by Alma Boykin
“No, not today.” I want you here, not out in the cold and wet.
Well, the cannons worked, at least this time, Marta thought four years later. She rocked little Edmund, almost two and growing fast, and watched Antonia running around the garden, trying to catch the white flutterwings that danced around the first flowers of spring. Twice in the past four years Phillip had ventured to harass Sarm, and twice Edmund, Master Laplace, and the other men had firmly discouraged him. “He’ll try again, my lady,” Edmund sighed, rubbing her shoulders. “He’s getting better weapons and more experienced. And I’m a little concerned about the stories I’ve heard about the new bishop.”
Marta, confident that Antonia couldn’t get into too much trouble, turned to him. His face sported a scar and new worry lines, and his left hand no longer closed completely after he’d been thrown from a horse and his arm stepped on. “What sort of stories? He’s not acting as Phillip’s agent, surely. The other bishops would remove him from office.” The church guarded its independence with a ferocious energy.
“No not that.” He looked past her, frowning, raising one arm as he warned, “Antonia, don’t eat—”
A shriek and loud wail interrupted him. “Too late.” Marta handed Edmund to his father and rushed over. Antonia stuck her tongue out, tears streaming. Oh, St. Foy and St. Gimple, her mother sighed. “No, keep it out, good girl.” From the bag hanging on her belt Marta took out a very sharp little knife. “I’m going to scrape it off so it stops stinging you. Hold still.” Drool and tears dripped down Antonia’s face as Marta held the tip of her tongue and lightly scuffed the surface until the bee sting came free. Then she flicked it away with the back-side of the blade. “It’s gone. Don’t eat the flowers, lovey,” she chided as she put the knife away. “Not without looking for bees and bugs first.” She led Antonia back to the table where Edmund—both Edmunds—waited.
“Waaahhh! It hurth!” Marta took Edmund back while her husband picked up Antonia.
He tipped his head in the direction of the nursery and Marta nodded. Sarah would fix it. The wails grew quieter once he went inside. Little Edmund wiggled but did not join the chorus, thankfully, and Marta fed him a few more bites of wine-softened bread before giving him a teething crust to work on. He’d been weaned from the breast already. Her husband returned, his shoulder a bit damp, and tugged on one ear. “She’s got quite a voice.”
“That she does. You were saying about the new bishop?” Bishop Martín had gone to his rest the year before, dying in his sleep, much to the surprise of many who assumed he’d die on the road during his constant travels to the different parishes and counties.
“His name is Paulus Lapierre, and he’s served in the Free Cities as well as Frankonia.” Edmund helped himself to some of his son’s wine. They’d started getting the boy used to the taste, since tea remained too hot for him and the milch cows were not giving well yet. Young Edmund refused to touch goat’s milk, much to his mother’s frustration. “One rumor says he owed Phillip something, another claims that he wants to remove all women religious from the church, and a third says he doesn’t believe in St. Gerald so he’s trying to rededicate or close any church or house associated with that saint.”
Marta set the boy down in his nap box. “If he’s opposed to St. Gerald, wouldn’t he be better off complaining to the easterners? And if he gets rid of the sisters, who will nurse the poor and take care of the aged and girl orphans?”
“As I said, my lady, rumors. I suspect if anything he happens to lean toward a different patron, and may have disciplined one house for some impropriety or mismanagement of donations.”
Marta nodded, one eye on the baby and the other on the bees and flutterwings attempting to carry off the yellow-brush flowers and thyme. Even in Sarm they’d heard about problems elsewhere. Godown made none of us perfect, even those He called to a religious vocation, so it’s no surprise that some of the priests and sisters fall into error, or even fall away. And how many people do foolish or mean things because they mistake their will for Godown’s own?
“So, how is my lady feeling?” He began rubbing her shoulders. She made a little humming sound and closed her eyes, savoring his touch. Strong fingers worked against her muscles and Marta relaxed. If she’d been a cat, she would have purred. Oh, that feels so good. Then the fingers shifted, easing under her modesty scarf and touching bare skin, while warm lips brushed the back of her neck, just below the folds of her head-cover. That felt even better, and Marta began warming in places and ways that owed nothing to the spring sunlight in the walled garden and everything to her husband’s touch.
“She is feeling as if her lord husband is trying to lead her into temptation.” She opened her eyes and leaned her head back to look at him, smiling.
He touched his fingers to his chest, an expression of innocent dismay on his crisp features. “Me?” He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “I don’t have to try, do I?”
I think it’s time for Edmund to go back to the children’s room. While I can still think. It had been far too long since she and her husband had last enjoyed marital congress. “Edmund’s had enough sun for the day, I believe.” Her husband gave her his hand and helped her up. She caressed his face and smiled again. He began to embrace her and she tutted. “Let me get the little one up to Sarah,” she whispered.
“Do that.”
The messenger from Bishop Paulus and the first bout of morning sickness arrived on the same day three weeks later, leaving Lady deSarm most unhappy with both. Maybe I should have waited a little longer to wean Edmund. Except that he had grown very sharp little teeth and liked to use them on everything, including her delicate bits. Bishop Paulus had no such excuse. Esmé took one look at her mistress’s face as Marta emerged from the garderobe and trotted off to make a pot of mint and meadow-mallow tea. “Take it to my office,” Marta called after her, then returned to the smaller hall, where the messenger waited, all but radiating self-importance and impatience.
“Thank you for bringing his excellency’s word to us,” Marta said. “Given the seriousness of his excellency’s request, my husband and I will need to discuss the matter, then inform the other major donors to the convent of the news. Since it will be the day after tomorrow before we can give his excellency a proper reply, you are welcome to rest here or in Sarmvale. You will be my guest at either place. If you need to depart immediately, I will send a reply to his excellency via courier.”
The young man looked down his flat nose at her. “Lord Sarm does not need to send a reply. His excellency has stated his intentions, and Lord Sarm need only carry them out,” he stated slowly, as if speaking to a child or simpleton.
“I presume you speak of my husband, and not of my late father.” As the courier’s face shifted from condescension to consternation, she continued, “Edmund Roy only concerns himself with external matters: defense, trade, and diplomacy. I oversee domestic concerns, and the role of St. Gerald’s convent is of great concern to the Sarm valley, I assure you.” Marta kept her expression calm and patient, much as she’d learned to do with Liza all those years before. “If you prefer to depart now, you are free to do so and I bid you go with Godown’s blessing for a safe journey. Should you need to rest, you are welcome to stay overnight.” Are you not accustomed to dealing with women? Maybe he’s one of those who think women should not do anything outside the house walls.
“My horse needs an iron-smith’s attention. I will depart tomorrow.” He turned to go, only to find Marta’s armsmen blocking the door. “What is this? Get out of my way.”
“Let him go,” Marta called. “He’s a stranger and unaccustomed to our ways.”
“Yes, Lady deSarm,” the larger of the two replied, stepping aside and letting the rude man out.
“Thank you, and you are dismissed. Should Master Laplace or Master Roy need me, I will be in my office.”
They bowed and departed. Marta stalked up to the office, drank the first cup of tea straight despite the nasty flavor,
then had a second with a touch of honey to sweeten it. Even so her head continued to pound, and she contemplated going out to the herb garden and screaming. But that would only upset people and scare off the bees. Instead Marta got out a clean wax board and set it beside Bishop Paulus’s letter so she could answer his points and complaints one by one before calling in Master Sylván and the other leaders of the valley’s men.
Edmund’s reaction resembled her own, except he swore instead of throwing up. “Phillip’s behind this,” he snapped, dropping the letter onto the table that evening. He’d been training the militia, working on pike drills and introducing more of the men to the scatter guns and so-called hand cannon.
“Absolutely, my love. Why else say that the valley does not need a convent, then on the same page inform us that the sisters will be moved into houses within Frankonia under royal patronage?” She’d calmed down, in part because she needed to stay calm for the little one. Her hand crept to her stomach and she thought, If you are a boy, we are not naming you Paulus, that much I can promise.
“So what do you plan to do?”
“First, meet with the men of the valley, because they have also donated to the convent and they need to hear the news. Then talk with Reverend Mother… Odile?” Marta frowned, trying to recall. “Yes, I think Sister Odile Kiara’s now the prioress, although I have not gotten official word. Godown grant Reverend Mother Alice rest.” Edmund made St. Misha’s sign and Marta nodded. Godown preserve my family from wasting diseases, please. “And then we get ready for a visit from his excellency and see just what sort of trouble Phillip intends to cause this year. Assuming he’s planning trouble.”
Edmund tipped his head to the side, giving her a careful appraisal. “Not this year, at least not with his army this year. He is dealing with glitterwings in the south, not a major swarm but enough to hurt.” They both made saints’ signs, warding off the hordes of insects. They came after a dry year and devoured any green thing in their path, traveling in rolling clouds that shone like swirls of green and yellow jewels, thus their name. They’d never come into the deSarm lands and Marta prayed every year that Godown would continue to keep them out.
“Godown be with his people,” she replied.
“Selah.” He pointed to the hand on her stomach. “Is there something I need to know?”
She batted her eyelids and tried to look innocent. “What do you mean, my love?”
“Oh, just that I noticed a new jar of herb tea in our chamber, and you ate enough to fill a draft horse this afternoon.”
She flushed a little. “Ah, well, breakfast did not agree with me, and, er, I think…”
“You think you’ll be needing the midwife and a second nursemaid come spring?” He gave her a mischievous, knowing smile.
She shook her finger at him as he loomed over her, also smiling. “You might have something to do with that if I am.”
He caught the finger. “I certainly hope so.” He looked very pleased with himself and she wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. She also wanted him in her arms, right at that very moment. Pregnancy always made her hungry for his touch. “And I think you need to go to bed.”
“Are you giving me orders, Edmund Roy?” She pushed out of the chair and he retreated a few paces.
He dropped his voice to a rough whisper and took her arm, threatening, “Your husband is saying that you look utterly desirable and that he will scandalize the servants by claiming his husbandly privilege right here, in this office, if you are not careful.”
“Well, in that case… I’d not want to compromise my husband’s dignity or to scandalize the servants. At least no more than usual.” She felt her body responding to his touch. “But we’d better put out the lamps first. Burning down Sarm Hall would be very undignified.”
And I’m getting quite warm already!
“But Reverend Mother, what will we do?” Sister Geraldina wailed quietly. “We’ll be scattered, and who will do Godown’s work here in the valley?”
Reverend Mother Odile Kiara let the warm morning sunlight wash her face, savoring the light and heat now flowing over the eastern mountains. Winter had worn hard on her. She longed for Reverend Mother Alice’s good council. “We will do as Godown wills,” she reminded her secretary. “And we will answer Bishop Paulus’s concerns point by point, from our records and from those of Sarmvale, deSarm Hall, and the farms and guilds. And we will continue to pray for his excellency, that he may be strengthened and given wisdom for the tasks before him.”
“Reverend Mother, are you going to challenge his direct order?” The older sister could not keep her fear out of her voice, Godown bless her. A papery rubbing sound told Odile that Geraldina had started rubbing her hands over and over, another sign of her anxiety. Odile wanted to scold her, but the meditation garden during the morning exercise period was neither the time nor the place.
“Faith is the greatest gift Godown grants to His children, faith enough to see His mercies and to behold hints of His glories, it is true. But faith without works is dead, as a seed that fails to produce: it is no better than a rock,” Odile quoted, citing one of St. Kiara’s meditations on the Lost Gospel of James. She continued, this time from the Holy Writ, “Pray for those in authority over you, and obey them. But if you see them in error, pray to Godown for guidance and offer gentle words of fact and correction, as the saints offered correction to the Landers. Godown who hears your prayers softens hearts and directs His children.”
“Selah,” Sr. Geraldina and several others chorused, and Odile hid a smile. She’d heard them trying to silently ease up and, not eavesdrop of course, but listen for words of guidance and council. We are vowed clergy but we are also human, and fallible, and fearful of change. And perhaps it is Godown’s will that we should disperse and do His work elsewhere. And I would be more trusting in Bishop Paulus’s understanding of that Will if he were less dependent on King Phillip, and if Phillip actually had founded more religious houses and institutions. Because I have not heard of a single new convent within the kingdom since his accession, what, ten years ago? No, she corrected herself, fifteen years, because I heard of his coronation while I was recovering from the spotted fever and Mother made up stories about what the ceremony was like to keep me entertained. Odd to think that it had been so long.
“So, we pray and labor, and Godown will provide as He has done for His children since He lit the stars and created the worlds in all their variety and wonder,” Odile stated. “And we will be as innocent as doves yet cunning as serpents,” she quoted under her breath, adding, “but not as stupid as doves.” She harbored doubts that the doves of Old Terra could possibly have been as dumb as the birds on Colplatschki that bore the same name.
After the chime sounded for the morning work hours, Odile returned to her office and sat down with Sister Geraldina and Sister Martina, the latter once more the novice-mistress and a voice of calm practicality and remarkable deviousness when necessary. Odile suspected that had Martina been a man and noble, she’d have given Phillip quite a challenge. Odile rested folded hands on the cool, smooth desk and waited until she heard the three taps that meant Geraldina had her wax board and stylus and was ready to copy or read aloud. “I want to begin by reviewing Bishop Paulus’s general statement, first, then his specific directions for St. Gerald-Under-The-Mountain,” she stated, using the convent’s full name. “Then we will consider the directions point by point.”
Martina began knitting as Geraldina read, the needle clicks a soothing counterpoint to the secretary’s tight recitation. “The lack of direct supervision of the Sisters of Service institutions within Frankonia and adjacent counties has led to difficulties and the failure of several houses to fulfill those works and duties for which they were established. In other cases, several houses duplicate their efforts, wasting resources better used for other purposes. For these and other reasons, I have decided to reorganize and relocate a number of houses so that Godown’s work may be more efficiently conducted.
“Phillip Leblanc, through the grace of Godown king of Frankonia, has in his generosity agreed to open several houses and to assist with the relocation of others, under the supervision of the church.” Geraldina stopped reading. “Is Bishop Paulus saying that Phillip’s authority extends outside his borders? Or that the Church is now supporting Phillip’s claims for expansion?”
“I have not heard anything,” Odile replied. “Let us assume it is an un-fortuitous phrase, but also make a note of that in case Bishop Paulus is, um, acting on a misunderstanding of the status of the deSarm lands.” Sr. Martina made a noise of agreement and Odile nodded.
Geraldina rustled the page. “I will omit the plans of the other houses for the moment, if you have no objection, your reverence?”
“No, we’ve heard them before and will return to them, I’m sure.”
“Sarm: St. Gerald’s-Under-The-Rocks, hmmm.” Odile imagined the stylus moving over waxed wood as Geraldina noted the error. “St. Gerald’s, while providing nursing care and assistance to the aged, infirm, and to orphaned girls, does not serve a large enough population. Fifty sisters are too many for the four thousand residents of the valley. According to the proper ratio the number of sisters should be ten, and ten sisters are too few for a house. Therefore, the convent will be closed and half the founding endowment returned to the donors, should they be located. If not, that portion of the endowment will be used to assist the sisters in relocating to newer convents farther inside Frankonia’s borders, while the other half and any proceeds from endowed properties will be divided between the church and his majesty, to assist his majesty’s efforts to found new houses.”
Martina rustled. “Oohh, I had not noticed that clause before, your reverence. The oldest gifts, meaning those donations and properties given by families that have died out or left the valley. That’s a bit unfair.”