Читать книгу Lady Agnes Mystery Vol.2 - Андреа Жапп - Страница 11

The fire, which, days before, had so alarmed the nuns until it was swiftly brought under control, had scarcely blackened the walls of the guest house. The Abbess, Éleusie de Beaufort, accompanied by Annelette Beaupré, the apothecary nun, carried out her inspection in silence. The guest mistress, Thibaude de Gartempe, bleated:

‘You must believe me, Reverend Mother. The blaze was not the result of any carelessness on my part. I don’t understand how it could have started in a straw mattress in the middle of the room, so far from the hearth …’

Annelette looked intently at the Abbess, who nodded discreetly before reassuring the guest mistress with an explanation whose absurdity nevertheless appeared to convince her:

‘My dear Thibaude, fires can be fickle things … It is conceivable that a spark landed on the straw mattress and set it alight. In any event, the essential thing is that the fire produced more smoke than flames and more panic than real damage.’

Presently, the two women left the guest mistress, who, together with a few lay servants, went to work to remove the traces of what had been no more than a diversionary tactic.

They walked in silence back to the Abbess’s study. Annelette sensed that Éleusie de Beaufort was using the time to weigh up the pros and cons before revealing her secret. The apothecary had long suspected that their Abbess was concealing a thorny truth, the nature of which eluded her. She followed the Abbess into the freezing study and stood waiting, her hands clasped in front of her.

Éleusie walked around the heavy oak table and slumped into her armchair. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed before murmuring:

‘I am guilty of a terrible mistake. Hesitation weakened my resolve. I brought about the situation that has allowed this evildoer …’

She leapt to her feet and brought her fist crashing down on the table as she hissed:

‘She has not seen the last of me!’

Annelette said nothing, waiting to see what would follow.

‘You were right, Annelette. That trifling fire was no more than a ruse to draw us away from here. You were also right when you advised me to trust you that day – how long ago it seems now – when you confided in me. My failure to do so unreservedly is a source of genuine regret. I lied out of fear, which in no way excuses my blunder or, worse still, my error of judgement.’

Annelette lowered her head without saying a word, fearful, almost, of finally learning the truth.

‘Upon my arrival at Clairets, I discovered something which at first I believed was a curious coincidence, and which led me to commit what I do not think it an exaggeration to call the crime of failing to inform Rome. Boniface VIII,* our then Holy Father, was not one of our allies. However, when Benoît XI* was elected I did not hesitate to inform him, and I confess that his response astonished me. I had the distinct impression that my discovery came as no surprise … Oh what a silly old fool going off at a tangent when there is so little time!’ Éleusie blurted out hurriedly: ‘The abbey houses a vast secret library. Hidden safely inside it – at least until yesterday – are a number of works containing writings of such a disturbing and dangerous nature that they must never be allowed to fall into the hands of evildoers or those motivated by greed.’

‘A secret library? Here at the abbey?’ Annelette repeated, astounded. ‘Where?’

Éleusie glanced over at the tapestry covering one wall of her study and limited herself to one word:

‘Behind.’

‘Of course, I should have guessed,’ the apothecary said ruefully. ‘That long wall with no doors or windows that extends from your chambers … When was it built?’

‘Judging from the plans drawn up on a piece of parchment I keep locked in my safe, the library was included in the original plans of the building a century ago.’

‘So the murderer wanted the parchment, not your seal. At last, her actions make sense.’

Annelette’s initial amazement at the Abbess’s confession gave way to a burgeoning curiosity, a feverish excitement. She went on hurriedly:

‘Does the library by any chance contain any … scientific works?’

‘Yes, many of which are extraordinary and challenge even our most long-held beliefs.’

‘May I … I hardly dare ask your permission to consult a few of them, that is if … You see, so many of the explanations we are given appear incomplete, not to say illogical.’

Éleusie paused again. What if she were committing an even graver mistake by trusting this woman? After all, besides the apothecary’s own word, what other proof of her honesty did she have? What if she were simply a spy in the pay of their enemies? What if she were indeed the murderess – as Yolande de Fleury, the sister in charge of the granary whom life had treated so unkindly, had claimed shortly before being fatally poisoned?

‘Our late lamented Pope Benoît’s orders were categorical. Nobody but I must enter the library under any pretext.’

The apothecary nun’s plain face grew sullen, and Éleusie stifled a feeling of growing resentment.

‘Now is not the time for this type of discussion or, worse still, this squabbling,’ she replied sharply. ‘What I am about to tell you is so crucial, so appalling, as to render any temper tantrum on your part entirely out of place.’

Annelette looked at her and smiled apologetically.

‘You are right, Reverend Mother. Please forgive me. My only excuse, if such it is, is that I would give anything to gain even a little more knowledge.’

‘Knowledge can be a terrible thing,’ Éleusie pointed out.

‘No. It is what mankind does with it that is terrible. Science is not to blame if men choose to use advances in the knowledge of anatomy to become better torturers rather than to invent better cures.’

An unexpected tenderness lit up the Abbess’s face and she observed:

‘You remind me of my dear nephew when you speak like that. I wish he would come back to me. I feel so defenceless … There I go again with my foolish self-pity!’ Suddenly, she appeared resolved and declared:

‘I have spent the past few days making a scrupulous inventory. Three of the manuscripts in the secret library were stolen during the diversion. The choice of works comes as no surprise to me and proves without doubt that the arsonist knew exactly what he was looking for. I caught him red-handed, disguised in a monk’s habit, his cowl drawn over his face. I tried without success to grab the manuscripts.’

‘Is that why you ordered all the exits to be locked and a thorough search of all the sisters, as well as their bundles and carts?’

‘Yes. And it won’t surprise you to know that “he” was in fact a “she”. The blow I received was fierce, but it didn’t have a man’s violence behind it. The manuscripts have not yet left Clairets and we must find them as quickly as possible.’

‘But the abbey is so vast …’ the apothecary began, before Éleusie interrupted her with a confession that left her reeling.

‘Of the three volumes, one was a large notebook belonging to the knight Eustache de Rioux and my nephew Francesco. In it were recorded decades of research and discoveries – both ours and those of our predecessors, the Knights Templar* – concerning our quest. During the fall of Saint-Jean-d’Acre, shortly before the slaughter of thirty thousand souls, Eustache de Rioux and a Knight Templar helped a small group of women and children escape into the tunnels under the citadel. I am unaware of the exact chain of events, but the women demanded to surrender to the enemy, believing their lives would be spared, and the Knight Templar chose to accompany them. Before returning to what would become a bloody massacre, the Knight Templar handed his notebook to Eustache, and beseeched him to carry on the sacred quest that he and a few brothers had kept a jealously guarded secret. The stolen notebook belonging to Francesco records all of these clues, all of our findings.’

‘Its loss is a catastrophe,’ breathed Annelette, her eyes wide with fright.

‘And I haven’t yet mentioned the nature of the other two works,’ Éleusie commented. ‘The second is a guide to necromancy of the most depraved kind, written by a certain Justus. Listen: I have been unable to bring myself to peruse its corrupt pages. However, I know that it did not simply aim to establish contact with the hereafter, already an unforgivable sin in the eyes of the Church, but to enslave souls in purgatory and employ them to evil ends. Francesco purchased it only in order to destroy it, thereby ensuring that it would not fall into the hands of scoundrels. He kept postponing hurling it into the purifying flames that would reduce it to ashes, and now … If it were to fall into our enemies’ hands, if they were to make use of the terrible formulae within …’

‘Oh dear God …’

‘Wait. The worst – or at least the most worrying – is yet to come. The third work is known as ‘The Vallombroso Treatise’. It …’ Éleusie went silent, uncertain whether she should go on, already fearing the consequences of what she was about to reveal to Annelette. ‘It … It claims … Come on, I must take the plunge. It proves categorically that … that the earth moves round the sun; it spins round the sun, always following the same trajectory, as though held aloft by some unknown force.’

‘What! Are you saying that the system described by Ptolemy in which the earth is fixed at the centre of the universe is false?’

‘Totally erroneous. Of course you realise that, if anyone overheard us speaking about this, we would be accused of heresy?’

The apothecary, dazed, ignored the caveat. Deep in thought, she appeared to have forgotten everything else – the murdered monks, the fire, the theft, the threat hanging over their quest. Suddenly she cried out, exultant:

‘Now I understand everything … What an idiot, what a fool! And I call myself a scientist! The true scientific mind must never cease questioning. If the earth were fixed in the centre of the heavens, how could the changing seasons, the tides, day and night, the stars be explained! What a privilege, what joy, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Reverend Mother, for this extraordinary revelation!’

Éleusie’s irritation got the better of her and she retorted sharply:

‘Leave your rejoicing until later, daughter – that is, if we are still alive.’

The reproof brought Annelette’s jubilation to an abrupt end, and she lowered her head. The Abbess went on:

‘The workings of the scientific mind are clearly beyond me! The monk at the Vallombroso monastery* who drafted the treatise paid for it with his life. I wonder whether the unfortunate “accident” that caused him to fall and split his head open against a pillar was not the work of our enemies. In any event, the treatise holds the key to the two birth charts you are already familiar with. These charts were discovered by the same Knight Templar who entrusted his notes to Eustache.’ Éleusie broke off, then went on in a faltering voice: ‘The shadowy figure is now in possession of these notes and of the treatise crucial to their understanding. Our enemies have been hounding us for centuries. Our sole advantage was their slowness to react. We have always been one step ahead of them. Now, I’m afraid …’

Annelette, in a state of extreme tension, tried to make sense of this sudden onslaught of information. She veered between euphoria and despair: euphoria because, despite the labyrinthine path that was taking them there, they were advancing towards the Light; and despair at the thought that she had so long been deprived of these secrets whose enormity she was only now beginning to grasp. She made a supreme effort to impose some order on the chaos of her thoughts:

‘We are alone on board a ship lost on a raging sea. Benoît has been fatally poisoned and nobody can say whether the next pope elect will be friend or foe. In short, we must count upon our own guile to recover the manuscripts and exterminate the snake that has killed our sisters.’

‘I’d wager my life that the thief and the murderess are one and the same person.’

‘So would I, Reverend Mother. Even so, and notwithstanding your doubts about me – which I fully understand, for the feeling was mutual – if I am to form a complete picture of events, I need more facts. If you want me to make some sense out of this muddle, I implore you, be frank with me. We are not friends, I know, and it pains me to say so, believe me.’ She stopped the Abbess’s nascent protest with a gesture before continuing: ‘However, we are … two survivors whose lives are in danger.’

Annelette stifled the unbidden sorrow welling up inside her; for the first time in her life she regretted the lack of friendship with a fellow human being. No doubt it was too late to aspire to it now. No matter. She went on in a more decisive voice:

‘Regarding the two birth charts. Am I to assume that they can be correctly calculated using Vallombroso’s theory rather than Ptolemy’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that they relate to events or people. I suspect one of them concerns Madame de Souarcy.’

‘We believe it does. Madame Agnès was born on 25 December, the date indicated by one of the charts, which specifies that the person we seek was born during an eclipse. However, the eclipse was only partial on the night she was born.’

‘Was it essential that the eclipse be total?’

‘We don’t know.’

‘This explains the Inquisition’s ruthless treatment of her,’ reflected Annelette. ‘Agnès de Souarcy is a threat to our enemies and therefore she must die.’

‘That is what we believe.’

‘Why?’

‘My dear Annelette, if we had even the slightest inkling, the Light would already be within our grasp.’

‘And yet, according to you, the incestuous desires of her half-brother, Eudes de Larnay, were at the bottom of the monstrous plot that led to Madame Agnès’s arrest.’

‘Oh, they were. Nonetheless, I am convinced – as is my nephew Francesco – that, unbeknownst to that conceited scoundrel, a far more formidable intelligence was at work behind the scenes. The baron is not a clever man. It wouldn’t surprise me if Florin had not also been the victim of somebody more cunning than he. He paid for it with his life. An excellent outcome in his case.’

‘Do you believe that Madame de Souarcy’s life is still in danger?’

‘If our theories are correct, then yes, without a doubt. Indeed, it almost makes the Grand Inquisitor seem preferable …’

Annelette finished her thought for her:

‘Because at least we knew where the threat was coming from.’

‘Precisely. At present we are in the dark and have no idea who will strike Agnès de Souarcy next – or when.’

‘Do you know who might be behind this?’

‘I have an idea, at least,’ Éleusie replied after a brief pause. ‘In Francesco’s view, whoever is pulling the strings also ordered Benoît’s murder …’

‘Damn him …’ breathed Annelette.

‘I doubt the term even applies to him. He is cunning, extremely intelligent and what is more, my daughter, I am certain that he is not driven by personal glory. His influence in the Vatican must be enormous in order for him to have been informed of the papal emissaries’ missions to Clairets, to have made such an impression on Florin and to have enabled his henchman to gain access to our late lamented Pope.’

Annelette stared at her aghast for a moment before it dawned on her. Suddenly she whispered:

‘Not him! The camerlingo, Honorius Benedetti?’

‘Who else?’

‘Then all is lost.’

‘What makes you say that?’

Now it was Annelette’s turn to hesitate. She had spent sufficient time in Benoît’s entourage when he was still only Nicolas Boccasini, Bishop of Ostia, to know something of the complexities of episcopal or even archiepiscopal politics. If the Abbess, blinded by her unquestioning faith, believed that nominations and elections were the expression of a higher, divine will, then she was very much mistaken. In reality, the apothecary almost envied her the angelic naivety that recent events had not completely managed to eradicate. Finally she spoke:

‘When Boniface VIII died, it was rumoured that Bishop Benedetti had set his sights on the Holy See. To tell you the truth, it came as a terrible shock when Benoît was elected. Everybody was expecting the camerlingo to be the new Pope.’

‘And why wasn’t he?’

‘I would like to be able to say that a miracle came to our aid, but the real reason had more to do with politics. I wonder whether the majority of the cardinals in the conclave weren’t …’ She closed her eyes and shook her head, suddenly uneasy. ‘Honorius Benedetti is a fearsome man. He is at once inspiring, inscrutable, intransigent. His so-called allegiance to Boniface VIII also caused concern, I believe. Unduly, for Benedetti is nobody’s servant. He is a strategist, a thinker. The relationship between the two men was more like an extraordinary collaboration, for I doubt that Benedetti felt any sort of friendship towards the overbearing Boniface. In my opinion the camerlingo does not seek personal power. He likes to think of himself as being above worldly gain. The fact remains that certain people were tired of Boniface’s dubious reputation,2 his oppressive authority, and they voted for the benevolent, gentle Nicolas Boccasini. Perhaps they thought that he would be easy to control. They were mistaken. Benoît’s infinite goodness and purity made him steadfast and unyielding.’

‘Dear God … Are you suggesting that Bishop Benedetti could be our next Pope?’

‘I fear so. Astonishing though it might sound, I am hoping that the King of France’s need for a docile pope will cause him to interfere in the coming election. If he does, Benedetti will be ruled out. Philip the Fair is no fool and his counsellor Guillaume de Nogaret* still less. Honorius Benedetti is the breed of man who will not be swayed by bribes, flattery or threats. He is a past master of the art of trickery and cannot be duped or seduced. If you are right – and I believe you are – he will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. Yes … I want the King’s Pope to be elected.’

Éleusie’s face froze with shock. She stammered:

‘So, you would sacrifice the Church, my daughter!’

‘No, I am simply hoping for a reversal that will save Christianity and more importantly Christianity’s message, which seems to me far more urgent, not to say imperative.’

A heavy silence fell. One thing troubled Annelette. Order. How to order the various elements the Abbess had given her and make sense of them. Finally, her concerns took shape:

‘So, the Vallombroso treatise, written by that poor monk who was probably murdered, found its way into Boniface VIII’s papal library. As for the two birth charts, they were discovered by the Knight Templar at Acre. We might infer from this that Honorius Benedetti’s scholars never managed to decipher them, otherwise Madame de Souarcy would have long since been killed, assuming she plays the crucial role suggested by one of the charts.’

Éleusie studied her daughter, wondering what exactly she was leading up to. She nodded. Annelette went on:

‘In that case, given that they no longer possessed the astrological calculations with which to identify her, how did the camerlingo’s henchmen find her so quickly and plot her destruction?’

Expounded in this way, the error was so glaring that Éleusie was speechless. Her first thought was how to warn Francesco as swiftly as possible of Annelette’s irrefutable conclusion. She whispered:

‘Dear God, Annelette, you are right! Could we have been manipulated from the very beginning? Has the camerlingo placed a spy among us? I shudder at the thought.’

Faces, the sound of voices, snippets of memory flashed through the Abbess’s mind. Who? Could an evildoer have infiltrated their small group of initiates? If so, Benedetti knew their names, as well as Agnès’s. And, if he struck, their quest would be thrown into turmoil. It would never survive. Who? For safety’s sake, they had kept their identities secret from one another.

‘Does Madame de Souarcy suspect how important she is?’

‘How could she, given that we ourselves know so little? We only know that Agnès plays a vital role, but we don’t know why.’

‘If only the chart pointed to her unequivocally.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Éleusie.

‘Let us go back to Eustache de Rioux, Reverend Mother.’

‘Is this a cross-examination?’ retorted Éleusie de Beaufort, who was growing increasingly uneasy.

Annelette was under no misapprehension. The Abbess’s sudden sharpness was a sign of her continuing mistrust.

‘Without a doubt. Time is running short. You said so yourself. Suspicion is a luxury we can ill afford. I am your only ally. Moreover … Consider quickly what I am about to say: if I were one of them, now that these precious documents have been stolen, I could kill you this instant.’

With a deftness that took Éleusie completely by surprise, Annelette pounced on her and held to her throat the tip of a short dagger3 she kept hidden in the pleat at the front of her robe.

‘What! … Good heavens!’ cried the Abbess.

Annelette stepped back, replacing the knife in the cloth scabbard sewn into her robe, and said, tetchily:

‘Pray, spare me a lecture on the impropriety of a woman of God carrying a weapon. I refuse to be a sacrificial lamb. I must continue my mission – which is to protect you. I owe it to God and to our dear departed Benoît.’

Annelette was mistaken. Éleusie had no intention of preaching virtue to her. The possession of a dagger by one of her daughters, which only days before would have angered her, comforted her now, although she reproached herself for negotiating with her faith.

‘The Knight Hospitaller Eustache de Rioux was Francesco de Leone’s godfather in the order. Not only was he a formidable soldier but one of the Hospitallers’ most respected theologians. Is it not an extraordinary coincidence that the Knight Templar chose to entrust him with his notes in the tunnel under Acre moments before the final battle that ended in bloody defeat?’

‘Indeed, it seems extraordinary to us in our ignorance. However, it further proves that this is all part of a greater plan, a plan so complex that it is beyond our understanding. What else did the Templar’s notes reveal?’

‘They contained a curious sentence: “Five women and at the centre a sixth.” As well as a runic prophecy.’

‘What did it predict?’

‘The runes gave advice to the warrior of light who took up the quest – in this case Francesco de Leone. They warned him against his enemies who are powerful and ruthless, and against being mistaken. This was no doubt a reference to the first erroneous astrological calculations. Before escorting the women and children out of the tunnel under the Saint-Jean citadel and perishing in the act, the Knight Templar mentioned a text –“a scroll of papyrus in Aramaic purchased from a Bedouin” – which he went on to describe as one of the most sacred texts in the history of humanity.’

‘Do we know what it contains?’

‘No. The Knight Templar hid the scroll in a safe place, he said.’

‘Do we know where?’ Annelette continued, a catch in her voice.

Éleusie, in a last act of prudence, refrained from mentioning that the Templar commandery at Arville was at the centre of the mystery. She simply shook her head.

‘Is that all? Don’t try to conceal anything more from me, Reverend Mother; time is our most implacable enemy.’

‘That is all I know – except that the key to deciphering the ancient text surely lies in the astrological discoveries contained in the Vallombroso treatise. But they are complex and time-consuming and Francesco has not yet finished studying them. For it appears – and again the scientist in you will be intrigued – that in his treatise the monk not only alluded to the earth moving around the sun but also to the existence of other celestial spheres than those hitherto identified. Three,4 to be precise. Since the first calculation of the birth charts did not take them into account, it was necessarily false.’

‘God Almighty … Other planets, unknown to the great scholars! … I feel honoured to be privy to such extraordinary revelations. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Madame,’ declared Annelette, her eyes brimming with tears. She quickly regained her composure and went on: ‘Does the second birth chart refer to an event or a person?’

‘In all honesty, I have told you everything I know. If it does indeed refer to a second person, what makes him so important as to justify this many deaths in order to guard his secret? Francesco is convinced that the key lies in the ancient scroll in Aramaic. Perhaps he is right.’

Annelette stood up, declaring in a threatening tone:

‘If the treatise and the notebook leave these walls, this important person, if indeed he exists, will be doomed. They will destroy him. And if it isn’t a person but a miraculous event, then Benedetti will make sure it never happens. In other words, these two works must under no circumstances leave the abbey.’

Suddenly prey to a fit of nervous rage, Éleusie all but shouted:

‘Oh really? Do you think me too old or too foolish to have reached the same conclusion? And just how do you suggest we go about it, by scouring every square inch of the abbey grounds?’

‘Of course not. We haven’t time.’

‘Give me a better solution, then.’

‘I’m afraid it will hardly surprise you. I agree with you that the thief and the murderess are one and the same person. All that remains is for us to find her.’

‘Many long weeks have passed since Adélaïde Condeau’s death, during which we have tried, you have tried, unsuccessfully to track her down,’ the Abbess corrected, in an accusing tone.

‘That is true,’ admitted Annelette, her pride wounded. ‘However, if you hadn’t waited so long to confide in me, I would have known where to look, instead of groping around in the dark.’ She added spitefully: ‘And, if I’d been better informed, perhaps Hedwige du Thilay and Yolande de Fleury would still be with us!’

A wave of sorrow engulfed Éleusie, and she lowered her head in order to hide her eyes, which were brimming with tears, from the apothecary. She murmured almost inaudibly:

‘The thought plagues me every night. Forgive me. I beg you, forgive me. Even though I am entirely undeserving and my actions have been unforgivable.’

Annelette felt a wrenching sadness, and rushed over to the distraught woman, embracing her and whispering in her ear:

‘No, Madame, it is I who must beg your forgiveness. I am bitter and resentful because I despair of ever receiving your friendship. No, do not speak. I … I am the one who has acted foolishly, but I am too proud to admit it. I was excited by the prospect of a battle between me and this snake. Blinded by my own arrogance, I aimed to prove that I was the more cunning, the cleverer of the two. I looked for the subtlest ruses, the cleverest way of trapping her when what mattered was swiftness and efficiency. In short, I confess to having selfishly engaged in a battle of wits, forgetting that the most important thing was to find and destroy the culprit.’

With these words she left, devastated by the extent of her own recklessness.

Éleusie remained alone, beside herself with sorrow, speechless and unable to move.