The Saint's Mistress (38 page)

shoulder to nudge a drop of sweat off the tip of her nose, never pausing in her stirring, and I felt

a renewed surge of love for this plain and courageous old daughter of my first friend.

I moved among the various cauldrons, directing more water or more grain or more salt to one

or another as they began to empty. The sun was so bright that my eyes stung, and I had to squint

to recognize Eraclius as he approached me.

“A private word with you, please, Sister,” he said.

I glanced around the courtyard, and then nodded and followed him.

We sat under a tree in a corner of the courtyard, the shade a welcome relief to my eyes.

“How did you think the sermon went today?” Eraclius asked.

“Well, I suppose. Why do you ask me? You know I’m opposed to this whole notion of

presenting this relic and placing so much hope in it.”

“That’s why I ask you.”

I frowned and cocked my head, not understanding him.

“I overheard something on the way back from the cathedral that worried me.” He hesitated

and then went on. “I passed a knot of people listening to a man who looked agitated. When he

noticed my approach, he suddenly stopped speaking, but I know I heard him say ‘I’ve seen it

every year, and that’s not even the same flask.’ That was what you said about the milk when

Marius produced it.”

“I told the truth.”

“I believe you,” Eraclius said. And now I’m sorry that I didn’t argue in defense of your

position.” He compressed his lips, looking away from me for a moment, then said, “The man that

I overhead must have been one of the peasants that came with Bishop Quintus from Thagaste.

And there are others who have seen this relic every year. If many people listen to them, then the

authenticity of the milk will come under question.”

“Yes, it will,” I agreed.

He chewed his lip. “We should pray that they don’t talk to very many, or that nobody believes

them. Even if the man speaks the truth … you must see how dangerous it would be if people

believe him. We’ve already preached the sermon and promised a viewing of the relic in the

forum this evening. Thousands of people will be here, maybe the whole city. Genseric has spies

all over the city, spreading the lie that mercy will be shown if only the city will surrender, and

people are already tense over the water situation. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

I said nothing.

Eraclius slumped and ran his hand through his hair. “When Bishop Augustine accepted the

relic, I believed with all my heart that it must truly be the milk of Saint Perpetua. You have to

understand how strict he has been in the past over these claims. Always he demanded proof, and

what more proof could you have than the word of two men of God, one of them a bishop and one

of his oldest friends?”

“And now you have to share this with him.”

Eraclius’s squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I know. I wanted to talk to you first,

and be sure of the truth I was beginning to suspect. I don’t know what we can do, though, expect

go through with the viewing and pray for the best.”

“I think prayer is our only hope right now,” I agreed.

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The presentation of the relic was scheduled for Sunday evening, and Bishop Augustine’s

inner circle met in his office on Sunday afternoon to decide what was to be done in light of

Eraclius’ news.

“One rumor being spread by one person – probably one of Genseric’s spies,” Marius scoffed.

“With all due respect, Eraclius, you’ve blown this out of proportion.”

“Except for the fact that the man he overheard was telling the truth,” I argued.

Marius ignored me. “One man spreading rumors, out of a population of many thousands. It’s

ridiculous to think that there’s any significance to it.”

General Boniface, restless as always, prowled the perimeter of the room. He looked even

more exhausted than when I had first seen him, after his defeated army streamed through the

gates of Hippo. His face was grayish and deeply creased, and dark circles ringed his eyes. He

rubbed at his face wearily as he spoke. “This city is like dry tinder in the fall, just waiting for a

spark like this. It’s true that Genseric has spies everywhere. The second they get wind of this,

they’ll all be spreading it and we could have full rebellion on our hands.”

“But, we’ve already said that the relic will be presented this evening! We can’t change our

minds now!” Marius insisted.

“The fact is most of these people want to give up,” Eraclius said.

“Then it’s up to us to save their souls for them,” Bishop Augustine said. “They must not

surrender to the heretics.”

Boniface flushed and looked away for a minute. I knew that his wife and children, safe in

Carthage, were baptized Arians, and therefore heretics themselves. He composed himself and

looked at Augustine again. “You and I both know that, heresy aside, we’ll all be put to the sword

the minute the Vandals pass through the gates. Surrender is not an option. But, if we attempt to

pass this thing off as miraculous and it comes under question, our authority is undermined.”

“You’re afraid of a few whispers?” Marius scoffed.

Boniface slammed his fist on the table. “I’m afraid of anarchy! I don’t know how much longer

my soldiers can keep this city from wholesale rebellion!”

“Then what’s your better idea?” Marius shouted.

Boniface turned red and paced back to his usual place at the window without answering.

Nobody else had an answer. Quintus opened his mouth and lifted his trembling hand as if he

wanted to say something, but then looked away.

“It may be,” Augustine conceded, “that I was hasty in my approval and that we have made a

mistake. But we have to think now of the spirit of the city. They’ve already taken a blow with the

severing of the aqueduct. If we now withdraw this hope from them, they may grow violent, or

surrender to heresy. Our hearts are pure in this, and I am convinced that if what we present is not

entirely truthful, God will forgive us.”

“Some already know that this is no more the milk of Saint Perpetua than it is my own.” I

lifted a hand to my own shriveled breasts.

“We must pray that hope triumphs over rumor,” he replied. “And I must ask you to be of help

to us in that.”

“I don’t want any part of this,” I said.

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I ask that you stand with Marius and Bishop Quintus

when the relic is presented. You are known and loved by many of the poor of this city already,

and you are known as a long-time resident of Thagaste who would have seen the relic many

times over the years. If you lend your support, more people may be persuaded.”

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“But I know it’s a lie!” I looked to Boniface for support, but he was gazing out the window

with his back to us. I turned then to Eraclius, whom I had begun to count as a friend.

“The bishop is right,” Eraclius pleaded. “Your presence may be persuasive to some. It could

make the difference, and it seems we have no better choice. You don’t need to speak. Just join

us, this is all we ask.”

I thought of the terrified eyes that I had seen that morning in the cathedral courtyard, and

knew that Hippo was on the precipice of despair and anarchy. I had no illusion at all that God

would work a miracle through Marius’ worthless vial, but held to the hope that perhaps He

would still work a miracle through our own efforts, and I saw an opportunity to win something

that I wanted personally as well, and so I said, “You can have my support under one condition. I

want a receipt for the grain that I delivered as my tithe to Bishop Quintus.”

“General Boniface seized that grain,” Marius snapped.

I fixed my gaze on Bishop Augustine, who had promised to persuade Quintus and Marius.

“The Church and the military governor jointly made the decision to take charge of all the

grain in the city,” Augustine said. “Sister Leona delivered the tithe to you as promised, and then

you and your bishop generously handed it over to us to be used to feed the city. We thank you

for that. Are we agreed, my old friend?” He ignored Marius and looked at Quintus instead.

Quintus blinked and looked from Augustine to Marius and then closed his eyes and folded his

hands for a moment. When he raised his head, he said, “Yes, it’s as my old friend the bishop

says. We must be concerned for the welfare of the souls under our care, and not distract

ourselves with these worldly matters.”

Marius flushed.

“I want a written receipt,” I said.

“Fine,” Marius spat.

“Then I agree.”

Heat still covered Hippo like a heavy cloak that evening, when the city began to gather in the

forum for the viewing of Saint Perpetua’s milk.

The old Mithran Temple had a second-story portico, and Quintus and Augustine had decided

that this was the best place to present the relic, so that everyone gathered in the forum would get

a glimpse of it. Quintus would present it, Marius would speak, and the prominent clergy of

Hippo would stand behind them in the portico. Boniface had provided a small contingent of

legionnaires in the forum to keep order.

I sat sweating in the portico, with Marius’ receipt in my waist-bag and Lucy at my side,

waiting for Quintus to stand and present the vial. I felt light-headed from thirst, and sticky with

sweat under my wool tunic. The forum stood on the highest hill in Hippo, and caught a breeze

from the sea, but even the sea breeze was hot, and sticky with salt, on this sultry evening.

Marius stood and spoke first. “Christians of Hippo,” he shouted. “The Lord sees how you

have been steadfast against the barbarian heretics, and has thus far preserved you from their fire

and sword. There are those in the city who would persuade you that the barbarian Genseric will

show mercy to the city if only we will surrender.” He paused, so that his words could be repeated

in the forum for those standing too far back to hear him. The space was packed, and the earthy

stench of several thousand unwashed bodies clogged my nostrils.

“Don’t believe them,” he went on. “Those words are spoken by spies sent to the city by

Genseric before the start of the siege. Look around you, and see how many refugees arrived in

the weeks before the siege. Any of them could be spies and heretics, sent to spread lies.”

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Alarm stabbed at my gut. I knew, of course, why Marius wanted to place suspicion on

refugees to the city, but I wondered what unintended violence he might encourage with his

words.

“This is Genseric’s mercy.” Marius brought forward a man I hadn’t seen before, a hideous

sight, with knots of scar tissue where his ears had been, and sunken red holes in place of his eyes.

I could see from the drool on his chin that his tongue had also been cut out. The people nearest

the front of church gasped, and a murmur began to spread from the front of the crowd to the

back.

“This is what Genseric does to any who try to surrender – if he lets them live,” Marius

shouted. “Don’t listen to the lies of Genseric’s spies – and, remember, anyone you don’t know

could be a spy sent by the heretics. Surrender won’t save us, brothers and sisters. Only a miracle

can save us.” He paused. “In church today you were promised the sight of a relic of a miracle:

the milk of the martyred mother, Saint Perpetua.”

Eraclius helped Quintus to stand. I saw him grasp Quintus’s elbow when my old adversary

momentarily lost his balance and seemed ready to topple backwards. Once he was steady,

Quintus slowly lifted the vial over his head. The old bishop’s face looked ecstatic and lit from

within, and I realized that, against the evidence of his own eyes, he truly believed that he held the

vial of the saint’s milk.

“In this vial,” Marius proclaimed, “drops of the saint’s milk have been miraculously preserved

for almost two hundred years, drops of a liquid even more precious than water. If God could lend

Perpetua the strength to be martyred for her faith, if God could then preserve her milk for two

centuries, how much more can He do for us in our time of dire need? We need only demonstrate

our faith, brothers and sisters!”

Marius paused again, to let his words filter through to the crowd in the back, then resumed his

oration. “Let us all kneel and pray that we will be as faithful and courageous as the martyred

Saint Perpetua!”

The crowd stirred and began to kneel, but something flew through my line of sight, and

suddenly Quintus fell to the ground. Another missile landed at my feet. We were being pelted

with rocks. Lucy wrapped herself around me and pushed me to the floor.

I could hear sharp voices among the panicked murmuring of the crowd in the forum. “Lies!”

“The relic is a fake!” “Surrender before we die of thirst!”