Chapter 49 The Bishop
The Bishop
The bishop sits beneath the soaring gray ribs of the cathedral of Sint-Salvator, where he’s come to think alone.
Well, almost alone. His eyes stray to the cross-shaped window near the altar.
The strange girl is just on the other side, praying, he supposes.
He remembers her funeral, seven or maybe eight months back.
If she wants to enter, then let her enter.
She’d been defiant, refusing to let him administer the rites.
He wonders how she likes it now, isolated in there.
Jan rubs his temples. Sometimes he envies the true believers.
It would be so relaxing to believe in an all-powerful God.
He wouldn’t have to stage-manage everything.
He’d just trust in divine providence, like falling back on a pillow at the end of the day.
All the positioning, all the politics wear him down.
This morning, heralds cantered into the city to announce the progress of the papal delegation, sooner than he expected; the legate and his men will arrive in just a few months, at Midsummer.
They’ll be expecting miracles, and Lukas tells him that the girl’s run dry.
Jan presses his fingers into his eyebrows.
There’s something wrong with his brother.
Ever since he found the girl, or she found him, Lukas’s mood has taken on an excited brittle glitter, like someone fevered. Jan’s worried about him.
The bishop looks up at the cross. Maybe he should pray. Dear God, he begins, folding his hands before him. If you’re there. Is he there? If you’re listening. Look, I’ve done what I can. I put a stop to the translations.
He had Willems threaten Katrijn Janssens in the Lakenhalle, had him insinuate that the bishop would be forced to blame all translations on Sophia, would drag her name through the mud, would excommunicate her if they didn’t stop immediately.
“But she’s dead,” Katrijn protested. “Doesn’t matter,” Willems said, “we’ll do it retroactively, she’ll burn in hell for all eternity.
” At that, Willems recounted later, Katrijn paled.
She tried to buy him off. “Blame me,” she said.
Willems shrugged and gestured around the guild hall. “If only we could.”
Lord, perhaps my methods lack charity. I did what was necessary. And don’t forget that I’ve shown people miracles! Granted, they were staged, but perhaps he’d spared God the effort. There are more believers now than ever.
Please, just make the legate’s visit go smoothly. If you send me to Rome, then I won’t have to stoop to—well, the levels I’ve stooped to.
He looks up at the cross.
And please help my brother. Grant him his desires or bring him peace, whichever you can do first.
Now would be a good time for God to make himself seen.
Jan waits. A bit longer. He sighs.
Show me the light, and I will follow.
There, he’s prayed on it. And if God doesn’t make his will known with trumpets and bells, then what is a bishop to do?
Surely, not stand by idly. Jan glances toward the girl’s cell.
He needs her to perform miracles for the delegates.
Or at least not to say she can’t. He doesn’t actually require her presence.
Sister Aleys wouldn’t be the first saint to cure at a distance.
Technically, a saint’s not a saint until they heal someone from heaven, so it shouldn’t be a problem to convince them that the girl can work miracles from the next room.
They’ll set up a stage right here, outside her squint.
Willems is rehearsing the players. He’s found a fetching young woman who bursts into tears when her stammer is lifted and a mute boy who sings a lovely Te Deum on demand.
Jan imagines the music filling the cathedral, the legate crossing himself in wonder.
That’s when he’ll bring out the showings.
He thinks of the legate’s wistful voice: No one can communicate directly with God.
Right? The man’s a sitting duck for miracles and showings.
Lukas says he’s recorded the girl’s visions faithfully. Jan has yet to read her words, but if they require editing, Jan has a quill at hand. Nothing too on the nose, but it wouldn’t hurt if her showings flattered Rome. He might even enjoy editing inspired verse.
Jan would love it if God would take over. But if he won’t, God is said to favor the prepared. Jan is ready. It won’t be long now.