Heresy

by Sharan Newman

  “Neither did I,” Astrolabe said. “He may not have had an important friend, like you, to get him admitted.”

  Margaret blushed. “The procession seems to have finally left. I’m terribly thirsty. Do you think we’ll be able to get something to drink before they resume?”

  “If I know John, he has a place ready for us,” Astrolabe grinned. “I do hope he and Catherine discovered something useful. All we have to show for this morning’s work are sore feet.”

  Godfrey reached the beer stand first, to find that Catherine and John had staked out a spot for them all. Catherine had bought some hard-cooked eggs and dried apples to sustain them for the afternoon.

  “I didn’t spot either Gwenael or Lord Gui in the cathedral,” he told them. “With your permission, I thought I’d find out where Lord Gui was staying before he was taken to the Temple. He might have returned there with his relatives.”

  “He told me he was part of the entourage of Hugh of Rouen,” Catherine said.

  “I already asked there,” Godfrey said, “but no one knew where he had gone. Still, he can’t have slept with the beggars. He must have brought servants, at least a squire to tend to his horse. I can start at the stables and work from there, if I have to knock on every door in Reims.”

  “May you have better luck than we have,” John said.

  A few moments later Astrolabe and Margaret appeared. Their hopeful expressions faded with the news John and Catherine told them.

  “The porter told us only that the messenger was a heavily veiled woman,” Catherine said. “The way he described her, it could even have been a man in woman’s garb.”

  “Now, I could see Arnulf doing that,” John commented.

  “Well, it’s a possibility,” Astrolabe said. “Shall we demand to go through his belongings for a veil and face paint?”

  “If it comes to that, I wouldn’t hesitate,” Catherine said. “I keep thinking about how Rolland was killed, though. He was a big man and naturally belligerent. How could Arnulf have managed to get close enough to him with a knife?”

  “He could have offered to shave him,” Margaret suggested.

  “In the dark?” Godfrey asked.

  Margaret was momentarily crushed, but she continued.

  “Cecile was unconscious when she was murdered,” she said. “If I wanted to kill someone much stronger than I was, I suppose I would hit him from behind to knock him out and then slit his throat for good measure.”

  “Is that what they do in Scotland?” John asked, mildly shocked.

  “No,” Margaret answered primly. “No matter what you English think, in Scotland we usually give people a good meal, plenty to drink and then kill them while they sleep.”

  John gave a laugh that sent a mouthful of beer spraying across the table.

  “My apologies,” he said when he could speak again.

  “Margaret has a point,” Catherine said. “I’ve been wondering if more face and strong chin. His eyes were large and penetrating. Despite his weeks in captivity he held his head high, moving smoothly as if his chains did not exist. Samson must have been a tolerant custodian indeed, for Eon’s beard and hair had been trimmed and his robe was clean. He had even been allowed to keep his staff. That surprised her most of all. It wasn’t as if he needed it for support.

  Eon surveyed the assembly without fear. He even seemed amused by all the attention he was receiving. Astrolabe was right. There was something about him that radiated authority and kindness. There was nothing in his stance to suggest madness.

  “Catherine, he’s beautiful!” Margaret whispered in astonishment.

  Catherine agreed. From the murmurs around them, others did, too.

  Pope Eugenius did not appear impressed.

  “You are here to answer serious charges,” he told Eon. “First, state your name and your family.”

  Eon smiled. He seemed completely at ease.

  “I am Eum,” he said. “Come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire, as my father has commanded.”

  There was a ripple through the room. The pope held up his hand for silence.

  “And that staff you carry,” he asked. “What is its significance?”

  Eon stepped closer, as if confiding a secret. The guards yanked him back. He wasn’t fazed. He held up the staff for all to see, a simple piece of wood, forked at one end like the tools used to load hay.

  “There is a great and holy secret to this staff,” he explained in a conversational tone. “My divine Father and I have an arrangement. When I hold my staff like this, with the two tines looking to Heaven, then God has control over two-thirds of the earth. But when I reverse it, like this”— he turned the staff upside down—“then two-thirds of the earth are mine to govern and only one-third is his.”

  He smiled as if everything were now settled.

  There was a moment of silence, and then the whole assembly burst out laughing.

  “This is your dangerous heretic?” Eugenius asked Archbishop Engebaud. “Would that all heresies were so foolish!”

  “He has many followers,” Engebaud said. “They have terrorized simple hermits and robbed the villages throughout the area.”

  “And no doubt outlaws and other villains have used him as a subterfuge for their own activities.” Eugenius considered Eon. The Breton smiled again. He seemed completely unaware of the gravity of the charges against him.

  “I should speak now,” Astrolabe said.

  “No,” Catherine told him. “I don’t think the pope means to have Eon executed, or even insist on a profession of faith from him. Everyone can see that he’s simple, just as you have always said. Wait!” She pointed. “That’s Arnulf, over there, by the pillar. He’s the one we need to be ready for.”

  The monk was trying to push his way to the front.

  Eugenius consulted a moment with the cardinals. They all seemed to be in agreement. The pope stood to announce the decision.

  “It is our opinion that this man is not in his right mind.” He spoke loudly so that all could hear. “His heresy is not diabolical but the result of madness. However, since he has led others from orthodoxy to the peril of their eternal souls, we ask Samson, archbishop of Reims, to see that he continues to be held in custody for his own protection and the well-being of those whom he had led astray. He is not to be ill treated,” the pope added. “It may be that one day Our Lord may remove the scales from his eyes and restore his senses.”

  “No!” a voice called out. “My lords, I beg you!”

  Arnulf shoved aside all in his path without regard for rank.

  “This man is dangerous, far more than you know.” He panted as he approached the front. “He has led others to commit terrible sins! They kidnapped and murdered a noblewoman. He must be punished along with his most wicked disciple… Will you get out of my way, woman!”

  Annora had been trying to see where the noise was coming from. She didn’t realize that Arnulf was heading her way until he ran into her.

  “How dare you!” she cried, grabbing at his robe to keep from falling. “Who do you think you are?”

  She peered at him more closely as he frantically tried to release her grip-

  “Arnold?” she said. “Is that you?”

  Twenty

  The cathedral. The next moment.

  Quia etiam apostolica sedes quod rectum est consuevit attenta

  consideratione defendere, & quod devium inventutur esse devitare;

  praesentis decreti auctoritate praecipimus, ut nullus omino hominum

  haeresiarchas & eorum sequaces, qui in partibus Guasconiae, out

  Provinciae, vel alibi commorantur, mantenat vel defendat; nee aliquis

  eis in terra sua receptaculum praebeat.

  Because it is the custom of the Apostolic See to defend what is right with careful consideration, and since what strays from it is found to be wrong, we declare by this decree that no person should support or defend the heresiarchs and their followers who are currently in
Gascony or Provence, nor should anyone offer them refuge on his or her land.

  Canon XVIII Council of Reims, 1148

  Annora pulled his face closer to hers.

  “Arnold of Valfonciere, what are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “My name is Arnulf, lady!” he snapped at her, struggling to break free. “Someone help me!”

  “Arnold, the monastery promised they wouldn’t let you go wandering off.” Annora shook him. “We gave them tithes to make sure of it. Now, how did you get out and what have you been up to?”

  “Anno…ra!” Arnulf whined. “I’m doing God’s work here. Your behavior is most improper.”

  Annora suddenly remembered where she was. She let go of Arnulf’s robe. He skittered back a few steps as people moved quickly to get out of his way.

  Pope Eugenius leaned over to where his clerk was scribbling the events for the edification of posterity.

  “This will not go into the records,” he said. “Understand?”

  The clerk smoothed over the previous two paragraphs in the soft wax. The pope rose in his chair.

  “Who is this man?” he asked the world in general.

  Archbishop Engebaud tried to retrieve command of the situation.

  “Brother Arnulf is a monk of Brittany who has been aiding us in gathering information concerning the heretic Eon,” he explained. “He was not authorized to speak today. I very humbly beg your pardon for his unseemly outburst.”

  He waved at his deacons.

  “Remove him,” he commanded.

  “Just a moment,” Eugenius stopped them. “What was he saying about a murder?”

  Eon, momentarily forgotten, took a few steps toward Arnulf.

  “You are not one of my flock,” he said. Then he spied Astrolabe.

  “Peter!” he cried, grinning broadly. “I’m so glad you were unhurt by the devils who invaded our home. They martyred our beautiful Cecile, you know. But I can see her watching us all from Heaven. I shall join her soon.”

  Samson Mauvoisin covered his face with his hands. So much for taking care of matters in private. He approached the pope.

  “If I may explain, your Ineffable Patience,” he said.

  The pope nodded with a sigh.

  Samson related as much as he knew about the death of Cecile. Catherine had to admit that he did so fairly. She did note that he neglected to mention Rolland’s death.

  “It was Peter Abelard’s son who killed her!” Arnulf screamed from where the deacons were trying to control him. “He told me so! He cut her throat and ran, but he can’t escape judgment. There were witnesses!”

  “Can you present them?” Eugenius asked sharply.

  “The men sent by the archbishop of Tours!” Arnulf was pleading now. “The soldiers. They know. They told me who he was and then I followed him in Paris. He’s friends with Jews! He’s evil!”

  Astrolabe felt it was time to speak. He came to stand next to Engebaud.

  Eugenius stared at him, mouth open in amazement.

  “No need to ask your name,” he said. “You are my old master to the life. Amazing. Perhaps you would care to explain the accusations made by this monk? If it is true, as the archbishop of Reims has just said, that you were taken with the Eonites, then even my respect for your father won’t be enough to keep you from censure.”

  “It is true that I was with them, my lord,” Astrolabe admitted. “But I was not one of them. Eon’s cousins asked me to convince him to return home. I was attempting to do so when the encampment was invaded.”

  “I see, and the woman, the one who was killed, was she one of them?”

  “No, she was taken in by Eon after escaping from the horror of Sainte-Croix as Abbot Moses and Abbess Marie related,” Astrolabe explained. “She was murdered after we were captured, I believe by one of the men in the raiding party whom she recognized.”

  “No!” Arnulf wept, pointing at Astrolabe. “He did it. The son of a cruel heretic, you can’t let him go, my lord. He killed Cecile, my beautiful cousin. I saw her body. That’s what happens when dissenters are allowed to run free. Please, my lord. He killed her. He has to burn!”

  Samson had a whispered conversation with Engebaud. He then bowed to the pope.

  “My lord, with your permission,” he said. “This matter does not concern the church at large. Perhaps Archbishop Engebaud and I can interview the persons involved in this matter and report our conclusions to you at a later time.”

  “With pleasure,” he said. “Abbot Bernard, Abbot Suger, this seems to involve monastic irregularities. Does either of you wish to be present for these interviews?”

  Catherine hadn’t noticed the tiny abbot of Saint-Denis before. Suger sat near the pope, as regent of France in Louis’s absence, but he had said nothing during the proceedings. Nor did he now. He simply shook his head. Abbot Bernard did the same, adding that he trusted the sagacity of the two archbishops.

  “I’m sure they will uncover the truth,” he told the pope.

  “Then I declare the session ended.” Eugenius stood. “We shall convene tomorrow, at which time the canons of the council will be read.”

  Again there was a long wait while the dignitaries made their exit.

  Catherine felt limp after the excitement. But there was one thing she had to know.

  Annora was still standing next to Arnulf, now flanked by a pair of solid deacons who didn’t seem inclined to let him leave. She was glaring at him in fury, but mindful of the place, she held her tongue. Catherine wasn’t about to wait until they had left the cathedral. She took the woman’s shoulder and spun her around.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t see past the end of your nose?” she demanded. “Do you realize the trouble you’ve caused? You were there when Arnulf was giving his evidence Tuesday night. You should have recognized him then.”

  “I thought the voice was familiar,” she admitted, looking ashamed. “But I hadn’t seen him in years. I thought he was safe in the Norman monastery where his parents had placed him.”

  “And why was he placed there?” Catherine asked. “Is he insane?”

  “Oh, no!” Annora said. “At least,” she added, looking at him, still babbling to the deacons, “he wasn’t when he entered. He did hear voices sometimes, warning him of enemies plotting against him. He was in constant fear and would accuse totally harmless people of trying to kill him, even me once. The story I heard was that the family thought he’d feel less frightened in the company of the monks.”

  “He must have thought they were against him, too.” Catherine almost felt pity for Arnulf. “So he ran away. I wonder how he wound up in Tours.”

  Astrolabe had joined them in time to hear the last of this.

  “What I want to know is who told him about me,” he said.

  Arnulf saw him and began screaming again.

  “I don’t think you’re going to get it from him now,” Catherine said sadly as the deacons dragged the monk off. “But I feel confident that you’re not under suspicion anymore in Cecile’s death.”

  Astrolabe gave a sad smile. “Perhaps not, but unless we find who really did it, there will be people who will always think that I was guilty but bought my exoneration from the bishop. And, there is still the murder of Canon Rolland. So far I seem to be the only one with a reason for wanting him dead.”

  “That’s true. Arnulf was our best hope as an alternate suspect,” Catherine sighed. “How did he see Cecile’s body? At Tours? He might have taken her brooch then. But I don’t think he was present at the dinner where I found it. And there’s no use asking you if he was, Annora.”

  “Don’t be so resentful, Catherine,” she answered. “Why should I tell anyone that the world beyond the end of my arm is nothing but a blur? A man doesn’t want a wife who can’t see clearly.”

  I don’t know,“ Catherine said. ”I’d say most men would prefer it. I should have guessed it anyway, when you mistook Raoul of Vermandois for the pope.“

  The crowd
was clearing. Catherine looked around for Margaret and John. She didn’t see him, but Margaret was with her grandfather, waving for them to join her.

  “Well, that was a fine show,” Count Thibault greeted them. “I’m sure Sybil of Anjou will have a few things to say to you, young woman, about disrupting official synods.”

  “I am most mortified by my behavior, my lord,” Annora told him.

  “That’s her affair, not mine,” he waved off her apologies. “And you may have saved me another evening of listening to tedious narratives of crime.”