Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (26 page)

The cloth in the embroidery frame was becoming so damp that the color in the thread was beginning to run.

Gwenael interrupted her morose reverie by arriving with a basket of damp linen. The Breton woman had been sent to lay out tablecloths in the sun to dry. The laundress had not meant for her to do it in the nuns’ garden, but that didn’t concern Gwenael.

Margaret wiped her eyes quickly as Gwenael approached. She managed a smile of greeting.

Gwenael didn’t bother with polite phrases.

“Is master Astrolabe still free?” she asked.

“I think so,” Margaret answered.

“Thank God! Do you know where they’ve taken my master Eon?” she continued. “I heard they have him so weighed down with chains that he can’t lift his head. Those
euzhus
men will be punished in Hell, I can tell you. Satan will hang weights on them, sure enough, right from their…oh…excuse me, Lady Margaret.”

She covered her mouth with her hand.

“It’s all right,” Margaret said. “You are very upset. I can’t tell you any more than when we last spoke. Someone said Eon is in the bishop’s palace. I don’t know if it’s true.”

“Master Astrolabe will save him no matter what they do,” Gwenael said with confidence. “I didn’t know he had an army waiting for the right moment. I wish he’d told me. I wouldn’t have worried so.”

“An army?” Margaret said. “Gwenael, I thought you understood. There is no army. That’s just some story that’s going through town.”

“No!” Gwenael stepped on the linen she was laying out, leaving a muddy print. “Of course it’s true. Why else would he have come all this way if not to free my Lord? I suspected from the moment I saw him in the square that he was really one of us after all.”

“Oh, Gwenael!” Margaret didn’t know how to respond to this. She wished Catherine were there. “These rumors about Astrolabe, they’re slander, started by his enemies. You can’t credit them at all.”

Gwenael’s face flushed with anger. “You’re the one who’s lying!” she said through clenched teeth. “He believes in Master Eon as much as I do, in his own way. He says not only to keep suspicion from falling on him. But I know he’ll free us all. How can you doubt it? I thought you were his friend.”

“I am,” Margaret protested. “That’s why I know these stories are all moonshine. You must trust me in this!”

“Why?” Gwenael retorted. “Your kind never spoke truth before. Only my master, my lord Eon, gave us honesty. And now you deny what Astrolabe really is. Are you like the Jews, handing him over to be crucified? Don’t you dare betray him! If you do, may God strike you down!”

“Girl! What are you doing in here?”

Margaret pulled her gaze from Gwenael’s furious face, only a few inches from hers, to see the laundress and one of the potboys running across the garden toward them. The laundress reached out for Gwenael as soon as she was within range.

“How dare you come in here and bother the lady!” she shouted, whacking Gwenael on the side of her face with the washing paddle. “It’s a good beating for you and then out in the streets!”

“Oh, no!” Margaret stood, trying to get between the laundress and her target. “Please don’t hit her! It was just…We were only…”

She looked at Gwenael, whose anger was now overlaid with fear.

“My lady,” the laundress said, trying to regain some composure, “you are too kind. We took this one in for charity’s sake and I’ve regretted it ever since. She’s sullen and lazy. I’ll not have her beat, if you don’t wish it, but there are many more poor souls who would be grateful for her place by the fire and bread every day and give good return for it.”

Margaret licked her lips, trying to think. From nowhere, she suddenly had a vision of Edgar’s fishwife face.

“I have said that I don’t wish her harmed,” she told the laundress. “Nor do I wish her turned out. I forgive her for her insolence. I shall pray that she learn the proper appreciation for your generosity and that you learn patience. That is all.”

She waved to dismiss them.

For a moment, no one moved. Margaret wondered what she would do if they refused to obey her. Then the laundress collected herself and bowed. She turned to the potboy, who was clearly enjoying the scene.

“You, Odo, pick up the linen!” she ordered. “Since you have nothing better to do, you can lay it out to dry in the kitchen garden.”

She took Gwenael by the arm and led her away. Margaret thought about following to be sure the laundress didn’t continue the punishment out of sight. She decided that it would ruin her illusion of authority.

She rolled up her embroidery and returned to Catherine’s room. Sitting in a corner, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Gwenael’s anger had chilled her to the bone.

Perhaps the woman should be turned over to the bishop to be jailed with the other followers of Eon. It was obvious that her misplaced devotion had not ebbed. Instead, Astrolabe had become confused in her mind with the heretics. Margaret suddenly thought of what Gwenael might say if questioned. Would her interrogators realize that she was as deluded as Eon? Or would they believe that her attachment to Astrolabe must have a basis in the fact that he was also a heretic?

“Oh, dear,” Margaret said. “I wish I had stayed at the convent.”

It was only a few moments later when another maid poked her head in the doorway. Hastily, Margaret dropped the blanket and picked up the sewing.

“Yes,” she said, “who are you looking for?”

“You, my lady,” the girl said. “One of Countess Sybil’s guards is at the gate with a message for you.”

“Tell him I’ll be right down.”

Could it be Astrolabe? Margaret grabbed her cloak and street shoes. She was at the gate only an instant behind the maid.

“Godfrey!” she said in surprise. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said. “Everyone was fine when I left them not an hour ago. I came to ask a favor of you.”

His eyes moved to indicate the maid still standing behind her.

“You may go,” Margaret told her. “This message is private.”

The maid blushed. “I’m not to leave you alone, my lady.”

“I’m not alone,” Margaret said. “Godfrey is with me. It is his job to see that I come to no harm.”

“Yes, my lady.” The maid left, frowning.

“Tell me quickly,” Margaret said. “She’s only gone to ask what to do next. The portress will send her back immediately.”

“I need someone important enough to make Lord Gui tell us about what happened when he was attacked,” Godfrey said all in a rush. “He knows Catherine is friends with Annora. He’ll say nothing to Astrolabe, so he won’t to me, either. I think you could win his trust. Will you come with me to the Temple?”

“Of course.” Margaret tried not to show how thrilled she was by the commission. “I’m ready. We should go at once.”

He helped her with her cloak and knelt to fit the wooden sabots over her shoes. When the maid returned, she found the room empty.

Catherine dozed on Astrolabe’s shoulder. He leaned against the stone wall softened by winter moss. The apple trees around them were budding. Birds pecked in the bark for grubs. A baby rabbit hopped through the new grass, its ears barely visible through the green. Astrolabe watched it all wistfully. Spring had no interest in heresy.

He sat contentedly in the sunshine until Catherine stirred.

“I’m sorry,” she yawned. “How rude of me to fall asleep.”

“You didn’t snore,” Astrolabe teased. “Much.”

She looked into this face. “You’re better?”

“For the moment.”

“It must have been Rolland, you know,” she said after a pause, “who started the rumors.”

“Yes,” he said. “I guessed it when Godfrey described his stops in the town yesterday. How better to incite a scandal than to drop a word here and there at a few shops, tell a story in the tavern. What I don’t understand is why he hates me so much. Even if he’s working for someone else, there seems to be a personal malice in him. What does he have to gain from my humiliation? He doesn’t know me.”

“His own glory, perhaps?” Catherine suggested. “Could he be trying to make himself more important so that he’ll be promoted in the church?”

“It seems outlandish. He’d either need to be from a good family or have great ability in administering the finances of the bishopric to move up very far,” Astrolabe said. “I would guess Rolland is lacking on both counts. Even if he were the one to capture me, that wouldn’t give him credit for long.”

“Do you think his resentment of your father runs that deep, then?”

Astrolabe spotted the mother rabbit crisscrossing the orchard, perhaps in hunt of the adventurous bunny he had seen earlier.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You would be better able to judge than I.”

“Edgar and I know many people who were students of Abelard,” Catherine said. “Some disagree with points in his theology, but no one ever claimed to dislike him. At least not at my table.”

“I can name many who feel that even now, six years after his death, my father’s philosophy is still corrupting scholars,” Astrolabe commented. “Abbot Bernard’s secretary, Geoffrey, is one of them. Bishop Gilbert is another. It’s strange that they are opposing each other now.”

Catherine wasn’t about to be diverted again, even by something so seductive as Gilbert’s controversial commentary on Boethius.

“But what about Rolland?” she asked. “I think we should get John to confront him. We need to know who’s directing his actions.”

“We could try. John would probably enjoy that,” Astrolabe said. “It seems to me that we’ll know the answer soon enough, though. I’m sure the intent is to see that Eon and I are condemned together.”

“I’m not.” Catherine rolled onto her hands and knees, preparatory to trying to stand. “I can’t help but feel that there’s something more going on. I don’t mean to belittle your problems, but I think someone is using you as a decoy.”

“Then it must be maddening to them that I can’t be found.” Astrolabe gave her his hands. “There’s mud on your
bliaut
.”

“I can brush it clean when it dries.” Catherine spoke from long experience. She wiped her hands on a clear space of the cloth. “Astrolabe, look over by the dung heap at the far side of the trees. See?”

“Lepers,” he said. “They shouldn’t be out without a keeper.”

“I know. I saw them yesterday in the square.” Catherine shaded her eyes to look at the four people. “They have the bandages and clappers, but they don’t move like lepers.”

“Perhaps the disease hasn’t progressed very far,” Astrolabe said.

“Mmm.” Catherine was unconvinced.

“Catherine, no one would pretend to be a leper,” Astrolabe continued. “In any case, they have nothing to do with us, thank the saints.”

“No, I suppose not.” Catherine went on staring at them. “But it is curious.”

“My dear friend,” Astrolabe said. “In your mind, everything is curious. I understand now why my mother didn’t grieve overly when you decided against taking vows at the Paraclete. You’d have found conspiracies in the hymnals, I swear.”

Margaret was trying hard not to chatter. She was normally such a quiet person that she had a horror of words pouring forth unconsidered. But she was so excited to be asked to be a part of things that it was difficult not to gush.

“How will you introduce me?” she asked. “I don’t look like a great lady, although Eleanor was queen at my age. What is my reason for coming to see Gui? Should I just inquire about his injuries? How do I know about them? I suppose I shouldn’t admit that I know Annora. Should I ask about the demon? It’s not really polite to insinuate that someone is of interest to Satan, I think. Unless of course, one is a holy hermit. I understand demons consider hermits a challenge and bother them all the time. What do you think?”

She stopped talking so suddenly that Godfrey wasn’t prepared to respond. He hadn’t been paying close attention.

“Think, my lady?” He guided her past a crowd that had gathered to head off a goat that had escaped from its pen. From the cries, it didn’t want to return and was biting anyone who tried to curb its freedom.

“Think I should do?” Margaret prompted.

Godfrey scratched his head. “Well, I thought we’d just go in, show him the brooch, ask if he recognizes it and go.”

“Just that?” she asked. “Won’t he think it peculiar that two strangers should visit him to ask about a piece of jewelry? Don’t you feel we should have some story to tell him?”

“To tell the truth,” Godfrey said, “I hadn’t got that far. I thought women like the countesses went to see the sick as an act of charity. You know, give them bread and say a prayer for them, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, well, sometimes, I suppose.” Margaret tried to remember. “My mother would distribute alms at our family monastery, but that was all my father would allow. On feast days in Paris many of the nobles send bread and wine to the poor, but I never heard of someone just wandering into a sickroom and offering to pray.”

“You could say it’s the custom in Scotland, where you come from,” Godfrey said hopefully. “Who could challenge you?”

Margaret didn’t want to disappoint him but, “For one thing, we didn’t bring any wine or medicine to give him. One can’t give alms empty-handed.”

Godfrey wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I know you can think of something. We can’t let Astrolabe down.”

“No, of course we can’t,” Margaret said. “Just give me a few minutes to think.”

“How many do you need?” Godfrey asked. “Because we’re here. The Temple is that building in front of us.”

The atmosphere of the courtyard of the Temple was both military and masculine. There was a pronounced odor of horses, unwashed clothes, damp leather and sour wine. Godfrey stopped as they passed through the gateway. The porter had asked no questions after Margaret had given her name as the granddaughter of Count Thibault. For what the ruler of Champagne had given the knights, he thought, the girl could hang tapestries in the stables if she liked.

To Godfrey, the scene was normal, men practicing swordsmanship, mending harness, grooming their horses, spitting. Suddenly he saw it through the eyes of a girl who had recently lived in a convent.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he spoke in panic. “I didn’t think. Perhaps we should leave. This isn’t the proper place for you.”

“Why not?” Margaret looked around. “That man holds his sword as if he were trying to stick a pig. He keeps letting his shield droop. I hope he doesn’t ever have to fight for his life.”

They passed a group of men throwing dice.

“They’d better not let the marshal catch them,” Margaret whispered. “Games of chance are forbidden to the knights. I know that game. I used to have a set made of bone that my brother Robert made for me. There was a trick to throwing them so that I could win whenever I wanted.”

“My lady Margaret!” Godfrey was shocked.

“Oh, I never played for money,” she assured him. “Just for fun. And I always confessed to the priest and did my penance. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he gulped. “I wasn’t aware that you were so familiar with such things.”

“I was born in Scotland,” Margaret said. “With five older brothers, legitimate ones, that is. I don’t know how many others. I learned to count from the spots on the dice. Now, I’ve thought of a way to approach Gui, but you’ll need to give me the brooch and wait by the door so he doesn’t think you’re listening.”

“Yes, of course…my lady.” None of the last few minutes had been part of the scene Godfrey had imagined when he asked Margaret’s help. He felt an intense need for strong wine and a place to sit.

The infirmarian greeted them with deference. Someone had run ahead to tell him who had arrived.

“Lord Gui is much better today,” the monk told Margaret. “His wounds were not severe, mostly cuts. His weakness, I suspect, is from some noxious substance inhaled when he grappled with the demon. Or,” he added, “he was just scared out of his wits.”

“As anyone would be.” Margaret nodded gravely. “I’ll not tire him.”

Gui was lying with his back to her. She guessed he was only feigning sleep. His body was tense under the thin blanket. She sat on a stool next to the bed and took out her sewing.

After a few moments, Gui stirred. He rolled over and opened his eyes. Margaret smiled.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“Margaret of Wedderlie,” she answered. “I saw you at dinner the other night. You may not remember. I was sitting across the room from you, near my grandfather, Count Thibault.”

Gui’s eyes opened wider. “Saint Martin’s sacred horse-shit!” he exclaimed. “I mean, that is…You honor me, my lady. I beg your pardon for being in this state.”

“You can hardly help being injured,” Margaret said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You are far too kind,” Gui said, still obviously puzzled.

“I understood that your attacker had left deep cuts on your face,” she said. “But perhaps that was an exaggeration?”

She looked closely at his face. Most of the bandages had already been removed. From what she could see, the cuts were not serious. They were light, as if from cat claws. Something had raked down both sides of his face.

“They were not as bad as first appeared,” Gui said. He was beginning to regain his poise. “I should have no permanent scars, thank the Virgin.”

“I’m glad to know it,” Margaret said. “Then you need not fear this.”

She turned her face so that the sun shone on the ragged red line running from her left eyebrow to her chin. Gui let out a soft cry and reached out to touch her. He quickly drew his hand back.

“I understand, my lady,” he said less roughly. “It was kind of you to offer consolation. Did you also run afoul of a demon?”

“Several,” she said.

She bent her head, letting the braid fall back over the scar.

“But they were in the form of men,” she said softly. “I don’t remember much of what happened. Only that I nearly died. The love and prayers of my family saved me. I understood that you had no family here to pray for your recovery. I thought I might take their place.”

Gui covered his face with his hand.

“My lady, you must be a saint,” he whispered. He seemed to be having trouble speaking. “I am not worthy of your great kindness. Believe me, I am a sinner. But you give me hope for redemption. I wish my wounds were more severe so that I might have the joy of having you visit me again.”

Now Margaret was taken aback. “Oh, you mustn’t ever wish such a thing! I rejoice that you were not as badly injured as was reported to me.”

“I confess that my spirit was worse hurt than my body,” Gui said, staring up at her. “But your presence is like cool water on the desert of my soul.”

Margaret didn’t know how to respond. This was court talk, the sort that poets sang to great ladies or clerics wrote to their patrons. No one had ever addressed it to her before.

“I’m sure that a priest would be able to give you more comfort than I,” she said. His gaze was making her ill at ease. “Shall I call one?”

“Priests!” he spat the word. “There’s no comfort there, nor truth. They are full of worldliness and flesh. They don’t guide us to God, but block the way. How can we follow those whom we can’t respect?”

If he expected Margaret to be shocked, he was doomed to disappointment. She had heard it all before. What surprised her was that Gui had thought about such things at all. From Catherine’s description, he thought of little more than his own property and advancement.

While trying to think of a suitable reply, Margaret absently began fumbling with her sewing bag. Still looking at Gui, she let the bag turn over. As she had hoped, the brooch fell out.

“Oh, yes,” she said as if she had just recalled it. She picked up the brooch and held it out to him. “This was found in the grass near where you fell. I thought you might want it back.”

Gui looked at it. His face hardened.

“Is this some sort of ploy to mock me?” he demanded, grabbing Margaret’s arm so that she dropped the brooch onto the bed.

“I…I don’t know what you mean!” Margaret tried to pull free. “It seems old. I only thought it might be something you treasure.”

Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. Her lips trembled.

Gui let go.

“I seem to be fated to ask your forgiveness,” he muttered. “You couldn’t know. This is something I treasure, but it’s not mine. It belonged to my grandmother, whom I loved more than my own mother. But, along with many other things, when she died, it went to my cousin, Cecile. She entered a convent some time ago, and before she left, I asked if I might have it. She refused. If you found it in the garden, then I suppose it was dropped by my other cousin, Annora. She was always careless with such things. The only importance it has for her is that I wanted it.”

Margaret let her heart make a decision. Reason told her it was a mistake, but there was something pathetic about this man.

“If she lost it, then to her it’s gone.” Margaret got up. “I give it back to you. May having it comfort you as you recover. Now I must go. I’m glad that my prayers were unnecessary and hope you will soon be completely healed.”

Gui sat up in bed, calling after her.

“My lady, I beg you, never leave me out of your prayers!”

Godfrey got Margaret back to the convent as quickly as possible. Neither of them spoke on the walk. Margaret was dazed by Gui’s reaction to her, Godfrey horrified by what Catherine and Astrolabe would say when they found out what had happened.

Before she went in, Margaret broke the silence.

“I don’t think Gui’s killed anyone,” she told Godfrey. “But neither was he attacked. He made the scratches on himself. Be sure to tell Catherine.”

The bells were ringing for Vespers. Godfrey hoped that Astrolabe was no longer in the apple orchard. Then he could wait another day before having to confess his expedition with Margaret. However, when he got there he found both Astrolabe and Catherine waiting. They were warming themselves with hot meat pasties, bought from a street peddler.

Catherine handed one to Godfrey, whispering, “I think they’re made from rabbit, but don’t tell Astrolabe. He’s been watching bunnies all day.”

Godfrey wondered if the spring air had addled Catherine’s mind, but he took the pasty. Before he bit into it, he told them what he had done that afternoon. Halfway through, Catherine clenched her fist, crumbling crust and sauce down her sleeve. Godfrey finished quickly, adding, “And Lady Margaret is safely back at Saint-Pierre now.”

“Christ’s teeth, Godfrey, what were you thinking, taking her there!” Astrolabe exclaimed. “What if word gets back to Count Thibault?”

“Godfrey was only trying to help you,” Catherine said gently. “I wouldn’t have permitted it had I known in advance, but really, there’s no harm in going to the Temple. After all, those men take a vow of chastity.”

Both men looked skeptical about that.

“I never let her out of my sight,” Godfrey insisted. “And Gui gave her information he wouldn’t have told us.”

He went on to relate the history of the brooch, along with Margaret’s conclusion about the attack.

“But how could Gui have feigned such a thing?” Catherine protested. “Annora and I were there.”

“You said you had your back to the door,” Astrolabe reminded her.

“But Annora was watching. She saw a black form rise from the ground and envelop him.”

“She could have been mistaken,” Godfrey said. “It was dark. He may have simply swirled a cloak around himself and then crawled off. Anyway, Lady Margaret was very sure. I’m inclined to believe her.”

“I always believe Margaret,” Catherine sighed. “She wouldn’t have told you if she hadn’t been certain. But why would he do such a thing? And he told her the brooch was Annora’s? Then I suppose we should take it to her and find out if she was wearing it that night. I should have shown it to her right after I found it, but in the confusion and my exhaustion, I forgot.”

Godfrey shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, about that…” He finished his story.

Catherine stared at him, blinked a few times and then shook her head to clear it.

“I need to talk with Margaret at once,” she said. “She may be ill. This is not the action of my sensible sister-in-law.”

She got up to go. “But I shouldn’t leave you alone,” she said to Astrolabe.

“It’s late enough for me to go find John and Thomas,” he said. “Godfrey, why don’t you escort Catherine home?”

“Oh, no,” Catherine said. “We’ll both see you into John’s keeping. Only then will I go home. I’ve had enough shock for one day. I don’t want to learn tomorrow morning that you’ve been caught roaming the streets and thrown into a cell with Eon.”

Arnulf was making his bowl of beer last as long as possible. It was shameful how lacking in charity tavern keepers were. Everyone knew monks had no money, yet they still expected him to pay.

He had been sitting there most of the day in the hope that Astrolabe would return. But the man must have realized that he was no longer safe. All it needed now was for one person to point him out. The town was so on edge that it was likely he wouldn’t survive his capture. Arnulf hoped to be that person.

But what he wanted most was to fulfill his commission. Once that was over, he could get out of these rough robes and wear silk for the rest of his life. Soon, he reminded himself, very soon.

Arnulf looked at the dregs in his beer bowl. He’d make sure he never ran low on drink, either, if he had to build his own tavern to do it.

Around him the talk concentrated on what would happen the next afternoon, when the heretic Eon was brought before the pope. Arnulf smiled and swallowed the dregs. Despite the absence at the moment of his major scapegoat, the plan was proceeding beautifully.

Thomas had brought Astrolabe fresh clothes.

“I spent most of the morning getting myself some new garments,” he said. “I arrived in that cursed boat with nothing. Thank goodness Reims has so many clothiers. Good material, too. There are enough for you to borrow. You can’t go to the council in that.”

Astrolabe reluctantly agreed. He had grown comfortable in his leather
braies
, wool tunic and mail. But they were badly stained.

“Aromatic, too,” Thomas said. “I have some scent you can use if we can’t get you into a bathhouse tonight.”

John laughed. “Thomas, you always appreciated the best. Wasn’t your father a merchant? They always have better taste than the people they serve.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “My father did engage in trade. He was also sheriff of London for a time.”

“Of course,” John said hastily. “Edgar’s become a merchant, did you know that? His father-in-law was one. Born in Rouen, as a matter of fact. Perhaps he knew your father?”

“I have no idea,” Thomas said coldly. “Now, to the matter at hand. John has explained your problems, Peter. And from the talk in the street, they are giving you horns and the tail of a goat as of this afternoon. I agree that your best chance to remain unharmed is to come with us tomorrow to speak with those who might be inclined to help you.”

“I’m very grateful,” Astrolabe said as he selected one of the plainer
chainses
and tunics. All were well made. Reims was becoming famous for its cloth and, despite his reluctance to admit to his background, Thomas had an expert’s eye. “Do you think there will be enough of our friends who will speak up to counter these insane charges?”

“Oh, yes.” Thomas seemed unconcerned. “There is already some feeling that Bishop Gilbert is being unfairly harassed, and it’s causing people to remember Abelard’s trials. Some will support you now because they didn’t have the courage to stand up for him then.”