by Mike Ashley
“You heard for yourself,” he told her. “Margaret made her choice. Can you and your husband accompany her there?”
Numbly, Catherine nodded.
At Rupertsberg, Albrecht was buried quietly. Prioress Hildegarde promised his widow that she and the children would be cared for and saw to it that his name was added to the book of the dead for whom the nuns prayed.
“A terrible accident,” she said to Ludwig, the master builder. “I thought the men always went up in pairs.”
She looked at him with an intensity that seemed to stake him to the ground.
“They should,” the Master answered. “Albrecht always was one for climbing on his own, though. He used to laugh at the men who didn’t like being up so high.”
The prioress shook her head. “He should not have had to pay such a price for his hubris.”
“No, my lady,” Ludwig wasn’t sure what hubris was, but could agree it was not a sin worth dying for. He hoped he would soon be dismissed. There were things that worried him about Albrecht’s “accident” and he would rather the Lady Hildegarde didn’t find out about them. He bowed. Perhaps she would take the hint and let him leave.
“Ludwig?”
He looked up. Hildegarde was gazing over his head at the church. With a heart full of dread, Ludwig turned around.
He saw nothing amiss. The walls of an earlier church were being cannibalized to build the one for the nuns. Chunks of old stone blocks stuck with cement lay in a pile next to the rising nave of the new building. The men were working. Embrich was dutifully walking the treadmill that helped the scaffolding to rise. Ludwig hoped he wouldn’t take a swig from his beerskin while the prioress was watching. The man was the worst worker he had ever hired. The treadmill was the only task he could be trusted to do properly.
He turned back to Hildegarde, still wary. Everyone knew she was a prophet, the only one in the modern world. Perhaps she saw disaster in their future.
“Yes, my lady,” he quavered.
“This isn’t the first accident we have had,” she said, still looking, for all Ludwig knew, into the soul of the earth, demanding answers from Nature herself.
“No, my lady,” he admitted. “There was the problem with the cracked windlass and some rope has gone missing, but these things happen in all projects.”
“Do they?” The prioress’ expression told him that he had better see to it that nothing more happened here.
Margaret’s brother Edgar had not been pleased with her decision to enter Hildegarde’s convent. But there was little he could do in the face of the count’s approval.
“They’ve only been building it for a year or so,” he grumbled. “How do we even know she’ll have a roof over her head?”
“If you’re not certain about the place, we could stop at Trier for a few days on the way there, to visit my sister,” Catherine suggested to him. “If there is anything irregular about the convent, Agnes will know.”
“Do you think we could leave the children with her while we go on to Rupertsberg?” Edgar asked hopefully.
“It would be good for her to have them,” Catherine agreed.
The promise of time alone with his wife eased somewhat the prospect of leaving his much loved little sister with foreign nuns.
But not completely.
“I don’t see why she has to marry or enter a convent,” he grumbled. “I can provide for her here.”
“You and Solomon are partners,” Catherine reminded him. “You would both provide for her.”
Edgar gave her a sharp glance. Solomon was his best friend but . . .
“If we’re to reach Germany before winter,” he decided, “we’ll have to leave at once. I doubt Solomon will be back from Rome before we go. Margaret will have to leave him a letter.”
Sadly, Catherine agreed. It bothered her greatly that Margaret was entering the religious life because she couldn’t marry the man she loved. But better to find a haven as the bride of Christ than suffer the danger and shame of abandoning her faith for a Jew, no matter how good a man he might be.
Catherine’s sister Agnes had married into a good German family near the city of Trier. Her husband was the uncle of the present lord, Peter, a young man of twenty. Until he married, Agnes was happy to run the household. Peter suspected that she would continue to do so even after that happened. He hoped his unknown wife wouldn’t mind.
“Of course I know about Hildegarde,” she told Catherine, Edgar and Margaret over dinner on the night they arrived. “You must remember how they read the account of her visions at that council here in Trier. Since Bernard of Clairvaux and the pope agreed that they were genuine, almost everyone has been asking her to tell their future. And she writes to those who haven’t asked to warn them to mend their wicked ways.”
“Her convent doesn’t sound exactly like a calm haven,” Catherine said with a worried glance at Margaret.
“Hardly,” Agnes signalled the servants to clear the cloth and bring in the fruit and sugared almonds. “She’s usually in a middle of a whirlwind. At the moment she’s decided to move her convent to Rupertsberg. Several of the nuns have rebelled at being dragged from the comfort of St Disibod and the monks there are furious that she wants to leave their protection, taking her fame and property with her.”
“I know these things,” Margaret assured them. “I would like to be a part of a new religious foundation. And it would be interesting to have a prophet for an abbess.”
“Prioress,” Agnes corrected. “She can’t get the monks of St Disibod to free her entirely from their control.”
“At least in principle,” her husband, Meinhard, added. “She has her ways. When she had a vision telling her to move to Rupertsberg, they refused to let her go. Remember?”
“Oh, yes,” Agnes said. “Then Hildegarde was struck down with a paralysing illness. The abbot thought she was feigning until he tried to lift her from her bed.”
“He said it was as if she were being held in place by a powerful force,” Meinhard concluded. “He couldn’t move her. Not until he agreed to let her leave.”
“You see?” Margaret said. “She is under divine protection. I shall be quite safe there.”
Her brother wasn’t so sure. “God has a way of protecting his chosen ones right up to the point of martyrdom,” he said. “It sounds to me as if you are entering a maelstrom rather than a convent.”
“Perhaps I should accompany you there,” Peter spoke up. “In case there are problems.”
Everyone stared at him. Peter rarely gave an opinion and he had never shown an interest in leaving his own lands.
“You are foreigners and your German, while good, isn’t perfect,” he explained. “It would be terrible if the kin of my Aunt Agnes came to grief because I wasn’t there to speak for them.”
Meinhard and Edgar exchanged a long look, then they both turned to consider Margaret, animated with wine. She did not look at all like a nun.
“I believe Peter is right,” Edgar said. “We would be pleased to have your company.”
Ludwig stood once more before Prioress Hildegarde, twisting his knit cap in his hands.
“The stand for the pitch cauldron was steady,” he insisted. “I checked it myself. There was no reason for it to tip over.”
Hildegarde nodded. “No natural reason,” she agreed.
“My lady!” Ludwig dropped his hat in astonishment. “You don’t think there are demons at work in this holy place?”
“The holier the place, the more likely the Evil One is to send his minions to destroy it,” Hildegarde said calmly. “Demons are unnecessary, though, when there are enough weak human souls to consent to his desires.”
Ludwig gave a deep sigh of relief. He was used to evil in human form. It was monsters from the depths of Hell that frightened him.
“Someone is trying to keep us from finishing the church?” he guessed. “Who would be so foolhardy? You would know them at once, wouldn’t you?”
The prioress smiled
gently. “I am but the servant of the Living Light,” she explained. “I do not ask for revelation, but accept it when it comes to me. We shall have to find the miscreant ourselves. Of course, it’s possible that a vision may be sent while we are endeavoring to do so.”
She seemed so confident that Ludwig felt ashamed of the worry still gnawing at his gut. He bowed and backed to the door.
“Ludwig!”
He froze to the spot. Had God spoken to the lady while he was still in the room?
“Ludwig,” she repeated. “You forgot your hat.”
That afternoon, Hildegarde called one of the nuns into her chamber.
“Richardis,” she greeted the woman with a tender smile. “How are my daughters doing in their new home?”
“Most are offering up the increased discomforts as a sacrifice to Our Lord,” Richardis told her. “A few still looked pained. Trauchte’s father, Lord Gerlac, is in Bingen, ready to take her to a less austere convent the moment she sends word. She thinks no one knows, but he’s been seen lurking outside the dorter walls.”
“Has he, now?” Hildegarde did not seem surprised by the knowledge. “I shall remember him in my prayers. Now, I have received a message that the granddaughter of the Count of Champagne has requested a visit with the intention of joining our sisterhood. She has apparently been raised at the Paraclete.”
Richardis’ eyebrows rose. “And she wishes to join us? If it isn’t to flee some offence committed there, then she would be a most welcome addition. Heloise’s nuns are renowned for their learning.”
“I would rather she were renowned for her piety,” Hildegarde remarked. “However, both can be ascertained when she and her family arrive. I have had a message from a relative of theirs in Trier. They should be here within a day or so. I only wish that I could find out who has been creating these ‘accidents’ among the workers before then.”
Richardis hesitated. “Relatives in Trier? Mother Hildegarde, I believe I have heard of this Margaret and her family. If you permit it, they might be able to assist us.”
Hildegarde was doubtful at first, but as Richardis related what she knew, the prioress began to form a plan.
Catherine had resigned herself to being assigned a bed in the women’s section of the guest house. Marital relations were unseemly when one was the guest of celibates. She wasn’t prepared, though, for how primitive the accommodations were.
“I had heard that Magistra Hildegarde encouraged moderation in the renunciation of the flesh,” she moaned as she inspected the bare room. “Perhaps her opinion has changed. It’s good that we brought our own mattresses. I didn’t know we’d need to bring bed frames too.”
“I wonder what the conditions are in the nuns’ quarters,” Margaret said.
“You and I will inspect them thoroughly before I agree to leave you here,” Catherine assured her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Margaret answered. “I am prepared to subjugate my body to the needs of my soul.”
Catherine bit her tongue to keep from arguing. Her mind said that Margaret was right, but her heart believed otherwise. Like Edgar, she wished there were a way to keep his sister with them forever.
Edgar hadn’t noticed the state of the guest rooms. He had taken one look at the construction work, thrown his pack on the ground and gone to survey the building.
Lugwig growled as he saw Edgar.
“Look sharp, if you can, Embrich,” he said to the worker. “We’re about to have another visit from some noble know-it-all who wants to give us advice on how to do our jobs, even if he can’t tell his axe from his adze.”
He turned around to see if Embrich were looking halfway competent and discovered that, wisely, the man had made himself scarce. Ludwig forced a smile.
“Greetings, my lord,” he bowed. “Come to see where your daughter will be saying her prayers?”
“Hmm?” Edgar was gazing up at the tower with a worried frown. “Oh, yes. My sister. Building rather close to the edge, aren’t you? A few bad winters and the river could eat away your foundations.”
This was what Ludwig had thought when the Lady Hildgarde had told him the site, but he’d never admit it to a stranger.
“The rock is solid under the church,” he insisted. “We had a hell of a time digging into it.”
“That’s good,” Edgar squinted at something hanging halfway up the tower. “What is that rope attached to?”
Ludwig turned. “It’s wrapped around the crank for pulling the baskets of rubbez to fill in the space between the walls.”
“I see,” Edgar smiled. “Why is it hanging from a wooden tower?”
“Trade secret,” Ludwig smiled back. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord.”
He turned and hurried away without waiting for leave. Edgar studied the building for a minute more. A movement by the pile of stones caught his eye. Curious, he wandered over to find a young man dozing against the rubble. As he approached, the man woke with a start. Seeing Edgar, he crossed himself in relief.
“Thank the virgin!” he exclaimed. “I thought you were Ludwig!”
Edgar smiled at him, noting the bruised hands and dusty clothes.
“Not been at the craft long?” he asked.
A look of fear crossed the man’s face. “I’m a journeyman! Don’t believe what Master Ludwig says! He has some grudge against me, I don’t know why. I didn’t slit the canvas on the tents or spill the lime, but I’m the first one he shouts at. Don’t tell him, my lord, that you found me asleep. I beg you.”
Edgar reassured the man. The tolling of a bell reminded him that Catherine and Margaret were waiting for him.
Catherine met him at the door of the guest house.
“Margaret and I have been speaking with one of the nuns here,” she told him. “Prioress Hildegarde has made a very odd request. It seems that there have been a number of odd happenings in the construction of the convent buildings. She thinks she has discovered who is responsible, but needs help in proving it.”
Edgar listened.
“What do you think?” Catherine asked when she had finished.
“I think that, whether or not her visions come from Heaven, Magistra Hildegarde is a very wise woman,” he answered. “Tell her that we will do as she requests.”
The next morning Catherine suggested that Peter might like to take Margaret on a short walk around the convent walls.
He agreed with delight.
“Margaret,” Catherine whispered as they left. “Remember what I told you.”
“I won’t do anything foolish,” she promised.
As soon as they left, Catherine shook out her skirts and checked the soles of her shoes. “Ready?” she asked Edgar.
“Yes, just don’t be too convincing,” Edgar kissed her cheek. “I wonder who told Hildegarde that you were inclined to be clumsy.”
The clapper was sounding for Sext as Edgar and Catherine headed over to the church. They could hear the chanting of the nuns in their private chapel.
As they drew near, Edgar pointed up at the men working on the scaffolding. Embrich had been promoted to hod carrier. He was carefully climbing a ladder, balancing the box of bricks against his shoulder.
“You see,” he told her loudly. “That hod is way overloaded. No wonder they have so many accidents here. You there! Come down before you lose your grip and fall!”
Startled, Embrich swayed on the ladder, the bricks teetering wildly. Every eye was on him. Suddenly, Catherine gave a cry and tumbled into a pile of hide-covered tools. They clattered to the ground.
“Oh, Oh, Ow!” she cried, rocking back and forth. “My ankle!”
“What idiot stacked that?” Edger shouted. “You’ve broken my wife’s ankle! Dearest, can you hobble? Who’s responsible for this?”
His ranting grew louder until the portress came running from the chapel to see what the problem was.
“I’m not leaving my sister in a place so obviously badly maintained!” Edgar shouted. “My wife may be crippled beca
use of the slovenly behaviour of your workmen! What does Lady Hildegarde intend to do about it?”
“My lord, I . . . I have no idea!” the portress stepped away from him. “I shall report this as soon as they are finished saying the Office.”
“I want this addressed immediately!” Edgar thundered. “You!” He jabbed his finger at a group of men gaping at him. “Can you be trusted to carry my wife back to the guest house without breaking anything else?”
Catherine had been moaning under his diatribe, rather like a crumhorn accompanying a minstrel’s tale. She rocked back and forth in pain but managed to smile weakly as the two men made a cradle of their arms to lift her.
Soon after, the still bewildered workmen were lined up before the church facing Edgar and, even worse, the Lady Hildegarde.
She spoke quietly but even those in the back heard every word.
“I see the dark wind of the North bringing the seeds of evil, destroying our green sanctuary,” Hildegarde looked at them sadly, then closed her eyes. “I see the Wicked One, like a burrowing vole, finding the weakness in someone’s heart and driving him to heed the advice of the serpent.”
She opened her eyes and regarded the group of gaping workers.
‘I have long been concerned by the number of mishaps involved in the work on my church. The death of Albrecht was not by chance, but design. You all know that one of the boards was tampered with. I tried to convince myself that it was only a jest gone horribly wrong, but too much else has occurred since then. Now this poor woman has also been harmed by the malice at work here. I cannot tolerate it any longer.”
Ludwig stepped forward. “I understand, my lady,” he said. “I, too, have had my suspicions. I never should have taken on a man known to none of the others. He told me the monks of St Disibod sent him, but I wonder. If so, it was to destroy the work of God. Embrich! Hold him, fellows! Don’t let him run!”
“Get your hands off me!” Embrich protested as the men nearest dragged him forward. “I haven’t done anything!”
“You are the worst mason I ever saw in my life,” Ludwig said. “An apprentice on his first day would make fewer mistakes.”