The Devil's Door (5 page)
“But he has many powerful friends,” Edgar protested.
“Many of whom also owe favors to the abbot of Clairvaux,” Gilbert answered. “I wouldn’t want to count on them to protect Abelard from him. Please, ask Héloïse to make him see reason.”
Edgar sighed. “I will ask, Master Gilbert, but from what I have heard of her, she will do what she decides, and no one’s words will sway her.”
The Paraclete was busy during the last days before Easter. There were extra prayers, fasts and alms. Catherine had always felt it a joyous season, but this year she was no longer truly a part of the convent. Her mind was not fixed on heaven, but on things of the earth, on carnal desire. Her own for Edgar, she admitted it. But her thoughts also gnawed on the other base passions; anger, pride, fear. Living in the world meant facing those, too. Was she strong enough? Watching over the broken body in the infirmary, Catherine wasn’t sure. Despite the rapidly spreading infection, the countess Alys still lived. It was as if she were struggling to accomplish one more thing before she let go. To name her true attacker? Catherine hoped so. But how much longer could she survive?
It was Holy Thursday after None, and Héloïse knelt with the other sisters in the cloister wing to wash the feet of twelve poor women. After this symbolic ritual, the women would be given new shoes and cloaks and a warm meal.
“Careful of my corns, Lady Abbess!” one old woman winced. “Scrub any harder, you’ll have them bleeding, and then how will I manage?”
“Just as you always do, Hrotruda,” Héloïse smiled. “Your feet will get you from your son’s door to ours and we’ll both see that you’re cared for.”
Hrotruda leaned forward so that her face was even with Héloïse’s. “Do you think Our Lord mocked the poor beggars who came to Him for comfort?”
Héloïse’s smile wavered. She looked directly at the old women and spoke without a trace of mockery. “Do you imagine for a moment, my honored guest, that I believe myself in any way equal to Our Lord?”
Suddenly there was a clattering and thumping. Both women looked toward the noise. Sister Ermelina came running down the east wing of the cloister, beating on a wooden board with a mallet, the signal for the sisters to gather at the bedside of the dying.
“Mother Heloise! Come quickly! Everyone, hurry!”
Heloise rose with a startled gasp. She swayed and Hrotruda reached out a hand to steady her.
“Careful, my lady,” she said. “I expect you to be here to do better next year.”
Héloïse caught her balance. “Thank you,” she said. “Agate, will you explain what is happening to the women and see that they are served before you join us? This takes precedence. Emilie, tell one of the lay sisters to run for Father Guiberc. Tell him the countess is dying. We need to prepare for the Last Rites.”
The nuns gathered quickly in the oratory. Father Guiberc, carrying the Host in a chalice, and the sacristan with the holy oils were waiting to begin the procession to the infirmary. Catherine took her place near the end.
They all filed in through the open door. As she entered, Catherine was hit with a stench that almost drove her back outside. With an effort, she controlled her stomach and forced herself to keep her place.
The infirmarian had hung bunches of rosemary and valerian at the windows and over the bed. She had also put scented oil in the lamps, but nothing could overcome the odor of putrefaction and approaching death. As each woman entered, a lay sister handed her a scarf that had been dipped in wine vinegar. Catherine tied it at once over her nose and mouth and found she could at least breath without gagging. She looked across at the countess Alys.
A pair of terrified blue eyes stared back at her.
For a moment, Catherine thought the countess was already dead, then the eyes blinked. They searched the room until finding Paciana, standing in the shadows. Alys tried to lift her hand.
“Bele suer, duce amie,” she whispered. “’Ciana!”
Paciana stumbled through the crush of people and knelt at the bedside as Father Guiberc began the rite.
“She’s conscious!” he exclaimed. “Miraculous!”
Sister Melisande shook her head. “Not enough of a miracle, Father. She will not last the night, I fear, but at least she can have the comfort of the sacrament.”
Sadly, Father Guiberc continued with the anointing. Paciana helped support Alys so that she could sit up enough to receive and swallow the Viaticum. Then she sank back into the pillow. The priest stepped away.
Alys tried feebly to reach out to him. “No!” she rasped. “More. Mother! You promised!”
The effort started her choking. Paciana wrung a few drops of wine from a cloth into her mouth and she lay back again, breathing shallowly.
The priest looked at Héloïse in bewilderment. What more could there be?
“The countess Alys wants to be admitted to our order,” Héloïse answered. “When she donated to us, the countess made it a condition of her gift that she be allowed to take the veil here before she died.”
“But we can’t; we need the bishop to consecrate her!” Father Guiberc protested. “There isn’t time to summon him, even if Hatto would come.”
“She’s not asking to be a
sanctimonialis,
Father,” Héloïse said. “The bishop is necessary only for the consecration of virgins. You are permitted to witness her profession and give her the veil.”
sanctimonialis,
Father,” Héloïse said. “The bishop is necessary only for the consecration of virgins. You are permitted to witness her profession and give her the veil.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “On whose authority?”
“Bishop Ivo of Chartres,” Catherine answered angrily.
“Catherine!” Héloïse said sharply. “It is not your place to speak. Did you think I might not know?”
“I’m so sorry, Mother.” Catherine was horrified at herself. “Please, forgive me.”
Héloïse nodded. “I will speak with you later. She is quite right, Father. Ivo, following the decretals of Pope Gelasius, permits a priest to veil and give the benediction to a widow or wife. Bishop Hatto has simply always been here to do so before.”
Alys’s eyes had closed again. Her ragged breath was the only sound in the crowded room.
The priest was still doubtful. “I believe you, of course. But I don’t wish to imperil her soul now or my own by doing the wrong thing. She is a married woman. We must have the approval of her husband before the marriage bond can be broken.”
This time Catherine bit her tongue. The bond would be broken by death soon enough, while the old priest, whom she had liked up until now, dithered about procedure.
Héloïse considered. Then she looked at Catherine again.
“The charter,” she said. “Catherine, here, run to my room and open the chest where we keep the records. Here is the key. Count Raynald’s consent must be in the charter.”
Alys stirred again. “My veil …”
Catherine pushed her way out and ran as ordered, only tripping once in the mud. She fumbled through the box of documents. Yes, there it was. She scanned it quickly: “ …
sub presentia et cum laude et voluntate conjugis sui Raynaldi comitis de Tornordoro,”
“ … in the presence, and with the consent and will of her husband, Count Raynald of Tonnerre.” Catherine stuffed the parchment in her sleeve and rushed back.
sub presentia et cum laude et voluntate conjugis sui Raynaldi comitis de Tornordoro,”
“ … in the presence, and with the consent and will of her husband, Count Raynald of Tonnerre.” Catherine stuffed the parchment in her sleeve and rushed back.
“There it is,” she said as she handed the paper to Héloïse . “Mother, shouldn’t we ask her about her attacker?”
She looked so anguished that Héloïse didn’t have the heart to reprimand her.
“Catherine, dear,” she said. “This is not the time to seek vengeance. She wants to die a member of this house. That is all that matters. Father, can we proceed?”
“Yes, of course.”
Hersende, the wardrobe mistress, laid a length of black cloth over his arm. As Héloïse supported her, he arranged it lightly about Alys’s face, since she was unable to do it for herself as prescribed.
“Accipe, ah …
domina, pallium quod perferas sine macula ante tribunal Domini nostri Jesu Christi … . Effunde, Domine, caelestem benedictionem super hanc famulam tuam, Aleydem. Amen.”
domina, pallium quod perferas sine macula ante tribunal Domini nostri Jesu Christi … . Effunde, Domine, caelestem benedictionem super hanc famulam tuam, Aleydem. Amen.”
He spoke haltingly, not sure of the form in this situation. But Héloïse seemed satisfied.
With great effort, Alys moved her hand up to feel the rough wool cloth against her face. “Ah,
Jesu,”
she breathed.
Jesu,”
she breathed.
Her eyes turned upward and she gave a long sigh, which turned into a rattling in the back of her throat. Hurriedly, Father Guiberc began the prayers for the dying. The sisters began chanting the responsory.
Alys lay still. She was free.
Catherine sat outside Héloïse’s room, waiting for her punishment. She felt completely drained of feeling. Even now, the corpse of Alys, once countess of Tonnerre, was being cleaned and wrapped. She had been grateful that her offer to help had been turned down. The sight and smell of that poor, scarred body would have been too much for her to bear. Alys seemed so easily disposed of. Because it was already late afternoon of Holy Thursday, there would not even be a funeral Mass before the burial. It would have to wait until after Easter.
At least,
Catherine thought,
she didn’t die alone. But why should she have died at all? Why? She should have told us who killed her.
Catherine thought,
she didn’t die alone. But why should she have died at all? Why? She should have told us who killed her.
To satisfy your curiosity, Catherine?
her conscience asked.
Were you planning to seek revenge? Start a blood feud? Isn’t it more important that she died in a state of grace?
her conscience asked.
Were you planning to seek revenge? Start a blood feud? Isn’t it more important that she died in a state of grace?
Catherine buried her face in her hands. She wanted to scream her anger and frustration, but she was too worn. It wasn’t right simply to bury Alys and forget how she died. Just because she was now in a better world didn’t mean one should ignore the horrors she had endured in this one.
The door opened and Héloïse appeared.
“Come in, Catherine,” she said. “I have chosen to speak with you here, instead of in chapter. But you must apologize there next time and take your reprimand.”
“Of course, Mother,” Catherine said. She waited.
Héloïse led her into her stark cell. The window was open and Catherine could hear the sound of iron on dirt as the lay brothers dug the grave.
Héloïse sat and rubbed her eyes.
“I realize that, for some reason, the plight of the countess … of our sister Alys has affected you strongly. You know that we did all we could for her.”
Catherine sighed. “Yes, Mother, I know. But I wish we could have done more, before she was hurt. I don’t know why, but I feel it’s important, necessary, that we discover if she were really attacked by Walter of Grancy and, even more, who it was who beat her so many times before.”
“Catherine, how can that help her now?”
Héloïse was clearly exhausted. Catherine felt terribly guilty for adding to her burdens. She reached for an acceptable reason for her belief. She was too tired; she could only stare with pleading eyes at this woman who had become her mother. Without warning, she began to cry. Héloïse took her in her arms and rocked her like a baby.
“Catherine, Catherine,” she murmured. “You can’t grieve like this for a woman you never knew. One can’t hurt so easily when there is so much pain in the world. Alys had a sorrowful life, it seems. But she would not want your pity for her to make your life more sad.”
Catherine took a deep breath and wiped her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Mother. I feel foolish and I know I’m not really crying for Alys. She has found peace.”
She paused.
“Mother, …” She tried to think of a way to ask this. “Do you know why Paciana became a lay sister?”
“Yes,” Héloïse said. “She confessed to me when she entered the Paraclete.”
“Then you know who she is?”
“Yes.”
Catherine was feeling her way now, as through a dark forest. But she was beginning to understand her own intense reaction to the countess’s death.
“If I had decided to stay and take my vows,” she said slowly, “instead of marrying Edgar, (
Oh, please send him sooni!
) I wonder what I would do if my sister, Agnes, were brought here in this way, if she had been beaten so horribly, with no one near to protect her. How would I feel? Could I forgive them? Could I forgive myself? Perhaps I’m not a good Christian, but I would want such people punished. Why won’t Paciana tell us who hurt Alys? That is what worries me so.”
Oh, please send him sooni!
) I wonder what I would do if my sister, Agnes, were brought here in this way, if she had been beaten so horribly, with no one near to protect her. How would I feel? Could I forgive them? Could I forgive myself? Perhaps I’m not a good Christian, but I would want such people punished. Why won’t Paciana tell us who hurt Alys? That is what worries me so.”
Heloise continued rocking, one finger twisting an errant curl escaped from Catherine’s scarf.
“I don’t know,” she said at last. “Perhaps Paciana is a better Christian than either of us. You know I cannot betray her confidence. She only told me of her own life, not her sister’s. I have my speculations but I cannot break my word to her any more than you can.”
Catherine gave one last sniff. “No, but … Oh, Mother Héloïse, I am so confused.”
To her surprise, Héloïse laughed. “My dearest Catherine, have I never told you? Confused is the natural state of every true scholar.”
Alys was buried immediately before Vespers that afternoon. The traditional sadness of the day was intensified by this new sorrow, and an extra candle was lit, beside Our Lady’s altar, for her soul.
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