All Things Are Lights | Page 5

face, like our southern people. But you are tall and blue-eyed like the men of the north. I sense in you a mixture, a union of north and south, of Frank and Gaul. A tormented union, even as this land is tortured by war between northern and southern Frenchmen. You are a sorrowful man ? you wear somber colors, for a troubadour. You have trouble living with yourself, my son. You do not know who you are."
Roland's chest ached at this reminder of the secret shame of his birth. And he felt fear as well, at the power of this mind that could so easily penetrate his heart.
"Doubtless you are named for the ancient hero Roland, whom The Song of Roland tells us died fighting Saracens in these very mountains," the bishop went on. "And the name, perhaps, has inspired you to perilous deeds. Why have you come to this place, Roland de Vency?"
"Your Holiness, I seek the woman I love, Diane de Combret."
A buzzing murmur came from behind Roland, and the bishop's eyes widened.
"Diane is of your faith, Your Holiness, and I was raised a Catholic, but before I fled into exile we loved each other and were betrothed. The war tore us apart. I took a new name and came back to look for her, but it was as if she had vanished. Then I learned that she is here, and pretended to join the crusaders. I entered the camp of my enemies so that I could rescue her from them." He spread his arms wide. "If I could save all here, I would. But I am only one knight. If all the gallant warriors who defend this place cannot defeat your enemies, can I? But perhaps I can save this one woman's life, which is precious to me above all others."
Bishop Bertran gazed kindly and sadly at him. "Diane. She is here, my son. She has heard all of your brave speech." He gestured with a frail hand.
Roland felt himself starting to tremble. Diane, here in this room? Unsteadily he rose from his knees and turned.
He saw her before him, tall, pale in a long black robe. The candlelight suddenly seemed to grow brighter. The subtle flush in her cheeks, her long shining hair, her huge eyes - Diane had appeared, and color was reborn in the world.
"Roland, Roland," she said. "How did you get here? Roland, I am so happy to see you."
The sound of her voice came to him like the most beautiful of songs played on a well-seasoned vielle. He could not speak. He was stunned, yet more fully conscious than he had ever been.
Diane was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks. She reached out to embrace him.
Then she checked herself. With an obvious effort, she pulled her arms down to her sides and stepped back, her eyes still fixed on his but now full of misery.
He fell to his knees. "Diane, I love you." The crowd of perfecti was watching him, but he didn't care.
"It is no longer possible" - she shook her head - "for you to speak so."
He knelt there, desolate. His mind had finally grasped what had already penetrated his heart.
He knew now what he had suspected from her presence here. She had taken the consolamentum. She was a perfecta. She could no longer know human love.
His heart weighted his chest like a lump of iron. Pain spread from that crushing center to fill his body and limbs with anguish.
He stood up. "Your people's stone-caster just missed me a while ago. I wish it had not."
"Oh, Roland, if only I could share my joy with you," she said softly. "No man could have won me away from you. Every day I heard your voice singing in my heart. But even your songs could not rival the sweetness of God's own music."
Diane wore no ornament, but her long red-gold hair, hanging in ringlets to her shoulders, adorned her more gloriously than any jewelry might have. Her eyes, neither blue nor brown, were a mixture, a catlike green. Her face had always been fine-boned; now months of fasting had put shadows in her cheeks that made her look like an angel on a cathedral pillar.
"I must bow to what you have done, Diane," he said. "But if you will not come with me as my beloved, come as a perfecta. I can smuggle you through the crusader lines. Let me save your life."
Before Diane could answer, the door crashed open. The shrieks and wails of women assailed his ears. From a distance came the shouts of men in combat. The stone floor under Roland's feet vibrated, and he heard the crashing of rock on wood.
A group of women staggered in bearing a wounded man wrapped in a blue cloak. Roland stepped