The Sharp Hook of Love (22 page)

“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. However, 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.”

“It is not Fulbert whom I fear.” He grasped my shoulders and gave me a deep, dark look that sent tremors down my spine. “It is you, Heloise.”

I forced a laugh. “I am not so evil, am I?”

“Not evil, but a beautiful distraction.” His eyes' caress lifted my spirits, but his next words dashed them again. “I cannot write, Heloise. Not a word.”

“Of course you cannot.” In response to his anguished tone, I softened my own. “That is to be expected after all we have endured,
non
? Do not worry, my love, your gifts will return. Your Muse—”

“My Muse has abandoned me, and in the midst of my greatest work—a logical explanation of the Holy Trinity, a penetration of that great mystery so profound that it will shake the Church's very foundations. It will dispel every doubt that has ever plagued men.” His face shone as though he beheld some faraway vision. “I aim to shine the light of knowledge on Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, illuminating them so that all may understand the threefold nature of God at last.”

“Abelard! What a triumph.” He turned his eyes to me, and they darkened again. “But why worry yourself? If God has inspired you, he will not forsake you.”

“Not the Lord, but my own sin impedes me. I had nearly completed the work and had the final revelation in my grasp. As the clouds of obscurity had begun to part, revealing the light of knowledge—I met you.”

He sighed and dropped into a chair, then covered his face with his hands. “I have not written a word since that day on the
place
.”

“But your songs . . .” My voice trailed, smothered by inanity.

“I do not refer to those fatuous love songs.” My blood ran cold:
fatuous
was the word Suger had used to describe Abelard's music. “The lofty thoughts which used to flood my mind and spill onto the wax will not come to me now. Instead, desire consumes me, and the pleasures of the flesh.”

Silence hung between us, heavy with sorrow. Overcome, I seated myself next to him.

“All I had hoped to achieve, the light of understanding I had thought to bring to the world, all have been snuffed by the thick, hot breath of lust. Now I understand why the Church demands continence. Sex may sharpen the senses—never have I felt so alive!—but it dulls the mind. And now, because of my sin, God has taken from me the gifts he had bestowed. I am no longer the brilliant philosopher you thought me to be, but an utter failure.”

“But our love is yet new,” I said as brightly as I could. “Do you remember how the poet warned against the boredom that time brings to lovers? ‘Quarreling's the marriage dowry.' Do you recall?” Ovid had also written that
sweet love must feed on gentle words
. I bit back the harsh ones that sprang, now, to my tongue. The
thick, hot breath of lust
? Was that all our love meant to him? “In time you shall tire of our pleasures, and your lofty thoughts will return.”

“Tire of you? That shall never happen, as long as I live. My love for you is too strong—stronger than I by far. And it will destroy me.” Abelard's expression closed like a heavy door between us. “Before I knew you, Urania was my Muse, and philosophy my only love. But the Muse is jealous: She gave herself to me freely as long as I devoted myself only to her. Now that I have found another, Urania has fled.”

“That is ridiculous!” I leapt to my feet, balling my fists by my sides as if to strike this other “lover.” “Urania is neither a woman nor a goddess but an invention, existing only in the imagination.
And
philosophy
is only a word invented to describe certain thoughts and ideas.”

“I have taught you well,” Abelard said with a smile too fleeting to arouse my hopes. “Call it what you may, philosophy has been my very life until now. I gave up my birthright for philosophy's sake; I have devoted my every hour to seeking, to knowing, and to illuminating the hidden nature of God for the perfection of men's faith. I cannot turn away from her—from it—now, when I have come so close to the prize.”

“Let me help you,” I said, swallowing my panic, willing myself to breathe.

“Yes. You can help me—yes.” His eyes filled with tears afresh. “You can say good-bye to me forever, Heloise, and immediately accept the position at Fontevraud for which you are destined. Only when your sweet temptations are far removed will I be able to work again.”

I stared at him, not believing my ears. He wished to part from me now, when so little time remained to us? Suddenly I could not remember my name, or why I had come. I turned and walked across the floor, over the carpets and under the lamps, out the front door, into the pouring rain, through the shit-stinking alley, and around the corner to my uncle's house—but where was my rope? I turned around, saw the gray dog trot by, washed clean by the rain and nearly white except for the red mud stringing from his paws. I looked up at the window again; the shutters were closed. Water ran in cold streams down my face. Shivering, I stepped to the door.

I pulled at the latch; it was locked. I knocked, but no one answered. I huddled against the house, under the eaves, waiting. I knocked again.

The door opened and there stood my uncle, his eyes red and glaring. “There is the last promise your Abelard will ever make to me.”

I forbade myself to cringe as I approached. Uncle did not
move, but blocked my entry, leaving me standing in the downpour.

“He has broken no promises to you today,” I said, forbidding my teeth to chatter. I looked Uncle in the eyes. “I tried to see him, but he refused me.”

A sickly grin spread across my uncle's face, and he stepped aside. I walked past him with my head high, my heart more knotted than if I had spoken the truth.