The bishop himself fared less well. Though he protested that his false confession in our chapel had been extracted by fear, he never quite recovered from its effects. Rumors of his cowardice spread insidiously; open doors were softly closed; friendships withdrawn, ambitions quashed. I have heard reports that he too is planning to retire-ostensibly on the grounds of ill health-to the same monastery of which his late brother was abbot.

As for myself, I left the abbey that day. I could not stay and risk arrest-besides, too much had passed in that place for it to be a home for me again. So I left, taking with me LeMerle’s fine horse as well as the money and provisions I found in its saddlebags.

I found Fleur waiting for me in our agreed place, the orphan look gone from her face-had it ever even been there?-and we fled across the causeway, chased all the way by the tide, arriving at Pornic three hours later.

I do not imagine they looked for me very far. The bishop already had his man, and it would not have benefited him to blazon his Isabelle’s disgrace any further. I think he let me lose myself rather than face the story I might tell, and in any case I had the tide between us and the island, with an eleven-hour wait for the next safe passage across the strand.

Traveling with LeMerle had taught me to value caution. I sold his horse as I had Giordano’s mule so long ago, and with the proceeds bought myself a caravan and a mule to pull it. We lived well from our gold, Fleur and I, stopping for supplies in market towns but keeping to the smaller roads at other times for fear of the bishop’s men. Close by Perpignan we fell in with a group of gypsies who, when they heard my tale, welcomed us as their own. We had been traveling with them for almost three months until we met an Italian theater troupe who agreed to take us both.

Since then, we have toured provincial towns all over the district. The commedia dell‘ arte begins to gain in popularity as the Italianate fashions return, and masked, I need have no fear of being recognized as the Winged One of old. We are happy, Fleur and I, with our new friends: Fiorillo who plays Scaramouche, and Domenico, who plays Arlequin. Fleur plays the drum and dances, and I play piety once more with Isabelle. That I should be given that part-that name-always fills me with a kind of laughter so close to tears that sometimes I can hardly tell them apart. The mask hides my smiles-and the rest-and Beltrame, who leads the troupe, tells me he has never seen such a spirited Isabelle.

And yet there are times-many times this past winter-when I ask myself whether it is not time to have done with it all. A floor of boards is not so sturdy as one of earth, and the thought of a piece of earth of my own returns to haunt me even in my present happiness. Fleur needs a safe place, a home. A cottage by a village, a hearth, some ducks and a goat, a vegetable garden…Maybe my life at the abbey has lost me my taste for the wandering life, or maybe I begin to feel the approach of winter. I count my gold with more than greed in my heart and promise myself that before the winter comes I will have my cottage, my hearth…Fleur bangs her drum, laughing.

Over a year has passed since I left the abbey. I still dream of it sometimes, of the friends I left there, of my sweet Perette-how I wish I could have taken her with us! In some ways I miss the abbey life; I miss my herb garden, the companionship of the chapter house, the library, the Latin lessons, the long walks across the flats to the sea. But we are free here. Fleur’s nightmares have long since stopped, and this year has seen her grow taller, her hair darkened to russet but still bleached at the ends by the island’s sun, and though the knowledge sometimes saddens me that minute by minute she grows away from me into the young girl-the adult-she will one day become, she is still the same sweet Fleur, wilful yet trusting and filled with open wonder at the world.

Last week a messenger, traveling with a group of players from the North, brought me a packet. It was addressed to Juliett Ser Auguste, Dancer, in a round hand that I did not recognize, and it bore signs of having been carried for many months before the players came to me by chance. There was no address upon the packet, but my messenger told me it had been given him by a nun from Brittany some five months ago.

I opened it. The packet contained a leaf of thick paper, close-written in the same unfamiliar round hand, plus two printed news sheets. As I unfolded them something fell out from between the papers and rang upon the ground. I stooped to pick it up. It was a small enameled medallion that I knew well: on it was Christina Mirabilis, the miracle worker, floating arms outstretched within a ring of orange flame.

I read the letter. Here it is:

Dear Auguste,

I hope this Letter findes You, as I Praye every Daye thatt itt will. I think of You and Remembere You in my Prayers, You and Flore. I have kept Your Garden here, and Soeur Perpétue, who is very Kinde to Me, teaches me how to Tende itt and the Fowles which are My Duty. Margerit is the new abbesse now, and does Well enough. Itt is the Abbaye of Marie-de-la-mer Once Again, and I am Gladde of itt. I am Learning to Read and Write with the Help of Soeur Perpétue. She is Very Patiente, and minds nott thatt I am Slow. This is the First Letter I have ever Writ, and I Pray You will Excuse My Mistakes. I will Send itt with the Players at Mardi Gras. I love You Juliette, and Little Flore. I Send You Newes too of Père Colombin. I hope itt is nott a Sinne to be Gladde of Whatt has Past. I wish You Happinesse Both,

Your Perett

Printed text, dated September 1610.

Rennes Roundhouse

MARVELOUS AND MOST DREADFUL TALE OF WITCHCRAFTE!

On This, Twenty-First Daye of August, at the Abbey of Sainte-Marie-Mère was Apprehended a most Fell Sorceror, Accused, Tried, and Found Guilty of Various Offenses against God and the Holy Church. Perporting to be a Holy Cleric, the Accused, Guy LeMerle, named The Blackbird, Was Found to be in League with the Forces of Darknesse, to Consort with Familiars in the Guise of Birdes and to Conjure Satan, Bewitching to Death Several Holy Sisters of the Abbey by Foulest Means, and Guilty of Various Poisonings and Acts of Foule Desecration in the Abbey. When Questioned the Wretch Confesst Most Wholeheartedly to the Crimes of which he was Accused, showing a Most Damnable Pride in his Actions and Refusing to Recant his Allegiance to the Prince of Evil, even under Interrogation. Guards left to Ensure the Prisoner’s Safety reported most Marvelous and Fearful Sights during that fateful Eve, whereby Familiars, taking Several Forms of Birde or Beaste, did Visit him in his cell and did Speak with him throughout the Nighte, Entreating him to fly with them from the Place, but to no Avail. The Prisoner was Kept Secure, the cell Being Blest by His Holiness the Bishop of Évreux, and Barred Thrice with Steele. On the Day of September Ninth Justice Will be Done in the Marketplace in the Presence of the Bishop, of Judge René Durant, and of the People of the Town. In the Name of God and of His Majesty, Louis Dieudonné.

Second printed text, dated September 1610.

Rennes

MOST MONSTROUS AND DAMNABLE TALE OF A VISITATION

On this, the Seventh Day of September in Rennes, the Criminal and Convicted Sorcerer Guy The Blackbird Effected a Daring and most Monstrous Escape from Confinement in the Roundhouse of this Town, Being in league with the Spirits and Forces of Witchcraft. At midnight Guards set to at the Gate to Keep Close Watch upon the Prisoner were Approached by a Cloak’d Female bearing a Lantern, who did warn them to Stand Backe, if they did value their Souls.

Then Guards, Philippe Legros and Armand Nuillot, did request the Name of the Strange Visitor and were at once render’d Powerless by Witchcrafte, and despite Prayers and Brave Resistance did fall as if Drugg’d upon the Grounde.