Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  The pope scratched his smooth chin pensively.

  “You see, Your Holiness, the abbots are unwilling to comply without your approval. So, Emperor Otto suggested I come to you. Of course, I will make generous donations to the monasteries concerned.”

  The pope narrowed his small dark eyes. “What kind of documents?”

  “Treaties, ancient tales and legends, Roman and Greek history, genealogies.” Melusine refrained from sounding too eager. “Even a few reports from Julius Cesar on how to construct bridges, roads, and war machines.”

  Pope John’s stare intensified, as if he searched for hidden motives in Melusine’s face. “And that would be for your husband’s library?”

  More educated than Sigefroi, and possibly more knowledgeable than the pope himself, Melusine only smiled. “At the dawn of a new power in Luxembourg, I feel that knowledge is the very basis of prosperity.”

  Archbishop Henri scoffed his diffidence.

  The pope ignored him and kept his gaze upon Melusine. “Very wise, indeed.”

  Encouraged, Melusine went on. “I was also looking for information on how to manufacture glass and bricks and ceramic, how to make colorful dies for hemp and wool, how to weave thicker carpets and raise silk worms, but I found nothing useful on any craft at all.”

  The pope shook his head slowly. “You will not find these secrets in libraries, child. They are jealously guarded, only transmitted through training from master to apprentice, never to be revealed outside of their guild.”

  Melusine had feared that would be the case but hoped she could find a way to bring these secrets home nevertheless. She decided to play the part of the helpless female. “So, what am I to do, Your Holiness?”

  The pope offered a paternal smile then steepled his fingers in a reflective pause. “You could hire a few craftsmen who just completed their apprenticeship and make them a generous offer. Perhaps give them a shop in your town, where they can prosper and teach new apprentices under your patronage.”

  Adalberon gasped. “Your Holiness would allow such valuable craftsmen to leave Rome?”

  “For the benefit of this dear child and the greater prosperity of the Roman Empire, certainly.” The pope turned to Melusine. “But I will not allow our best masters of the arts to leave our city. They have too much work here decorating our churches, for the greatest glory of God. You will have to recruit newly trained craftsmen.”

  Delighted, Melusine let her excitement hurry her words. “Thank you, Your Holiness. The people of Luxembourg will praise your clemency. Everything is so beautiful in this Holy City, I will take home new ideas to embellish our halls and our walls... for the greater glory of the Holy Roman Empire, of course.”

  “Of course.” Pope John nodded.

  But Melusine wanted to make sure she would get everything she needed. “So, Your Holiness, may I have these books and scrolls copied?”

  The pope made the sign of the cross over her head. “You have my blessing. But who will read such an extensive library?”

  “That is my next request, Your Holiness.”

  The pope sighed in mock impatience then smiled indulgently.

  “We need scholars to educate our young nobles.” Despite her effort to control them, the words just tumbled out of Melusine’s mouth. “Our boys only learn battle skills and the girls weaving and embroidery, but their education lacks in true knowledge.”

  Archbishop Henri stopped fidgeting and seized both armrests as if to rise. “Women do not need such an education.”

  The pope flashed a brief smile. “I could send a score of Benedictine monks to open a monastery on your lands. Your young noblemen could learn much from them.”

  The last thing Melusine wanted was a bunch of nosy monks keeping an eye on her. “Your Holiness is too generous. But my lord husband already owns several important abbeys. Besides, I do want to educate the girls as well. If you agree, I would hire lay-scholars from this beautiful city and take them to Luxembourg and Saarburg to educate our people.”

  The pope frowned. “Lay scholars?”

  Sensing his hesitation, Melusine sent him a slight mental nudge. “Aye. They can teach our people to read and write, speak proper Latin, and understand mathematics.”

  Archbishop Henri slapped the arm of his chair. “Such knowledge without the Church’s perspective is most sacrilegious!”

  Distracted by the rude interruption, Melusine let go of her mental hold on the pope. She struggled to get it back.

  The pope turned a severe face to Melusine. “What about God in all this? What’s in it for God?”

  Melusine bowed to hide her struggle. “The Almighty will gain the eternal gratitude of Luxembourg, Your Holiness. Within a few years, God will have a wise, civilized and prosperous new nation to draw upon for financial and military support.”

  “Impressive for a woman.” The pontiff chuckled. “I’m not sure I envy Sigefroi such an intelligent wife.” The pope turned to Archbishop Henri. “Like you, I favor keeping women ignorant of political matters.”

  Adalberon nodded.

  Melusine did not let it affect her concentration. She kept her voice even. “Do I have your permission, Your Holiness?”

  The pope sighed as if beaten. “If Otto sees the good in it, you have my blessing, child.”

  Melusine genuflected. “Luxembourg thanks you for your selfless generosity, Your Holiness.”

  * * *

  The next morning, in the gardens of the pontifical palace, wearing his white and red finery, Sigefroi set down his silver goblet on the white linen covering the round marble table of the terrace. Unable to escape the pope’s invitation to break his fast with the princes of the Church, he would have preferred to visit Melusine on this glorious morning. He knew she stayed at a nearby convent, but he hadn’t seen her yet.

  Deaf to the meaningless conversation, he let his gaze embraced the ceramic frescoes decorating the outside walls of the palace. White columns with grapevines lined the water front, and reflections from the Tiber River below played on the striations. He breathed in the sweet smell of oleander blossoms.

  The pope hooked his hands together and rested them on his round belly. His white robe shimmered in the morning sun and fluttered in the soft breeze blowing from a distant sea. “Ondines?”

  The incongruous word pierced Sigefroi’s reverie.

  Adalberon, in purple silk robes, picked at dark red grapes from a silver bowl. “Aye, Your Holiness. According to my studies, ondines can look like ordinary women, then once every so often they transform into water creatures.”

  “Ridiculous.” Sigefroi sighed. “Isn’t that how ancient Babylon fell? While its religious leaders discussed the sex of angels?”

  Pope John’s beady eyes twinkled. “Fascinating, is it not?”

  Archbishop Henri’s flabby jowl trembled as he spit the seed of the olive he had been chewing.

  Adalberon looked ecstatic at the pope’s interest. “An instance of such transformation was witnessed over a hundred years ago along the Moselle River, by one of Charlemagne’s archbishops.”

  Sigefroi perked up at the mention of his illustrious ancestor.

  The pope narrowed his gaze on Adalberon. “And what, pray tell, prompted your interest to look into these ancient demons?”

  Adalberon flashed a smug smile. “You see, Your Holiness, a number of recent sightings of ondines were reported in Luxembourg and in Saarburg.”

  Sigefroi stiffened at the mention of his two estates. Luxembourg and Saarburg. The two places where he resided with Melusine, who disappeared one day each month.

  Thinking back, didn’t all these sightings happen on her pilgrimage days? Why had he never made that connection before? Could it be? Nay. He refused to believe in legends and magic. There were no such creatures as ondines. Yet, the pope himself admitted to their existence.

  The fat archbishop cast him an incendiary glare, but Sigefroi shrugged it off. Too much bad blood had flowed between them to mind his veiled accusations.r />
  Archbishop Henri’s expression softened as he addressed the pope. “Your Holiness, I read similar stories in my youth in Aachen. If I remember correctly, while mermaids have a fish tail, ondines have more of a sea-serpent tail.”

  “Truly?” Adalberon seemed fascinated.

  Henri glanced at the three other men then straightened, full of self-importance. “They are said to remain eternally young. Some scrolls even claim that they can sprout wings, like a dragon, and fly away if threatened.”

  “Wings?” Sigefroi laughed to ease the tension building inside. “I thought this was a gathering of erudite minds, but I hear only superstitious talk.” He picked up his goblet to hide his inner turmoil.

  The pope creased his forehead in disapproval but remained silent. Since Emperor Otto insured the safety of the pontifical throne, Pope John would never speak against Otto’s best general and friend. If ever deprived of military protection, the pope might incur the fate of his predecessors, assassinated by the ruling families of Rome.

  Sigefroi smiled inwardly at this small advantage on the pope, but the image of Melusine, the first day he glanced at her naked, waist high in the Alzette River, superimposed upon his mind. He did not see her legs that day. And Thierry said he only saw a big flapping fish when she dove under the frigid waters.

  Now Thierry was dead. The thought sobered him.

  Still, hard as they’d searched that day, they’d found no trace of Melusine onshore. Was it because she swam underwater like a fish? And later that day, he heard a woman sing in a pure enchanting voice like that of the legendary sirens.

  Sigefroi shook his head to banish the thought. That could only be coincidence.

  “What recourse do we have against such calamitous beings?” Adalberon sounded very serious. Did he truly believe in ondines?

  Pope John absentmindedly turned in his hands the gold seal hanging on his chest. “We won’t know until we study them.”

  “But how?” Adalberon did seem to believe.

  Archbishop Henri’s face flushed. “The best would be to catch such a creature in mermaid form, which might prove difficult if they can fly.”

  The pope nodded. “But first, we must investigate the recent sightings and see where they lead us.” He turned to Sigefroi. “Since these happened on your lands, I place you in charge of interrogating the witnesses and record whatever you can find out. Then send a messenger with your findings to Adalberon, who will in turn report to me.”

  “Are you serious, Your Holiness?” Sigefroi could not imagine himself questioning people all day about such a ridiculous matter. “A military ruler has more important things to do than ask around about legendary creatures.”

  Pope John raised his gaze to the pure blue sky above, as if asking God for patience. Then he addressed Sigefroi as he would a child. “Evil is more insidious than most believe, my son. Never underestimate the dark powers Lucifer unleashed on this world. I am giving you a chance to be a soldier of the Almighty and apprehend evil lurking on your lands.”

  Sigefroi’s chest whirled in turmoil. “But my people will make fun of me.”

  The pope gazed sternly into Sigefroi’s eyes. “Or would you prefer I send my own investigators?”

  “Nay, Your Holiness.” Sigefroi did not want an army of prelates to descend upon his lands and establish their religious rule. Better accept the task and remain the master of his estates. “I’ll look into it as soon as I return home.”

  With an ingratiating smile, the pope relaxed against the back of his padded chair. “I have no doubt you will make a remarkable investigator, my son.”

  “I must protest, Your Holiness!” Archbishop Henri tapped the table impatiently. “How can you trust the sons of a murderer with an inquiry of that importance?”

  Sigefroi’s blood curdled at the archbishop’s words. The accusations were true, of course, but he could not let the insult go unchecked. “I wish you used civilized language in noble company.”

  “Noble?” The archbishop leaned heavily over the table. “You lost two hundred knights in a village skirmish. How noble is that?”

  The pope waved a hand in entreaty. “There, there, now. We need to forget the past and look to the future.”

  “Your father killed mine and deprived my family of its lands.” Archbishop Henri reached and gripped a handful of Sigefroi’s silk tunic. “You owe me reparation.”

  Surprised by the fat man’s strength, Sigefroi rose and twisted the intrusive hand on his chest, forcing it to release his tunic. “The weak does not deserve lands they cannot protect.”

  The pope waved nervously. “The Holy Roman Empire needs a united front. No petty quarrels will be tolerated. Emperor Otto and I are in total agreement on that point.”

  Red-faced, the archbishop massaged his bruised wrist but still glowered at Sigefroi. “Do not be surprised if one day soon, you find my personal army at the walls of your precious Luxembourg, claiming your estate to replace what I lost.”

  Sigefroi half-drew and slammed Caliburn back into its scabbard as a warning. “Attack Luxembourg if you dare, Lord Archbishop. I will be waiting for you.”

  Scarcely nodding to the pope, his blood roiling with wrath, Sigefroi marched down the terrace steps and out of the pontifical palace gardens.

  * * *

  To the sound of his determined steps ringing on the paved streets of the golden city, common sense returned to Sigefroi. Ondines? Who could believe such laughable tales? His capable wife, the gorgeous woman he loved, the mother of his children, an ondine?

  The slapping of Caliburn on his hip reminded him of the vow he had taken in exchange for the miraculous sword. Never try to find out what she did on those strange Wednesdays...

  A bell rang up a steeple, close by, calling the faithful to church. He collided with a gawking pilgrim leaning heavily on his walking stick. Sigefroi’s hand went to Caliburn’s bejeweled hilt. He realized he was in no danger and relaxed his grip on the sword. Was he ready to give up that wonderful weapon?

  How could he believe the sword to be invincible while denying the existence of occult forces? But he had seen Caliburn in action, and that... he could not deny. If Melusine really were a demonic creature, however, it would greatly complicate his plans.

  Ignoring the good people of Rome going to market or to church, Sigefroi passed the glass-blower’s shop and thought about buying a trinket for Melusine but saw nothing precious enough to be worthy of her.

  His mind wandered to her impossible parentage.

  According to the scroll he had confiscated from the library in Trier, if Melusine were who she claimed, it would make her over a hundred and fifty years old, and she still looked twenty, like the day they first met. She hadn’t aged despite giving birth three times in almost four years.

  And what could have caused her sudden illness at the baptismal font? Holy water perhaps? Sigefroi must confront Melusine. But could he face the truth if she happened to be a satanic creature?

  Aye. Since the pope forced his hand, Sigefroi would clear the mystery of the ondine sighted on his lands. And Melusine would have to give him answers.

  * * *

  The knock at the door startled Melusine. “Do come in.”

  The nun in gray veils skittered in like a mouse, flushed with excitement. “Mother Superior sent me. There is a visitor for you at the gate.”

  Melusine felt the blood drain from her face. “Who is it?”

  “A man.” The nun blushed even more, as if it were possible. “Only confessors and prelates are allowed inside the sanctuary. Other males must wait in the gate building.”

  Was it Sigefroi? Who else? Despite her profound revulsion for what her husband had done, Melusine could not help but rejoice at his presence. He had come to see her. He missed her.

  But her joy quickly faded. He was a loathsome murderer. How could she allow him in her bed or around her children? As much as she understood his motivations, she could not sanction his actions.

  Melusine steeled
her resolve for the confrontation ahead. She knew her husband well, and Sigefroi would not easily accept her rebukes.

  The nun touched her arm. “Are you well, my lady?”

  Melusine attempted a smile to cover her brief moment of distraction. “Aye.” She smoothed back her hair. “Just show me the way.”

  As she followed the nun along the corridor, she realized she wore a yellow gown. Sigefroi liked yellow on her. It set off her tan skin and made her clear gray eyes sparkle. But she did not want to seduce him today. Or did she? Although she had struggled to nurture her anger on the long road to Rome, she now felt empty of rage.

  She followed the nun through the rose garden, wondering whether their conversation would have witnesses. A nun would never be left alone with a man, but Melusine wasn’t a nun, the man was her husband, and their high rank came with privileges.

  She saw him before they reached the building. Sigefroi stood outside the open door, a stonethrow away, one foot propped casually upon a wooden bench. At his feet a patch of vermillion narcissus mimicked his leonine mane set ablaze by the morning sun. Melusine had almost forgotten how handsome he looked, straight and wide-shouldered, in white and red silk cinched with leather.

  Melusine recognized Caliburn at his hip. Sigefroi, as formidable in his finery as in full battle gear, watched her intently, like the great lion of Luxembourg that pawed the air on his tunic.

  Melusine touched the nun’s arm. “You may return to your devotions, now.”

  As if relieved of a great burden, the nun nodded then darted away toward the main buildings.

  Melusine managed to walk without faltering. Her insides roiled, partly from the anger she failed to bring to the surface, and from something else. Desire! She suddenly realized how much she had missed him.

  She struggled to bring forth the bloody vision of her nightmare, but somehow, the anger had worn itself out. Still, Melusine would confront her husband. She could not and should not accept what he had done.

  The closer she moved, the faster she walked. Now she wanted to run into his arms. But as she closed the distance, something in his stance, the fierce knit of his brow, slowed her steps. She halted four paces away. He remained still as the garden statues where doves perched and cooed.