The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  Moving slightly, the Sister was silent a long time before she spoke.

  “Prioress, I know the girl Marin is your kin. Sister Anne told me. I believe that the girl stole the reliquary from the altar in a true attempt to help the children. What troubles me is that the children are healed in a way that should not be possible, given they are heretic. I have been praying for God’s guidance, for Him to send a sign that the healings are a miracle sent by God and not the other.”

  “Do you not believe that our God could work through a Huguenot girl to heal these children?” asked the prioress, sitting opposite her portress.

  Sister Simone stood. “Can you imagine what will happen if the bishop agreed this miracle occurred? I cannot see that outcome, for it would only give the Huguenot evidence that they are not lost to God and would make the king look foolish. You are well aware of this. I beg you to prepare yourself. The girl will be judged a witch and you will lose your position.”

  The two nuns looked a long time at each other. Marie knew that Sister Simone was speaking the truth.

  Finally, Sister Simone said, “I don’t believe that your relation to the girl will be of interest to the bishop.” The nun said this as she looked away, and the prioress let out her breath, knowing that Sister Anne and Sister Simone would not

  reveal her secret. This woman, her friend, had gone as far as she could.

  “Sister Simone?”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Would you please wait until tomorrow before you send this confession to the bishop? You can inform him that we wanted to be quite certain that the plague was gone from the convent.”

  “Yes, of course.” With a slight bow, Sister Simone left the prioress to her tumbled thoughts and prayers.

  Chapter 48

  Three days after Sister Simone sent the Huguenot’s statement to the bishop via the stable master, a messenger arrived. The bishop would be arriving soon. The prioress had not left her quarters in those three days, but now asked Sister Simone to take her to the cell where Marin was, a room normally used to store donated items from the townspeople. Other than the south corridor, it was the only area with a lock.

  Sister Marie stood while the portress unlocked the door. Marin was on the floor, her head to her knees. She looked up and said, “What is to happen to me? No one will say.”

  The prioress put her hand on her niece’s head. “Marin, you must recant. Tell the bishop you want to take vows. That will save your life. I beg you to do so.”

  The girl stood up, and the two embraced for a long time, both weeping.

  “I will consider it,” said Marin, stepping back.

  Sister Simone, standing by the door said, “Sister Marie, you must go now. No one should see that you visited this Huguenot.”

  “Very well,” said the prioress. She pulled Marin’s face to hers and kissed the girl’s forehead. “I believe you experienced God’s grace when the children were cured. You must repay it by dedicating your life to His Will.”

  Sister Marie turned and went back to her rooms, hearing Sister Simone lock the cell to Marin’s dreary prison. She removed the reliquary from its bag, kneeled by the fire, and kissed the top. Noise erupted in the hall, and the prioress turned. The door opened; it was not the bishop, but another man, seemingly a nobleman. The wide-eyed novice behind him had not been able to announce him first.

  “What, what is the meaning of this?” Sister Marie felt indignant, yet that outrage quickly turned to fear as she recognized the man. She fell back upon her knees, her bowels threatening to disgrace her. That face. No, no, it cannot be. The prioress was biting her hand, her back teeth clenched and her tongue far back in her mouth, a self-strangulation she prayed to accomplish.

  “So, you do recognize me.”

  The Comte had changed for the worse, not the inevitable changes that middle age brought—thinning hair and a growing middle—but a graying of both his face and hair, missing teeth, and red scaly spots on his face that made him appear more like a gargoyle of Notre Dame than a man. Likely, none remarked on this, silenced by the obvious signs of wealth on his person. White fur edged the sleeves of his coat, but this only served to highlight his dirty hands curled like talons. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat in her chair by the fire as she slowly stood, with difficulty, from her kneeling position.

  The prioress cleared her throat. “Why are you here?” She sat down trembling, in the only other chair, too close to the man, but she feared she would fall if she did not sit. Her question created an expression on his face so palpably violent that she stood quickly again and moved behind the chair, wanting a barrier between them.

  “Do not use the familiar with me, woman. You are fortunate that the bishop was wise enough to involve me in this wretched situation. He sought my counsel, because I am, as you well know, very familiar with the heretics of Dieppe. I have presented him with a solution that he has accepted. I am here to tell you your fate and the fate of your niece, not because you can affect any change in what is going to happen, but because I want to see your face when you hear what I have to say.”

  The prioress could scarcely control her trembling, and she could feel her legs begin to fold under her. She vowed to herself and prayed to God that she would not faint. “What is, exactly, the solution you have proposed? I cannot believe the bishop would seek your advice without consulting me.”

  The Comte snorted. “You and she are going to escape the pyre. I will marry your niece, break her, and get a son from her. After that, she is free to die for her religion. You will be confined to a convent for the rest of your life, but not this one, and not as a prioress. You will be treated as a prisoner.” He stood up and pushed his face a few inches from hers. “Your family has humiliated me for the last time.”

  The nun looked at the madness in his eyes and felt the spittle from his words on her face. She said nothing.

  The Comte stepped back and pulled the waistcoat down over his fat middle. He smoothed the few strands of graying hair back over his head, never looking away from her. He deliberately licked his lips, a leering approximation of a lizard.

  “She looks just like you did at that age, Marie. I expect that she will be resistant and difficult to bed, but I know how to treat a girl like that. I will give her the benefit of the experience I have had since you spurned me. The doctors tell me I might have the pox but that I should be able to father a child.”

  At this, the image of this hideous man on top of Marin—thrusting himself on her, dripping pus from his boils onto her face, bruising her everywhere—gained hold and she fell. Her last thought was regret that she had not married this man thirty years before.

  Chapter 49

  The convent was quiet. The Huguenot women remained, but many of the nuns had chosen to remove themselves to another convent, one without plague, heretics, witches or a disgraced prioress. Sister Anne told the prioress that the bishop had left guards just outside the gate. Marie was determined to complete one last task before her imprisonment—to get her niece Marin out of France. She had asked Sister Anne, the sacristan, to deliver a letter to the old cook Rebecca, in Dieppe, and prayed that her childhood confidante could help.

  In the few days since the children’s cure, King Louis had revoked the Edict of Nantes, which in 1598 had given the Protestants the right to worship as they pleased. The revocation energized the persecutions of the Huguenots. Sister Anne brought troubling news of hangings, torture and murder. Thousands of her countrymen were seeking refuge in Protestant countries: England, Germany, Switzerland, and, she had heard, the English colonies.

  Sister Anne continued to share her uneasiness that a Huguenot girl had effected a miracle with the reliquary. No one missed the object, so the prioress had hidden it in her robes, rubbing the corners frequently as she prayed. Marie had become convinced that God had used Marin to cure the children, marking her niece in some yet-to-be-disclosed w
ay, for some future purpose.

  She paced her small rooms, praying that Rebecca was still alive.

  Chapter 50

  The prioress held Rebecca’s worn hands as they both sat by the fire. “Thank you for coming.” The guards had not objected to this ancient woman seeking an audience with the prioress of the convent. Marie marveled that Rebecca’s hair and eyes were the same, and the mouth still smiled, but she noted that mouth was now without most of its teeth.

  Rebecca nodded and said, “There’s only one choice, and that is to send her to the colonies. She’ll be safe there, and even the Comte will leave her alone if she is across the ocean. Read this, Marie.” Rebecca took a small folded paper from her pocket.

  Marie did not correct her childhood companion as to the proper way to address a prioress. She would not have that honorific much longer, so what did it matter?

  The small handbill was from England and had the seal of the English king. She read:

  The chief of the Privileges are as follows:

  •First, There is full and free Liberty of Conscience granted to all, so that no man is to be molested or called in question for matters of Religious Concern; but everyone is to be obedient to the Civil Government, worshipping God after their own way.

  •Secondly, There is freedom from Custom, for all Wine, Silk, Raisins, Currance, Oil, Olives, and Almonds, that shall be raised in the Province for 7 years, after 4 Ton of any of those commodities shall be imported in one Bottom.

  •Thirdly, Every Free-man and Free-woman that transport themselves and Servants by the 25 of March next, shall have for Himself, Wife, Children, and Men-servants, for each 100 Acres of Land for him and his Heirs forever, and for every Woman-servant and Slave 50 Acres, paying at most 1/2d. per acre, per annum, in lieu of all demands, to the Lords Proprietors

  Marie was shocked that the English were willing to give so much away for colonists to go to Carolina. She had heard it was full of savages and hot as hell itself. No wonder

  the King of England had to pay people to colonize this faraway place.

  Rebecca was looking at her when she looked up. The woman was surely seventy now, her hands crooked and red, her face lined like an old saddle. “Rebecca, can you truly spirit Marin away from here?”

  “I can do it because of that fool Comte who has decided to send a few casks of his wine to the bishop. My son, who works at the winery, will make sure one is empty. He’ll bring the casks, but take one away from the convent, and tell the guards it was spoiled. She’ll be in that cask. I have someone who will take her to the coast in a wagon.” Rebecca pointed to the small

  handbill. “As long as she agrees to go to Carolina, she’ll get on the ship.”

  Carolina—home of crocodilian beasts, huge flying insects, and heat that could not be born. What of the natives? Were they violent? What choice was there? The bishop would dress in his finest robes and conduct a trial that would be replete with the ceremonial pomp only the Catholic Church could display. The girl would be sentenced to die as a witch. If by some miracle she were found innocent, she still would not be safe. In the frenzy of the Revocation, mobs were dragging Huguenots out of their homes and burning them alive. The mob would kill her if the bishop did not.

  Rebecca snorted. “That crone Mistress Pepin has become a papist. Her testimony will doom the girl. There is no other way.”

  The old cook was right. Nothing other than an escape or a recantation would save Marin’s life. Let the child leave

  France and live as her true self, a freedom Marie had never enjoyed.

  The prioress nodded. “I have something for Marin. I am not allowed to see her myself, but the guard will let you into her cell.” She reached into a pocket of her robe, removed a leather bag, and handed it to Rebecca. “This will allow her to buy property when she arrives in Carolina, and provide a dowry. Will someone travel with her?”

  “I will travel with her. My family will be on the same ship. All of us are leaving this godforsaken place to start a new life. I pray that I survive the journey.”

  The prioress removed a ring from her finger, kissed it, and placed it in Rebecca’s lap. “This is for you and your family.” Rebecca put the leather bag and the ring into a small purse tied at her waist.

  “Will you sing with me, Rebecca? Even though I am an old papist?”

  “I will.”

  The two women, one old, the other older still, stood and embraced. Both were weeping. They knelt before the fire and Rebecca began to sing Psalms in a breathy and low voice. At first, the words would not come to Marie, but then the memories of her childhood in the Protestant temple flooded her mind. The two of them sang the forbidden songs, their voices raising and echoing through the stone of the room. Marie felt a lifting of her heart, and did not care that all in the convent, perhaps all in the town itself, could hear them.

  Part III

  Charleston: Present Day

  Chapter 51

  Had anyone else read this? How did the girl get to Charleston? Thompson looked down at the questions he had jotted while reading the account of the abbess.

  Was there any evidence that the children were cured of the plague?

  Is there any evidence that Marin Postel told her descendants this story or of her experience at the convent?

  He thought of another and added it:

  Does the Vatican believe that a miracle occurred at the convent?

  Perhaps this third question could be easily answered. Thompson pawed through his leather attaché, found the priest’s card, and punched the number into his phone.

  “Yes,” said a voice.

  “Monsignor Ogier?” asked Thompson. “This is Agent Denton from Interpol. We met last night. Is this a good time for me to ask you some questions?”

  Thompson heard rustling, and the priest said, “Of course.”

  “I have some questions about the document you handed out last night,” said Thompson.

  “You read it? I did not believe anyone was interested.”

  “I did. It’s quite a remarkable story.”

  “What do you have questions about?”

  “I have two questions. Were the children actually cured, and did the Vatican investigators conclude that a miracle occurred at that convent?”

  There was a long pause, and Thompson heard more rustling. Was the priest in bed?

  “Agent Denton, these events occurred during a difficult time for the Church and for France. The Huguenots were poorly treated. Though their treatment was a political decision enforced by the French King, not the Vatican, the Church was complicit because at the time we did not embrace those who believed the Church needed reform.”

  Thompson thought that was the understatement of the millennium; no, make that the understatement of two millennia, but he remained professional and said, “I understand, but surely even then, a conclusion was reached about the children’s recovery.”

  “At that time, the more pressing issue for the convent was the actions of the abbess. She not only kept her relationship with her niece, a Protestant, secret but also she allowed sacred items to be taken by a nonbeliever. That is why we had an official trial. Abbess Postel was found guilty and imprisoned until her death.”

  “Would you be willing to find out the answers to my questions?” said Thompson.

  “Agent Denton, I am here in Charleston to take possession of the reliquary once it is found. I am confident it will not be infected, and will take it back to Rome. We will then begin the debate as to when it will, if ever, be returned to the convent.”

  “Why are you so sure no anthrax bacteria will be found? The Lavelle report says that both reliquaries were installed in the altar in 1245. If one item in that altar is infectious, surely the other will be,” said Thompson.

  The priest ignored the question. “Now I have a question for you. Can you arrange for me to speak to Amari
ntha Sims? I understand she found the reliquary and handled the contents. The Vatican would like to hear her story in person.”

  Why would the Vatican want to speak to Amarintha at all? In person or not, the request so astonished Thompson that he literally could not reply.

  “Agent Denton, I can certainly call Director Larue if you’d like.”

  This was beyond strange, Thompson thought. Very carefully, he said, “Monsignor, Amarintha Sims is a United States citizen. Interpol has no authority to make her speak to you, in Rome or in Charleston. Surely you know this.”

  Monsignor Ogier forced a laugh. “Of course. I am just so interested in her impressions. Now, I really must go. Good-bye.”

  Thompson was left holding his phone, wondering why the monsignor had ended the call so abruptly. What else did the priest know? He punched in another number.

  “Gilstrom here.”

  “Dr. Gilstrom, I’m Agent Denton from Interpol. We met during a conference call two days ago.”

  “Yes, Agent Denton. Am I late for a briefing? I’m finding myself constantly behind these days.”

  “I’m calling to get a status on the testing in Rome.”

  “Did you not read the report I sent?”

  Thompson thought quickly. “My laptop is acting up. Do you mind giving me the highlights?”

  After some keyboard sounds, Dr. Gilstrom said, “Well, the anthrax bacteria came from pulverized bovine material that was in the reliquary. Skins most likely, which are notorious for harboring anthrax spores. We did find vestiges of human DNA, and a few plant seeds that we’re analyzing now.”

  “Can you tell how old the material is?”

  “Working on that now. We haven’t found anthrax in the lab the priests were working in, or inside the altar itself. We consider the outbreak in Rome contained, and the first reliquary is being sanitized under the direction of the Italians. It will be given back to the Vatican. Right now we’re intrigued with the test results from one of the priests.”