The shiver at Astrolabe’s neck ran down his spine. He shook himself to expel it.
John put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll find him, Peter. Whatever this monster is planning, whoever is helping him, we won’t let him do any more harm.”
It was only bravado, but the words gave Astrolabe some comfort.
Another dinner. Huge amounts of food on platters. Heapings of spices that were even more expensive because of the wars. Wine only slightly diluted with water. And all in the middle of Lent.
Catherine sighed. She ate all the meat put before her, reminding herself that it was for the baby, but she had to force herself to finish. Even though she knew that the remains of the meal would be given to the poor, even now lining up at the gate, it seemed obscene to have so much. She felt in the trencher to see if there were any bits of lamb left. Then she realized that her bread partner had eaten nothing.
“Annora,” she said, “you should have stopped me. Please, get the page to bring you more.”
“I’m not hungry, Catherine.” Annora smiled. “I have only myself to feed. You take what you want.”
“I feel such a glutton.” Catherine wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Are you feeling well? The room is very close.”
“That is a polite way to put it,” Annora answered. “It’s impossible to find a laundress or a bath in this town. We’ve all, well most of us, tried to counter the problem with scent. Attar of lily and lamb don’t mix.”
“Would you like to go out for a few moments?” Catherine asked. “I would accompany you.”
Annora accepted and they threaded their way through the tables out to the convent garden where cool evening breezes soothed their rumpled spirits and settled their stomachs.
“Have you been out in the town at all?” Catherine asked. “I’m sorry that I haven’t spent much time with you. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”
“Don’t fret about it,” Annora said. “The countess took me yesterday to visit the Abbess Marie. She is here in place of the abbess of Saint-Georges, where my sister was, to plead for the return of the nuns, you know.”
“Why didn’t the abbess of Saint-Georges come herself?” Catherine asked. “I had wondered.”
“Abbess Adela is now bedridden,” Annora explained. “She’s terribly old. They say she’s nearly a hundred!”
“Ah,” said Catherine. “Now I understand how Henri de Tréguier could kidnap the nuns. I couldn’t imagine any abbess allowing such a thing. Don’t they have a lay advocate?”
“I think it’s the same Henri,” Annora said. “After all, if he could throw his own mother’s confessor out of his monastery, he must be powerful. I wish Cecile had gone to Saint-Sulpice. No one would dare confront Abbess Marie.”
“For one so young, she does have a commanding presence,” Catherine said.
“Well, she is a king’s daughter,” Annora said. “It’s in the blood.”
A vision of Edgar’s “fishwife” face passed through Catherine’s mind. Yet Margaret showed no signs of aristocratic arrogance. The noble blood must flow more thinly in some, or more nobly.
“My goodness!” Annora exclaimed suddenly. “What was that?”
She turned quickly toward the door to the dining hall, bumping into Catherine.
“What?” Catherine managed to avoid falling. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry,” Annora said, puzzled. “For a moment I was sure…I must have been mistaken. I thought I saw someone in the doorway. He seemed to be about to come toward us, then I could have sworn something came out of the ground and pulled him down, like a soul dragged into hell.”
Catherine crossed herself. “Saint Anthony’s dancing demons!”
She headed for the door. Annora ran after her.
“Catherine, where are you going? It was just a trick of the light, I’m sure, someone passing by, not coming out.”
“Perhaps,” Catherine answered. “But I want to see, all the same.”
“Look, there’s no tunnel to Hell,” Annora said when they reached the doorway. She laughed. “I knew as soon as I spoke that it was but a fancy. I’m unsettled by my loss.”
Catherine glanced at her. In the torchlight, her face seemed flushed. Her laugh was high and nervous. She must have seen something. But what? And why was she so eager to deny it now?
Catherine took the torch from its bracket and held it so that she could see the ground.
There was no gaping hole to the netherworld. But the grass had been gouged deeply and recently. She swept the torch in an arc. Something gleamed. She bent and picked it up.
It was a gold brooch, intricately made, with topaz stones. The clasp had broken. Catherine held it up to the light.
There was a red smudge on the topaz. Catherine sniffed it. Yes, there was no mistaking that.
It was blood.
Eleven
The garden. A few seconds later.
…ecce astitit in visione homini turba daemonum in morem
Scotorum sitarcia suas prono, ut assolent, clune portantium.
A vision of a crowd of demons appeared to this man in the
form of Scots carrying their provisions, as is their habit, in a
bag attached flat on their buttocks.
Guibert de Nogent, autobiography
“I told you!” Annora said. “Some poor soul has been swallowed up by Hell. Shouldn’t we go for help?”
“Yes, why don’t you?” Catherine answered, studying the ground by the doorway.
She continued circling the area with her torch, moving a bit outward each time.
“I can’t leave you here alone,” Annora protested. “What if it comes back?”
Catherine looked at her. “I’m not afraid of demons,” she said. “My faith is strong.”
“Well, of course, but…”
“Go on.” Catherine shooed Annora in with her free hand.
The woman went in, calling loudly for someone to come aid her. Catherine grimaced. She had only a few moments. It may have been a demon coming for a sinner, but there were other possibilities and she felt they should be discounted first.
The ground by the door had been disturbed as if by a scuffle. Likely, she thought, that had been when the brooch had been torn from a cloak or tunic. The plants were flattened farther out as well. Catherine followed the trail, noting more blood gleaming on the flower buds. It ended at a thicket of ill-pruned laurel bushes. Catherine hesitated to try to make her way through them. She stepped back. Already there were cries from the hall, along with some laughter. Annora’s tale of demons was not being received with complete seriousness.
Catherine shone the light onto the laurel. There were broken branches and still more blood. She stepped closer.
The bush in front of her moaned.
Catherine jumped back, slipped on the damp grass and landed hard on her bottom.
“Who…” She caught her breath. “Who’s there?”
The groaning grew louder as the bush began to shake.
“Maria Virga, ora pro me!” Catherine shrieked as she tried to get up.
She scrabbled backwards on her heels and elbows. Behind her the voices were growing louder. Before her something was emerging from the laurel.
A blackened hand reached for her.
Catherine screamed.
When she fell, the torch had rolled along the grass to stop, still flaming, between her and the monster. In its light, Catherine saw a shape break from the bushes. At first it seemed short and misshapen, then it rose, stretching out until it hovered over her, blood dripping on her skirts.
“Pater, Filius, Spiritus Sancti!” Catherine held her hands up from the ground in an effort to ward it off. “You have no power here! Go back to…go back to…to…Gui?”
She had finally recognized the face under the blood. It was her dinner partner of the night before.
“Help me,” the man choked as he fell at her feet.
The next few moments were a confused haze as Catherine f
elt herself being lifted back to her feet amidst questions and exclamations.
“This man has been attacked.” She pointed at the now unconscious Gui. “He needs attention at once. I’m fine. I just need to rest a moment.”
There was a ripple in the crowd as Margaret pushed her way through.
“Catherine!” She embraced her tightly. “I knew when they said a woman had been cornered by a demon in the garden that it could only be you. Did you defeat it?”
Catherine opened her mouth to explain. She looked at the chaos around her: finely dressed nobles, guards, servants, everyone talking at once. In the torchlight they all looked demonic.
“Yes,” she answered, “I did. Let’s go back inside.”
She leaned against Margaret. They walked slowly back to the hall. From the doorway Annora saw them and came to help.
“Did it attack you?” she asked. “Are you hurt? You were right. I should never have left you. I should have had more faith.”
“Harou!” came a shout from behind them. “Out of the way!”
The women moved aside as four men came through carrying Gui. He was awake enough to keep his arms around the shoulders of two of the men, but his eyes were glazed and his face smeared with blood. Annora took one look at him and shrieked.
“Gui! What are you doing here? What happened to you?”
“Annora,” Catherine pulled her back. “He’s in no shape to answer you now.”
“No, I suppose not,” Annora said. “But as soon as he is well enough I intend to find out why he’s in Reims. So he managed to escape the monster. I’m not surprised that a demon was lying in wait for him. My father always said he was born to walk the path to Hell.”
Catherine sighed. “I don’t think it was a demon you saw, after all,” she told Annora.
“But there was this big black shape rising from the ground,” Annora insisted. “What else could it have been?”
“Someone in a long, black cloak,” Catherine answered. “Wearing a gold brooch.”
She fumbled at the knot in her sleeve. “I hope I haven’t lost it.”
“Catherine,” Margaret spoke gently, “wait until we get you inside.”
“I can’t have dropped it.” Catherine felt the material until she found the lump that was the brooch. She sighed in relief. “Very well. You’re right, Margaret. I really would like to go in, sit down and wash my hands and face.”
When they got back into the hall, bright with candles, Catherine looked down at the front of her robe, then twisted as best she could to see the back.
“Oh, Margaret,” she sighed again. “I hope Edgar and Solomon have good luck on their journey. Grass, mud and blood! I’ve ruined my best silk bliaut!”
Margaret shook her head. “Edgar won’t mind,” she said. “It’s a small price to pay for routing a demon.”
The next morning was the fourth Sunday of Lent, the one at which Laetare is sung. More important, it was the official opening day of the council. Pope Eugenius was to celebrate Mass before the proceedings began, assisted by his cardinals.
“There’s no way we’ll get anywhere near the church,” Astrolabe fretted.
“I know,” John said. “But for you it will be all right. You don’t need to be there today. They aren’t going to bring Eon out for another three or four days at least. We still have time to find out who is trying to hurt you.”
Astrolabe wasn’t reassured. So far they had discovered nothing. John stared into his bowl of watery soup as if it would reveal the future.
“It’s no use for me to even try to find a position,” he said at last. “The one person I had hoped would help me isn’t here. Without an introduction there’s no hope. I might as well go back to Paris and tutor rich dullards again. They’ll probably all become bishops and I’ll die in some dank garret without even a candle to my name.”
“More likely in a tavern, crushed by a falling beer barrel,” Astrolabe said with small sympathy. “This isn’t your last chance, John. You aren’t without friends. We won’t let you starve.”
John gave him a crooked smile. “Thank you. And in the meantime,” he said, “you’d rather I worried about something more imminent, like a murder charge hanging over you?”
“Well.” Astrolabe shrugged. “If you must have something to worry about, it would be helpful if it were me. You’ll find a position soon, I’m sure.”
“Astrolabe, I’ve been studying and teaching for half my life.” John stared at the cluster of elegantly dressed bishops making their way to the cathedral, followed by their various archdeacons, deacons, priests, clerks and other acolytes. “I write a fine hand and know the rules of rhetoric inside out. Why will no one take me into his service?”
“I have no idea,” Astrolabe said. “I’d accept you in a flash, if I were a bishop.”
John laughed at that.
“Neither of us will ever go that far,” he said, continuing to watch the spectacle of church authorities passing by. “Say, isn’t that the Breton woman you took in?”
He pointed to where Gwenael was trying to cross the square without being trampled or beaten back by the bishops’ guards. She waved frantically to get their attention.
The two men directed her to meet them at the far end of the road, where the crowd was thinner.
“What’s wrong?” Astrolabe asked at once. “Where is Catherine? She was supposed to meet us this morning.”
“Oh, it’s dreadful!” Gwenael clasped her hands to keep from grabbing his tunic. “She was attacked last night, with some other people at the dinner. They say a demon was waiting in the garden.”
“What?” Astrolabe rubbed his ear. He must not have heard correctly.
“Is she all right?” John asked.
“The midwife was called this morning,” Gwenael said. “She’s not to get out of bed for a day or two. But they don’t think she’ll lose the baby.”
Both men exhaled.
“Now what’s this about a demon?” Astrolabe demanded.
“I’m not sure.” Gwenael looked tired and miserable. “I was put to work in the kitchens, carrying out the refuse and scrubbing the pots. I knew there was some commotion but thought it was just the young men, drunk as usual. It wasn’t until the servers came that I learned what had happened. Some man was beaten up and left for dead. Catherine found him. She probably saved him from being dragged into Hell.”
“But how do you know it was a demon?” Astrolabe asked.
“Everyone said so,” Gwenael answered.
“Then it must have been.” John tried to keep a straight face. “Everyone couldn’t be mistaken.”
Gwenael gave him a sharp look. “I know when you’re mocking me, Master John. If all those lords and ladies and bishops say it was a demon, why should I doubt them?”
“What does Catherine say?” Astrolabe asked.
“I wasn’t allowed in to see her,” Gwenael said. “One of the maids gave me the message to find you. That was all.”
“I should at least go and ask after her,” Astrolabe told John. “I’ll meet you tonight at your English tavern.”
“Fine,” John said. “I’ll see if I can pick up any new information.”
Astrolabe looked around. “I wonder where Godfrey has gone. I thought he was going to meet us this morning.”
“I’ll find him,” Gwenael volunteered eagerly. “I know the bake shops he likes best.”
“By all means.” John winked at Astrolabe. “Remind him that he promised to be at the tavern after Vespers.”
She hurried off.
John turned to go, then turned back to Astrolabe.
“If there’s anything I can do to help Catherine,” he said, “I’m more than willing.”
“Of course,” Astrolabe said. “But I imagine she has a dozen women all giving her advice at once. I may need you more than she, if Edgar ever learns that I put her in such danger by bringing her here.”
“I’m fine,” Catherine kept repeating. “It really wasn’t that
bad a fall. You mustn’t concern yourselves about me.”
Both Countess Sybil and Countess Mahaut were in the room, most of the other women having been sent elsewhere, at least for the day. Margaret sat on the bed, holding Catherine’s hand, more for her own reassurance than anything else.
“It won’t hurt you to stay in bed a day or two,” Sybil said in a tone that had sent troops into battle.
“Certainly not,” Mahaut agreed with the voice she used to pronounce judgment at her court in Provins.
Catherine lay back on the pillows.
“Yes, my ladies. I promise to do so,” she said. “But it really isn’t necessary for Margaret or Annora to miss everything on my account. All I need is some water and rest.”
“There must be something else we can do for you, my dear,” Countess Mahaut said.
“Well, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Catherine conceded, “I wouldn’t mind having something to read. I never finished the book that Master Gilbert is being questioned on.”
There was a long pause in the room as the countesses looked at Catherine and then at each other.
“I believe I might be able to have a copy located and sent to you,” Mahaut told her.
“Perhaps Abbot Bernard can spare his,” Sybil said with a wicked gleam. “Or Master Peter the Lombard. I believe he’s been asked to provide a list of Bishop Gilbert’s doctrinal errors. I’m sure he’d be happy to have you go over the work in case he missed something.”
Catherine felt the blush rising. “I didn’t mean to show such hubris. A saint’s life would also be fine, and instructive, I’m sure.”
“Nonsense, child,” Mahaut said. “You wouldn’t be a protégée of Heloise if you didn’t study theological tracts. I’m sure you’ll make as much sense of it as any of those Paris masters.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Catherine said softly.
She felt a tension between the two women that had nothing to do with her. Was Countess Mahaut opposed to Sybil’s plans for her children and those of Raoul of Vermandois, or was there some other dispute?
She was relieved when they finally left.
“Margaret, you’ll be expected to attend Mass this morning with your grandfather,” she reminded her. “I wasn’t lying. I am fine, but more than willing to rest awhile. There’s no need for you to hover over me. With the count and countess, you may even be able to find a place inside when the council starts. I wouldn’t have you miss that. I want you to tell me all about what happens.”
Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 19
