Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (36 page)

“It does sound as though he were going on a pilgrimage of expiation,” Astrolabe said. “But I’d rather have a solid confession or certain proof of his guilt.”

“You don’t think he did it?” Godfrey asked. “Why not?”

“Because Margaret doesn’t think he did,” Astrolabe answered.

“But she was wrong about the brooch and the attack on Gui,” John reminded him.

“I don’t know that she was,” Astrolabe said. “She’s a remarkable person. She understands things without knowing them.”

“I believe that is what Abbot Bernard says all of us should do,” John said. “But in this case, Margaret must be wrong. It has to be Gui. Who else is left?”

“Me, I suppose,” Astrolabe answered.

Catherine couldn’t get to sleep. Her legs were throbbing, the baby was restless, and she had the uneasy feeling that she had overlooked something obvious.

She should have realized that Annora had poor vision. There had been any number of signs. But Annora had learned to cover them well. That sleepy, bored look that was really a practiced squint. The way she opened her eyes wide when addressed. The fact that she had been sitting directly across the room from Gui and not known he was there. How could she have missed all those clues? Catherine was beginning to doubt her own reasoning skills.

Annora wasn’t the problem, though. Catherine was determined to find the answer, but she felt Annora wasn’t the key to solving the murders.

No, it was something else, something she had heard and not paid attention to.

Now her head was aching as well as her feet. Catherine tried to relax, to think about nothing. She recited
Ave Marias
in her head, but other scenes kept disrupting the prayers: Arnulf in the cathedral, the saintly face of Eon, Gui’s feckless grin.

Margaret believed that Gui had faked the attack on himself. It didn’t make sense, but Catherine trusted her intuitions. Logically, all blame could be placed on Arnulf, or Arnold, as Annora had called him. He must have been in the raiding party, killed Cecile and stolen the brooch, then dropped it in the garden while trying to overpower his brother, Gui. He killed Rolland when the canon became suspicious of his motives.

It all fit together. But she knew it was wrong.

Catherine tried to view the problem objectively. The problem was Arnulf himself. The man didn’t even have enough imagination to think up a proper false name. His lies very likely made sense in his own mind. It would have been so tidy if he were guilty.

Life was never tidy.

And yet, if Peter Abelard had taught her anything, it was that God didn’t intend existence to be incomprehensible. If her intellect wasn’t up to the challenge, then the fault lay in her.

She knew the answer was in her memory somewhere.

“Dear Saint Catherine,” she prayed to her name saint. “You are wise as well as holy. Please help me to find the truth so that Astrolabe won’t live forever with this shadow over him.”

There was no blinding light of revelation, but Catherine was content. When logic failed, there was always faith. Perhaps with both a solution would appear.

Margaret came for her just before Vespers.

“Did you get a good rest?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Catherine said. “But I can tell that you had none at all. Whom did the countess want you to meet?”

“German bishops,” Margaret sighed. “There seem to be a lot of them here. These were related somehow to the man I’m supposed to marry.”

“Margaret!” Catherine got up and started to put on her shoes. “You must end this marriage nonsense. Even if the countess is offended, you can’t go off to Carinthia.”

“I’m beginning to think I must,” Margaret said.

Catherine dropped the shoe.

“You can’t be serious. What would Edgar say?”

“He’s not here, Catherine,” Margaret told her. “And he has said nothing about arranging a marriage for me. I don’t wish to take the veil, so a husband is inevitable. My grandfather has offered a noble dowry. If I disobey him, then that burden will be on Edgar. You know I have nothing of my own.”

“You should,” Catherine said, an old grievance surfacing. “Your brother, Duncan, has taken your father’s title and land. He owes you a dowry, too.”

“Only if I go back to Scotland and marry according to his wishes.” Margaret shuddered. “At least Countess Mahaut is concerned with my happiness.”

“Margaret, you’re only fifteen,” Catherine protested. “There’s time yet to find you someone closer to home. I was nearly twenty when Edgar and I married.”

“Catherine, the countess has worked very hard for my benefit,” Margaret explained. “I don’t feel I can betray her now.”

Catherine had retrieved the shoe and was lacing it up. Now she stopped.

“Betray,” she said.

“Yes, betray,” Margaret repeated. “That’s what it would be after she’s been so kind.”

“No. Wait.” Catherine held up her hand to shush Margaret. “Betrayal. That’s what she said. Margaret, we must find Astrolabe at once. If I’m right, he’s in terrible danger. And then remind me to buy a candle for Saint Catherine.”

They brushed past Annora on their way out.

“Catherine!” she called.

“So sorry,” Catherine said over her shoulder. “We’re in a great hurry.”

“But I have to talk to you!” Annora followed them. “It’s very important.”

“Not now!” Catherine said.

“It’s about Cecile.” Annora trotted behind them. “I’ve spoken with Gui. He confessed everything.”

Catherine stopped so quickly that Annora ran into her. Then a woman carrying a huge bundle of fresh wool on her back nearly bumped into both of them.

They were in the middle of the road. Catherine took Annora to one side. Margaret followed after helping the shepherdess to rebalance her load.

“He confessed?” Catherine said. “When? Where did you see him?”

Annora took a deep breath. “I was with him last night,” she admitted. “He’s going away. He says he needs to clean his soul.”

“He killed Cecile and Rolland?” Margaret asked. “I don’t believe it.”

Annora stared at her. “Of course not. He loved Cecile.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know for certain until now,” Annora said. “They seemed very fond of each other, but our fathers were always at dagger’s point. Then she entered the convent and I thought that was the end of it.”

Catherine was shocked. “But Annora, they are first cousins. That’s not even consanguinity; it’s plain incest.”

“I know that,” Annora said. “So did they. That’s why Cecile went to Saint-Georges. But Gui told me last night that he couldn’t accept her decision. He followed her. She refused to see him. When he heard that she had been taken to Sainte-Croix, he went to rescue her, only she had already escaped. He says that he hunted for her all winter. He joined the men hunting the heretics just to get a meal and a bed. He couldn’t believe it when he saw her with them.”

“Why didn’t he tell someone who she was and have her freed?” Catherine asked. This story seemed stranger than Arnulf’s.

“He wasn’t very clear on this,” Annora said. “I think he may have been afraid. He thought there would be time. She was unconscious so he had her put in the cart and wrapped her in his cloak. He came to check on her late in the night and found she was awake.”

Annora paused, biting her lips to keep back the tears.

“She told him that this was her punishment for loving him, that he must take her back to Saint-Georges and never try to see her again. Then she gave him this.”

She opened her hand. In it was a gold and topaz brooch.

“He promised to honor her request,” she continued. “But when he came for her in the morning, she was dead and the other man in the cart missing.”

“Why didn’t he say then who she was?” Catherine asked.

Annora sighed. “There was a great hue and cry for the man who had escaped. Gui felt sure he’d be caught and hanged immediately and Cecile would be avenged. He was numb with grief. He still is.”

“But he wasn’t the one who killed her,” Catherine said.

“Of course not,” Annora said. “I’ve just told you.”

“But he did pretend to be attacked?” Margaret asked.

“He did,” Annora said. “He wanted to attract my attention while keeping up the myth that we were enemies. He always overdid things. He should have been born a
jongleur
. Idiot!”

“And you kept all of this to yourself?” Catherine wanted to shake her.

“I didn’t know most of it until last night,” Annora insisted. “And then Arnold appeared when he should have been behind thick walls. I was terribly confused. But Gui said he didn’t even know his brother was here.”

“And Arnulf wasn’t with the raiding party?” Catherine asked.

“No, he was in Tours, running from the monks he thought were trying to kill him,” Annora explained. “Just as he said. He stumbled on the heretics and Cecile. Her death only convinced him that all his fears were true.”

Catherine rubbed her forehead. “And I thought my family was strange.”

“Please don’t tell any of this to Countess Sybil,” Annora begged.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Catherine said. “Margaret, please, will you run and see if Astrolabe is still at the beer stand? I’ll follow as quickly as I can. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

“What is it?” Annora asked.

“I’ve been stupid,” Catherine said, hurrying after Margaret. “It was never about your family. It was about a test of faith, betrayal and atonement. Please let Astrolabe still be drinking beer.”

When they reached the stand, they found only Godfrey.

“Did Margaret find you?” Catherine asked.

“Yes,” Godfrey told her. “I sent her on with John and waited here for you.”

“On where?”

“Saint-Hilarius,” Godfrey said. “Astrolabe wanted to light a candle for the soul of his father. He told us he’d never appreciated Abelard’s travails until now.”

Catherine leaned against the table to catch her breath.

“That should be safe enough,” she said. “There will be other people around.”

“What’s the matter?” Godfrey asked. “I thought Astrolabe was out of danger now.”

“Only from false accusations,” Catherine said. “Not from Gwenael.”

Godfrey’s eyes narrowed. “Gwenael has been tormented enough,” he told her. “She’s deluded, but that’s no reason to try to blame her for the murders. Both Arnulf and Gui are more likely suspects. Even Astrolabe. He could have been lying to all of us. You’ve settled on Gwenael now only because she’s just a peasant woman with no family to protect her.”

“No!” Catherine took his hands to keep him from leaving. “That was why I didn’t even consider her. ‘No one looks at a beggar.’ Gwenael was always there. She followed Eon and the others when they were captured. She heard Cecile ask to return to the convent. It was she who found out who Astrolabe was and passed the information on, although I think it was unwittingly. She didn’t want him harmed. She killed Rolland because he was going to prevent Astrolabe from saving Eon, and now she thinks that Astrolabe has betrayed her savior and abandoned him to his fate.”

“I don’t believe it,” Godfrey insisted, pulling his hands away.

“Yes, you do,” Catherine said softly. “We have to find her before she tries to hurt Astrolabe, too.”

Annora had been listening to the exchange in growing fury.

“You mean this
bordelere vilaine
murdered my sister?” she cried. “And tried to put the guilt on my cousins? I swear I’ll rip out her heart with my fingernails.”

“Annora,” Catherine spoke gently, “she will be punished. You need have no fear about that. As soon as John and Margaret return with Astrolabe, we’ll go to Archbishop Samson to have the city searched for her. He and Count Thibault are expecting all of us this evening. We can enlist all their help.”

“She’s probably halfway back to Brittany by now,” Annora replied angrily. “You were too busy slandering Gui and Arnold to even consider her. Too busy protecting your precious Astrolabe.”

Catherine had no retort for this. Annora was right.

The bells began to ring the end of Vespers.

“What’s taking them so long to find him?” Godfrey said. “It’s not far to Saint-Hilarius.”

Catherine felt an icy chill down her back.

“I think we should go find out,” she said.

Margaret and John had arrived at Saint-Hilarius to find the church deserted.

“That’s strange,” John said. “Do you think we missed him?”

“There must be someone around to ask,” Margaret said. “The sacristan, perhaps.”

“I’ll go look,” John told her. “Wait here.”

He went out to find a caretaker.

Margaret always loved small parish churches. This one was not much larger than their hall in Paris. It was a simple bare building with narrow windows that let in little light. The apse was barely an indentation in the far wall. The altar was only a stone box covered with a cloth. A few candles burnt before it. Margaret went closer.

That was odd. There was no cross, either on the altar or above it. Could the priest have taken it with him to prevent its being stolen? Or had some sacrilegious thief already stolen it?

Margaret went up to look. There was something on the floor between the altar and the wall. Someone had dropped his cloak. She bent over to pick it up and realized there was a body underneath it.

“Astrolabe?” she said as she bent over.

“Margaret!” John’s voice echoed in the empty space. “Don’t move. She’s got a knife.”

Margaret froze, bent over Astrolabe’s body.

Gwenael paused, the knife in her upraised hand.

John came toward her slowly.

“You can’t mean to hurt Margaret, Gwenael,” he said quietly. “She’s an innocent.”

“She’s one of them,” Gwenael answered, and her voice held a world of hate.

“No, she isn’t,” John said. He thought,
She’s not insane. I can reason with her. I can. I know I can. I hope I can
.

“Her blood is noble.” Gwenael didn’t turn her eyes from the cowering child. “They say it’s different from ours, but it looks just the same to me. My Lord, my master Eon, told us that we were as good as all her sort. They drove us from our homes, burnt our fields in their stupid wars. She’s always had it easy. Why should she live?”

“Had it easy? Have you ever looked at her face?” John asked. “Margaret, stand up very slowly. Push your hair back so Gwenael can see.”

Margaret’s hands were shaking, but she obeyed. The jagged line of the scar showed clearly in the flicker of the candles.

“There are others,” she said in a small voice. “On my back, my stomach, my left shoulder.”

“She was beaten by a mob and left for dead,” John said. “A mob of people who were peasants like you. She had done nothing to them. Do you hate all peasants for what happened, Margaret?”

“No,” she said. “A poor laundress found me. She saved my life.”

Her deep brown eyes gazed pleadingly at Gwenael, who hadn’t lowered the knife.

Gwenael didn’t seem impressed. Her face was twisted in loathing. She pulled back the knife to strike. Margaret crossed herself and prepared to die.

“At least if you kill me,” she said, “I won’t have to marry a man I’ve never met in a country far from home.”

She lifted her chin and steeled herself for the blow.

The knife wavered.

“Gwenael.” John had crept closer while the woman was looking at Margaret. “Killing her won’t save you. It won’t buy Eon’s freedom.”

She suddenly realized how near he was. Her head turned.

As she moved to fend him off, John leapt for her, knocking her over and sending the knife clattering across the stone floor.

Margaret ran to pick it up.

“Help me!” John gasped.

It felt as if he were fighting the offspring of a snake and a tiger. Wasn’t there something in the Book of Revelation about that? Gwenael bit, scratched and kicked all at once. John had meant only to subdue her, but now he was struggling to keep her from incapacitating him. Her knees knew where to jab.

All at once Gwenael went limp. Her wintry blue eyes glittered in revulsion but she didn’t move. Cautiously, John drew away from her. Margaret was holding the knife at her throat.

“I know how to do this,” she said conversationally. “I’ve seen my brothers kill deer and, of course, watched the villagers at home slaughter the pigs. I’d rather not. But you have just killed Astrolabe, whom I love dearly, so please stay still.”

“That will do, Margaret.” John put his hand over hers, taking control of the knife.

“He’s not dead yet,” Gwenael muttered.

“What?” John leaned to hear. “Margaret, would you check?”

“There’s no blood,” Margaret said, kneeling by the body. “Yes, I can feel the beat of his heart in his throat! Thank the saints! He has a bad bump on his head, though.”

John felt light-headed with relief. He moved back so that Gwenael couldn’t lunge for the knife again. Her eyes darted back and forth like a trapped fox, but he was blocking any way out. He wasn’t sure how long they could stand like this. Where was the damn priest?

“I suppose I can understand why you wanted Canon Rolland to die,” he said to keep her attention. “But why Astrolabe, Gwenael? Why Cecile?”

The woman wouldn’t answer. Giving up on escape, she slumped down until she sat on the floor, head bent over her knees.

There was a creak as the door of the church opened.

“Finally!” John said without turning around. “Where have you been?”

“We came as soon as we could,” Catherine said. “I see you found her. Don’t let her go. She wants to kill Astrolabe.”

“We know,” John said. “Godfrey, could you run over to the Temple and see if they will send some men with a stretcher? Astrolabe has been knocked out.”

It was some time before order was restored in Saint-Hilarius. Godfrey brought back the stretcher bearers who took Astrolabe back to the Temple infirmary. He also had the presence of mind to pick up a length of rope. They tied Gwenael securely. While waiting for him, John and Catherine had a great deal of difficulty keeping Annora from carrying out her own private justice.

“Would you have her death on your soul?” Catherine begged.

“Gladly!” Annora said, struggling in her grasp.

“We must take her to the bishop for justice,” John said. “My lady Annora, if you don’t stop trying to attack her, I’ll tie you up, too.”

“He will,” Catherine assured her.

Reluctantly, Annora gave in. Catherine released her. “Stay back,” she cautioned her. “One step toward Gwenael and I’ll bind you with your own braids!”

Annora went to the other side of the altar. There she found Margaret, who had retreated to a corner while the men from the Temple were taking care of Astrolabe.

“Margaret? Are you all right?” she asked.

Margaret was trembling all over, her teeth chattering.

“I c-c-can’t st-st-stop sh-shaking,” she said.

“Oh, my precious, of course not!” Catherine went to her at once. “You’ve had a horrible ordeal. We’re going right back to Saint-Pierre and getting you a hot posset.”

“N-no,” Margaret said. “Grandfather.”

Catherine was aware that they were already late for the meeting before Count Thibault and Archbishop Samson. But even though they could now present them with the murderer, Catherine wasn’t sure she wanted the count to know the danger his granddaughter had been in.

“Perhaps you should wait at the convent,” she suggested.

Margaret shook her head. There was a set to her jaw that reminded Catherine uncomfortably of Edgar.

“Very well,” she said. “We should all make ourselves more presentable after this struggle. But I would rather give Gwenael into the archbishop’s custody at once than wait until I can appear before him with a clean face.”

Godfrey took it upon himself to keep Gwenael in check as they made their way across town.

“I could have forgiven you, you know,” he whispered to her, “until you went after Astrolabe. He wanted to help you. He did what he could to keep your heretical leader from death. How could you turn on him?”

“In the end, he betrayed us,” Gwenael said in a flat voice. “They always do.”

Twilight was fading as the strange procession made its way through Reims. Most people were on their way home or to the taverns. A few wondered why the woman was being dragged through the streets, but they were used to seeing criminals being taken and so thought no more about it.

A cluster of beggars was sitting at the steps of the cathedral. As she passed them, Annora stopped to drop a coin in an outstretched hand. Catherine was just close enough to hear her murmur.

“For Cecile.”

She was startled when the man took Annora’s hand and kissed it, even more that the woman allowed such familiarity. She was never sure afterward if she had really heard his reply.

“I shall strive to be worthy to join her in paradise. This is for a priest at Saint Gwenoc’s.”

Catherine thought she saw him pass her a purse. She told herself it was nonsense, that she was overwrought by recent events. But she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she had seen those beggars somewhere before.

Count Thibault was pacing the floor of the chamber when the group finally arrived.

“High time!” the count said. “The countess was about to have a search started for you. Where’s Astrolabe? Don’t tell me he’s fled!”

Archbishops Samson and Engebaud did not seem concerned. They were at a table in a corner with a
tric-trac
board and their wine goblets. When everyone had entered they left the game, taking the goblets with them.

“We were hoping for an explanation,” Samson said as he surveyed the assorted people before him. “I didn’t expect a prisoner. What has she done?”

“This is a disciple of the heretic Eon, my lord,” Margaret answered. “She is responsible for the deaths of Cecile of Beaumont and Canon Rolland. She also attacked Astrolabe in the church of Saint-Hilarius and threatened to kill me when we discovered her.”

On hearing that, Count Thibault forgot ceremony. He embraced Margaret, holding her so tightly that the breath was knocked out of her. He hadn’t realized until that moment how very much he had grown to love this newly found granddaughter.

Archbishop Samson continued the questioning. “Was Lord Astrolabe badly hurt?”

“He’s still unconscious,” John answered. “We won’t know until he wakes.”

The archbishop looked at John, his robe torn, hair wild and face scratched. His left eye was swollen nearly shut.

“You’re tonsured,” he commented, “and yet you seem to have been fighting.”

Margaret managed to free her face from her grandfather’s chest.

“Don’t punish him, my lord,” she said. “He saved my life.”

John reddened under the gratitude the count poured upon him.

“I shall see that you are rewarded for your courage,” Thibault said. “Although the price for Margaret’s life is more than all my lands and property. Now, someone please explain what has been going on and how this woman was apprehended.”

It took some time for the entire story to be told. John, Catherine and Margaret kept interrupting each other. Even Godfrey added his information. Only Annora was silent.

Archbishop Engebaud noticed this.

“My lady Annora,” he asked, “are you satisfied that this is indeed the person who murdered your sister?”

“What?” Annora seemed not to have been paying attention. Catherine wondered if she were also deaf. “Yes, my lord. She has confessed. I have no reason to doubt her.”

“Then you should have a say in what is now done with her,” Engebaud said.

Annora shook her head. “I want nothing to do with it,” she said. “I would have executed her myself, if Catherine hadn’t stopped me. But perhaps a long and painful penance would be better.”

“A penance can’t be imposed until she repents,” Archbishop Samson reminded Annora.

“Are you truly sorry for the horrendous sins you have committed?” he asked Gwenael.

Gwenael lifted her head and spat in his face.

When she woke the next morning Catherine felt as if she’d spent the past few days hanging over a precipice and, at the end, been dropped into a pit of mud. Annora refused to leave the bed. She covered her head with the blanket and then the pillow.

“Tell Countess Sybil that I will be here until she is ready to return to Flanders,” she said through the bedclothes.

Catherine wished that she could do the same. She had no sense of victory. Gwenael was in the archbishop’s prison until she could be turned over to the town authorities for hanging. Her last words to them had been a taunt.

“You’re damned, all of you!” she had cried triumphantly. “You have no power over me. My savior will never let me come to harm. He shall rend the earth, crumbling it to dust under the feet of those who would destroy me!”

“That’s the real danger in a madman like Eon,” John had remarked to Catherine as they left the count’s chambers. “He is nothing but a misguided fool. He has no wish to harm anyone. But he led Gwenael into a true heresy. And look what came of it.”

Catherine didn’t want to. She didn’t want to think about what had happened. What she really wanted was to wash all over, her body, her hair, her spirit.

Margaret had stayed the night with her grandfather. She came early to the convent, though, bursting with rapture.

“Catherine.” She kissed her good day. “I know I shouldn’t be joyful now, but last night I finally told Countess Mahaut that I didn’t want to marry her cousin. Do you know what? She said she was relieved to hear it. She had just learned that Lord Otto recently married a noblewoman of Poland. Isn’t that wonderful? She had been worrying about disappointing me!”

“Oh,
ma doux
, I’m so glad,” Catherine said. “It’s wonderful to have something to celebrate. She doesn’t have anyone else in mind for you, does she?”

“I told her I would like to pass another year at the Paraclete,” Margaret said, “and suggested that she not exert herself on my behalf until then, in case I decided to profess as a nun.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the ringing assertion that I had hoped you would make,” Catherine smiled. “But it does give us another year to find you a better fate. Now, would you like to come to the bathhouse with me?”

They were cleaned, oiled, combed and dressed in their best by Tierce. Catherine checked on Annora, whose only response was to burrow farther into the mattress. Then they went to the Temple to find out how Astrolabe was doing.

“We should have gone there first,” Catherine admitted, “but I just couldn’t face any more problems with filthy hair.”

Godfrey was talking to the guard when they arrived. He greeted them with a disrespectful enthusiasm that scandalized the old soldier.