by Hager, Mandy
Heloise is staggered. ‘But surely the gossip surrounding me will do you more harm than good? Do you really see the Church accepting me? And, as for Renee, she views me with such suspicion and dislike she will surely cause a stir.’
Mother Basilia rises and walks to the small window that looks out over the cloister. ‘I will soothe Renee’s reaction should the need arise. She has her own reasons for her response to you, none of which you have power to mend. She came here with high hopes to master the written word, but is afflicted with a kind of brain blindness she has never overcome. Your talent and love of books is like rough cloth always scraping against her hurts. Forgive her. What matters is that you lead with kindness and fairness of hand; it is on this you will be judged. We all have shadows in our past.’
This new understanding of Renee is like the lifting of a weight Heloise has ceased to notice bearing down — and is a timely reminder she is but one small star in God’s great Heaven, not the orb around which all others revolve.
This offer of practical occupation is irresistible, if for no other reason than distracting her mind. She accepts, and juggles her teaching with learning to support their large cast of sisters alongside the business of running Argenteuil’s estates.
Heloise discovers a skill for tempering strained negotiations, and a fascination for the transactions an abbey the size of theirs undertakes in order to feed and shelter its nuns. The intimate view into Church politics astounds her, especially the pressures brought to bear upon Basilia to tithe an ever-increasing slice of their income. The more they resist, the harder the bishop pushes, until they are forced to ration their own supplies and turn away new novices unless they bring much-needed wealth.
Stephen de Garlande steps up in his championing of Argenteuil, often arriving with offerings of food and wine from his vast estates. In the winter of 1119, he brings news that Abelard has been banished to one of the small daughter-houses of St Denis, to keep the peace.
‘It is not without its benefits,’ Garlande says. He, Jehanne and Heloise are sitting together in a quiet corner of the cloister while those around stroll off their stiffness from kneeling in prayer. ‘He has resumed his teaching again, and students flock in such great numbers the neighbourhood struggles to find them shelter and feed them.’
‘Does this make trouble?’
‘Without doubt. The other schools are emptying out, which arouses his peers’ envy.’
‘He is like a whirling wind,’ says Jehanne. ‘Every leaf and twig sucked into his gyre.’
‘A good analogy,’ Garlande says. They smile at each other in the first genuine moment of warmth Heloise has witnessed between them. Garlande is softening. ‘If he could stick to philosophy, life would be easier, but he now trespasses into theology, too. I fear he will make new enemies unless he treads more carefully.’
‘What does he work on?’ Heloise still misses the thrill of their intellectual sparring with a violent ache — and still in the night she finds herself recalling their rapturous joinings, the memories often spilling over into carnal dreams.
‘He dabbles in waters he should not — a work called On the Unity and Trinity of God.’
‘He is not diving back into the kind of trouble he once met early on with his master at Laon, is he? I heard he ridiculed Anselm’s teachings and took to lecturing on his own scriptural interpretations.’
‘Indeed he is. Like Roscelin before him, his semantics suggest the Trinity is three separate entities, far too close to the stance of the ancients for the likes of Anselm’s followers Alberic and Lotulf of Novara. They both now teach at the school in Rheims — and both still hold a grudge. I fear he walks again towards the fire.’
Heloise takes a deep breath and tries to lighten her tone as if her words have had no rehearsal. ‘Tell me, does he ever ask after me? I have written many times but still hear nothing.’
Garlande meets Jehanne’s gaze for an instant. ‘I tell him of my visits here. He holds his feelings close to his chest.’
Heloise falls upon stewing as Garlande and Jehanne talk on without her involvement. Garlande confesses to positioning himself for the role of Louis the Fat’s seneschal, which would make him the king’s high steward as well as the commander of the royal army. His father, Gilbert, held the position under the old king.
‘Louis already uses me to clean up the messes he makes. I do not see why he cannot reward me accordingly.’
‘Would it not be hard to marry the role of churchman with that of the king’s war-maker?’ Jehanne asks.
Garlande colours slightly. ‘The seneschal fights solely for defence of the Holy Church against the king’s enemies.’
Heloise looks away, embarrassed by his slide into pomposity.
Jehanne, however, does not spare him. ‘One assumes it also brings further riches and rewards to you?’
Heloise is impressed by the grit in her friend’s tone. Her diligent study has opened Jehanne’s mind, and she no longer meekly accepts what is told to her as truth. They both have heard the rumours of Garlande’s carryings-on, whispers of fraud and bribery, intimidation, not to mention the wealth from his many benefices and spoils of plundering. Yet if Jehanne feels bitterness over her father’s witheld riches, she never expresses it. To have forged a friendship with him, she sees as wealth enough.
Heloise disengages from their conversation again, only to be drawn back in when she hears mention of Fulbert’s name.
‘My pardon?’
Garlande takes his time to answer. ‘He has returned to Notre-Dame after his banishment to the north. I have made it my business to see him re-established as canon there in accordance with what I hoped you would wish. Was I wrong?’
For a moment Heloise can only nod, swimming through her wash of feelings for an answer. ‘No. I owe you thanks.’ Her response surprises even herself. To think of Fulbert safely reinstalled in Paris gives her curious comfort. ‘How does he fare?’
‘He has turned to a white-haired old man, feeble in his movements and slow to form speech. Even those who bear him the worst of grudges cannot help but feel God has chastened him enough, for he now wears his punishment day and night. And to see out his days without you is curse enough.’
‘Who tends to him?’
‘I pay a local woman to see to his meals and have given him a room in one of my dwellings until the Church sees fit to return him to Cathedral Close. Even so, I fear he lacks the wherewithal to care for himself in proper style.’
‘I will return as his help-mate if you can find the means to support me,’ Jehanne says.
Though relieved, such thoughtfulness shames Heloise. ‘You would do this for him when you know how he rages?’
‘Believe me,’ says Garlande, ‘he no longer has the strength to cause any person harm.’ He studies Jehanne. ‘If you are genuine in your offer, then I gladly accept. To have you close and know he has good care would be most welcome.’
Jehanne nods, a fierce blush flooding her cheeks. ‘Though I will miss Heloise, this place does not suit me. Can you continue here without me?’
Heloise leans across to kiss her cheek. ‘I will miss you, too, dear friend. But your help to him is a gift.’ How easily the words come, and how genuine they are, though the thought of Jehanne leaving is a painful blow.
‘Then it is done,’ Garlande says, smiling. ‘If you have no objections, I will escort you back with morning’s first light.’
Again they exchange shy smiles, and Heloise’s heart gathers hope that her uncle’s failings may serve some greater good.
‘Does Fulbert ever speak of me?’ Heloise asks.
‘He does indeed, and sought my opinion of how best to approach you. I said I would leave this in your hands.’
A sigh of great proportions sweeps through her. Forgiveness on a simple moral level is one thing; to face him, knowing how he destroyed them all, prods at her feeble scabs, and she worries if she sees him it will reopen all her wounds.
‘Give him my greetings and tell h
im one day perhaps. But not yet.’
‘Very well,’ Garlande says, ‘but remember I am happy to act as your go-between if ever you are ready to make the move.’
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘Your support means much.’
How strange the workings of the world, Heloise thinks. People step into one’s life who, at first glance, seem to have no meaningful connection, then one day you wake up and realise they have wormed into your heart.
It is no surprise when, within two years, Jehanne writes to announce Garlande has achieved his desire to be made seneschal. Heloise reads the news of Abelard with horror as the tales of his skirmishes keep unfolding.
His Sic et Non is now out in the world, stirring up criticism from those who feel the art of theological writing should be an act of worship, not tearing apart scripture for vainglory and his students’ occupation. By his scholarly enquiry into every contradiction and discrepancy, Abelard works to further enrage those already longing to rise against him.
The year after King Louis is finally gifted an heir to the throne, Jehanne writes again with more disturbing news.
Those arse-winds from Rheims, Alberic and Lotulf, have set in motion a charge of heresy against your man.
They plan to destroy his reputation once and for all — and they talk of mustering a mob to put the fear of God into him. But I promise, Heloise, my father rides to support him and will bring you news as soon as he can.
There is a whirlwind of muttering and people taking sides. Abelard’s old students are protesting in the streets and there are ugly scenes …
Heresy? Dear God, what if they find him guilty of their claims? The past is littered with people killed for such sins. Heloise’s head fills with pictures of the man she loves blood-smeared and broken. Every day she waits adds further gruesome images to this mental torture.
When Garlande finally arrives from Soissons at the proceedings’ end, he hastens to reassure her.
‘Peter lives, Heloise. His pride has been struck by a sword but his body remains as intact as can be.’
‘Thank God. How is his mental state?’ She still feels sick to the stomach.
‘As you can imagine, he was extremely fearful. Men have been dragged away by lynch mobs and stoned to death for less, and his enemies did their best to work the crowd against him. Lotulf and Alberic, with Archbishop Rodolphe of Rheims, convinced the papal legate to rule on any inherent heresies in his latest work about the Trinity, claiming he taught of three individual gods, Father, Son and Holy Spirit all separate.’
‘Abelard would never make such an antiquated distinction. Surely they misunderstood?’
‘I doubt it. There is more to this than theological debate. It is an attempt to shut him down for his outspoken nature. Pure revenge. He offered his work to the legate, Conon, to read and agreed to put to rights anything Conon deemed heretical.’
‘What did His Excellency do?’
Garlande shakes his head. ‘Conon set the archbishop on him, saying it was up to his enemies to judge.’ He shrugs. ‘I tried to stand on his behalf, but in Soissons I hold little sway over their actions.’
‘I am sure even your presence there gave him much comfort.’
‘I wish I could have done more. As well as revenge, it is an attempt to bruise his pride — and in this regard they certainly succeeded. Peter fought back, holding a public lecture to defend his work, and of course won over his listeners with his brilliant oration. Everything they tried to argue he countered, but it was all in vain: they had already decided against him, and, when all else failed, they attacked him for speaking of his thoughts in public without prior approval of either the pope or the Church!’
Heloise listens, open-mouthed. ‘And everyone just let these trumped-up charges bring him down? Why did his supporters not riot in the streets?’
‘There was no chance. When Geoffroi, the Bishop of Chartres, got wind of all this, he went to Peter and strongly advised him to endure their punishment; he claimed that in the end their enmity would make them look more fool than him. Once he had survived their worst, Geoffroi said, the legate would set Peter free.’
‘So Geoffroi came to Abelard’s aid?’
‘Geoffroi did what was pragmatic to secure Peter’s calm acceptance of the situation — and to keep the pope from hearing of their collusion.’
‘And its end?’
‘Peter stood by and watched them burn his books, a most grievous thing.’
‘All of them? His whole life’s work?’
Garlande shakes his head. ‘They gathered together what they had around him, but by then Peter had hidden away enough copies of each to one day resurrect.’
‘Poor Abelard. My heart goes out to him.’ She knows the effort, the hours and the deep immersion into thought he endured to piece together works of such rich depth as his. To see them summarily destroyed must have dealt him a terrible blow, especially to one who craves to leave his impression forever on the world.
‘He has been confined at St Medard but will soon be released back to St Denis.’
‘Do the monks there hold against him, too?
‘Sadly, yes. But better to be returned there than set free the mobs to take their stirred-up ignorance out on him. For now, it is the best that can be hoped for.’
Such is Heloise’s concern, she writes to Abelard again, sure he will not shun her sympathy for his appalling loss. She asks Garlande to deliver her letter in person to St Denis … and then waits. She feels like Penelope trying to make contact with Ulysses, writing into a void, not knowing if her words will reach him or their message welcomed if they do. Yours I am, yours must I be called … who when you left my side was but a girl, though you should come straightway, I surely shall seem grown an aged dame …
Day upon day she holds her breath, anticipating Abelard’s grateful opening up to her. She prays for it, asking God to reunite them through the go-between of words. But despite her earnest plea, no letter, no word, no inkling he ever received her well-wishing and sympathy comes. He has slammed the door on her and sealed it tight. Instead, Jehanne writes:
Ye Gods, Heloise, your man is a foolish arse. You would think he could at least pretend submission but, oh no, in his arrogance he continues to probe the Holy Book’s teachings and other sacred texts. And no sooner did he return to St Denis than he enraged his fellow monks with some nonsense they have taken as a slur on their patron, St Dionysius. And he did not stop there. When they confronted him, he was so aggressive in his own defence they complained to Bishop Adam, who is now so brow-beaten by his monks’ protests he threatens to petition the king, accusing treason …
Unsure of the answer, Heloise questions whether Abelard is fool or champion to the truth. On the one hand, she is proud of how he will not bend to any pressure to restrict his mind’s questing; on the other, she fears he hands them the tools to dig his grave.
Garlande’s next visit to Argenteuil brings further unexpected news.
‘Peter took such a fright,’ Garlande says, ‘that he fled France in dead of night to seek refuge in the priory of St Ayoul.’
‘Where is that?’
‘Provins, under Count Thibaud’s reign.’
‘Are not he and Louis sworn enemies?’
‘There is no love lost, certainly.’ Garlande sips the wine he has brought to share. ‘That damn man has fixed it in his stubborn head to establish a community of his own, thinking to rival Bernard’s encampment at Clairvaux.’
Abelard’s propensity to annoy his peers astounds her. ‘Does he do this with any support at all?’
‘Thibaud implored Bishop Adam to release Abelard from all remaining ties with St Denis, but Adam refused to give up the benefits of Peter’s fame. Instead Adam threatens expulsion and insists Peter return at once.’
But between Garlande’s visit and his next comes news that Bishop Adam has died — and into his role slips the obsequious Abbot Suger. Already the king’s chief whisperer and right-hand man, it takes the Abbot little time
to read the lie of the political landscape and give preference to Bernard of Clairvaux’s side, also setting out with doggedness to tie St Denis to Louis the Fat more strategically. Where Gregory had sought the separation of Church and State, insisting the Church held precedence, Bernard and Suger actively court the king. When next Garlande comes, it is to announce that he has lobbied Suger successfully for Abelard’s release.
‘Peter rushed in a state of feverish exhilaration to set up a hermitage in farmland gifted by Thibaud near the river Ardusson.’ Garlande smiles, while at the same time shaking his head. ‘That man has no idea how lucky he is! He has called his oratory the Paraclete, in reverence to the Holy Spirit as comforter. Originally he named it after the Trinity in an unrepentant act of revenge for his treatment at Soissons, but I managed to dissuade him.’
‘Well done! Abelard certainly is a master at holding grudges.’ She likewise smiles, acknowledging her own difficulty in letting go her grievances. In this they are far too alike.
‘Whatever the seed, he builds it with his bare hands through many a manic all-night stint, helped by a band of young men who hang on his every word, all hungry to feed from his shaking hands.’ Garlande shrugs as if he cannot believe their foolishness. ‘They see his mania as supernatural, a sign of his great brilliance …’
‘And so it is. But do they see the toll that brilliance takes on the man?’
‘They are so green they think him merry and full of righteous energy, wholly ignoring the signs of his disintegrating state.’
‘What are the conditions like? Is it warm and comfortable?’
Garlande splutters out a laugh. ‘You know Peter; he never takes the easy road. They build with stalks and reeds, digging clay from the riverbank to shore up the walls, and they sleep under the stars until the roof is raised. Now word is out, more eager students flock to him, bright-eyed boys all keen to brave his wilderness and study with their famously outspoken master.’
