The Book of Love (24 page)

They talked about the most recent developments and the strange clues, theorized over who could be behind the hostilities and what their next steps should be. Peter proposed they get together, all three of them, after Bérenger had the opportunity to spend some time with Maureen alone. They vowed to work together toward a higher purpose; it was long past time to do so. At the end of their meeting they embraced warmly, both men feeling relieved and strangely buoyant after the conversation. There is no greater healing than that which comes with forgiveness and reconciliation.

As Sinclair moved to leave, Peter called after him, “And, Bérenger, just know that this one thing is certain. I have chosen my master. And you can be sure that I have chosen wisely this time.”

He pounded his fist on the desk for emphasis. “Come what may, I will never be on the wrong side again.”

Palace of Verdun, city of Stenay
region of Lorraine
October 1069

H
e was certainly unattractive and technically deformed, but he wasn’t quite as monstrous as she had anticipated.

Until he opened his mouth.

Matilda faced the man she was to marry across the enormous and ornate dining hall at Verdun. She had dressed carefully, doing her best to look entirely feminine and every inch a duchess. She was gowned in an exquisite sea-foam silk shot through with golden thread, and matching gold baubles that were a gift from her stepfather. Her glorious hair was loose, flowing to her waist with fine golden chains braided into the strands at the temples.

They had been left alone to dine together and to begin the process of getting acquainted. The younger Godfrey had enough resemblance to his father that if she squinted a bit, she could almost make him tolerable to look at. Although the elder Godfrey was tall and lean, the younger was large and fleshy. He wasn’t obese, exactly, but his deformity no doubt left it impossible for him to find much exercise. And it was equally unfortunate that the intelligence and wit that informed the senior Godfrey’s face was missing from his son’s. The features of this
man were set in a perpetual scowl. Matilda was not yet sure if this was a part of his legendary deformity or if years of bitterness had simply twisted his face.

The hunched back whence his nickname derived was a congenital defect. Her stepfather had explained that his son had been born with an unfortunate disability that left him bent over, rather severely. The resulting insecurities it had created in him as a child were exacerbated by the cruelties that were inflicted upon him as a result of his appearance. It had turned him into a quarrelsome and difficult human being. Further, because he had little control over his physical body, he had become obsessed with everything that he could control, including his holdings in Lorraine, what he now relished as his future holdings in Tuscany, and his betrothed wife. Still, her stepfather assured her that the younger Godfrey was not a cruel man, even if he wasn’t the most pleasant, and that Matilda was clever enough to learn to handle her future husband in such a way that ultimately he might learn to treat her with benign respect.

At the moment, he wasn’t feeling the least bit benign. He jumped immediately into a litany of all the things he would not tolerate from her.

“I am told that you are headstrong and often behave in a way that is unseemly for a woman. While such behavior may be acceptable in the untamed wilds of Tuscany, it is most certainly inappropriate in a place as civilized as Lorraine. Not in my lands, and not from my wife. You will not leave this house unless properly dressed in a wimple and veil that covers your unnatural hair at all times. I will not have men looking at you with lust as a result of your wanton appearance. It is understood here that women with such red hair are possessed of loose morals and belong only in brothels. They are believed to be consorts of the devil. No proper man in Lorraine takes a red-haired woman to wife as a result, and I am alarmed that your own hair is so…lurid. While I was forewarned of your appearance, it was not described to me in quite so vivid terms. You should know that women have lost their lives here for simply looking the way that you do at this moment. The wimple is for
your own good as well as my protection against any proclivities you may show toward such wanton behavior. Should you disobey me in this, I will have your head shaved and kept under a veil.

“Further, you must understand that I will be the new duke of Tuscany once we are married, and I will handle all administration of those lands. That my father has allowed you to do so is a disgrace, and proof of his deteriorated state and weakness. Clearly, this is also why he did not send you to me at sixteen as I was promised. Had I suspected any of this weakness, I would have come to Tuscany years ago to set things right.”

The hunchback’s current assertion that he would be running Tuscany—her Tuscany—was sticking in Matilda’s craw at the moment, making it impossible for her to touch the food on her plate. She wanted to throw her knife at him but managed to keep her hands placidly in her lap. Matilda remained quiet rather than risk opening her mouth, not sure she could trust what might come out of it. But her betrothed wasn’t nearly finished with his list of requirements.

“I am told that you have brought a confessor with you, a Fra Patricio from Lucca. I would speak to him to be certain that he is acceptable in my household, as I understand that you are connected to unseemly heresies that come from Tuscany. You will behave as a proper Catholic in my household at all times, do you understand this?”

What she didn’t understand was which was more offensive: that he was giving her orders, that he was tremendously misinformed, or that he spoke to her like she was the village idiot. Matilda was seething, but she wouldn’t let him see it. She was smarter than he was. Infinitely smarter. She would treat this entire encounter as a game of strategy that must be played out. This was war, and it would be filled with battles that she would be required to win in order to maintain her freedom and her properties. Only in this case, the battlefield would be the dining table and the bedroom.

She opened her aquamarine eyes very wide and explained with grave innocence, “But sir, my confessor is not from Lucca. He is from the pious lands of Calabria, deep in the south, and has no connection
whatsoever to the heresies of Tuscany. You will know instantly by his accent and his dark skin that he is Calabrian. He was, in fact, chosen to prepare me to become a good and worthy Catholic wife for you.”

Godfrey looked at her for a moment before grunting what appeared to be his approval and ripping into his chicken with gluttonous gusto. His table manners were disgusting, but at least when his mouth was full he wasn’t talking.

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, other than the sounds of the hunchback devouring his food. His final words to her before excusing himself were even more charming than his introductory sentences had been.

“I want to have many children, and I will expect to get sons on you immediately. I only hope that at twenty-three you are not too old to give me what I require. Had you been given to me at sixteen, we would have a house full of boys by this time. If it turns out that you are too old, then I will take a younger wife. And I will keep your holdings. Regardless of what is considered customary in the barbaric regions of Tuscany, that is most certainly the right of a gentleman in Lorraine.”

Matilda bit her tongue until it bled. If this is what passed as a gentleman in Lorraine, she would gladly call herself a barbarian.

Matilda had prayed her way across the Alps, working with Patricio to approach her fate in the Way of Love, by finding good in all God’s children. She had taken a vow to live by that principle and she intended to adhere to her vow to the best of her ability, keeping in mind at all times that she wasn’t a saint and didn’t plan to become one. God bless Patricio’s patience, which she had no doubt stretched to its limits on the long trek from Tuscany. But by the time they arrived in Verdun, Matilda had been fully prepared to approach the hunchback in a loving manner. She had sincerely hoped that perhaps they could find some form of friendship with each other. And if the younger Godfrey was a good man, a worthy conversationalist, and a decent chess partner, she
might even learn to love him. Sadly, this was not to be. While she had yet to face off against him on a chessboard, she was certain that he did not possess the first two qualities.

In essence, what the hunchback was doing was no better than what Henry would attempt if she were unmarried—which was to lay claim to her holdings and call them his own while completely eradicating all her rights and imprisoning her here in the frigid north. Was there really a difference? She didn’t see one. At least she wouldn’t have to sleep with Henry. Or dine with him. So, how was this situation better?

She called her mother and stepfather together to present these questions to them. While Godfrey’s health was in a rapid state of deterioration, he was still the duke of Lorraine, a man who had brokered papacies and ruled over kingdoms. And he dearly loved Matilda and cared about her happiness and security.

Matilda presented her case with such efficient logic that neither her mother nor Godfrey the elder could immediately respond with a solid reason why she should go through with the marriage. This situation was rapidly escalating into a crisis and clearly taking its toll on her ailing stepfather. Godfrey requested that Matilda give him a few days to consider a solution, and to have serious words with his son.

Matilda had one more issue to address. “Why do the servants look at me as if I have two heads? Is it my coloring that terrifies them so?”

Godfrey explained to Matilda that it was understood that only women of the bloodline had her physical characteristics, therefore all women with such coloring were heretics. In previous generations, the accusation of heresy escalated into that of witchcraft, a crime that carried a mandatory death sentence.

“When I was a young boy, a number of women who were guilty of no crime other than their red hair were tortured, mutilated, and burned in the town square after suffering the humiliation of ‘parading,’ a spectacle that has since been thankfully outlawed in civilized Lorraine.”

Matilda wasn’t sure she wanted to know but asked anyway. “Parading?”

Godfrey elaborated. “A red-haired woman was shackled at the
wrists, feet, and neck and made to walk naked as the villagers pelted her with stones and rotten vegetables. She was exposed for all to see that the mark of her coloring was present in the most private and shameful places of her body. This was deemed proof of witchcraft, as it was decreed that the only cause of such an unnatural physical characteristic was…oral congress with the devil himself.”

Matilda shuddered at the ignorance. What had once been a genetic disposition that indicated a woman was descended from the exalted lineage of Jesus and Magdalena had become a dangerous curse. It evolved from the sacred mark of a healer and prophetess to the condemning mark of a witch.

“Sadly, the peasant classes are still highly superstitious, and therefore the servants are extremely curious and more than a little afraid of you. I should have warned you, perhaps, but I have been long away and had hoped to see more progress here in my own home.”

Godfrey sighed but then took control by rapidly changing the subject. “I will speak to my son and make everything right.”

He then encouraged Matilda to explore the verdant lands in Lorraine before the winter hit and it became too cold to ride, knowing that getting her out and on a horse would improve her mood. And while it wasn’t Tuscany, she might discover that there was much beauty to love in his part of the world.

Matilda left her parents and sought out Patricio. She told him to be ready in the morning, as they were going riding, off on an adventure to find her Valley of Gold. That is what she came here for, after all, wasn’t it?

Matilda was happiest on horseback. She rode through a lush forest, her hair blowing behind her without the restraint of the horrid wimple that she had torn off without ceremony as soon as she was out of sight of Verdun. In spite of herself, she had to acknowledge the beauty of the place. It was cold, to be sure, and it certainly wasn’t Tuscany, but it had
its own natural magic. Patricio was by her side, racing with her, taunting her, and losing. Matilda was impossible to beat on a horse. She was fearless to the point of recklessness, but she was also highly skilled. The one thing she could say in favor of the hunchback was that he had fine taste in horseflesh. Their mounts were beautiful and spirited, with tremendous endurance. They had ridden hard, determined to cover as much of the forest as possible in search of the Vale of Gold, the place Matilda had seen in her vision. So far, there was an abundance of verdant landscape, but she had not yet found the water source.

By the afternoon, Matilda started to feel shivery. It was a strange sensation, nearly indescribable, so she slowed her mount and allowed herself the experience. It was as if she was positioned at the crossroads of time: she had a surreal sense of past, present, and future coming together all at once. It made her a little dizzy, yet it was also exhilarating.

When the feeling waned, she pushed her horse forward again. Patricio followed, and as they rounded a bend in the forest, a small pond came into view.

It was there, just as she had seen it in the vision. A pond that was fed by a stream so that they might water the horses. They dismounted and Patricio offered to lead the horses to the stream, agreeing that Matilda needed to walk on her own toward the clearing up ahead. So far, it was all as she had seen in the vision. A single white swan glided past, looking back over its shoulder as if to say,
Follow me.
And then Matilda heard it: the sound of the young girl’s voice in the distance. She heard her giggle as she came closer to the clearing.

There were the beams of afternoon sun glittering through the trees and catching the surface of water just ahead. Matilda moved toward it, already knowing it was a well. Leaning over to gaze into the water, Matilda was convinced of the fathomless depths, that this well was indeed sacred and ran deep into the earth. There was a kind of magic here in this place. The forest itself was ancient, primeval, a place of deep and natural power. It would be a fine location to build their monument to love and wisdom.

Dipping her hands gently into the dark and frigid water, Matilda
did not feel her cherished gold ring, the seal of Maria Magdalena, loosen at first. It slid off her finger so quickly that all she could do was watch in horror as her treasure drifted into the depths of the well.

Matilda screamed.

Kneeling down at the stone edge of the well, Matilda searched the water to see if she could catch a glimpse of the ring, but it was hopeless. Rising slowly to her feet in resignation, she caught a sudden glimmer of something flashing in the water. Splash! An enormous fish, a type of trout glittering with golden scales, leaped from the water in the well, then back into the depths. She waited to see if the remarkable fish would return. Another splash split the water, and the trout leaped in the air again, this time seeming to move in slow motion. Protruding from the fish’s mouth was her precious ring.