For an instant, Catherine was startled by his reaction. For another instant, she was angry. Then she realized what he was really saying.
“Then why not tonight, now?” she asked. “Consent is all that’s required and we have that.”
“Well, unless you can think of a way to get back into the infirmary tonight, that might be the best idea,” Astrolabe said.
“Oh, no!” Brother Baldwin interrupted. “I don’t think much of almost-consecreated nuns leaving the convent for marriage, but if you do it, you go out by the front gate, with the blessing of the abbess and the sisters. I have the keys and I’m taking you back now. What you do tomorrow or Michaelmas is not my responsibility, but tonight, it is.”
He took Catherine roughly by the elbow and marched her to the little door leading from the garden to the infirmary. He unlocked it and unceremoniously pushed her inside, making sure to lock the door after her.
“Now, let’s have no more sacrilege done tonight,” he said when he returned to Edgar and Astrolabe. “Not in all my years here have I had such an evening.”
“Reminds you of the old days, does it?” Astrolabe asked.
“Ah, yes,” Brother Baldwin smiled. “I could have run those avoutres through the heart as easy as slicing bread. It’s shameful how they’re training men these days. A knight who loses his concentration just because a pot falls on his head won’t last long in this world.”
Edgar paid them little attention. Forty days! He’d already waited four months. That was enough. And what did Catherine have in mind regarding the mother of the countess? Did she intend to disguise herself as a laundress and uncover secrets among the dirty sheets? Did she think for a moment that he would let her go alone into a place that might harbor a murderer?
Edgar stopped. Of course she did. For the first time, he realized why Catherine’s father had sighed when he accepted the dower for her. He had thought it was a sigh of regret. But now he knew it was relief.
Despite himself, Edgar grinned. Life with Catherine was going to be fun.
Eight
The Paraclete,
dawn, Easter Sunday, April 7, 1140
Inde est, quod omnes credimus:
illo quietis tempore,
quo gallus exsultans canit,
Christum redisse ex infernis.
And so it is, as we all believe, that at this quiet moment, when the cock crows in exultation, Christ returned from hell.
—Prudentius,
Cathemerinon
The entire community stood on the hill outside the convent to greet the Risen Savior. Father Guiberc and Abelard came first. Then the sisters arrived in procession, Abbess Héloïse leading, their faces illuminated by the candle each one carried. The tiny drops of light flickered through the mist of the morning twilight like splinters of hope. Sister Hersende raised her hands. There was a long silence as everyone watched her. She gave the signal and all the candles were extinguished by the joyous breath of the Alleluia given at the first ray of dawn.
Many of the townspeople of Saint-Aubin had come to attend this Easter service, which was special to the Paraclete. Edgar and Astrolabe looked them over carefully to be sure none of Raynald’s men were among them. But only local people made up the gathering; peasants, craftsmen, and the minor knights and their families, hardly better dressed than those who tilled the fields.
Catherine stood with them, participating in the responses of the laity. She knew all these people, from the poor knight, Felix, who gave them the fish from his pond at Bossenay, to Walter the bargeman, who gave the convent land and tithes, to Paul and Emmelina the vintners, who had brought their children, still half-asleep. The family set aside an arpent of vines every year to make wine for the nuns. Even Emma Rebursata had come, her bristly hair covered as well as possible. Catherine had always felt a certain comradeship with Emma, whose hair was so untamable that the children called her Emma Hedgehog. All these people were as much a part of the Paraclete as the nuns. They tithed themselves to support the convent and depended on it for prayers and comfort.
So it was not so foreign on this side of the choir, after all. Catherine went with the town into the church by the common door, her hand resting lightly in the crook of Edgar’s arm.
She cried through the entire services of Easter Lauds, not noisily, but as snow melts in the sunlight. When it was over, she had mourned her old life and knew she was ready to rejoice in the new one.
“Are you going to do that at our wedding?” Edgar asked as they left.
“Very likely,” Catherine admitted, returning her sodden handkerchief to her sleeve. “Ceremonies always make me cry. But I feel absolutely wonderful when I’ve finished.”
“I won’t wait until Ascension,” he told her.
“I must find out about Countess Alys,” she said.
“We’ll find a way to do it together,” he answered. “We should start as we mean to go on.”
“And what of the accusations against Master Abelard?” Catherine asked.
Edgar shook his head. “We can do nothing about those except to be prepared to stand with him should he continue in his determination to debate Abbot Bernard.”
“Together?”
“Yes. Do you doubt me?” Edgar asked.
Catherine looked away. “I think that you mean it at this moment. But a part of me is still afraid. In law you will have the power to beat me and to forbid me what I want most. Other men do this.”
Edgar considered that. Technically, his father had that same power over him, his brothers and his stepmother. It had never occurred to Edgar that he would have any more luck exercising that power than his father had.
“Do you know what Master Hugh of Saint-Victor says?” he asked.
“About beating your wife?” Catherine said. “What would he know about that?”
Edgar went on. “He says that Eve was made from Adam’s rib to be his equal companion. If she were to have been his mistress, she would have been made from the head; if his slave, from the feet. He also says that marriage is a reciprocal compact in which we each become debtor to the other, and Catherine, I very much want to start paying my debt.”
Catherine feared she might start crying again.
“Oh, Edgar,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re well read. I think we should be married the moment we get to Paris.”
“That is an arrangement I can tolerate,” he answered. “The very first moment.”
“Agreed.”
The next morning, as they were preparing to leave, Sister Thecla came to the infirmary to see Catherine.
“There’s a man at the gate,” she said. “He says he needs to see you and Master Abelard before you go.”
“Do you know who he is?” Catherine asked.
“I’ve never seen him before. His accent is of Paris,” she answered. “He says he’s a messenger of your father’s.”
“Father?”
“I asked him to wait in the guest’s entry, but he said he’d rather stay outside. He looks quite a bit like you,” Sister Thecla added. “Don’t you have a brother?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t look …” Catherine got up. Not her brother, but her cousin, her Jewish cousin. Although she had known him all her life, she had only discovered their relationship the previous autumn. But that was something Sister Thecla wasn’t ever to know. Her father would be ruined if anyone in Paris learned he had secretly returned to the faith of his parents.
“I’ll come down at once,” she finished.
Solomon was waiting with Edgar, Astrolabe and Master Abelard by the gate. They looked far too serious for a wedding party.
“Diex te saut,” Catherine greeted him shortly. “What’s happened? Is my father all right?”
“He’s well,” Solomon answered. “He sent me to tell you that you mustn’t come to Paris now. Your mother has returned home unexpectedly.”
“Oh, dear, that is inconvenient.” Catherine tried to think of an alternative. “Couldn’t I come stay with Eliazar
?”
“No,” Solomon said. “Hubert thinks it would be too dangerous. Your sister tries to keep your mother under guard, but you know how she wanders from church to church. What if she saw you in the street?”
“From what I understand of your mother’s condition,” Abelard said, “she firmly believes that you ascended to heaven last Christmastide from the tower of your brother’s castle and that you are among the blessed saints.”
Glumly, Catherine nodded. “Agnes says that she’s built a shrine to me up there between the bake oven and the guard’s urinal.”
“Just think what it might do to her, if she met you one night, walking through the Juiverie,” Abelard reminded her. “She has found her own way to reconcile herself to losing you. She might not be strong enough to endure the joy of having you back.”
“But it’s so embarrassing,” Catherine said. “And difficult. What can we do?”
“Your father has given me orders concerning that,” Solomon told her. “I’m to take you to Troyes.”
Catherine stared at him, shocked. She turned to Edgar. He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. She made an attempt to control her anger. She failed.
“The only way you’re taking me to Troyes is trussed up like one of your parcels, and you’d better gag me, too, or you’ll hear what I think of you every step of the way!” she began. “How dare my father send me off like a horse to market!”
“Now Catherine,” Edgar began.
“And aren’t you going to do anything about this?” she yelled at him. “Does one partner just stand there writing in the dust while the other one is stolen into slavery?”
“It’s hardly that …” Solomon tried again.
“And what would you call it, if you were picked up and taken somewhere you didn’t want to go, without any consultation?” she shouted.
“Catherine!” he shouted back. “Why do you think I’m here now? Have I ever had a say in where I go or what I do? I’ve been so long running from one faire and trading town to another that I haven’t even had time to find a wife of my own. I just returned from Mainz; do you think I was eager to turn around without washing the dust from my clothes and race here to be abused by you?”
They stood nose-to-nose, mirror images of fury. Suddenly, Catherine’s lip twitched. She started to laugh.
“Solomon,” she giggled. “It’s just like when we were children. We never could play without fighting.” She pulled herself together quickly. “But I still won’t go to Troyes.”
The gate opened and Mother Héloïse came out.
“I’m sorry to lose your voice for the choir,” she told Catherine. “It carries so well.”
“Mother, do you know what they want me to do?” Catherine was still too upset to submit to the rebuke.
“I believe everyone from here to Nogent does,” Héloïse replied. “I don’t know all the particulars, but if you would consider following your father’s request, there are some things I would like you to do for me in Troyes. Could we please come inside and discuss this?”
“Catherine, I had no intention of letting you go anywhere without me,” Edgar said as they all went through the gate.
“You might have said so at once,” Catherine muttered, but she was already ashamed of her outburst. She looked back at Solomon. His face was thin and drawn. She shouldn’t have taken her anger out on him. It was as stupid as killing the messenger who carried bad tidings.
Solomon hesitated at the threshold, then shrugged in resignation and entered. Héloïse led them to the gatehouse. Abelard sat in the chair reserved for honored visitors and the others in a row on a bench against the wall. As always when worried, the abbess paced the room. When she stopped, her fine fingers still moved, lacing and unlacing themselves as she spoke.
“I have found a puzzle in the charters,” she told them. “I need your help to explain it.”
She turned to Master Peter. “You know our situation; the Paraclete exists on bits and pieces of things. People don’t give us great tracts of land the way they do for the monks. We get eggs and cheese and a third of the grinding of a mill. Or the right to some woodland for fuel or building.”
“I thought the people here had been generous to you,” Abelard said. “Are you in need? Do they deny you subsistence because of your association with me?”
“Of course not,” she said too quickly. “What I meant was that I am accustomed to many small donations, which together provide for us very well and in a true Christian spirit of sharing. Countess Alys gave us one such small piece of land, in the forest of Othe. We had the use of it in her lifetime and were to receive it in full if she died after making her profession here.”
She paused. “At least, that is how I interpret the charter. Count Raynald disagrees with me. He wants us to return the land at once. I don’t understand his vociferousness. The gift is not extensive and the land, as I recall, is extremely rocky. We have done nothing with it since the donation, as it’s useless for farming or grazing.”
“Then why is Count Raynald so determined not to let you have it?” Astrolabe asked.
“That’s what I would like Catherine to find out in Troyes. I believe there are people there who will know why this unimportant bit of land is so valuable to Raynald,” Héloïse answered. She turned to Solomon. “Where did Sieur Hubert plan on Catherine staying, at Nôtre-Dame-aux-Nonnains?”
Solomon was distinctly uncomfortable. He did not like being anywhere near a convent and he hated pretense. What should he tell her?
“I think Father had intended that I stay with a family of his acquaintance,” Catherine spoke up. “At least, I presume so. Another merchant who might be going back to Paris soon.”
Héloïse looked from Catherine to Solomon.
“Are these people coreligionists of yours?” she asked.
Solomon nodded.
“And they would take her in?”
He shrugged and nodded again.
“As you know, Mother,” Catherine said, “my father has many business dealings with the Jews. Since, by their laws, they are not allowed to loan money to each other, he often acts as an intermediary.”
“If her safety could be assured,” Abelard spoke slowly, considering, “she would have much more freedom of movement there than if she went to another convent.”
He faced Catherine. “You have made it clear that you do not wish to go to Troyes. Would you change your mind for our sake?”
Throughout the discussion, Edgar had sat staring at the floor, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Now he took Catherine’s hand.
“Master Abelard … Father Peter,” he said, “Catherine and I, we seem to be constantly brought together only to be separated again. There is nothing I must do in Paris, unless you have a commission for me. If she must go to Troyes, I want to go with her … honorably.”
“Oh, yes,” Catherine said. “I think that would be the most logical thing to do. Edgar would be a great help, Mother. We work very well together. Master Abelard, we have all the contracts signed, everything we need. Will you please witness and bless our vows here, now?”
She waited for a chorus of disapproval, both from the people in the room and the voices inside her mind. No one spoke at all.
Abelard looked at Héloïse. She put her hands to her lips and stared back at him for the longest moment of Catherine’s life. Was the abbess remembering the hasty and hidden wedding she had made, and all the sorrow that had come afterwards? Catherine had heard the story many times. She remembered that Héloïse had resisted, even after Astrolabe was born. She had been determined not to ruin her lover’s career by marriage. She had told people she was proud to be Abelard’s whore.
Could I do that for Edgar? she wondered. It would be a poor sort of love if I couldn’t.
And his would be a poor sort of love if he’d let you.
Ah, yes. She had feared those voices couldn’t keep silent for long.
Finally Héloïse lowered her hands to her throat and closed he
r eyes.
“Yes,” she said. “It seems the best way.”
“We should leave at once if we’re to be at Troyes by nightfall,” Solomon reminded them.
“And Father and I wanted to reach Provins today,” Astrolabe added.
“Very well,” Abelard said. “We shall meet at the church door. Catherine, go get your things.”
As they left, Héloïse put a hand on Catherine’s arm.
“Stay a moment,” she said. “I wish to speak with you alone.”
Catherine waited until everyone had gone. She smiled nervously.
“You have a last word of advice for me?” she asked.
Héloïse sighed. “No, my dear. I’ve given you all I can. From now on you will have to discover life for yourself. I asked you to wait because I have another commission for you.”
She took a small square of parchment from her sleeve.
“Some time ago, the convent made a loan to Peter of Baschi, deacon of Saint-Aventin in Troyes. He has made no effort to repay us. I have sent letters to him and to friends in Rome who might have some influence over him, but I’ve heard nothing.” She stopped, seeming embarrassed. “It was twenty marks of silver and we need it.”
“Twenty!” That seemed a huge sum to Catherine.
“Catherine,” Héloïse continued, “these people you will be staying with, ask them if they will undertake to recover from Father Peter the money he owes us. I will be willing to pay them half of it for their efforts.”
“I don’t know about that part of the business,” Catherine said. “Father does little moneylending, except as I described. But I’ll ask Solomon.”
“Thank you,” Héloïse smiled. “Now, I’ve kept you long enough. Get your things. We’ll say our farewells after you’re married.”
Catherine hugged her and ran.
True to her promise, Catherine cried for the few moments it took to become Edgar’s wife. It wasn’t much of a ceremony; only the exchange of vows was required outside the church door. No one had remembered a ring. They were witnessed by Héloïse and Prioress Astane, Solomon and Astrolabe, as well as a few of the lay sisters and brothers who had seen them assemble and been curious as to the reason.
The Devil's Door: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 10