Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (24 page)

“I know,” Catherine agreed. “I don’t seem to be thinking very clearly lately.”

Astrolabe took the brooch from her and put it in the pouch around his neck. He tucked the pouch back inside his
chainse
and tied the neck strings so that the pouch couldn’t be seen.

“You have too much to worry over,” he said. “My mother owes you a great deal, as do I, for making this journey on my behalf.”

Catherine shook her head. “I only wish I were being more useful. There must be something more I can do to help.”

Catherine chewed on her fish pasty, occasionally stopping to take the fine bones out of her mouth. It was nearly Tierce. She wondered if the council would adjourn soon to allow the delegates to take some food and rest before beginning again in the afternoon. Some of the bishops and abbots were elderly, like Gilbert of Poitiers, and others weren’t in good health. She had heard that one of the two English bishops who had come had fallen ill on the first day. Between the rigors of travel and the draftiness of the cathedral, she imagined that more would succumb before the end of the council.

“Margaret must be wishing now that she were less important,” Catherine said. “She could be with us filling our stomachs instead of listening to a roll of church officials being anathematized.”

“I’ve never noticed that Margaret felt herself to be of particular importance,” Astrolabe observed. “Edgar seems to have gotten all the haughtiness in the family.”

“You’ve never met his father and brothers,” Catherine said. “And pray you never do. Yes, Margaret is not at all proud. That’s why, when we’ve settled your problems, I must find a way to keep her with us. She needs to be with people who love her. She had so little affection when she lived in Scotland.”

Astrolabe took his handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped Catherine’s mouth.

“I would think that with Edgar, Solomon and your children, you would have enough family to worry about.” He smiled. “Instead you took Margaret in. And, while I know you came to Reims because my mother asked it, you have already risked far too much for my sake. You shame me, Catherine.”

Catherine shrugged and looked away.

“There seems to be some commotion at the cathedral door,” she said. “What could it be?”

Three men had just ridden up. Two of them dismounted and placed a block for the third to climb down more slowly from the saddle. Then one of the men took a long staff from a sling at the side of his horse. Catherine thought at first that it was a spear, but then she realized that it was a bishop’s crosier.

“How strange,” she said. “Who could that be arriving so late?”

The bishop took a moment to let his men arrange his robes. Then he signaled them to open the door.

“He’ll never get through the crowd,” Astrolabe said.

But as he approached, the people around the doorway stepped aside. Many bowed to him. Followed by his clerks, the bishop entered the cathedral.

“Now I really hope they recess soon,” Catherine said. “I must know what that was all about.”

There was no sign of people starting to leave. Catherine looked into her pasty and saw a fish eye staring back.

“Look, there’s John,” Astrolabe said. “Maybe he can tell us.”

John was running toward them from the same direction in which the three riders had come. In his haste he bumped into people going the other way. Catherine and Astrolabe could see his excitement. Even a particularly irate man who refused to be mollified for his spilt beer couldn’t keep the grin from John’s face.

“He’s here!” John shouted as soon as he was close enough. “He’s made it after all. You won’t believe the story. And he promised to introduce me to the archbishop. Thank God and all the angels, I may get a place at last.”

Margaret felt the ripple of surprise run through the cathedral before she saw the man who caused it. First there was a rustling at the door, just at the most solemn part of the ceremony. The pope looked up, annoyed, and signaled for someone to attend to the disturbance. But it didn’t lessen. Instead the noise grew and became gasps of amazement and then cheers. Eugenius opened his mouth to order silence. Then he saw the man approaching. He put down the silver cone with which he had been about to extinguish the candle before him, the action symbolic of the darkness into which the recalcitrant bishops were about to fall. Instead he stretched out his arms in greeting.

“My son!” he cried.

The bishop knelt before him, his head bowed and his hands held out, clasped together in a gesture of supplication.

“My lord pope,” he said. “I come at your command and beg forgiveness for my tardiness.”

“Rise, my lord archbishop.” Eugenius bent to help him. “Your presence is welcome, all the more because we know that you have defied your earthly lord to be here.”

Margaret leaned over the chair and whispered to Mahaut.

“Who is he?”

“Theobald,” the countess answered, her voice rich with curiosity and surprise. “The archbishop of Canterbury. I’d give half my jewel case to know how he managed to evade the soldiers Stephen sent to keep him from leaving the country.”

Margaret was surprised at the amusement in the countess’s face. After all, King Stephen was her brother-in-law.

Although everyone was burning to know the circumstances of the archbishop’s last-moment arrival, the ceremony continued. There were still many who had willfully disobeyed the summons of the pope. The candles were lit and extinguished. Bishops and abbots all over Christendom were cast out, forbidden to say Mass or give any of the other sacraments. Margaret had lived in a land under anathema; she didn’t want to do it again. She was glad that the bishop of Paris had not ignored the summons.

But soon she wished again that she could be somewhere else. The excitement over, it was time for the pleas and debates to begin once more. Margaret forced down a yawn. She stood on tiptoe, trying to see what had happened to the archbishop. After a few moments, she found him among the others to the right of the altar. Someone had provided him with a chair. His clerks were standing behind him. Theobald looked amazingly fresh for one who had rushed from London to Reims, presumably pursued by soldiers. However, the same could not be said of his clerks. Their robes were stained, the material limp with many days of wear. She couldn’t make out the faces, but their stance indicated that the two men were much more tired than she.

The archbishop must have realized this, too. After a few moments, he dismissed them. Margaret felt a rush of envy as she watched the clerks leave.

The Latin of the debates was far beyond her. This left Margaret nothing to do but worry.

Countess Mahaut spent much of their time together regaling Margaret with stories of her childhood home. She was so certain that Margaret was as excited as she that she didn’t appear to notice that the girl’s enthusiasm was at best polite. Margaret hated herself for the cowardice that prevented her from protesting against this upheaval in her life. Carinthia loomed in her nightmares like the gateway to Hell.

As she waited for the proceedings to end, she imagined herself standing proudly, vowing that she would marry no man except by her own choice. In her daydream, everyone bowed to her decision, awed by the nobility of her presence.

The problem was that even in this imaginary scene, Solomon insisted on standing in the doorway, half hidden by the curtain, watching her with that mocking yet tender smile of his.

Margaret blinked back tears and tried to force her mind back to the endless wrangling of the lords of the church. Some dreams were too impossible even for fantasy.

It was some time before they could get any sense out of John. Finally Astrolabe sat him down at a table by the beer stand, filled a bowl and waited until he had drained it.

“Now, what has happened?” he asked. “Who is here?”

John took a deep breath and grinned at them all.

“My friend, Thomas, has arrived from Canterbury with Archbishop Theobald,” he said. “I ran into him this morning as they were preparing the archbishop to present himself before the council.”

“But how?” Catherine asked. “I thought King Stephen had placed guards all around the archbishop’s palace.”

“I don’t know the whole story,” John said. “Thomas and I only had a few moments. From what he said, it sounds as though Theobald disguised himself and sneaked out of Canterbury with only Thomas and one other cleric. Nobody guessed that he would leave without his retinue.”

“That seems incredibly dense, even for the English,” Catherine said.

“The guards were probably Flemish,” John commented.

“Ah, well, that explains it,” Catherine laughed.

“Wait!” John said, standing and pointing across the square. “Here he is. You can have him tell the story.”

The man approaching them was tall and light complexioned, with indeterminate brown hair. He greeted John with a hug and a broad smile. John brought him to the others.

“This is my friend, Thomas of London,” he said to them.

Thomas bowed. Catherine rose to be introduced.

“You remember Edgar of Wedderlie, don’t you?” John asked his friend. “This is his wife.”

“I’m glad to know it,” Thomas said. He bowed again. “I remember your husband well. He and I often went with Master Abelard to dine and discuss philosophy. I’m sorry not to see him. Has he gone on the king’s expedition?”

Catherine shook her head. “Only on one for the family,” she explained.

Thomas smiled with a polite lack of interest and turned to Astrolabe. “Have we met? You seem familiar, but…”

“Don’t worry, you don’t know me,” Astrolabe smiled. “It’s my father you see in my face.”

Thomas squinted at him. “Saint Brice’s babbling bastard!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be Abelard’s son!”

“My mother assures me that I am.” Astrolabe shrugged. He looked around. They were a good distance from anyone else. “But please, my name here is Peter, and I’d rather you didn’t mention my presence here to anyone else.”

“If you wish.” Thomas looked puzzled. “I am curious as to what you are doing here in that outfit. I thought you were in minor orders.”

“We’ll tell you all about it, Thomas,” John said, “later. Peter has good reason for his appearance. But first you must tell us how you got here.”

Thomas took a seat next to them and got out his bowl.

“It was exciting,” he said, “and nothing I’d care to do again. The wrath of kings reaches far. We managed to elude the guard in Canterbury and raced for the coast, certain that Stephen’s army was right behind us. When we got there, we learned that all the ports had been blocked. I was sure we’d have to return. But Lord Theobald was so determined that I feared he might try to swim to France. We almost did.”

He took a drink.

“The archbishop finally rented a fishing boat, crude and leaky,” he continued. “There was no shelter on it and barely room for us and the crew. I vow I never prayed so fervently in my life as I did during that voyage.”

“How awful!” Catherine exclaimed. “And how brave!”

“Catherine isn’t fond of boats,” Astrolabe explained. “She’d prefer martyrdom to crossing the sea again.”

Thomas grinned. “At the moment, I’m inclined to agree, although at the time I was eager enough to jump into the boat rather than face the soldiers.”

He leaned back against the wooden wall of the beer stand.

“Now, tell me your story.”

With many digressions and corrections, they did.

As he listened, the clerk’s face grew serious. He looked from one to the other of them, as if trying to decide how much of the theories and speculations to believe.

“A demon?” he asked.

“Well, probably not,” Catherine said. “We’re going to find out who owns the brooch I found. I expect him to be human.”

Thomas shook his head, as if to clear it. “I suppose that will help,” he said. “There seem to be a number of things going on here, but I don’t see how they all connect with each other.”

There was a collective sigh.

“We don’t either,” Astrolabe admitted. “These men seem to be waiting until the heretic Eon is brought before the council. We think they mean to denounce me when I speak for him.”

“You intend to defend this Eon?” Thomas asked in astonishment.

“Not his beliefs,” Astrolabe said. “They are ludicrous. But the man himself is harmless. I’d hate to see him burn. It’s my duty to speak on his behalf whatever the risk.”

“And who is this canon from Paris?” Thomas asked. “I don’t remember any Rolland among the students in our day.”

“He’s Breton,” John said. “A big man, blond, with bulging eyes. In our student days, he couldn’t tell
qua
from
quae
from
quicuid
.”

“A harsh thing to say of any man,” Thomas said. “No, he’s not familiar. Nor do I see where he fits in to your problem.”

“The murdered woman, Cecile, was in a convent in Brittany,” Catherine said. “And it was her cousin who was attacked the other night.”

“That’s rather a reach, suspecting him because he’s also Breton, unless you can prove it was the canon who attacked the cousin.”

That was a new thought.

“Annora said the demon shape was very large,” Catherine said. “It might have been he. Perhaps one of us could find out if Rolland is missing a brooch.”

“It would be a place to start.” Astrolabe wasn’t enthusiastic. “But we have no evidence that Rolland was in Brittany last winter or ever knew Cecile.”

Gloom settled on the group.

Thomas cleared his throat. “I know that your situation is serious, but I’m also interested in finding out what is happening concerning the debate on the work of Master…that is, Bishop Gilbert.”

“Now that is a fascinating story!” John began. “It seems the trouble was started by two of his own archdeacons.”

Catherine joined in the conversation, although she felt guilty about ignoring Astrolabe’s worries, even for a moment. The trial of Gilbert was to her the most important part of the council. Was he really mistaken in his theology, or was he the victim of envy? John believed the latter.

“His work is so dense that it’s easy for an untutored mind to misinterpret it,” he insisted. “But there’s nothing heretical in it. I don’t believe the matter would have come this far if Bernard of Clairvaux hadn’t been brought into the debate.”

“But no one would consider Abbot Bernard a scholar,” Thomas said. “He doesn’t pretend to be one.”

“He is suspicious of the use of philosophy to explain doctrine,” Catherine said. “And he is easily influenced by the opinions of his friends. He won’t be the one to debate Bishop Gilbert, but he will be the one organizing the trial. Wait and see.”

Astrolabe tried to pay attention for the sake of manners, but he didn’t understand the arguments. The name of the abbot of Clairvaux brought back bitter memories of the condemnation of his father’s work. Astrolabe believed that the trial Bernard chaired at Sens had hastened Abelard’s death. Bishop Gilbert was an old man already. Could he endure the humiliation of public rebuke? Would they take away his see? He feared that, like Abelard, Gilbert would come to the court already condemned.

He wondered if the same thing was about to happen to him. His plea on behalf of Eon could well lead to his own condemnation. He had considered the possibility before coming to Reims but hadn’t really believed it. He was beginning to understand now.

As the others talked, Astrolabe lost the thread. He found himself wondering where Godfrey was and if he’d discovered the name of the monk who had traveled with Rolland.

The conversation was becoming heated and some German clerics passing by had stopped to join in. Catherine was having a wonderful time. Astrolabe noted her eyes shining in a way he hadn’t seen in many years. The language had now switched to Latin to accommodate both the foreign clerics and the difficulty of the subject. Catherine was leaning across the table tapping on it with a finger to make her point. A few of the men had looked askance at her when they entered the talk, but all had soon been swept away by their mutual interest.

A spasm of pain crossed Catherine’s face. She bent in her seat. Astrolabe was by her side at once.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered to him. “A false labor, I think. But I’d be grateful if you’d take me back to Saint-Pierre.”

They made their apologies to John and Thomas, but it wasn’t necessary. Catherine’s place was taken at once and the discussion went on without a break.

Catherine walked slowly at first, leaning on Astrolabe, but she soon straightened.

“There,” she smiled at him. “I’m better now. I think it was the excitement. I forget that I’m an old married woman, no longer a scholar.”

“Well, I didn’t notice anyone of those men treating you as anything but an equal,” Astrolabe soothed her. “You silenced that one across the table quite effectively.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” she sighed in contentment. “Now, you can leave me at the gate. I’ll see if Margaret has returned. Thank you for allowing me a few moments of dissipation. Now I shall give my constant attention to our real mission here.”

“I’m going to find out if Godfrey has learned anything,” Astrolabe said. “Are you sure you’re recovered?”

“Completely,” she said. “I expect a full report from you tomorrow.”

She made her way slowly up the stairs to the sleeping room. Halfway up, she stopped to catch her breath. The cramp that had stopped her intellectual holiday was returning.

“Don’t you dare try to appear now!” she ordered the baby. “You need another four months yet. Your father promised he’d be here for your birth. I won’t disappoint him.”

“Catherine?”

Annora was standing at the top of the stairs. “Are you ill?”

“No,” Catherine replied frostily. “I’m quite well, thank you.”

“Oh, good.” Annora didn’t move as Catherine continued up the steps. “Um, I must beg your forgiveness for my outburst this morning. I know that it is your job to find the one who killed my sister. You can’t ignore any possibility.”