Heresy

by Sharan Newman

  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 protegee 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.”

  Margaret got up with reluctance. “I’ll do my best, but you know my Latin isn’t good enough for the kind of debates they have. It’s a pity they won’t speak Hebrew.”

  Catherine laughed. “That would be a scandal. Now go along.”

  The shutters in the room had been closed so that the sunlight came in only in lines through the cracks in the wood. The noise from the street below was muted. Catherine was alone at last. Finally she could take time to analyze the events of the previous night.

  If a demon had come after Gui, there would be nothing left of him, 50 Catherine rejected that theory. She was rather sorry to do so. It’s so much cleaner to blame minions from Hell than to find evidence of Satan working through human beings. But in her experience, that was the devil’s favorite pathway.

  Therefore, the question was who was the person in the dark cloak. Was he simply a thief? Again she had to admit that very few robbers lurked inside the garden of a convent guest house in wait for drunken revelers. Even fewer had good wool cloaks fastened with expensive gold and jeweled brooches.

  The brooch! She had meant to show it to the countesses, but all she had thought of was getting everyone to leave so that she could rest. She hadn’t even had time to get it out of the knot in her sleeve, so no one else had been given the chance to identify it. Well, it would have to wait until the evening. Catherine went back to her theorizing.

  The unpleasant conclusion was that the “demon” had been hunting for someone in particular. Was it Gui, or had Annora’s cousin chanced upon this person unexpec
tedly and forced him to act too soon?

  That was harder for Catherine to decide.

  There were a number of important people dining in the hall last night. They all had enemies. There were many people of lesser importance who also might have incurred resentment. Gui had seemed harmless to her, but there had been little time to evaluate him.

  Was it a coincidence that he was the cousin of Annora and, therefore, of the murdered Cecile? If so, then she was back where she had started. If not, then could Gui be a threat to the person who had killed his cousin, either by something he knew or something he represented? If she could find the owner of the brooch, these questions could be answered. But who would admit to owning it now?

  The lines of sunlight stretched across the bed and across the floor before they vanished.

  Catherine slept.

  Outside, the chaos began to resolve itself into various processions, all heading toward the cathedral. The princes of the church were first, with their households, then the lords of the land with their retainers and families. Although most people owed fealty to different lay and ecclesiastical lords, everyone knew whose party he should be attached to in this instance. At another gathering, each might well find it proper to follow another lord. So the groups were made up of people from different families, different countries. The archbishop of Reims, Samson Mauvoisin, nodded to his cousin, Guillaume de Passavant, once a canon at Reims but now the bishop of Mans. The adulterer, Raoul, count of Vermandois, was also one of the regents of France and so had a place of importance, near to Thibault of Champagne, the uncle of his abandoned wife. The council was a mirror of the complexity of the tapestry of all of Western Christendom.

  Godfrey was watching the procession when Gwenael finally found him. He pointed Raoul out to her as he and Petronilla went past.

  “More than ten years now, he’s been trying to get a divorce,” he told her. “Two popes have denied it. But last year he put down a revolt by the commune here in Reims. Now Bishop Samson believes that his plea should be granted. King Louis made him regent of France, so other nobles will speak for him, like Countess Sybil. If Count Thibault withdraws his objections, the marriage will be recognized by the pope.”

  “Bastards,” Gwenael commented, “all of them. I guess noble blood means that even your sins are different. I didn’t know Raoul was the one who had destroyed the commune. That explains why so many people here hate him.”

  “They do?” Godfrey asked. “Where did you hear that?”

  “In the streets,” Gwenael said. “I’d say most of the people hate all these pompous nobles for coming here and stealing the food from their mouths. There are a few people who like the council being held here. Some are dazzled by greatness. Some are counting the silver from prices they’ve tripled. But I can feel the resentment against them everywhere poor people gather. If they’d only let my master preach, he would find a torrent of converts.”

  “Your master? You still believe in this Eon?” Godfrey couldn’t understand it. “He’s been captured, dragged miles behind a cart, imprisoned. How can you think he’s really the son of God?”

  “Of course I believe in Eon, why shouldn’t I ?” she asked in genuine bewilderment. “It doesn’t matter that he’s been mocked and scorned. Isn’t that what they did to Our Lord the first time?”

  Godfrey didn’t answer. Gwenael watched the procession. The glitter }f gold chains, silver crosiers studded with jewels, richly caparisoned horses and even more richly dressed men seemed to overwhelm her with anger.

  “Very well,” Godfrey said at last. “I see your point. So, which apostle ire you?” He laughed.

  Gwenael’s face changed. She looked away from Godfrey, lips trembling.

  “Judas,” she whispered. “I must be Judas.”

  Tie portress at the convent told Astrolabe that Catherine wasn’t allowed o see anyone, by order of the countesses and the abbess. He had expected his and left a message that he would return tomorrow. On a whim, he asked if the man who had been attacked were able to receive visitors.

  “He isn’t here,” she told him. “They’ve taken him to the house of the Templars. You can ask about him there.”

  She shut the gate firmly.

  Astrolabe wondered if the man had been a knight of the Temple. He realized that he’d forgotten to find out his name, if Gwenael even knew it. He decided to pay a visit. The Temple was on the opposite side of town from the cathedral so he was soon away from the crowd.

  As he approached the gate, he put on his chain mail helm again just in case someone there might be able to recognize him.

  The guard was a man of middle age wearing a brown cloak. He relaxed when he saw Astrolabe and gave him a nod, as one fighting man to another.

  “God save you,” Astrolabe greeted him. “My master has sent me to inquire as to the state of the man who was attacked at the convent of Saint-Pierre last night.”

  “Oh, you mean Lord Gui,” the guard said. “I wasn’t here then. They took him to the infirmary.”

  “Is he one of yours?” Astrolabe asked.

  “Nah.” The guard scratched under his mail. “He’s a Norman, they say. But the new dukes of Normandy have given generously to the Temple, and we have the best physicians for treating wounds, so we got him.”

  “A stroke of luck for him,” Astrolabe commented. “I don’t suppose he’s able to see anyone yet? My master wanted a report on the extent of his injuries.”

  “No idea. I’ll send a boy to ask.” The guard whistled and gave the order to a child not much older than James.

  “You didn’t tell me who your master is,” he said to Astrolabe.

  “Count Thibault.” Astrolabe gave the first name he could think of and hoped that the man didn’t have a brother among the count’s guards.

  “Why would he be caring about a Norman lord?”

  Astrolabe shrugged. “He didn’t confide in me.”

  The boy came running back to say that Lord Gui was awake and would see the messenger.

  Gui was lying on a narrow cot in a long room. There were a few empty beds around him. At the other end of the room was the infirmarian’s work space, a long table and shelves filled with boxes and pots. Dried herbs hung upside down from the ceiling. On the table lay a terrifying array of pincers, cups, knives and other medical instruments.

  “Who the hell are you?” Gui greeted him, squinting through blackened eyes.

  “My name is Peter,” Astrolabe said. “I’ve been sent to see how you are.”

  “Not by my cousin, I suppose.” Gui waved a bandaged hand toward a chair. Astrolabe took this as an offer to sit. “Annora thinks I’m a minion of the devil. Her father saw to that.”

  “No, it wasn’t your cousin,” Astrolabe said. “The word is, though, that your master came for you last night.”

  “My what?” Gui rubbed his face. There were long scratches across it.

  “Didn’t a servant of the devil come at you with its claws?” Astrolabe asked.

  “Most certainly,” Gui answered, “but it came in human shape. At least, I think so. Truth be told, Peter, it’s not too clear in my head. I remember feeling a bit gone with wine and thought I’d just water the plants. I took a step outside and, well, the next I knew I was on the floor in the hall with half the nobility of Christendom staring down at me.”

  “So do you think it was a demon?” Astrolabe asked. “Or a human enemy.”

  “I don’t know what it was,” Gui said wearily. “It felt like a bear. Didn’t anyone else see it?”

  “From what I understand, only your cousin,” Astrolabe told him. “She said she saw a black shape rise from the ground and envelop you.”

  “And of course she would imagine it to be a creature of evil,” Gui said.

  “Is there anyone who would wish you ill?” Astrolabe asked.

  “Besides Annora and her sister? No.”

  “Her sister?” Astrolabe was alert at once.

  “Cecile, but she’s off in a convent in Brit
tany so I doubt she attacked me.” Gui grimaced. “Could I have a drink from that cup? The infirmarian laid I could have some whenever the pain was too much.”

  Astrolabe gave him a sip of the potion. Gui leaned back.

  “Why should your cousins dislike you?” Astrolabe asked.

  “My father and theirs fought for twenty years over a piece of land that hey both said came to them from their mother’s dower,” Gui said. “The judgment finally went to my family. They accused us of buying off the arbiter.”

  “Did you?”

  “It was an archdeacon of Rouen,” Gui said, as if that answered the question. “My father probably just gave him a higher price. Then, when he died, Annora’s father got the decision reversed.”