Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  That night they ate a stew made from dried fish soaked in water with herbs. It was poured into a trencher of bread. Solomon, Edgar, Catherine and Astrolabe shared it, scooping out the stew with their spoons and then tearing the bread into equal shares.

  “At least during Lent I don’t need to worry so much about being offered pork,” Solomon commented as he finished his piece and washed it down with cold water. “But I’ll be glad to head south where the wine flows in all seasons.”

  “Have you decided to come with us, Astrolabe?” Edgar asked.

  Astrolabe leaned back against the wall behind his bench. It seemed to Catherine that he had aged in the past week or so. It wasn’t only the beard, which did show grey, but an air about him of sadness. It gave him a gravitas that he hadn’t had before. It made him seem more like his father in attitude, if not in appearance.

  “It might be best if you left the country until after the council,” Catherine suggested.

  “Yes,” Astrolabe answered, “it might. I know Mother would prefer that I not subject myself to a public accusation. I thought so too at first. But I’ve spent the past few days in serious prayer. Now I believe that it is important for me to face these men.”

  “But not in chains, like your poor Breton madman,” Catherine insisted.

  “No,” Astrolabe said. “Also, I want to be able to know the names of my enemies before we meet again. I owe it to Cecile to find the man who killed her.”

  “That’s all very noble of you,” Solomon commented. “Just how do you intend to do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Astrolabe admitted. “But I think it will mean that I won’t be shaving for a while.”

  “I have an idea,” Catherine said. “The countess of Flanders will arrive soon. She’s coming here before she goes to Reims. Perhaps Astrolabe can arrange to travel with her. You seemed to enjoy being a guard.”

  She grinned at him.

  “It did make the conversations in taverns more interesting,” he laughed. “And as we discovered, no one really looks at a guard. They only see the weapons.”

  “Do you think your mother will approve of this plan?” Edgar asked.

  Astrolabe sighed and stood. “I won’t know until I tell her of it. I should go now, before Compline rings, and find out if she can see me tonight.”

  When he had left, Catherine found she was too tired to wait for him to return. James and Edana had been put in a trundle bed in their room. Samonie was sleeping in the infirmary where Sister Melisande could tend to the headache she still had from her fall. While she was feeling much too gravid to be appealing, Catherine did long to spend as much time alone with Edgar as possible before he set out for Spain. If it were in bed, that would be even better. She got up.

  “Solomon, would you excuse us for the night?” she asked. “You must be weary as well from your journey.”

  “Of course,” Solomon told them. “Edgar, go warm your wife. I’ll sit and watch the fire awhile.”

  He wasn’t sorry to see them go. Solomon needed some time to himself. No one had mentioned that Margaret hadn’t joined them for the evening meal. He hadn’t asked. He didn’t like the aversion in Edgar’s eyes when he showed concern for the girl. He picked up a poker and jabbed at the fire. That was all it was, of course. Margaret’s mother, Adalisa, had begged him with her last breath to watch over her child. It was his duty to see that she was happy. Poor Adalisa hadn’t been. He was determined to make sure that Margaret wasn’t married off to some brutish lordling who would be cruel to her, as Margaret’s father had been to her mother.

  That was all. She was a child for whom he felt an avuncular responsibility. Nothing more. How could there be anything more?

  Solomon smashed the glowing coals to ash. Then cursing the lack of beer, he went to bed.

  Astrolabe followed Sister Thecla to the outer door of his mother’s room. She scratched at the door, and when Heloise answered, opened it and then retired discreetly to her own chamber.

  Heloise held out her arms. “My dear boy! I’ve had so little time to see you! Forgive me. This whole episode has worried me more than I care to admit.”

  “I know, Mother.” Astrolabe kissed her. “I never meant you to become part of it.”

  “If someone is trying to harm you, then I’m part of it,” Heloise said. “For you are part of me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Astrolabe began.

  Heloise put her hand on his mouth. “No, you mustn’t be. You were trying to help a friend. You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She motioned to him to sit on the stool by her chair, where she could have her arm around his shoulder and look into his face. She smiled and then sighed.

  “When your father was tried, both times, I was already in the convent,” she said. “I could do nothing to defend him. I couldn’t even be there to offer my comfort. He came to see me after they had forced him to burn his work at Soissons. I never saw him so discouraged. Not even the attack on his body was as devastating as having his writing condemned.”

  “I remember how he was after the second trial,” Astrolabe said. “I think the despair hastened his death. I find it hard to forgive Abbot Bernard for hounding him so.”

  Heloise laid her head on his. “There are days when my charity is also strained. But the abbot is a good man, if not always well counseled. Remember that, my dearest.”

  Astrolabe turned his face to hers. “You know what I’ve decided, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I wish in my heart that you would run from this trouble, go somewhere safe. But we can’t let the death of this poor woman go unavenged. From what you’ve said, her murderer is also guilty of sacrilege and the brutal rape of consecrated virgins. Men like that can’t be allowed to roam free. What would we do if he and his friends came here?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that!” Now that he did, the idea froze his blood. “The Paraclete has always been a refuge. I meant to bring Cecile to you for safety. Then, for her sake, you’ll risk the scandal of my being accused?”

  Heloise smiled at him, shaking her head. “I’m not afraid of scandal,” she said. “Our cause is just. I’m also proud of my son who is willing to face those who would slander him—just as his father did.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Astrolabe kissed her. “It may be difficult to explain why I was with the Eonites when poor Cecile was killed, but I’m sure I can prove that I’m no heretic. My theology is contained in the Creed. I leave the subtleties to men like Father and Bishop Gilbert. But even if I can clear myself of everything, I feel I owe poor Eon a defense as well.”

  “If he truly is mad, then he can’t be held responsible for his ravings,” Heloise assured him. “But those who follow him may not be so innocent.”

  “From what I saw, they are only poor, ignorant people,” Astrolabe said. “Their parish priest has failed to teach them, if they even have a priest.”

  “Then it is the bishop of the area who is to blame, for not providing them with one,” Heloise said. “I shall write to the abbess of Saint-Sulpice in Brittany for more information. She is Count Thibault’s niece. There should be time for a response before the council begins. This time I will not wait patiently while the fate of those I love is decided.”

  Six

  The Paraclete. Friday 3 nones March (March 5), 1148.

  Feast of Saint Gerasimus, a fifth-century Christian who

  became a hermit to escape the lure of heresy. Eventually he

  attracted seventy followers to live on dates, bread and water

  while they listened to his orthodox preaching.

  Helwidi abbatissae uenerabili Paracleti, Hugo Metellus,

  humilis homuncio: in cythara et psalterio psallere Domino.

  Fama sonans per inane uolans apud nos sonuit, quae digna

  sonitu de uobis, nobis intonuit. Foemineum enim sexum uos

  excessisse nobis notificauit. Quomodo? Dictando,

  uersificando, noua iunctura, nota uerba nouando. Et q
uod

  excellentius omnibus est his, muliebrem mollitiem exuperasti,

  et in uirile robur indurasti.

  To Heloise, venerable abbess of the Paraclete, Hugh Metel, a

  humble dwarf: sing praise to the Lord on harp and cymbal.

  Your reputation, flying through the void, has resounded to us,

  what is worthy of resounding from you, has made an

  impression on us. It has informed us that you have surpassed

  the female sex. How? By composing, by versifying, by

  renewing familiar words in a new combination, and what is

  more excellent than everything, you have overcome womanly

  weakness and have hardened in manly strength.

  Hugh Metel, letter to Heloise

  “We’ll be back before the feast of Saint John,” Edgar told Catherine. “I promise.”

  Catherine snuggled closer to him.

  “You’ll find us at home, waiting impatiently. The danger from the sickness should have long passed by then, and we can’t impose upon the nuns for long,” Catherine said. “I’ve resolved to be brave about this. So don’t do anything to make me cry.”

  Edgar kissed the tip of her nose, the only part showing outside the blankets.

  “I think you just want to go on the journey instead,” he teased her. “You’d rather I was the one to stay home with the children.”

  Catherine moved closer to him. “You may be right,” she admitted. “I do enjoy traveling, as long as no seas are involved. Perhaps someday we can go on another pilgrimage. Rome would be nice. James and Edana seem to adore adventure.”

  Edgar didn’t like the way the conversation was going.

  “Well, until we find out if this one does”—he put his hand on her stomach—“perhaps you could contain your desire for new sights.”

  He lifted his hand suddenly and then put it back with a wondering grin.

  “The little orcus just kicked me!” he said.

  Catherine laughed. “Good! I suspect he’ll be kicking me for the next four months and I also expect you to be home for his arrival. He obviously needs his father’s strong hand.”

  Edgar smiled. His left arm was under Catherine and, just for the moment, he forgot that there was no hand at the end of it. His thoughts were only on the movements of the child to come.

  When she bade him Godspeed, Catherine found it difficult to remember her vow to be brave. After all, she reminded herself, it wasn’t as if he were going to fight. All she needed to fear were bandits, accidents and illness.

  Margaret kissed her brother good-bye.

  “Don’t forget the silk,” she told him. “Green, but not too dark.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised. “Solomon will remind me, I’m sure.”

  “Of course I will.” Solomon smiled at her.

  Margaret tried to smile back, but her mouth trembled. She started to embrace him, but he stepped back. She looked up at him in hurt and surprise. Solomon’s eyes flickered to where Edgar was watching them. He held out his hand to her.

  “Safe journey, Solomon,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Take care of my brother. Come home soon.”

  “We certainly will, loaded with all the rare treasures your heart could ask for,” he said lightly.

  Margaret bent her head. “One will be enough,” she whispered.

  Solomon released her hand. She hadn’t felt how tightly he had been holding it until she saw the red marks of his fingers on her skin.

  The men then made their farewells to Abbess Heloise and to Astrolabe. They checked the packs and gathered the guards. Three of them would accompany Solomon and Edgar, but Godfrey had elected to stay in case Catherine needed him.

  The others went back to their work, but Catherine stood at the gate with her arm around Margaret waving until Edgar and Solomon were no more than dots on the road.

  Catherine then swallowed hard and shook herself.

  “I suppose I should go rescue Samonie from the mending,” she said. “Edana tore her shift again this morning. I believe she rips it as soon as she wakens, just to get it over with.”

  “I promised Sister Jehanne that I would rule some pages for her,” Margaret sighed.

  They looked at each other.

  “Duty,” said Catherine.

  “Duty,” Margaret agreed.

  “Of course, we might also take advantage of the fact that the rain has finally stopped and see if we can find any green shoots in the garden to put in the soup tonight,” Catherine suggested.

  Margaret gave her a grateful look.

  They found few greens so early in the year, but by the time they returned to the convent with their baskets, they had managed to control the tears that would start, despite their determination.

  Sister Thecla met them on their return.

  “Catherine, dear,” she said, “the abbess would like to see you. Margaret, I thought you were in the scriptorium.”

  “Yes, Sister. I’ll go at once,” Margaret sighed.

  Catherine entered the abbess’s chamber prepared to apologize for the disruption her family was causing the convent, but Heloise brushed that away. She had other matters to discuss.

  “You attended Bishop Gilbert’s lectures in Paris, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “When I could,” Catherine answered, surprised.

  “Have you read his commentary on Boethius?” Heloise asked.

  “No, although I’ve heard some of the arguments from it.”

  “Did you understand them?”

  Catherine felt herself blushing. “I’m not sure. To me there appeared to be some inconsistencies in his logic, but it’s been so long since I was a scholar.”

  “Then it’s time you became one again.”

  Heloise handed her a book, roughly bound in board. “We’ve recently acquired a copy. There’s time for you to read it before we make our own copy and send it on.”

  Catherine held her hands out greedily.

  “You don’t think the debate over this book has anything to do with Astrolabe, do you?” she asked. “Surely Bishop Gilbert’s subtle theology has nothing in common with the beliefs of the Eonites.”

  “It does seem unlikely,” Heloise said. “But I want us to be prepared for anything. People somehow expect Astrolabe to be able to defend his father’s theses. Gilbert made it clear that he felt Abelard was the one modern philosopher who must be refuted. Now Bishop Gilbert is being put on trial for his beliefs.”

  “I remember that the bishop was called before a meeting in Paris last year,” Catherine said. “Several of the masters had questions about his understanding of the Trinity as expressed in the commentary.”

  She rubbed her hand across the cover of the book, as if absorbing the words through the wood.

  “Gilbert is to be questioned again after the council at Reims,” Heloise said. “There are those who wish to condemn him as Abelard was. Now, I don’t know who these men are who wish to harm Astrolabe, but you have told me that they have been asking for him as Abelard’s son. My husband made many enemies in his life. Some would be happy to see Astrolabe condemned out of sheer jealous spite. He told me that someone may have recognized him after he was captured with the Eonites. Think how it would please my husband’s detractors if his son were to be accused of this heresy.”

  Catherine reflected that this was the first time she had heard Heloise refer to Abelard as her husband. She wondered if this was how she always thought of him in her own mind.

  She opened the book. There were no elaborate capitals and the lines were uneven. One reader had put notes and citations in the margins. This was something intended to be read and studied, not displayed.

  “Are you sure you trust me not to be led into error?” she asked Heloise, only half joking.

  The abbess’s lips twitched. “Not if you are still as stubborn as I recall. Some of this book, I understand, is a reworking of the debates Gilbert had with Abelard. That might interest you as well. See if th
ey reflect Abelard’s work fairly and then form such responses as you are able.”

  Catherine hugged the book to her chest. “I shall do my best to refute his refutations.” She grinned. “Thank you, Mother. I know you are doing this to help me keep my mind from worrying about Edgar and I’m so grateful. I can’t think of anything that would distract me better.”

  “Just be prepared to give me a cogent précis of the work,” Heloise told her. “My time won’t allow me to study as I used to, and I don’t want to be ignorant of the issues involved here. Remember, my son’s life may depend on it.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Catherine sobered at once. She hoped she could remember how to form a proper argument.

  She turned to go, then turned back. “It’s odd, you know. Master Abelard warned Bishop Gilbert that if he didn’t defend his fellow theologians, he might find himself accused of heresy, too. It’s too bad that the master didn’t live to see his prophecy came true.”

  Heloise nodded sadly, then smiled. “I have no doubt that he knows.”

  Catherine carried the book carefully to the scriptorium, where Margaret was sitting at a table carefully drawing the fine lines on a page.

  “I used to find that so boring,” Catherine commented.

  “I like it,” Margaret said. “I can think about anything while doing this.”

  Catherine decided not to ask what was occupying her thoughts now. She sat down to read the book and soon became totally caught up in the fine points of Bishop Gilbert of Poiters’s opinions on the nature of man and God. She didn’t notice Margaret leaving for Nones or Sister Jehanne coming in to light a candle just before Vespers. It was only when the light was so dim that she found her nose pressed almost to the page that Catherine came to herself.

  She hurried back to the guest house to find that the family had passed the day quite comfortably without her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she began.

  Then she noticed that there were a number of new boxes and bundles in the room.