Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [239]
I rather dimly recalled that St. Augustine had indeed looked into astrology, and had rather scornfully dismissed it as a load of rubbish. Still, I doubted that Louis had read Augustine’s Confessions, and this line of argument was undoubtedly a good one for an accused sorcerer; star-gazing seemed fairly harmless, by comparison with infant sacrifice and nameless orgies.
I was beginning to wonder, with considerable apprehension, just what I was doing in this assemblage. Had someone seen Master Raymond with me in the Hôpital after all?
“We have no quarrel with the proper use of knowledge, nor the search for wisdom,” the King went on in measured tones. “There is much that can be learned from the writings of the ancient philosophers, if they are approached with proper caution and humility of spirit. But it is true that while much good may be found in such writings, so, too, may evil be discovered, and the pure search for wisdom be perverted into the desire for power and wealth—the things of this world.”
He glanced back and forth between the two accused sorcerers once more, obviously drawing conclusions as to who might be more inclined to that sort of perversion. The Comte was still sweating, damp patches showing dark on the white silk of his coat.
“No, Your Majesty!” he said, shaking back his dark hair and fixing burning eyes on Master Raymond. “It is true that there are dark forces at work in the land—the vileness of which you speak walks among us! But such wickedness does not dwell in the breast of your most loyal subject”—he smote himself on the breast, lest we have missed the point—“no, Your Majesty! For the perversion of knowledge and the use of forbidden arts, you must look beyond your own Court.” He didn’t accuse Master Raymond directly, but the direction of his pointed gaze was obvious.
The King was unmoved by this outburst. “Such abominations flourished during the reign of my grandfather,” he said softly. “We have rooted them out wherever they have been found; destroyed the threat of such evil where it shall exist in our realm. Sorcerers, witches, those who pervert the teachings of the Church…Monsieurs, we shall not suffer such wickedness to arise again.”
“So.” He slapped both palms lightly against the table and straightened himself. Still staring at the Raymond and the Comte, he held out a hand in my direction.
“We have brought here a witness,” he declared. “An infallible judge of truth, of purity of heart.”
I made a small, gurgling noise, which made the King turn to look at me.
“A White Lady,” he said softly. “La Dame Blanche cannot lie; she sees the heart and the soul of a man, and may turn that truth to good…or to destruction.”
The air of unreality that had hung over the evening vanished in a pop. The faint wine-buzz was gone, and I was suddenly stone-cold sober. I opened my mouth, and then shut it, realizing that there was precisely nothing I could say.
Horror snaked down my backbone and coiled in my belly as the King made his dispositions. Two pentagrams were to be drawn on the floor, within which the two sorcerers would stand. Each would then bear witness to his own activities and motives. And the White Lady would judge the truth of what was said.
“Jesus H. Christ,” I said, under my breath.
“Monsieur le Comte?” The King gestured to the first pentagram, chalked on the carpet. Only a king would treat a genuine Aubusson with