Woe Upon All of You!

Ghosts, again? Yes, I couldn’t help myself. This is my youngest yet, playing out in 1840 in what was to become part of Lyon, France, 12 years later. I lived in Croix Rousse for about a month, so I wish I’d known this story sooner. Though the ramparts have been destroyed in 1865 by Louis-Napoleon, their location is now marked by the Boulevard de la Croix Rousse. I likely walked right by the place where this Lady is said to have appeared.

Pierre-Yves buried his chin in his collar. Guard duty was never really fun, but on a rainy night like this? He shivered, taking another few steps along the ramparts of Croix Rousse. Tomorrow he’d be back in the arms of his beloved Charlotte. Maybe she’d make him some of her excellent blackberry clafoutis. His mouth watered. He sometimes wondered if-

Narrowing his eyes, Pierre-Yves froze. Had he seen something? If he had, it was definitely something that shouldn’t be up here. Hand on his sword, he peered into the darkness. For several seconds he tried to pick up any sound above the howling wind and the clattering of the rain against the fortified walls. Nothing. He must have imagined it.

He let go of his sword, turned, and felt the blood leave his face. A woman stood in front of him, holding a chalice filled with water. If only she had looked as wet and miserable as she should have been in this weather, he might have kept the tremble from his voice as he asked her, “Qui vive? Whose side are you on?”

She didn’t answer him. She just stood there, holding the bowl with water, raindrops passing through with no disturbance of the surface. Another moment, and she turned and disappeared into the night.

Pierre-Yves gasped for breath. Unaffected by the chill of night now, he loosened his collar, looking about him for any sign of life, but all he could see was the endless stream of rain coming down on the city. He sought the support of the ramparts, leaning against the jagged stones and enjoying their cold reality. Who had she been? Did she mean to give him a message?

Just when his heartrate had gone down enough for him to continue on his rounds, there she was again! “Qui vive?” No answer. Her wavy hair in an intricate updo, the woman wore a white robe of some kind. This time, she carried a torch, its flames dancing skywards, unaffected by the rain. She stood in front of Pierre-Yves for several long seconds, then turned, and disappeared.

Eyes bulging, Pierre-Yves considered following in the direction in which she’d turned, but his feet wouldn’t listen. Twice she’d come to him. Twice she’d left him unharmed. Was the torch another message?

The third time she appeared, Pierre-Yves had regained control of his voice. “Qui vive!” The question had been drilled into him, but he didn’t expect an answer. She held out a loaf of bread, and without any further explanation disappeared once more.

Pierre-Yves frowned. If all this was supposed to mean anything, she should have been more clear about it. He started to wonder how many times she’d be returning. If he asked her a question, would she answer it?

When she appeared with a flaming sword, however, Pierre-Yves staggered back. Was she a bad spirit after all? His hand went to his own sword, but then she spoke.

“Water. Fire. Earth. Air. All the elements will turn against the city of Lyon. Floods. Plague. Famine. War.” She raised her hands. “Woe upon all of you!”

Cowering, Pierre-Yves waited until she’d left. Then he did something he never thought he’d do. He abandoned his post.

So here’s a ghost that had it wrong. Even when they compared her predictions to the words of Nostradamus, no floods, famine, plague or war appeared. Whaddayaknow, you can’t even trust ghosts to predict the future.

There’s another interesting tidbit attached to this ghost, though. She’s said to have been the ghost of Cybele, a Phrygian mother goddess brought over by the Romans (hence my personal interest). Cybele used to be worshipped on a hill on the other side of the river, until she was kicked out by Our Lady of Fourvière. I’d be angry too, if I was replaced without so much as a thank you. Would I wait 700 years, and then show up with false predictions? I like to think I could come up with something better.
But there you go: ghosts, France and Romans in one blog post. What more do you want?

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Originally published at http://cmbakkerwrites.wordpress.com on July 5, 2021.