Ice-cream vendors wheeled their carts around the square in front of Our Lady's, optimistically looking for early business. Aubrey stood a moment and admired the steeples, the flying buttresses, the enormous rose window and the phlegmatic gargoyles who had little to do on the warm, cloudless morning.
The church doors were open. Aubrey's eyes took a moment to recover, moving from the bright daylight to the relative darkness of the interior, but once they had he stood just inside the narthex – the enclosed area before the church proper – marvelling.
At the eastern end, pews were arranged in front of the altar. A few worshippers were praying while visitors kept close to the walls, examining tombs and inscriptions, daunted by the immense space.
Aubrey shivered. This was a place where silent contemplation had gone on for centuries. For generations, people had spent time pondering the fate of their souls, wondering about life, death and what it held for them. Surrounded by this accumulation of introspection, Aubrey felt the transience of human existence. The solidity of every pillar, every block of stone, every tomb contrasted with it, remaining in place while thousands of lives passed.
He bowed his head. For a moment, he took time to consider the fate of his own soul. The nearness of the true death made him conscious of the importance of life and the need to amount to something. He was determined his existence wouldn't be a meaningless one.
I will make something of my life, he promised himself. And if I trip over feet along the way, they're going to be mine.
When he lifted his head he saw a group of visitors nearby. One of them appeared familiar, but Aubrey was more interested in the maps that several held, orienting themselves. 'I wonder where we can get one,' Aubrey muttered to George.
'One what?'
'A map. It'd be helpful. I don't know where to start. Bertie's notes are cryptic, to say the least.'
A voice came from Aubrey's left. He nearly jumped. 'My name is Sister Claire. Can I help you?'
The nun had been standing near the entrance, obviously with the duty of assisting bemused visitors. She was a young woman with arresting green eyes. Smiling at Aubrey, she continued in Albionish. 'From Albion, are you not?'
'Indeed, Sister.' Aubrey introduced himself and his friends.
'Would you like a tour? Or is there something in particular that you would like to see?'
Aubrey wasn't sure why he hesitated to reveal his plans. Perhaps caution was growing customary. 'A general tour would be helpful, Sister.'
'Excellent,' Sister Claire said. 'It's a marvellous cathedral. We're very proud of it, even though the upkeep is very, very costly.'
George was the first to take the hint. He reached inside his jacket for his wallet. 'I don't suppose there's anywhere to make a donation, is there, Sister? Can't have a place like this falling into ruin.'
'There is a donation box just inside the entrance.' Sister Claire smiled, dimpling.
Sister Claire was bright and chatty; Aubrey could see why she'd been chosen for visitor duty. She took them into the wide central aisle, pews stretching away on either side, and ushered them to a spot in the nave. 'Look up,' she said, and had them face the rose window over the entrance.
Aubrey smiled as they were bathed in reds, greens, yellows and blues. 'It's like being wrapped in a rainbow.'
'It's one of my favourite places in the whole cathedral,' Sister Claire said. Her face was dappled red and blue. 'Don't tell the Mother Superior, though. She thinks I need to spend more time praying and less time smiling.'
'You live here, in the convent?' Caroline asked.
'Yes. It's a wonderful place.'
'It's your choice, this life?'
Aubrey tensed. He knew that Caroline had very modern views about the role of women. How would she view women who devoted themselves totally to the service of others?
Sister Claire frowned, confused. 'This life?'
'Becoming a nun.'
'I'm not sure if it's a matter of choosing.'
'But it was your decision?'
'Oh yes. My family tried to convince me not to.'
Caroline looked satisfied. 'Very well then.'
Rather than be offended, Sister Claire was amused. 'If you'll come this way.'
She conducted Aubrey, George and Caroline around the walls of the cathedral, moving in an anti-clockwise direction, she explained, to fit in with the other nuns who were also guiding visitors.
The immense space both magnified and muffled sounds. Whispers became murmurs that moved in vague burbles of sound, rolling off the hard marble surfaces and chasing each other into the heights.
Tombs and memorials were set into the walls. Some were austere, some were flamboyant and baroque, but none bore names that Aubrey recognised from Bertie's notes. Mixed in with prominent clergy were more than a few nobles, but occasionally an artist or a soldier was honoured with a place in the foremost church in Gallia. It was a mark of respect accorded to few, Sister Claire pointed out, and only those who'd done something special for their country.
When they reached the transept, Sister Claire paused. 'The convent opens off here. If you like, I'll show you the cloisters. They're very fine, very peaceful.'
Aubrey couldn't deny her. 'By all means, Sister.'
A dusty, wood-lined passage took them from the cathedral. Aubrey spied a narrow doorway. 'The convent is through there?'
Sister Claire shook her head. 'The convent is at the western end of the cloisters. That's the entrance to the Chapel of the Heart.'
'Can we see inside?' Caroline asked.
'Of course. It's very simple compared to the cathedral, but it's very special.'
The Chapel of the Heart was tiny, no more than a dozen paces in length. The ceiling was low, and appeared lower after the lofty extravagance of the cathedral. It was a plain, rectangular chamber with no windows. A simple altar stood at the far end. The body of the chapel was filled with backless benches and a narrow aisle ran up the middle. Candles and a single lamp illuminated the space.
It was close, but Aubrey didn't feel confined. The tiny place had a comfortable scale and, in some ways, was more human than the cathedral's magnificence.
He stopped, frowning, and rubbed his hands together. Magic was hereabout, of a deep and primeval kind, but where was it?
'Oh.' Caroline's voice was full of wonder. Aubrey glanced to find that she was staring at a niche in the western end of the chapel. He came closer to see what had taken her attention so completely.
The alcove was unadorned, bare stone, windowless. A nun sat and gazed back at them with such tranquillity that Aubrey was quite dazed. She was young, younger even than Sister Claire. In her simple habit she looked complete, perfect, as if she wanted for nothing at all. When she smiled at them, it was with such overwhelming goodness that Aubrey nearly wept. Then she dropped her gaze to her lap.
Nestled in her hands was a golden heart.
It was the size of a large man's fist. Its surface was dull, but it glowed with a lustre that was seemed to come from deep within.