Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (34 page)

“Do you think she was involved in killing Rolland?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “She might have simply been selected to carry the message without knowing why. I certainly can’t imagine the remnants of the Eonites being organized enough to plan an elaborate murder.”

“But those were the people he was investigating,” John said. “No one else seems to have had a reason to want him dead, except Astrolabe.”

“If someone else killed Cecile, and Rolland stumbled on the truth,” Catherine insisted, “then that person would have a very good reason.”

“Well, I hope Astrolabe is having more luck than we are in finding him,” John sighed.

Archbishop Samson did not believe any of the stories about an army of demons coming to free his prisoner. Neither did he think that there were enough of Eon’s followers in town to attempt a rescue, if any of them had enough wit. But he had seen Eon when he was brought in, and he decided that there was no point in humiliating him once more in front of an angry crowd. He gave orders to bring the man in to the cathedral through a side door to the palace and hold him in the vestry until called for.

He felt it to be a decidedly charitable act on his part, since he was certain that Eon was somehow the catalyst for this distasteful problem of politics and murder, even though he seemed far too simple to be the instigator.

Samson was growing weary of having to spend every day listening to the wrangles of his fellow bishops. His deacons complained that it made the seating charts impossible to make up. With all the traffic, the rushes in the cathedral had to be swept and changed daily instead of weekly. The expense in candles alone was more than he normally spent in the year. There also were not so subtle rumblings from the town that it was time to pay more attention to the concerns of the souls of Reims. Even opening the granary hadn’t alleviated the food shortage. Families who had been forced to cede their houses to the visitors were becoming louder in their demands to return home. Samson didn’t want to end up like Pope Eugenius, thrown out of his own city by its citizens. He had tried to hint as much but without success.

At least the pope had arranged to have the inquest into the work of Gilbert of Poitiers saved until after the main council. Most of the bishops, abbots and their followers would leave before that. Only a few of them professed to be able to follow the arguments in any case. He certainly didn’t pretend to.

Samson splashed cold water on his face. Time to pass another day in playing the gracious host. How did innkeepers stand it?

The crowd at the cathedral was the largest yet.

“There aren’t usually so many people here,” Margaret said as she, Godfrey and Astrolabe pushed their way up to the cathedral door. “Maybe you should each hold on to one of my braids so we don’t get separated.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t lose you,” Astrolabe promised.

It was only because of the size of both men, one on either side, that Margaret managed to reach the portal. The guard barred the way.

“I’m Margaret of Wedderlie,” she reminded him, “Count Thibault’s granddaughter. Please conduct me and my men to his place.”

The guard raised his staff. “Can’t leave my post,” he said. “But the count went in just a moment ago. You can catch up to him.”

Margaret nodded and ducked under his arm. Godfrey and Astrolabe followed.

The crush was less severe inside, but it took them several minutes to work their way to the transept, where the count and countess were seated.

“Perhaps I should stand somewhere else,” Astrolabe suggested. “Your grandfather may not want to be seen so close to me.”

“I say the closer you are to someone powerful, the better,” Godfrey declared.

“I’ll ask him,” Margaret said over Astrolabe’s objection.

She wormed her way through to where Count Thibault was standing with Abbot Bernard. She waited until the count noticed her. He gave a wide smile and beckoned her forward. She bowed to him and then knelt to the abbot for his blessing.

“A lovely child,” Abbot Bernard said as she rose. His eyes flickered over the scar and his smile became more gentle.

“I’m surprised to see you here again, my dear,” Thibault told her. “I thought the debates had grown wearisome to you.”

“I grieve that I haven’t the learning to understand the arguments properly, my lord,” Margaret spoke formally. “I must confess to you that I have come today to witness the questioning of the Breton, Eon.”

“I trust your faith is not in jeopardy, my lady,” the abbot said.

Margaret wasn’t sure if he were teasing her or not.

“I pray not,” she answered. “But my friend wished to attend and I agreed to bring him. I believe you know the abbess of the convent where I am a student, my lord abbot. Heloise of the Paraclete?”

“Yes, of course,” he answered. “I have preached to the nuns there.”

“My friend is her son, Astrolabe.”

The smile grew more puzzled.

“He wishes to see a heretic tried?” the abbot asked.

“So he has told me, my lord.”

Abbot Bernard looked to Count Thibault for clarification.

“He is his mother’s son, more than his father’s,” Thibault said. “Eager to expand his knowledge rather than disseminate it. And he was raised among the Bretons. He may wish to familiarize himself with the forms their divergence from orthodoxy can take.”

Bernard nodded. A moment later he excused himself to speak with the pope.

Margaret kissed her grandfather’s cheek.

“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “Hasn’t the abbot heard the rumors in the town? I was certain he would say something.”

“I would not repeat what was said in the meeting last night,” Thibault told her sternly. “The abbot would have learned about Astrolabe’s difficulty in no other way. He does not encourage those who gossip.

“I don’t believe Heloise’s son is a criminal,” he added. “But that doesn’t mean I can save him if the others judge him to be guilty. Nevertheless, he may stand with our party. No one will dare to attack him here.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Margaret said. “I’ll fetch him.”

“After you do, go over to stand by the countess,” Thibault commanded. “She has missed your company.”

Margaret went reluctantly, although she returned Mahaut’s warm greeting. She felt guilty for avoiding the countess. The constant talk of her new life in Carinthia was too painful to face.

Mass was said. The business of the council resumed.

Engebaud of Tours intended to present Eon as but one more example of the disorder rampant in the land of northern Brittany under the care of Olivier of Dol. To this end he first gave a long explanation of the history of the conflict between Dol and Tours, a battle for supremacy that had been going on for more than fifty years.

Margaret felt her eyes drooping by the time that the archbishop asked Moses, abbot of Sainte-Croix, to relate the story of Henri of Tréguier. The old man gave a good account of how he and his monks had been driven from their monastery by Henri and his men.

“They have turned a place of chastity and prayer into a brothel!” he cried. “I begged the other lords in the region to help us. I pleaded with Bishop Olivier to anathematize these monsters. Nothing has been done.”

There was a murmur of shock throughout the cathedral. Pope Eugenius addressed the abbot.

“I find it difficult to believe that any bishop could be so unmindful of his responsibility as to ignore such a clear affront. Are you certain there were no irregularities in your order that might have caused Bishop Olivier to ignore your plea?”

“None at all, your Wisdom,” Moses said indignantly.

“Is there anyone else who can testify as to what happened?” the pope continued.

Beside her, Margaret could feel Astrolabe stir. Her shoulders tensed in nervousness.

“I can, my lord.”

Every head turned. The speaker was a woman.

“My name is Marie,” she said. “Abbess of Saint-Sulpice-de-la-Forêt, near Rennes in Brittany. I beg the indulgence of the council to allow me to give testimony in this matter.”

She knelt humbly before the pope and cardinals, but her tone made it clear that she expected them to indulge her.

Her request was immediately granted.

“My lords,” she began. “I have come to Reims specifically to complain about this very matter. Count Henri has not only evicted the monks of Sainte-Croix; he has also abducted professed nuns from Saint-Georges-de-Rennes to be companions for his mistress. I have good evidence that these holy women have been subjected to the most vile treatment. Abbess Adela is too infirm to travel, so I am here in her place to implore that Henri and all his lands be placed under anathema and that a troop be sent to rescue these poor women.”

“Thank you, my lady Marie,” Pope Eugenius said. “Has Henri of Tréguier come to answer these charges?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then, until he does, this council will consider him outside the protection of the sacraments.” Eugenius nodded to the clerk to add Henri’s name to the list of those to be excommunicated at the end of the council.

“Archbishop Engebaud.” Eugenius beckoned him to come forward. “I understand you have one more example that you wish to give us of spiritual laxity under the governance of the bishop of Dol.”

“I do, my lord.”

“I suggest that this assembly recess until after Nones,” the pope said. “At which time you may bring your example before us.”

While they were waiting for the council members to file out, Margaret decided to ignore dignity and sit on the floor. Astrolabe squatted next to her.

“You don’t need to come back this afternoon,” he told her. “You’re clearly tired. I don’t think we need to worry about Gwenael making a scene when Eon is presented. The guards would never let her past the door.”

“If you are returning, then so am I,” she said. “Was Arnulf here? I didn’t see him, either.”

“Neither did I,” Astrolabe said. “He may not have had an important friend like you to get him admitted.”

Margaret blushed. “The procession seems to have finally left. I’m terribly thirsty. Do you think we’ll be able to get something to drink before they resume?”

“If I know John, he has a place ready for us,” Astrolabe grinned. “I do hope he and Catherine discovered something useful. All we have to show for this morning’s work are sore feet.”

Godfrey reached the beer stand first, to find that Catherine and John had staked out a spot for them all. Catherine had bought some hard-cooked eggs and dried apples to sustain them for the afternoon.

“I didn’t spot either Gwenael or Lord Gui in the cathedral,” he told them. “With your permission, I thought I’d find out where Lord Gui was staying before he was taken to the Temple. He might have returned there with his relatives.”

“He told me he was part of the entourage of Hugh of Rouen,” Catherine said.

“I already asked there,” Godfrey said, “but no one knew where he had gone. Still, he can’t have slept with the beggars. He must have brought servants, at least a squire to tend to his horse. I can start at the stables and work from there, if I have to knock on every door in Reims.”

“May you have better luck than we have,” John said.

A few moments later Astrolabe and Margaret appeared. Their hopeful expressions faded with the news John and Catherine told them.

“The porter told us only that the messenger was a heavily veiled woman,” Catherine said. “The way he described her, it could even have been a man in woman’s garb.”

“Now, I could see Arnulf doing that,” John commented.

“Well, it’s a possibility,” Astrolabe said. “Shall we demand to go through his belongings for a veil and face paint?”

“If it comes to that, I wouldn’t hesitate,” Catherine said. “I keep thinking about how Rolland was killed, though. He was a big man and naturally belligerent. How could Arnulf have managed to get close enough to him with a knife?”

“He could have offered to shave him,” Margaret suggested.

“In the dark?” Godfrey asked.

Margaret was momentarily crushed, but she continued.

“Cecile was unconscious when she was murdered,” she said. “If I wanted to kill someone much stronger than I was, I suppose I would hit him from behind to knock him out and then slit his throat for good measure.”

“Is that what they do in Scotland?” John asked, mildly shocked.

“No,” Margaret answered primly. “No matter what you English think, in Scotland we usually give people a good meal, plenty to drink and then kill them while they sleep.”

John gave a laugh that sent a mouthful of beer spraying across the table.

“My apologies,” he said when he could speak again.

“Margaret has a point,” Catherine said. “I’ve been wondering if more than one person was involved in Rolland’s death. If someone lay in wait for him with a cudgel to knock him out, then even a weakling like Arnulf could have managed it. I wish I could see the body.”

“What would that tell you?” Astrolabe asked.

“How the cut was made, of course.” Catherine took her meat knife from the sheath at her belt and demonstrated on him. “You see, if I were facing you, then I’d cut across back to front, like this.”

“Not too realistically, please.” Astrolabe leaned away from her.

“But if you were lying facedown, then I’d reach around and pull the knife front to back, like this. The deeper part of the wound would be opposite to the first.”

“You don’t need to subject yourself to a rotting corpse, Catherine,” John said. “I had it from the monks who washed the body. Rolland was found facedown, the throat cut just as you showed.”

“Perhaps we should search Arnulf’s boxes for a heavy veil drenched with blood,” Margaret said.

“I think that would be a very good idea,” John agreed.

Apart from Godfrey, who was determined to spend the afternoon tracking down Gui, they all returned to the cathedral. This time the guards had been doubled and it was harder for Margaret to talk her way past them with her friends.

“Samson is taking no chances,” John said approvingly.

Even so, there were even more people in attendance, including several ladies. Catherine saw Countess Sybil, Annora at her side. She wondered what Annora’s feelings were about the man who had sheltered her sister after she escaped from Count Henri. Which story about Eon did she believe?