Margaret got up with reluctance. “I’ll do my best, but you know my Latin isn’t good enough for the kind of debates they have. It’s a pity they won’t speak Hebrew.”
Catherine laughed. “That would be a scandal. Now go along.”
The shutters in the room had been closed so that the sunlight came in only in lines through the cracks in the wood. The noise from the street below was muted. Catherine was alone at last. Finally she could take time to analyze the events of the previous night.
If a demon had come after Gui, there would be nothing left of him, so Catherine rejected that theory. She was rather sorry to do so. It’s so much cleaner to blame minions from Hell than to find evidence of Satan working through human beings. But in her experience, that was the devil’s favorite pathway.
Therefore, the question was who was the person in the dark cloak. Was he simply a thief? Again she had to admit that very few robbers lurked inside the garden of a convent guest house in wait for drunken revelers. Even fewer had good wool cloaks fastened with expensive gold and jeweled brooches.
The brooch! She had meant to show it to the countesses, but all she had thought of was getting everyone to leave so that she could rest. She hadn’t even had time to get it out of the knot in her sleeve, so no one else had been given the chance to identify it. Well, it would have to wait until the evening. Catherine went back to her theorizing.
The unpleasant conclusion was that the “demon” had been hunting for someone in particular. Was it Gui, or had Annora’s cousin chanced upon this person unexpectedly and forced him to act too soon?
That was harder for Catherine to decide.
There were a number of important people dining in the hall last night. They all had enemies. There were many people of lesser importance who also might have incurred resentment. Gui had seemed harmless to her, but there had been little time to evaluate him.
Was it a coincidence that he was the cousin of Annora and, therefore, of the murdered Cecile? If so, then she was back where she had started. If not, then could Gui be a threat to the person who had killed his cousin, either by something he knew or something he represented? If she could find the owner of the brooch, these questions could be answered. But who would admit to owning it now?
The lines of sunlight stretched across the bed and across the floor before they vanished.
Catherine slept.
Outside, the chaos began to resolve itself into various processions, all heading toward the cathedral. The princes of the church were first, with their households, then the lords of the land with their retainers and families. Although most people owed fealty to different lay and ecclesiastical lords, everyone knew whose party he should be attached to in this instance. At another gathering, each might well find it proper to follow another lord. So the groups were made up of people from different families, different countries. The archbishop of Reims, Samson Mauvoisin, nodded to his cousin, Guillaume de Passavant, once a canon at Reims but now the bishop of Mans. The adulterer, Raoul, count of Vermandois, was also one of the regents of France and so had a place of importance, near to Thibault of Champagne, the uncle of his abandoned wife. The council was a mirror of the complexity of the tapestry of all of Western Christendom.
Godfrey was watching the procession when Gwenael finally found him. He pointed Raoul out to her as he and Petronilla went past.
“More than ten years now, he’s been trying to get a divorce,” he told her. “Two popes have denied it. But last year he put down a revolt by the commune here in Reims. Now Bishop Samson believes that his plea should be granted. King Louis made him regent of France, so other nobles will speak for him, like Countess Sybil. If Count Thibault withdraws his objections, the marriage will be recognized by the pope.”
“Bastards,” Gwenael commented, “all of them. I guess noble blood means that even your sins are different. I didn’t know Raoul was the one who had destroyed the commune. That explains why so many people here hate him.”
“They do?” Godfrey asked. “Where did you hear that?”
“In the streets,” Gwenael said. “I’d say most of the people hate all these pompous nobles for coming here and stealing the food from their mouths. There are a few people who like the council being held here. Some are dazzled by greatness. Some are counting the silver from prices they’ve tripled. But I can feel the resentment against them everywhere poor people gather. If they’d only let my master preach, he would find a torrent of converts.”
“Your master? You still believe in this Eon?” Godfrey couldn’t understand it. “He’s been captured, dragged miles behind a cart, imprisoned. How can you think he’s really the son of God?”
“Of course I believe in Eon, why shouldn’t I?” she asked in genuine bewilderment. “It doesn’t matter that he’s been mocked and scorned. Isn’t that what they did to Our Lord the first time?”
Godfrey didn’t answer. Gwenael watched the procession. The glitter of gold chains, silver crosiers studded with jewels, richly caparisoned horses and even more richly dressed men seemed to overwhelm her with anger.
“Very well,” Godfrey said at last. “I see your point. So, which apostle are you?” He laughed.
Gwenael’s face changed. She looked away from Godfrey, lips trembling.
“Judas,” she whispered. “I must be Judas.”
The portress at the convent told Astrolabe that Catherine wasn’t allowed to see anyone, by order of the countesses and the abbess. He had expected this and left a message that he would return tomorrow. On a whim, he asked if the man who had been attacked were able to receive visitors.
“He isn’t here,” she told him. “They’ve taken him to the house of the Templars. You can ask about him there.”
She shut the gate firmly.
Astrolabe wondered if the man had been a knight of the Temple. He realized that he’d forgotten to find out his name, if Gwenael even knew it. He decided to pay a visit. The Temple was on the opposite side of town from the cathedral so he was soon away from the crowd.
As he approached the gate, he put on his chain mail helm again just in case someone there might be able to recognize him.
The guard was a man of middle age wearing a brown cloak. He relaxed when he saw Astrolabe and gave him a nod, as one fighting man to another.
“God save you,” Astrolabe greeted him. “My master has sent me to inquire as to the state of the man who was attacked at the convent of Saint-Pierre last night.”
“Oh, you mean Lord Gui,” the guard said. “I wasn’t here then. They took him to the infirmary.”
“Is he one of yours?” Astrolabe asked.
“Nah.” The guard scratched under his mail. “He’s a Norman, they say. But the new dukes of Normandy have given generously to the Temple, and we have the best physicians for treating wounds, so we got him.”
“A stroke of luck for him,” Astrolabe commented. “I don’t suppose he’s able to see anyone yet? My master wanted a report on the extent of his injuries.”
“No idea. I’ll send a boy to ask.” The guard whistled and gave the order to a child not much older than James.
“You didn’t tell me who your master is,” he said to Astrolabe.
“Count Thibault.” Astrolabe gave the first name he could think of and hoped that the man didn’t have a brother among the count’s guards.
“Why would he be caring about a Norman lord?”
Astrolabe shrugged. “He didn’t confide in me.”
The boy came running back to say that Lord Gui was awake and would see the messenger.
Gui was lying on a narrow cot in a long room. There were a few empty beds around him. At the other end of the room was the infirmarian’s work space, a long table and shelves filled with boxes and pots. Dried herbs hung upside down from the ceiling. On the table lay a terrifying array of pincers, cups, knives and other medical instruments.
“Who the hell are you?” Gui greeted him, squinting through blackened eyes.
“My name is
Peter,” Astrolabe said. “I’ve been sent to see how you are.”
“Not by my cousin, I suppose.” Gui waved a bandaged hand toward a chair. Astrolabe took this as an offer to sit. “Annora thinks I’m a minion of the devil. Her father saw to that.”
“No, it wasn’t your cousin,” Astrolabe said. “The word is, though, that your master came for you last night.”
“My what?” Gui rubbed his face. There were long scratches across it.
“Didn’t a servant of the devil come at you with its claws?” Astrolabe asked.
“Most certainly,” Gui answered, “but it came in human shape. At least, I think so. Truth be told, Peter, it’s not too clear in my head. I remember feeling a bit gone with wine and thought I’d just water the plants. I took a step outside and, well, the next I knew I was on the floor in the hall with half the nobility of Christendom staring down at me.”
“So do you think it was a demon?” Astrolabe asked. “Or a human enemy.”
“I don’t know what it was,” Gui said wearily. “It felt like a bear. Didn’t anyone else see it?”
“From what I understand, only your cousin,” Astrolabe told him. “She said she saw a black shape rise from the ground and envelop you.”
“And of course she would imagine it to be a creature of evil,” Gui said.
“Is there anyone who would wish you ill?” Astrolabe asked.
“Besides Annora and her sister? No.”
“Her sister?” Astolabe was alert at once.
“Cecile, but she’s off in a convent in Brittany so I doubt she attacked me.” Gui grimaced. “Could I have a drink from that cup? The infirmarian said I could have some whenever the pain was too much.”
Astrolabe gave him a sip of the potion. Gui leaned back.
“Why should your cousins dislike you?” Astrolabe asked.
“My father and theirs fought for twenty years over a piece of land that they both said came to them from their mother’s dower,” Gui said. “The judgment finally went to my family. They accused us of buying off the arbiter.”
“Did you?”
“It was an archdeacon of Rouen,” Gui said, as if that answered the question. “My father probably just gave him a higher price. Then, when he died, Annora’s father got the decision reversed.”
“Families are always arguing over such things,” Astrolabe said. “Why should it cause such hatred into your generation?”
Gui suddenly closed up.
“What difference does it make? It has nothing to do with what happened to me,” he said. “Who did you say sent you here?”
“Countess Sybil was concerned.” Astrolabe hedged the answer.
“Annora’s keeper, I see.” Gui’s voice was becoming faint. The potion was taking effect. He roused enough to mumble, “Tell her I’m not dead yet. She can send brutes or monsters from Hell and she still won’t get it. I’ll give it to the monks before I see it in her grasp.”
Astrolabe tried to calm him. “I’ll tell her anything you like,” he promised. “It’s nothing to me.”
“Something to me,” Gui said indistinctly. “Everything to me.”
Astrolabe left soon after, stopping to tell the infirmarian that he had given Gui more medicine. He gave the guard a wave as he passed through the gate but didn’t stop for another chat.
Gui’s revelations had put another worry into his mind. What if the person who killed Cecile hadn’t been one of the men who had raped her but a relative? All he really knew was that she had spotted someone she recognized and feared among those who had captured Eon and the other heretics. What if that person thought Gui was a threat to him as well? Could someone want to get rid of all that remained of the family?
He remembered Cecile in the camp of the Eonites. She was so gentle with those frightened people. They believed God had led her to them. Perhaps she had believed it, too. She had been an angel, soothing their pain. Astrolabe had been as much in awe of her as anyone. He wished now that he had spoken to her more instead of only watching from afar.
Did her death really have anything to do with the men who had been asking for him in Provins and Nogent?
Did it matter? She was dead and he had not been able to prevent it.
What if by speaking out he could protect Annora and Gui? What right had he to protect himself if it left them in danger? Was there anything he knew that could save them, anything that might have saved Cecile?
His mind a whirl of guilt and doubt, Astrolabe fervently hoped Catherine could see him soon. He needed her common sense to help him decide what to do.
Brother Arnulf was worried. Canon Rolland had been avoiding him. Now that he was back among his fellows from Paris, the canon was wavering at the role he had to take in the plans for revenge on the son of Abelard. This wouldn’t do. Arnulf needed Rolland to back him up. No one was going to pay attention to a simple monk. The soldiers from Brittany would testify again that they had seen Astrolabe among those they had taken in the forest. But unless he could be found for them to identify, it would be easy to disprove the accusation, especially since he had apparently been using a false name. Rolland had to be pressed to step up the search.
Astrolabe was in Reims, Arnulf was sure of it. None of that family would ever run from a confrontation. That was what had made old Abelard so many enemies, including Rolland. He’d checked with one of the servants of Count Thibault, and they all said that Astrolabe hadn’t been at the Paraclete. So where was he hiding? Who was helping him? This was a matter of heresy even more than murder. Keeping a criminal from justice was a serious offense. Only a powerful lord would dare give him protection. Arnulf had asked everywhere, but no one knew of a minor cleric recently added to the household of one of the lords and brought to Reims. Could he be masquerading as a monk?
Arnulf scrutinized every face as he worked his way through the crowd.
“What are you looking at?” a gruff voice demanded.
“Nothing, lord.” Arnulf cringed. “Bless you.”
The man wasn’t Astrolabe, for certain. He was short and hairy, with a bull’s neck. He gripped Arnulf by the neck of his cowl, pulling him almost off the ground and cutting off his air.
“I’ve no use for your kind.” The man’s breath came hard against Arnulf’s face, onions and beer. “Remember who feeds you and keeps the Saracens from overrunning us all while you sit and pray.”
“Oh, I do, lord.” Arnulf smiled.
“Don’t forget it.” The man dropped him and moved on, followed by his guards.
Arnulf tried to appear as though nothing had happened, but he couldn’t ignore the smirk of a cheese peddler who had watched the whole exchange.
“What did you do to rile him so,” she asked. “Offer him your ass?”
“Hardly.” Arnulf tried to piece together the tattered bits of his dignity. “I was merely in the way of his wrath.”
“I’d stay out of it from now on,” she suggested. “That’s the seneschal of Baldwin of Hainaut. I don’t think he cares much for stray monks.”
Arnulf nodded. Countess Sybil’s enemy. And now his. He was already wondering how he could put this to good use.
“Have a nice bit of cheese?” the woman asked hopefully. “Just the thing for Lent.”
He brushed her aside and went on. He had to find Rolland.
Astrolabe thought he would be early at the tavern, but he found Godfrey already there.
“You didn’t bring Gwenael?” he asked.
The guard shook his head. “I insulted her savior.” He grimaced. “She’s not speaking to me.”
Astrolabe shook his head.
“We’ve got to convince her not to try to free Eon,” he said, “or she’ll be condemned along with him.”
“I know,” Godfrey said. “I’m worried that she’s going to give herself up for his sake. She seems to think she’s betrayed him by escaping. What is there about this man that would inspire such loyalty?”
Astrolabe thought a moment.
“Th
ere is a charisma about Eon,” he said at last. “Perhaps it’s the madness. He’s taller than the average, and not bad featured, but he makes you think he’s more. Beyond his kindness to these poor souls, he does seem to possess a spark. When he preaches, I believe they really see the glory he describes. Of course his power must be demonic, but I can understand the allure, even though I don’t feel it myself.”
“I don’t want to see Gwenael burned,” Godfrey said.
“I don’t want it to happen to anyone,” Astrolabe said firmly.
Godfrey looked up with hope.
“Do you have a plan to save them?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” Astrolabe said sadly. “At the moment I don’t even have a plan to save myself.”
Twelve
The old cathedral of Reims. Laetare Sunday, 12 kalends
April (March 21), 1148. Equinoctium, Feast of Saint
Benedict, reluctant organizer of monks.
Archiepiscopus itaque Lugdunensis eccelsie,…protestus est
Rothomagnesem, Senonensem, et Turonensem archiespicopos
et provincias eorum sibi et ecclesie sue jure debere primatus
esse subjectos…. Bituricensis autem Narbonensem
archiepiscopum et episcopum Aniciensem et abbatem
Castridolensis vendicavit [etc., etc.].
The archbishop of Lyons…claimed that legally the
archbishops of the provinces of Rouens, Sens and Tours
should be subject to him and his church by right of
primacy…. The archbishop of Bourges also asserted a legal
claim to authority over the archbishop of Narbonne, and the
bishop of Le Puy and the abbot of Bourg-dieu [etc., etc.].
John of Salisbury, Historia Pontificalis
Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 20