Saint Fire (Secret Books of Venus Series) by Tanith Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

warming, and a bird singing in a small twisted fruit tree.
    “How are you doing, Luchita?”
    “Oh, well enough.”
    They sat on a bench by the house wall, and the servant moved alone about the plants, now cutting something, now tying something up.
    “This is a thriving garden.”
    “Yes. I’m the Good Housewife. I domy best. It’s never easy. But I like these things. The way they answer care. I sometimes think,” she paused, then said, “kindness and love might improve humankind. Better than struggle and suffering.”
    “God tells us this very thing, Luchita.”
    He expected her to say sullenly, in her unlessoned woman’s manner, “Then why does He never show it us?”
    But she only sighed.
    The servant cut off a large head of salad stuff with a crisp snap. It was forward, he thought, but then the garden caught the sun at this time of the year. He was going to congratulate his sister again, and realized that she bored him, and this was another fault.
    “Tell me what you’ve been doing, Lucha.”
    “What do I ever do?”
    (He had taught her to read when they were children. But she had, here, no chance for or use for books.)
    “My poor girl. Remember, care also for yourself. You’ve received a blow, a wound. It must have space to heal.”
    “That child? Oh. It means nothing now. If it had lived a few hours, if I’d held it—but there wasn’t anything to hold. I blamed old Maria, it’s true, the mid-wife. Said it was her fault. Foolish. I always lose my children.”
    Perhaps she saw him frown. She said, “Then Maria said it was a girl under the window who was to blame, a witch, who set a spell on me so Maria’s wonderful cleverness was to no avail—”
    Cristiano’s thought wandered. It was the image of a window … The Virgin in her mantle, the delicacy of her face, beyond beauty. And the light which filled him—He brought his mind back sharply.
    Luchita was looking up at him. “You’re so handsome, Cristiano.So splendid in your armor. And your golden hair, so thick it breaks a comb—oh, I remember. What a waste. What a
waste
to be a priest—”
    Anger moved in him, the dark beast he must resist.
    “You know, Lucha, I don’t like you to say these things. I belong to God.”
    “You belong to the
world
. Look at you! Any woman could love you. Or a man—”
    “Luchita.”
    “Hold my tongue. Yes. But you might have had sons, Cristiano. Think of that. God knows I mourn the loss of them more than that dead thing Maria pulled out of me.”
    Cristiano got up. Alerted by his closed fury, which seethed invisibly yet white-hot about him, even the servant cowered, and the bird left off its song.
    And at that moment a raucous shouting broke out over the wall.
    Luchita jumped up too, wincing and flushed.
    “It’s mad Berbo, I know his voice. The girl must be there, and he’s seen her. The numskull. There are Eyes and Ears all through the quarter today—”
    And leaving Cristiano, as if abruptly he had lost his value, she ran heavily back into the inn. The servant girl ran after her, clutching the salad.
    Cristiano followed them, irritated, and keeping himself in check.
    The inn had erupted into the alley beyond. From upper windows and from doors too, people pressed to see and jeer.
    A man in decent garments stood shouting, frothing somewhat at the lips. Pointing.
    And from somewhere, probably off the canal, two other men came, in black robes, and took hold of him.
    Cristiano disliked the Eyes and Ears ofGod. But, impartially, he accepted their necessity—in certain areas.
    Not here, surely? This fellow was crazed, as Luchita said.
    But the madman was turning now, clinging to the two black priests.
    “Praise God that sent you! Brothers—see—that witch—that Making of Satanus—”
    Cristiano turned his head a little. Who was it that this shouting imbecile had singled out for his obsession? It must be the waif there, barely more than a child, skinny and filthy, with matted brownish hair tied up in