Part 34 (1/2)
Inside the shrine, a soft glow of candles illumined every marble niche and alcove. The priceless statue of Elesstar lay in the heart of the shrine, bathed in the pearly light. But as Girim came closer, he saw that the flawless white marble showed patches of discoloration, as if the saint's sculpted body had become corrupt and was decaying from within.
”What can have caused this deterioration? Has anyone disobeyed the prince's command?” He had asked Prince Ilsevir to issue a decree forbidding wors.h.i.+ppers to lay even a finger on the statue. He had seen too many precious relics worn away by the fervent kisses and caresses of the faithful.
”We've kept the pilgrims at a distance, Captain.”
Bewildered, Girim walked around the statue. ”Then I have no idea, no idea at all...” He came back to Korentan. ”Has anyone made any comment? What have you heard?”
”The candlelight helps to maintain the illusion, just as you suggested , Captain. As long as they file past the grille and don't come any closer, they don't seem to notice. Yet.”
”Why is she decaying, Girim?” Prince Ilsevir demanded. ”This is Bel'Esstar, her her city.” city.”
”One must remember, highness,” Girim said soothingly, ”that it is a statue, not Elesstar's mortal remains, that we are discussing.”
”Ah, but one can't help but notice the horrible semblance of putrefaction,” Ilsevir said with a fastidious shudder. ”People will talk. People will begin to say that the air of our city is not wholesome. That there is something rotten at the heart of Allegonde. And they will point to me, Girim. We've already had a disastrous plague-ridden summer. And now my beloved Adele is ailing. She's already miscarried once. We can't afford any more bad luck.”
”What are you implying, highness?”
”Haven't you heard the rumors?” The prince was so agitated that he began to pace the chapel. ”Even though you tried to hush up the affair, the people have not forgotten the four Guerriers who were struck down here at the inauguration ceremony. There's talk at court and on the streets of the city that the statue is cursed.”
”Superst.i.tious nonsense,” said Girim, forcing a laugh.
”They're saying that she should be returned to Ondhessar.”
Girim could feel the prince's gaze on him, a.s.sessing his reaction to the suggestion.
”I believe it's nothing but the effects of the damp air on the marble. As you said yourself, highness, it's been an unusually humid summer.” Girim knew Ilsevir well; the capricious prince was all too easily swayed by the opinions of his ministers and favorites. ”I have invited two experts, a sculptor and a mason, to take a look at her. With your approval, I would like to offer them some kind of incentive to stay discreet about the whole affair.”
”And where are they, these experts?”
To Girim's relief, young Korentan reappeared, followed by two civilians; both men bowed low to the prince. Ilsevir then proceeded to pace the chapel as they began their examination of the statue, only adding to Girim's growing sense of disquiet.
The Basilica clock chimed out the hour, then the quarter, each stroke making the building resonate dully. Eventually the experts finished their examination and approached the prince. From their expressions, Girim knew that the prognosis was not good.
”I've never seen anything like this before, highness,” said the mason, scratching his bearded chin. ”The statue appears to be decaying from within. And yet I can't find any fissure or crack where rainwater could have penetrated the marble.”
”And I can a.s.sure you that the statue was thoroughly protected from the elements when we transported it here.” Girim felt obliged to repeat this fact to rea.s.sure himself that he and his men had taken scrupulous care of the statue, especially during the sea crossing.
”How long before she starts to crumble away?” Ilsevir asked. The bluntness of the prince's question surprised Girim; Ilsevir was not usually so direct in his dealings with people.
The mason shook his head slowly. ”If you're going to commission a copy, highness, I'd say that now is not too soon.”
”Can you do it?” Ilsevir asked the sculptor.
”I believe I can,” he replied. ”But not here. I'd prefer to work in my studio.”
Girim caught a glance from Ilsevir. ”I'm afraid that will not be possible,” he said. ”We must ask you to work and live here. We will close the cathedral until the copy is complete. My men will bring you anything you need. And you will be most generously remunerated.”
”This is to be our little secret.” Ilsevir extended his hand, the signet ring glinting in the chapel candlelight. ”I ask you, gentlemen, to swear on my ring, never to breathe a word of what we have discussed here today.”
The men looked at one another. They glanced at Girim, who was watching them, arms folded. Then, the mason, followed by the sculptor, knelt and kissed the prince's ring.
”Will it work, do you think?” Ilsevir murmured to Girim as Korentan and the Rosecoeurs began to clear the cathedral of priests and wors.h.i.+ppers.
When the prince had departed and the two experts had gone to make their arrangements, Girim lingered on, waiting until the chapel was empty. The candles were guttering, burning down into their sconces.
He went up to the statue and slowly reached out to touch the discolored stone.
”Why?” He dropped to his knees before her. ”Why has this happened? Why have you deserted us? This is your your city, the city you made your home.” His whispered words echoed softly in the gathering gloom as, one by one, the candles burned out. ”Since then, we've honored your memory. So why have you turned your face from us?” He bent slowly forward, until his forehead rested against the statue's chill marble feet. ”Or is this a test of my faith?” Her bright image had illumined his life since he was a boy. His heart had been stirred by the story of Mhir, the poet-prophet whose perfect, selfless love for Elesstar had brought about her miraculous revival, through the blood of the rose that sprang from his grave. ”What more can I do? Give me a sign and-” A sudden babble of angry voices started up outside and he left the chapel to see what was happening. city, the city you made your home.” His whispered words echoed softly in the gathering gloom as, one by one, the candles burned out. ”Since then, we've honored your memory. So why have you turned your face from us?” He bent slowly forward, until his forehead rested against the statue's chill marble feet. ”Or is this a test of my faith?” Her bright image had illumined his life since he was a boy. His heart had been stirred by the story of Mhir, the poet-prophet whose perfect, selfless love for Elesstar had brought about her miraculous revival, through the blood of the rose that sprang from his grave. ”What more can I do? Give me a sign and-” A sudden babble of angry voices started up outside and he left the chapel to see what was happening.
”I don't care what his highness says. This is a house of prayer and must be kept open to everyone.” The bishop had arrived, flanked by several priests and Korentan, and his men were barring their way. ”And where are we to conduct our daily acts of wors.h.i.+p?”
”It's only for a few days, your grace,” Girim said, putting on his most placating tone. ”And Prince Ilsevir has put his own private chapel at your disposal, so that you can hold services there until this essential work is complete.”
”A few days?” spluttered the bishop.
”And his highness has requested that you pray for the health of his wife.” Girim knew that this was one request the priests would find it hard to refuse.
”Princess Adele is still indisposed? I had no idea. Well, if his highness requests...”
The Princess of Allegonde's bedchamber looked out over the palace gardens, which lay covered in a crusty sparkle of white h.o.a.rfrost. From her curtained bed, propped up on pillows, Adele could see only the grey sheen of the cloud-covered sky and the chill, wintry gardens, empty except for a single gardener pus.h.i.+ng a wheelbarrow, and a few birds.
”Enguerrand drowned?” Adele gazed at her husband. ”But how? What was he doing in the Spice Islands? Why was he so far from home?” The bespectacled face of her younger brother swam before her eyes as she had last seen him, an earnest smile warming his customarily grave expression. ”Surely it's a mistake...”
Ilsevir was gazing out of the window, his back to her. There must be much that he wasn't telling her, she suspected, for fear the news might make her condition worse. She sat up in bed, pulling her lacy shawl closer around her shoulders, and used a tone of voice she had often heard her mother employ.
”We are talking about my my brother,” she said sternly. ”No matter how distressing the details, I need to know. Knowing is better than imagining all manner of horrible things.” brother,” she said sternly. ”No matter how distressing the details, I need to know. Knowing is better than imagining all manner of horrible things.”
He turned around. She saw instantly how confused he was, obviously at a loss as to how to broach the matter contained in the letter, and through the first waves of grief, she realized what she had long known but never admitted to herself before-that she was the stronger of the two. She might be weak in body, but she was Gobain's daughter. At heart, Ilsevir was a conflicted blend of sensitivity and self-regard, and the inner conflict between the two often resulted in his seeming unfeeling, even impervious, to the feelings of others, while internally he agonized over what might be the most appropriate, caring way to respond.
”Your mother writes that he was on his way to visit the Commanderie mission in Serindher when a tidal wave struck, devastating the whole area.”
”Visiting a mission?” Adele's eyes filled with tears. ”That's so like my little brother,” she said, trying to sound brave. ”Poor Maman. First Aubrey, now Enguerrand. I must go to her.”
”You'll go nowhere until the doctors have p.r.o.nounced you fit to travel.” Ilsevir came and sat at her bedside. ”It's a long and tiring journey to Francia. And the mountain pa.s.ses are still treacherous with snow. Write to your mother; she'll understand. Besides...” He looked down, not meeting her gaze. There must be something else that he was not telling her.
”How can they be so sure he's dead?” All manner of possibilities pa.s.sed through her mind. Enguerrand might be lying in some islander's hut, rambling in fever, not even remembering his own name. ”He might have been s.h.i.+pwrecked on one of the islands. Have they searched thoroughly?”
”This arrived from the First Minister of Francia.” Ilsevir placed a letter in her hands; it was ornately scribed and weighted with the seal of the Francian government. ”He is formally requesting our presence in Lutece as soon as you are well enough to make the journey. It seems that as Enguerrand has left no heirs, the crown pa.s.ses to you, my dearest-and to me. From now on, we'll have to divide our time equally between Allegonde and Francia. But how will the people of Francia feel about an Allegondan-”
”You're not listening to me, Ilsevir!” Adele seized hold of his hand. ”He may not be dead. We must send s.h.i.+ps to join the search.”
”But of course.” He squeezed her hand in his own. ”You're very hot,” he said anxiously. ”The doctors warned me not to overburden you. You must rest.”
”How can I rest when you've told me such terrible news?” Adele cried. Sometimes Ilsevir could be so insensitive. ”My only brother-”
There came a discreet tap at the door. She broke off, remembering that there was no real privacy to be found in the palace, not even when she was ill. ”Come in,” she said, trying to compose herself. A lady-in-waiting appeared, eyes demurely lowered, and said to Ilsevir, ”If you please, highness, Captain nel Ghislain is here with an urgent dispatch.”