Sylvia (44 page)

I had unfortunately brought much of this upon myself by telling Father Hermann and Nicholas what had happened in the Church after the archbishop had driven out the congregation. I should have known that neither would be able to contain themselves and they spread the story freely, with Nicholas including the entire incident in a subsequent sermon to many hundreds of children.

The only true witnesses, apart from myself, were the two clerics who, throughout the inquiry by the bishop and despite his efforts to get them to modify their viewpoint, had unfortunately remained obdurate. The archbishop, they maintained, had seemed truly possessed, if not by the devil, then certainly by an evil spirit. They described how he had taken to beating them severely with a section of his broken shepherd's crook. How in the process of this uncalled-for beating, one of them had seen me stoop to regain my habit and had seen the cross and fish symbol suddenly materialise on my back. He'd pointed and shouted out the single urgent word, ‘Look!'

Whereupon, he claimed, the archbishop ceased beating them and turned to see the crucified fish and the cross on the back of the nun they named the Petticoat Angel. They then both witnessed that his eyes filled with fear and, dropping the broken crook, he'd clutched at his heart with both hands. Moments later he crashed with a groan to the flagstones. The two clerics, rather vaingloriously, told how they'd immediately administered the last rites but feared the archbishop was already struck dead. Asked if they believed the archbishop had been struck by the Almighty or by Satan, they wisely agreed they could not say. They proved to be loose-tongued and instead of keeping what they'd seen to themselves they'd told the two templars, Father Paulus and, it seemed, the three old women who cleaned the church. So that what had occurred when I'd come out of my trance was soon the subject of general gossip. It further confirmed my status as the one chosen to chase the devil from the church and to reduce the mayhem in the square.

Of course, I had not been present when the two clerics appeared at the bishop's inquiry. The bishop, aware that I had become a central figure in the incident and, also through Fathers Hermann and Paulus, knowing of the matters of the birds and the blood on the rose, called them as witnesses to my character. It was Fathers Hermann and Paulus who later told me of the evidence given by the two clerics, and unfortunately Father Hermann had once again told others of the inquiry, so that the evidence of the two clerics served only to confirm the earlier version of what had happened in the Church.

This, as might be expected, fired the brouhaha anew and there seemed some evidence that someone somewhere in the Church was taking note since the bishop, who might normally have been consecrated as the new archbishop, was passed over by Rome. A new archbishop who was unknown to the local population was duly appointed. Anxious to settle the matter of the death of his predecessor and to calm the people of Cologne, he called for a second inquiry to examine what he described as ‘new evidence'.

It was to this inquiry that I was summoned and fetched by a standard-bearing troop of six of the archbishop's splendidly uniformed soldiers on horseback and with a pretty mare bearing a side-saddle brought for me. On the route to the archbishop's palace we travelled along the banks of the Rhine and through the busy markets. By honouring a peasant in such a grand manner the archbishop was desirous of letting the people of Cologne know that he was attending to their urgent concerns.

It must be said that the new Prince of the Church faced a difficult task. The pious people of Cologne were already predisposed to think me sanctified. In their minds they believed they possessed four previous reasons for this without adding the recent incident in the church and the square. They talked of my miraculous appearance in the bathhouse in front of the three whores that had caused them to flee nude and to forsake their wicked past; the symbol of the fish, the mark of Christ, the three women swore they'd seen upon my back and its further existence also confirmed by the bathhouse attendant; my calling of the birds in St Martin's square; and, on that same occasion, the blood on the Virgin's pure white rose was now well-known and accepted. All four incidents had combined to convince them of my spiritual significance. And now, not only the fish symbol previously upon my back, but added to it the miraculous sign of the cross.

The bishop, by excommunicating me, had, they asserted, denied the Petticoat Angel the comfort and sanctuary of the Church. They claimed that I was being sacrificed in order to exonerate the devil-incarnate archbishop. The appearance of the cross embracing the fish taking place in front of the high altar clearly indicated that God had chosen me and not the dead archbishop as the one who was innocent and His beloved servant. Moreover, further proof of this blessed approval was my singing the
Gloria in Excelsis Deo
on the steps of St Martin's that caused the chanting in the square to finally cease.

Added to all this, another complication had arisen for the new archbishop. With the blessing and encouragement of Father Hermann, known as a greatly respected and visionary priest at St Mary's on the Kapitol, a youth from the streets who called himself Nicholas of Cologne, also well-known by the city's population, was preaching daily to a thousand or more children. He had also been present with the Petticoat Angel at the chanting in the square, where it was said the Holy Spirit had descended upon him and witnessed through him that he should lead a Children's Crusade to Jerusalem.

To even further complicate the situation, the Pope was at that very moment calling for pilgrims and recruiting soldiers to embark on a new crusade against the infidel in Egypt. Now the people of Cologne were saying it was clear that God had ordained that this crusade should be composed entirely of children; that not Egypt but Jerusalem should be its destination, with the purpose of regaining the Holy Sepulchre.This notion gained even further credence when news arrived that a boy preacher known as Stephen of Cloyes had presented a letter, said to be from Christ, to the king of France. He too preached about a crusade to Jerusalem led by children and, like Nicholas of Cologne, it was claimed that tens of thousands of French children were being swept up in the movement. The assertion was that the advent of the two movements started simultaneously and at too great a distance apart to be a coordinated effort and, too strange an occurrence to be a mere coincidence, was clearly the work of God.

Upon my grand arrival at the archbishop's palace the four of us who had been excommunicated met again. Sister Angelica, now Lady Angelica von Essen, appeared gorgeously attired in the very latest and most expensive gown and high, feathered hat accompanied by her personal maid. Lady Freda, less ostentatious, but well attired as a minor noblewoman, stood with her, while Rosa, in the brown linen shift and heavy boots of a peasant, stood apart and was ignored until I joined her.

I was dressed by Frau Sarah who had insisted that I should be able to hold my own with anyone and be seen as the proper lady I had become. In deference to the Petticoat Angel my gown was of a simple design and made of purest linen dyed as blue as a cloudless summer sky and I wore white, calfskin pointed slippers slightly splayed at the ankles. It was the cut of the gown that made the whole difference and it showed off my slim figure to the utmost. ‘Even an archbishop must admire a beautiful young woman,' Frau Sarah had said, well pleased with the result. As always I wore no wimple and my hair had grown a little. She'd tut-tutted about the crude act of shaving it, despite her own religion requiring that her head be shaved in marriage. She'd cut and snipped and shaped my hair so that it sat in a soft bowl about my head and then she'd brushed it until it shone like the morning sun.

We were ushered into an anteroom leading from the great hall and asked to wait. Upon first seeing me a smug-looking Lady Angelica turned to Lady Freda and sniffed, ‘You may dress a peasant in finery but she remains yet a peasant underneath.'

No longer subject to the restrictions imposed on me by my inferior position at the convent I was free to answer back. ‘Ah, Lady Angelica, you may well speak of underneath. For try as you might to cover up with silks and bows, I have seen your own underneath and thy tits, poor empty sacks, do sag halfway to thy waist, while thy bum is much too large and wobbles deeply dimpled!' In truth, I had barely noticed their nudity in the church, being much too upset and preoccupied with regaining my habit and boots. My wimple I never found.

Lady Freda and Lady Angelica's personal maid gasped at my temerity while Rosa, wide-eyed, brought her hand up to her mouth to conceal her delight. ‘You'll pay for this, you bitch! I shall speak to my brother,' the former tormentor hissed.

I shrugged. ‘What else can he do? We are already by his hand disowned by the Church and all of us condemned to hell.'

‘You'll soon see!' she spat.

The hearing took place in the great hall of the archbishop's castle, and despite the early summer sunshine it was a cold and draughty place of flagstones, flags and stone-carved saints. Lady Angelica's brother, the bishop who had expelled us from the Church, Fathers Hermann and Paulus and at least twenty other ecclesiastics were present. The archbishop, in a high-backed chair that carried his noble crest, sat at the centre of a long banquet table while the priests, clerks and scribes were seated at either side of him. We stood at its centre on the opposite side facing the Lord Archbishop.

Like his late predecessor, who despite being under his patronage I had scarcely known beyond a curtsy given and a grunt returned, the new archbishop was a very large man. His enormous head carried a face of almost perfect circumference, its roundness spoiled only by dewlapped cheeks that hung a good thumb-notch beyond his jawbone on either side of a small petulant mouth. His small dark eyes were set into bruised sockets under coarse, untidy, salt-and-peppery eyebrows. His nose, a twin-burrowed bump, seemed hardly noticed in so large a face. Whether bald atop or not I couldn't say, for his mitre sat resplendent and seemed raised from his brow almost to touch the soot-darkened beams that spanned the underside of the roof. The overall effect was a face of gravitas that, in repose, seemed to disapprove of all it saw.

He began with a short prayer, mumbled and unintelligible. Then he looked up sternly, his bruised eyes sweeping across our faces. ‘You well know why you are here,' he said in a stentorian voice, then turning first to each side of his chair declared, ‘We, the bishops and servants of Christ are gathered today to do Christ's bidding in the matter of the excommunication of these four women who stand before us. We must decide if they may regain a state of grace within the Holy Church of Rome.' With this frightening prologue concluded he leaned back, his hands clasped about his enormous belly. In an avuncular tone, different and surprisingly unaffected, he asked, ‘Now, what have you to say for yourselves, eh?'

I was completely taken aback, expecting some long and ecclesiastical diatribe and not this almost fatherly voice. There is always a pecking order in these things and I waited for Lady Angelica to speak or even Lady Freda, though I expected it would be the opinionated former Sister Angelica. But none spoke.

‘Hmm? The devil take your tongue? What say you now – speak up, someone!' the archbishop said, though still in a pleasant and inquiring tone.

Whereupon Lady Angelica suddenly burst into tears, all the while crying out that she was deeply sorry. ‘My Lord, I am sorry, deeply sorry,' she wept copiously, ‘deeply, deeply sorry!' Then she began to howl her misery in a most undignified and childish manner, her head thrown back and her lungs pumping out her wailing. Lady Freda, affected by this spectacular lachrymal display, immediately joined in, the two noble ladies wringing their penitent hands and wailing at the top of their voices. Rosa simply bent her head and sniffed, and I remained mute, though thankfully free of tears.

‘Tut, tut . . . we cannot have a hearing if there is only weeping and wailing,' he called out. He looked at me. ‘You, what say you? What's your name?' he shouted.

‘Sylvia Honeyeater, my Lord Archbishop,' I said, my voice drowned in the howling.

‘Eh?' He brought his hand to his ear.

‘Sylvia Honeyeater!' I shouted out.

‘Well then, Sylvia Honeyeater, speak up at once!' Then before I could answer he threw up his hands. ‘Will someone throw those wailing women out!' Then turning back to me, commanded, ‘You wait there!'

The two women had now commenced to weep at a slightly lower tone. A porter approached and Rosa looked up at me. ‘Go,' I whispered, raising my eyebrow in his direction. With Angelica and Freda still sobbing and gulping and crying out that they were ‘terribly, terribly sorry', the porter led them back to the anteroom followed by Rosa, who kept looking behind as if undecided. With a backward flick of my hand, I encouraged her to continue. Perhaps it was arrogant of me, but I felt that Rosa could add nothing to the proceedings and in her peasant garb seemed totally ill at ease and overcome by the awesome gathering of priests and scribes. I was, of course, delighted at the archbishop's dismissal of the other two.

I cannot claim I wasn't terrified, because that wouldn't be true, but I knew that now I alone would be responsible for what was said. If condemned a second time, it would be after a defence constructed by myself and I hoped that some of Brother Dominic's lessons on reasoning might be used in our defence. With the other two, especially with Lady Angelica's arrogance a component, the result, had they been permitted to stay, could easily have been disaster. Or so I reasoned. But then I recalled the spiteful ‘You'll soon see!' she had spat at me in the anteroom. Did this suggest that she'd spoken with her brother the bishop? In any noble family would it not be a natural thing to do? It suddenly occurred to me that her tears might well be at the bishop's direction to show extreme contrition in front of the new archbishop. She was by nature a hard-faced bitch and, now that I thought of it, her dramatic tearfulness seemed odd in one with such an acerbic and spiteful tongue. Thinking further upon it, Lady Freda's eyes had splashed sudden tears as if only waiting for the right moment to begin.