Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Neither one of them mentioned Solomon.

  “Now,” Catherine said, “as long as you’re here, will you have time to help me?”

  “If Grandfather permits it, of course,” Margaret answered. “Have you found out who killed the poor lady yet?”

  “We don’t even know if the murderer is in Reims,” Catherine said sadly. “Annora never says anything, but I know she’s disappointed in us.”

  “I know that your job was supposed to be to eavesdrop,” Margaret said. “But that’s ridiculous. You’d have to literally hang from the eaves around here to get close enough. There’s no place to stand outside. Now that I’ve seen the crowds, I don’t believe anyone could expect you to find one man among them all. Especially when you don’t even know what he looks like.”

  “That’s why I’m still in here,” Catherine explained. “Feeling completely useless.”

  Margaret leaned her head on Catherine’s shoulder.

  “I’m glad you are,” she sighed. “I needed to find you right away. If I hadn’t, I might be on my way to Carinthia at this very moment.”

  “Although,” Catherine said slowly, not listening to Margaret, “I should be able to narrow the search down somewhat. We are supposed to be looking for a Breton knight. Except, why would one of Count Henri’s men be here? Just because a man was in Brittany doesn’t mean he’s Breton. Henri could have brought in men from anywhere. And I did see the clerics who are hunting for Astrolabe; we just don’t know their names. They are clearly connected with this. There’s a chance that they’ll turn up here if they intend to be among those who accuse him.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” Margaret said.

  “I know it all too well,” Catherine sighed. “But Mother Heloise expects me to do something and I owe her too much not to try. I can’t help feeling that there’s something we’ve all missed. I just wish I knew what to do next.”

  Margaret suddenly sat up straighter, almost sending Catherine into the pillows.

  “Samonie!” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot. She remembered something about the man looking for Astrolabe at Provins.”

  “What was it?” Catherine asked. “Anything might help.”

  Margaret spoke carefully, trying to recall the exact words. “Samonie said that she was told that the man said he was but an emissary for a powerful lord, someone who could raise an army to wipe out the heretics in our midst and that Abelard’s son was an example of the worst of them.”

  Catherine gasped in anger. “How dare he spread rumors like that! Oh, the devil knows the best way to poison minds!”

  “You don’t think the cleric was really an agent of a lord?” Margaret asked.

  “I can’t think of one who would fit,” Catherine said. “Abelard’s enemies were not among the nobility. Still, we should keep it in mind. So far, all the threats against Astrolabe seem to come from shadows. If only we could grasp one long enough to find where it comes from.”

  She put her arm around Margaret again.

  “Now, let us try to find a diplomatic way to tell your grandfather that you weren’t meant to be a lady of Carinthia.”

  “Forligeren feldelfen!” John swore as he joined Astrolabe and Godfrey. He continued to swear as he sat at the narrow table and thumped his beer bowl on it to attract the notice of the boy with the pitcher. “Saint Aldhelms’s archaic assonance! Oh, excuse me,” he added as he noticed that Gwenael was with them.

  “Something wrong?” Astrolabe asked.

  “King Stephen has forbidden the archbishop of Canterbury to attend the council,” John fumed. “I have a friend who is one of his clerks, and I had counted on getting an introduction to the archbishop at least. Now I don’t have a straw left to grasp.”

  “You want to go back to England to live?” Godfrey stared at him in astonishment. “You can’t get a decent glass of wine in the whole country.”

  “The beer is good, though,” John said. “And I’d take a position in the court of any bishop, even if it meant going to Spain.”

  “You still have recommendations from Peter of Celle, don’t you?” Astrolabe asked. “Those should get you an audience with Abbot Bernard. If you can get a letter from him, you should have no problem. With all the bishops in Reims for the council, there must be one who is in need of a secretary.”

  “I don’t know.” John sat down, shaking his head. “For every bishop, I swear that there are ten office seekers. What are you drinking?”

  “In a day or two it will be beer,” Astrolabe told him as they both stared at the milky liquid in the bowl. “I didn’t want to wait.”

  “With that philosophy you’ll never survive in a monastery,” John said.

  “It hadn’t occurred to me to join one,” Astrolabe answered as the boy handed John the pitcher.

  “Nor to me.” John took it and poured himself a bowl of the new beer. “By the way, I heard that there is a large group traveling with the archbishop of Tours, including some who are in charge of your heretic friend.”

  Gwenael sat up straight at once, emerging from her hiding place between her two guards.

  “Master Eon! Where are they keeping him?” she demanded.

  “In chains in a storeroom near the archbishop’s palace,” John told her. “As you will be if you don’t keep your voice down. Although I’ll bet there are many who envy him his bed with the crowds in this town. He hasn’t been harmed. What I’ve been told is that he’s being used as bait for a far worse heretic.”

  He gave Astrolabe a long look over the rim of his bowl.

  “They can’t mean me,” Astrolabe said.

  John shrugged. “For all I know they are talking about the bishop of Dol. He seems to be the main enemy of the archbishop of Tours. But it’s an odd group and not a lot of them Breton. They won’t talk freely in front of me. We need a spy.”

  Astrolabe gave John a look.

  “Are you thinking what I think you are?” he asked. “Mother would be furious if we put Catherine in danger.”

  “But Catherine said yesterday that she wanted to do more,” John said.

  “But what excuse could she have to stay long enough among the group from Tours to hear anything?” Astrolabe argued. “I won’t have her doing kitchen maid’s work in her condition. I’d rather go to the flames than face Edgar with that on my conscience.”

  John was momentarily stumped, then brightened.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s at least ask her. Catherine has never failed us before.”

  “That’s true,” Astrolabe said. “But it was mostly because all we asked of her was a warm meal and a bed.”

  Canon Rolland had understood that he was the one in charge of finding the heretic. Hadn’t he risked his life trying to capture Astrolabe before he could reach his mother’s convent? Wasn’t he prepared to repeat the story the soldier had told him, that Astrolabe had been seen with the heretic Eon? He was ready to make a public accusation so why were they still sneaking around the back streets of Reims?

  He didn’t like all this secrecy. He wanted to make his denunciation and return to Paris. But it was becoming more apparent to him that someone else was directing things through the person of his friend, the monk Arnulf. It was Arnulf who had told him that they couldn’t enlist the help of the bishop of Paris, or of scholars like Master Peter the Lombard or Master Adam.

  “Why not?” Rolland asked. “They both agree that Abelard was wrong in his understanding of the nature of the Holy Trinity. They would believe that his son had also fallen into error.”

  Arnulf sighed and shook his head. “This is not some quibble among philosophers about subtle distinctions. These Bretons and their friends would destroy all of Christendom and deliver us into the realm of Satan.”

  He said it so calmly that Rolland wasn’t sure he understood the enormity of the statement.

  “You can’t mean those ragged peasants?” he asked. “Surely the danger is greater if the leaders of the church and the most brilliant philosop
hers are led astray. If the pope and the council are blinded by dazzling rhetoric to adopt heretical doctrine, that is what will destroy us. The Breton heretics are an annoyance, nothing more.”

  Arnulf gave him a hard stare. “I understood that you were with us,” he said. “You were mocked by Peter Abelard and denied your rightful place among the masters, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, and most unjustly,” Rolland insisted. “Just because I couldn’t answer as quickly as some of the others. He was cruel and vicious in his rebuttals to my arguments. He made fun of my accent, yet he called himself Breton, too. But he was only clever, not right. You tell me that his wickedness lives on in his son, and that’s all the more reason to make our knowledge public.”

  Arnulf rubbed his forehead. Privately he agreed with Abelard’s assessment of Canon Rolland’s intelligence. He forced himself to smile.

  “If we denounce Astrolabe without naming his confederates, then we’ve accomplished nothing,” he explained.

  “How can we name them if we can’t even locate him?” Rolland interrupted.

  “Because he’s bound to be there to defend this Eon fellow,” Arnulf continued. “If he is, we can accuse him and add the murder of the woman to his crimes. If he daren’t show his face at Eon’s trial, then we can accuse him of the murder. That will bring his friends out to answer that charge. Then we shall have them all.”

  Rolland shook his head. It was true that he considered matters for a long time before he came to a conclusion. But it meant he was careful, not stupid. He would have to study this plan. But it felt flawed. He didn’t like it. After all these years, he wanted to be sure of his revenge.

  Catherine had sadly realized that she was doomed to spend this journey associating with the nobility. She wished it weren’t the case. She never felt comfortable with people who had their own armies.

  “I swear, if I had known what was before me I’d have gone to Spain with Solomon and left Edgar with the children,” she told Margaret as she dressed to greet the count and countess of Champagne. “Your brother would know how to treat your grandfather so that you would be saved from the marriage and still not anger them.”

  “That’s not true, Catherine,” Margaret assured her. “You won’t threaten them. Edgar would. Do you really need the belt? The keys and purse will thump against your stomach.”

  “That’s all right,” Catherine said. “It will serve the little fiend right, considering how much he’s been thumping me. Can you lace up my shoes for me? I don’t know where the maid has gone. I don’t think she likes serving me and the lady Annora, too.”

  Margaret obligingly knelt and threaded the laces through the leather loops. She noted with concern that Catherine’s feet were swollen again. This wasn’t something she knew much about, but Samonie had impressed her with the notion that Catherine should not be allowed to stand for long.

  “Are you sure you want to come down with me?” she asked.

  Catherine was about to tell the truth, then she saw Margaret’s expression.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “I’m going mad trapped in this little room all day. And it’s not as if I hadn’t met the count before.”

  As they left the room, Catherine noted with surprise that a guard had been posted at the bottom of the stairs. Was it for their protection?

  “I really don’t see any need to have armed men in a convent guest house,” she muttered to Margaret.

  The guard stepped forward, his hand held up to stop them. The torchlight shone on his face.

  “Astrolabe?” Catherine immediately looked around to see if anyone had heard her. She lowered her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “Making sure you don’t get into any trouble,” Astrolabe said. “Margaret? What are you doing here? I thought we’d left you with my mother. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, except I don’t want to go live in Carinthia,” Margaret answered.

  “Nor would I,” Astrolabe admitted, looking puzzled. He turned to Catherine. “I’ve been talking with John. We have a plan and need your help, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

  “Do I have to wear tight sleeves and shoes and stand a lot?” Catherine asked.

  “Neither of those.”

  “I like it already,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

  Astrolabe grimaced, then bent down to whisper in her ear.

  “Beg in the street outside the house of the bishop of Tours.”

  Catherine did not have time to react before she was ushered into the presence of Countess Mahaut, Count Thibault and his niece, the abbess Marie of Saint-Sulpice.

  She tripped on the fresh rushes on the floor and would have landed on her nose if Margaret hadn’t steadied her.

  “My dear!” Countess Mahaut cried. “Geoffrey,” she signaled the page. “Get a chair for the lady at once! Are you all right?”

  Catherine felt her face flame. “I am quite well, my lady countess, thank you,” she said. “I’m grateful to you for bringing my sister-in-law to join me. She has told me how much she enjoyed the journey in your company.”

  Catherine allowed the page to seat her at one side of a long table set up for all the guests. Now that she had managed to be sure all eyes were on her, she was grateful to be ignored for a while.

  Astrolabe came and stood at attention behind her. He handed her the scarf she had dropped.

  “Did you really slip, or did you do it on purpose to keep anyone from noticing me?” he asked.

  “I’ll never tell,” she answered.

  Margaret was seated much farther up the table than Catherine. This was to be expected, but it left Catherine with no one she knew to speak to. At first she felt uncomfortable sharing her trencher with a stranger, but the young man seemed so intent on catching the eye of the woman across from him that she soon realized that he was paying no attention to the food. So she concentrated on getting out as many of the chunks of fish that she could find. If only this were a meat night! Catherine craved red meat and the count’s table was one place she might get it.

  In the meantime, she studied the people at the table across from her. Of course there were a number of clerics, given the nature of the council and the fact that Count Thibault was paying for the food. She had no trouble spotting Bishop Henry of Troyes, seated next to his sister. Margaret was at his right. She was eating little. Catherine wondered if she could hide away a few crusts in her sleeve so that Margaret could have something when her appetite returned.

  At the count’s right was Abbess Marie. Mother Heloise had said that she was a highly effective abbess. Henri of Tréguier would have had no luck if he had tried to rob Saint-Sulpice of a few nuns. It was good that she was taking an interest. There were still women at Sainte-Croix who needed rescuing.

  There were a number of bishops in attendance and at least one cardinal. Catherine was glad she hadn’t had the task of assigning their seating. According to John, the primary reason many of them were in Reims, apart from the pope’s order, was to establish their own primacy over other bishops or to defend it against one of the other bishops. The determination of the bishop of Dol not to submit to the archbishop of Tours was not unusual.

  It seemed forever before the trenchers were cleared and the washing bowls brought round. Then the entertainment began, a rather lugubrious minstrel intoning the martyrdom of Saint Ursula. Despite having rinsed her fingers and wiped her face, Catherine felt greasy, overly hot and sleepy from the strong wine. It was unfortunate that this was the time that the man beside her should remember his manners.

  “Good evening,” he smiled at her. “I’m Gui of Valfonciere. It’s near Rouen, do you know it?”

  “My father was born in Rouen,” Catherine answered, trying not to stare at the blob of fish sauce on his chin. “But I have never been there. I live in Paris.”

  “All the time?” Gui seemed puzzled. “Your family holds land that near the city?”

  “As far as I know,” Catherine said, “the only
land we have is that on which our house sits.”

  Gui squinted at her over his wine cup. “Then why are you here?” he asked.

  A wickedness seized Catherine.

  “To eat dinner,” she answered. “And you?”

  Gui blinked a few times. “I owe service to the duke of Normandy and to the archbishop of Rouen. Archbishop Hugh ordered me to come with him,” he answered. “That’s him, over there, next to Lady Annora.”

  “Oh, you know her?” Catherine asked.

  “Of course. She’s my cousin,” Gui answered. “But then, almost everyone is, aren’t they?”

  He leaned closer to her.

  “Are you my cousin?”

  Catherine leaned away. “I doubt it,” she told him.

  Gui shook his head. “Then I don’t understand why you are here.”

  Teasing someone far gone into his cups was losing its appeal. Catherine wished the nobility would rise so that she could leave.

  “I am in the party of the countess of Flanders,” she told Gui. “She was kind enough to invite me to eat here tonight.”

  Gui clonked his cup on the table.

  “But then you must be someone,” he insisted. “Everyone here is important, or a cousin.”

  “Sorry,” Catherine said. “I’m very sure I’m not either.”

  Finally, Count Thibault stood, signaling that the guests might leave. Catherine knew that she still had to wait awhile before her turn came.

  Gui rose when Archbishop Hugh prepared to leave.

  “Umm,” he looked at Catherine. “Annora doesn’t seem to have noticed me. You won’t tell her I was here, will you?”

  “If you don’t wish it, then I won’t,” Catherine answered. “But why not?”

  “Oh, you know how families are,” he said. “My father, her father, words spoken in anger, a matter of land donated without permission. That sort of thing. We aren’t speaking at the moment.”

  “Perhaps you could make it your job to mend things between you,” Catherine suggested.

  “Not with the dragon of Flanders guarding her.” Gui stopped, all color draining from his face. “I didn’t say that. Yes, my lord. I’m coming at once.”