Tracing the Shadow (26 page)

CHAPTER 20

“Maistre de Joyeuse’s new anthem is ravishingly beautiful, Celestine.” Gauzia twirled around the girls’ narrow convent cell. “I can’t believe that he wrote it especially for me to sing. It’s such an honor.” She stopped for a moment in front of the little mirror and tweaked an errant curl back into place.

Celestine listened in silence, slowly dragging a comb through her hair. She could not be sure whether Gauzia was so excited that she could not contain herself, or if she was rattling on expressly to provoke her.

“We’re leaving for the final rehearsal at ten. We’re taking a carriage to the Forteresse. I suppose that means you’ll have to manage without me somehow at Saint Meriadec’s today. Though I heard the Maistre say that one of his younger students was going to play the organ in his place. We won’t be back till late, after vespers.”

Another lesson canceled—and he had not even taken the trouble to tell her himself. And what was with this “we”? It sounded as if there was more than a master-student relationship between Gauzia and the Maistre.

“Of course, all the most important members of the Commanderie will be there: the Inquisitor, Captain de Lanvaux, the Grand Maistre himself. And it’s even rumored that Prince Enguerrand will attend. Sergius is his patron saint…” Gauzia stopped. “Listen to me, chattering on.” Gauzia gave Celestine a condescending smile. “I must save my voice for the rehearsal.”

Heart troubled with conflicting emotions, Celestine entered the chapel of Saint Meriadec. As she went into the vestry and took off her grey lay sister’s hooded cloak, she felt that the cloth was damp. It must have started to drizzle as she walked through the streets and she had been so preoccupied that she had not even noticed.

“No Gauzia today?”

Celestine recognized Angelique’s voice and turned around, grateful to see a friendly face. “It’s her big moment. She’s singing at the Feast Day in the Forteresse.”

“I see.” Angelique nodded, handing Celestine her choir robe. “I imagine she’s pretty insufferable right now.”

“She mentioned that there was a new student playing for the service today.” Celestine changed the subject for fear she would say aloud what she really thought of Gauzia.

“He’s only seventeen but very talented.” Angelique gave Celestine a mysterious smile. “I heard a rumor from the older sisters that Captain de Lanvaux discovered him in Armel and brought him to Lutèce to study. So you share the same patron.”

Another of the captain’s protégés? Celestine was intrigued, in spite of her dejected mood.

The candles were lit in the choir stall glasses, for even though it was only four in the afternoon, the greyness of the sky outside made the light too dim to see to read the music. And as the choir began to sing, they were accompanied by the insistent patter of the rain against the stained-glass windows.

Maistre de Joyeuse’s deputy had been dispatched to conduct in his master’s place. Placid in temperament, he favored careful, easygoing tempi, taking no risks with difficult phrases. Celestine kept glancing surreptitiously toward the organ loft. Frustratingly, it was impossible to see anything of the new organist from her position in the choir stalls. And after a while, she forgot that a novice was playing, so competent and unobtrusive was his accompaniment. But when the time came for him to play alone at the end of the service, a paean of notes came tumbling out into the dimly lit chapel, lighting it up with the brilliance of its fanfares. The exuberance of his performance wiped all other concerns from Celestine’s mind; she moved slowly as they filed out, entranced.

“Jolivert’s ‘Chromatic Prelude,’” whispered one of the elder sisters. “That piece is fiendishly difficult to play!” Celestine strained for a clearer look at the virtuosic organist but saw only the back of his dark head as he bent over the console.

In the vestry, the sisters began to chatter excitedly as they put on their cloaks. “What a magnificent technique! The boy’s a real discovery. Such talent, so young…”

“We’re leaving, Celestine,” called Angelique. But Celestine stayed at the open vestry door, listening until the last blaze of notes died away. She was curious to see the gifted young musician with whom she shared a patron. After a little while, the lamp in the organ loft was extinguished. The bellows boys emerged from beneath the console, play-punching each other in a mock fight, and scampered off, yet still there was no sign of the organist. Had he already slipped away out of one of the rear doors? Disappointed, Celestine pulled up her hood and left the vestry—and almost bumped into someone crossing in front of the altar.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“No, the fault was mine.” The sacristan was extinguishing the candles; in the dreary rainlight slanting into the shadowed chapel, she saw a tall, lean young man clutching a folder of music. She had a brief impression of dark, intense eyes in a pale scholar’s face and a skein of untidy black hair tumbling about his shoulders.

“You were the organist, weren’t you?” she said, surprised at her own boldness. “Your playing was truly inspired. Thank you.”

She saw his dark eyes widen at the compliment.

“Jagu!” a man called from the open doorway.

“Coming.” The young organist turned and hurried down the nave toward the entrance. Celestine followed, but by the time she reached the open door, the chapel steps, glistening slick with rain, were empty. Even the beggars who usually sheltered with their dogs between the columns had disappeared.

Celestine pulled her cloak closer about her and, head down, set off through the puddles back to the convent.

The rain had stopped by the time the Maistre’s carriage set out for the Forteresse. Celestine sat beside Gauzia, hands meekly folded in her lap, staring out of the window, while Gauzia chattered excitedly. Maistre de Joyeuse sat opposite, next to his aunt, Dame Elmire, who kept shooting reproving looks at Gauzia. Eventually she leaned forward and said, “Shouldn’t you be saving your voice for the performance?”

Celestine had been paying Gauzia scant attention, having learned long ago to ignore her. Her mind was filled with music; ever since the afternoon, she had been remembering the magnificent performance that had lit up the dim chapel.

“So what did you think of our young organist today?”

Celestine realized that Maistre de Joyeuse was addressing her. Had he read her thoughts? “He’s very talented. He played with such passion.”

“I’m glad that Jagu acquitted himself well. Though now I have a serious rival!” She saw again that warm and endearing smile.
He really cares for his students,
she thought.
Is that because he had an understanding Maistre when he was a student? Or did he have to struggle?
She wanted to know everything about Henri de Joyeuse—and yet she did not dare to ask him such personal questions.

“Is Jagu really only seventeen?”

“Yes. He used to be a pupil at the Seminary in Kemper, my old—”

“There’s the Forteresse!” interrupted Gauzia. “We’re nearly there.”

Celestine peered out of the carriage window and saw that they were traveling along a broad quay beside the river. Ahead, on an island, loomed a vast stronghold, whose crenellated fortifications and towers dominated the skyline.

“I believe it was originally built as a monastery,” said Dame Elmire. “But the Commanderie converted it during the Religious Wars into a formidable citadel to defend the city. It’s been theirs ever since.”

As they crossed the bridge, Celestine saw that there were Guerriers standing guard, all garbed in somber black. Every time she saw those uniforms, the sight brought back a sick, shaky feeling.

This is not going to be easy…

The carriage rattled over a wide drawbridge toward the portcullis, and the coachman slowed the horses to a stop as two Guerriers approached.

“Your papers, please.” The Guerrier addressing the Maistre spoke formally, with no hint of a threat, and yet Celestine felt a sense of panic rising. A band tightened across her chest, constricting her breathing.

“Here.” Maistre de Joyeuse handed over their passes.

It was the Inquisition who took Papa. These are just ordinary Guerriers, like Captain de Lanvaux.

“Are you all right, my dear?” inquired Dame Elmire. “You look rather pale.”

“Fine, thank you,” Celestine managed.

“The jolting of the carriage can make one feel very queasy. I’ve brought a restorative tincture.” Dame Elmire leaned forward to pass her a little brown glass bottle. “Take three drops on the tongue. That will make you feel better.”

Celestine, grateful for the distraction, did as she was told. The drops were so strong they made her eyes water, but she felt a little less nauseous afterward.

“You’re too delicate, Celestine,” complained Gauzia. “You’ll never be strong enough to be a professional singer if you can’t take a simple carriage drive without feeling sick.”

And then, as the carriage drove on into the vast parade ground beyond, Celestine caught sight of the ancient Commanderie chapel, its delicate gilded spire rising high to pierce the cloudy sky. A great rose window was set above the triple-arched doorway, dominated by tall statues of winged Guardian Warriors, their stern features almost worn away by centuries of wind and rain.

Many dignitaries and distinguished guests of the Grand Maistre were climbing the wide steps between a black-garbed Commanderie guard of honor. Celestine swallowed back her fear and straightened her shoulders.

“Would you let me take your arm, my dear?” asked Dame Elmire. “I don’t want to miss a step and make a fool of myself in front of all these important people.”

“Of course.” Celestine managed a little smile, grateful for the distraction, and she and Dame Elmire set off up the steps, behind Maistre de Joyeuse and Gauzia.

After the service, the guests gathered for refreshments in the lofty Commanderie hall beneath a magnificent timber roof like the hull of an upturned galleon. Banners and bright-embossed shields adorned the walls, and carved angels gazed down from every gilded ceiling boss.

As Celestine escorted Dame Elmire into the throng, the retired singer was soon recognized and warmly greeted by two elderly clerics. Celestine stood watching as they began to reminisce, hoping that no one would notice her. She started counting the conical helmets and crossed scimitars displayed on the wall; trophies of some ancient Commanderie battle against the Enhirrans, she reckoned.

“Is my aunt neglecting you?” Henri de Joyeuse appeared behind her, startling her out of her reverie.

“Not in the least.”

A peal of delighted laughter came from the other side of the hall. Celestine winced. Gauzia was surrounded by a little crowd of admirers, all eager to compliment her on her performance.

“Demoiselle de Saint-Désirat is in her element.”

“She sang very affectingly,” admitted Celestine. “But then, the anthem was very affectingly composed.”

“I’m so glad you liked it.”

But Celestine’s attention was distracted. A guest had caused a chill in the atmosphere, just by entering the hall. Was he one of the nobility? He was soberly attired, with no jewelry or obvious badge of office. Yet she noticed that as he passed among the other officers, their conversation ceased and they instinctively drew back, as though deferring to him. She watched him reach Grand Maistre Donatien and bow. The Grand Maistre instantly turned to acknowledge him, a sure sign of the newcomer’s importance.