Catherine leaned against the table to catch her breath.
“That should be safe enough,” she said. “There will be other people around.”
“What’s the matter?” Godfrey asked. “I thought Astrolabe was out of danger now.”
“Only from false accusations,” Catherine said. “Not from Gwenael.”
Godfrey’s eyes narrowed. “Gwenael has been tormented enough,” he told her. “She’s deluded, but that’s no reason to try to blame her for the murders. Both Arnulf and Gui are more likely suspects. Even Astrolabe. He could have been lying to all of us. You’ve settled on Gwenael now only because she’s just a peasant woman with no family to protect her.”
“No!” Catherine took his hands to keep him from leaving. “That was why I didn’t even consider her. ”No one looks at a beggar.“ Gwenael was always there. She followed Eon and the others when they were captured. She heard Cecile ask to return to the convent. It was she who found out who Astrolabe was and passed the information on, although I think it was unwittingly. She didn’t want him harmed. She killed Rolland because he was going to prevent Astrolabe from saving Eon, and now she thinks that Astrolabe has betrayed her savior and abandoned him to his fate.”
“I don’t believe it,” Godfrey insisted, pulling his hands away.
“Yes, you do,” Catherine said softly. “We have to find her before she tries to hurt Astrolabe, too.”
Annora had been listening to the exchange in growing fury.
“You mean this bordelere vilaine murdered my sister?” she cried. “And you tried to put the guilt on my cousins? I swear I’ll rip out her heart with my fingernails.”
“Annora,” Catherine spoke gently, “she will be punished. You need have no fear about that. As soon as John and Margaret return with Astrolabe, we’ll go to Archbishop Samson to have the city searched for her. He and Count Thibault are expecting all of us this evening. We can enlist all their help.”
“She’s probably halfway back to Brittany by now,” Annora replied angrily. “You were too busy slandering Gui and Arnold to even consider her. Too busy protecting your precious Astrolabe.”
Catherine had no retort for this. Annora was right.
The bells began to ring the end of Vespers.
“What’s taking them so long to find him?” Godfrey said. “It’s not far to Saint-Hilarius.”
Catherine felt an icy chill down her back.
“I think we should go find out,” she said.
Margaret and John had arrived at Saint-Hilarius to find the church deserted.
“That’s strange,” John said. “Do you think we missed him?” “There must be someone around to ask,” Margaret said. “The sacristan, perhaps.”
“I’ll go look,” John told her. “Wait here.” He went out to find a caretaker.
Margaret always loved small parish churches. This one was not much larger than their hall in Paris. It was a simple bare building with narrow windows that let in little light. The apse was barely an indentation in the far wall. The altar was only a stone box covered with a cloth. A few candles burnt before it. Margaret went closer.
That was odd. There was no cross, either on the altar or above it. Could the priest have taken it with him to prevent its being stolen? Or had some sacrilegious thief already stolen it?
Margaret went up to look. There was something on the floor between the altar and the wall. Someone had dropped his cloak. She bent over to pick it up and realized there was a body underneath it.
“Astrolabe?” she said as she bent over.
“Margaret!” John’s voice echoed in the empty space. “Don’t move. She’s got a knife.”
Twenty-one
The church of Saint-Hilarius. The next moment.
Et quoniam in multc locis rum poterant victui necessaria reperiri,
graviter afflictus fuit per aliquantulum temporis populus fame, et in
une dierum, prout peccatis nostris exigentibus judicium divinum
permisit, plerique ceciderunt de baronibus nostris. Fuerent enim
mortui… consanguineus noster comes de Guarenna, Rainaldus
Tomodorensis, Mannasses de Bulis, Gaucherius de monte Gaü,
Evrardus de Bretolio et caeteri quamplures… Et quonium pecunia
nostra in multis et varüs expensis non mediocriter imminuta est.
And since in many places they couldn’t find enough food to survive, the people were seriously afflicted by famine and in one day, as if divine judgment were permitting it for our sins, many of our barons perished. Among those who died were our relative, the count of Guenne, Raynold of Tonnerre, Manassas of Bulis, Walcher of Mongai, Everard of Breteuil and many others… And so much of our money has been diminished by many and various expenses.
Louis VII, letter to Abbot Suger, from Antioch, the Friday after quadragesima (March 19), 1148
Margaret froze, bent over Astrolabe’s body.
Gwenael paused, the knife in her upraised hand.
John came toward her slowly.
“You can’t mean to hurt Margaret, Gwenael,” he said quietly. “She’s an innocent.”
“She’s one of them,” Gwenael answered, and her voice held a world of hate.
“No, she isn’t,” John said. He thought, She’s not insane. I can reason with her. I can. I know I can. I hope I can.
“Her blood is noble.” Gwenael didn’t turn her eyes from the cowering child. “They say it’s different from ours, but it looks just the same to me. My Lord, my master Eon, told us that we were as good as all her sort. They drove us from our homes, burnt our fields in their stupid wars. She’s always had it easy. Why should she live?”
“Had it easy? Have you ever looked at her face?” John asked. “Margaret, stand up very slowly. Push your hair back so Gwenael can see.”
Margaret’s hands were shaking, but she obeyed. The jagged line of the scar showed clearly in the flicker of the candles.
“There are others,” she said in a small voice. “On my back, my stomach, my left shoulder.”
“She was beaten by a mob and left for dead,” John said. “A mob of people who were peasants like you. She had done nothing to them. Do you hate all peasants for what happened, Margaret?”
“No,” she said. “A poor laundress found me. She saved my life.”
Her deep brown eyes gazed pleadingly at Gwenael, who hadn’t lowered the knife.
Gwenael didn’t seem impressed. Her face was twisted in loathing. She pulled back the knife to strike. Margaret crossed herself and prepared to die.
“At least if you kill me,” she said, “I won’t have to marry a man I’ve never met in a country far from home.”
She lifted her chin and steeled herself for the blow.
The knife wavered.
“Gwenael.” John had crept closer while the woman was looking at Margaret. “Killing her won’t save you. It won’t buy Eon’s freedom.”
She suddenly realized how near he was. Her head turned.
As she moved to fend him off, John leapt for her, knocking her over and sending the knife clattering across the stone floor.
Margaret ran to pick it up.
“Help me!” John gasped.
It felt as if he were fighting the offspring of a snake and a tiger. Wasn’t there something in the Book of Revelation about that? Gwenael bit, scratched and kicked all at once. John had meant only to subdue her, but now he was struggling to keep her from incapacitating him. Her knees knew where to jab.
All at once Gwenael went limp. Her wintry blue eyes glittered in revulsion but she didn’t move. Cautiously, John drew away from her. Margaret was holding the knife at her throat.
“I know how to do this,” she said conversationally. “I’ve seen my brothers kill deer and, of course, watched the villagers at home slaughter the pigs. I’d rather not. But you have just killed Astrolabe, whom I love dearly, so please stay still.”
“That will do, Margaret.” John put his hand over hers, taking control of the knif
e.
“He’s not dead yet,” Gwenael muttered.
“What?” John leaned to hear. “Margaret, would you check?”
“There’s no blood,” Margaret said, kneeling by the body. “Yes, I can feel the beat of his heart in his throat! Thank the saints! He has a bad bump on his head, though.”
John felt light-headed with relief. He moved back so that Gwenael couldn’t lunge for the knife again. Her eyes darted back and forth like a trapped fox, but he was blocking any way out. He wasn’t sure how long they could stand like this. Where was the damn priest?
“I suppose I can understand why you wanted Canon Rolland to die,” he said to keep her attention. “But why Astrolabe, Gwenael? Why Cecile?” The woman wouldn’t answer. Giving up on escape, she slumped down until she sat on the floor, head bent over her knees.
There was a creak as the door of the church opened.
“Finally!” John said without turning around. “Where have you been?”
“We came as soon as we could,” Catherine said. “I see you found her.
Don’t let her go. She wants to kill Astrolabe.“
“We know,” John said. “Godfrey, could you run over to the Temple and see if they will send some men with a stretcher? Astrolabe has been knocked out.”
It was some time before order was restored in Saint-Hilarius. Godfrey brought back the stretcher bearers who took Astrolabe back to the Temple infirmary. He also had the presence of mind to pick up a length of rope. They tied Gwenael securely. While waiting for him, John and Catherine had a great deal of difficulty keeping Annora from carrying out her own private justice.
“Would you have her death on your soul?” Catherine begged.
“Gladly!” Annora said, struggling in her grasp.
“We must take her to the bishop for justice,” John said. “My lady Annora, if you don’t stop trying to attack her, I’ll tie you up, too.”
“He will,” Catherine assured her.
Reluctantly, Annora gave in. Catherine released her. “Stay back,” she cautioned her. “One step toward Gwenael and I’ll bind you with your own braids!”
Annora went to the other side of the altar. There she found Margaret, who had retreated to a corner while the men from the Temple were taking care of Astrolabe.
“Margaret? Are you all right?” she asked.
Margaret was trembling all over, her teeth chattering.
“I c-c-can’t st-st-stop sh-shaking,” she said.
“Oh, my precious, of course not!” Catherine went to her at once. “You’ve had a horrible ordeal. We’re going right back to Saint-Pierre and getting you a hot posset.”
“N-no,” Margaret said. “Grandfather.”
Catherine was aware that they were already late for the meeting before Count Thibault and Archbishop Samson. But even though they could now present them with the murderer, Catherine wasn’t sure she wanted the count to know the danger his granddaughter had been in.
“Perhaps you should wait at the convent,” she suggested.
Margaret shook her head. There was a set to her jaw that reminded Catherine uncomfortably of Edgar.
“Very well,” she said. “We should all make ourselves more presentable after this struggle. But I would rather give Gwenael into the archbishop’s custody at once than wait until I can appear before him with a clean face.”
Godfrey took it upon himself to keep Gwenael in check as they made their way across town.
“I could have forgiven you, you know,” he whispered to her, “until you went after Astrolabe. He wanted to help you. He did what he could to keep your heretical leader from death. How could you turn on him?”
“In the end, he betrayed us,” Gwenael said in a flat voice. “They always do.”
Twilight was fading as the strange procession made its way through Reims. Most people were on their way home or to the taverns. A few wondered why the woman was being dragged through the streets, but they were used to seeing criminals being taken and so thought no more about it.
A cluster of beggars was sitting at the steps of the cathedral. As she passed them, Annora stopped to drop a coin in an outstretched hand. Catherine was just close enough to hear her murmur.
“For Cecile.”
She was startled when the man took Annora’s hand and kissed it, even more that the woman allowed such familiarity. She was never sure afterward if she had really heard his reply.
“I shall strive to be worthy to join her in paradise. This is for a priest at Saint Gwenoc’s.”
Catherine thought she saw him pass her a purse. She told herself it was nonsense, that she was overwrought by recent events. But she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she had seen those beggars somewhere before.
Count Thibault was pacing the floor of the chamber when the group finally arrived.
“High time!” the count said. “The countess was about to have a search started for you. Where’s Astrolabe? Don’t tell me he’s fled!”
Archbishops Samson and Engebaud did not seem concerned. They were at a table in a corner with a tric-trac board and their wine goblets. When everyone had entered they left the game, taking the goblets with them.
“We were hoping for an explanation,” Samson said as he surveyed the assorted people before him. “I didn’t expect a prisoner. What has she done?”
“This is a disciple of the heretic Eon, my lord,” Margaret answered. “She is responsible for the deaths of Cecile of Beaumont and Canon Rolland. She also attacked Astrolabe in the church of Saint-Hilarius and threatened to kill me when we discovered her.”
On hearing that, Count Thibault forgot ceremony. He embraced Margaret, holding her so tightly that the breath was knocked out of her. He hadn’t realized until that moment how very much he had grown to love this newly found granddaughter.
Archbishop Samson continued the questioning. “Was Lord Astrolabe badly hurt?”
“He’s still unconscious,” John answered. “We won’t know until he wakes.”
The archbishop looked at John, his robe torn, hair wild and face scratched. His left eye was swollen nearly shut.
“You’re tonsured,” he commented, “and yet you seem to have been fighting.”
Margaret managed to free her face from her grandfather’s chest.
“Don’t punish him, my lord,” she said. “He saved my life.”
John reddened under the gratitude the count poured upon him.
“I shall see that you are rewarded for your courage,” Thibault said. “Although the price for Margaret’s life is more than all my lands and property. Now, someone please explain what has been going on and how this woman was apprehended.”
It took some time for the entire story to be told. John, Catherine and Margaret kept interrupting each other. Even Godfrey added his information. Only Annora was silent.
Archbishop Engebaud noticed this.
“My lady Annora,” he asked, “are you satisfied that this is indeed the person who murdered your sister?”
“What?” Annora seemed not to have been paying attention. Catherine wondered if she were also deaf. “Yes, my lord. She has confessed. I have no reason to doubt her.”
“Then you should have a say in what is now done with her,” Engebaud said.
Annora shook her head. “I want nothing to do with it,” she said. “I would have executed her myself, if Catherine hadn’t stopped me. But perhaps a long and painful penance would be better.”
“A penance can’t be imposed until she repents,” Archbishop Samson reminded Annora.
“Are you truly sorry for the horrendous sins you have committed?” he asked Gwenael.
Gwenael lifted her head and spat in his face.
When she woke the next morning Catherine felt as if she’d spent the past few days hanging over a precipice and, at the end, been dropped into a pit of mud. Annora refused to leave the bed. She covered her head with the blanket and then the pillow.
“Tell Countess Sybil that I will be here until sh
e is ready to return to Flanders,” she said through the bedclothes.
Catherine wished that she could do the same. She had no sense of victory. Gwenael was in the archbishop’s prison until she could be turned over to the town authorities for hanging. Her last words to them had been a taunt.
Heresy Page 39
