Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (19 page)

“So you don’t want to try doing this again?” Astrolabe asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Catherine snapped. “Tomorrow afternoon, the council will open. All the bishops and their retinues will be present. I’ll do better this time, and that will be our chance to catch careless talk. Gwenael, will you accompany me to the convent?”

“I’ll take you,” Astrolabe offered.

“No, I need to find a place to change on the way and I’ll need help.”

“Catherine…” Astrolabe began.

Gwenael put her hand on his arm. “Not now, my lord. Perhaps you could come by this afternoon. She’ll be better then.”

She took the bundle that held Catherine’s clothes. Leaving the men, they made their way to a shed near the city walls where Gwenael kept watch while Catherine put on her
chainse
and then the linen
bliaut
embroidered in silk. Gwenael helped her lace up the sleeves and adjust the silver ring that kept her scarf in place. Catherine rubbed her face with her sleeve, leaving marks on the linen.

“I suppose I must put on the hose and shoes again,” she said.

“I’m afraid so.” Gwenael helped her into them.

They wrapped up the begging clothes and set out again. This time Gwenael walked a step behind, as befitted a servant.

Catherine was unnaturally silent. The morning’s experience had given her a lot to think about.

Astrolabe turned to Godfrey.

“This was a big mistake,” he said.

Godfrey shrugged. “It may have been more than she expected, but she’s willing to do it for you. Be grateful.”

“For my mother, really,” Astrolabe said. “There must be another way to find out who wants to destroy me.”

“So name it.”

Astrolabe shook his head. “Let’s go find John. He may have learned something.”

Godfrey brightened. “A good idea. I have a terrible thirst.”

Canon Rolland stood in the back of the chapel where the bishop of Paris was saying Mass. It wasn’t fair. He should have been the one to assist. He had been in the service of the bishop longer than any of the men up there at the altar, parading around as if they were the holy apostles!

It had always been so. His life had been one of minor achievements with the grand ones always out of reach. It was Abelard’s fault. He had been the butt of so many of the master’s barbs that the other students had also seen him as a fool. Now those men were bishops themselves. Hell, even Pope Eugenius wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had learned from Peter Abelard. What chance did
Rollandus obtusus
have?

Look at Maurice there, Rolland continued fuming. A nobody from Sully, with dirt under his toenails. But now he wore fine leather shoes and silk robes and was allowed to carry the paten.

It really wasn’t fair.

Rolland bowed his head and struck his breast as the host was raised. He stayed back, though, as the others went up for communion. He couldn’t receive the sacrament with such hate in his heart. He fervently hoped that Abelard was even now burning in Hell and that his son would soon join him there, via the flames of the heretic’s pyre.

The thought cheered him.

As he left the chapel, he was spotted by the monk Arnulf, who sidled up to him.

“Have you spotted the heretic yet?” he whispered.

“No, and I don’t believe he had the courage to be here,” Rolland answered. “He’s probably halfway to Spain by now.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t accuse him,” Arnulf said.

“A fine fool I’d look if I did,” Rolland snorted, “without anyone to corroborate the story. What happened to your witnesses?”

“You mustn’t lose faith!” Arnulf pleaded. “They’ll be here. I know that once we bring Eon up before the council, Astrolabe will be there to defend him. We must continue to gather information on this band of heretics and those who are even more dangerous. I’m sure that Astrolabe is really a follower of Henry of Lausanne or even a secret Manichee. If we can just get him up for questioning, I know we can make him confess not only his part in keeping the Eonites free for so long but also his involvement in the other heresies that threaten to tear the church apart.”

Rolland envisioned the scene. It warmed him all over.

“Then everyone will have to admit I was right,” he said.

“And give you the preferment you deserve,” Arnulf said. “You’ll be an archdeacon before you know it.”

“Perhaps.” Rolland dragged himself from his cloud of future glory. “But of course that is secondary to preserving orthodoxy.”

“Oh, of course,” Arnulf said. “Now, I was at Saint-Symphorian this morning and I’m sure I saw one of the Eonite women begging on the steps.”

“Never!” Rolland exclaimed. “She wouldn’t have the gall. How did you know her?”

Arnulf rubbed his forehead. The gesture was becoming habitual during his conversations with the canon.

“I saw her before, in Tours,” he explained, “at the edge of the crowd when Eon was brought in. She was wearing the same patched clothes as the rest of them. A wonder no one else noticed. I should have denounced her then. She looked so pitiful that I presumed she was harmless. A grave error, I fear.”

They had left the bishop’s house now and were heading toward the cathedral, where ropes were being strung to keep back those who had no business with the council. No one was quite sure how many bishops and abbots were in attendance, but it was certain that the cathedral would never hold all of the people who wanted in. Rolland knew which side he would be expected to stay on. Places inside were for important laymen and the upper clergy. His hands clenched.

He looked across the parvis at the men who had just emerged from the cathedral.

“Saint Genevieve’s shorn tresses!” he breathed. “It’s Abbot Bernard and the pope!”

He watched them pass through the crowd, envious of those who spoke to them without fear. Arnulf noticed his wistful look.

“If you do your work well,” he told the canon, “you will be the one they honor.”

“Yes.” Rolland returned to his cloud. “I will.”

“Catherine, what were you doing?” Margaret pulled her aside as soon as she entered the room.

“Trying to get information that will save Astrolabe,” Catherine answered. “What was Countess Mahaut saying about a wedding robe? I thought you were going to tell her you wouldn’t go to Carinthia.”

“I couldn’t.” Margaret hung her head. “I needed you there with me instead of taking alms under false pretenses. Catherine, how could you?”

“Well,” Catherine answered wearily, “they told me I wouldn’t have to wear shoes.”

Margaret gave her a look of disgust. “You can’t get away with an answer like that. What do you think my brother would say?”

Catherine grabbed Margaret’s arm. “If you don’t promise now that he’ll never learn of this, I swear I’ll let you go off into the wilds of Carinthia.”

“Catherine?” Margaret wilted before her anger.

“Oh, Margaret, I’m sorry.” Catherine took the girl in her arms. “You don’t know what a morning I’ve had. I’m so ashamed. I would die if anyone knew about this, especially Edgar.”

“I would think so,” Margaret said. “You still have mud on your face, you know. Let me help you get it off.”

“I told the sisters that I’d slipped in the street,” Catherine said as Margaret wiped. “They were most concerned.”

“As they should be,” Margaret said. “There’s another dinner tonight, by the way. Countess Sybil is entertaining my grandfather. I believe that you and Annora are expected to attend.”

“Sweet Virgin’s milk!” Catherine exclaimed. “This is worse than Paris. I thought that at a council everyone would be praying or something.”

“Even I know that this is where the fate of whole countries is determined,” Margaret said. “I never learned much from my own father, except to stay out of his way, but one thing I’m clear on is that everything in life, religious or lay, comes down to power, and this is where it’s decided who wields it.”

Catherine looked at her in astonishment. “You have grown up, haven’t you? Perhaps you should consider this marriage. You’d make a good countess or whatever it is they have there.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Margaret answered decidedly. “Now, will you promise to dress decently and be at the dinner tonight to support me in my decision?”

“I will, if you’ll help me set up one of these beds so that I can have a nap first,” Catherine answered.

She lay down but didn’t get any sleep. Between her own thoughts and the women coming in and out of the room, there wasn’t much chance of repose. But at least she had her feet up and the baby only kicked now and then to reassure her that it was still alive.

She closed her eyes. There was just too much to worry about. Catherine knew that her first responsibility was to help Astrolabe. She agreed that the clerics would be more likely to talk unguardedly around her, but there must be a better way to find them. The idea of pretending to be a beggar had sounded exciting. Now she knew better.

And try as she might, the concerns of her own family worried her more than those of Astrolabe and Annora. Were James and Edana really doing well at the Paraclete? And if so, why? She missed them horribly. How could they be happy without her? Then there was Margaret. Poor dear. Was nothing in her life ever to be easy? Of course she wasn’t going to be packed off to a foreign country like a shipment of spices. But how could they prevent it without alienating the count and countess of Champagne? Their patronage was essential to continued trade. Her family had always received privileges and freedom from tolls within the county and at the fairs. The loss would be devastating for the family finances.

These thoughts tumbled about in her mind as she dozed, becoming blended and confused. She finally awoke with the vague feeling that Annora was to be married in Carinthia, Astrolabe lose his trading privileges and she and Edgar about to be burnt as heretics.

It was not a restful afternoon. But, in that space between sleep and reality, Catherine had an idea.

John had been easy to locate. The tavern had been staked out by the few English clerics whom King Stephen had permitted to attend the council. Astrolabe and Godfrey found him at a round table in the corner chattering away happily in his native language. He broke off the conversation when he saw them.

“How did she do?” he asked, sliding into French effortlessly. “I thought that I should leave when I saw them start back to you.”

“A total of six silver pennies,” Godfrey said. “I didn’t know how well beggars were done by.”

“I didn’t mean that,” John said. “Did she learn anything?”

“Only that a lot of people have been driven from their villages by the famine and that abandoned wives are common,” Astrolabe answered, giving him the money. “Can you see that this gets to those in need?”

“Of course.” John put the coins in his purse. “So it’s no use to try again?”

“Lady Catherine is willing,” Godfrey forestalled Astrolabe’s objection.

“So she says,” Astrolabe admitted. “I wish there were another way. Have you learned anything?”

John shook his head. “That in itself is strange. There’s a great deal of discussion about the heretic the archbishop of Tours has brought in but nothing about a woman being murdered. That doesn’t make sense. You’re quite certain she was dead?”

“John, no one survives a slit throat like that,” Astrolabe said with a shudder. “She was cold and drained of blood. I know. Half of it was on me.”

He closed his eyes, trying to remember Cecile as she had been in life, not when he had last touched her.

John pretended not to notice Astrolabe’s emotion.

“I wonder why you weren’t killed, too,” he commented.

“I don’t know,” Astrolabe said, forcing himself to remember less sharply. “I presume the murderer was interrupted or felt that only Cecile was a danger to him.”

“It only takes a second to cut the throat of a man already unconscious,” Godfrey observed. “And he couldn’t be sure that you hadn’t seen him as well when Cecile recognized him.”

Astrolabe felt his neck. It seemed undamaged. The talk had given him a frisson as if cold steel were tickling him just below his ear.

“Do you think I should worry about being attacked?” he asked.

“Always,” Godfrey answered. “But especially now. Someone killed your friend to protect himself. If you are seen as a threat, then what would stop him doing it again?”

The shiver at Astrolabe’s neck ran down his spine. He shook himself to expel it.

John put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll find him, Peter. Whatever this monster is planning, whoever is helping him, we won’t let him do any more harm.”

It was only bravado, but the words gave Astrolabe some comfort.

Another dinner. Huge amounts of food on platters. Heapings of spices that were even more expensive because of the wars. Wine only slightly diluted with water. And all in the middle of Lent.

Catherine sighed. She ate all the meat put before her, reminding herself that it was for the baby, but she had to force herself to finish. Even though she knew that the remains of the meal would be given to the poor, even now lining up at the gate, it seemed obscene to have so much. She felt in the trencher to see if there were any bits of lamb left. Then she realized that her bread partner had eaten nothing.

“Annora,” she said, “you should have stopped me. Please, get the page to bring you more.”

“I’m not hungry, Catherine.” Annora smiled. “I have only myself to feed. You take what you want.”

“I feel such a glutton.” Catherine wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Are you feeling well? The room is very close.”

“That is a polite way to put it,” Annora answered. “It’s impossible to find a laundress or a bath in this town. We’ve all, well most of us, tried to counter the problem with scent. Attar of lily and lamb don’t mix.”

“Would you like to go out for a few moments?” Catherine asked. “I would accompany you.”

Annora accepted and they threaded their way through the tables out to the convent garden where cool evening breezes soothed their rumpled spirits and settled their stomachs.

“Have you been out in the town at all?” Catherine asked. “I’m sorry that I haven’t spent much time with you. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”