The Sharp Hook of Love

by Sherry Jones

  “Oh, no, I would never do that—not unless I were forced. Do you think I want the world to know that my niece is a whore like her mother?” He began to eat, then, and to drink, but moderately, pouring only a cup or two of wine for himself. Of all the nights to refrain, why would he do so on this one, when I wanted only for him to fall into his usual stupor so that I might go to Abelard?

  The muscles around my stomach tightened, constricting my breath. I could not eat, but walked to the great windows overlooking the street. Abelard, where are you? Had he gone to Etienne’s? Was he faring well? God willing, I will see you soon, my love. A dog skulked past, his teeth bared in warning to the hostile world.

  “Seeking your lover?” My uncle came to where I stood and stared out the window beside me. “It is of no use. You will never see him again, not alone. I will make certain of it.”

  I wanted to laugh at his guilelessness. Did he think to keep us apart whose very spirits had mingled, whose love transcended all earthly concerns? When necessity had parted us, our souls had converged on a star. I was Abelard’s, and he was mine, a fact that nothing could change.

  Still, I trembled to think of the harm my uncle might do. Hoping to soften him toward me—toward us—I slipped my hand into his and asked again how his heart could be so hard. Had he never known love?

  “I have had my share of female company.” Seeing my eyes widen, he grinned. “Beautiful women—beautiful! Heiresses, servant girls, married women.” He licked his lips.

  “I do not speak of that sort of love.”

  “I know of what you speak.” His voice was gruff. “I had it with Gisele.”

  I gaped at him. How, then, could he relinquish her? He looked as if he might cry. I placed my hand over his. “It sounds as if you loved her deeply.”

  “We loved each other.” His voice rasped, gruff.

  “As do Abelard and I.”

  He snatched his hand from mine. “Hmph. Petrus Abaelardus loves no one.”

  “No, Uncle, you are wrong—”

  “Don’t speak to me of that traitor—traitor!” He scowled. “Petrus arranged my journey to Anjou with the bishops, saying it would bind me more closely to Galon—but now I know his true reasoning. ‘Take your manservant with you,’ he said. ‘Everyone else will have theirs along.’ Hmph! Having coaxed me to do his bidding, he then cajoled his way into your bed. Love—hmph! That self-server knows nothing of love.”

  My uncle was mistaken about Abelard; of this I had no doubt. But I said nothing, not wanting to anger him.

  Grumbling, Uncle Fulbert filled his henap and drained it at once, giving me hope that he might drink himself to sleep, after all. I forced a yawn and announced that I would retire to bed. Uncle sent me a suspicious glare as I stood. I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, hoping to appease him.

  “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, Uncle. I swear that hurting you or your honor was the least of my intentions. Good night.” I took a step toward the stairs.

  “Would you depart from me so soon? I have tales to tell you from my journey—many tales! Ah, but if you are tired—let me come up and build a fire for you, since Jean cannot do it.”

  Only a girl harder of heart than I could watch without gratitude as my uncle carried wood from the stack outdoors up to my room. Only one with no heart at all could listen without softening to his grunts and mild curses as he struck flint to steel again and again, struggling to light the fire that would provide warmth to me as I slept. As he had said, he had given me everything, had shared with me all that he possessed. Perhaps he had loved me in the best way that he knew. In return, I had brought him only humiliation.

  And yet—would I have done anything differently? Certainly not, for now I plotted to deceive him again.

  “Good night, my dear child,” he said, kissing my brow. “This day has gone hard for us both, but the worst is over now.” If only his words had been true.

  I walked to the hearth and held my hands up to the blaze, whose crackles and pops obscured the sound for which I listened—that of my uncle’s steps descending the stairs. They did not, however, block the distinct sound of a turning key in my door.

  I hastened to the door and rattled the latch, to no avail. “Uncle Fulbert!” I cried, banging on the wood. “What are you doing? Please, unlock my door.”

  “And have you run to your lover while I sleep tonight? I have been a fool—a fool!—but no more.”

  “But—how long shall I remain here? You cannot lock me up forever.”

  “Do not worry, you shall be free soon enough, heh-heh—when I have ensured that Petrus Abaelardus will never touch you again.”

  3

  My soul thirsts with incomparable love for the source of your image, and it can never lead a happy life without you.

  —HELOISE TO ABELARD

  Imprisoned in my room, I hadn’t the presence of mind to think of escaping, or to worry about my uncle’s threats. I could think of nothing but Abelard. I went to the window and gazed up at our planet, the “bright queen of the sky,” shining as brilliantly as my love for him. Had he lain in my arms only this morning, holding me close, filling my senses with his fragrance and his delicious heat? Now he had gone, I knew not where—although I could surmise—but this I believed: even as I looked up at Venus, Abelard gazed at her, too, and yearned for me as I for him.

  Soon, exhausted by the day’s travails, I slept and dreamed of him—or, rather, of a man who said he was my father, although he had Abelard’s dark curls and eyes of laughing blue.

  “Why do you worry?” he said. “I will take care of you.”

  I awoke and stared into the dark, thinking of the man for whom my mother had given up her only daughter. How she must have loved my father, to endure pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood alone and in utter secrecy, all for his sake.

  Queen Bertrade knew him; of this, I felt certain. Kindness had filled her eyes when she’d spoken to me of him, and when I asked her to reveal his name, she’d bitten her lower lip in indecision. At last, she’d refused. Mother had wanted the secret kept, and Bertrade must honor her wishes.

  “You will discover the truth for yourself, in time,” she said. “You are closer now than you have been before.” I departed from the Hautes-Bruyères Priory feeling as heavy as if all my hopes had turned into stones. To come so near to learning the truth pained me more than if I had not gone to Queen Bertrade at all.

  “You should not have allowed her to send me off to dinner,” Agnes said as we rode home. “I would have persuaded her to reveal all.” Knowing my friend’s fondness for scandal, I could not agree with her. Although she had helped me, I would not trust her with such a secret.

  Yet, what a comfort it might have been to know my father. Even were I unable to contact him, I might have taken solace in some virtue of his, strength or courage or piety or loving-kindness, that I might claim as my own. I could say, “I am my father’s daughter.” Instead, I had never felt so alone. Even God seemed to have abandoned me; when I prayed, I heard the hollow wind in response and felt only its chill blowing in my window.

  But I was not alone. Abelard was with me in spirit, at least. Knowing this provided me with some comfort, but I nonetheless ached for some word from him. My uncle’s rage, like a sudden torrent sweeping him out of my reach, had brought a bitter end to the sweetest hours of my life.

  During our week together, my heart had opened to Abelard, my precious light, as the tightly furled rosebud expands its petals to the sun. My lily, my privet, he’d murmured while filling me with his sweetness, increasing my delight with every touch.

  In the morning I tried the latch again, to no avail. My stomach churned with worry. Had Abelard suffered from his fall down the stairs? What further harm would my uncle wreak? Perhaps Uncle’s night’s sleep had dulled his anger’s edge. I arose and dressed, shivering in the cold, perspiring and dizzy. My stomach felt as though it were falling; water filled my mouth. I lurched to the basin and retched and h
eaved, but nothing emerged except bile from my empty stomach. I pushed open the shutters and reached for my gourd filled with water from the light rain falling, slicking the street with mud. The lantern boy walked toward our house, waving something to beckon his drenched, mud-plastered dog. When he saw me, the two increased their pace, slapping the mud and dodging a donkey and cart of fish trundling to the market. I nearly cried out: his waving hand carried a wax tablet. Abelard had written to me.

  The dog yelped; I lifted a finger to my lips and the boy slowed, murmuring to the animal. I regarded the street and, seeing no one, stripped the cover off my bed and lowered it, leaning over far so that the boy could grasp it. When he had tied the tablet into the cloth, I pulled it up again, then held up one finger. One hour, I mouthed: enough time to read the message and form a response.

  My pulse ticced against my throat as I sat on my bed and broke the seal.

  If that old bull Fulbert harms you, Uncle Etienne shall cut off his horns. Are you faring well, my dear friend? Please write and let me know when I may visit. Abelard had not written, after all, but Agnes. Yet, she knew something of what had occurred. She must have spoken with Abelard; she might be with him now.

  I replied saying that I was well, but locked in my room. Has Abelard taken refuge with Etienne? I must meet with him. Please tell him to write with a time and place.

  An hour passed. The lantern boy returned for my messages, for I had written not only to Agnes but also to Abelard: Caged like a bird, I would yet fly to you. Choose a suitable time for our meeting and let me know. Another hour passed, then another, with no reply. I paced the floor of my room, imagining the worst.

  Hunger gnawed at my stomach. Pauline came to the door with fruit, cheese, and bread, but shook her head when I asked her to free me.

  “I cannot, or Canon Fulbert will dismiss me. He has already reprimanded me most severely for failing to report your . . . activity . . . with Master Pierre.”

  “But how could you have known? We took care to be quiet.”

  She blushed all the way down to her neckline. “You were not quiet.”

  I dropped my gaze, unable to meet her eyes. Consumed in passion’s flame, Abelard and I had burned everyone we’d touched. Yet I could never repent of a single kiss. I could not have restrained myself any more than the wind can control its howling.

  When Pauline had gone, I pondered my escape. The bedcover did not reach to the ground, not by any means, but I might climb as far down as I could go, then drop the rest of the way. Yet with the cloth above my reach, how would I climb back up? The truth is, I did not intend to do so.

  The bells having tolled terce, the street roiled with horses and riders, dogs, canons stepping gingerly through the mud and around horse droppings, women carrying baskets of bread and meat home for the evening meal, and scholars laughing and jostling one another on their way home for the relevée. These were the busiest hours in the cloister library, when, during their long break between the morning and afternoon sessions, students kept my uncle occupied with their requests for books from the shelves. Now would be the perfect time for me to seek Abelard.

  When at last the street had cleared, I let down the cloth. It dangled precariously far from the slippery ground; would I fall into the mud? I tied on a tunic from my clothing chests to lengthen the line, made certain the knots were fast, and began my descent.

  My arms trembled from the effort as I lowered myself more slowly than I thought prudent, but as quickly as I could confidently go. I erred in looking down and saw the ground swaying below, dizzying me. Help me, Father, I prayed, and the Lord provided a surge of strength that enabled me to land softly on my feet.

  I did not linger, but hastened to round the corner and step into the alley before anyone might see me. Hewing to the shadows, I slipped through the winding, stinking passage rife with rats and cats, covering my mouth against the steaming odors of garbage and feces. I must have resembled a lowly beggar, judging from the look in Ralph’s eyes when he opened the door to me.

  I dismissed his arched brow and haughty tone: Was that Abelard’s laughter bursting forth from inside? Given my wretched state, it rang as an affront in my ears, or even an attack. He, at least, was faring well. And why should he not? He had not spent the night locked in a cold room or risked his neck escaping imprisonment. He had been deprived of nothing, it seemed, neither comfort nor good humor nor my assurance that I was unharmed. While I had gnashed my teeth imagining what vengeance my uncle might wreak, how had he occupied himself? With laughter as free as if the whole world existed only for him.

  Whatever the jest, it certainly amused Ralph. The corners of his mouth twitched as he invited me indoors, then stepped away to fetch Abelard. I smoothed my hair, realizing that, in my haste, I had neglected to braid my hair or put on a fillet. How would I appear to Abelard?

  Before I could finish the thought, he came around the corner looking as though someone had thrown cold water in his face. “Why have you come here? Did anyone see you?”

  His accusing tone made me nearly forget my answer. Why, indeed, had I come? I hoped Abelard would save me from my uncle—indeed, I expected he would. He loved me, after all. But he stood motionless, his eyes darting about like that of a deer trapped by hounds. Thanks to God that Agnes came in at that moment and recognized what he did not.

  “My poor dear! What has happened to you?” She embraced me—as Abelard had not done—and lifted her fingertips to the bruise blooming blue on my cheek. “Who did this? That awful uncle of yours?”

  “He is deranged,” Abelard said, opening the front door and peering out. “Possessed! Agnes, didn’t I tell you so? He did not follow you here, Heloise, did he?”

  I stared at him. Who was this thoughtless man with Abelard’s perfect face, his eyes like a storm-tossed sea, his wary glance? My Abelard would have pulled me close by now, as Agnes was doing. He would have kissed my wounds, comforting me. He would have rejoiced to see me again so soon, or at all, given the perils we had faced.

  “Pffft. Don’t soil yourself, Pierre. Canon Fulbert cannot harm you here. Now close the door, lest you be seen. Come in, Heloise, and let me take care of you while Pierre regains his good sense,” Agnes said.

  When I had settled myself, Agnes asked again what had occurred to send me running from my uncle’s house. But how could I tell anyone but Abelard? Even she, hearing how we had been discovered together, might judge me a wanton. I could only respond to her inquiries with a flushing face and averted eyes.

  At last she left us alone. I stood to kiss her, then turned to Abelard, expecting his rebuke. Instead, he slipped his arms around me and pulled me close to kiss the bruise on my cheek.

  “What has happened? Has Fulbert further harmed you?”

  “Not as much as you have done with your indifference.”

  His shoulders slumped and he released his hold on my waist. His eyes turned down at the corners. “Forgive me, Heloise. I have not known what to do.” He paced, raking his fingers through his hair. “I sent you a message, but you did not reply.” I told him of Jean-Paul’s refusal to return to him. “I thought you blamed me for our being discovered or hated me for leaving you in that demon’s care.”

  His eyes’ expression told me that his heart felt as troubled as mine. Now I embraced him, but he soon pulled away.

  “Did anyone see you come here?”

  “I do not think so. What is wrong, my love?” I reached up to stroke his cheek, wanting only to comfort him—and thusly to be comforted—but he turned away.

  “Heloise. You must return home, and quickly.”

  “What? Why, Abelard?” I tried to meet his gaze but he would not even look at me. “What has happened?”

  His short laugh struck me like a slap. “Your uncle caught us in flagrante delicto, or had you forgotten?”

  “Of course I had not forgotten.” I pressed my hands to my burning face. “Nor had I forgotten the words of love you showered upon me in the moments before he appeared. Howev
er, it now seems as if you had forgotten them.”

  “Fulbert came here, uttering threats. I asked many times how you were faring, but he wanted only to exact my promise never to see you again.”

  “Which, of course, you did not provide.”

  His face reddened. “I had to do it, Heloise. It was the only way.”

  “You—you vowed not to see me?” I folded my arms across my stomach.

  “His eyes gleamed when he spoke of punishing you, Heloise, and he called you the vilest names.” Abelard shuddered. “I made the vow in exchange for his promise not to harm you.”

  “How could you promise not to see me?” I cried. “I will be gone very soon, locked away from you forever.”

  “Everything is changed, Heloise.”

  “We love each other. That will never change.”

  “But it must.”

  “Dear Lord, what has come over you?” Tears stung my eyes. “Having taken my virtue and my heart, will you now cast me aside at the first sign of turmoil?”

  “Not turmoil, but disaster.”

  “Why disaster?” I stared at him, trying to comprehend. We had both known the consequences of being discovered together and had decided the rewards were well worth the risk. What of our vow to stand together no matter what might happen?

  Abelard clasped my hands; his eyes shone with tears. “I shall never forget these months we have shared. I wish it could last forever, that we did not need to part, but—”

  “Part!” I pulled my hands from his grasp and pressed them to my chest, trying to quell my heart’s palpitations. “Why should we part?”

  He frowned. “You know as well as I that we cannot continue as we have done.”

  “Not as we have done, no. But I can come to you here, as I did before.”

  “Non.”

  “But why? Is it because of my uncle’s threats? He would not harm you—this you must know. To do so would destroy his career. Nor would he tell Galon about us, for fear of staining his own honor. Believe me, my love: I know my uncle well. We have nothing to fear from him.”