Heloise

by Hager, Mandy

  Jehanne crouches next to Heloise. ‘Every day is different. Some days she seems to rally, others to fail …’

  ‘But this is wrong! Who has sought those villains out? We must tell my uncle. We must—’

  ‘Enough now,’ Gertrud says. ‘She is both Jew and woman, and one who has rejected the Christian Church. None will fight her cause.’

  Although the words ring true, Heloise cannot bear to heed them. ‘Jehanne? Is there nothing to be done?’

  Jehanne mops at her tears. ‘Here is a truth you will not find in your fancy books.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Gertrud says. ‘Kalman was fond of saying that learning is an ornament in prosperity, a refuge in adversity, and a provision in old age.’ Somehow she musters a wry smile. ‘From the masters’ quills, great truths are scribed.’ She rises, groaning as she eases her back. ‘As for those fancy books, Jehanne dear, literature speaks all truths, the ugly and the good. Does this not ably describe my poor daughter’s plight? He immured the pale and trembling maid … but even while her agonizing screams implored her sister’s and her father’s aid, and while she vainly called upon the Gods, he overmastered her with brutal force.’ Gertrud’s voice breaks as Ovid’s words spit from her lips. Venom spent, she strokes her daughter’s marbled cheek. ‘Now hush. My child dies, and neither word nor man now holds the power to bring her back.’

  With this pronouncement, her whole being collapses in upon itself. She looks frail, vulnerable, and so very alone. Heloise rises to embrace her, their tears mingling until Gertrud quietens with a resigned sigh.

  For five long days, Heloise joins their vigil at Sister Saris’s side, leaving only to crawl back to bed at her uncle’s house when the bells for Vigils toll, thankful he remains away so she need not face his questioning or likely disapproval.

  Twice Sister Saris opens her eyes and seems to know her for a heartbeat. Only once she smiles. At times the horrors of her attack return, and all they can do is hold her as she threshes, crying and wailing, her distress contagious, every heart left pounding. But as the demon illness eats her up, her breath grows ever weaker, short and sharp, the gut-wrenching gaps between stretching ever longer.

  On the morning of the sixth day, as the cathedral bells chime for Lauds, Heloise arrives after fitful rest to find her gone. Gertrud has washed her, and here Sister Saris lies, daughter of philosopher Kalman of Rumigny, clothed in a white silk gown for her last farewell. Never has Heloise felt such wrenching grief, the pain so physical in its crushing nature she can barely breathe. She takes Sister Saris’s hand, startled by its unnatural chill, and prays with every essence of her being that God will allow her beloved teacher entry to His everlasting realm.

  When Fulbert arrives home with Stephen de Garlande, both are full of the dramas that took place at Orleans.

  ‘No sooner had Louis removed the coronation robe than a writ arrived from Rome, trumped up to support Bertrada’s son by that traitorous swine, the Archbishop of Rheims. How Sens’ Archbishop Daimbert taunted them! Too late! Too late!’ Fulbert laughs so heartily his belly shakes, the table in turn rattling a steaming potage of leek and ham and brimming goblets of wine.

  ‘The Lord preserve us from fools and underlings,’ Garlande says.

  Heloise hopes their cheerfulness is a good omen. She wants to secure Fulbert’s consent to her plan tonight; she needs to occupy her mind. Without distraction, she broods. But by the time they pause their braying to eat, her uncle’s focus has slipped; he has drunk too much.

  She sucks in air and tells of Sister Saris’s death, praying for his kind attention. ‘Her mother Gertrud taught alongside Kalman, and Sister Saris said that she is very well read.’ Heloise girds herself as she feels the weight of their eyes upon her. ‘Please, Uncle, let her take me as a pupil.’

  ‘You speak of Kalman of Rumigny — the Jew?’ Garlande frowns.

  Heloise nods, wishing him gone. She cups her hand to Fulbert’s cheek to focus him. ‘Pray allow this, dearest. I so long to learn, and who better to teach me than the mother of my truest friend?’

  Her uncle pats her knee with one hand, replenishing his emptied goblet with the other. Once topped up he drinks in one long draught, wiping his lips on the shoulder of his best hide surcoat when he is done. ‘My niece will be the brightest star in all the land,’ he tells Garlande. ‘Already few can match her.’

  Garlande winks. ‘A pretty prize for sure.’

  Out of nowhere, Fulbert thumps his fist. ‘A pox on them, do you hear? All of France will one day sing in praise of Heloise, and what will he say then, that heartless fiend who cast her out? He and my family will rue the day! Yes, truly rue it!’

  ‘A fitting revenge!’ Garlande applauds.

  ‘I am a studious pupil, sir.’ Fulbert doffs an imaginary hat. ‘An eye for an eye, tooth for tooth …’ Once more he tops up his goblet, and this time fills Garlande’s as well.

  ‘She will be the toast of the palace, mark my words. A fine head on which to sit a crown.’

  Fulbert splutters, spraying the table with red mist. ‘Speak not of marriage yet, man! One battle at a time. First, the learning, to reveal the smallness of her father’s mind. Then to marriage, and only then—’

  ‘Uncle!’ Heloise can bite her tongue no longer. ‘Such talk is better left to those who haggle over stock.’ She shakes. ‘Please. All I ask is that you allow me to study with Gertrud now.’

  His words chill her. Is this the full measure of her worth? A pawn designed for retribution? An asset prepared for trade? She knows the answer but still it hurts. The only place women ever hold power is in the world of myth.

  ‘The woman is a Jew,’ Garlande says, swigging his wine. ‘Not that I have anything against them, but …’ His eyes are lit by the whirling of his mind. ‘I have it! Perfect!’

  ‘What, what?’

  ‘Just as we fool them about her age to silence the pedants and scandalmongers, so too we will keep secret the source of her great learning, so when she finally emerges into the world, a jewel beyond compare, her father’s desertion of her will look all the more brutal and immoral! Oh, what a satisfying ambush that will be, will it not, friend?’

  As Fulbert grunts his agreement, Garlande turns to Heloise, smiling. Once, sent out to collect eggs at Argenteuil, Heloise surprised a fox in wait to seize a hen. The intensity of its stare, its coiled-up watchfulness and its surprising anticipatory smirk return to her mind as Garlande continues.

  ‘I will take in the widow Kalman; give her lodging in the room above my stables. There she will teach you all she knows and none will guess the source!’

  Her uncle rocks his chair as its joints beg mercy. ‘Of course! Perfect indeed! You, sir, are a genius!’

  Garlande stretches his legs, hands clasped behind his head. ‘There is nothing like a mystery to whet the appetite. She will be lauded first as ingenue, then we will feed out her seemingly self-acquired accomplishments as bait upon a hook!’

  ‘You would do this for me, friend?’ Fulbert’s eyes brim.

  Heloise cannot bear to look at her uncle, but how can she reproach him? She has his blessing.

  ‘I will send for the woman tomorrow,’ Garlande says. ‘Consider it a debt fulfilled.’

  She forces a smile. ‘I am much obliged, sir. And as for you, Uncle … no words can express how I feel.’

  ‘Do I not give you the best of everything?’ He snatches her hand to plant a wet and messy kiss.

  ‘Indeed you do, Canon Fulbert. Indeed you do.’ She rises. ‘If you will excuse me, I wish to tell Jehanne this happy news.’

  Heloise is freed as Garlande’s self-congratulatory voice chases after her. ‘Not the best of teachers but a good makeshift arrangement for now.’ He laughs. ‘Speaking of which, what do you think? I have summoned Peter Abelard back to gnaw on the bones of that old blowhard William of Champeaux. Now there is a man with the wit to outsmart us all …’

  That name again. She leans against the closed door, unsure whether to cheer or cry. In
the end she tries on gratitude. She is housed, fed, safe, and Fulbert loves her in his way. And he has allowed her Gertrud … that will be enough for now.

  Four

  PARIS, 1108–1115

  Gertrud is hesitant at first. She thinks on it for five days before the draw of not having to share lodgings with others wins her over. It proves a salve for both teacher and student.

  Where Sister Saris fuelled Heloise’s love of language, now from those robust foundations Gertrud shows her how to stretch for more complex understanding. She presses Heloise, provokes her to enter different worlds and fully feel their vast dimensions; there are so many more things to understand, so many exciting possibilities outside the convent walls. As well, Gertrude maintains Kalman’s legacy. She introduces Heloise to her husband’s tools and shows her how to unpick stitches in search of underlying truths.

  ‘Dialectic,’ she says, ‘describes the rational discussion between those who hold conflicting positions, to find resolution and deduce the truth through the disciplines of logic and reason. Rhetoric, meanwhile, is the art of persuasion. It makes use of invention, arrangement, delivery and style.’

  ‘Therefore, can the delivery and style of rhetoric take precedence over truth?’

  ‘Indeed. You see it at its worst among our rulers — from landholders to State and Church. It is the art of convincing others to think or act as you dictate. For instance, when the pope led the charge for the Holy Land thousands believed his claim that they were fighting because God wished it.’

  ‘They were not?’

  Her teacher snorts. ‘He went to war for self-aggrandisement.’

  Heloise is taken aback, both by Gertrud’s criticism of the pope and the realisation he may not, after all, be so different from ordinary men. ‘Do you think this is true of Louis as well?’

  Gertrud nods. ‘The same. Even before his coronation, Louis waged war with any who sought to undermine his power or who resisted confiscations. And thanks to his persuasive gifts he convinces his loyal subjects it is for their good, in God’s name. He fights with fine-tuned words and others’ fists to claw back the lost authority of his forebears. Poor fools. A man who starves will eat dry leaves if persuasively told he dines on roasted meat.’

  ‘So greed drives both Louis and those who believe his success is their success, too?’

  ‘Correct. And I imagine Louis also thinks the position of king will anoint him as right-hand man to God. There is nothing more seductive than the thought of divine power!’

  Heloise laughs. It is true. Fulbert has told her that already Louis — who grows so obese some now call him Louis the Fat — has rallied the Church and papacy to serve as his clerical watchdogs. He routs seditious nobles, picks off corrupt barons, attacks smallholders and prevots, seizes estates, and hounds Normandy and Anjou as well as England’s king. All this with tacit or active support of the Church.

  ‘But why does the Church allow him? Do its leaders not, in truth, wield more power?’

  ‘They scratch each other’s backs. See how Louis founds new monasteries to reward their loyalty? Philip was unpredictable and refused to play entirely by their rules, but Louis actively courts and enriches them. They work together to snuff out any troublemakers.’

  ‘But Christ threw the moneylenders from the temple and preached to sell possessions and give to the poor. The Bible clearly says you cannot serve both money and God.’

  Gertrud shrugs. ‘To root out hypocrisy requires knowledge to see it for what it is. The Church may have started from the loving tenets of Christ’s words, but its people now act as gatekeepers to protect that knowledge — and, ergo, their wealth and power. So, too, they place great weight in their constructs of morality, pointing fingers at others while ignoring the cracks within. These days one’s faith and the Church are two very different things. Heed this well, for when they seek to rule us, it is less from God’s will and more their own desires cloaked in His words.’

  ‘I have thought such things but never heard it said — except perhaps once by your daughter. But it is a dangerous position, Mother. Many have died for saying less.’

  Gertrud waves this away. ‘It is an advantage of growing old that I no longer care what others think — and if they choose to punish me then so be it. But you, my dear, must guard your words, though it is useful to know the nature of this world and step around its traps with careful tread and open eyes.’

  ‘It is not fair — or right. This is not the message of Christ.’

  ‘Fairness and men’s practice are as different as dialectic from rhetoric! When you feel anger rising you must use your head and still your heart. One has to know when to let logic lead and when to stay quiet and simply watch. But you are right. Ours is a very dangerous world, for women most especially. This, of all lessons, is the vital one never to forget.’ Gertrud crosses to the window, one foot tapping as she watches a line of geese land in formation on the river. When the last has settled she spins around. ‘Enough of that. Rather than questioning their own morality, what problem do you fancy keeps the likes of philosophers such as William of Champeaux and Anselm awake at night?’

  ‘I wish I could say it was how to make the world a fairer place. Instead I have heard they wrangle over why God took the form of human man.’

  ‘Indeed! So tell me why he did not simply send a prophet or an angel?’

  Off they go, arguing, needling, often roaring with laughter loud enough to cause the horses down below to whinny back.

  At night Heloise replays these conversations, aware Gertrud’s Jewish background brings with it a very different perspective from the one she encounters at home and church. If Fulbert sniffed out any inkling of their scope — or the fact that Gertrud is teaching her to read a range of Hebrew texts — he would stop it in an instant, his fear of the whispering and threats to his position a constant in his every conversation. Nonetheless, in the privacy of Gertrud’s nest above the stables Heloise is free to let her reason and curiosity roam. Gertrud brings her face to face with the intricacies of human suffering, desire and sin. She explains the physical love between a man and woman, and man loving man, and unwanted children ripped from their mother’s wombs; and tells of lovers sacrificed and avenged, the purposeful taking of one’s own life, and the theft of life by another’s hand. Gertrude allows no prudishness or lightweight judgements; instead she insists her pupil digs for meaning, ignoring her shock as they read of flesh-sins so inconceivable that once in Heloise’s head she wishes them out.

  Most shocking is a play they read aloud together by Hrotsvit, Gandersheim’s famed nun. In it, Callimachus’s physical passion for Drusiana sees him desiring to possess her even as a corpse.

  ‘I cannot read this. What kind of tortured soul would write such words?’

  ‘One trying to tease out the drives of good and evil.’

  Heloise shudders. ‘Surely this is sick imagination? No one would actually do this.’

  ‘If there is one thing I have learned from my many years, Heloise, there is nothing the imagination can summon about the depravity of human nature that is not found to exist in real life.’

  ‘But to desecrate a dead body in such a way …’

  ‘She aims to disconcert; to prick beneath the skin as all good writers do.’

  ‘But why? Does this not put depraved thoughts into the reader’s mind?’

  ‘Beneath the surface of her work lies a keen intelligence. She provokes her readers to explore the depth of their own moral choices. How are we to know what is a sin and what is not if we cannot judge it for ourselves? Or would you rather be told how to think and act?’

  ‘Of course not … Though, truthfully—’ she cannot help but check the stairs over her shoulder — ‘is this not exactly what the Bible does?’

  Gertrud smiles. ‘So you have noticed. Do you not think it better, therefore, to decide what we believe first so we can keep a sharp lookout for bias?’

  ‘Bias?’

  ‘Come, you told me yourse
lf how that monstrous woman used the seventh Proverb to vilify poor Saris.’

  ‘That bias was in her use of the text, not the Book itself.’

  ‘Have you read the words? She did not have to make them up to paint Saris a whore.’

  Heloise is stunned. ‘I am sorry. You are right: the words themselves were designed to incite.’

  ‘And you, too, are right, Heloise: I admit my own bias is plain. We form biases from experience, and I have many. But do remember, just as Hrotsvit wanted to show the constant battle between good and evil through this play, so too did those who wrote the Holy Book. It speaks of situations pertinent to their time — though is it not possible some no longer reflect the age in which we live?’

  Heloise nods, masking her unease. There are times she worries her teacher goes too far.

  ‘Of all my frustrations with the Christian Church, besides its demonising of women, there are two that most confound me: the preoccupation with unquestioning obedience and the notion of original sin.’ Gertrud sighs. ‘Do you really think a child is born into sin and must be saved to escape damnation? I find it too simplistic. And why sin then seek salvation as a means to Heaven after death, when we could make this world Heaven on Earth? Would you not rather partner with God and bring forth an age of harmonious peace?’

  ‘Of course.’ Heloise does not doubt her teacher; although Gertrud is subversive to the point of discomfort, Heloise also finds her profoundly sane. But the fear of being branded sacrilegious always sits on Heloise’s shoulder; Cathedral Close is aptly named. ‘What worries me is how logic widens the gap between my urge to know the truth and my faith.’

  Gertrud laughs. ‘Dear girl, the very notion of faith means it stands apart from logic. It is a whisper in our heart quite separate from the mind we use for matters of interpretation. I truly have faith that God wants us to use our full capacity of gifts — or why would he bestow them?’

  This Heloise has asked herself. ‘Then why is it such a sin to question the Church’s teachings?’