Whispers of the Flesh (5 page)

Its white marble walls had been eroded by time and the elements, but it was still a beautiful structure, the focal point of which was the square, mosaic-floored pool in which he had spied Lili and Elic coupling the night before. The water was glassy-smooth except at the far end, where it rippled as it emerged from a conduit to the underground cave stream; presumably it flowed out through a similar aperture that David couldn’t see from where he stood. The open roof, which emblazoned the water with sunlight, was supported by four pillars with a life-size figurative sculpture at the base of each.

David was about to respond that it was a very lovely bathhouse when he realized that the four statues were of couples locked in sexual concourse, each position more indecent than the last. Two depicted acts of intercourse, the other two of oral copulation, the male being the recipient in one case and the female in the other. The male’s generative organ was unnaturally large, a thick, veiny column about a foot long. David’s scalp tingled when he noticed a tail with a little tuft at the end, ears that came to a slight point, and two stubby horns that were barely visible within the satyr’s cap of tightly curled hair.

He had been aroused already, remembering that dream. It didn’t help to be in such close proximity to the exotically seductive Lili. The delicate pressure of her arm linked with his, the silken brush of her skirts and huge puff sleeves, and most intoxicating of all, her perfume, which made him think of night-blooming flowers in a Persian garden . . . jasmine, he thought. These things provoked in him a low hum of desire, like the resonance from a tuning fork, that made him keenly aware of every inch of his body—especially of that all too excitable organ between his legs, now stirring heavily beneath his coat as he took in these ribald statues.

Lili said, “The man who built this bathhouse, and the villa that once stood where the castle is now, regarded this valley as a pleasure retreat. Of course, the Romans had a rather sportive view of fleshly matters. It was simply a leisure pursuit to them. I do hope you aren’t shocked.”

“Of course not,” he said, but wanting to mitigate that bit of fiction—for truly, the mouth that belieth killeth the soul—he added, “I suppose I am a bit taken aback, but not
shocked
per se. I have viewed the Pompeian artifacts at the Secret Museum in Naples, so I do realize that artwork portraying satyrs was frequently quite obscene. I will confess, however, that the . . . well, the lifelike size and quality of these statues, and the skill with which they were executed, makes them all the more . . .”

“Titillating?”

Incredulous that he was discussing such matters with a female—and not some trollop, but a lady of obvious breeding and cultivation—he said, “Clearly they were created with titillation in mind. I suppose what truly shocks me is that they remain standing after all this time. I would have thought they’d have been removed long ere this, on moral grounds.”

“You said yourself they’re beautifully executed. They’re exquisite works of art.”

“Art? They are prurient in the extreme.”

“Which means they cannot be regarded as art?” she asked.

“To my mind, no.”

She smiled at him in a way that made him feel like some dim-witted Philistine. Would that he’d never followed the conversation down this particular path.

“Is this what you’d wanted to show me?” he asked.

“No, it’s something else, another statue even older than these, one of the most ancient artifacts at Grotte Cachée. It’s in the cave.”

David looked toward the slab of dark, moss-draped volcanic rock that formed the back wall of the bathhouse. Slightly off center in the rock face was a roughly triangular opening about five feet high. A little bluish bird—a thrush, he thought—stood sentinel just inside this natural doorway.

She said, “There is a chamber called the
Cella
about a quarter mile in, where the Gauls who once lived here used to worship their gods. They carved a stone effigy with some rather curious features.”

A quarter mile in.
Precisely the limit imposed upon him by Bartholomew Archer. Far be it for her to have invited him to venture farther than that.

David had yet to set foot in the “Secret Grotto” for which this valley had been named, and he was eager to do so, but not with Lili as a guide. He’d meant it when he’d told the archbishop that he would refrain from becoming too familiar with the residents of Grotte Cachée. Doing so could only muddle his judgment and call his conclusions into doubt.

It would be particularly unwise to cultivate an attachment to Lili, with whom, if he were honest with himself, he’d been enthralled from the first. And, too, how likely was it that this effigy would be of interest to his investigation, given how keen she was to show it to him? He would be better off exploring the cave on his own, at night, as he’d planned.

“It is a statue of a dusios,” she said.

He looked at her sharply. “A
dusios
?”

“Do you know what that is?”

He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words. “I understand it to be a type of demon.”

That smile again. “What some call demons, others call gods. A French term for them is Follets. ‘Dusios’ is a Gaulish name for a type of Follet with the ability to transform himself from male to female.”

It was a simplistic description of a complicated being, to which a large section of
Dæmonia
was devoted.
According to the writings of St. Thomas, Vallesius, Maluenda, and others,
he’d written in his introduction to this type of incubus,
Dusii procreate, after a fashion, by assuming a female form so as to fornicate with an exceptional man and secure his seed, after which they revert to the masculine and lie with a woman into whose womb they inject that seed. The offspring of these unions, although the human children of the men whose seed were captured, are reputed to be endowed with extraordinary gifts. Plato, Alexander the Great, and Merlin, among others, are thought to have been conceived through the intervention of a Dusios.

This is not to say that Dusii only engage in coitus for the purpose of reproduction. They are, like all Incubi, sexually voracious. In a state of almost constant carnal excitation, the Dusios, in his native male form, will copulate with any and every desirable female who puts herself at his disposal, as well as with some who do not, by means of enchantment that causes his victim to submit willingly to such violation. There is no agreement amongst demonologists as to whether Dusii, or Incubi in general, are in the habit of taking human women by physical force. From my study of the subject, I would suspect that there are some who are and some who are not.

Lili said, “The stone figure in the cave portrays both male and female physical attributes. I had thought you might find it interesting, given your artistic inclinations, but having witnessed your reaction to these satyr statues . . . well, I’m afraid you might be put off by—”

“No, no, not at all,”he said quickly. “I . . . I do think I would find it interesting, very much so. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression of me. I daresay I’m a good deal more broadminded than I let on.”

“Well, if you’re certain . . .”

“Quite.”

The thrush left its post to fly onto the back of a chair near Lili, cheeping furiously in her direction.

“Calm yourself, my friend,” she told it in a soothing tone. “We won’t go anywhere near your home.”

The bird lit off the chair and flew into the cave.

“It lives in there?” he asked.

“Yes, deep inside.”

“Do you make a habit of talking to birds?”

With a little smile, she said, “Just that one.” Before he could pursue the subject, she turned away from him and began tugging off her long white kid gloves. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind unbuttoning my dress.”

Six

D
AVID STARED AT Lili’s back, thinking he couldn’t have heard her right. Was she asking him to
undress
her?

“It’s a new frock, and it will end up filthy if I wear it in there,” she said, nodding toward the cave. “Silk is so wretchedly difficult to get clean.”

“Do . . . Do you really think it seemly for you to disrobe in the presence of a man whom you barely—”

“This from the gentleman who professes to be broad-minded,” she said with a little chuckle. “I assure you I do plan to retain my underpinnings—which, I might add, is more than I had on last night.”

Last night.
He was ambushed with the image of Lili naked with her legs wrapped around Elic and her head thrown back, gripped in a paroxysm of lust. “
Yes, like that. Oh, God, I’m so close. I’m going to come . . .”

“Considering what you saw of me then,” she said, “your protestations of impropriety strike me as a bit disingenuous.”

“I . . . You . . .”
Dear God.
Stammering like some Peeping Tom who’d gotten caught, he said, “I . . . I didn’t realize you knew I was . . . That is, I didn’t mean to . . .”

“You didn’t mean to see what you saw,” she said as she turned to face him. “I know that, David, and I’m not trying to embarrass you, truly. I wouldn’t have brought it up, but for your objection to unbuttoning me. I shan’t press you about it, but neither am I willing to ruin this beautiful dress.” Pulling a glove back on, she said, “Let us return to the château, shall we? They’ll be serving tea soon.”

“Yes, of course, but . . . Perhaps if you told me how to locate the effigy within the cave, I could come back later and—”

“You might have a bit of trouble finding it on your own, even with directions,”she said. “It really isn’t that important for you to see it, and it would take time away from your work here.”

“But . . .” Looking back toward the cave entrance, David thought,
A dusios.
“I must say, you’ve whetted my curiosity to a very great degree. I, er . . . Perhaps I was, after all, being a bit, well, priggish.”

“Not at all. We enjoy a rather bohemian outlook here at Grotte Cachée. Most visitors think us utterly shameless—at least until they get to know us. I should like to get to know
you
a little better, David. You strike me as a man who keeps much of himself hidden. I would find it a most diverting challenge to unearth the real David Beckett.”

God help me.
He gestured awkwardly for her to turn around so that he could undo her dress.

The buttons that ran like a string of pearls down her back were tiny, round, and covered in the same material as the gown, an iridescent, pale green silk that shifted color with every rustling sway of her skirts. It glimmered bluish one moment, violet the next, imparting an air of illusion and mystique that suited her perfectly—unlike her wide-brimmed sunbonnet with its stovepipe crown, which was charming, to be sure, but a bit too provincial to look quite right on the elegant and alluring Lili.

As if she’d heard that thought and agreed, she untied it and set the bonnet on a chair, along with her gloves. Her hair was scraped up into a simple Apollo knot with the front parted crisply down the center, sans the ringlets that were all the rage at the moment. Most women would have looked rather hard with their hair styled so austerely; Lili looked like a Greek goddess.

It took him some time to pry each button loose from its little loop, a process made all the more arduous by his nervous, fumbling fingers. Gradually the back of the dress parted, revealing a corset of ornately quilted ivory sateen laced with a silken ribbon; the same ribbon connected the front and back with a little bow at the outer edge of each shoulder.

Affecting as casual a tone as he could muster, he said,“I cannot imagine that Elic would take it well, were he to come by and find me undressing you.”

After a few seconds of silence, she said, “Are you familiar with the concept of free love, David?”

“I have read the writings of Percy Shelley on the subject.”

“What do you think of it?”

“In truth? Not much, I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“I . . . Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss this. I do not care to insult you.”

“If you intend no insult, none will be inferred.”

“I cannot help but believe that indiscriminate coupling reflects poorly upon one’s character.”

“Ah, but what if one is discriminating?” she asked. He could hear the amusement in her voice.

“It is still a sign of moral weakness. I was brought up to revere the bodily integrity represented by virginity.”

“As regards
females
,” she said. “I suspect you are a good deal more lenient as regards the transgressions of your own sex.”

“Not at all. Continence is as much a virtue for men as for women.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, David.” Her tone implied that such a state of affairs was impossible, even ludicrous.

David paused in his unbuttoning, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to avoid this line of conversation.

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with incredulity. “You
are
.”

Trying not to let his discomfiture show in his voice, he said, “The union of the sexes is rightly reserved to those joined by the sacrament of marriage.”

“You are a pious man, then.”

He considered his response as he pushed another button through its loop. “I am regarded as such.”

“An intriguingly vague reply. Are you or are you not?”

Oh, how he wanted to be. The counsel of Father Cullen, David’s confessor at Stonyhurst, was never far from his thoughts. “
Blind conformity to the laws of the Church ought not to be confused with true devotion, David. You’ve confessed to taking an excess of pride in your truthfulness, your perfect observance of your vows and of ecclesiastical law. You’ve done penance for the sin of vainglory, yet it is a sin from which you cannot seem to refrain. A priest should be, first and foremost, a man of faith, not an exemplar of correct behavior—or a slave to it. Sometimes I think you’ve chosen a religious vocation more to minister to yourself than to minister to others. Think long and hard on this before your ordination, my son.”

“Genuine, unassailable piety,” David told Lili carefully, “is something to which I aspire.”

“Do you think, if you live your life in a cage of righteousness and rectitude, that you will awaken one morning suddenly aglow with true faith?”

Jolted by her perception, David didn’t answer her. Instead, he pried the last two buttons through their loops and said, “That should do it.”

She pulled two pillowy pads from the sleeves and tossed them aside, then raised her arms, saying “Would you be so kind?”

He divested her of the dress with unpracticed awkwardness, gathering it up as best he could into a great mass while working the sleeves free.

“You can just lay it on that table.” She set about untying a sort of backward apron of starched white lace ruffles affixed over her voluminous petticoats—a bustle, only the second one David had ever seen.

The first was a pink one that his sister Blanche’s lady’s maid had been laying out on her mistress’s bed, along with a ball gown and assorted other underpinnings, as fifteen-year-old David passed by in the hall. There’d been a corset there, too, as well as a chemise and stockings and a great white lather of flounced petticoats. David had gaped at the indelicate display for perhaps three full seconds before Eileen noticed him and shut the door in his face, saying “You’ll see your fill of such things soon enough, Master Davey, a handsome youngblood like yourself.”

But he hadn’t seen his fill. In the decade that had passed since then, he hadn’t so much as touched a woman—not in that way. He’d imagined, he’d yearned. More than once, while lying in bed with a rock-hard, weeping cockstand he couldn’t will away, he’d been tempted to seek out a woman, any woman, and slake his raging lust in her—but not once had he surrendered to that temptation.

Having laid the dress carefully across the table, David turned to find Lili pulling off the last of several stiffly corded petticoats.

“I . . . thought you were going to leave those on,” he said.

“The hems will get grimy—as would my shoes and stockings.” Adding the petticoat to the others mounded on a chair, she kicked off her satin slippers and reached under her calf-length chemise to peel off her stockings and garters. Around her left ankle she wore a circlet of hammered gold ornamented with a disc of dark blue stone.

All she had on now was the corset over the chemise, which had a wide, scooped neckline and elbow-length sleeves. The corset nipped in snugly at the waist, flaring out at the bottom to accommodate Lili’s hips. It flared at the top a bit, too, pushing at the underside of her bosom to plump her breasts into high, firm globes that strained the filmy linen of her chemise. So fine, indeed, was that linen that David could tell from the way it draped her legs that she wore no drawers or pantaloons.

“David?”

He met Lili’s gaze, heat suffusing his cheeks when he realized she’d seen him eyeing her.

“Shall we do it?” she asked in that throaty-soft voice as she approached him.

David stopped breathing for a moment as she curled her hand around his elbow, her flimsily clad breasts nudging his arm. He fancied he could feel their heat through the layers of wool and linen that separated his flesh from hers.

“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and offering it to her. “Take this.”

“I don’t need it.”

I do.
Improper though it was for him to be coatless in the company of a female,
her
state of undress was by far the more scandalous—and likely to set his blood astir. “Caves tend to be chilly and damp.”

“Not this one. Besides, I told you, my body runs warm.”

Draping it over her shoulders, he said, “Take it anyway.”

The
Cella
reminded David of a chapel, regardless that the people who had once worshipped here were pagans. The entrance was a wide, arched opening rimmed in rainbow-hued stalactites and other formations, quite majestic, really. It was flanked by a pair of lighted iron cresset torches identical to those that lined the cave corridor they had followed to get here. Clearly, Lili had been fibbing when she’d told him he would have trouble finding this location on his own.

The
Cella
was accessible via a natural stone bridge spanning the cave stream, which flowed directly across the entrance. It was a sort of alcove, but a sizable one, with a high, domed ceiling perforated by a shaft to the outside. The shaft evidently served as a chimney for the bronze-lined fire pit beneath it, which did not appear to have been used for some time.

Directly in front of him, looming a good ten feet high on the back wall between a pair of cressets on iron stanchions, stood a massive, crudely carved sculpture of a human-type being with two roundish lumps denoting breasts and a longer one jutting up from the groin that was meant to represent an erect penis. The face was stylized in the extreme—two almond shapes had been etched for eyes, an oval depression for the mouth. The body was thick and ponderous, with shapeless legs and arms, the latter holding aloft a pair of cups. Badly rusted iron torques encircled the wrists, ankles, and neck, the latter having been forged in the shape of a male organ penetrating that of a female.

DUSIVÆSUS
had been carved in surprisingly precise Roman letters onto the base of the statue. Scratched over that rather crudely was a string of symbols David would have taken for runes had they been somewhere in Scandinavia rather than France.

“What is the meaning of the inscriptions?” he asked Lili.

“The one on top has been a subject of speculation for centuries,” she said. “ ‘Dusivæsus’ means ‘Great and Worthy Dusios’ in the ancient Gaulish tongue.”

“Great and worthy? I realize the Gauls had many gods, but I’d never have guessed they engaged in demon worship.”

“They didn’t worship this dusios, precisely.” She paused; he had the sense that she was choosing her words with care.

So painfully beautiful was she, with the torchlight gilding her hair, her face, the upper slopes of her breasts, that he had to look away for fear that she would catch him ogling her again.

“They did have a god whom they worshipped with especial zeal,” she said, “one they venerated above all others and were sworn to protect, an ancient god born of fire who lived deep in this cave.”

Returning his gaze to her so as to gauge her reaction, he said, “Listening to you, one would almost think you believe this ‘god’ really existed.”

She lifted those delicate, luminous shoulders. “The world is very old and very mysterious, David. I do not pretend to be privy to its many secrets—nor do I feel the need to ferret them out so as to know the absolute truth of things. My mind and my heart are open to all possibilities, but I am content in the knowledge that there are some things that I am destined never to know.”

She was, of course, alluding to David and his painstaking quest for faith.

“Why, then,
is
there a statue of a dusios in this place of worship if they didn’t regard dusii as gods?” he asked.

“I understand they erected it to help their druid—that was a sort of high priest . . .”

“Yes, I know.”

“It was meant to help him summon a dusios to their village.”

“They
invited
a demonic being into their midst?”

“You seem astounded,” she said with a bemused little laugh. “Horrified, actually.”

He was. “To lay oneself open to a diabolical creature, one of the Devil’s minions . . . That way lies earthly misery and an afterlife of torment in . . . the dark place.”

Lili’s mouth quirked at his use of the euphemism for Hell, which he had been taught from boyhood never to utter in the presence of a lady. “You are speaking of demonic possession, yes?”

“Possession and influence both. There are said to be demons—not malevolent spirits, but real, flesh-and-blood diabolical beings—who work their evil from without, by tempting their human victims to unholy thoughts and actions.” Just as Lili, with her breathtaking beauty and feral sexuality, tempted him. Were she not so warm to the touch, he might be inclined to label her a demoness, so thoroughly had she bewitched him.