Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (31 page)

When the bells rang Sext, the cook, who had a hidden pity for the Breton woman, went to bring her a bowl of soup.

She found chamber pots stacked one inside the other against the wall up to the open window. Gwenael was long gone.

“There are those lepers again,” Catherine said. “See, sitting on the stones in the graveyard.”

“I’m surprised no one has driven them from town,” Astrolabe commented. “You’d think the guards would have been called as soon as someone noticed that they didn’t have anyone watching them.”

“I told you there was something strange about them,” Catherine insisted. “Look.”

The four had been resting on the stones, but now they were standing, each with arms raised in prayer. Their hoods were thrown back and, even at a distance, it was clear that there were no marks of leprosy on their faces. Two women and two men, all thin and pale enough but not disfigured at all.

“What does it mean?” Margaret asked.

“I have no idea,” Catherine said, getting up, “but I want to find out.”

“Catherine!” The other three all spoke at once. Astrolabe caught her arm.

“You can’t go over there!” he said. “Their deformities may be hidden beneath their robes. You can’t risk it.”

“I’m sure they’re using the lepers’ robes as a disguise,” Catherine insisted.

“Sure enough to imperil your life and that of your child?” Astrolabe had not let go of her.

Catherine stopped resisting.

“Very well,” she said grudgingly. “But only because they may have some other horrible disease that doesn’t show itself so blatantly. I know they aren’t lepers.”

At this moment, one of the women glanced in their direction. She said something to the others, pointing toward the group in the orchard. All immediately put their hoods back on so that they hung far over their faces. They hurried away in the other direction, behind the church and along the wall toward the temple of the Knights of Solomon.

“Did you see that?” Catherine pointed. “I tell you, those people are up to no good!”

The people in lepers’ clothing stopped when they reached the street running under the city walls. The youngest was panting in fear.

“They were too far away to see us clearly,” the older woman told her, “but we may need to change our disguise. That woman was obviously too interested in us.”

“We should never have left the forest,” the man complained. “It’s too dangerous, with all this talk of heretics. Do you want to be asked to make a profession of faith?”

The woman made a grunt of irritation. “No one is going to bother with that unless you insist on preaching in the churchyards. We had to come. Did you want to survive on acorn bread?”

“Do you still think your cousin will help us?” the younger woman asked the elder.

“Yes, Susanna, I’m sure of it,” she said firmly. “He has already decided to join us. He’ll find the courage soon to renounce his old life. I know he won’t disappoint me.”

“How much longer?” one of the men asked. The other man was silent. “I worry that some of the other Eonites will find me out. They won’t understand that I’ve converted.”

“It won’t be long,” the woman answered, but there was a note of uncertainty. “My cousin told me he only needs to finish something here. Then we’ll have enough to last the summer.”

“And to go south?” the man persisted.

“Yes, if you’re sure that’s what you want,” she answered. “I think he may even come with us. Then you have renounced your false prophet?”

“Completely,” the man said. “I have found the true faith.”

He put his arm around Susanna, who nodded.

“We’re tired of being on our own, and having to hide what we are,” she said. “We want to be where there is a community, with a priest and other good people.”

The older woman sighed. She brushed back a loose strand of greying blond hair and adjusted her hood. “We renounced earthly goods and pleasures and I don’t regret it. But you’re right. It’s difficult to follow the path with no guidance but our own prayers. I agree. As soon as my cousin gives us the funds, we will start for Provence.”

“Until then, we should get rid of these clappers and bandages,” the man said. “I fear that woman will report us if we keep up this pretence any longer.”

A few moments later a rag picker found a pile of linen by the side of the road. She leapt at them joyfully, until she saw the wooden clappers beside them. Then she backed away, crossing herself over and over. No cloth was fine enough to risk the touch of a leper.

Count Thibault was becoming concerned about his granddaughter. He had been pleased when Mahaut had suggested this alliance in Carinthia. So far, all the brides had come west. It was time to send someone to remind the Carinthians of their connection to France. Thibault wanted to know that Margaret was settled well before he died. He felt he owed it to her. She was a sweet child, with the same face as the love of his youth, her grandmother. Margaret should have been overjoyed, but he’d been watching her. When she thought no one was looking, her face would change as if she’d slipped off a mask. He saw then a sadness that wounded his heart.

“Are you certain that Margaret wants to go?” he asked his wife as they prepared to attend the archbishop’s meeting.

“Of course,” Mahaut answered. “We have her wardrobe almost planned.”

“But it’s so far away,” Thibault said.

Mahaut gave him an incredulous stare. “I know. I’ve made the journey.”

“She’s not as strong as you, my dear,” Thibault said. “Perhaps we should wait until her brother returns. He could be her escort.”

“My dear husband.” Mahaut patted his cheek. She was the only person in the world who could get away with it. “All this fuss about Elenora’s divorce has upset you. Margaret is a dutiful girl and bright. She’ll learn the customs quickly and be a great asset to both our families. And if she wants to see her brother, we’ll commission him to buy amber for us. He can visit her on the way. It will save on the tolls, too.”

All of these statements were sensible, and he knew there were good reasons for the marriage. Thibault knew it was the right thing to do. He just wished he could feel that Margaret was happier about it.

“Do you know why Samson Mauvoisin has asked us to see him?” Mahaut asked, breaking into his reverie.

“Perhaps he wants to explain the goings-on among the townspeople,” Thibault suggested. “No matter what we think of Raoul, it’s good that he was prepared for trouble. Samson didn’t have the men to put down a serious rebellion.”

“To be honest,” Mahaut said, “if I have to sit through another day of this council, I may revolt as well. I’ve done my duty by Elenora. If this goes on much longer, I believe we shall return home. Will that be acceptable?”

“Oh, yes,” Thibault said. “I only wish I could join you. But you know I’m expected to remain until the last candle is extinguished.”

“My lord Archbishop.” Ermon was at the door. He coughed apologetically. Samson had taken a few moments to rest between the sessions of the council and he hated to be interrupted. “There is a man who insists upon seeing you. He won’t be put off.”

“Ermon, unless he has a knife at your throat, you can get him to wait.” Samson didn’t open his eyes.

“Yes, my lord,” Ermon answered. “He did say it was about the murder last night. He’s in a great state of agitation, but I believe that he really does know something. I thought that you might want to see him before tonight.”

Samson swung his feet to the floor. “Very well, tell him I will see him as soon as I finish dressing. Have Godric come up at once to help me.”

He descended a short time later in full regalia, with every intention of crushing the temerity of this person who had interrupted his nap.

He saw a nondescript monk, with narrow eyes and a feeble chin. Before Samson had reached the bottom of the stairs, the monk threw himself on the floor in front of him.

“My lord!” he cried. “I beg your indulgence, your generosity, your pity! My dear friend Rolland has been brutally slaughtered by the godless fiend we have been pursuing. You must capture him before he kills me as well.”

Samson’s eyebrows rose. “I must? And who are you to make such a demand?”

If it were possible to go lower than the floor, the monk would have done so.

“Forgive me, your Graciousness!” he cringed. “My name is Arnulf. I was among those who apprehended the heretic Eon, that is, I was there when he was brought into Nantes. One of Eon’s most dangerous followers escaped on the road, but only after killing a wellborn lady who had been the prisoner of these heretics. I was sent to find him so that he could be made to pay for his crimes.”

“You?” Samson asked. “Why not a troop of knights?”

“It was a…delicate situation,” Arnulf stammered.

“Very well,” Samson relented. “Get up and tell me the tale, man. I can’t understand you when you’re talking into the carpet.”

Arnulf scrambled to his feet, but he then bowed so low that the effect was almost the same as before.

“We had heard a rumor that Eon was being protected by certain lords of the region who are deeply into the foul pits of sin and error,” Arnulf began.

Samson sighed but didn’t interrupt.

“One of Eon’s family went to try to convince him to renounce his evil.” Arnulf warmed to the story. “Through the work of minions of the devil, Eon offered this good man a great feast, with every delicacy known, served on platters of gold. Mindful of his soul, the man refused but his servant ate. As they were leaving, the servant was plucked up by a giant eagle and never seen again.”

“Really.” Samson yawned. His dreams were better than this tale.

“But while he was there,” Arnulf continued hastily, “the knight saw a man he knew, from the village of Le Pallet.”

“Isn’t that the place where Peter Abelard was born?”

“Yes, your Astuteness.” Arnulf bowed even lower. “This man consorting with the heretics was Abelard’s son. Of course the lord was shocked. But we know that the sins of the father are often repeated in the son. The visitor also made the acquaintance there of one of the more venal of these heretics. For a few coins, this person agreed to signal the archbishop’s soldiers to attack when they would be least able to mount a defense.

“Thus”—he spoke more quickly; Samson was showing signs of impatience—“Abelard’s son was caught by surprise. In order to protect his identity, he then killed the lady Cecile, a poor prisoner of these brutes, and ran for his life. My lord begged me to find the murderous villain. I tracked him to Paris where Canon Rolland bravely offered to help me. Together we ascertained that he would be at the council in order to rescue his miserable master Eon. Last night I was to have met with Rolland to arrange the final trap. But he never appeared.

“This morning I learned of his death. I have come to place the matter before you and plead with your Wisdom to see that this vile murderer is brought to justice.”

“I see.” Samson nodded. “A serious charge. Also many lacunae in the telling. I shall have my soldiers locate this heretical son of a heretic and bring him in.”

“Thank you, thank you, your Generosity!” Arnulf exulted. He finally dared to look up. “I know that you won’t let his friends or his slippery dialectic keep you from seeing the truth. Your Perceptiveness will realize at once that Astrolabe is guilty.”

“Astrolabe!” The archbishop smiled. “The ‘demon king’! Now I see. Thank you, Brother Arnulf. I shall expect you this evening immediately after Vespers to repeat your accusation before witnesses.”

“Of course, my lord.” Arnulf backed away until he hit the door as it opened.

Ermon entered. Arnulf barely avoided knocking him over as he made his exit.

“Was I mistaken in waking you, my lord?” Ermon asked.

“No, you did well,” the archbishop answered. “Now I need you to find some information before the meeting tonight. Also, send the captain of my guards in. I have a commission for him.”

The town was back to normal by the time Catherine and Margaret returned to the convent. From the smell, people were making barley soup and brewing barley beer. If anyone expected an invasion, there was no sign of it.

“It’s amazing how a little food can restore sanity,” Catherine said, looking from the window.

“It didn’t always work with my brothers,” Margaret replied. “They seemed to think a good meal was a prelude to battle.”

“Well, I’m glad it was successful in this case.” Catherine went to her packing box to see if she had anything clean enough to wear that night.

“I haven’t been invited to any banquets,” she said, “I’m glad to say. Has your grandfather told you to dine with them?”

“I haven’t had a message today,” Margaret answered. “Could we go eat at a tavern?”

“Unaccompanied? Of course not!”

“Then I suppose we should see what the cook here has prepared for guests.” Margaret wasn’t impressed with the convent kitchens.

They rested until Vespers ended, then went down to the dining hall. There they found Godfrey waiting for them.

“Countess Sybil told me to bring you as soon as you came down,” he said.

“What? Where?” Catherine asked. “I’m not dressed for dining with company.”

“Dining? You’re going to the archbishop’s palace,” Godfrey said. “The countess received a summons this afternoon. Samson is holding an inquiry into the death of Canon Rolland.”

“I’m glad he’s taking an interest,” Catherine said, “but why do we have to be there?”

“Because his men have just brought in the murderer,” Godfrey told them. “He was accused this afternoon and is now in custody. I saw the soldiers taking him in.”

“That was quick work,” Margaret said. “I’m so relieved that it’s over.”

“Margaret,” Catherine said, “I don’t think that’s what Godfrey means, do you, Godfrey?”

“No, my lady.” Godfrey’s mouth was tight with anger. “They’ve imprisoned Astrolabe in the bishop’s dungeon.”

“Catherine, I’m terrified.” Margaret looked up at the three-story building shadowed by the bulk of the ancient cathedral.

“Margaret, darling, nothing will happen to you,” Catherine said. “We’ve feared all along that Astrolabe might be taken before we could find the real culprit, but I know we can prove that it’s all a horrible mistake.”

“What if I say something wrong?” Margaret worried. “Words are such slippery things. I won’t have to answer in Latin, will I?”

“I’m sure not.” Catherine took her hand. “You might not be asked anything at all.”

There was a light on the second floor. Someone was burning a fortune in candles.

“Catherine! Wait!”

They looked up the road and saw John running toward them. He stopped at the gate, bending over to catch his breath.

“I just found out what happened,” he said. “I had gone out for a pitcher, and when I returned, Astrolabe was gone. Thomas said that the archbishop wanted to question him. I must be at the meeting to speak for him. Let me come in with you, please. I won’t be admitted otherwise.”

“Of course, John,” Catherine said. “But are you sure you want to do this? People are not usually comfortable hiring a clerk with heretical connections.”

“It doesn’t matter. Astrolabe is my friend,” John answered.

Together, they entered the bishop’s palace.

Engebaud, archbishop of Tours, was puzzled by Samson’s invitation. What could the death of a canon of Paris have to do with him? Perhaps he had been asked to help make a judgment. He was honored that his judicial wisdom was so well known, but it had been a long day and his bed was much more alluring than any accolade would be.

He was surprised to see Hugh of Rouen there as well, and not entirely pleased. Since their sees were next to each other, they had had many occasions to argue about areas where the boundaries appeared to overlap.

“Good evening, my lord,” he greeted Hugh.

“And to you, my lord.” Hugh gave him a wintry smile.

Engebaud looked around the room. He had expected Count Thibault to be present; he had the right of high justice. If it were a matter of hanging, then no ecclesiastical court could pronounce judgment. Of course Countess Mahaut would join him. But why was Sybil of Anjou in the room? And who were those other women? Her attendants? This was altogether peculiar.

Archbishop Samson greeted him with proper respect, which soothed him somewhat.

“My dear lord Archbishop,” he bowed. “I am honored that you are able to join us.”

“I am always at your service.” Engebaud bowed in return. “Although I confess I am perplexed as to the form that service is to take.”

Samson smiled at him. “I believe you’ll discover that it is I who may be able to serve you. Please be seated. Would you care for wine?”

Engebaud took the offered cup, noting that the silver was plate.

When they were settled, Countess Sybil stood to address the group.

“Most of you know that I came to this council in the hope of receiving aid in my struggle against the invader of my land, Baldwin of Hainaut. However, I also accepted a commission from my friend, Heloise, abbess of the Paraclete.”

Mahaut leaned forward. “Heloise? She told me nothing of this.”

Sybil pressed her lips together, then continued in a polite tone.

“She might not have entrusted me with the information if it had not involved my ward, Annora of Beaumont.” Sybil indicated Annora, standing with Catherine and Margaret across the room.

Mahaut was appeased for the moment. Catherine knew that it hurt her to know that Heloise had gone to Sybil and not her.

“Archbishop Samson is faced with a serious crime, that of murder, committed on a member of the household of the bishop of Paris while he was attending the council here in Reims,” Sybil continued. “I have come to believe that this murder is directly connected with that of Cecile, a nun of Saint-Georges-de-Rennes and sister to Annora.”

Engebaud was still confused. Sybil took pity on him.

“You may recall the capture of the heretic Eon and his followers?” she asked him.

“Of course,” Engebaud said. He was looking forward to the trial the next day.
That
would put an end to the pretensions of Olivier of Dol.

“Cecile was the woman who died as a result,” Sybil said.

“Not by one of my men!” Engebaud exclaimed. “They were under strict orders not to harm the heretics unless they were themselves attacked. That woman was killed by one of Eon’s people! I have witnesses!”

“You do?” Catherine blurted. “Then you knew of her murder?”

All eyes turned to her. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I most humbly beg your forgiveness,” she said.

“And who are you?” Engebaud asked frostily.

“No one, my lord,” Catherine answered, cheeks flaming. “My name is Catherine.”

“Lady Catherine was also sent as a representative of the Paraclete,” Sybil said.

Archbishop Engebaud was becoming annoyed. He turned to Archbishop Hugh for support.

“I don’t understand what business any of this is with Heloise,” he complained. “If the woman who died was Norman and subject to you, then it seems that is something we should handle privately. I understand we now have the man who did it.”

“I’m sorry, Engebaud,” Hugh said. “I know no more than you. Until this moment, I was unaware that Cecile of Beaumont had died. I shall arrange a Mass for her. I agree that if the culprit has been captured, it only remains to sentence him. Heloise has no jurisdiction in the case.”

“It is very much her concern, however,” Sybil continued. “The man accused of both these crimes is her son.”

“What! Margaret, did you know about this?” Countess Mahaut asked.

“Yes, my lady.” Margaret held herself stiffly, as if expecting a blow. “But he didn’t do it. We know he didn’t!”

“Of course not,” Mahaut said firmly. “I know him well. The very idea is ludicrous. If that is what we have been called here for, then we’ve wasted our time.”

Archbishop Samson intervened.

“The information I have indicates otherwise,” he said. “I have questioned Astrolabe, and he admits to being with the Eonites, although he denies he is one of them. He also admits to knowing that Canon Rolland instigated the stories about him that nearly led to riot and cost me a thousand
sestiers
of barley. He was known to be in a position to murder the nun Cecile. He refuses to state his whereabouts last night when the canon was killed. In this situation, I feel that something more is needed besides a belief that he is not the sort of person to commit murder.”

“My lord.” John stepped forward. “My friend is being unnecessarily prudent in refusing to bring others into his trouble. I was with Astrolabe last night, as was Thomas, a clerk of the archbishop of Canterbury. He couldn’t have killed Canon Rolland.”

“Oh, John, thank you,” Catherine breathed.

Samson stared at him.

“And you are?”

“John, of Sarum in England, and lately clerk to Abbot Peter of Celle,” John said. “I’ve known Astrolabe for many years. He stayed with me last night at the residence of the archbishop of Canterbury.”

“So you never left his side all evening?” Samson asked.

“No…well, we left him at the bathhouse for a couple of hours,” John admitted. “But the people there will confirm that.”

“Actually, he mentioned the bathhouse. I’ve already had the attendants questioned,” Samson said. “It seems they left him in his tub and didn’t go back until he called for a barber much later. He could have sneaked out and returned with no one the wiser. You must admit that if one were to slit a man’s throat, a bathhouse would be the perfect place to wash away any evidence of the deed.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” John sputtered.

“Unfortunately, it isn’t,” Samson told him. “Now I presume you all understand why I asked you to help me adjudicate this matter. I propose to bring both Astrolabe and his accuser in. You may listen to both their stories. If any of you have more information, either in support or refutation, then I hope you’ll add it. I admit that if I had known the man’s parentage, I might not have had him arrested immediately. However, upon questioning him, I did not find that his answers convinced me of his innocence and I am not inclined to release him without further proof.”

“Then bring both men before us now!” Thibault ordered. “But I warn you, Samson, I’m not going back to Abbess Heloise and tell her that I left her son in chains in your prison.”

“I assure you, my lord count, that in any event he won’t be long in my prison.”

Samson nodded to the guard at the door. A moment later Astrolabe was brought in by the guards. Just behind them was a monk. Although he tried to keep his face hidden, Catherine recognized him at once.

“You were with Rolland!” She pointed accusingly at him. “I know you!”

He glared back at her. “And you’re the woman who told us you knew nothing about the heretic we were seeking. I knew you were in league with him. You consort with Jews as well. I know. Your aberrant life has been noted.

“My lords, my ladies.” Arnulf turned to the rest of the assembly. “This woman has shown herself to be a liar and a protector of heretics and infidels. Her house in Paris is infamous. Nothing she says can be trusted.”

“How dare you!” Catherine started toward him.

Countess Sybil waved her back with a warning gesture.

“Have they harmed you?” she asked Astrolabe. “Your cheek is bruised.”

He shook his head. “I tripped on the steps. I’m not accustomed to walking in chains.”

Catherine suppressed a cry. She was more angry with herself than the monk or the archbishop. She should have done something to stop this man before he could bring Astrolabe to such a state. They shouldn’t have been so afraid but gone at once to the archbishops and told them everything. Heloise had counted on her to protect her son. She had been useless.

Archbishop Samson gestured for the two men to stand in the center of the room, facing the prelates and nobles.

“This is Arnulf, a monk of Brittany,” he told them. “He has come to me with a story of heresy, deception and murder. I shall have him repeat it for all of you. Of course you, my lord archbishops, my lord count, my lady countesses, are welcome to ask anything you wish in order to get to the meat of the matter. The rest of you”—he stared pointedly at Catherine and John—“will speak only when addressed, or I will send you out. Do you understand?”

They nodded.

Arnulf began his tale. He told it well, dwelling on his certainty that Cecile had been a prisoner of the heretics, ignoring the horror she had fled at the hands of Henri of Tréguier. He reminded them that Astrolabe had not denied that he had spent a winter in Eon’s camp and been captured there.

“And when he escaped from Archbishop Engebaud’s men, did he come to Tours and throw himself on the mercy of the church?” Arnulf asked. “No, he fled to Paris. And again, his first contact was not a cleric, who might have given him spiritual guidance and brought him back to the faith. No! Astrolabe, who will tell you he is a good orthodox Christian, summoned a Jew to give him aid. This I saw with my own eyes!”

“He said someone was following us,” Astrolabe muttered. “I should have listened.”

“There!” Arnulf said triumphantly. “He condemns himself! And then where did you go? To the bishop of Paris? Of course not. Instead you sought refuge with a merchant, a foreigner known to be friendly with any number of undesirables. And when they should have turned him over at once, he convinced them instead to smuggle him out of Paris, to Champagne and the protection of his doting mother. Do you deny this?”

He rounded on Astrolabe.

“No, but—” Astrolabe began.

Arnulf cut him off.

“Exactly,” he said. “Are these the actions of an innocent man? Whatever his family, whomever his friends, I tell you Astrolabe of Le Pallet is a heretic and a murderer who must not be allowed to remain free.”

Catherine waited for an angry outburst from Countess Sybil or Count Thibault. Instead, there was silence. Arnulf wiped his face with a cloth and gave a satisfied smile.

“Very serious accusations,” Count Thibault said at last.

“B—” Catherine opened her mouth. Margaret kicked her before she could get a sound out.

“What can you say in your own defense?” he asked Astrolabe.

Astrolabe spread his manacled hands in uncertainty.

“I cannot deny the facts, only the interpretation Brother Arnulf has put on them,” he said. “I have killed no one. I am a good Christian, as much as I am able. My behavior may have seemed cowardly. I suppose it was,” he sighed. “I couldn’t let Cecile’s death be ignored, but I wanted to protect my mother from just the shame that has come upon me here. She has had enough grief in her life.”

“Brought it on herself,” someone muttered. Catherine thought it might have been Hugh of Rouen.

Astrolabe’s strong chin lifted. “I am proud of both my parents,” he said, “and only wish I were a more worthy reflection of their learning.”

“Yes, of course,” Samson waved that off.

Samson faced the others. “You see my dilemma,” he said. “He has declared his innocence and yet not provided me with proof of it or with an alternate suspect.”