by Andrea Japp
Éleusie had protested at first, but had soon yielded to the apothecary’s implacable logic and accepted the unacceptable: they were rubbing shoulders every day with the goodly Adélaïde’s killer. Her fear had given way to painful despair. Evil had slipped in with that creature of darkness Nicolas Florin. She had felt it.
The Abbess had remained at her desk for many hours, unable to move, unsure of how to act, of where to start. She had learned that no amount of prayer or lighting of candles could drive out evil. Evil would only recoil in the face of pure unflinching souls who were prepared to fight to the death. The titanic battle had no end; it had existed since the beginning of time and would go on raging until the end. Unless …
The time for peace had not yet come. Éleusie was going to fight because Clémence, Philippine and Claire would have taken up arms without a second thought. Why was she still alive when the others would have been so much better equipped for battle?
Early that morning, Jeanne d’Amblin had left on her rounds to visit the abbey’s regular benefactors and new alms givers.70 The extern sister had been reluctant to leave the Mother Abbess alone to face whatever came next. Éleusie had used all her authority to persuade Jeanne to go. Now she regretted her decision. Jeanne’s competence, her energy, her firm but gentle resolve were a comfort to her. She raised her eyes and glanced at Annelette, who was shaking her head.
She walked over to the apothecary, pulling Blanche behind her, and said in a hushed voice:
‘I want everybody, without exception, in the scriptorium in half an hour.’
‘That might prove dangerous,’ replied the tall woman.
‘Might we not do better to lead a more … discreet investigation?’
‘There is no greater danger than refusing to see, daughter. I want everyone to be there except for the lay women. I will see them later.’
‘The murderess might lash out if she feels cornered. If she fears discovery, she might attack another sister, perhaps even you.’
‘That is precisely what I’m hoping, to make her panic.’
‘It is too risky. Poisoning is such a subtle art that even I am powerless to prevent it. Could we not …’
‘That is an order, Annelette.’
‘I … Very well, Reverend Mother.’
A wall of still white robes ruffled only by a slight draught. Éleusie made out the tiny faces, brows, eyes and lips of the fifty-odd women, half of them novices, who were waiting, wondering why they had been summoned. And yet Éleusie was sure that no one but the murderess had suspected the true magnitude of the tidal wave that was about to engulf the scriptorium. Seated at one of the writing desks, Annelette lowered her head, fiddling absent-mindedly with a small knife used for sharpening quill pens. One question had been nagging at her since the evening before. Why would anyone find it necessary to kill poor Adélaïde? Had she uncovered the identity of the poisoner? Had she seen or heard something that implicated her killer? For the cup of herbal tea, which the apothecary had discovered, had been given to the sister in charge of meals at a time in the evening when she was alone in the kitchens. The murderess must have taken advantage of this fact to bring her the fatal beverage. In addition to these questions another worry was plaguing Annelette: what if the poisoner had taken the drug from her medicine cabinet in the herbarium? The apothecary nun was in the habit of treating pain, facial neuralgia and fever71 with dilutions of aconite.
‘Daughters … Sister Adélaïde is with Our Lord. Her soul, I know, rests in peace.’ Éleusie de Beaufort breathed in sharply before continuing in a strident voice: ‘However, the suffering endured by whoever has usurped the will of God will be eternal. Her punishment in this world will be terrible and the ensuing torment inflicted upon her by the Almighty unimaginable.’
Some of the sisters glanced at one another, unable to grasp the meaning of this judgement. Others stared at their Abbess with a mixture of amazement and alarm. The morbid silence that had descended was broken by a flurry of voices, feet scraping the floor and stifled exclamations.
‘Silence!’ thundered Éleusie. ‘Silence, I have not finished yet.’
The astonished nervous whispers instantly came to a stop.
‘Our sweet sister Adélaïde was poisoned with a cup of honey and lavender tea that contained aconite.’
Fifty gasps rose as one and reverberated against the ceiling of the enormous scriptorium. Éleusie took advantage of the ensuing hubbub to examine the faces, searching in vain for any sign that might reveal the culprit.
‘Silence!’ Éleusie exclaimed. ‘Silence this instant! As you would expect, I do not intend to ask which of you brewed the tea as I doubt I would receive an answer.’ She paused and looked again at the fifty faces staring back at her, her gaze lingering on Berthe de Marchiennes, Yolande de Fleury, Hedwige du Thilay, but most of all on Thibaude de Gartempe. ‘However, you – and by you I mean the person responsible for this unforgivable crime – have underestimated me. I may not know your name yet, but I shall find it out before long.’
A tremulous voice broke the profound silence following this promise:
‘I don’t understand what’s going on. Will somebody please tell me what our Reverend Mother is saying?’
Blanche de Blinot was fidgeting on her bench, turning first to one sister then another. A novice leaned over and explained to her in a whisper.
‘But … I took her the tea!’ Thrown into a sudden panic, the old woman groaned: ‘You say she died from a cup of poisoned honey and lavender tea? How could that be?’
Éleusie looked at her as though a chasm were opening at her feet.
‘What are you saying, Blanche dear? That it was you who brewed the tea for Adélaïde?’
‘Yes. Well … No, it didn’t happen quite like that. I found the cup on my desk when I was preparing to go to vespers. I sniffed it … and well, I have never really cared much for lavender tea, it is too fragrant for me,’ she said in a hushed voice, as though confessing to some terrible sin. ‘Although I am partial to verbena, especially when it is flavoured with mint …’
‘Blanche … The facts, please,’ Éleusie interrupted.
‘Forgive me, Reverend Mother … I digress … I am getting so old … Well, I assumed Adélaïde had prepared it for me and so I took the cup back to the kitchen. She is … was such a considerate girl. She said it was a shame to waste it and that she would drink it herself.’
Éleusie caught the astonished eye of the apothecary nun. Who else besides the two of them had understood the significance of this exchange? Certainly not Blanche, the intended victim, who was agonising over having handed the poisoned tea to her cherished sister. Somebody had wanted to get rid of Blanche. But why? Why kill a half-deaf old woman who spent most of her time snoozing? Éleusie could feel a pair of hate-filled eyes boring into her from she did not know where. She made a monumental effort to carry on:
‘I am now in possession of the evidence I needed in order to follow up my suspicions. My theory of how to unmask the culprit is based upon the identity of the victim. Adélaïde’s death, however terrible, was a mistake. It is all becoming clear. You may go now, daughters. I shall write directly to Monsieur Monge de Brineux, Seigneur d’Authon’s chief bailiff, informing him of this murder and providing him with the names of two likely suspects. I shall demand that the culprit be given a public beating before being executed. May God’s will be done.’
No sooner had she closed the door of her apartments than her show of authority, her bravado, crumbled. She sat on the edge of her bed, incapable of moving or even thinking. She waited, waited for the hand that would administer the poison, for the face filled with bottomless loathing or fear. She heard a sound in the adjoining study, the faint rustle of a robe. Death was approaching in a white robe, a wooden crucifix round its neck.
Annelette stood in the doorway to her bed chamber. Visibly upset, she stammered:
‘You …’
‘I what?’ murmured Éleusie, her weary voice barely audible
.
Trembling with rage, the tall woman roared at her:
‘Why did you make such a claim? You have no more idea who is responsible for this horrific act than I. Why make believe that you do? Have you taken leave of your senses? She will kill you now to avoid being unmasked. You have left her no other option.’
‘That was my intention.’
‘I am helpless to protect you. There exist so many poisons and so few antidotes.’
‘Why did she try to poison Blanche de Blinot? The question haunts me, yet I can think up no answer. Do you think that Blanche …’
‘No. She still hasn’t realised that she was the intended victim. She is too upset by Adélaïde’s death. I have taken her back to her beloved steam room.’
‘And what about the others?’
‘The few who possess a modicum of intelligence suspect the truth.’
‘Who would do this?’
‘Don’t you mean why?’ corrected Annelette. ‘We are all in danger until we unravel this deadly plot. We must stop looking at the problem from the wrong angle. I, too, confess to concentrating on scrutinising the other sisters, but it is not the right approach. If we discover the motive, we will have the culprit.’
‘Do you think you will succeed?’ asked Éleusie, feeling reassured for the first time by the imposing woman’s forbidding presence.
‘I shall do my utmost. Your meals will no longer be served separately. You will help yourself from the communal pot. You will neither eat nor drink anything that is brought or offered to you. What were you thinking! If the murderess gives any credence to your declarations and thinks she’s been unmasked, she’ll …’
Éleusie’s exhaustion gave way to a strange calm. She declared resolutely:
‘I have cut off her retreat. Now she is forced to advance.’
‘By killing you?’
‘God is my judge. I am ready to meet Him and have no fear.’
‘You seem to place very little importance on your own life,’ said Annelette disdainfully. ‘Death is a trifling matter, indeed … It comes to us all and I wonder why we fear it so. Life is a far more uncertain and difficult undertaking. Have you decided to renounce it out of convenience or cowardice? I confess I am disappointed in you, Reverend Mother.’
‘I will not permit you to …’
Annelette interrupted her sharply:
‘I don’t give a fig for your permission! Have you forgotten that when you accepted your post you vowed to watch over your daughters? Now is not the time to go back on that vow. What were you expecting? That your time here at Clairets would pass by like a pleasant stroll in the country? It might have but it didn’t. Until we discover the intentions of this monster we will all be in danger.’
‘I thought death was a matter of indifference to you?’
‘It is. However, I confess that I place great value on my life and I haven’t the slightest intention of giving it away to the first killer who comes along.’
Éleusie was preparing a sharp rejoinder but was deterred by the sombre look in Annelette’s usually clear eyes. Annelette continued in a low voice:
‘You surprise me, Madame. Have you already forgotten all those who went before us? Have you forgotten that our quest outweighs any one of us and that our lives and deaths are no longer our own? Would you yield so easily when Claire chose to perish on the steps at Acre rather than surrender?’
‘What are you talking about?’ whispered Éleusie, taken aback by this unexpected declaration. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Annelette Beaupré, your apothecary nun.’
‘What do you know about the quest?’
‘Like you, Madame, I am a link in the chain. But a link that will never yield.’
‘What are you talking about? A link in what chain?’
‘In a thousand-year-old chain that is timeless. Did you really believe that you, Francesco and Benoît were alone in your search?’
Éleusie was dumbfounded.
‘I …’
‘I believe Benoît was aware of every link down to the last rivet.’
‘Who are you?’ the Abbess repeated.
‘My mission is to watch over you. I do not know why and I do not ask. It is enough for me to know that my life will not have been in vain, that it will have been one of many fragments joining together to form the foundation of the purest and most noble sanctuary.’
A silence descended on the two women at the end of the confession. The Abbess’s incredulity was swept away by the sudden revelation. So, others besides Francesco, Benoît and her were working in the shadows and fearful of being discovered. Annelette’s chain conjured up a more far-reaching enterprise than Éleusie had ever imagined. How blind she had been never to have suspected. She wondered whether her nephew had been more perceptive. No. He would never have left his beloved aunt in the dark. This explained the frequent coincidences that had guided Éleusie’s life all these years, as well as Francesco’s sometimes inexplicable discoveries and Benoît’s help, even her appointment at Clairets. Éleusie had never requested the post, and yet it was here that the secret library was located. And Manoir de Souarcy was a stone’s throw from the abbey.
Agnès.
‘Annelette … Tell me more about this … this chain.’
The large woman sighed before confessing:
‘I have told you most of what I know, Reverend Mother. For a time, I believed that our dear departed Benoît was in charge of its organisation. I was mistaken. Indeed, I am not even sure how apt the idea of a chain is.’
‘In that case who ordered you to watch over me?’ Éleusie was growing exasperated.
‘Benoît, of course.’
‘Our Pope, Nicolas Boccasini?’
‘Yes.’
‘How could that be? Did you know him?’
‘I belonged to his entourage when he was Bishop of Ostia.’
‘But he knew nothing about me … I was a mere intermediary.’
‘Perhaps.’
Éleusie’s annoyance was gradually giving way to alarm. She was beginning to feel that they were all unknowingly caught up in an enormous spider’s web. She stammered:
‘Are we not unwitting pawns on a chessboard we cannot even perceive?’
‘What does it matter if the chessboard is glorious? That is not the question. I am convinced that the person bringing death to our abbey is also responsible for the demise of the papal emissary whose apparently charred corpse was found in the forest with no signs of any fire nearby … Ergot of rye.’ Annelette appeared to reflect for a moment before adding: ‘Did you feed that messenger, the one who came here to see you?’
The Abbess understood instantly what the apothecary nun was driving at, and her heart sank at the thought that she might have unconsciously aided the poisoner. She exclaimed:
‘Dear God … you don’t suppose the bread I gave him … Could the oats, barley and spelt wheat used to make our daily bread have been contaminated?’
‘Ergot can infect other plants, though it is rare. And the flour Adélaïde found in the herbarium was unquestionably rye. It remains to be seen who gave the man the poisoned bread.’
Éleusie chided herself for feeling selfishly relieved.
‘It seems likely that the monster also killed the emissaries that were sent before and after the one you received here,’ Annelette continued.
Éleusie stared at her in silence. It was clear to her, too, and she could have kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. Tears of deep despair welled up in her eyes. Clémence, Claire, Philippine … You who have carried me all these years would be so disappointed by my weakness now.
‘Do you think there may also be a connection with Madame Agnès’s arrest and the arrival of that inquisitor?’ she heard herself ask in a muffled voice she barely recognised as her own.
‘It would not surprise me at all, Reverend Mother. However, I must know more before I can decide. Who is Madame de Souarcy really? And why is she so important to you? The secrecy we swo
re for our own protection complicates matters. You know that my task is to protect you and yet I know nothing of yours. Now that Benoît is dead, I think we must change the rules of the game.’
Éleusie paused:
‘What do you know about … What did Benoît tell you about …’
The apothecary smiled sadly and declared:
‘It is a difficult subject to broach, is it not? You cannot be sure how much I know, and I have no notion of the extent of what has been revealed to you. We observe one another, both reluctant to break our vow of absolute silence. I, too, have been hesitating for a long moment, Madame. I veer between the certainty that in the face of this partially glimpsed danger we must inevitably confide in one another, and the fear of making a disastrous error of judgement by unreservedly giving you my trust.’
Annelette’s words perfectly captured Éleusie de Beaufort’s own thoughts.
‘Then we must be brave, daughter, for it takes courage to trust others. What did Benoît tell you about the quest?’
The apothecary’s gaze strayed towards the window:
‘In truth, not a great deal. Benoît was afraid that too much knowledge might endanger the brothers and sisters who had joined his cause. No doubt he was right. His death is painful evidence of it. He revealed a few of the facts to me, but in such a disjointed way that I cannot be sure of having grasped everything. I can only relate them to you as they were related to me, over time. He spoke of a thousand-year-old struggle between two powers. Since the discovery of a birth chart, or rather two birth charts that are now in our possession, this secret but bloody war has been moving steadily towards its climax. One of the two planetary alignments concerns a woman whose whereabouts will become known during a lunar eclipse. Up until now the estimation of these two birth dates has been hindered by an erroneous astrological calculation. This woman must be protected, even at the cost of our lives. You play a key role in her protection, and I in turn am your guardian. That is all I know.’ Annelette turned her gaze from the gardens and studied Éleusie before concluding: ‘Why did I not think of it before? The woman is Agnès de Souarcy, isn’t she?’