“Cybele,” a pause, “Cybele, who are you?” Her voice wavered with sorrow’s vibrato.
“I am the one you remember, as a child.”
Celestine took heart, “Yet she was innocent and you are not.” In a lower voice, “But neither are you wholly guilty.”
“Am I not, Celestine? I have a bosom, but also a crown.”
“Crowns can be beaten into plow shears as easily as swords. Treaties can be forgotten, when they are made with tyranny.”
“Not when they have been signed in blood and that blood is not your own.”
“But blood can wash away sin as well as conceive it.”
“Can it?” Cybele laughed quietly, withdrawn for a moment. Then, “Is that why you have come, to turn me?”
Celestine did not answer, so Cybele continued, “I am not a reed, blown easily by the wind. Do not waste your love on me, for I am a dry sponge that will only soak and never splash.”
“No! You would not do evil, if you did not force yourself to do it.”
Cybele stood, “And neither would you do good, if you did not force yourself to do it. I only walk the paths of evil because I
“Do you know
Celestine did not answer, but sat weeping at the table.
“Her love increased the pain her hatred caused, and thus the intensity of her pleasure. She shook, her limbs quivered, she could not breath for all the weight upon her chest. Her heart burned, at God and man; her nose tickled enough to drive her passions to a flame. Damnation!” she cried out in a fury. “You speak of righteousness, but what hope do the righteous have: that they may be good enough to enter heaven? With God there is doubt, for none can be good enough. But with the devil, there is only damnation. Blessed damnation! Oh, blessed damnation!”
“Yet none are brought to paradise by their own works, but only by the works of another. The wedding feast is prepared and he awaits only the arrival of his guests.”
“If none are deserving, then why are not the evil invited as well? If it is truly not based on works, then the devil has as much chance as the pope.”
“All are invited, but few are chosen.”
“A change of words, but not of meaning.” Cybele continued in a gentler voice, “And you are one of the chosen? I am glad your life has been so blessed, thus far. But what of your husband, or have you not
“He knows why I have come, as do you.”
“I see: you wish to turn me to your side, and have my armies behind your walls?”
“I do not care for your armies, only for you. Your armies are made of men, and to be loved as such. But as armies they are mere drones of darkness, and as their leader you are no different. But I come to you as a sister and a woman, not as a diplomat.”
Cybele released herself into her chair. It was dark outside, since the sun was no longer high enough to shine over the sides of the Marin to the central courtyard. Celestine sat in the chair opposite Cybele. Her hair was as black as Cybele’s was white. Though their faces were formed the same, their expressions were different: the one content without power, the other lusting for more. Celestine’s features were loosely held together, her mouth almost open and her cheeks relaxed. Her skin was not as fair as Cybele’s – nor as young – but her age gave it a pleasant texture. It was beautiful, and the difference between them was that between a lake in full calm and lake rippled by a slight breeze. In either lake, the water is equally pure.
“You misjudge mother,” Celestine said at last, almost in a whisper. “She was an angel.”
“The finest angels make the cruelest demons,” and Cybele smiled slowly, her lips rising until they parted.
“Yet still they give witness to the light, if only by contrast. Mother was no demon.”
“She sat in front of father as he was strapped to the block and beaten. Gylain scourged him with the flail and she with her loveless eyes. Tell me, which was crueler?” Cybele grew more animated.
“Which was more loving?”
“So you play the fool? Then I have only to prove your foolishness to you? We will see how it is soon enough. Godfrey, enter!” A tall man came in from the bridge, three others following.
“Your majesty,” he bowed.
“Chain her to the block.” The men obeyed. They took Celestine by the arms and led her to the bridge. Under Cybele’s direction, some took a bench from the wall and transformed it into a whipping block. The others chained Celestine, her arms in front and her back undefended. Yet she did not resist. Cybele took a seat directly before her, holding her lips tightly together.
“You can do what you wish,” Celestine said, “For I will not resist one whom I love.”
“Then you are a fool. Who will save you, fate?”
“I name it God and call him my father. But yes, that is who will deliver me.”
“Fate! You are as foolish as Gylain! If fate is so strong, then let it rescue you.”
“If you challenge God, he will not be mocked.”
“Indeed?” and she looked about the bridge, her eyes lighting upon a portrait of the Fardy brothers, the Marin’s previous owners. “Indeed! Then let your God rescue you, and do so through the Fardy brothers.”
“Very well, I have faith that he will do so.”
“Begin the whipping!” Cybele cried, her face a stormy sea.
They began, using a leather strap from the bench.
“Where is fate, now?” Cybele laughed.
“Where it has always been.”
“On its way, you mean? Foolish woman! Harder men, for she does not yet cry.”
“God will redeem me: I have faith.”
“Faith is wasted on a God who does not exist.”
“If not he, than why we? I will be delivered.”
“You amuse me, Celestine!” Cybele laughed in her throat.
She began to say something else, but her words were left to rot in her mouth. For, just at that moment, the door was kicked open and several men charged into the room with drawn swords in their hands.
“The devil!” their leader cried. “We have come, fair Celestine, and will not leave you to your torturers! Forward, brothers, forward, and let us end the curse of Saxony forever!”
Chapter 63
“Fear not, Celestine: we have come to deliver you!” the Fardy brothers shouted in unison.
The brown Fardy was foremost among them, running toward the tall lieutenant with his sword whirling over his head. As he drew near enough to strike the man, he released the blade from its circuit around his head, sending it flying toward the lieutenant’s. The latter – overcome with surprise at their arrival – did not move, and the sword bashed broadside against his helmet. The force knocked the man to the ground in a stupor and the brown Fardy stepped backwards with a trembling arm.
The blond Fardy fell upon the second soldier – who was whipping Celestine – and brought a furious downward blow upon him. Yet he came on with an unsteady foot and the sprightly soldier was able to dodge to the sword’s left. Thus without anything to hinder its course, it continued downward in the direction of Celestine’s back – over which the mini-melee was taking place. Its momentum was too great to be recalled mid-flight. The blond Fardy cried out in agony as he saw what must inevitably happen in the next instant of time.
Cybele’s other followers had been easily overcome by the surge of crewmen who followed the Fardys. All of them stood by motionless as fate played out before them. There was a single, narrow piece of time in which to spare Celestine’s life and none had the presence of mind to take the chance. None, that is, but the soldier for whom
