Heresy

by Sharan Newman

  “Families are always arguing over such things,” Astrolabe said. “Why should it cause such hatred into your generation?”

  Gui suddenly closed up.

  “What difference does it make? It has nothing to do with what happened to me,” he said. “Who did you say sent you here?”

  “Countess Sybil was concerned.” Astrolabe hedged the answer.

  “Annora’s keeper, I see.” Gui’s voice was becoming faint. The potion was taking effect. He roused enough to mumble, “Tell her I’m not dead yet. She can send brutes or monsters from Hell and she still won’t get it. I’ll give it to the monks before I see it in her grasp.”

  Astrolabe tried to calm him. “I’ll tell her anything you like,” he promised. “It’s nothing to me.”

  “Something to me,” Gui said indistinctly. “Everything to me.”

  Astrolabe left soon after, stopping to tell the infirmarian that he had given Gui more medicine. He gave the guard a wave as he passed through the gate but didn’t stop for another chat.

  Gui’s revelations had put another worry into his mind. What if the person who killed Cecile hadn’t been one of the men who had raped her but a relative? All he really knew was that she had spotted someone she recognized and feared among those who had captured Eon and the other heretics. What if that person thought Gui was a threat to him as well? Could someone want to get rid of all that remained of the family?

  He remembered Cecile in the camp of the Eonites. She was so gentle with those frightened people. They believed God had led her to them. Perhaps she had believed it, too. She had been an angel, soothing their pain. Astrolabe had been as much in awe of her as anyone. He wished now that he had spoken to her more instead of only watching from afar.

  Did her death really have anything to do with the men who had been asking for him in Provins and Nogent?

  Did it matter? She was dead and he had not been able to prevent it.

  What if by speaking out he could protect Annora and Gui? What right had he to protect himself if it left them in danger? Was there anything he knew that could save them, anything that might have saved Cecile?

  His mind a whirl of guilt and doubt, Astrolabe fervently hoped Catherine could see him soon. He needed her common sense to help him decide what to do.

  Brother Arnulf was worried. Canon Rolland had been avoiding him. Now that he was back among his fellows from Paris, the canon was wavering at the role he had to take in the plans for revenge on the son of Abelard. This wouldn’t do. Arnulf needed Rolland to back him up. No one was going to pay attention to a simple monk. The soldiers from Brittany would testify again that they had seen Astrolabe among those they had taken in the forest. But unless he could be found for them to identify, it would be easy to disprove the accusation, especially since he had apparently been using a false name. Rolland had to be pressed to step up the search.

  Astrolabe was in Reims, Arnulf was sure of it. None of that family would ever run from a confrontation. That was what had made old Abelard so many enemies, including Rolland. He’d checked with one of the servants of Count Thibault, and they all said that Astrolabe hadn’t been at the Paraclete. So where was he hiding? Who was helping him? This was a matter of heresy even more than murder. Keeping a criminal from justice was a serious offense. Only a powerful lord would dare give him protection. Arnulf had asked everywhere, but no one knew of a minor cleric recently added to the household of one of the lords and brought to Reims. Could he be masquerading as a monk?

  Arnulf scrutinized every face as he worked his way through the crowd.

  “What are you looking at?” a gruff voice demanded.

  “Nothing, lord.” Arnulf cringed. “Bless you.”

  The man wasn’t Astrolabe, for certain. He was short and hairy, with a bull’s neck. He gripped Arnulf by the neck of his cowl, pulling him almost off the ground and cutting off his air.

  “I’ve no use for your kind.” The man’s breath came hard against Arnulf’s face, onions and beer. “Remember who feeds you and keeps the Saracens from overrunning us all while you sit and pray.”

  “Oh, I do, lord.” Arnulf smiled.

  “Don’t forget it.” The man dropped him and moved on, followed by his guards.

  Arnulf tried to appear as though nothing had happened, but he couldn’t ignore the smirk of a cheese peddler who had watched the whole exchange.

  “What did you do to rile him so,” she asked. “Offer him your ass?”

  “Hardly.” Arnulf tried to piece together the tattered bits of his dignity. “I was merely in the way of his wrath.”

  “I’d stay out of it from now on,” she suggested. “That’s the seneschal of Baldwin of Hainaut. I don’t think he cares much for stray monks.”

  Arnulf nodded. Countess Sybil’s enemy. And now his. He was already wondering how he could put this to good use.

  “Have a nice bit of cheese?” the woman asked hopefully. “Just the thing for Lent.”

  He brushed her aside and went on. He had to find Rolland.

  Astrolabe thought he would be early at the tavern, but he found Godfrey already there.

  “You didn’t bring Gwenael?” he asked.

  The guard shook his head. “I insulted her savior.” He grimaced. “She’s not speaking to me.”

  Astrolabe shook his head.

  “We’ve got to convince her not to try to free Eon,” he said, “or she’ll be condemned along with him.”

  “I know,” Godfrey said. “I’m worried that she’s going to give herself up for his sake. She seems to think she’s betrayed him by escaping. What is there about this man that would inspire such loyalty?”

  Astrolabe thought a moment.

  “There is a charisma about Eon,” he said at last. “Perhaps it’s the madness. He’s taller than the average, and not bad featured, but he makes you think he’s more. Beyond his kindness to these poor souls, he does seem to possess a spark. When he preaches, I believe they really see the glory he describes. Of course his power must be demonic, but I can understand the allure, even though I don’t feel it myself.”

  “I don’t want to see Gwenael burned,” Godfrey said.

  “I don’t want it to happen to anyone,” Astrolabe said firmly.

  Godfrey looked up with hope.

  “Do you have a plan to save them?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Astrolabe said sadly. “At the moment I don’t even have a plan to save myself.”

  Twelve

  The old cathedral of Reims. Laetare Sunday, 12 kalends April (March 21), 1148. Equinoctium, Feast of Saint Benedict, reluctant organizer of monks.

  Archiepiscopus itaque Lugdunensis eccelsie… protestus est

  Rothomagnesem, Senonensem, et Turonensem archiespicopos et

  provincias eorum sibi et ecclesie sue jure debere primatus esse

  subjectos… Bituricensis autem Narbonensem archiepiscopum et

  episcopum Aniciensem et abbatem Castridolensis vendicavit

  [etc., etc.].

  The archbishop of Lyons… claimed that legally the archbishops of the provinces of Rouens, Sens and Tours should be subject to him and his church by right of primacy… The archbishop of Bourges also asserted a legal claim to authority over the archbishop of Narbonne, and the bishop of Le Puy and the abbot of Bourg-dieu [etc., etc.].

  John of Salisbury, Historia Pontificalis

  Margaret was regretting her good fortune at having a place to stand in the cathedral. Countess Mahaut had a folding chair that she could lean on, but her shoes weren’t meant for standing on cold stone floors, and the debates, even when in French, were boring.

  Margaret knew in principle that it was terribly important which bishop was subject to another. Lands, benefices, tithes and respect all depended on it. But none of these affected her. She had no rights to the tithes. For those who paid the tolls it didn’t matter who got the money in the end. All the arguments of the various bishops sounded the same to her. They must have to Pope Eugenius as well for he di
sallowed every challenge. Even so, the debates and the protocol lasted for hours. It was nearly time for Vespers when she finally escaped from the cathedral.

  Catherine was awake and ready for information when Margaret dragged in to check on her.

  “Really, Catherine,” Margaret insisted, “it was very tedious, even with the shouting.”

  “You mean they had to shout to make themselves heard?” Catherine asked. “I’d have thought people would be better behaved than that.”

  “No.” Margaret sat down gratefully. “Of course there was the constant murmur of voices, but mostly the bishops made themselves heard over that. I suppose it comes from preaching. They seemed to go on forever. The archbishops were making their demands and the other bishops and abbots refuting them. That was easy enough to follow. I was nearly asleep, even standing up, when Albero of Trier got up to speak.”

  “I remember him from when we lived in Trier,” Catherine said. “He seems to have spent most of his years in the see fighting with someone. What did he want?”

  “I couldn’t understand all of his argument,” Margaret said, “but it got the attention of everyone else. He seemed to feel that Reims should be subject to Trier. Something about first and second and ancient Roman rights. That’s when all the shouting began.”

  Catherine stared at her, then began to laugh. “You must be joking!” she exclaimed. “He said that right here in Reims? And I thought I was cursed with hubris! He must think that because Trier was Belgica Primae in the days of Rome, he can have control over the area that was Belgica Secundae. Tradition usually carries some weight in these debates, but to go back a thousand years! And then to make such a statement in the city one wants to control. I wish I could have seen the reaction to that!”

  “It was so loud that it woke me up,” Margaret said. “I nearly fell onto Countess Mahaut, I was so startled. The French bishops were barely kept from coming to blows with the Lotharingian ones. And in church, too!”

  “Well, the first day of the council doesn’t sound tedious to me at all,” Catherine told her. “Did you find out when they are going to bring Eon in for trial?”

  “Not before Wednesday at the earliest.” Margaret was pleased to have come by the information. “Tomorrow they say the pope is going to excommunicate all those who were ordered to attend and didn’t come. That should be more fun.”

  “A good excommunication is always interesting,” Catherine said. “Are there many bishops missing? It seems to me as if every cleric in the world is here. One wonders who is tending to the business of their sees.”

  “Well, King Stephen only let a couple of the English bishops come,” Margaret said. “And there’s only one here from Spain that I know of. I don’t know about others. I asked about the Bretons, and someone told me that the bishop of Dol didn’t come to answer the claims of the archbishop of Tours.”

  Catherine shook her head. “The bishop of Dol is the one who should have handled Eon in the first place. Astrolabe would never be in such trouble if the bishop had been at all effective. Nor would Henri of Treguier ever have gotten away with appropriating a monastery. I wish I had him here. He’s the cause of all this mess. If he’d done his job, I’d be back at the Paraclete with my children and not cooped up in this tiny room.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Margaret said. “Maybe there is a reason for all those arguments about superiority. I thought it was just about money.”

  “Well, that’s a lot of it,” Catherine sighed. “But a strong bishop can keep the nobles in line. Just as a strong king can prevent the church being appropriated for private gain.”

  Margaret yawned.

  “Don’t worry,” Catherine said. “My political lecture is over.”

  “I’m sorry, Catherine,” Margaret said. “I suppose I should try to understand it better. If you want to know the finer points of the arguments, you should ask John. I saw him by the door as we went in.”

  “I will, as soon as I’m let out of this bed,” Catherine said. “I’m sure the baby took no harm from my fall. He’s as lively as ever.”

  “Or she,” Margaret commented.

  “Or she,” Catherine agreed. “The midwife says I’m carrying him high and that means a boy, but I never noticed the difference.”

  Margaret yawned again. “Excuse me.”

  Catherine smiled, “No, excuse me, my dear. I’ve kept you too long. You need to rest. Are you expected to dine with Count Thibault tonight?”

  “No,” Margaret said. “They are eating with the abbot of Clairvaux. I wasn’t invited.”

  “Then get yourself something from the kitchen,” Catherine said. “Come back soon. I’ve kept the bed nice and warm for you.”

  Godfrey and Astrolabe were well into the beer pitcher by the time John arrived.

  “Did you get in?” Astrolabe asked. “What happened?”

  John took out his bowl and reached for the pitcher. He cut a chunk of cheese from the square on the table. Once he had wet his throat, he stuffed the cheese in his mouth. The other two waited impatiently for him to swallow.

  “That’s better,” John sighed at last. “I didn’t dare leave for fear of losing my place. I thought I’d die of thirst. Don’t worry, you missed nothing of interest. I spent most of the time looking around to see who was present.”

  “Did you see anyone wanting to hire a clerk with a taste for beer?” Astrolabe asked.

  “Not that I could tell,” John said. “For once my primary interest wasn’t my lack of a position. But I think I spotted the cleric who was chasing you. A big man, you said, blond, with a Breton accent and protuberant blue eyes?”

  “That’s right,” Godfrey said. “I’d know him if I saw him again.”

  “He’s a canon of Paris,” John told them, “called Rolland.”

  “Paris?” Astrolabe said. “What would he have to do with the capture of a heretic in Brittany?”

  “Nothing, I would say,” John answered. “But when I saw him, I remembered him from my student days. He was one of those who wanted to learn from your father. Failed completely. He hadn’t the stamina. He was always sensitive about his origin. Seemed to think that Abelard should be more understanding since they were fellow Bretons.”

  “Ah.” Astrolabe took some of the cheese. It crumbled in his fingers and left orts in his beard. “My father was not kind to those who couldn’t keep up with his lectures. And he didn’t come from the area where Breton was spoken. He thought the language barbaric and the people the same.”

  John snorted. “Having felt the sharpness of his tongue myself, I’d say Abelard was vicious to those he scorned. He could mock a man down to a puddle on the ground. He could also be tremendously kind to those who endured, but Rolland never saw that side of him. He didn’t last long.”

  “But what has he to do with Eon or with Cecile’s death?” Astrolabe asked.

  “I don’t know,” John admitted. “But he must be involved somehow. Why else would he be hunting for you if not in connection to this Breton business?”

  “Perhaps if we could find the man who was traveling with him we could find out,” Godfrey suggested. “He did his best to stay hidden in his cloak and hood when they stopped us on the road, but I had the impression he was a small man. Now that we know where Rolland is from, I can go to the places where the Parisians meet and watch for him. I would bet that our silent stranger is the one who brought the news from Brittany and convinced the canon to help him. Sooner or later, he’s certain to contact Rolland again.”

  “Would you mind?” Astrolabe asked. “Spying on the Parisians might take away from your time helping Gwenael.”

  “I don’t ‘help’ her that much,” Godfrey answered with a smirk. “Truthfully, I find her adoration of this false messiah disquieting. She resists any attempt to make her see reason. I’m out of my depth here. Perhaps Master John could convince her that she is in danger of losing her life as well as her soul.”

  “I could try,” John said doubtfully, �
�but I have little hope. I don’t have the persuasive power of Abbot Bernard, for example.”

  “I’m sure that when Eon is brought before the council, he’ll recant and go back to his monastery,” Astrolabe said. “Then Gwenael will see that she’s been deluded. At that point, she’ll be ready to accept your help.”

  Godfrey was doubtful. “Perhaps if Abbot Bernard preaches to her and her fellow Eonites she’ll be converted. But I can do nothing while she’s in the grip of this madman,” he said. “And I don’t choose to join her in heresy. So, Master John, Master Astrolabe, in the meantime, I am at your service.”