Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (25 page)

She moved aside to let Catherine enter the room. Too tired to set up one of the beds, Catherine collapsed on the pile of mattresses in the corner.

“You aren’t well!” Annora rushed over to her. “Shall I call the midwife?”

Catherine shook her head. “I know what to do. If you could just help me get these pillows under my feet, I’ll rest awhile and wait for Margaret.”

“Of course.” Annora got all the pillows she could find and started stuffing them under Catherine’s feet.

“Enough, enough!” Catherine laughed. “Now there is no need for me to forgive you. You were right. It’s not my place to criticize your family. At least not to your face.”

“I gave you reason to think I would welcome Gui as a suspect.” Annora sat down on the leftover pillows. “He is greedy and debauched. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew Henri of Tréguier and had visited him in his brothel. But he wouldn’t have ever hurt Cecile. I’m sure of it.”

“Astrolabe says he was very insistent that he would take the saint’s cave back from you and Cecile,” Catherine objected.

“Exactly,” Annora answered. “You see, he doesn’t even know what happened to her. He means to get it by bribing the judges again, not through violence. You can’t kill to get something holy.”

An image flashed in Catherine’s mind of the soldiers of King Louis slaughtering Saracens to reach the Holy Sepulcher. She shook it away. That was completely different. The infidel wanted to desecrate the sacred sites. Annora and Gui would both revere their saint’s shrine.

But then, she thought, what if there were another person trying to lay claim to Saint Gwenoc’s cave? Who would get it if Gui died without heirs? If someone else wanted it, that would explain why he was attacked. She looked at Annora. If that were so, then she was in terrible danger. Perhaps she should be warned.

Annora sat next to her, looking repentant and concerned. Her eyes were a grey-green in the afternoon light, almost the color of the ocean. She gave Catherine a tired smile.

Catherine made her decision. She couldn’t make life harder for the poor thing. Annora had lost her parents and now her only sister. She was far from home and dependent on the benevolence of Countess Sybil to protect her. Any day now she might be asked to wed a stranger. Why alarm her on a rather far-fetched theory? They would just have to keep her under careful guard. Perhaps a word with the countess would help narrow down suspects as well as increase the protection of her ward. Sybil would know who was in line after Gui.

Catherine knew she was grasping at this because she wanted Cecile’s death to have nothing to do with her association with the Eonites. If attention could be diverted to the attack on Gui, then it would help to ease the danger of Astrolabe being brought into the matter.

She wished she could have another look at the wounds Gui had received. His face had been badly scratched, she assumed by the laurel bush. Why had his assailant dragged him into the bush at all? To finish him off away from intrusion? If so, then why was Gui still alive?

There was a piece missing. It annoyed her no end. The brief excursion back into the world of logic and syllogisms had left her with the feeling that everything could be understood if only one arranged the facts in the proper order and formed the inevitable conclusions. Abelard had believed that even the mind of God could be approached in this way. Why couldn’t she figure out a much lesser human design?

As the other women came back to the room, retrieved articles or changed their
bliauts
, not one of them suspected that the woman lying on the floor with her feet propped up so high that her skirts had slipped above her knees was engaged in serious philosophical rumination.

Godfrey had found Canon Rolland with ease. First he had asked for the contingent from Paris. When he found where they were staying, he simply waited until the man appeared. He recognized him immediately from the encounter on the road.

There was no trouble in following Rolland. The man was big enough to be seen even if there were others in between. The streets were too busy for him to notice anyone keeping pace with him at a safe distance.

But Rolland never even looked back. He apparently had a number of errands to perform. Godfrey trailed him first to a feltmakers, then a dyers. The canon stopped for a moment to talk with an egg peddler but bought nothing. Next he went to the draper, then a candlemaker. What was he doing, Godfrey wondered. Weren’t there servants for this sort of job?

When Rolland finally entered a tavern, Godfrey was grateful to go in after him. This must be where he would meet the elusive monk.

But Rolland only ordered a cup of pinot, the sour wine that peasants drank. He stood awhile, chatting with the tavern keeper, finished his drink and went on.

Godfrey trailed along, becoming increasingly puzzled. Could Rolland know he was being followed? Was he amusing himself at Godfrey’s expense? With increasing annoyance, Godfrey plodded on.

Still Rolland continued his peregrinations. He went past the cathedral and out the city gates at the Porte Bazée and down the road toward the abbey of Saint-Rémi. It was harder now to follow inconspicuously. The houses were farther apart. Fewer people were on the road. There were vineyards and fields of sprouting grain. Godfrey dropped farther back, still keeping the blond head in view.

Suddenly, the head vanished. Godfrey started running, then stopped short. He knew that trick. If Rolland had noticed that he had a shadow, then nothing would be simpler than to step into an alcove or behind some bushes and wait, either for the follower to go by or, more likely, to pounce on him.

With effort, Godfrey forced himself back to a stroll. As he reached the spot where Rolland had disappeared, his body tensed and his right hand went to his knife. He made a quick turn, ready to fend off attack.

A narrow path led toward a monastery not far away. Godfrey was just in time to see Rolland go by the gate and into a garden outside the walls.

More carefully this time, Godfrey went down the path. The garden was enclosed by a woven withy fence. There was no place from which to observe without being spotted. Godfrey decided to walk by as if heading down to the river. As he passed, he saw Rolland go up to a man in monk’s robes who was sitting on a fallen tree trunk. The man rose, as if he had been waiting. Godfrey cursed the hood the monk wore. It was impossible to make out his face.

Once out of sight of the monastery, Godfrey doubled back, hoping to catch Rolland on his return trip. But the bells tolled for Sext and None and still Rolland didn’t appear. As the day faded, Godfrey decided that Rolland was either staying the night with the monks or had gone back by another route.

When he reached the Porte Bazée, he was surprised to find guards with crossbows blocking his way.

“Has something happened?” he asked. “No, I don’t need to pay the toll again. Here’s the marker the guards gave me when I left. I’ve only been gone the afternoon. What’s going on?”

“Word is that the heretics are planning to riot,” the gatekeeper told him. “They mean to free that Breton and burn the cathedral.”

“Sounds serious,” Godfrey said. “Do you need another sword? I can ask my lady Sybil if she will release me to help you.”

The man lowered the weapon. “Nah, we have enough, with the pope’s guards. Your lady may well want you on hand to protect her.”

“Yes, probably,” Godfrey answered. “Good luck to you.”

The gatekeeper grunted and waved him through.

On his way to meet Astrolabe, Godfrey noticed that there were more men in chain mail in the streets and they were in groups so that they could watch each other’s backs. He knew the formation. He’d used it often enough. As he passed through, he overheard more about the heretics threatening the city.

“The real leader isn’t the one in prison,” a woman told him while they both waited for a procession of German bishops to go by. “It’s some crafty fellow who’s been secretly corrupting good Christians for years. They say he goes from town to town, establishing cabals of these evil ones. When he gives the word, they’ll all rise up and murder us in our beds.”

“Where did you learn this?” Godfrey asked.

“In the market,” the woman said. “Everyone is talking about it. My husband has gone to the ironmonger for a bar to put across our door.”

The procession eased enough for them to cross and Godfrey lost sight of the woman.

She was right in that the imminent invasion of the heretics was the only topic in the town. Godfrey heard a dozen versions, each one more terrifying, before he arrived at the tavern. Inside, the panic was palpable.

From the far side of the room, Astrolabe waved at him. He was also in full mail, with a wool hood in place of his helmet. Godfrey had to push several men aside to reach him.

“I don’t understand it,” he said, taking a seat next to his friend. “I left the city not four hours ago. I return to find that the devil himself is expected to make an appearance tonight and fight hand to hand with Pope Eugenius on the altar of Notre-Dame.”

“I hadn’t heard that one,” Astrolabe said. “All I know is that someone has spread the word that Eon’s followers are going to try to release him. Do you think Gwenael has been contacted by others who escaped? I thought she was the only one from Brittany here, except those already imprisoned.”

“So did I.” Godfrey watched the way the men were drinking, beer and wine tossed down with hardly a breath between bowls. “If there were any such plot, I hope the leaders have changed their minds. Reims is forewarned now.”

“Yes, any attempt to free Eon would end in slaughter,” Astrolabe agreed. “But you should know from talking with Gwenael that these people aren’t sensible. For all we know, they may be courting martyrdom. Or they may be expecting a miracle.”

“But who are they?” Godfrey said in exasperation. “Where are they?”

“No one seems to know.” Astrolabe shivered. “Some even say that they’re invisible.”

Godfrey patted the empty place next to him, just in case.

“Are they heretics or spirits?” he asked.

Astrolabe sighed. He gave Godfrey all that remained in the pitcher. “Enjoy it. We haven’t a hope of getting more today,” he commented. “I have no more reliable information than you do. I wonder if anyone has gone to the pope about this.”

“I’d bet not,” Godfrey said after considering. “Samson Mauvoisin wouldn’t want the other bishops to think he couldn’t control his city, especially so soon after the rebellion by the commune. As archbishop, it’s his job to maintain order in Reims.”

“You can’t destroy rumor with a sword,” Astrolabe said. “The pope is sure to learn of this soon, if he hasn’t already.”

Godfrey shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

“I wish I could say I’d solved the mystery,” he said. “Rolland did indeed meet with a monk, but I couldn’t get close enough to see him. Look, I think I should find Gwenael. If there really is some sort of plot, she’ll know of it. If I can’t talk her out of joining the other heretics, perhaps I can lock her up until the worst is over.”

“She won’t thank you,” Astrolabe warned.

“Believe me, I don’t expect thanks from her, ever.”

Godfrey got up and shoved his way back out into the night.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to come down for dinner?” Margaret asked Catherine.

“Completely,” Catherine said. “I overexcited myself a bit, that’s all. Just don’t let me have any parsnips. I love them, but I won’t sleep tonight if I eat one. Anyway, how could I stay up here with all this going on?”

The room was buzzing with gossip as usual, but tonight it held an edge of fear.

“I knew something like this would happen,” someone said. “All the fighting men gone, what better time to try to take over?”

“That’s what Baldwin of Hainaut did to Flanders,” Annora agreed. “He’s probably in league with these demons.”

“Flanders is Baldwin’s by right,” another woman said. “He’s my cousin’s brother-in-law, and I know the facts of the case. He was only taking back what should have been his in the first place.”

“Well, I say only a coward would wait until a lord had left for the Holy Land before invading his territory,” Annora continued. “Such a man wouldn’t balk at using heretics to get what he wanted. I notice that Baldwin isn’t here to present his case before the council as my lady countess is.”

“That’s enough!” came a voice from the other side of the room. “Such dissension shows that the devil needs no help to work among us.”

The room was instantly silent. Countess Mahaut had entered, unnoticed by the bickering women. Her attendants went to her and knelt for pardon.

“We have listened to idle rumor,” the eldest told her, “and given way to fear. That is not behavior worthy of our stations.”

“Indeed it isn’t,” Mahaut said. “I came up here to reassure all of you. I have spoken to Count Thibault, Countess Sybil and many of the lords of the church. None of them believe that there is a band of heretics preparing to overrun the city. But to be certain, I understand this Eon has been moved to a more secure prison in Bishop Samson’s palace. Our guards are all on alert. Now, it is our duty to behave with dignity, not act like common peasant women gossiping at the well.”

The women all seemed abashed by the countess’s scolding. They finished their dressing almost in silence and filed out under her reproachful eye. Margaret came last with Catherine. As they reached the doorway, Mahaut stopped them.

“I have heard one bit of rumor that I find very upsetting,” she said in a low tone. “One of my brother’s deacons told him that some people have given a name to the one who is thought to be the leader of these heretics.”

She looked around to be sure all the other women had left.

“The name they give him,” her voice sank even more, “is Astrolabe.”

“We knew this would happen eventually,” Astrolabe said. “I’m almost glad they’ve finally made their move.”

They were sitting in an apple orchard near the church of Saint-Hilarius up against the north wall of the city. Astrolabe was hunkered down as if to make himself invisible. His voice was hollow with shock, his face pale beneath the greying beard.

“I never expected them to stoop to this kind of anonymous slander,” John said miserably. “I went to bed last night sure that the world was going reasonably well for a change. When I woke up the air was full of wild fantasies about Astrolabe leading an army of heretics, monsters, demons and Saracens to conquer Reims.”

“I hadn’t heard about the monsters,” Godfrey added. “Everything else, though. I did try to find out where the tales began, but it was like trying to find the beginning of a circle. Everyone heard it from someone else.”

“And now everyone believes it to be true,” Catherine sighed.

“But why, Astrolabe…Peter, that is,” John stumbled. “Who are these men who hate you so much? A canon of Paris? A nondescript monk? Why would anyone go to such lengths to hurt you?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out since this whole nightmare began.” Astrolabe sounded as if speaking from within a tomb. “It seems incredible that their only reason is resentment of my father.”

The look he gave them smote Catherine’s heart.

“Could someone else be trying to ruin your reputation simply to keep you from defending Eon?” she asked.

“It’s possible,” John considered. “But why bother? Unless the poor man recants, he’s sure to be condemned. All, um, Peter here planned was to plead for clemency. What harm could that do to anyone?”

“What if the person who killed Cecile thought that I could identify him?” Astrolabe suggested. “Blackening my name would be a good way to cast doubt on any accusation I might make during Eon’s trial. And it would make it easy for others to believe that I am the one who killed her.”

“Yes,” Godfrey said. “This rumor will make any attempt to defend Eon even more suspect. But it seems an overly exaggerated means to silence you.”

Catherine had a thought. “Could Eon have witnessed Cecile’s murder?”

“Perhaps,” Astrolabe said. “But his mind is so addled that he might not have understood what he saw. He couldn’t testify in any case. No one would believe him.”

“But if the murderer thought he had told you first, then he would have good reason to fear you.” Catherine tried to make this fit. “Killing you would only cause more attention to be paid, unless they could make it appear an accident. Really, discrediting you might have seemed the safest plan.”

John nodded. “I like it. That makes sense. But is it the correct answer?”

“My dear friends,” Astrolabe interrupted. “Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter, at least not for my sake. The thing I feared most has happened. My name has been linked with this scandal. Even if I’m completely cleared of any wrongdoing, the world will only remember the lie. My mother will be tainted by it, too.”

No one answered. They knew that he was right.

Finally, Catherine rallied. “Would you be defeated by that lie? Are you going to allow Cecile’s death to be unavenged? Mother Heloise would be more ashamed if you turned your back on that duty than by any libel.”

“I will see the one who killed her punished, if I spend the rest of my life in hunting him down,” Astrolabe said passionately. “But what chance do I have now to convince anyone that I didn’t do it? After today, the people of Reims will credit me with any evil.”

“The local citizens, perhaps,” John said. “But we have here in the city the very men who are most likely to listen to you without prejudice. If you fear to be condemned as your father’s son, the same heritage will incline many of the council in your favor. There are many, like me, who feel Abelard’s work was unjustly condemned. I can speak to men I know from my student days. They can pass the word along. If you have to face the council, we’ll be prepared.”

“And as for Cecile,” Catherine added, “there are many now who will tell her story: Annora and Countess Sybil, Abbot Moses, whose abbey Henri appropriated. Abbess Marie will testify as to the abduction of the nuns from Saint-Georges.”

“That will only tell the world the humiliation she suffered,” Astrolabe said. “It won’t bring her murderer to justice. Think how easy it would be to blame everything on Eon, if not on me. No one will care to find the truth.”

Catherine heard the catch in his voice. She had wanted for some time to ask Astrolabe how close he had been to Cecile, but she couldn’t intrude on his pain any more than she had already.

“Perhaps someone at the council will show us a way to do that, too,” she said.

“The only problem we have is keeping you alive until then,” Godfrey added.

“Godfrey!” Catherine exclaimed.

“No, Catherine,” Astrolabe said, “he’s right. It may not be the only problem, but for me it is the essential one. But if I have to remain in hiding, I’ll no longer be able to help with the search for the real culprit.”

“Thomas will aid us,” John said. “With his duties, he can’t take the time to wander about questioning people, but I’m sure he’ll take Peter in with him and see that he’s protected. For once, we English are heroes here in Reims. No one will think to ask about an extra member of their party.”

“I don’t speak English,” Astrolabe reminded him.

“Neither does Thomas,” John said. “That honor is reserved for defeated people like Edgar and me. Just practice a Norman accent.”

“Catherine.” Astrolabe turned to her abruptly. “What are you worrying about?”

“Everything, of course,” she answered. “What do you mean?”

“You’re chewing the end of your braid,” he said. “That has always indicated deep perturbation.”

Catherine dropped the braid. “Sorry. It may be nothing, but ever since we arrived here, I’ve had the feeling that I was missing something important. It just won’t come to me. For instance, the person who wants to harm you doesn’t seem to know what you look like. If he saw you with Cecile, then he should know your face.”

“Many friends haven’t recognized me in mail and bearded,” Astrolabe reminded her.

“But you had the beard when you lived in Eon’s camp,” Catherine said. “Anyone who saw you with the heretics would know you. Didn’t Gwenael?
Avoi
, we already know that Canon Rolland is searching for you. What we don’t know is why and who has sent him. If it’s this mysterious monk, then he must have seen Astrolabe in Brittany at some point to connect him with Eon in the first place.”

“You think they were both sent by someone else?” John asked.

Catherine sighed. “I don’t know. It all seems a muddle to me. I just wondered if this hideous defamation was intended to get Astrolabe to reveal himself, if only to defend his honor.”

“If so, the plan miscarried. Instead, I’ve become a mole, traveling under the ground.” Astrolabe sighed, too. “There’s so much more to be done. I didn’t have a chance to ask Gui about the brooch Catherine found. I still have it here.”

He took it from the leather pouch and handed it back to Catherine. Godfrey looked at it, glittering in the sunlight.

“Do you think Gui would speak to me?” he asked suddenly. “I’m just a guard, harmless in his eyes.”

“He thought I was a guard,” Astrolabe said. “And even in a haze of the potions he had been given for the pain, he wasn’t about to answer my questions.”

“Well, I know he won’t tell me anything,” Catherine said. “He knows that I’m a friend of Annora’s. You could try.” She handed Godfrey the brooch.

“He probably wouldn’t talk to Godfrey,” Astrolabe said. “Gui seems highly suspicious of everyone.”

“Well, I can at least find out if he’s still in the Temple infirmary in case we find someone he will confess to.” Godfrey got up and put the brooch in the bag that hung at his belt. “I don’t like doing nothing.”

Astrolabe smiled. “Thank you, my friend. You’ve already done far more than your duties would require.”

Godfrey laughed. “It depends on what kind of duty you mean. I owe much more to a comrade-in-arms than I would to a master.”

He picked up his helmet, put it back on and left. Astrolabe was too stunned by the compliment to reply.

John got up, too. “I’ll go to the cathedral,” he said. “Thomas will get me in to watch the proceedings. I’ll speak to as many of Abelard’s old students as I can find. After they adjourn for the day, meet us at the house where the archbishop of Canterbury is staying. Will you be all right until then?”

“I’ll take care of him,” Catherine said. “After all, the guard, Peter, is supposed to be protecting me.”

In a chapel of the church of Saint-Symphorian, Rolland stood next to Arnulf and lit a candle of thanks.

“That went even better than I expected,” he said.

Arnulf grunted. “Spreading false tales is sinful,” he said, “and ill bred. You should have cleared this plan with me before you did such a thing.”

“Oh, really?” Rolland looked down on the monk’s ragged tonsure. “To protect the Truth, I would do much worse. Anyway, I only needed to plant the tale. It grew on its own. I never would have added Saracens to an army of heretics. They’re much too far away.”

“You didn’t say that the Eonists could turn themselves invisible?” Arnulf asked.

“Of course not,” Rolland sneered. “If they could, they never would have been caught.”

“Oh, yes, I hadn’t thought of that,” Arnulf admitted.

Rolland smiled. “Neither has anyone else. That’s the wonderful thing about such stories. No one questions the logic. If your neighbor heard it from a friend, who heard it from the blacksmith, who had it from a man who knew, then of course it’s true.”

For the first time, Arnulf looked at the canon with something approaching admiration.

“This will certainly make it difficult for Astrolabe to protect Eon,” he said. “He may barely escape the flames himself. Even if he gives a profession of faith, he’s sure to be sentenced to a long penance. It seems we’ve won.”

Rolland set another candle on the altar. “That is why I’m giving thanks.”

Margaret presented herself to Countess Mahaut for inspection.

“Lovely, my dear,” the countess told her. “The gold fillet I gave you is beautiful against the flame of your hair.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Margaret said softly.

Mahaut examined her more closely. “Is something the matter? You seem melancholic today.”

“It’s only that I’m worried about Astrolabe,” Margaret said. “All those things they’re saying in the streets.”

“Margaret,” Mahaut spoke sharply, “where were you to hear street gossip?”

“One of the scrubbing women told me.” Margaret didn’t name Gwenael, who had come to her in great agitation when she couldn’t find Catherine. “Do you know what people are accusing him of?”

“I do,” Mahaut admitted. “This will grieve my dear Heloise more than I can say. But this is still lowborn nattering. No one of any refinement will give credence to such a parcel of nonsense.”

Margaret was slightly reassured. “So you don’t think that anyone will try to punish him along with the Eonites?”

“Of course not,” Mahaut said firmly. “At least,” she added, “not on account of this wild rumor.”

“Catherine has gone to see what she can do to help,” Margaret said hopefully. “I thought that I might stay behind today. I’m too concerned to concentrate on the proceedings. And I want to help, too.”

Mahaut patted her cheek fondly. “That’s very fine of you,
ma doux
, but what could you possibly do? And you can’t want to miss the council today. They’re going to decide once and for all if Raoul and Elenora can have a divorce. The discussion will be much more interesting than the wranglings of the past two days.”

She nodded to the count’s cousin, Elenora, a gentlewoman in her mid-forties, who looked as if she’d just as soon be somewhere else.

“My dear Mahaut,” Elenora said, “why expose the poor girl to all these sordid matters, especially when she’s about to be married herself?”

Margaret looked at her with alarm.

Mahaut thought a moment. “You have a good point,” she said. “But of course Raoul’s behavior is very much the exception, Margaret. My cousin in Carinthia would never treat you so shamefully. Still, Elenora is right. There’s no need to expose you to the ugly side of marriage.”

“You’ll discover it soon enough yourself,” Elenora said in Margaret’s ear as they filed out.

“You may stay in the garden with the nuns until Catherine returns,” the countess told Margaret. “Remember, a true noblewoman does not pass her time in idle talk, especially with servants. Do you have some sewing with you?”

“Yes, my lady.” Margaret showed her the small embroidery hoop and threads.

“That’s a good girl,” Mahaut said fondly. “Come, Elenora. It will soon be over.”

The women left. From the window, Margaret saw them meet with Count Thibault’s party. She regretted missing the divorce pronouncement. Even though the matter had been decided beforehand, there was always the chance that Abbot Bernard would insist that the marriage bond be honored. It was well known that he opposed Raoul’s open adultery. He had tried many times to reconcile the count to his lawful wife, but to no effect.

But another day of standing from Tierce to Vespers in that drafty cathedral would have driven her mad, if not brought about an ague. There were too many people. The glitter of the jeweled miters and rings hurt her eyes. The constant murmur of voices grated on her nerves.

Margaret wanted to go home.

The nuns of Saint-Pierre never guessed the rebellion in her heart as they passed the young woman sitting patiently in the garden, working on a bright piece of embroidery. They ignored her, each busy with her own affairs.

Margaret bent her head. Tears dropped on the cloth, shone in the sunlight and then vanished into the pattern. She knew she had to work up the courage to tell the countess that she wouldn’t go to Carinthia, but whenever she was with Mahaut, resolve failed. Catherine would have to help her. Catherine would make everything all right.

The despair she felt was really because she knew in her heart that she must eventually marry some man or become a bride of Christ. Either way, she would lose the one person she wanted most. She had told herself a thousand times that there was no point in hoping, but she would have been happy to stay with Catherine and Edgar forever as long as Solomon was part of the family.