Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “Oh, well, sometimes, I suppose.” Margaret tried to remember. “My mother would distribute alms at our family monastery, but that was all my father would allow. On feast days in Paris many of the nobles send bread and wine to the poor, but I never heard of someone just wandering into a sickroom and offering to pray.”

  “You could say it’s the custom in Scotland, where you come from,” Godfrey said hopefully. “Who could challenge you?”

  Margaret didn’t want to disappoint him but, “For one thing, we didn’t bring any wine or medicine to give him. One can’t give alms empty-handed.”

  Godfrey wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I know you can think of something. We can’t let Astrolabe down.”

  “No, of course we can’t,” Margaret said. “Just give me a few minutes to think.”

  “How many do you need?” Godfrey asked. “Because we’re here. The Temple is that building in front of us.”

  Fifteen

  The infirmary of the consistory of the Knights of the Temple

  of Solomon, Reims. A few moments later.

  Audivi etiam, quod super damnatione Petri Abaelardi

  Diligentia vestra desideret plenius nosse similiter vertatem,

  cujus libellos pice memoriae dominus Innocentius papa

  secundus in urbe Roma, et in ecclesia beati Petri incendio

  celebri concremavit, apostolica auctoritate haereticum

  illum denuntians.

  I have heard that Your Assiduousness wished to know the

  more complete truth about the condemnation of Peter

  Abelard whose books were incinerated in the church of St.

  Peter in Rome by Pope Innocent II of blessed memory, who

  declared him to be heretical by apostolic authority.

  Geoffrey of Auxerre,

  letter concerning the trial of Gilbert, bishop of Poitiers

  The atmosphere of the courtyard of the Temple was both military and masculine. There was a pronounced odor of horses, unwashed clothes, damp leather and sour wine. Godfrey stopped as they passed through the gateway. The porter had asked no questions after Margaret had given her name as the granddaughter of Count Thibault. For what the ruler of Champagne had given the knights, he thought, the girl could hang tapestries in the stables if she liked.

  To Godfrey, the scene was normal, men practicing swordsmanship, mending harness, grooming their horses, spitting. Suddenly he saw it through the eyes of a girl who had recently lived in a convent.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he spoke in panic. “I didn’t think. Perhaps we should leave. This isn’t the proper place for you.”

  “Why not?” Margaret looked around. “That man holds his sword as if he were trying to stick a pig. He keeps letting his shield droop. I hope he doesn’t ever have to fight for his life.”

  They passed a group of men throwing dice.

  “They’d better not let the marshal catch them,” Margaret whispered. “Games of chance are forbidden to the knights. I know that game. I used to have a set made of bone that my brother Robert made for me. There was a trick to throwing them so that I could win whenever I wanted.”

  “My lady Margaret!” Godfrey was shocked.

  “Oh, I never played for money,” she assured him. “Just for fun. And I always confessed to the priest and did my penance. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he gulped. “I wasn’t aware that you were so familiar with such things.”

  “I was born in Scotland,” Margaret said. “With five older brothers, legitimate ones, that is. I don’t know how many others. I learned to count from the spots on the dice. Now, I’ve thought of a way to approach Gui, but you’ll need to give me the brooch and wait by the door so he doesn’t think you’re listening.”

  “Yes, of course…my lady.” None of the last few minutes had been part of the scene Godfrey had imagined when he asked Margaret’s help. He felt an intense need for strong wine and a place to sit.

  The infirmarian greeted them with deference. Someone had run ahead to tell him who had arrived.

  “Lord Gui is much better today,” the monk told Margaret. “His wounds were not severe, mostly cuts. His weakness, I suspect, is from some noxious substance inhaled when he grappled with the demon. Or,” he added, “he was just scared out of his wits.”

  “As anyone would be.” Margaret nodded gravely. “I’ll not tire him.”

  Gui was lying with his back to her. She guessed he was only feigning sleep. His body was tense under the thin blanket. She sat on a stool next to the bed and took out her sewing.

  After a few moments, Gui stirred. He rolled over and opened his eyes. Margaret smiled.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

  “Margaret of Wedderlie,” she answered. “I saw you at dinner the other night. You may not remember. I was sitting across the room from you, near my grandfather, Count Thibault.”

  Gui’s eyes opened wider. “Saint Martin’s sacred horse-shit!” he exclaimed. “I mean, that is…You honor me, my lady. I beg your pardon for being in this state.”

  “You can hardly help being injured,” Margaret said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “You are far too kind,” Gui said, still obviously puzzled.

  “I understood that your attacker had left deep cuts on your face,” she said. “But perhaps that was an exaggeration?”

  She looked closely at his face. Most of the bandages had already been removed. From what she could see, the cuts were not serious. They were light, as if from cat claws. Something had raked down both sides of his face.

  “They were not as bad as first appeared,” Gui said. He was beginning to regain his poise. “I should have no permanent scars, thank the Virgin.”

  “I’m glad to know it,” Margaret said. “Then you need not fear this.”

  She turned her face so that the sun shone on the ragged red line running from her left eyebrow to her chin. Gui let out a soft cry and reached out to touch her. He quickly drew his hand back.

  “I understand, my lady,” he said less roughly. “It was kind of you to offer consolation. Did you also run afoul of a demon?”

  “Several,” she said.

  She bent her head, letting the braid fall back over the scar.

  “But they were in the form of men,” she said softly. “I don’t remember much of what happened. Only that I nearly died. The love and prayers of my family saved me. I understood that you had no family here to pray for your recovery. I thought I might take their place.”

  Gui covered his face with his hand.

  “My lady, you must be a saint,” he whispered. He seemed to be having trouble speaking. “I am not worthy of your great kindness. Believe me, I am a sinner. But you give me hope for redemption. I wish my wounds were more severe so that I might have the joy of having you visit me again.”

  Now Margaret was taken aback. “Oh, you mustn’t ever wish such a thing! I rejoice that you were not as badly injured as was reported to me.”

  “I confess that my spirit was worse hurt than my body,” Gui said, staring up at her. “But your presence is like cool water on the desert of my soul.”

  Margaret didn’t know how to respond. This was court talk, the sort that poets sang to great ladies or clerics wrote to their patrons. No one had ever addressed it to her before.

  “I’m sure that a priest would be able to give you more comfort than I,” she said. His gaze was making her ill at ease. “Shall I call one?”

  “Priests!” he spat the word. “There’s no comfort there, nor truth. They are full of worldliness and flesh. They don’t guide us to God, but block the way. How can we follow those whom we can’t respect?”

  If he expected Margaret to be shocked, he was doomed to disappointment. She had heard it all before. What surprised her was that Gui had thought about such things at all. From Catherine’s description, he thought of little more than his own property and advancement.

  While trying to think of a suitable reply, Margaret absently began fumblin
g with her sewing bag. Still looking at Gui, she let the bag turn over. As she had hoped, the brooch fell out.

  “Oh, yes,” she said as if she had just recalled it. She picked up the brooch and held it out to him. “This was found in the grass near where you fell. I thought you might want it back.”

  Gui looked at it. His face hardened.

  “Is this some sort of ploy to mock me?” he demanded, grabbing Margaret’s arm so that she dropped the brooch onto the bed.

  “I…I don’t know what you mean!” Margaret tried to pull free. “It seems old. I only thought it might be something you treasure.”

  Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. Her lips trembled.

  Gui let go.

  “I seem to be fated to ask your forgiveness,” he muttered. “You couldn’t know. This is something I treasure, but it’s not mine. It belonged to my grandmother, whom I loved more than my own mother. But, along with many other things, when she died, it went to my cousin, Cecile. She entered a convent some time ago, and before she left, I asked if I might have it. She refused. If you found it in the garden, then I suppose it was dropped by my other cousin, Annora. She was always careless with such things. The only importance it has for her is that I wanted it.”

  Margaret let her heart make a decision. Reason told her it was a mistake, but there was something pathetic about this man.

  “If she lost it, then to her it’s gone.” Margaret got up. “I give it back to you. May having it comfort you as you recover. Now I must go. I’m glad that my prayers were unnecessary and hope you will soon be completely healed.”

  Gui sat up in bed, calling after her.

  “My lady, I beg you, never leave me out of your prayers!”

  Godfrey got Margaret back to the convent as quickly as possible. Neither of them spoke on the walk. Margaret was dazed by Gui’s reaction to her, Godfrey horrified by what Catherine and Astrolabe would say when they found out what had happened.

  Before she went in, Margaret broke the silence.

  “I don’t think Gui’s killed anyone,” she told Godfrey. “But neither was he attacked. He made the scratches on himself. Be sure to tell Catherine.”

  The bells were ringing for Vespers. Godfrey hoped that Astrolabe was no longer in the apple orchard. Then he could wait another day before having to confess his expedition with Margaret. However, when he got there he found both Astrolabe and Catherine waiting. They were warming themselves with hot meat pasties, bought from a street peddler.

  Catherine handed one to Godfrey, whispering, “I think they’re made from rabbit, but don’t tell Astrolabe. He’s been watching bunnies all day.”

  Godfrey wondered if the spring air had addled Catherine’s mind, but he took the pasty. Before he bit into it, he told them what he had done that afternoon. Halfway through, Catherine clenched her fist, crumbling crust and sauce down her sleeve. Godfrey finished quickly, adding, “And Lady Margaret is safely back at Saint-Pierre now.”

  “Christ’s teeth, Godfrey, what were you thinking, taking her there!” Astrolabe exclaimed. “What if word gets back to Count Thibault?”

  “Godfrey was only trying to help you,” Catherine said gently. “I wouldn’t have permitted it had I known in advance, but really, there’s no harm in going to the Temple. After all, those men take a vow of chastity.”

  Both men looked skeptical about that.

  “I never let her out of my sight,” Godfrey insisted. “And Gui gave her information he wouldn’t have told us.”

  He went on to relate the history of the brooch, along with Margaret’s conclusion about the attack.

  “But how could Gui have feigned such a thing?” Catherine protested. “Annora and I were there.”

  “You said you had your back to the door,” Astrolabe reminded her.

  “But Annora was watching. She saw a black form rise from the ground and envelop him.”

  “She could have been mistaken,” Godfrey said. “It was dark. He may have simply swirled a cloak around himself and then crawled off. Anyway, Lady Margaret was very sure. I’m inclined to believe her.”

  “I always believe Margaret,” Catherine sighed. “She wouldn’t have told you if she hadn’t been certain. But why would he do such a thing? And he told her the brooch was Annora’s? Then I suppose we should take it to her and find out if she was wearing it that night. I should have shown it to her right after I found it, but in the confusion and my exhaustion, I forgot.”

  Godfrey shifted uncomfortably.

  “Well, about that…” He finished his story.

  Catherine stared at him, blinked a few times and then shook her head to clear it.

  “I need to talk with Margaret at once,” she said. “She may be ill. This is not the action of my sensible sister-in-law.”

  She got up to go. “But I shouldn’t leave you alone,” she said to Astrolabe.

  “It’s late enough for me to go find John and Thomas,” he said. “Godfrey, why don’t you escort Catherine home?”

  “Oh, no,” Catherine said. “We’ll both see you into John’s keeping. Only then will I go home. I’ve had enough shock for one day. I don’t want to learn tomorrow morning that you’ve been caught roaming the streets and thrown into a cell with Eon.”

  Arnulf was making his bowl of beer last as long as possible. It was shameful how lacking in charity tavern keepers were. Everyone knew monks had no money, yet they still expected him to pay.

  He had been sitting there most of the day in the hope that Astrolabe would return. But the man must have realized that he was no longer safe. All it needed now was for one person to point him out. The town was so on edge that it was likely he wouldn’t survive his capture. Arnulf hoped to be that person.

  But what he wanted most was to fulfill his commission. Once that was over, he could get out of these rough robes and wear silk for the rest of his life. Soon, he reminded himself, very soon.

  Arnulf looked at the dregs in his beer bowl. He’d make sure he never ran low on drink, either, if he had to build his own tavern to do it.

  Around him the talk concentrated on what would happen the next afternoon, when the heretic Eon was brought before the pope. Arnulf smiled and swallowed the dregs. Despite the absence at the moment of his major scapegoat, the plan was proceeding beautifully.

  Thomas had brought Astrolabe fresh clothes.

  “I spent most of the morning getting myself some new garments,” he said. “I arrived in that cursed boat with nothing. Thank goodness Reims has so many clothiers. Good material, too. There are enough for you to borrow. You can’t go to the council in that.”

  Astrolabe reluctantly agreed. He had grown comfortable in his leather braies, wool tunic and mail. But they were badly stained.

  “Aromatic, too,” Thomas said. “I have some scent you can use if we can’t get you into a bathhouse tonight.”

  John laughed. “Thomas, you always appreciated the best. Wasn’t your father a merchant? They always have better taste than the people they serve.”

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “My father did engage in trade. He was also sheriff of London for a time.”

  “Of course,” John said hastily. “Edgar’s become a merchant, did you know that? His father-in-law was one. Born in Rouen, as a matter of fact. Perhaps he knew your father?”

  “I have no idea,” Thomas said coldly. “Now, to the matter at hand. John has explained your problems, Peter. And from the talk in the street, they are giving you horns and the tail of a goat as of this afternoon. I agree that your best chance to remain unharmed is to come with us tomorrow to speak with those who might be inclined to help you.”

  “I’m very grateful,” Astrolabe said as he selected one of the plainer chainses and tunics. All were well made. Reims was becoming famous for its cloth and, despite his reluctance to admit to his background, Thomas had an expert’s eye. “Do you think there will be enough of our friends who will speak up to counter these insane charges?”

  “Oh, yes.” Thomas seemed un
concerned. “There is already some feeling that Bishop Gilbert is being unfairly harassed, and it’s causing people to remember Abelard’s trials. Some will support you now because they didn’t have the courage to stand up for him then.”

  “But we mustn’t be too confident,” John warned. “Many of the bishops have had to deal with heretics in their own lands. They’re predisposed to be severe with people like Eon who disrupt order in the villages. I don’t know which way the pope will go. Eugenius respected Abelard, but he is in exile from Rome because of the heretic Arnold. He might see Eon as a similar threat.”

  “I know,” Astrolabe sighed. “Arnold was also a friend of my father. Eugenius knows that.”

  “You chose to come here rather than run,” John reminded him. “You must have known there was danger.”

  “I came because I thought that there was a chance of discovering who killed my…friend, Cecile,” Astrolabe said. “I wanted to be sure that, if Eon were punished, then Henri of Tréguier would be, too. Both of them committed sacrilege, but Henri did it on a much grander scale. Eon took food and clothes from hermits and parishes because he and his people needed them. Henri has desecrated a monastery and violated nuns. Yet he still wallows in his sins. I thought that he would be brought to justice if I could lay this murder on one of his followers.”

  He paused. “To be honest, I didn’t really understand how great the danger might be. And now I’m no longer sure that Henri had anything to do with Cecile’s death, for all his other crimes. There’s been no sign of him in Reims.”

  “He might be the one who set this phantom monk on you,” Thomas said. “And if you bring Henri into the matter, we might get the support of Engebaud of Tours. He wanted Eon caught, but he is furious about Henri’s actions as well. He doesn’t care about you particularly, I believe. What he wants most is the submission of the bishop of Dol. If you can help Engebaud prove that all these irregularities happened because Dol has allowed anarchy, then he’ll take your side without question.”