The Paraclete, Commemoration of Saint George, dragon slayer
and martyr,
Tuesday, April 23, 1140
Ut enim insertum clavum alius expellit, sic cogitatio nova priorem excludit. Cum alias intentus animus priorum memoriam dimittere cogitur aut intermitere.
As driving in one nail forces out another, so a new thought drives away the old. When the mind is intent on other things, it is forced to lessen or interrupt the memory of prior things.
—Héloïse to Abelard,
Letter VI
H
éloïse was praying. She prayed most of every day, not only when reciting the office, but also when teaching the nuns, supervising the work of the convent and dealing with the outside world. Especially when dealing with the outside world. She prayed for compassion and forbearance and to be free of envy, that they could come and go as they wished while she was left imprisoned in this cage of her own making.
“My lady abbess?” The voice was soft with concern.
“Yes, Astane? What is it?” Héloïse raised her face from her hands. Her eyes were dry.
One day
, she thought.
One day I will be able to shed the tears of true repentance. Then I’ll know I’ve finally been forgiven.
“Is there something you need?” she asked the prioress again.
“I’ve been talking with Brother Baldwin, about the late planting,” Astane began. “It’s nothing urgent. He wants to try a second season of vegetable marrow. He thinks we can harvest it well into the autumn if it’s set out in the shelter of the apple trees.”
“That’s up to you to decide, Astane,” Héloïse said. “I trust your judgement and that of Brother Baldwin. Was there something else?”
“There has been a messenger from Lady Constanza,” Astane continued. “She would like to visit her daughter’s grave and make a donation for the repose of her soul.”
“As is proper,” Héloïse conceded. “How many retainers do you think she’ll bring?”
“At least two maids, I should imagine.” Astane counted on her fingers. “Four or five men-at-arms. Perhaps her chaplain, who’ll probably want to say Mass for us. I do hope he won’t insist on preaching. The man can’t construct a sentence in French, much less Latin. His style is fit only for calling cows.”
Héloïse hid a smile. She quite agreed with the evaluation.
“Charity, humility, patience,” she murmured.
The prioress blushed. “I know, Héloïse . But either of us could produce a more elegant sermon than Father Deol. You give better instruction in chapter each week and you don’t get it all from a manual!”
“Thank you,” Héloïse said. “But, if he offers to preach, we will accept with humble gratitude.”
Astane sighed. “And will attempt to truly feel grateful.”
“With success, I’m sure,” Héloïse said.
There was a sudden clamor outside, shouts and the neighing of horses. Astane ran to the window.
“Where is it coming from?” Héloïse asked.
“Not this side. I see nothing,” Astane answered.
The noise was compounded by the slap of running feet and the startled cries of women. There was a sharp tap on the door, which was opened without pause for permission. Sister Thecla appeared in the doorway.
“There are armed men in the vegetable garden!” she cried. “They’re trying to abduct one of the lay sisters. Brother Baldwin is doing his best to fend them off and I’ve sent for help, but I don’t know …”
She broke off, panting.
Héloïse jumped to her feet, her lips set in fury.
“How dare they commit such an offense!” she cried as she began running toward the garden, followed by Prioress Astane. “They risk the wrath of the Holy Spirit, the Holy Father, and me!”
Of the three, Thecla thought the last was the one whose wrath they should fear most.
“Lady Abbess!” she shouted. “Héloïse! You mustn’t! You could be killed!”
As they raced across the field, they were greeted by the horrifying sight of two mail-clad knights on horseback and the body of a woman on the ground. Brother Baldwin was standing over her, thrashing with his hoe at one of the marauders. There was a yell of pain and anger as the hoe bit into the horseman’s leg. He raised his sword and slashed deeply into the old man’s shoulder. Baldwin dropped the hoe and fell to his knees.
Seeing that the people of the convent were converging on him, the knight wheeled about and raced through the garden. He nearly lost his seat, leaping the low spot in the hedge, but landed in one piece on the path to the road, his companion close behind. Héloïse, calling for someone to fetch Sister Melisande and bring litters, fell to her knees next to Brother Baldwin.
He leaned against her a second, then fell forward into the mud. Héloïse bent and rolled him gently to her lap. Blood was streaming from the wound in his neck and onto her skirts. He opened his eyes.
“Montjoie et Saint Denis,”
he whispered.
“We’ll take Jerusalem today. I see the gates!”
His head lolled sideways in her arms. Prioress Astane knelt beside Héloïse. She crossed herself, murmured a blessing, then reached out and gently closed the old man’s eyes.
“Requiescat in pace,”
she said.
“Amen.” Héloïse had found her tears.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and eased the old man’s body to the ground. Then she turned to the woman Baldwin had died to protect, who was lying on her stomach. The back of her tunic was soaked in blood. Héloïse felt the side of her throat.
“She’s still alive!” she called to the lay sisters who were coming with the litters. “Hurry!”
They lifted her as gently as they could. Astane took her sleeve to clean the mud from the woman’s face.
“It’s Paciana!” she said.
“I feared as much,” Héloïse replied, her fury now turned on herself. “I should have been more watchful of her. I guessed there was danger, but I couldn’t believe anyone would have so little fear of God. This is a place of safety! A haven from the wickedness of the world.”
Melisande arrived as the women were carrying Paciana to the infirmary. She took rags and pressed them against the wound.
“Keep her face down,” she told them. “Unless she starts choking on the blood. You! Put pressure on the wound with this. We’ve got to stop the flow.”
She paused and looked beyond to the body of the lay brother, then to Astane, who shook her head. Melisande crossed herself and then took over for the woman holding the rags.
“Will she live?” Héloïse asked.
“I can’t tell,” Melisande answered. “It’s flowing, not spurting, so we might have a chance to save her. I will use all the skill Our Lord has granted me.”
“What can we do?” Héloïse asked.
“You know,” Melisande answered as she let up on the pressure a moment, then changed hands.
Héloïse and Astane followed behind.
“Pray,” Héloïse said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Entreat, supplicate, beg. God knows how far my prayers rise. If only I could cry!”
“You are crying, my lady abbess,” Astane said gently. “Forgive my presumption, but only God knows how far our prayers rise, so perhaps we should make them as best we can in our ignorance and have faith that they will be heard.”
Héloïse walked a little faster, leaving the prioress a step behind. Then she took a deep breath and faced Astane, her head bowed.
“I stand rebuked,” she said. “You’re right. Where faith is concerned, you are my superior. Thank you.
“Anyway,” she added, “there is more I can do. Send a messenger at once to Anseau of Trainel and to Bishop Hatto, informing them of this outrage. Then find out if anyone recognized these men, these beasts. The Paraclete must not be allowed to suffer such injury without receiving justice.”
“Even if no one saw their faces,” Astane said, “one of them should be limping for quite a while from the bite of that hoe, if he doesn’t lose his leg altogether. Brother Baldwin may have wanted to end his days in tranquillity, but he had not forgotten how to fight. I must confess I feel proud that we had such a defender.”
“I agree,” Héloïse answered. “I will petition the bishop to let us bury him in a place of honor, as his deed deserves. Now, we have much work to do.”
They had reached the gate and were about to enter the cloister when Prioress Astane happened to glance down the road.
“Saint Thecla and the bears!” she cried. “Abbess Héloïse, our Catherine has returned and I believe she’s brought us a new protector!”
Walter of Grancy thought that escorting Catherine and Edgar to the Paraclete was a wonderful idea. Gaufridus wasn’t so sure.
“Raynald’s men will spot you as soon as you’re on the main road,” he argued.
“That’s nothing to me,” Walter answered. “I only promised not to spill their blood during the Lenten season. I’m tired of living in the woods; my back is tortured from sleeping on leaves and roots and, not to put too fine a point on it, I need meat!”
“You’ll not get that from the nuns,” Gaufridus said.
“Of course not,” Walter said. “But I should be able to find something between here and there, or never dare to show my face in my own castle again.”
He patted his bow.
“That’s not to say I’m not grateful to you,” he added quickly. “But a man my size simply can’t live on greens and cheese.”
Gaufridus waved off his explanations. He vanished into his hut and shut the door. Walter nodded.
“I think we should be on our way,” he said.
Just then the door opened again and Gaufridus came out with a parcel wrapped in waxed cloth.
“I thought the sisters might like some candles,” he said. “The children and I make them.”
He handed the package to Catherine.
“May the Lord keep you safe,” he said. “Now I really must get back to contemplating heaven!”
The door shut again. This time they all heard the thunk as the bar dropped across.
“A very odd hermit,” Catherine commented as she stowed the candles in her pack. “But I like him.”
Solomon had left their horse in the village with Ermogene, the hermit’s sister, before he and Yehiel went on to Sens. He had also left word that he would meet them in Paris according to their agreement.
“And he added,” Ermogene told them, “that if you weren’t there when you said, he’d come looking for you.”
They thanked her and set out.
“Our road takes us through the property of Vauluisant,” Catherine said. “Will we be given free passage through?”
She spoke to Edgar, but nodded toward Walter. Vauluisant seemed to have sided with Raynald in this conflict. What would happen if one of the dependents of the monastery saw their companion and notified the abbot? Since Constanza’s brother was prior, he might want to have Walter detained.
“Perhaps instead of taking the road north that passes by the abbey, we should start west, following the river, and turn north at the border of Champagne.” Walter suggested. “I don’t want trouble from the monks. My quarrel isn’t with them and I don’t like to risk offending those whose prayers I may one day need.”
They agreed.
The path that went along the Vanne twisted with the river. In some places the spring floods had overcome the banks and made the way treacherous. They had to dismount and lead the horses through the muddy pools. Sometimes it was necessary to leave what had once been the road and make a trail through the woods, above the bog. By the end of the day, they had only gone about seven miles.
“Is there no village nearby?” Edgar asked Walter.
“No.” Walter thought a moment. “No, not even a monastery. I thought we’d be farther along by now.”
“There’s someone nearby,” Catherine said. “I can smell smoke.”
Walter looked at Edgar.
“Do you know how to use a crossbow?” he asked.
“We have nothing that modern where I come from,” Edgar replied. “But I can use a knife and I can stay alert through the night.”
Walter still looked worried.
“We’ll both need to stay alert,” he said. “I think it’s better if we find shelter in the forest and light no fire. Those charcoal burners would kill us for our horses alone. And I had so set my heart on fresh meat tonight.”
They followed a deer trail a little way from the river until they came to a clearing. They stopped in surprise.
“What happened here?” Catherine asked. “I’ve never heard of charcoal burners cutting down a whole stand of trees. And what’s that grey mound over there?”
“A slag heap,” Edgar told her, but he was equally puzzled. “And that pile of clay seems to be the remains of a bloomery. It looks as though someone’s been smelting iron.”
“For what?” Catherine asked.
“I have no idea,” Edgar said. “Lord Walter, do you?”