Perdeus:

An
Allegory
Gwen Blotevogel, PhD

Prologue
Agen, France
1March, 1537
Neither Anne nor Marie was able to concentrate on the words. Their father had told them
that the best they could do was read the Psalter1 and pray, but it was no use. They were unable to
get the image of their mothers bloodied dress out of their minds. They knew that the most highly
trained physician in southwest France was doing his best to stop the bleeding, but it was not
enoughthey needed to DO something.
Come on, whispered Anne as she tossed the Psalter aside and jumped to her feet.
Were going to fetch Sophie.
Marie responded immediately, reaching the back door before her sister. On the way out
they grabbed their cloaks to guard against the chill of the March evening, and Marie led the way
across the garden and through the gate, uncharacteristically ignoring the dogs as they danced and
jumped around her. The girls crossed the wheel-rutted road and ducked into the woods to follow
the narrow, briar-lined path leading to Sophies cottage. The thick woods muted the late-day sun,
and they stumbled through the semi-darkness. Just before they reached the clearing that stood in
front of Sophies cottage, Anne tripped over a tree root and tumbled to the edge of the path,
falling into a wild rose bush that protruded into the pathway. The thorny vine caught on her skirt,
1 Book of Psalms

forcing her to stop and carefully remove each cloying strand. Impatient to reach Sophie, she
tugged at one of the threads, but its grasp on the fabric was still tight and she shrieked shrilly
when the thorns ripped her dress and tore a gash in her finger.
Ow! she shouted, as blood began to trickle slowly from the wound. She held the
injured finger in her other hand and began a hopping dance, shifting her weight from one leg to
the other.
A shaky voice responded from across the clearing. Girls, can I help you.
Sophies one-room cottage stood at the far edge of the meadow, nestled against a sheer
cliff that marked the edge of the Serrats family estate. Most people shunned the old woman
because she both frightened and fascinated them, but Lord Serrat, the girls father, had long ago
offered Sophie refuge and protection. When Anne and Marie arrived at her door, the old woman
was already standing at the threshold.
Why the hurry, my young mistresses? Come, tell me what brings you to me at the edge
of darkness this evening. Sophies thick German accent was comfortably familiar.
Theres no time to visit, Anne said as she rushed across the meadow behind Marie, her
warm breath leaving behind a trail of steam in the cool evening air.
Mre is hurt, Maam, and you must come help her, added Marie. Master Sarrazin is
with her, but she is still bleeding.
And so are you, my dear. Sophie nodded toward Annes injured finger, now leaving an
erratic trail of blood on the greening grass. She retreated inside her cottage and went to the
shelves lining the wall opposite the door. Come in. First we will treat your injury, then, if your
father will allow it, I will try to help Master Sarrazin heal your mother by adding my herbs and
charms to his remedies.

Sophie struggled to reach the highest shelves of her apothecary wall, for she was stooped,
and no longer able to reach the topmost shelves without great effort. Variously-shaped bottles
and a collection of small bags, most of them tied with leather thongs and marked with cryptic
symbols, covered the shelves. Anne and Marie watched nervously as she climbed onto a stool
and reached far to her right toward a particularly large bag designated simply by a bold red letter
C.
Whats that? Marie asked as she strained upward to take the bag from Sophies hand.
Poivre de cayenne2, Sophie replied. It will stop bleeding, bring the bad spirits out of
your mothers blood, and stop any internal bleeding that she may have.
Marie, find the Crudus3 charm. Its there, on my charms tablethe flat red stone with a
circle painted on its top surface. Sophie pointed to a table covered with stacks of papers in front
of a shelf with hundreds of small compartments, each containing a small objectmetal amulets,
stones hung from leather straps, and a miscellany of natural and manmade objects, each
associated with a healing, restorative, or mood-altering power.
As Marie carried out her request, Sophie opened the bag that she had retrieved from the
shelf and asked Anne to hold out her hands. Placing the open bag in Annes uninjured hand she
grasped the bleeding finger in one hand and turned it over so the injury faced upward. Then she
dipped the other hand into the bag and removed a small amount of powder, sprinkling it over the
injury and muttering crudus arte.
To Annes amazement, the slow trickle of blood stopped entirely. Sophie picked up a rag
laying nearby and wiped a last drop of blood from the finger.
Now, she declared. Lets go see what we can do to help your mother.
2 Cayenne pepper
3 bleeding

She moved to the door to gather her cloak and pick up a worn black satchel, held closed
with a tarnished golden clasp etched with the image of three interlocking circles.

The journey home was excruciatingly slow for the Serrat sisters, but they patiently
followed Sophie through the woods and along the road. When she heard the dogs barking from
their enclosure behind the garden wall, Marie could not hold back any longer. She bounded
ahead to tell her father and Master Sarrazin of the help that was coming.
Marie entered the house, closing the door firmly to shut out the sound of the dogs, and
stopped short. Master Sarrazin and her Father were no longer tending to Mres wounds. Instead,
they stood outside her door conferring in hushed tones.
Is Mre OK? her voice wavered.
Lord Serrat was a tall man, nearly a head taller than Master Sarrazin, but as he stood now
next to the physician, his hunched posture and bowed head brought him nearly to the height of
the shorter man. When he heard Maries voice, he straightened slightly, but he was unable to hide
his haggard features. Marie barely recognized her father in the man before her. His usually bright
eyes were furrowed at the edges and coated with a glaze that made him look years older. But it
was a good sign that Father was still standing; he could not have borne the loss of his beloved
Constance. He looked toward Marie and tried to smile, but his lips, usually upturned at the
corners, trembled slightly as he gave Master Sarrazin one last directive.
Keep her comfortable, he finished. And pray that your efforts will result in success.
Then he turned his attention to Marie. The bleeding has slowed, Marie, but Mre needs
to rest.

Father, Anne is coming with Sophie. She can help, declared Marie.
Marie, Master Sarrazin has used both the most ancient and the most current remedies to
help your mother. We will trust him to help her.
But Father, Marie pleaded, What if Sophie can help, too? We must let her try. I just
saw her stop the bleeding where Anne scratched herself.
Has something happened to Anne? The furrows in Lord Serrats brow deepened.
No it was just a little scratch, but it was amazing to see how suddenly it stopped when
Sophie treated it. Father, you have to let her help.
What do you think? Lord Serrat asked, turning to the physician. Can it harm
Constance to let the woman try?
Her methods are unscientific, Master Sarrazin frowned, but I have seen some amazing
things done with herbs and charms. Some medical schools are even starting to teach classes in
herbology. If you trust Sophie, we might as well let her try.
As if on cue, Anne appeared and held the door open as Sophie stood at the threshold. She
hesitated, for she had never before been allowed to enter the Serrat home, but Lord Serrat waved
her toward the bedroom where his wife lay and moved aside to let her pass.
She threw her cloak behind her shoulder and shuffled to the bedroom door.
I need Anne to come in to help me, she declared. We have already discussed what she
is to do.
No, Sophie! Constance is . . . Lord Serrat began, but Anne was by her mothers bedside
before he could finish.
The room was dark and the smell of blood made Annes nose tingle and her stomach
lurch. She knew that Sophie needed her help, but was unsure whether she could handle seeing

Mre in pain. Sophie hurried to the bedside, and Mre stirred. She was not fully conscious, but
seemed to understand that someone new had come into the room, that help was near.
Sophie got to work, removing the contents of her satchel. She handed Anne the red stone
and took out the tattered gray-brown bag of poivre de cayenne. Anne rushed to the head of the
bed with the stone and, arms shaking, held it just over her mothers forehead. It was the first time
she had been allowed near her mother since the accident. The corners of Mres mouth were
taught and narrow, its edges turned down into a stiff grimace. And her eyes were shut tight
against the pain. Uncomfortable with seeing Mre in this condition, Anne looked away from this
unfamiliar visage to watch Sophie working at her mothers bedside.
Sophie lifted the bandages that Master Sarrazin had placed on Mres wound. After
dabbing gently at the wound, soaking up excess blood, she took in her breath sharply.
What is it? Anne insisted. What have you found?
Sophie scrutinized the wound on Mres left side, just below the bottom rib. Her skin was
torn in a six-inch-long gash, and a small bit of her rib became visible when Sophie soaked up the
blood. She carefully pulled the edges of flesh together. As she did, two small holes appeared in
the skin just above the wound, as though two tiny pointed objects had penetrated the skin before
the major wound was inflicted. Sophie frowned, but did her best to reassure Anne.
Dont worry dear. The poivre de cayenne is the perfect healing powder for this sort of
wound.
She took two thin sheets of organic material from her bag, laid one on the wound,
sprinkled the cayenne over the sheet, and covered the poultice with the other.
In nomine domine, patrie, et spiritus sancte, crudus arte. The poultice darkened as it
became moist with blood. Sophie slowly and deliberately repeated the incantation three times as

she gently massaged the poultice into Mres wound. She finished by touching her forefinger and
thumb to her left shoulder, right shoulder, forehead, breast.
Anne heard a soft Amen in Sophies rough, cracked voice.
Amen, repeated Anne, tracing the shape of a cross over her own shoulders, forehead,
and breast.
Sophie covered the wound carefully with linen, then slowly rose to her usual stooped
position and called to Marie and her Father, beckoning them to come from where they stood at
the chamber door. She quietly slipped out as the little family gathered around Mres bedside to
offer their prayers and supplications.
The first thing Mre saw when she recovered consciousness just moments later was three
pairs of eyes lined up along her bedside. Sophie had just reached the doorway, and she smiled
and turned her head in response to Maries excited voice.
Mre, she called, Are you better?
Master Sarrazin rushed to the bedside to take a look at the wound.
Sophie, you managed it, he said. The bleeding has stopped entirely.
Praise be to God, Sophie murmured with a bowed head.
The girls and their father each kissed Mre and the girls left the room to thank Sophie and
to allow Master Sarrazin to bind Mres wound so that evil spirits could not enter her body. They
found her beyond the garden heading toward her cottage.
They were about to shout at her when a small figure appeared out of the darkness,
running and gasping for breath. Anne recognized him immediately as her friend, Philip.
Is Master Sarrazin here? he demanded, still running toward the house.
Yes, replied Anne, but he is inside with Mre. We cant interrupt him now.

We must, he panted, bending over with his hands on his knees. The words came out in
short bursts. Inquisitors coming. At Montauban. Coming for Masters Sarrazin Allard
Maurel Lagarde. He looked up at Anne desperately with one final word: Heresy.
Master Sarrazin and Lord Serrat appeared in the courtyard walking quickly toward the
children, who by that time had gathered just outside the garden gate.
Philip, slow down, demanded Master Sarrazin. Please start at the beginning.
Philip was still panting, but his breath had slowed enough to allow him to provide a more
lucid explanation.
Father received a letter today from a messenger of the inquisitor Louis de Rochette. The
inquisitors have been sent by the king to try you and three other Masters for heresy against the
Christian faith. Father has been ordered to hold you all in prison during the proceedings. I heard
about Lady Serrats accident and knew you must be here, Master. You have to leave right away!
Philip, I cannot run away, replied Master Sarrazin. A proper trial will find that we are
not dangerous heretics. We are merely school teachers.
Master, Father has told me about these sorts of trials. They are becoming more frequent,
and he says that truth is not what the kings inquisitors are after, especially since the Placard
Affair in Paris three years ago. And you know that the king thinks Master Maurel was involved
in heresy even then.4
Running away from the kings authority is never a proper response, Philip. God will
protect the innocent.

4 Maurel was suspected of involvement in the 1534 Affaire des Placards in Paris.

I think the boy is right, Master Sarrazin. The group had forgotten about Sophie, who
had returned from the edge of the woods to stand near the small group gathered around the
garden gate. Master, if you will come with me, I can help you.
She extended her small hand toward him in a gesture of goodwill. Sarrazin hesitated,
looking first to the children, then to Lord Serrat.
I think you should accept her help, urged Lord Serrat. She helped Constance, and I
believe she can help you, too.
Master Sarrazin relented. Keep Constance in bed, bring her plenty of water, and feed her
warm broth. I will return as soon as I can to see her again.
Thank you, my friend, replied Lord Serrat. bientot.
Au revoir, my friends, replied Master Sarrazin as he followed Sophie toward the
woods.
The children stood in the garden until Lord Serrat entered the house and closed the door
behind him.
Lets go, whispered Marie.
Where? asked Anne and Philip in unison.
Come on, were going to help Sophie and Master Sarrazin.
Anne and Philip looked at one another, hesitated, then ran after Marie, who was already
disappearing into the woods behind Sophie and Master Sarrazin. They caught up to Marie, and
the trio moved forward as silently as they could in the darkness. Thick, thorny brambles at the
edges of the path slowed their progress, but they soon found Sophie and Master Sarrazin in the
clearing near Sophies cottage.

The children stopped at the edge of the clearing, hidden by a cluster of wild blackberry
bushes. The bushes provided sweet berries for them in midsummer but now the tiny buds of
spring formed a thin concealment. It looked as though Sophie and Master Sarrazin had stopped
outside the cottage to talk, so they settled in behind the bushes to listen to the conversation across
the clearing.
The children could not make out what Sophie and Master Sarrazin were saying. In her
effort to listen quietly, Marie held her breath, but eventually, she had to let it out and she did so in
a short, rather noisy burst of air. Sophie looked directly at the bush, but seemed unable to see
them through the foliage. But the children saw her clearly. Her eyes shone brightly, as though an
inner light source illuminated them, for by then the darkness of night had fully settled on the
woods. She kneeled in front of Master Sarrazin as if to pay him homage, then bowed her head
and reached both arms down toward the new shoots of grass and flowers. The forest floor
swallowed her hands and forearms as they disappeared into the leafy green.
Master Sarrazin hesitated, nodded once, stepped into the plot of grass framed by Sophies
now-hidden hands . . .
. . . and disappeared!