Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “I’m glad he’s taking an interest,” Catherine said, “but why do we have to be there?”

  “Because his men have just brought in the murderer,” Godfrey told them. “He was accused this afternoon and is now in custody. I saw the soldiers taking him in.”

  “That was quick work,” Margaret said. “I’m so relieved that it’s over.”

  “Margaret,” Catherine said, “I don’t think that’s what Godfrey means, do you, Godfrey?”

  “No, my lady.” Godfrey’s mouth was tight with anger. “They’ve imprisoned Astrolabe in the bishop’s dungeon.”

  Eighteen

  Outside the bishop’s palace. That evening.

  Noverit prudentia vestra me venisse Remis ad apostolicum, et

  comitissa Flandrensis me duxit illuc pro negotio suo, ibique

  et de ejus et de meo tractamus negotio.

  It is known to your Prudence that I have come to Reims to

  the pope, and the countess of Flanders took me there on her

  business and there we managed both her business and mine.

  Raoul of Vermandois, letter to Suger,

  abbot of Saint-Denis in Reims, 1148

  “Catherine, I’m terrified.” Margaret looked up at the three-story building shadowed by the bulk of the ancient cathedral.

  “Margaret, darling, nothing will happen to you,” Catherine said. “We’ve feared all along that Astrolabe might be taken before we could find the real culprit, but I know we can prove that it’s all a horrible mistake.”

  “What if I say something wrong?” Margaret worried. “Words are such slippery things. I won’t have to answer in Latin, will I?”

  “I’m sure not.” Catherine took her hand. “You might not be asked anything at all.”

  There was a light on the second floor. Someone was burning a fortune in candles.

  “Catherine! Wait!”

  They looked up the road and saw John running toward them. He stopped at the gate, bending over to catch his breath.

  “I just found out what happened,” he said. “I had gone out for a pitcher, and when I returned, Astrolabe was gone. Thomas said that the archbishop wanted to question him. I must be at the meeting to speak for him. Let me come in with you, please. I won’t be admitted otherwise.”

  “Of course, John,” Catherine said. “But are you sure you want to do this? People are not usually comfortable hiring a clerk with heretical connections.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Astrolabe is my friend,” John answered.

  Together, they entered the bishop’s palace.

  Engebaud, archbishop of Tours, was puzzled by Samson’s invitation. What could the death of a canon of Paris have to do with him? Perhaps he had been asked to help make a judgment. He was honored that his judicial wisdom was so well known, but it had been a long day and his bed was much more alluring than any accolade would be.

  He was surprised to see Hugh of Rouen there as well, and not entirely pleased. Since their sees were next to each other, they had had many occasions to argue about areas where the boundaries appeared to overlap.

  “Good evening, my lord,” he greeted Hugh.

  “And to you, my lord.” Hugh gave him a wintry smile.

  Engebaud looked around the room. He had expected Count Thibault to be present; he had the right of high justice. If it were a matter of hanging, then no ecclesiastical court could pronounce judgment. Of course Countess Mahaut would join him. But why was Sybil of Anjou in the room? And who were those other women? Her attendants? This was altogether peculiar.

  Archbishop Samson greeted him with proper respect, which soothed him somewhat.

  “My dear lord Archbishop,” he bowed. “I am honored that you are able to join us.”

  “I am always at your service.” Engebaud bowed in return. “Although I confess I am perplexed as to the form that service is to take.”

  Samson smiled at him. “I believe you’ll discover that it is I who may be able to serve you. Please be seated. Would you care for wine?”

  Engebaud took the offered cup, noting that the silver was plate.

  When they were settled, Countess Sybil stood to address the group.

  “Most of you know that I came to this council in the hope of receiving aid in my struggle against the invader of my land, Baldwin of Hainaut. However, I also accepted a commission from my friend, Heloise, abbess of the Paraclete.”

  Mahaut leaned forward. “Heloise? She told me nothing of this.”

  Sybil pressed her lips together, then continued in a polite tone.

  “She might not have entrusted me with the information if it had not involved my ward, Annora of Beaumont.” Sybil indicated Annora, standing with Catherine and Margaret across the room.

  Mahaut was appeased for the moment. Catherine knew that it hurt her to know that Heloise had gone to Sybil and not her.

  “Archbishop Samson is faced with a serious crime, that of murder, committed on a member of the household of the bishop of Paris while he was attending the council here in Reims,” Sybil continued. “I have come to believe that this murder is directly connected with that of Cecile, a nun of Saint-Georges-de-Rennes and sister to Annora.”

  Engebaud was still confused. Sybil took pity on him.

  “You may recall the capture of the heretic Eon and his followers?” she asked him.

  “Of course,” Engebaud said. He was looking forward to the trial the next day. That would put an end to the pretensions of Olivier of Dol.

  “Cecile was the woman who died as a result,” Sybil said.

  “Not by one of my men!” Engebaud exclaimed. “They were under strict orders not to harm the heretics unless they were themselves attacked. That woman was killed by one of Eon’s people! I have witnesses!”

  “You do?” Catherine blurted. “Then you knew of her murder?”

  All eyes turned to her. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I most humbly beg your forgiveness,” she said.

  “And who are you?” Engebaud asked frostily.

  “No one, my lord,” Catherine answered, cheeks flaming. “My name is Catherine.”

  “Lady Catherine was also sent as a representative of the Paraclete,” Sybil said.

  Archbishop Engebaud was becoming annoyed. He turned to Archbishop Hugh for support.

  “I don’t understand what business any of this is with Heloise,” he complained. “If the woman who died was Norman and subject to you, then it seems that is something we should handle privately. I understand we now have the man who did it.”

  “I’m sorry, Engebaud,” Hugh said. “I know no more than you. Until this moment, I was unaware that Cecile of Beaumont had died. I shall arrange a Mass for her. I agree that if the culprit has been captured, it only remains to sentence him. Heloise has no jurisdiction in the case.”

  “It is very much her concern, however,” Sybil continued. “The man accused of both these crimes is her son.”

  “What! Margaret, did you know about this?” Countess Mahaut asked.

  “Yes, my lady.” Margaret held herself stiffly, as if expecting a blow. “But he didn’t do it. We know he didn’t!”

  “Of course not,” Mahaut said firmly. “I know him well. The very idea is ludicrous. If that is what we have been called here for, then we’ve wasted our time.”

  Archbishop Samson intervened.

  “The information I have indicates otherwise,” he said. “I have questioned Astrolabe, and he admits to being with the Eonites, although he denies he is one of them. He also admits to knowing that Canon Rolland instigated the stories about him that nearly led to riot and cost me a thousand sestiers of barley. He was known to be in a position to murder the nun Cecile. He refuses to state his whereabouts last night when the canon was killed. In this situation, I feel that something more is needed besides a belief that he is not the sort of person to commit murder.”

  “My lord.” John stepped forward. “My friend is being unnecessarily prudent in refusing to bring others into his
trouble. I was with Astrolabe last night, as was Thomas, a clerk of the archbishop of Canterbury. He couldn’t have killed Canon Rolland.”

  “Oh, John, thank you,” Catherine breathed.

  Samson stared at him.

  “And you are?”

  “John, of Sarum in England, and lately clerk to Abbot Peter of Celle,” John said. “I’ve known Astrolabe for many years. He stayed with me last night at the residence of the archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “So you never left his side all evening?” Samson asked.

  “No…well, we left him at the bathhouse for a couple of hours,” John admitted. “But the people there will confirm that.”

  “Actually, he mentioned the bathhouse. I’ve already had the attendants questioned,” Samson said. “It seems they left him in his tub and didn’t go back until he called for a barber much later. He could have sneaked out and returned with no one the wiser. You must admit that if one were to slit a man’s throat, a bathhouse would be the perfect place to wash away any evidence of the deed.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” John sputtered.

  “Unfortunately, it isn’t,” Samson told him. “Now I presume you all understand why I asked you to help me adjudicate this matter. I propose to bring both Astrolabe and his accuser in. You may listen to both their stories. If any of you have more information, either in support or refutation, then I hope you’ll add it. I admit that if I had known the man’s parentage, I might not have had him arrested immediately. However, upon questioning him, I did not find that his answers convinced me of his innocence and I am not inclined to release him without further proof.”

  “Then bring both men before us now!” Thibault ordered. “But I warn you, Samson, I’m not going back to Abbess Heloise and tell her that I left her son in chains in your prison.”

  “I assure you, my lord count, that in any event he won’t be long in my prison.”

  Samson nodded to the guard at the door. A moment later Astrolabe was brought in by the guards. Just behind them was a monk. Although he tried to keep his face hidden, Catherine recognized him at once.

  “You were with Rolland!” She pointed accusingly at him. “I know you!”

  He glared back at her. “And you’re the woman who told us you knew nothing about the heretic we were seeking. I knew you were in league with him. You consort with Jews as well. I know. Your aberrant life has been noted.

  “My lords, my ladies.” Arnulf turned to the rest of the assembly. “This woman has shown herself to be a liar and a protector of heretics and infidels. Her house in Paris is infamous. Nothing she says can be trusted.”

  “How dare you!” Catherine started toward him.

  Countess Sybil waved her back with a warning gesture.

  “Have they harmed you?” she asked Astrolabe. “Your cheek is bruised.”

  He shook his head. “I tripped on the steps. I’m not accustomed to walking in chains.”

  Catherine suppressed a cry. She was more angry with herself than the monk or the archbishop. She should have done something to stop this man before he could bring Astrolabe to such a state. They shouldn’t have been so afraid but gone at once to the archbishops and told them everything. Heloise had counted on her to protect her son. She had been useless.

  Archbishop Samson gestured for the two men to stand in the center of the room, facing the prelates and nobles.

  “This is Arnulf, a monk of Brittany,” he told them. “He has come to me with a story of heresy, deception and murder. I shall have him repeat it for all of you. Of course you, my lord archbishops, my lord count, my lady countesses, are welcome to ask anything you wish in order to get to the meat of the matter. The rest of you”—he stared pointedly at Catherine and John—“will speak only when addressed, or I will send you out. Do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  Arnulf began his tale. He told it well, dwelling on his certainty that Cecile had been a prisoner of the heretics, ignoring the horror she had fled at the hands of Henri of Tréguier. He reminded them that Astrolabe had not denied that he had spent a winter in Eon’s camp and been captured there.

  “And when he escaped from Archbishop Engebaud’s men, did he come to Tours and throw himself on the mercy of the church?” Arnulf asked. “No, he fled to Paris. And again, his first contact was not a cleric, who might have given him spiritual guidance and brought him back to the faith. No! Astrolabe, who will tell you he is a good orthodox Christian, summoned a Jew to give him aid. This I saw with my own eyes!”

  “He said someone was following us,” Astrolabe muttered. “I should have listened.”

  “There!” Arnulf said triumphantly. “He condemns himself! And then where did you go? To the bishop of Paris? Of course not. Instead you sought refuge with a merchant, a foreigner known to be friendly with any number of undesirables. And when they should have turned him over at once, he convinced them instead to smuggle him out of Paris, to Champagne and the protection of his doting mother. Do you deny this?”

  He rounded on Astrolabe.

  “No, but—” Astrolabe began.

  Arnulf cut him off.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Are these the actions of an innocent man? Whatever his family, whomever his friends, I tell you Astrolabe of Le Pallet is a heretic and a murderer who must not be allowed to remain free.”

  Catherine waited for an angry outburst from Countess Sybil or Count Thibault. Instead, there was silence. Arnulf wiped his face with a cloth and gave a satisfied smile.

  “Very serious accusations,” Count Thibault said at last.

  “B—” Catherine opened her mouth. Margaret kicked her before she could get a sound out.

  “What can you say in your own defense?” he asked Astrolabe.

  Astrolabe spread his manacled hands in uncertainty.

  “I cannot deny the facts, only the interpretation Brother Arnulf has put on them,” he said. “I have killed no one. I am a good Christian, as much as I am able. My behavior may have seemed cowardly. I suppose it was,” he sighed. “I couldn’t let Cecile’s death be ignored, but I wanted to protect my mother from just the shame that has come upon me here. She has had enough grief in her life.”

  “Brought it on herself,” someone muttered. Catherine thought it might have been Hugh of Rouen.

  Astrolabe’s strong chin lifted. “I am proud of both my parents,” he said, “and only wish I were a more worthy reflection of their learning.”

  “Yes, of course,” Samson waved that off.

  Samson faced the others. “You see my dilemma,” he said. “He has declared his innocence and yet not provided me with proof of it or with an alternate suspect.”

  Catherine could bear it no longer.

  “Please, my lord,” she said. “I will swear on the bones of Saint Remigius, on the Holy Cross itself, that Astrolabe is innocent.”

  “As will I,” John said.

  “Me, too,” Margaret added, with a nervous glance at Count Thibault.

  Samson glared at them. “I will excuse your outburst this once. Your offer of compurgation is noted. However, I believe we all would prefer to have the truth rather than simply the belief of his friends. Count Thibault, what do you say?”

  “I believe Astrolabe’s story implicitly,” the count stated. “Brother Arnulf may have acted in good faith, but his conclusions must be incorrect.”

  However, there was an edge of doubt in his voice. Catherine gripped Margaret’s hand in fear.

  Archbishop Engebaud stood to address them. “I don’t want to believe that this man, of good birth and education, could be led into heresy and violence. But I agree that we have not been given an alternative to his guilt. If the deaths of this woman and the canon are connected, who else would have had a reason to kill them both? Who else was even present in both places?”

  Catherine bit her lip. This was what she should have discovered.

  “I agree,” Archbishop Hugh said. “I was in Brittany only a year ago, and I’m acutely aware of how h
eresy and violence have been allowed to flourish, even among the nobility. His family connections do not guarantee that this man is innocent.”

  “Then you’ll support my plea for the excommunication of Olivier of Dol?” Engebaud asked eagerly. “It is his fault that these heresies have spread so far.”

  “Yes,” Hugh answered. “It’s clear that he has not been a good shepherd and should be deposed if he will not submit.”

  “Thank you!” Engebaud said. He seemed to have forgotten the matter at hand in his joy at acquiring an ally.

  Sybil brought him back to the present.

  “I have taken Astrolabe into my household and under my protection,” she said. “Since we are not agreed on his guilt, I insist that he be released to me. I, for one, would like to see more proof on both sides.”

  “You’ll guarantee that he won’t flee?” Samson asked.

  “The woman murdered was the sister of my ward,” Sybil said. “I promised their father I would watch over them. Finding the one who killed Cecile is of the utmost importance to me. I don’t believe it is Astrolabe. Therefore, I shall make my pledge for his compliance in your final decision. If he absconds, I will make restitution from my own purse.”

  “Oh, my lady!” Astrolabe said.

  “Are we agreed?” Samson asked the others.

  They all nodded.

  “This must be resolved soon,” Samson continued. “I have far too many obligations to allow this to take up much more of my time. I shall give Brother Arnulf and Astrolabe until Saturday morning to collect more substantial proof. Then, after consulting with the rest of you, I will decide the truth as best I can. Remove his chains.”

  Arnulf strangled a protest. Regaining his poise, he bowed to all and left.

  Astrolabe was taken away to have the shackles struck off. Catherine hoped they would be gentle about it.

  The archbishop thanked his guests for coming and offered them more wine and some sugared almonds. The dish was pointedly not passed to Catherine’s corner.

  “Didn’t I tell you it would be all right?” she said to Margaret, when they were back down in the street.