Chapter Fifty-four

 

 

Odo’s Dilemma

 

 

Mathilda, though a godly woman, was fully prepared to have Mala and Duxia removed from their quarters and forced from Canossa, but Cardinal Odo restrained her from doing so. “Though I doubt their story, Mathilda, we should not cast them out into the cold, especially after what they have already endured in the Alps.”

“The way that old bitch spoke to you, Cardinal, such a disgrace! And such sacrilege, throwing the Bible at you like that! Besides, we can’t let them get away with such criminality.”

“Best that we first step back and consider this,” said Odo. “The anger I witnessed in the old woman, it was the fury of righteousness. I wonder, were she framing a web of lies, would she have been so indignant?”

“Surely you don’t believe her? Or that Tristan could become embroiled in such a mess?”

“No, I will need to speak to him about this. This young woman, she seems a faint memory to me from the past for some reason. As for Tristan, though innocent, he should at least know that these women are slinging accusations in his direction. He is returning to Monte Cassino from final talks with Duke Borsa in Lower Italy in a week. I will leave in the morning and intercept him there. In the meanwhile, Mathilda, I request that you not speak of this development.”

“Certainly. The two women will surely wag their tongues, don’t you think?”

“No, I will speak to them this evening and let them know that I am investigating the allegations. I will also inform them that should they speak to anyone of this before I reach resolution, they shall both be imprisoned until formally charged, then severely punished.”

Odo spent the next several hours wrestling over the tale provided by the two women, especially the younger one who he realized he had met at the Cluny monastery many years before as a young girl. He also examined the possibility that Tristan had indeed somehow become entangled with her, though he refused to accept it. Then, as evening fell, he went to see Mala and Duxia.

“Ah, the Cardinal returns,” snapped Duxia who had returned to her bed, “undoubtedly to frighten us with more threats of eternal damnation, eh?”

“No,” replied Odo calmly, “I have come to gather more information. And if your answers bear any merit whatsoever, then I shall next address Brother Tristan de Saint-Germain.”

This satisfied Duxia and she pointed to Mala. “Very well then, she’ll answer any questions you may have, and then you’ll see that everything we’ve said is true.”

Odo gathered one of the stools from the floor that Duxia had thrown earlier and scooted it next to Mala’s bed. “Your name is Mala and you are Romani?” said Odo, taking a seat. “I seem to vaguely remember years ago meeting a beautiful Romani woman when I was Grand Prior at Cluny. She was on her way to Spain, I believe.”

“Yes,” said Mala, surprised that Odo remembered that occasion, “that was my mother, and we came to visit Tristan on our way south. It was me who insisted that we stop by to see him.”

“Hmm, you were a child back then.”

“Yes, about twelve or so, and Tristan was nine.”

“What was your business with Tristan at such a young age?”

“Two years before, on his way to Cluny, the men with him rescued me and my Romani cousins from being kidnap-ped by Norsemen who had slipped down the Seine toward Paris. That’s how I met him, Cardinal.”

“I see. Still, you came all the way back to see him at Cluny two years later on the way to Spain? And you were twelve?”

“Yes, since that night I first met him, I never quit thinking of him even though I was a child. I came to Cluny yet a third time when I was about fifteen and on my own for the purpose of living there so I could be near him, but he left for Rome that very next morning with you. I was heartsick over his departure and remained in Cluny for several years hoping he might return. He didn’t, until being ordained in the Benedictine order. I was in Paris by then, but came to Cluny for his ordination ceremony.”

Odo digested all she had said so far, and realized that to this point, everything was true. “A strange thing, your relationship with Tristan,” he said. “You were a child when you met him, then only saw him several times over a ten or twelve year period, yet you came to his ordination?”

“Yes, I was hoping perhaps that I could convince him not to become a monk, but it was far too late.”

“Oh? And why did you not wish him to become a Black Monk?”

“Because I loved him and hoped we could have a life together.”

“I see,” said Odo, glancing over at Duxia who sat there staring at him grim faced and certain. “Then tell me, when did you next see Tristan? After he became a monk, I mean.”

“He came to me in the Loire Valley this past year. My entertainment troupe was camped along the river and he just appeared.”

Knowing that Tristan had never been sent by either Muehler or himself to the Loire Valley, Odo’s faith in Tristan only solidified upon hearing this part of Mala’s tale. Yet he chose not to deny her words, thinking that by allowing her to continue, she would only further mire herself in contra-dictions. “Ah, the Loire Valley, a beautiful place,” he said. “Tell me, what was he doing in the Loire Valley?”

“I’m not sure. He further confused me because he wasn’t wearing the black robe, nor was his crown shaved in the tonsure of Benedictines as it was the night he was ordained. I was overjoyed. I thought he had left the Brotherhood perhaps, but he told me he had some kind of dispensation or some such thing. All I know is that he was passing through Orléans in early spring and was on his way to Paris. Then he came back to me in the Loire, but had to report to Cluny and...”

“Oh, I see,” mumbled Odo abruptly, struggling to remain devoid of emotion. The very first tentacles of alarm had begun to slip toward him and take hold as he wondered how she could possibly know that he had been to Paris, then Cluny, that previous spring unless Tristan had informed her of such. Then too, he realized that Orléans, though south of Paris, was not entirely out of the way if one was headed to the court of King Philippe.

“Then he came to me in Marseilles in early June,” Mala continued, unaware of his redness or that his attention was focusing on every word she uttered. “It was there that we slept together. Well, we slept together in the Loire Valley, too, but it was in Marseilles that we...” Here she blushed and paused a moment. “It was in Marseilles that I became pregnant.”

Odo placed the fingertips of his right hand across his brow in an effort to betray no emotion although he was beginning to feel consumed by that sudden illness that overwhelms one when confronted with the unacceptable. Duxia spotted his faltering and clucked with satisfaction.

“There, my good Cardinal, you can see that this young woman before you is no criminal. She’s done nothing except become the victim of one of your so-called reformist holy men. So now you must decide whether to take the high road or crawl into the gutter inhabited by the very worms of this world who you purport to be fighting. Since arriving in France a lifetime ago, I’ve heard praise upon praise for the great cleric, Odo de Lagery! We’ll see whether you match your pedestal, or whether you’re just another goddamned pretender.”