Chapter Fifty-three

 

 

A Sin Uncovered

 

 

Immediately after leaving Mala and Duxia, Mathilda sought out Cardinal Odo and shared the women’s gruesome experience in the Alps.

“A pity the poor child was not baptized,” said Odo, crossing himself. “Yes, we shall naturally hold a service in the morning for both man and child.”

The funeral service consisted of mass celebrated by Cardinal Odo who also provided a short segment of touching words about the deceased during the homily. As nobody at Canossa knew the deceased, the service was sparsely attended with only Mala, Duxia, Mathilda, Handel, Odo, Balducci, and a sprinkling of Canossa clerics present. No one was quite sure why Balducci was there, but when he found out about the service from Handel, he insisted on attending for some reason.

As promised, Mala and Duxia were carried into the cathedral on litters, and though they sat through most of the mass service grim-faced and still, they both became weepy during the homily. At the gravesite, as they began to lower the swaddled infant into the grave and cover it with earth, Mala began to shiver uncontrollably as though overcome by a seizure, and her lips began to riffle in sporadic bursts, as though she was talking to herself. Handel, who was standing beside her litter, crouched down and placed an arm about her shoulder to comfort her, but his action did nothing to stop Mala’s quaking. He also failed to understand what Mala was mumbling to herself, though he could tell there was an extreme bitterness in her tone. Then, when the last shovel of earth was thrown upon the infant’s grave, she fell still, as though at peace.

The litter carriers then returned Mala and Duxia to their quarters as Mathilda and Odo followed.

“So,” Odo said to Mathilda, “you told me yesterday that the older woman asked to speak to you privately, then also asked for me by name to be there also?”

“Yes, it seemed a bit odd at the time, I confess. She probably wishes to thank me for assisting them and thank you for arranging the funeral service.”

The moment they entered the women’s room and the door was closed, the ever watchful Odo immediately perceived from the look of the old woman’s face that she was about to reveal something troubling. He pulled two stools between the two beds and motioned for Mathilda to take a seat.

“The loss of a husband and child is a heart wrenching trial of the human spirit,” he said, looking at Mala, “and our prayers are with you in this moment of loss.”

Mala was about to respond, but Duxia spoke first. “The man we buried, Cardinal Odo, was not her husband.”

“Oh?” said Odo, looking at Mathilda who had mistakenly described the relationship the day before. “I see. He is the father of the child we buried, I assume?”

“No,” said Duxia.

“Well then,” said Odo, a bit confused. “A brother, perhaps?”

“No. Fernando was merely a friend. A loyal and trustworthy friend who was trying to help us get to Tuscany. We were coming to seek assistance for Mala and the child from the child’s father.”

“I see,” said Odo. “Then Mala’s husband is here in Tuscany?”

Duxia did not reply at first. After glancing at Mala a moment, she said, “Cardinal, Mala has no husband.”

“The child was then… illegitimate?” said Mathilda.

“Yes,” nodded Duxia, “the bastard son of a high person of Italy with connections in Tuscany. We have fallen on hard times and did not wish the child to suffer so we were coming to seek assistance from the father’s family.”

The lechery of the noble class was not only legendary in Europe at this time, but accepted in most quarters. Bastard children of the aristocracy were common and could be found in each and every province of the continent. Though a fortunate few such as William the Bastard of Normandy were able to claim a place at their father’s table, the vast majority were fathered by wenches and peasant girls, therefore disclaimed and forgotten. Cardinal Odo de Lagery was a Cluniac reformist, and like most men of that Benedictine order, had declared war on immorality both within and outside the Church.

Mathilda, being a rabid supporter of the Gregorian reform movement, also shared Odo’s views on immorality, so she spoke up. “It’s a sad situation when a young lady such as this is exploited by the more fortunate,” she said, pointing to Mala. “If we know who the father is, especially if he is in Tuscany, it is well possible that the Cardinal and I may be able to make him assist you. Even though the infant has died, it appears that you and your niece need help at the moment. So pray tell, what is the father’s name?”

Once again Mala began to speak, but Duxia’s eyes narrowed in on her, she remained silent. “I will mention his name in a moment,” said Duxia. First a question or two to you both, if you do not object?”

Odo and Mathilda shrugged in unison. “Of course not,” said Mathilda.

“Cardinal,” Duxia began, “at the very heart of Bene-dictine reform is the issue of personal and political corruption and personal and political immorality. The Benedictines alone on this earth have taken a firm stand in favor of righteousness. I applaud you, especially since you have even determined to clean your own house, the Church. My question is, Cardinal, do you as a high cleric of the Benedictine order truly believe in your doctrine of reform? Will you stand by it at any cost?”

The integrity of men of Odo’s Church credentials and stature were rarely challenged except by each other, and never from people of common birth. Nevertheless, Odo mulled over Duxia’s words a short while, then said, “An unexpected but reasonable question. The answer is yes, and yes. I believe in morality and I stand by it.”

Duxia then turned to Mathilda. “As the greatest proponent on the continent of Pope Gregory VII before his death, and now as a loyal Gregorian papist, I ask you the very same two questions, my Lady.”

Without hesitation Mathilda said, “Absolutely I believe in these principles, and stand by them, otherwise I would not risk war and death itself to fight my cousin, King Heinrich of Germany.”

“Very well then,” Duxia nodded, “I shall now name the father of the child we buried this morning.” But then, oddly, she fell silent.

Mala had listened to everything Duxia had been saying, knowing that she possessed the strength and backbone of a Belgian draft horse, and knowing that she was not intimidated by anyone. Now, in the pall of Duxia’s unexpected silence, Mala thought that the old woman was faltering, but she was mistaken. Duxia was not in retreat, but calculating the most effective way possible to ambush these two grand figures of Europe and throw them into chaos.

“Let me begin,” she said finally, “by stating that when I mentioned the father of Mala’s child was a “high person of Italy with connections in Tuscany”, I was not referring to a person of “nobility.” Then she fell silent again, giving Odo and Mathilda time to weigh this first surprise.

“Continue,” said Mathilda with impatience, falling further and further into puzzlement.

Odo relaxed, he had decided that the two bedridden women were so poverty stricken that a high person of Italy to them was probably merely a local knight or a political figure of minor impact.

“Yes,” he said, “continue.”

“This high person of Italy represents the Church,” Duxia declared. “Not the church of the anti-pope and King Heinrich, but the Gregorian Church. This high person of Italy I speak of is a Benedictine.”

At this, Odo and Mathilda both sat up and looked at each other simultaneously, which caused Duxia to again fall silent for the purpose of giving them time to weigh this second surprise.

Odo spoke immediately. “A Benedictine you say? Now, by that do you mean a monk, or do you mean a bishop, archbishop, or cardinal?”

“A monk.”

Odo and Mathilda both felt more reassured with this response. Both knew the lower Benedictine ranks possessed a handful of errant monks. “Very well,” sighed Mathilda, “give us his name and Cardinal Odo will see to it that he is brought forward and reprimanded.”

“It is not a reprimand that we seek, my Lady, but assistance. An opportunity to make a new beginning.”

“Yes,” said Mala, speaking for the first time. “Until the pregnancy, I was self-sufficient. I had a troupe of musicians and we were doing well. When the baby came, they all abandoned us, except Fernando. I was then going to open a little shop in Lyons, but we were robbed. Then winter came and we began to starve and freeze, and our only hope was to come to Italy as my aunt has explained!”

“Very well,” said Odo, “this all makes sense and I understand what brings you here. So tell me, who is the father?”

Mala fell silent and stared down at her lap, which caused Duxia to again speak up. “The father, Cardinal, is very close to you.” Then she turned to Mathilda. “The father is close to you also, my Lady. He is your nephew, Tristan de Saint-Germain.”

Duxia’s strategy of slowly urging and prompting Odo and Mathilda to a scaffold of their own devise could not possibly have been more effective in knee-capping the two. Odo’s jaw dropped in an expression of abject disbelief while Mathilda fell into an immediate rage.

“Oh! Not possible!” she cried, standing and pointing an accusatory finger at the old woman. “It is all a lie! Oh, you horrid old bitch, how could you fabricate such a monstrous story! I’ll have you both dragged out of here and thrown over the cliffs of Canossa!”

More calm than Mathilda, but equally distressed by what Duxia had said, Odo stared a moment at Duxia, thinking that the old woman had done most of the talking, therefore she was the one who had hatched this shameful scheme to pick the Church’s pocket. He next looked at Mala and determined that she looked more credible. Besides, her actions at the gravesite had revealed sincerity. “Young woman, is there any truth to any of this?” he said, standing over her bed.

Intimidated by the imposing symbolism of his scarlet Cardinal’s robe and his frightening height, she looked over to Duxia, then meekly nodded yes. Misunderstanding this exchange of glances, Odo took it for a possible sign of collusion, and this fueled anger in him. “I am a Cardinal of Rome, young woman,” he said with heat, “if you lie to me, you lie to a direct representative of God himself!” Then, moving to an adjacent table, he retrieved the leather-bound, beautifully calligraphied copy of the Bible that lay upon it. Glowering, he dropped it into Mala’s lap with such anger that he broke into Latin for a moment. Then, pointing at her angrily, he said, “Swear to me on the Holy Book, young woman, and if you lie, burn forever in Hell for lying upon the words of God himself!”

Cowering, Mala placed her trembling hand upon the Bible and cried, “In the name of God, all we have said is true! I swear it! Tristan de Saint-Germain is the father of my dead child!” Then she dissolved into weeping, burying her head beneath the blanket to be away from the Cardinal.

This infuriated Duxia and she flung her own blanket aside and rose up from her bed. And slip of the woman she was, she struck Odo across the face. “Oh you pretentious bastard!” she screamed. “You are worse than the filthiest nobles alive! You preach righteousness to others, but don’t mean a word of it!” Reaching onto Mala’s bed, she then grabbed the Bible and hurled it at him. “Burn in Hell yourself you goddamn hypocrite!” Then, her eyes darting about the room in search of something else to throw, her eyes settled on the stools from which Odo and Mathilda were retreating. Grabbing one, she hurled it, then followed with the other.

Warrior that Mathilda was, she was not accustomed to insanity, and the savage behavior of the old woman now suddenly gone berserk caused her to grab Odo by the hand, quickly leading him out of the room and slamming the door behind them. “She’s a demon!” Mathilda huffed. “I’ll call the guards and have her put in chains!”

Even though they had left, Duxia continued to fume and somehow storm about the room throwing anything she could set her hands despite the frostbite injuries that had previously incapacitated her. “Oh, Heinrich of Germany, I pray that you prevail and grind these Gregorians into the dust!” she screamed. “Oh, Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, cast misfortune onto every single damned one of them until they exist no more!”