behind her by two men. Her mouth was open and a third man was reaching inside with a pliers-like instrument. It gripped one of Apollonia’s teeth. The saint’s lips were bloody, and at her feet were scattered a dozen small white objects also dotted with blood. The identifying plaque read: ST. APOLLONIA THE BLESSED HAS HER TEETH REMOVED BY HER TORMENTORS.
“That seems an odd thing to do,” Jane said to Ben, who had come to stand beside her and was peering at the window.
“Not really,” Ben told her. “They did all kinds of weird things to the martyrs. Well, allegedly. I suspect most of these stories are made up out of whole cloth.”
“That may be true,” said a woman’s voice. “But we do have several of St. Apollonia’s teeth in a reliquary.”
Jane and Ben turned to see a very pretty young woman standing behind them. Her age was difficult to determine, but Jane put her at no more than thirty. Her long blond hair fell loosely about her shoulders. She was wearing a deep blue cashmere turtleneck sweater and black pants.
“I’m Clare Marlowe,” the woman said. “My family owns the house your group is touring, as well as the church.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” said Jane. She introduced herself, as well as Lucy and Ben.
“How did your family come to own a church?” Lucy asked.
“The church dates from the eighteenth century,” Clare said. “The first vicar was Bartholomew Marlowe. His family—our family—was very wealthy. But Bartholomew wasn’t interested in money. He was more of a scholar, with a particular interest in religion. When he was twenty his parents and only sister were killed in a boating accident. Bartholomew inherited a fortune, which he used to build this church and the vicarage. Since then a Marlowe has always lived in the house.”
“Was the church ever used for services?” asked Ben. “Or has it always been private?”
“At first it was used by the public,” Clare said. “Bartholomew liked the idea of being a country vicar. But his son, Tallway Marlowe, wasn’t interested in it at all, and after his father’s death he closed the church to the public and it’s been closed ever since. Occasionally people come to see it, but I’m afraid it’s mostly been forgotten.”
“That’s a pity,” Jane said. “It’s so lovely. These windows are particularly beautiful, although I confess I’ve never heard of St. Apollonia.”
Clare laughed. “Not many people have,” she said. “She’s a bit obscure. She lived in the third century, in Alexandria. According to church history, she was a virgin dedicated to the service of God.”
“Aren’t they always?” Lucy said. “Virgins, I mean.”
“It does seem to come with the territory,” said Clare. “Apollonia was of course a convert to Christianity, which annoyed her pagan neighbors. One day a group of men rounded up Apollonia and several other Christian women and ordered them to recant or be burned alive. That’s what you see in the first window. When Apollonia refused, they tortured her by pulling out all of her teeth.”
Clare moved on to the third window and continued the story. “Seeing what was done to Apollonia, the other women threw themselves into the water in order to drown,” she said.
Indeed, the window showed two women bobbing in what could only be the ocean, their raised hands clasped in prayer. Their captors stood on the shore, looking on angrily and shaking their fists.
“The men threw Apollonia in after them,” Clare said. “But she didn’t drown.” She indicated the fourth window, in which a very much alive Apollonia was being lifted from the water by what appeared to be an angel. “Although the other women perished, Apollonia was delivered from death.”
“Why just her?” Ben asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I suppose it depends on how you look at it,” said Clare. “Apollonia was willing to suffer for God. The other two killed themselves rather than go through that. Perhaps God didn’t think they were worthy.”
“And they say
“The story continues on the other side,” said Clare, leading them across the nave to another set of windows. “Since water didn’t work, Apollonia’s captors decided to try fire.”
“Wait,” Jane said. “Didn’t the angel take her away?”
“She asked to be returned to them,” Clare answered. “Remember, she was a martyr.”
“Of course,” said Jane. “Go on.”
“As you can see, they threw Apollonia into a pile of burning sticks,” Clare said. “I think the fire is particularly well rendered.”
“The glasswork is gorgeous,” Lucy remarked.
“Apollonia, of course, did not burn,” said Clare as she walked on. “Once again the angel came and saved her, which is what you see in window number six. And now we get to the really good stuff.”
The seventh window depicted Apollonia on the ground. One man held her feet while another held her arms stretched out behind her head. A third man knelt beside her, a spike in his hand. It was pressed to Apollonia’s chest, just over her heart, and the man was in the process of bringing a hammer down toward it.
“This is unusual in the history of the saints,” Clare informed them. “The martyrdom of Apollonia is the only example of a saint being killed in this manner. Supposedly the spike used to pierce her heart was made from the nails that were used to crucify Christ.”
“And what’s happening here?” asked Ben, moving to the eighth and last window as Jane continued to stare at the seventh.
“St. Apollonia redeemed from death,” Clare said. “See how she’s rising toward heaven while her executioners fall to their knees? Allegedly they were so frightened by her ascension that all the blood drained from their bodies.”
Jane turned to Lucy, who had remained with her in front of the seventh window. “Don’t you find this all a bit strange?” she murmured.
“Christianity?” said Lucy. “Of course I do.”
“I mean St. Apollonia specifically,” Jane said. “First there’s the matter of her teeth, which for some reason they felt the need to remove. Then she couldn’t be killed either by water or by fire. And finally they do her in with a spike through the heart, yet she rises from the dead and her killers are drained of their blood. Sound familiar?”
“I admit it’s a bit vampire-esque,” Lucy admitted.
“A bit?” said Jane. “The only thing they’ve left out is her turning into a bat.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t really do that,” Lucy said. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“No,” said Jane. “I can’t. But that’s not the point. The point is that this is clearly some kind of allegory about vampirism.”
Lucy considered this for a moment. “If that’s true, then why didn’t the spike kill her?” she asked.
“Maybe it was Crispin’s Needle,” Jane suggested, keeping her voice low. “The final window shows her with her soul returned to her body.”
“And the dead guys?” Lucy asked. “If she’s not a vampire anymore, who drained them?”
“Good question,” Jane said. “Perhaps God has a more refined sense of humor than we think he does.”
“Too bad we can’t get a look at those teeth Clare mentioned,” said Lucy. “It would be interesting to see if any of them are fangs.”
“It certainly explains why the Tedious Three would have spent time here,” Jane said. “If this story is true, it would definitely qualify as vampire history.”
“The who?” Lucy asked.
“Oh, I haven’t told you about them yet,” said Jane. “Vampire historians, apparently. Joshua told me about them this morning.”
“You saw Joshua again?” Lucy said.
“Not so much saw as was visited by,” Jane explained. “A bit like the Ghost of Christmas Annoying. But he did say that the Three have been looking for the Needle for some time.”
“So you think the Needle really does exist, then?”
Jane sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
“But you want it to, don’t you?” said Lucy.
“It would make things easier,” Jane said.
Lucy shrugged. “You’d be human again,” she said. “Not that you’re inhuman or anything,” she added quickly.
