister Marie,” said a young nun as she opened the door. “There remain only two Huguenot women that you have not yet spoken to. We can bring them to you tomorrow.”

  “No, I will see one more this evening.” She patted the shoulder of the old woman whom the nun was now leading back to the prison rooms.

  The prioress could hear the nun outside her door and another voice she did not recognize. “I don’t want to meet the old papist. I don’t care that she is the prioress.” At that, the door was pushed open and a girl was shoved in, promptly falling at the prioress’s feet.

  Standing up, the girl looked straight at the prioress, and before she could toss her hair, Sister Marie saw the brown eye on the left and the green eye on the right. This was her niece! She was tall and willowy, with a graceful bearing, good teeth, and beautiful features. Indeed, she looked much as she, herself, had looked at the same age.

  “My dear, won’t you sit down?” The prioress gestured to a small chair by the fireplace, sitting down opposite. The girl glared back, the brown eye now covered by a wave of hair.

  “Your name is Marin, is it not?” The prioress could see the surprise in the face, but the girl nodded and sat down slowly just on the edge of the wooden seat, her bearing much like a rabbit ready to bolt to the deep woods. “I wish to hear the story of how you came to be here.”

  “Why? You know the story. The king hates the Huguenots and wants our lands and property to give to his papist friends.”

  Sister Marie leaned over. “His Majesty only wants you to return to the true and proper faith. It is your souls that he is most worried about.”

  With this, the girl raised her head and looked up incredulously. The prioress recognized her younger self in the narrow face with the large nose, full mouth, and dark eyebrows. Marin was a beauty, she thought, just as she had once been.

  “How old are you, Marin?”

  “I am sixteen.” She did not lower her gaze and watched as Sister Marie rose and walked to her small writing desk across from the fireplace. After fumbling with the lock to her desk, the prioress removed the letter from her father and walked back to the two chairs. She sat and returned Marin’s look, holding the letter and her breath.

  “What about your family?”

  The girl began to weep, holding her hands to her face. “My close relations are all gone,” she said, her voice muffled. She raised her head, and wiped her eyes with her palms. “My grandfather is in prison. My mother is dead, and my two brothers and father were sent to the galleys. I have no one.”

  The girl began to cry again, and Sister Marie thrust the letter towards her. “I am putting myself in your hands, for if this letter were to be read by some, I
would lose my place and you your protection.”

  The girl started at that, but then spoke harshly. “I don’t need protection. I need to be released to find my mother’s relations in England.”

  Sister Marie handed Marin the letter. The girl took it and looked down in bewilderment until she saw the broken seal. One hand flew to her mouth.

  “He is alive? He has sent me a letter?”

  The prioress immediately realized her error. She quickly said, “No, this is not to you. The letter is addressed to me. Can you read?”

  The girl’s defiance returned. “Of course I can read.” The girl flung off the prioress’s hand, stood, then crouched by the fire to read the letter.

  The prioress watched Marin’s face as she read. She expected many reactions save the one she got. Marin began to laugh. “So you are my rebellious auntie! Do you know that I have longed to meet you my entire life? They never told me you had become a prioress, only that you were in a convent. I learned the entire story from Rebecca, our cook.”

  Astonished, the priories asked, “Rebecca is alive?”

  Marin did not answer the question. “She told me the story of how you refused to marry and went to a convent.” Marin was silent a long time, picking at her homespun dress, tapping one foot. Finally, she looked up and spoke. There were unshed tears in her eyes.

  “My grandfather’s friend, the one who helped him, told Grandfather that I should marry the Comte, the same man you rejected. If I had, perhaps we would all still be together at home.” Her voice trailed off, and she lowered her head

  again.

  Sister Marie sat frozen. The idea that this man, this horrible man, had never stopped lusting after her father’s property pierced her like an arrow. She took a deep breath and said, “Tell me the whole story, please.”

  Marin confirmed that the Comte had never stopped trying to buy the Postel lands. Over the years, he had garnered all the lands except theirs, and had made multiple offers to the elder Postel. Marie’s father rejected them all, including an offer by the Comte to marry Marin.

  A man humiliated twice by the same family was indeed dangerous, and the Comte finally concocted a story that the Postel family was practicing their false religion at home, and had been seen desecrating the Bible. Soldiers arrested her father and brothers, leaving only Marin, her grandfather, her mother, and Rebeca.

  “Mother died a few days after the arrest,” Marin was crying again. “Rebecca and I tried to take care of the farm. My grandfather’s friend came to warn us that soldiers would be dragooned in our home. Grandfather didn’t believe it. He was writing letters to the king and was sure we would be left alone. His friend told him I should marry the Comte because then we would be safe. I should have told Grandfather I would do it. I should have married him.”

  Marin wiped her eyes with her hands. “A week after we buried Mother, the Comte came to our house with soldiers, and they took Grandfather away. The soldiers locked me in the cellar.”

  Marin stood up and began to walk. “The Comte came to the cellar alone. I tried to hide in the corner, but he started to quote scripture while he unbuttoned his britches. He said he would marry me but wanted to sample the wares first.”

  The girl stopped and began to laugh, though with a note of hysteria.

  “The only thing that stopped him was that his men came looking for him. One of them was my grandfather’s friend, who told the Comte that I needed to be cleaned up to be made worthy of a nobleman’s attentions and took me away.”

  Sister Marie was silent for a moment and then asked, “How did you get here?”

  “Grandfather’s friend, Monsieur Larue, hid me in a closet. I heard him tell the Comte that I had run away into the fields. While the soldiers were looking for me, M. Larue took me to town and put me in the wagon that was coming here. My name isn’t on the papers, is it?”

  “No,” the prioress said. “That should provide protection to you—if you are sure that M. Larue is reliable.”

  Both women were silent for a long time. The Comte had ruined her family in a final and horrible manner. If he actually married Marin, the final heir, possession of the lands would be unquestionably legal. The Comte could not be allowed to find Marin.

  “Our relationship must not be discovered, and you must not try to leave.” She could see that Marin was surprised. It was the prioress’s turn to laugh.

  “Do you think I do not know what is in your head? Ways to escape unnoticed? You must not. The Comte will find you. Promise me you will not leave.”

  Marin sat down again, her head in her hands. “I cannot promise that, but knowing that you are my relation has given me much to think about. May I leave now?”

  “Very well.” The prioress nodded and called for the nun. The two women stood, looking at each other. The prioress badly wanted to reach out and embrace the girl, but she could see in Marin’s face that the gesture would be rejected. So be it for

  now.

  Chapter 43

  Over the next two weeks, the prioress, under the pretext of counseling Marin, contrived to have the young woman brought to her on multiple occasions. The prioress managed to send a discreet inquiry to the mayor in Dieppe. After a week, the mayor confirmed that the three men were indeed in the King’s navy, rowing in the galleys. Marin sobbed, begging her aunt to do something .The prioress saw an opportunity to safeguard Marin and agreed to continue to make inquiries if Marin would not try to escape. Sister Marie also prayed that Marin would reject her Protestant faith and recant. Only then would the girl be truly safe.

  All the Huguenot prisoners above the age of five were required to attend daily religious instruction, and most simply endured the instruction of the nuns in silence. One morning, Marin arrived at her aunt’s quarters flushed and angry from attending a religious session that discussed the importance of holy relics. She paced in her aunt’s small quarters as she raged.

  “Jean Calvin said that if you added up all the pieces of wood that are supposed to be from Christ’s cross, you’d have enough to build a fleet.” This was only one of Calvin’s writings that the girl knew by heart. “Indulgences are wicked, against God’s word. There is nothing in the Bible about them.”

  Sister Marie sat calmly by the fire, listening. The convent was named for the patron saint of sick children, Colette of Corbin. The prioress believed in the miracles attributed to the relics held in their small convent. Sister Anne, their sacristan had witnessed a child’s healing. Perhaps Marin would listen to the story and her heart would change.

  “Marin, please sit down,” said the prioress. The girl did so and put her hands in her lap. “I understand Calvin’s teachings in this regard, but he is wrong that relics are false.” Marin began to speak, but the prioress gave her no opportunity to do so. “Our sacristan, Sister Anne, witnessed a healing in our chapel. Will you listen to her story?”

  Marin looked down at her hands. “What is a sacristan?” she asked.

  “She is responsible for decorating the altar, maintaining the sacred vessels, and opening the church on feast days. She ensures that our small chapel is fit for worship any time of the day or night,” said the prioress, picking up a bell from a small table and ringing it.

  A novice came in and stood silent. “Please ask Sister Anne to join me here.” The novice left and soon returned with an older woman. The novice gently closed the door, leaving the three women in Sister Marie’s room.

  The prioress arranged her robes and said, “Sister Anne, this is Marin Postel. She is one of the Huguenot women staying here in the convent.” Marin made a noise that her aunt knew was one of amusement.

  “Yes, Sister Marie,” said the sacristan. “I know this girl.” The prioress realized that of course this nun would have been responsible for instructing the Huguenots on the subject of holy relics.

  The sacristan was a heavy woman, immaculate in her robes, her dark eyes fram
ed by gray brows. She sat down on a bench facing the fire and turned to her superior, her expression calm.

  The prioress said, “I would like for you to tell Marin the story of the miracle you witnessed for yourself some years ago.” Both the sisters made the sign of the cross. “First, would you explain how our holy relics found their way to our convent?”

  Sister Anne gave a grim smile. “I will be happy to do so, as this particular Huguenot left my instruction this morning before I could share the details.”

  Whatever thoughts Marin held behind those remarkable eyes were hers alone for she sat with her head down and did not make a sound. The prioress wondered just how disruptive Marin had been in the morning session with Sister Anne.

  The sacristan cleared her throat and said, “King Louis IX made many trips to the Holy Land to further his faith in the Lord and locate the remains of our Savior and saints. Many times he gazed upon the remnants of the Passion held in Constantinople. He was able to obtain remnants of the True Cross and other important relics of our Blessed Savior and bring them to France to bless our lands.” At this, both Sister Anne and the prioress crossed themselves again, while Marin sat, her head still bowed.

  “Most of these precious relics are at Sainte-Chappelle in Paris, but the king, in his benevolence, shared many relics with the important cathedrals of France. Our modest church has had possession of two reliquaries with relics from a martyred saint for over three hundred years. Very few have ever been able to gaze upon them.” Sister Anne stopped.

  When Marin finally did look at her aunt, the prioress realized that the girl was ready to laugh. Marin said, “Sister Marie, isn’t it true that King Louis bought the relics from the Venetians, because King Baldwin of Byzantium had to pawn these items to fund his palace? For all we know, the reliquary could hold chicken bones.”

  Sister Anne’s hand flew to her mouth as she stared at Marin, then at the prioress.