Chapter 38

Cathédrale Saint-Gatien was built of pristine white stone. Its soaring interior was magnificent, while the scents of candles and cinnamon mingled in the air.

“Do you consider yourself holy?”

Twenty minutes earlier, the candidate for sainthood had answered the same question this way.

“No. What I feel is sin and fear. If there is anything else, it is wonder that the Lord would use a girl like me as His instrument. I would never consider myself holy. If I ever did, it would mean that I had strayed from the Lord’s grace.”

The diplomats were taken aback. For an uneducated country girl, her answer was remarkably sound from a theological standpoint.

Several more questions and answers followed, but they could find no fault with her.

The prospective saint, however, reacted differently from the very beginning. Instead of answering immediately, he smiled for some inscrutable reason.

“A worm struggling on the ground knows nothing of the light of heaven. Holiness feels just as foreign to me.”

“…Are you saying that you do not believe in holiness?”

“My doubt is more fundamental than that. To feel holiness…does that not imply that holiness arises from human emotion? Perhaps holiness is merely a name we invented and attached to something. It is human nature, after all, to give a name to what we cannot understand and then say that we ‘understand’ it.”

Rather than engage in theological discussion, Maxime steered the conversation in a philosophical and ambiguous direction.

Yes, he had merely changed the subject. And yet the philosophical question that flickered through his words resonated very differently with the believers listening nearby.

What was the holiness of God?

Was something perceived through a human body truly the experience of God?

“Then how do you believe the will of heaven reveals itself to mankind?”

“I know nothing of miracles. I only believe that the will of heaven cannot belong to any one person. Within every human being are desires and fears, and they cast shadows.”

There was something fundamentally different about the words of a nonbeliever and those spoken by a believer. A subtle distortion born from seeing the world from a different perspective.

“If heaven has a will, then its light will illuminate those shadows. It makes us see the darkness we have chosen to turn away from. I merely look upon that darkness. No human being follows the light perfectly.”

Though he had couched it in theological terms, beneath the surface lay Maxime’s own personal philosophy.

Diplomat Albergati took particular note of that peculiar distortion in Maxime’s words.

“You claim that, as a mere creature, you are capable of seeing the darkness. Then what would you do if the Church denied your visions and walked into that darkness? Would you submit to the Church’s decision?”

It was a question riddled with traps. No matter how he answered, there would be something they could seize upon.

Maxime immediately abandoned logic.

“The Church, by its very nature, follows Christ. He does not speak through me alone. He speaks through the Church as well. If what I have seen is true, then the Church will recognize the truth. And if I have misunderstood the will of heaven, then it is also the Church that will reveal my error.”

A retriever wagging its tail.

That was the image Maxime had in mind as he spoke.

But Albergati was a seasoned diplomat. He was not about to let a little flattery sway him. Refusing to relent, he pressed Maxime further.

“Which do you consider more precious: miracles or obedience?”

If he said miracles were more precious, they would brand him arrogant. If he answered that obedience was more precious, they would seize upon his earlier claim that he knew nothing of miracles.

The Church defined obedience as an act of faith and an expression of love for God. For that reason, most clergymen who heard such a question would answer that obedience was a greater grace than miracles.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to compare the two. It would be like asking which is more valuable: a child with a bright future or a soldier who protected his family. A miracle is the radiance of God meant to awaken us, while obedience is the faith that remains even after that light has faded. Both are important, but they are not important for the same reason.”

“…That is quite an unusual answer. It seems to depart from theological tradition. It carries a resonance entirely unlike the professions of faith I have heard over the years.”

Dangerous.

There had been no direct accusation, but saying that his answer departed from theological tradition carried a subtle warning.

This man was on an entirely different level from the priest Maxime had encountered in Vaucouleurs. That priest had crudely tried to browbeat the person he was interrogating. The diplomat, on the other hand, laid traps everywhere and calmly waited for his quarry to step into them.

“I have heard that the faithful of Tours call you a saint. As one of the Lord’s creatures, that must be an immense honor. It is rare indeed for one’s name to be spoken alongside that of the Lord. Surely a true saint could hardly be faulted for taking joy in such a thing.”

Did being called a saint bring him joy?

Or would he dare claim that he felt no pride in the honor of being called one?

Once again, the diplomat laid a trap and pressed Maxime into it.

“…One day, my younger brother said something to me. ‘Domrémy is stable now, and the villagers don’t get looked down on wherever they go anymore. You’ve succeeded in life too, haven’t you? Do you really need to keep living such a difficult life?’”

As always, his answer defied expectations. He sidestepped the prescribed choices, unsettling the trap the diplomat had laid for him.

Maxime’s expression turned solemn.

“I do not seek to satisfy my own desires. The cheers of the people bring me no joy. I would be far more tempted by a place where no one ever needed to cheer at all…a place where there was no fighting.”

For the first time, he spoke with genuine emotion. The force of his appeal threw the diplomats into confusion.

The man they had encountered in the cathedral was neither a saint nor a false prophet.

If anything, he was closer to a hero.

“I was under the impression that the Holy See had invited us. It seems I was sorely mistaken. I see now that you regard us not as guests, but as subjects for interrogation.”

Maxime took Jeanne by the hand. Jeanne, who had been watching the exchange in a daze, let out a startled little “Eek?”

“We will take our leave.”

Maxime placed a letter on one of the wooden pews.

“This is the letter I wrote to politely decline the Vatican’s invitation. Now that I know it serves no purpose, do with it as you please. You may burn it as the work of a heretic if you wish.”

Maxime led Jeanne out of the cathedral.

***

Jeanne had already enjoyed a pleasant conversation with Jacques Gélu, a high-ranking clergyman. She therefore felt no particular apprehension merely because the man before her was a diplomat from the Vatican.

In fact, the diplomat’s questions had not been difficult.

Their conversation ended quickly.

Not long afterward, Maxime arrived.

“I heard that the Holy See wished to see us.”

“I greet you in the name of the Lord.”

And so their conversation began.

Jeanne d’Arc did not become alarmed when the diplomat began interrogating Maxime. She simply waited quietly as the two spoke. The atmosphere grew increasingly strange, but she remained calm.

If Maxime isn’t a saint, then who in the world is…?

Jeanne remembered.

The village’s only priest, a man who normally had nothing but kind words to say, had fled without looking back the moment the raiders came. She had no idea where he was now.

Everyone had been consumed by grief and despair. It was a time when people could see only their own wounds and cry out only about their own suffering.

Maxime had been the only one who thought of other people’s pain first and acted on it.

I don’t know if I’m really a saintess, but Maxime is definitely blessed.

Her thinking was simple. Rather than concern herself with complicated theological discourse, she was more interested in something else entirely.

…If I move just a little closer, maybe I’ll be able to hear his heartbeat?

Whenever Maxime was beside her, the very air felt different. Jeanne believed this was a physical phenomenon caused by divine power.

God, Maxime came over to me first. …I wasn’t thinking anything improper.

Maxime was right beside her. Jeanne stood there stiff as a scarecrow, savoring the feeling.

She reveled in the good fortune that had come to her entirely on its own, through passive aggression(?) no less. By now, she could not even hear their conversation.

Then—

He took her hand.

“We will take our leave.”

Aah, ah, ah?!

The Saintess malfunctioned.

She was helpless against the hand pulling her along, unable to offer even the slightest resistance.

After screaming internally for several moments, Jeanne finally managed to regain her senses.

If we stop now… he’ll stop holding my hand too, won’t he?

That uniquely human sense of loss at seeing a good thing come to an end sent her thoughts racing.

One thought led to another.

By the end of her overheated train of thought, she had concluded that this was an extraordinarily rare opportunity.

The Saintess made her decision.

God… I suppose I’m just a hopelessly weak human being who can never escape sin…

She squeezed her eyes shut against the sin she was about to commit.

Before Maxime could come to a complete stop, Jeanne leaned her upper body forward and lightly brushed her forearm against his.

And she did not stop there.

With a trembling hand, she tightened her grip on the hand holding hers.

Squeeze…

Just a little… tighter.

A jolt shot through her.

Jeanne d’Arc’s blood pressure instantly skyrocketed. Heat rushed all the way to the top of her head. Her heart pounded furiously. It was such a sudden spike in blood pressure that an ordinary person might have collapsed from hypertension.

The nervous thrill of committing a crime and the fluttering excitement of touching someone dear to her struck at the same time.

For Jeanne, it was an extraordinarily sneaky and devious act.

Hehehe…

Thanks to her absurdly robust constitution, her elevated blood pressure returned completely to normal within mere seconds.

Maxime merely flinched for a moment at the touch of her skin and failed to notice anything different about Jeanne.

***

The papal diplomat Niccolò Albergati remained seated quietly in the cathedral for a while before carefully picking up the letter.

“…I have always been slow to discern the will of God. On a day like this, I find it particularly difficult to bear a position I never wished to hold.”

“Your Excellency…”

His secretary supported Albergati as he staggered. The young man was a gifted pupil whom Albergati had personally trained.

Clergymen were more than mere spiritual guides. Their ranks included the leading intellectuals of the age, versed in law, administration, education, and more.

An eager scholar himself, the secretary worried about his aging mentor while also holding Maxime’s philosophical twists in high regard.

“Even with age, wisdom has eluded me. I still find it difficult to judge what is right and what is wrong…”

Rather than judging him by outward miracles, Albergati had tested Maxime’s patience to determine whether the bearer of revelation possessed genuine humility.

He had subtly posed theological questions to see whether Maxime understood orthodox doctrine, then asked whether he respected the authority of the Church. If possible, he had even wanted to see Maxime lose his temper. He had mixed subtle insults with temptation to provoke his pride.

His purpose had been to see how Maxime conducted himself when put through a trial.

“At the very least… he is worth watching.”

The candidate for sainthood was the very picture of a perfect saintess.

The saint, on the other hand… had remained completely unfazed by the words Albergati expected to shake him, only to become emotional over something Albergati had thought would not affect him at all.

“Tommaso, would you watch over them in place of this inadequate old man?”

Niccolò Albergati looked at the precious disciple who had come into his life in his later years.

At his gaze, the secretary bowed his head.

“If that is your wish, Your Excellency, I will gladly devote myself to this calling with a blessed heart.”

Tommaso Parentucelli accepted his mentor’s request.

In the future, he would become Pope Nicholas V taking his papal name in honor of his mentor.