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  Behind the altar there were now revealed several huge murals, done in an antique style, showing a forbidding Christ with His hands spread to show the marks of the nails, surrounded by clusters of tiny saints and martyrs dressed in courtly garb of the eleventh century. To one side was a representation of what was probably Saint Jerome, for an old stylus pen was clasped in one hand, and a leather-covered book was opened with the other.

  "I did not know," Madelaine whispered, moving toward the mural. "It is very beautiful, isn't it?"

  Saint-Germain was looking steadily at her. "Very."

  She turned to him. "How do you come to be here?"

  "I said I would protect you." He came toward her and gently touched the scratches on her face and arms. "You are so much in need of protection."

  She flushed at this. "I did well enough in the wood. I escaped and came here." She looked at him again. "The wolf...?"

  He shook his head ruefully. "I could not leave you to Saint Sebastien. I know you are brave, I know you are resourceful, but I feared for your safety."

  She took his hands in hers and held them fast. "I am grateful, Saint-Germain. I do not like to think what would have happened..."

  "And you feel safer with me, knowing what I am?" He looked into her face, and he felt his resolution weakening. He broke away from her.

  She gave a little cry of entreaty. "Saint-Germain. Saint-Germain, don't do this. No. No. Listen to me. Please." The sound of her voice brought his reluctant eyes to hers. "What did you save me for, if you abandon me?"

  His words were lightly ironic as he answered. "You know that what I want to do will not save you."

  She reached out for him again. "But it is not so, Saint-Germain. You walk on consecrated ground. You are not damned if you do this."

  "Not in the usual way, certainly," he agreed in a neutral voice.

  She studied his face in the dim light, seeing the shadow of agony there. Gently she came up to him again, and gently she reached to touch him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw and the wry curl of his lips. "Communion is partaking of the Body and Blood of Christ, is it not?"

  "You know that better than I," he said, trying to pull away from the temptation of her warm flesh.

  "If blood is a sacrament, then what we have done is a sacrament." She was near him, and her eyes yearned for him.

  "Oh, God," he said softly, in his private torment. "You are willing, but you do not know what may happen to you. Can't you see that my very desire makes me dangerous to you?" He had taken her by the arms and was shaking her tenderly. "Madelaine, I burn for you, but I cannot. I cannot."

  "It is cold here, Saint-Germain. If you are not by me, I will die, and it will be a death that lasts until the Last Trumpet. You would not do that to me."

  "No," he said, taking her into his arms again.

  "Can you hold me and not love me?"

  He was silent for some time, and there was only the soft sound of rain, which had begun to fall heavily. "You are precious to me. I think I have longed for you always."

  She turned slightly in the circle of his arms. "Then don't deny me," she whispered hungrily. "Touch me, oh, touch me.

  His hands were already on her, and then he lifted her, carrying her to the rear of the sanctuary, laying her on the old choir stall. As the saints and martyrs watched, with lips and hands he worshiped her.

  Excerpt from a letter written by l'Abbé Ponteneuf to Madelaine de Montalia at her aunt's husband's estate, Sans Désespoir, dated October 28, 1743:

  ...I was most pleased to learn of your esteemed father's visit, and I look forward to several happy hours in his company. You, I know, will welcome his loving care and attention, for certainly it is a wise daughter who cherishes the wisdom and condescension which must mark every father's love.

  Your little sojourn in the country is surely a delight to you. No doubt you have spent much time in pleasant walks and delightful rides through the countryside. Although I am not familiar with Sans Désespoir, I know that the scenery there is much admired. You must certainly be grateful to le Marquis d'Argenlac for this opportunity to recruit your strength for your fête. Not every young woman is so fortunate as to have relatives who are willing to cater to her in this way.

  ...Your father has charged me with the happy task of explaining to you the duties of a wife, since it is hoped that that joyous change in estate is not far off. Let me urge you to reflect on the words in Scripture, and the virtues attributed to Our Lord's Mother, the Immaculate Virgin, Who is ever willing to aid us in salvation for the sake of Her Son. Think of this holy Mother's chastity, of her devotion, of her selflessness, of her humility, of her generosity, of her charity, of her meekness in submission to the will of the Holy Spirit. These are qualities which must be the goal of every wife, though none can hope to attain such perfection. It will be your honor to serve your husband in all things, gladly to accept his word as your law, and to submit to his demands, that you might be fruitful and blessed with children. School yourself to think only of his good, of his needs, and that way you will find true happiness.

  You have been enough about the world to know that there are wives who set themselves in opposition to their husbands, who defy their marriage vows and wallow in sensuality and the lusts of the flesh. What a dreadful fate is theirs! They are despised by their families, scorned by their children, and when at last they die—alone, friendless, without the adoring presence of their children—then they see their sins and know that they have just begun to taste the bitter draft prepared for them.

  While your father is in Paris, I hope we may discuss this more, so that you will be fully sensible to the joys of a woman in her married duties. It is not seemly for a man, let alone a priest, to say more, but your father, and certainly your aunt, will be willing to describe the rites of marriage and the privileges of the marriage bed. More I am not able to say to you, except to assure you that the man who finds favor in the eyes of your family will be best able to instruct you in what he finds most becoming.

  You will return soon, as I understand it, and begin the final preparations for the fête. It is said that you will have an opera sung on that occasion, by le Comte de Saint-Germain. A great honor for you, my daughter, and one of which I am certain you are sensible. For a man of his experience to be pleased to make you such a present must certainly put you much in his debt. You will, I know, acknowledge this with the humility and grace that so distinguish you.

  I charge you to remember me to your aunt and her husband, and assure them that they are always in my prayers, as you are, my daughter.

  With the love that Christ bade us have for one another, and with the blessings of my hand and your father's hand, I am always

  Your reverent cousin,

  l'Abbé A. R. Ponteneuf S. J.

  Chapter 7

  Ambrosias Maria Domingo y Roxas held the contraptions aloft so that Hercule could see them better in the dim light of the cellar. "There. It is to Prinz Ragoczy's specific design: horn and wood on the braces, and a joint of steel and formed bronze. The straps are of leather, and they buckle so." He demonstrated this, fitting one of the braces along his arm.

  The part of Hôtel Transylvania where the sorcerers had set up their alchemical laboratory was at the lowest section of the cellars, almost directly under the north wing, where the gambling rooms were. A storeroom immediately overhead blocked any noise or smells, preventing the Guild's activities from disturbing the elegant throng.

  Hercule glanced uneasily around. He did not like these strange men and the somber middle-aged woman who worked with them. And the strange device that Domingo y Roxas was showing him looked more like an instrument of torture than anything else. "What are they?"

  Beverly Sattin answered the question from his place by the athanor. "They are braces. They are for your legs." He indicated the crutches that Hercule used. "His Highness gave us the design because he wanted you to walk again."

  Hercule moved forward awkwardly, despising himself for be
ing crippled. He realized in a rush that he was near weeping. He put one hand to his eyes, and almost fell as he overbalanced.

  The stern expression on the woman's face relaxed somewhat. "You hate your infirmity, do you not?" Iphigenie Lairrez asked in a deep, melodic voice.

  For a moment his bitterness overwhelmed him, and he said nothing. At last he became aware of the sorcerers' eyes on him, and he muttered, "Yes."

  "Eh bien, then why not try these braces? The Prinz has said it is his desire that you have the use of your legs, and he has assured us that these will be most successful."

  Hercule knew nothing of this Prinz they spoke of so reverently, but he did know that his master, le Comte de Saint- Germain, thought highly of the strange people working in this cellar. He hesitated, then said, "But I cannot walk. A surgeon was sent for. He has come twice. He has said it is impossible. See?" He steadied himself and swung one leg. "It bends. Which is something. But if I put my weight on it, I fall." In an eruption of self-disgust that startled him as much as the sorcerers, Hercule threw one of his crutches across the room, and leaned heavily on the large oaken table beside him.

  Mme. Lairrez put her hands on her hips. "That was foolish. If you are helpless, then you would be wise to make use of whatever is offered. Including these braces." She bent to pick up the crutch, but did not return it to him.

  Sattin turned again to the athanor, murmuring a few words about ingrates in English.

  "Very well," Hercule said defiantly as he looked around the darkened cellar. Even with four branches of candles, the gloom of the place was oppressive, made more so by the stink coming from the strange oven they called an athanor.

  The woman came closer to him, her compassionate eyes belying the severity of her face. "I have your crutch, if that is what you want. If it is not, then let me help you to put on one of these braces. We are under a certain obligation to Prinz Ragoczy. You may help us discharge a part of that obligation." As she spoke, she motioned to Domingo y Roxas. "A chair, Ambrosias. The poor man is about to fall."

  At that moment Hercule loathed her for her acuity. He glared at her and the others as he settled cautiously into the old backless chair that was set for him. When he had made himself as comfortable as possible, he waited tensely for what the sorcerers might do.

  Domingo y Roxas nodded, then took one of the braces and knelt at Hercule's feet. "I must remove your boot, senor. I will do it carefully, so that you are not hurt." He took the heel of Hercule's boot in his hand. "Perhaps you had best hold onto the arms of your chair. I do not know if I will do this well."

  The broad coachman's boot was drawn off, and Hercule admitted to himself that the little Spanish sorcerer had done it well, and kindly.

  "Now, you see," he went on, setting the boot aside, "I must untie the lacing of your breeches. So. And now, I lift your foot." He raised Hercule's leg. "Now, you see, here is where this fits against the foot. It is not unlike the sole of a shoe, is it?"

  Hercule grudgingly admitted that the piece of the mechanism against his foot was indeed something like a sole.

  "And this, do you see?" He set the two side bars in position, bars which were made of horn and wood. "This is what makes the brace strong. Here, on each side, you see, is the joint. His Highness tells us that it works like knees do. The steel above and the bronze below. You see the tongue of the laminate here and here?" He pointed to small projections that came down at the front of each knee joint on the brace. "That will keep you from having the joint bend too far backward. It will only bend forward, just as your own legs do."

  Tentatively Hercule reached down and fingered the small projections. "But is it strong enough?"

  Domingo y Roxas frowned. "I would not have thought so, but see." He picked up the other brace, straightened the joint, and then tried to force the thing to bend the wrong way. When he put the brace down again, he was panting a little with his exertion. "I am surprised myself."

  Hercule had watched this demonstration in dawning amazement. He had tried to convince himself that he would grow resigned to being crippled, and had known this was not so. Now he sensed a chance, a promise he had never thought to have. He swallowed hard and felt his throat tighten.

  "This strap goes, so." Domingo y Roxas fitted it around the majordomo's thigh and tightened the buckles. "The leather is braided, so that it will move with you, and of double thickness for extra strength." He stood up. “There. You may try it."

  As Hercule looked up, he saw that the other sorcerers were watching him intently, and he licked his lips. "I do not know..."

  Mme. Lairrez came toward him, holding out a hand to him. "Steady yourself, my good man."

  Reluctantly Hercule took the proffered hand. "Thank you, Madame," he said stiffly as he pulled himself to his feet, using the one crutch to keep himself upright. He swayed for a moment, then stood, his weight on the crutch and his hand in Mme. Lairrez' firm grip.

  "Go on," she said to him, her very sternness an encouragement.

  Hercule nodded brusquely, then hesitated while he prepared himself. Gingerly he began to shift his weight, expecting at every moment to tumble to the floor. But the brace held. He stood almost erect, and though his leg trembled, it did not bend. Seconds turned into minutes, and slowly, slowly, Hercule let out his breath, saying in awe, "God and the Devil!"

  It was like a signal to the others. Sattin gave a curious little whoop and clapped his hands. Domingo y Roxas crossed himself as he felt tears come to his eyes. Mme. Lairrez let go of Hercule's hand and stood back smiling.

  "The Prinz was right," Sattin said to himself.

  "We must learn this secret," Domingo y Roxas said softly. "It is a great secret."

  But Mme. Lairrez was more cautious. "Time to learn this when the man walks," she said measuringly as she watched Hercule.

  At those words Hercule's face fell in a manner that would have been comic if he had not had his very soul in his anguished eyes. "But I stand," he said.

  "That is not the same thing." She gave him his other crutch. "You will have to try."

  Revulsion filled him. He tried to push the crutch away.

  "Do not be foolish," Mme. Lairrez snapped. "You have not walked since you were assaulted. Even if the braces do work and you will be able to walk, you have not used your legs with your weight on them for many days. You are weak. And you are unfamiliar with the workings of the brace. It will do you no good to fall."

  This time when she held out the crutch, he took it, fitting it under his arm resignedly.

  "Now," Mme. Lairrez said. "Come toward me."

  Hercule gripped the crutches and made his first uncertain step, letting the brace take his weight for an instant before he allowed his crutch to support him. His next step was as it had been since Saint Sebastien had broken his knees, a dragging shuffle that embarrassed him more than hurt him. He tried again, rather more confidently. The brace still held. He stopped. "Give me the other one," he commanded them.

  "Certainly," Mme. Lairrez said, and moved the chair for him to sit once more.

  This time the fitting went faster, and as Mme. Lairrez adjusted the brace, Sattin said to Domingo y Roxas, "Perhaps Prinz Ragoczy knows of a remedy for Cielbleu."

  Domingo y Roxas thought of their Guild Brother lying in an attic room, his face vacant. "No," he said sadly after this consideration. "Horn and wood and steel and bronze cannot restore a mind, my friend."

  Sattin nodded after a moment. "It was a hope only. I did not think it was possible." He raised his voice somewhat. "Majordomo, are you ready?"

  Hercule was watching the adjustments that Mme. Lairrez made, concentration in every aspect of his body. "I will be so very shortly."

  He had made three halting turns around the cellar, his confidence increasing as he familiarized himself with the braces, when the stout wooden door was thrown open.

  Everyone stopped, looking fearfully toward the spill of light from the storeroom above. There was a figure in the door, made shapeless by the long travel
ing cloak that fell in thick velvet folds from the intruder's shoulders.

  "Good afternoon," Saint-Germain said as he stepped into the cellar, pulling the door to behind him.

  Sattin was the first to speak. "Highness, we were not expecting—"

  "Neither was I," Saint-Germain cut him short.

  Hercule made his way toward his master. "Comte," he said, smiling at last. "The Prinz of these sorcerers has done this for me." He was aware that it was a breach of social rules for him to address his master in this way, and felt a certain chagrin, anticipating the sharp rebuke reminding him of their separate stations in life.

  It did not come. "I am pleased to see you so, Hercule. In a little time I expect to install you as my coachman." Although he spoke with sincerity, there was a certain preoccupation in his wry smile.

  "We have made the braces to your specifications, Highness," Sattin said in English. "Horn and wood bonded together in opposition; a most innovative concept."

  Saint-Germain shrugged. "Hardly innovative. The Scythians were using bows made in this way two thousand years ago. Adapting the technique to Hercule's needs was a simple matter." He took off his point-edged tricorne and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, revealing traveling dress of dark-wool-drab coat with fur edging at cuff and collar, in the Hungarian manner, over a cambric shirt and cravat of spotless white. His boots were high, with a wide-turned cuff just below the knee. His dark hair was unpowdered and confined at the nape of the neck with a simple black bow of very modest size. Save for his ruby stickpin, he wore no jewels. He tugged the black Florentine gloves from his small hands, frowning intently.

  In a moment he seemed to recover himself. "I have been gone three days, Sattin," he said in English. "I am most pleasantly surprised to see what you have accomplished. It does you great credit, all of you. You may be sure that my gratitude will manifest itself in a manner useful to you."

  "Thank you, Highness." Sattin bowed, then hesitated. "I wonder, Highness, if you have not decided on the expression of your appreciation, if I might make so bold as to request one of you."