by Hager, Mandy
Mother Basilia nods. ‘Vulnerability again … Emotions frighten them; they cannot control them yet know full well they have the same capacity to fall prey to them as we do. Love, jealousy, lust, anger, hate … they all can overpower man-made law — and God’s law, too. Your own experience gives proof of that.’
Heloise fights her rising blush, unsure if this is plainly stated fact or insult. ‘It brings to mind St Augustine’s words: See what greed has imposed on you: You have filled your house and now you fear burglars. You have hoarded money and lost sleep. The worst is how they have learned so little from the past.’
‘Except how to wield fear as a tool to strike us. That has gone on since the start of time.’ Never has Heloise heard her Reverend Mother so angry.
‘Then we must prepare for an onslaught, while praying it never comes.’
‘What do you suggest?’
Heloise paces the room, trying to formulate a safe and prudent response. The fate of Argenteuil’s sisters presses on her shoulders: her actions no longer affect only herself; now if she miscalculates it will affect them all.
‘What if, rather than wait to see what they have in store for us, we begin a war of charm? We invite Bernard here; tell him how much we admire his work. These men all share one thing: an over-inflated sense of their own self-worth.’
Basilia laughs. ‘You are too clever by half! But we must make sure every single one of our nuns is primed on both how to respond to questions and the dangers of exposing us in any way.’
‘I agree. Rigorous discipline must be paramount. All it will take is one homesick novice to run and we are doomed. I say we call a meeting behind locked doors and brief them on the situation so all are equally employed in the protection of our home.’
‘Then let us do it tomorrow. St Jean is not so different to us.’
‘And I will go back to our documents to see if I can find more charters.’
‘Pray do. And I will draft a fawning invitation to Bernard of Clairvaux.’
They rise and go straight to work, needing activity to counter their fears. But whether this is enough to protect them is a question that hangs in the air long after they leave the room.
For nearly a year, they live in this state of high alert, ever waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall. Bernard declines to visit, begging other duties; his avoidance they take as a signal of their increasing isolation.
In the early months of 1129 comes an unexpected visit from Suger himself. He is younger than Heloise expects, a small man, clean-shaven but for an ink-stroke moustache, his eyes ever on the move. So ingratiating is his manner, the younger sisters to whom he speaks grow coy in an unhelpful way, forcing Heloise and Basilia to quickly round him up for refreshments in Basilia’s office.
‘So you are the famous Heloise,’ he says. ‘I have heard your name arise many times, in all manner of conversations.’
‘I hope, Your Grace, you have heard only good.’ She fights to hold composure while stifling a shiver. His eyes are as cold as the cloister on a midwinter day.
Basilia steps beside her. ‘My prioress gives me great service, Your Grace. Never have our novices had such expert tuition or our estates been better managed than since she has aided me.’
‘And what do you teach them, Sister?’ His tongue flicks out to meet his moustache. If Garlande were a fox, this man brings to mind an asp viper, similar in looks to all its cousins but its poison uncommonly deadly to any with inherent weakness.
‘I am sure it aligns to your own lessons when young, Your Grace.’ She has no intention of handing him anything of weight with which to stone them. ‘I hear you, too, had a taste for literature and poetry.’
This he does not even deign to answer. ‘No doubt you tell them of the works of your private tutor.’ Such syrup drips from his voice, it seems he hopes to seduce her into denouncing Abelard.
‘I have been fortunate to be taught by both the wife and daughter of Kalman of Rumigny. You have heard of him?’
His lip curls as if he encounters a malodorous smell. ‘You were taught by women not of our faith?’
‘Converted Christians given sanctuary within God’s walls. It is to be celebrated, is it not, that our one true religion provides such care for all God’s faithful souls? Surely what elevates us above the infidels is His wish through our Holy Fathers to nourish and nurture all those in His care, young and old, newly converted, women and men?’
Basilia’s eyebrows rise slightly in warning, while Suger’s knit. Heloise battles to swallow down her defensive anger.
‘Indeed.’ Again his tongue reaches for his moustache and she wonders why men find such comfort in the self-caress of their facial hair. This thought so distracts her she nearly snags on his next hidden hook. ‘Tell me, how does the abbot of St Gildas fare?’
As she opens her mouth to answer, she notices Basilia purse her lips and changes direction. ‘Of whom do you speak, Your Grace? I do not believe I have heard this news.’
‘He who once was Master Peter. Your one-time paramour.’
‘My husband,’ Heloise says. She sees the twitch of a smile at the edge of his lips. Damn this man. ‘You must pardon me. I have heard nothing from him since I took the veil.’ She meets his eye, daring him to blink.
‘Perhaps, Your Grace, you would like to see our gardens?’ Basilia says. ‘I have heard that our queen is partial to white roses and we have at present a fine unseasonal display, should you care to deliver them on our behalf.’
‘I would first like to see your library. I believe you have a collection of documents that rival our own at St Denis.’
‘With pleasure.’ Basilia rises, sending Heloise silent instruction not to accompany them, presumably for fear of further traps from him or gaffes from her. ‘Although I suspect you will find yourself bitterly disappointed.’
She escorts him out but soon returns alone. ‘He has asked to be left without accompaniment — some story of head pains and a desire for silence before he travels on.’
‘Thank the Lord we have hidden our charters safely away. Bishop he may be, and king’s advisor, but I trust him not one jot.’
‘You read my thoughts. If ever there was a man on a fishing expedition, this is one.’
Barely three weeks later, Mother Basilia bursts into the refectory where Heloise is teaching. ‘It has come!’ Her face is so leached of blood her lips look blue.
Heloise hurriedly sets her students a task and draws her shaking Reverend Mother out into the cloister. ‘Tell me.’
‘I have just heard from my friend close to the palace that Suger has sought approval from Louis and Adelaide to evict us and gift Argenteuil to St Denis, putting him in control.’
‘How can he do this? We have documentation—’
‘He claims evidence of salacious and sinful acts — full of innuendo, my friend says, though short on detail. I fear some of the rumour is aimed at you. He calls you dishonourable, the Devil’s instrument, corrupting all the other nuns in our care.’
Heloise can hardly breathe. She staggers to a bench and sinks onto it. ‘I am so sorry.’
Basilia joins her. ‘It is fed by the court’s love of gossip. You and Master Peter are now apparently the stuff of legend. It is an easy leap to paint you as the rotten apple that taints the whole basket.’
‘But our documents—’
‘Suger has produced some trumped-up charter signed by Louis the Pious and his son Lothar some three hundred years ago. Apparently they claim Argenteuil as the property of St Denis.’
‘We have to fight it. We must get our documents before the king.’
‘I will leave at first light to seek an audience.’
‘Would you like me to accompany you?’
Basilia shakes her head. ‘I fear that will only add fuel to the fire. But do go through our papers one more time. If there is anything else that can help us, we need it now.’
Though it hurts to be so dismissed, Heloise concedes Basilia is probably right. Besid
es, she is not sure she could curb her tongue if pushed. She sets her novices to scour every room, every cupboard, every document within other documents, to try to defend their home. Late in the night, long after she has sent them anxious to their beds, she tries one last possibility: a coffer stored in the infirmary that has long been buried under the infirmarer’s collections of herbs and tinctures.
Inside lies a bundle of age-dried parchments fragile to the touch. From their midst she unearths two more very ancient charters: one dated 697 and the other from Charlemagne’s brother, both confirming the nuns’ sole occupation of Argenteuil since its inception.
Before she sleeps, she drafts notes for Basilia to study, and, once she has waved her off in the morning, she leads the congregation in prayers for the Reverend Mother’s success.
Basilia arrives back late the following night as solemn as a gravedigger. As Heloise walks her to her office, she unloads her news.
‘It did no good. Despite the proof right there in front of them, Suger denied their authenticity, and when he put forth his own fabrications not one argument was raised.’
‘No one would support us?’
Basilia rubs at her face before she answers. ‘It is too late; he has already enlisted support from Senlis and the king — and has even obtained the blessing of the pope.’
‘That is it?’ Heloise feels sick with guilt.
‘It is done. Suger took much delight in ordering us to join with the nuns at the abbey of Sainte-Marie de Footel in Malnoue.’
‘Where is that?’
‘Brie, he said. A two-week march at best.’ A tear snakes down Basilia’s cheek.
‘Dear God!’
Basilia places a hand on Heloise’s arm. ‘There is even worse, Sister. The nuns at Brie refuse to take you in; they fear Suger’s wrath.’
Heloise blinks back her shock. Of course. Why would she expect anything else? No matter how hard she strives to brush aside the past, the past refuses to comply … and those who practise the art of rumour-mongering prefer a kill, not a mere wounding and release. ‘Then you must go without me. I will find somewhere else that does not put you or the nuns at Sainte-Marie at further risk.’ These words leave the taste of bile in her throat.
‘Come, Heloise, I am sure we can fight this. We can try petitioning—’
‘No. I insist. And once you are settled I will keep up the fight, seeking whatever else I can do to win back Argenteuil.’ What has happened to the world when those who devote themselves to Christ and live in peace are so brutally evicted? It is wrong. Pure evil.
Despite Basilia’s continued insistence, Heloise stands firm. Her name is poison; she dare not risk more heartache and division. She brushes self-pity aside to help her sisters pack their meagre belongings ready for the long trek to their place of exile, but she struggles to quell the panic and outrage in her head.
As she is bundling documents into a saddlebag, a delegation arrives: four nuns and eight of the young novices she teaches.
Sister Astrane, the oldest by many years, speaks on their behalf. ‘We have heard you are not joining the exodus to Brie and would like to stay with you.’
Heloise straightens, easing her back, absolutely stunned. ‘But I still have no idea where I will go.’
‘Wherever it is, we will support you.’
‘But why? At least in Brie you are guaranteed food and shelter. I have no power. The Church has turned its back on me.’ She fights rising tears.
Sister Astrane smiles. ‘Do you know how rare it is to find someone who is prepared to share their knowledge with such openness and honesty? We want to support you, Sister, and we trust that you will support us in return.’
‘But our Reverend Mother is a good and trustworthy woman.’
One of the novices, Sister Rhecia, now speaks up. ‘It is no slur on her, Sister. It is just you are younger and understand the hardships some of us have faced.’ A blush consumes her.
Heloise recognises the same residue of unspeakable hurt she has come to recognise in Jehanne. Does she want such responsibility? What if she fails them? Heloise looks from face to face, seeing in each an earnest desire for her to take them on.
‘I am grateful for your confidence in me, but you must know I am yet to receive any invitation, despite sending many letters to other convents. If worst comes to worst, we may have to find temporary accommodation, and I cannot guarantee its comfort or say how long we might remain there. I have no money to ease our way.’
‘We have already discussed this,’ Sister Astrane says. ‘If you have the strength to endure this, so too shall we. It cannot be harder than a two- or three-week march across unknown terrain.’
Heloise is not so sure, but what more can she say? If their minds are set, she must at least try to meet their needs. ‘I will do what I can, then, and thank you for the privilege. But I will accept only on the condition that, if you wish to leave and seek greater comfort and security elsewhere, you must feel free to go — and if you do, I will support you.’
She is overcome as they press around, each in turn embracing her. What has she done? She now holds twelve other lives in her hands, as well as her own. God help them all.
They wave off Basilia and the rest of her nuns the following Tuesday. By the Thursday, word comes that Suger plans to move his monks into Argenteuil the subsequent week. He lays claim as well to their eight sister-houses and immediately sets up the means to siphon off their estates’ rents to fill the coffers of St Denis.
When they are only one day short of the arrival of Suger’s monks and still have no offers of support, Heloise and her small band in desperation make their way on foot to the Garlande family’s country estate. He gives them shelter in a disused barn, but confesses he has no means to harbour them. Night after night Heloise prays for God to send deliverance, negotiating, wheedling, pleading, promising her best intents if He will help them find a home. But every day brings rejection from those she petitions and, as the days turn to weeks, poor Garlande is forced to admit his resources are running dangerously low. Even Jehanne cannot lift her spirits. Heloise struggles to curb her bitterness.
‘Who would be born woman if given the choice?’ Heloise says as they sit together after her sisters have gone to bed with nothing to eat but berries and a few ends of bread from Garlande’s table. ‘From the moment we can first understand, we are held up as sinners and made to feel guilt for the Fall.’
‘Why do you expect it to be otherwise? It is what the Bible says.’
‘It seems so manifestly unfair. Where is man’s sense of responsibility? Where are the voices raging at the terrible abuses suffered by you and other women? Why does God not hold them to account? Shall I tell you what the real evil is? To cringe to the things that are called evils, to surrender to them our freedom, in defiance of which we ought to face any suffering.’
Jehanne glances over her shoulder. ‘You talk seditiously. If you have been this outspoken at Argenteuil, no wonder they hound you.’
Heloise throws up her arms. ‘This is exactly what I mean! Women all know what is really going on, but the Devil take any who dares to say it aloud.’ She scowls. ‘And for your information, I said nothing. It was trumped-up gossip and half-baked lies.’
‘Sorry. But you do insist on questioning things that have no answer. We have forever been seen as dangerous and taken as slaves by men. Even I know this. But it must be how God intended it or it would not be.’
‘That is what they want you to think. God did not place Eve with Adam expecting her to take the apple, or are you saying He did? And, now I come to think of it, if the apple symbolises wisdom, why did He not want us to share in it?’
‘Stop tying me up in knots with your word games. Questioning does no good. It is how it is, and no amount of nitpicking can change it.’
‘Where is the line between what God wants and how our Church fathers interpret it? Is it not possible His intentions have been misconstrued? Look at the number of contradictions Abelard found
in his Sic et Non. And remember, Christ welcomed the Magdalene; He did not punish her or see her off, nor did He allow her to be harmed by others. Why is His practice not championed? Because it suits them better to keep us subservient.’
‘Do you remember that passage you quoted me from Aristotle? Everyone can get angry — something like that — and how that is the easy part …’ Jehanne looks to Heloise for help.
‘But to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy.’ Heloise smiles. ‘Hark you! The student turned against the teacher!’
Jehanne laughs. ‘You know that even if Fulbert had not rescued you, you would have fought whoever raised you! It is not in your nature to accept what you are told unless you see the sense in it. Be thankful you at least have the skills to express your anger. If you are angry, write of it … but then for goodness’ sake burn or erase it straight away.’
‘What, like poor Abelard’s books?’
‘You know what I mean! Play the game on the outside and only express your true feelings within.’
‘Nothing makes sense to me anymore. We sit here supposedly at the apex of our age yet never question the old traditions that blinker us. We are seeing our world close in, Jehanne, dying, growing ever more uncompromising, more controlled and ever more unequal in its dealings between women and men — and between rich and poor. They seek to silence us through separation, break our bonds and slash our spirits until we are too fearful and drained of strength to fight them back.’
‘There are many ways to fight, Heloise. Just surviving and holding up one’s head is sometimes an act of resistance.’
‘I know. You are my guide in this. I truly admire you.’
‘Not me. I scrape the floor to cause no offence.’
‘Please tell me this is not how you are made to feel here? Garlande claims his family accepts you. Is this not true?’
It takes Jehanne a moment before she answers. ‘It was hard at the start; the circumstance of my birth is always a barrier to those who judge me first. But his wife is kind, though she need not be, and their children were weaned on status and our father’s high opinion of himself, and therefore they know I am no threat. Do not worry. I am content enough.’