“Father Abbot, you can see that this is a case a mere draft will not cure.” The prior sneered. “She needs more powerful medicine—holy water and the rites!”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Kuno shook his head to forestall further argument. “Man’s remedies are insufficient in these situations. This poor girl needs help that is not of this world . . .”
I did not hear the rest, for that was when I saw him, not five paces away in the church’s doorway. I felt blood leaving my face as our eyes locked. Those eyes I knew so well, clear and deep, were full of pity for the wretched woman and contempt for the prior, but they softened when they met mine. I looked back down at Angmar, my mind blank as I tried to remember what to do.
“. . . you will still be able to make her a calming draft.” The abbot’s voice finally broke through the fog and brought me back to the matter at hand. “Put her in one of the empty guest cells at the far end of the cloister,” he addressed the lay brothers, “so she does not disturb the peace of this place any further. Sister Hildegard will bring her medicine, and we will perform the exorcism after vespers.”
I watched as Angmar was taken away, still swaying. Back in control of myself, I was already thinking about the best way to deal with what was clearly an acute case of melancholy. This affliction was sometimes attributable to a bodily illness, sometimes to a loss or a fearful experience, and sometimes it had no discernible cause at all. But I never believed the popular notion that God sent it as punishment, much less that it was the work of the Devil. Still, even though I was skeptical of exorcisms, it would not hurt for Angmar to be prayed over, and as long as I could take care of her, she might yet stand a chance of recovering.
But even as I plotted the treatment, I remained keenly aware of his presence. I did not look in his direction, but I knew he remained by the door after the courtyard had emptied. Every fiber in my body pulled me toward him to tell him of my joy at this meeting I had thought would never happen, yet a sense of pride kept me where I stood.
Why had he not come to find me in the workshop, even though I had been back from Sponheim for nine days? Perhaps he did not want to, and if so, why should I care? After all, he was the one who had left without one word of farewell.
After one more moment of hesitation, I turned on my heel and walked back to the infirmary, feeling—or imagining—his eyes following me. But then, perhaps he was gone already.
Angmar slept all afternoon after I had prevailed upon her to drink a cup of wine infused with valerian and lemon balm mixed with honey. But when I returned shortly before vespers with some bread, she was restless again. She refused to eat and took to whimpering and repeating her exhortations about sin, damnation, and the flames of hell.
In that state she was taken to the church and I followed, curious about the rite I had only seen performed once before. On that occasion, it had been an old monk who had started seeing the Devil in various nooks and crannies of the abbey. Helenger had conducted that exorcism, after which the monk took to his bed and died a few days later. Of course, the prior would once again be the one to perform the rite, which I suspected was one of his favorite.
The monks stood as witnesses as Angmar was brought before the altar. She was supported in a kneeling position by her father and brother, although she kept sliding toward the ground, alternately moaning and sobbing, and appearing faint at times. Helenger, in priestly vestments and accompanied by a novice holding a basin of holy water and a cross, planted himself in front of her. Sensing him, Angmar flinched, her eyes widening with fear.
Oblivious, Helenger put both hands on her head and asked in a sonorous voice, “Demon, who are you, and whence do you come?”
He paused dramatically, but the only voice that could be heard was Angmar reciting her implorations in a frantic half-whisper, “Christ protect me . . . God forgive me . . . do not cast me into the pit!”
The Devil having failed to respond, Helenger cleared his throat and intoned the Benedictine formula for warding off evil spirits, raising his voice above the girl’s mumbling.
Crux sacra sit mihi lux, Non draco sit mihi dux
Vade retro satana
Numquam suade mihi vana
And the monks repeated:
Let the Holy Cross be my light, Let not the dragon be my guide
Step back Satan
Never tempt me with vanities.
As the echo of their voices died down, so Angmar’s cries began to diminish, and the prior cast a triumphant glance in the abbot’s direction. But Kuno’s face remained impassive, and Helenger proceeded to sprinkle holy water on the girl. Then he took the cross from his assistant’s hand and made a sign with it, stretching his arm up, down, and to each side as far as it would go as another novice rang a hand bell urgently. The prior paused, waiting for the Devil to resist, but there was no evidence of any demonic activity; in fact, Angmar appeared to have fallen asleep on her knees, and an awkward silence fell on the gathering.
Helenger looked slightly disconcerted and clearly disappointed at not being able to demonstrate his strength against so formidable an enemy. Meanwhile, Angmar’s exhaustion and the half-measure of the valerian infusion I had given her just before the ceremony were now causing soft snores to rise
