Heresy

by Sharan Newman

  “But you saw him just before he died,” Catherine said. “Didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” the boy answered. “His appetite was the wonder of the table. He was in very high spirits.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No. He kept hinting that he had uncovered some serious malefactors who were threatening the body of the Church,” Felix shrugged. “But none of us wanted to give him the satisfaction of asking about it. He was always boasting about something.”

  “Did he say anything about a Breton priory?” Catherine asked.

  John gave her a look but didn’t interrupt.

  Felix scratched his head. “I don’t think so. I know he’d been chasing some Breton heretic, a follower of this Eon, but I think that came to nothing.”

  “Did you see him leave the dinner?” Catherine asked.

  Felix looked around to be sure none of his colleagues were nearby.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “I’m afraid I also overindulged that evening. I needed to go out rather quickly. Rolland was talking with the porter when I came through. He was asking about a message. That’s all I heard. I was in a great hurry.”

  “Of course,” Catherine said. “But that’s very helpful. And he was gone when you returned?”

  Felix nodded. “You won’t mention my gluttony to the bishop, will you? I’ll confess it myself in Chapter, but I’d rather be the one to tell him.”

  “We understand completely,” John told him. “Don’t we, Catherine?”

  “I won’t say a word,” she promised. “Especially to your sister.”

  The boy grinned at them. “I’m in your debt. Felicia would taunt me about it for years.”

  They gave him a coin for the poor and bid him good day.

  “What was all that about a priory?” John asked after Felix had left.

  Catherine explained. “I think Rolland may have become suspicious of Brother Arnulf’s story about being sent by his abbot to chase heretics.”

  “I know I am,” John said. “But Arnulf must have had a letter from someone of authority or Bishop Samson never would have given any credit to his accusations.”

  “One would think so,” Catherine said. “Let’s find out what the porter has to say.”

  The man who had been on duty that night wasn’t there, but the day porter directed them to his home. They went down a damp alleyway behind the cathedral, coming out in a small square. Each building had a shop on the ground floor. The shutters were down to display ribbons, thread, gloves, trimmings, laces and cloth of all kinds.

  “Which one did he say?” John asked.

  Catherine had been momentarily distracted by the brightly colored patterns on a selection of hose.

  “Over there, the ribbon seller’s.”

  They asked the woman at the stall where they could find the porter.

  “Upstairs asleep,” she told them. “And he doesn’t take kindly to being wakened before his time.”

  “It is urgent,” Catherine said. “We need to ask him some questions. We’ll pay for his trouble. It shouldn’t take long.”

  The word pay changed the woman’s attitude. She held out her hand.

  Catherine dropped in a solidus of Paris. The woman bit it.

  “That’s worth him losing a bit of sleep,” she said.

  “Lambert!” She pounded on the ceiling with the pole used to open and close the shutter. “Get your ass up. Lady and a priest want to talk to you.

  She gestured for them to go to the main floor. They climbed a narrow ladder in the corner of the shop that went up into the living area. As Catherine emerged, she gasped and looked away. Lambert quickly dropped a tunic over his head.

  “Well, what do you expect, barging in on a man in his bed?” he demanded.

  “I apologize,” Catherine said. “I was just startled.”

  Lambert smirked. “That’s what my wife said the first time she saw it, too.”

  Silently, Catherine climbed the rest of the way into the room, standing aside for John to ascend.

  John explained their mission.

  “Oh, sure, I remember him,” Lambert said. “Big fellow, rude. I gave him the message and he left.”

  “Do you know who sent the message?” Catherine asked.

  “No, the woman didn’t say.” Lambert scratched beneath the tunic. Catherine looked at the ceiling.

  “Woman?” John asked. “It was a woman who brought the message?”

  “Yes, what of it?”

  “Did you know her?” John persisted.

  Lambert shook his head. “Not local,” he said. “She was foreign, maybe from the south or Germany, maybe Normandy. She talked with an accent, at least.”

  “What did she look like?” Catherine asked.

  “Couldn’t say,” Lambert answered. “A bit shorter than you. She had on a heavy veil, covered most of her face.”

  “Do you remember anything else about her?” Catherine said, handing him a coin.

  “No,” he said. “I got the feeling she was a lady, though. She told me what she wanted and left. Didn’t stop to talk or wait a bit in case there was a reply.”

  “She might just have been frightened or rushed,” Catherine suggested.

  “Don’t know,” Lambert said. “Just telling you what I noticed, like you asked.”

  They thanked him and left. John went down the ladder first. As Catherine descended, Lambert pulled off his tunic and got back into bed. She had no doubt that he’d be snoring before she reached the floor.

  “A woman?” John said when they were out in the street again.

  “Obviously the porter thought she was making the assignation for herself,” Catherine said. “It does support the idea that Baldwin went out d’amer fame vilaine.”

  “Except Lambert thought she was a noblewoman,” John reminded her.

  “Only because she wouldn’t stay with him. She might just have wanted to get away before he demanded a sample of her wares,” Catherine said. “I don’t place much value on his judgment on that score.”

  “The information doesn’t seem to help us,” John commented.

  “Not really,” Catherine answered gloomily. “We only know that she didn’t speak the way they do around here. I wish there had been some indication of who had sent her.”

  “Do you think she was involved in killing Rolland?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “She might have simply been selected to carry the message without knowing why. I certainly can’t imagine the remnants of the Eonites being organized enough to plan an elaborate murder.”

  “But those were the people he was investigating,” John said. “No one else seems to have had a reason to want him dead, except Astrolabe.”

  “If someone else killed Cecile, and Rolland stumbled on the truth,” Catherine insisted, “then that person would have a very good reason.”

  “Well, I hope Astrolabe is having more luck than we are in finding him,” John sighed.

  Archbishop Samson did not believe any of the stories about an army of demons coming to free his prisoner. Neither did he think that there were enough of Eon’s followers in town to attempt a rescue, if any of them had enough wit. But he had seen Eon when he was brought in, and he decided that there was no point in humiliating him once more in front of an angry crowd. He gave orders to bring the man in to the cathedral through a side door to the palace and hold him in the vestry until called for.

  He felt it to be a decidedly charitable act on his part, since he was certain that Eon was somehow the catalyst for this distasteful problem of politics and murder, even though he seemed far too simple to be the instigator.

  Samson was growing weary of having to spend every day listening to the wrangles of his fellow bishops. His deacons complained that it made the seating charts impossible to make up. With all the traffic, the rushes in the cathedral had to be swept and changed daily instead of weekly. The expense in candles alone was more than he normally spent in the year. There also we
re not so subtle rumblings from the town that it was time to pay more attention to the concerns of the souls of Reims. Even opening the granary hadn’t alleviated the food shortage. Families who had been forced to cede their houses to the visitors were becoming louder in their demands to return home. Samson didn’t want to end up like Pope Eugenius, thrown out of his own city by its citizens. He had tried to hint as much but without success.

  At least the pope had arranged to have the inquest into the work of Gilbert of Poitiers saved until after the main council. Most of the bishops, abbots and their followers would leave before that. Only a few of them professed to be able to follow the arguments in any case. He certainly didn’t pretend to.

  Samson splashed cold water on his face. Time to pass another day in playing the gracious host. How did innkeepers stand it?

  The crowd at the cathedral was the largest yet.

  “There aren’t usually so many people here,” Margaret said as she, Godfrey and Astrolabe pushed their way up to the cathedral door. “Maybe you should each hold on to one of my braids so we don’t get separated.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t lose you,” Astrolabe promised.

  It was only because of the size of both men, one on either side, that Margaret managed to reach the portal. The guard barred the way.

  “I’m Margaret of Wedderlie,” she reminded him, “Count Thibault’s granddaughter. Please conduct me and my men to his place.”

  The guard raised his staff. “Can’t leave my post,” he said. “But the count went in just a moment ago. You can catch up to him.”

  Margaret nodded and ducked under his arm. Godfrey and Astrolabe followed.

  The crush was less severe inside, but it took them several minutes to work their way to the transept, where the count and countess were seated.

  “Perhaps I should stand somewhere else,” Astrolabe suggested. “Your grandfather may not want to be seen so close to me.”

  “I say the closer you are to someone powerful, the better,” Godfrey declared.

  “I’ll ask him,” Margaret said over Astrolabe’s objection.

  She wormed her way through to where Count Thibault was standing with Abbot Bernard. She waited until the count noticed her. He gave a wide smile and beckoned her forward. She bowed to him and then knelt to the abbot for his blessing.

  “A lovely child,” Abbot Bernard said as she rose. His eyes flickered over the scar and his smile became more gentle.

  “I’m surprised to see you here again, my dear,” Thibault told her. “I thought the debates had grown wearisome to you.”

  “I grieve that I haven’t the learning to understand the arguments properly, my lord,” Margaret spoke formally. “I must confess to you that I have come today to witness the questioning of the Breton, Eon.”

  “I trust your faith is not in jeopardy, my lady,” the abbot said.

  Margaret wasn’t sure if he were teasing her or not.

  “I pray not,” she answered. “But my friend wished to attend and I agreed to bring him. I believe you know the abbess of the convent where I am a student, my lord abbot. Heloise of the Paraclete?”

  “Yes, of course,” he answered. “I have preached to the nuns there.”

  “My friend is her son, Astrolabe.”

  The smile grew more puzzled.

  “He wishes to see a heretic tried?” the abbot asked.

  “So he has told me, my lord.”

  Abbot Bernard looked to Count Thibault for clarification.

  “He is his mother’s son, more than his father’s,” Thibault said. “Eager to expand his knowledge rather than disseminate it. And he was raised among the Bretons. He may wish to familiarize himself with the forms their divergence from orthodoxy can take.”

  Bernard nodded. A moment later he excused himself to speak with the pope.

  Margaret kissed her grandfather’s cheek.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “Hasn’t the abbot heard the rumors in the town? I was certain he would say something.”

  “I would not repeat what was said in the meeting last night,” Thibault told her sternly. “The abbot would have learned about Astrolabe’s difficulty in no other way. He does not encourage those who gossip.

  “I don’t believe Heloise’s son is a criminal,” he added. “But that doesn’t mean I can save him if the others judge him to be guilty. Nevertheless, he may stand with our party. No one will dare to attack him here.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Margaret said. “I’ll fetch him.”

  “After you do, go over to stand by the countess,” Thibault commanded. “She has missed your company.”

  Margaret went reluctantly, although she returned Mahaut’s warm greeting. She felt guilty for avoiding the countess. The constant talk of her new life in Carinthia was too painful to face.

  Mass was said. The business of the council resumed.

  Engebaud, of Tours, intended to present Eon as but one more example of the disorder rampant in the land of northern Brittany under the care of Olivier of Dol. To this end he first gave a long explanation of the history of the conflict between Dol and Tours, a battle for supremacy that had been going on for more than fifty years.

  Margaret felt her eyes drooping by the time that the archbishop asked Moses, abbot of Sainte-Croix, to relate the story of Henri of Treguier. The old man gave a good account of how he and his monks had been driven from their monastery by Henri and his men.

  “They have turned a place of chastity and prayer into a brothel!” he cried. “I begged the other lords in the region to help us. I pleaded with Bishop Olivier to anathematize these monsters. Nothing has been done.”

  There was a murmur of shock throughout the cathedral. Pope Eugenius addressed the abbot.

  “I find it difficult to believe that any bishop could be so unmindful of his responsibility as to ignore such a clear affront. Are you certain there were no irregularities in your order that might have caused Bishop Olivier to ignore your plea?”

  “None at all, your Wisdom,” Moses said indignantly.

  “Is there anyone else who can testify as to what happened?” the pope continued.

  Beside her, Margaret could feel Astrolabe stir. Her shoulders tensed in nervousness.

  “I can, my lord.”

  Every head turned. The speaker was a woman.

  “My name is Marie,” she said. “Abbess of Saint-Sulpice-de-la-Foret, near Rennes in Brittany. I beg the indulgence of the council to allow me to give testimony in this matter.”

  She knelt humbly before the pope and cardinals, but her tone made it clear that she expected them to indulge her.

  Her request was immediately granted.

  “My lords,” she began. “I have come to Reims specifically to complain about this very matter. Count Henri has not only evicted the monks of Sainte-Croix; he has also abducted professed nuns from Saint-Georges-de-Rennes to be companions for his mistress. I have good evidence that these holy women have been subjected to the most vile treatment. Abbess Adela is too infirm to travel, so I am here in her place to implore that Henri and all his lands be placed under anathema and that a troop be sent to rescue these poor women.”

  “Thank you, my lady Marie,” Pope Eugenius said. “Has Henri of Treguier come to answer these charges?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then, until he does, this council will consider him outside the protection of the sacraments.” Eugenius nodded to the clerk to add Henri’s name to the list of those to be excommunicated at the end of the council.

  “Archbishop Engebaud.” Eugenius beckoned him to come forward. “I understand you have one more example that you wish to give us of spiritual laxity under the governance of the bishop of Dol.”

  “I do, my lord.”

  “I suggest that this assembly recess until after Nones,” the pope said. “At which time you may bring your example before us.”

  While they were waiting for the council members to file out, Margaret decided to ignore dignit
y and sit on the floor. Astrolabe squatted next to her.

  “You don’t need to come back this afternoon,” he told her. “You’re clearly tired. I don’t think we need to worry about Gwenael making a scene when Eon is presented. The guards would never let her past the door.”

  “If you are returning, then so am I,” she said. “Was Arnulf here? I didn’t see him, either.”