Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “You didn’t say that the Eonists could turn themselves invisible?” Arnulf asked.

  “Of course not,” Rolland sneered. “If they could, they never would have been caught.”

  “Oh, yes, I hadn’t thought of that,” Arnulf admitted.

  Rolland smiled. “Neither has anyone else. That’s the wonderful thing about such stories. No one questions the logic. If your neighbor heard it from a friend, who heard it from the blacksmith, who had it from a man who knew, then of course it’s true.”

  For the first time, Arnulf looked at the canon with something approaching admiration.

  “This will certainly make it difficult for Astrolabe to protect Eon,” he said. “He may barely escape the flames himself. Even if he gives a profession of faith, he’s sure to be sentenced to a long penance. It seems we’ve won.”

  Rolland set another candle on the altar. “That is why I’m giving thanks.”

  Margaret presented herself to Countess Mahaut for inspection.

  “Lovely, my dear,” the countess told her. “The gold fillet I gave you is beautiful against the flame of your hair.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Margaret said softly.

  Mahaut examined her more closely. “Is something the matter? You seem melancholic today.”

  “It’s only that I’m worried about Astrolabe,” Margaret said. “All those things they’re saying in the streets.”

  “Margaret,” Mahaut spoke sharply, “where were you to hear street gossip?”

  “One of the scrubbing women told me.” Margaret didn’t name Gwenael, who had come to her in great agitation when she couldn’t find Catherine. “Do you know what people are accusing him of?”

  “I do,” Mahaut admitted. “This will grieve my dear Heloise more than I can say. But this is still lowborn nattering. No one of any refinement will give credence to such a parcel of nonsense.”

  Margaret was slightly reassured. “So you don’t think that anyone will try to punish him along with the Eonites?”

  “Of course not,” Mahaut said firmly. “At least,” she added, “not on account of this wild rumor.”

  “Catherine has gone to see what she can do to help,” Margaret said hopefully. “I thought that I might stay behind today. I’m too concerned to concentrate on the proceedings. And I want to help, too.”

  Mahaut patted her cheek fondly. “That’s very fine of you, ma doux, but what could you possibly do? And you can’t want to miss the council today. They’re going to decide once and for all if Raoul and Elenora can have a divorce. The discussion will be much more interesting than the wranglings of the past two days.”

  She nodded to the count’s cousin, Elenora, a gentlewoman in her mid-forties, who looked as if she’d just as soon be somewhere else.

  “My dear Mahaut,” Elenora said, “why expose the poor girl to all these sordid matters, especially when she’s about to be married herself?”

  Margaret looked at her with alarm.

  Mahaut thought a moment. “You have a good point,” she said. “But of course Raoul’s behavior is very much the exception, Margaret. My cousin in Carinthia would never treat you so shamefully. Still, Elenora is right. There’s no need to expose you to the ugly side of marriage.”

  “You’ll discover it soon enough yourself,” Elenora said in Margaret’s ear as they filed out.

  “You may stay in the garden with the nuns until Catherine returns,” the countess told Margaret. “Remember, a true noblewoman does not pass her time in idle talk, especially with servants. Do you have some sewing with you?”

  “Yes, my lady.” Margaret showed her the small embroidery hoop and threads.

  “That’s a good girl,” Mahaut said fondly. “Come, Elenora. It will soon be over.”

  The women left. From the window, Margaret saw them meet with Count Thibault’s party. She regretted missing the divorce pronouncement. Even though the matter had been decided beforehand, there was always the chance that Abbot Bernard would insist that the marriage bond be honored. It was well known that he opposed Raoul’s open adultery. He had tried many times to reconcile the count to his lawful wife, but to no effect.

  But another day of standing from Tierce to Vespers in that drafty cathedral would have driven her mad, if not brought about an ague. There were too many people. The glitter of the jeweled miters and rings hurt her eyes. The constant murmur of voices grated on her nerves.

  Margaret wanted to go home.

  The nuns of Saint-Pierre never guessed the rebellion in her heart as they passed the young woman sitting patiently in the garden, working on a bright piece of embroidery. They ignored her, each busy with her own affairs.

  Margaret bent her head. Tears dropped on the cloth, shone in the sunlight and then vanished into the pattern. She knew she had to work up the courage to tell the countess that she wouldn’t go to Carinthia, but whenever she was with Mahaut, resolve failed. Catherine would have to help her. Catherine would make everything all right.

  The despair she felt was really because she knew in her heart that she must eventually marry some man or become a bride of Christ. Either way, she would lose the one person she wanted most. She had told herself a thousand times that there was no point in hoping, but she would have been happy to stay with Catherine and Edgar forever as long as Solomon was part of the family.

  The cloth in the embroidery frame was becoming so damp that the color in the thread was beginning to run.

  Gwenael interrupted her morose reverie by arriving with a basket of damp linen. The Breton woman had been sent to lay out tablecloths in the sun to dry. The laundress had not meant for her to do it in the nuns’ garden, but that didn’t concern Gwenael.

  Margaret wiped her eyes quickly as Gwenael approached. She managed a smile of greeting.

  Gwenael didn’t bother with polite phrases.

  “Is master Astrolabe still free?” she asked.

  “I think so,” Margaret answered.

  “Thank God! Do you know where they’ve taken my master Eon?” she continued. “I heard they have him so weighed down with chains that he can’t lift his head. Those euzhus men will be punished in Hell, I can tell you. Satan will hang weights on them, sure enough, right from their…oh…excuse me, Lady Margaret.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “It’s all right,” Margaret said. “You are very upset. I can’t tell you any more than when we last spoke. Someone said Eon is in the bishop’s palace. I don’t know if it’s true.”

  “Master Astrolabe will save him no matter what they do,” Gwenael said with confidence. “I didn’t know he had an army waiting for the right moment. I wish he’d told me. I wouldn’t have worried so.”

  “An army?” Margaret said. “Gwenael, I thought you understood. There is no army. That’s just some story that’s going through town.”

  “No!” Gwenael stepped on the linen she was laying out, leaving a muddy print. “Of course it’s true. Why else would he have come all this way if not to free my Lord? I suspected from the moment I saw him in the square that he was really one of us after all.”

  “Oh, Gwenael!” Margaret didn’t know how to respond to this. She wished Catherine were there. “These rumors about Astrolabe, they’re slander, started by his enemies. You can’t credit them at all.”

  Gwenael’s face flushed with anger. “You’re the one who’s lying!” she said through clenched teeth. “He believes in Master Eon as much as I do, in his own way. He says not only to keep suspicion from falling on him. But I know he’ll free us all. How can you doubt it? I thought you were his friend.”

  “I am,” Margaret protested. “That’s why I know these stories are all moonshine. You must trust me in this!”

  “Why?” Gwenael retorted. “Your kind never spoke truth before. Only my master, my lord Eon, gave us honesty. And now you deny what Astrolabe really is. Are you like the Jews, handing him over to be crucified? Don’t you dare betray him! If you do, may God strike you down!”

&n
bsp; “Girl! What are you doing in here?”

  Margaret pulled her gaze from Gwenael’s furious face, only a few inches from hers, to see the laundress and one of the potboys running across the garden toward them. The laundress reached out for Gwenael as soon as she was within range.

  “How dare you come in here and bother the lady!” she shouted, whacking Gwenael on the side of her face with the washing paddle. “It’s a good beating for you and then out in the streets!”

  “Oh, no!” Margaret stood, trying to get between the laundress and her target. “Please don’t hit her! It was just…We were only…”

  She looked at Gwenael, whose anger was now overlaid with fear.

  “My lady,” the laundress said, trying to regain some composure, “you are too kind. We took this one in for charity’s sake and I’ve regretted it ever since. She’s sullen and lazy. I’ll not have her beat, if you don’t wish it, but there are many more poor souls who would be grateful for her place by the fire and bread every day and give good return for it.”

  Margaret licked her lips, trying to think. From nowhere, she suddenly had a vision of Edgar’s fishwife face.

  “I have said that I don’t wish her harmed,” she told the laundress. “Nor do I wish her turned out. I forgive her for her insolence. I shall pray that she learn the proper appreciation for your generosity and that you learn patience. That is all.”

  She waved to dismiss them.

  For a moment, no one moved. Margaret wondered what she would do if they refused to obey her. Then the laundress collected herself and bowed. She turned to the potboy, who was clearly enjoying the scene.

  “You, Odo, pick up the linen!” she ordered. “Since you have nothing better to do, you can lay it out to dry in the kitchen garden.”

  She took Gwenael by the arm and led her away. Margaret thought about following to be sure the laundress didn’t continue the punishment out of sight. She decided that it would ruin her illusion of authority.

  She rolled up her embroidery and returned to Catherine’s room. Sitting in a corner, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Gwenael’s anger had chilled her to the bone.

  Perhaps the woman should be turned over to the bishop to be jailed with the other followers of Eon. It was obvious that her misplaced devotion had not ebbed. Instead, Astrolabe had become confused in her mind with the heretics. Margaret suddenly thought of what Gwenael might say if questioned. Would her interrogators realize that she was as deluded as Eon? Or would they believe that her attachment to Astrolabe must have a basis in the fact that he was also a heretic?

  “Oh, dear,” Margaret said. “I wish I had stayed at the convent.”

  It was only a few moments later when another maid poked her head in the doorway. Hastily, Margaret dropped the blanket and picked up the sewing.

  “Yes,” she said, “who are you looking for?”

  “You, my lady,” the girl said. “One of Countess Sybil’s guards is at the gate with a message for you.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

  Could it be Astrolabe? Margaret grabbed her cloak and street shoes. She was at the gate only an instant behind the maid.

  “Godfrey!” she said in surprise. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Everyone was fine when I left them not an hour ago. I came to ask a favor of you.”

  His eyes moved to indicate the maid still standing behind her.

  “You may go,” Margaret told her. “This message is private.”

  The maid blushed. “I’m not to leave you alone, my lady.”

  “I’m not alone,” Margaret said. “Godfrey is with me. It is his job to see that I come to no harm.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The maid left, frowning.

  “Tell me quickly,” Margaret said. “She’s only gone to ask what to do next. The portress will send her back immediately.”

  “I need someone important enough to make Lord Gui tell us about what happened when he was attacked,” Godfrey said all in a rush. “He knows Catherine is friends with Annora. He’ll say nothing to Astrolabe, so he won’t to me, either. I think you could win his trust. Will you come with me to the Temple?”

  “Of course.” Margaret tried not to show how thrilled she was by the commission. “I’m ready. We should go at once.”

  He helped her with her cloak and knelt to fit the wooden sabots over her shoes. When the maid returned, she found the room empty.

  Catherine dozed on Astrolabe’s shoulder. He leaned against the stone wall softened by winter moss. The apple trees around them were budding. Birds pecked in the bark for grubs. A baby rabbit hopped through the new grass, its ears barely visible through the green. Astrolabe watched it all wistfully. Spring had no interest in heresy.

  He sat contentedly in the sunshine until Catherine stirred.

  “I’m sorry,” she yawned. “How rude of me to fall asleep.”

  “You didn’t snore,” Astrolabe teased. “Much.”

  She looked into this face. “You’re better?”

  “For the moment.”

  “It must have been Rolland, you know,” she said after a pause, “who started the rumors.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I guessed it when Godfrey described his stops in the town yesterday. How better to incite a scandal than to drop a word here and there at a few shops, tell a story in the tavern. What I don’t understand is why he hates me so much. Even if he’s working for someone else, there seems to be a personal malice in him. What does he have to gain from my humiliation? He doesn’t know me.”

  “His own glory, perhaps?” Catherine suggested. “Could he be trying to make himself more important so that he’ll be promoted in the church?”

  “It seems outlandish. He’d either need to be from a good family or have great ability in administering the finances of the bishopric to move up very far,” Astrolabe said. “I would guess Rolland is lacking on both counts. Even if he were the one to capture me, that wouldn’t give him credit for long.”

  “Do you think his resentment of your father runs that deep, then?”

  Astrolabe spotted the mother rabbit crisscrossing the orchard, perhaps in hunt of the adventurous bunny he had seen earlier.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You would be better able to judge than I.”

  “Edgar and I know many people who were students of Abelard,” Catherine said. “Some disagree with points in his theology, but no one ever claimed to dislike him. At least not at my table.”

  “I can name many who feel that even now, six years after his death, my father’s philosophy is still corrupting scholars,” Astrolabe commented. “Abbot Bernard’s secretary, Geoffrey, is one of them. Bishop Gilbert is another. It’s strange that they are opposing each other now.”

  Catherine wasn’t about to be diverted again, even by something so seductive as Gilbert’s controversial commentary on Boethius.

  “But what about Rolland?” she asked. “I think we should get John to confront him. We need to know who’s directing his actions.”

  “We could try. John would probably enjoy that,” Astrolabe said. “It seems to me that we’ll know the answer soon enough, though. I’m sure the intent is to see that Eon and I are condemned together.”

  “I’m not.” Catherine rolled onto her hands and knees, preparatory to trying to stand. “I can’t help but feel that there’s something more going on. I don’t mean to belittle your problems, but I think someone is using you as a decoy.”

  “Then it must be maddening to them that I can’t be found.” Astrolabe gave her his hands. “There’s mud on your bliaut.”

  “I can brush it clean when it dries.” Catherine spoke from long experience. She wiped her hands on a clear space of the cloth. “Astrolabe, look over by the dung heap at the far side of the trees. See?”

  “Lepers,” he said. “They shouldn’t be out without a keeper.”

  “I know. I saw them yesterday in the square.” Catherine shaded her eyes to look at the four people.
“They have the bandages and clappers, but they don’t move like lepers.”

  “Perhaps the disease hasn’t progressed very far,” Astrolabe said.

  “Mmm.” Catherine was unconvinced.

  “Catherine, no one would pretend to be a leper,” Astrolabe continued. “In any case, they have nothing to do with us, thank the saints.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Catherine went on staring at them. “But it is curious.”

  “My dear friend,” Astrolabe said. “In your mind, everything is curious. I understand now why my mother didn’t grieve overly when you decided against taking vows at the Paraclete. You’d have found conspiracies in the hymnals, I swear.”

  Margaret was trying hard not to chatter. She was normally such a quiet person that she had a horror of words pouring forth unconsidered. But she was so excited to be asked to be a part of things that it was difficult not to gush.

  “How will you introduce me?” she asked. “I don’t look like a great lady, although Eleanor was queen at my age. What is my reason for coming to see Gui? Should I just inquire about his injuries? How do I know about them? I suppose I shouldn’t admit that I know Annora. Should I ask about the demon? It’s not really polite to insinuate that someone is of interest to Satan, I think. Unless of course, one is a holy hermit. I understand demons consider hermits a challenge and bother them all the time. What do you think?”

  She stopped talking so suddenly that Godfrey wasn’t prepared to respond. He hadn’t been paying close attention.

  “Think, my lady?” He guided her past a crowd that had gathered to head off a goat that had escaped from its pen. From the cries, it didn’t want to return and was biting anyone who tried to curb its freedom.

  “Think I should do?” Margaret prompted.

  Godfrey scratched his head. “Well, I thought we’d just go in, show him the brooch, ask if he recognizes it and go.”

  “Just that?” she asked. “Won’t he think it peculiar that two strangers should visit him to ask about a piece of jewelry? Don’t you feel we should have some story to tell him?”

  “To tell the truth,” Godfrey said, “I hadn’t got that far. I thought women like the countesses went to see the sick as an act of charity. You know, give them bread and say a prayer for them, that sort of thing.”