Margaret was regretting her good fortune at having a place to stand in the cathedral. Countess Mahaut had a folding chair that she could lean on, but her shoes weren’t meant for standing on cold stone floors, and the debates, even when in French, were boring.
Margaret knew in principle that it was terribly important which bishop was subject to another. Lands, benefices, tithes and respect all depended on it. But none of these affected her. She had no rights to the tithes. For those who paid the tolls it didn’t matter who got the money in the end. All the arguments of the various bishops sounded the same to her. They must have to Pope Eugenius as well for he disallowed every challenge. Even so, the debates and the protocol lasted for hours. It was nearly time for Vespers when she finally escaped from the cathedral.
Catherine was awake and ready for information when Margaret dragged in to check on her.
“Really, Catherine,” Margaret insisted, “it was very tedious, even with the shouting.”
“You mean they had to shout to make themselves heard?” Catherine asked. “I’d have thought people would be better behaved than that.”
“No.” Margaret sat down gratefully. “Of course there was the constant murmur of voices, but mostly the bishops made themselves heard over that. I suppose it comes from preaching. They seemed to go on forever. The archbishops were making their demands and the other bishops and abbots refuting them. That was easy enough to follow. I was nearly asleep, even standing up, when Albero of Trier got up to speak.”
“I remember him from when we lived in Trier,” Catherine said. “He seems to have spent most of his years in the see fighting with someone. What did he want?”
“I couldn’t understand all of his argument,” Margaret said, “but it got the attention of everyone else. He seemed to feel that Reims should be subject to Trier. Something about first and second and ancient Roman rights. That’s when all the shouting began.”
Catherine stared at her, then began to laugh. “You must be joking!” she exclaimed. “He said that right here in Reims? And I thought I was cursed with hubris! He must think that because Trier was Belgica Primae in the days of Rome, he can have control over the area that was Belgica Secundae. Tradition usually carries some weight in these debates, but to go back a thousand years! And then to make such a statement in the city one wants to control. I wish I could have seen the reaction to that!”
“It was so loud that it woke me up,” Margaret said. “I nearly fell onto Countess Mahaut, I was so startled. The French bishops were barely kept from coming to blows with the Lotharingian ones. And in church, too!”
“Well, the first day of the council doesn’t sound tedious to me at all,” Catherine told her. “Did you find out when they are going to bring Eon in for trial?”
“Not before Wednesday at the earliest.” Margaret was pleased to have come by the information. “Tomorrow they say the pope is going to excommunicate all those who were ordered to attend and didn’t come. That should be more fun.”
“A good excommunication is always interesting,” Catherine said. “Are there many bishops missing? It seems to me as if every cleric in the world is here. One wonders who is tending to the business of their sees.”
“Well, King Stephen only let a couple of the English bishops come,” Margaret said. “And there’s only one here from Spain that I know of. I don’t know about others. I asked about the Bretons, and someone told me that the bishop of Dol didn’t come to answer the claims of the archbishop of Tours.”
Catherine shook her head. “The bishop of Dol is the one who should have handled Eon in the first place. Astrolabe would never be in such trouble if the bishop had been at all effective. Nor would Henri of Tréguier ever have gotten away with appropriating a monastery. I wish I had him here. He’s the cause of all this mess. If he’d done his job, I’d be back at the Paraclete with my children and not cooped up in this tiny room.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Margaret said. “Maybe there is a reason for all those arguments about superiority. I thought it was just about money.”
“Well, that’s a lot of it,” Catherine sighed. “But a strong bishop can keep the nobles in line. Just as a strong king can prevent the church being appropriated for private gain.”
Margaret yawned.
“Don’t worry,” Catherine said. “My political lecture is over.”
“I’m sorry, Catherine,” Margaret said. “I suppose I should try to understand it better. If you want to know the finer points of the arguments, you should ask John. I saw him by the door as we went in.”
“I will, as soon as I’m let out of this bed,” Catherine said. “I’m sure the baby took no harm from my fall. He’s as lively as ever.”
“Or she,” Margaret commented.
“Or she,” Catherine agreed. “The midwife says I’m carrying him high and that means a boy, but I never noticed the difference.”
Margaret yawned again. “Excuse me.”
Catherine smiled, “No, excuse me, my dear. I’ve kept you too long. You need to rest. Are you expected to dine with Count Thibault tonight?”
“No,” Margaret said. “They are eating with the abbot of Clairvaux. I wasn’t invited.”
“Then get yourself something from the kitchen,” Catherine said. “Come back soon. I’ve kept the bed nice and warm for you.”
Godfrey and Astrolabe were well into the beer pitcher by the time John arrived.
“Did you get in?” Astrolabe asked. “What happened?”
John took out his bowl and reached for the pitcher. He cut a chunk of cheese from the square on the table. Once he had wet his throat, he stuffed the cheese in his mouth. The other two waited impatiently for him to swallow.
“That’s better,” John sighed at last. “I didn’t dare leave for fear of losing my place. I thought I’d die of thirst. Don’t worry, you missed nothing of interest. I spent most of the time looking around to see who was present.”
“Did you see anyone wanting to hire a clerk with a taste for beer?” Astrolabe asked.
“Not that I could tell,” John said. “For once my primary interest wasn’t my lack of a position. But I think I spotted the cleric who was chasing you. A big man, you said, blond, with a Breton accent and protuberant blue eyes?”
“That’s right,” Godfrey said. “I’d know him if I saw him again.”
“He’s a canon of Paris,” John told them, “called Rolland.”
“Paris?” Astrolabe said. “What would he have to do with the capture of a heretic in Brittany?”
“Nothing, I would say,” John answered. “But when I saw him, I remembered him from my student days. He was one of those who wanted to learn from your father. Failed completely. He hadn’t the stamina. He was always sensitive about his origin. Seemed to think that Abelard should be more understanding since they were fellow Bretons.”
“Ah.” Astrolabe took some of the cheese. It crumbled in his fingers and left orts in his beard. “My father was not kind to those who couldn’t keep up with his lectures. And he didn’t come from the area where Breton was spoken. He thought the language barbaric and the people the same.”
John snorted. “Having felt the sharpness of his tongue myself, I’d say Abelard was vicious to those he scorned. He could mock a man down to a puddle on the ground. He could also be tremendously kind to those who endured, but Rolland never saw that side of him. He didn’t last long.”
“But what has he to do with Eon or with Cecile’s death?” Astrolabe asked.
“I don’t know,” John admitted. “But he must be involved somehow. Why else would he be hunting for you if not in connection to this Breton business?”
“Perhaps if we could find the man who was traveling with him we could find out,” Godfrey suggested. “He did his best to stay hidden in his cloak and hood when they stopped us on the road, but I had the impression he was a small man. Now that we know where Rolland is from, I can go to the places where the Parisians meet and watch for him. I would be
t that our silent stranger is the one who brought the news from Brittany and convinced the canon to help him. Sooner or later, he’s certain to contact Rolland again.”
“Would you mind?” Astrolabe asked. “Spying on the Parisians might take away from your time helping Gwenael.”
“I don’t ‘help’ her that much,” Godfrey answered with a smirk. “Truthfully, I find her adoration of this false messiah disquieting. She resists any attempt to make her see reason. I’m out of my depth here. Perhaps Master John could convince her that she is in danger of losing her life as well as her soul.”
“I could try,” John said doubtfully, “but I have little hope. I don’t have the persuasive power of Abbot Bernard, for example.”
“I’m sure that when Eon is brought before the council, he’ll recant and go back to his monastery,” Astrolabe said. “Then Gwenael will see that she’s been deluded. At that point, she’ll be ready to accept your help.”
Godfrey was doubtful. “Perhaps if Abbot Bernard preaches to her and her fellow Eonites she’ll be converted. But I can do nothing while she’s in the grip of this madman,” he said. “And I don’t choose to join her in heresy. So, Master John, Master Astrolabe, in the meantime, I am at your service.”
Behind them someone made a sudden gagging sound, spraying his beer across the table. The men looked around. A man in a monk’s robe was scurrying out, his hood pulled over his face.
Godfrey paled. “Peter! I’m sorry! How could I have been so careless? I’ll see to him.”
He got up at once and went out after the monk. Astrolabe rose to go with him.
John stopped him.
“We don’t want to make any more of a scene,” he warned. “The man may have simply choked on a twig in the beer. There are enough of them.”
“Perhaps,” Astrolabe said. “But I’ve been far too complacent. I thought the beard and the mail would change me too much for anyone to recognize.”
“Believe me, I’m surprised that your mother knew you,” John said. “Someone who had only seen you once or twice certainly wouldn’t.”
Astrolabe gave a crooked smile. “Peter the guard has become more natural to me than my old self. I hope I don’t have to give him up yet.”
John nodded. He gave a worried glance toward the door. “Godfrey is taking a while. Perhaps we should go after him now.”
Arnulf paused outside the door of the tavern. He was so excited that he almost danced in the street. At last! He had to find Canon Rolland and tell him the good news.
As he headed down the road, he heard the sound of boots coming quickly behind him. Arnulf quickened his pace. So did his follower. Arnulf tried not to panic. Clearly the men at the other table had noted his abrupt departure. He had to get away, but how?
The street was dark enough but so narrow that it would be impossible to duck into a doorway without being noticed by someone passing. A man could touch both sides with his arms outstretched.
Arnulf began to run. His only hope was to make it to one of the squares before his follower. Then he would have his choice of routes. He slipped on something and stayed upright only by grabbing onto the first thing his hand touched. A horrible clanging started right next to his head. He had pulled on a bell chain outside a shop.
The shock of it propelled him forward, but he knew his pursuer was gaining on him. There would be no chance of escaping. Still, fear pushed him on.
Panting, he burst into the square. He skidded to a stop and nearly laughed in relief. The space was full of monks, processing through the town, chanting Compline.
Arnulf vanished among them just as Godfrey emerged. The monk, mindful of how he had been delivered, stayed with the procession until the end. Then he set out to find Rolland.
Godfrey met John and Astrolabe on the way back to the tavern.
“I lost him,” he admitted. “He may have run because he thought I was a brigand, but we should assume that someone now knows who you are. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Never mind,” Astrolabe told him. “We’ve all become careless, especially over our beer. At least we already know the name of the other cleric. If our monk has gone to Canon Rolland, perhaps we can still find and confront them both.”
“Now I have even more reason to track him down,” Godfrey said. “I promise, I won’t fail you again.”
Arnulf was still bubbling with elation by the time he found Canon Rolland.
“I’ve been a fool!” he told Rolland. “I’ve been looking for a cleric. Of course Astrolabe wouldn’t travel as himself. But we were right that he took refuge with the merchant and his family. He was their guard all the time. I actually spoke to him and never guessed it. I thought you said he looked like his father.”
“So he does,” Rolland insisted. “I don’t know how he tricked you.”
“I wasn’t expecting a man in armor.” Arnulf chewed at a nail. “I still wouldn’t have known him if someone hadn’t said his name. He was with that John, the Englishman, and another soldier. At least I think he was a soldier. Maybe he was Heloise in disguise.”
“Oh, surely not!” Rolland exclaimed.
Arnulf squinted to make out the canon’s face in the dim lamplight. It was hard to be sure if the man was serious. He seemed to have missed any lectures that involved the use of irony in rhetoric. No wonder Abelard had found him such easy prey.
“Do we have him arrested now?” Rolland asked. “We should go at once to the bishop of Tours and tell him we found the murderer.”
“Oh, how I wish we could!” Arnulf groaned. “But we don’t dare yet. Now that we’re sure he’s here, we need to gather the men who captured the Eonites so that they can swear he is the same one. Even then, I’m worried that he’ll be able to talk his way out of it. The man has powerful friends.”
Rolland gave an exasperated snort. “You didn’t seem concerned about this when we were chasing him!”
“I know,” Arnulf said. “But I’ve been making inquiries the past few days, generally, you understand. There are many who hate Abelard’s memory as we do. But when I mention the son, they all look blank.”
“Have you told them that he is a worse heretic than his father, and a murderer as well?” Rolland asked.
“I suggested it to Geoffrey, Abbot Bernard’s secretary,” Arnulf said. “I know he has no love for Abelard. He told me it was nonsense. Astrolabe was a nonentity, not worth bothering with.”
“Geoffrey is very much involved with the heresy of Bishop Gilbert,” Rolland observed. “Canon Peter and he are always in some corner, discussing it. Perhaps he can only focus on one thing at a time.”
“As if that bookish heresy is half the threat that these Eonists are,” Arnulf sniffed. “Arguing about the essence of the Holy Spirit when most people believe it’s a dove that whispers in virgins’ ears to get them pregnant.”
“Arnulf!” Rolland was shocked. “I think you’ve been out of your monastery too long. Are you sure your abbot gave you leave to be away for so many weeks?”
“Of course,” Arnulf answered. “He understands the importance of my mission.”
“Which monastery are you from again?” Rolland asked. “Marmoutier, wasn’t it?”
“A dependent priory,” Arnulf answered hastily. “Near Rennes. That’s how I became involved with all of this. It was practically at our doorstep and no one local would do anything about it. I was sent to make sure justice wasn’t ignored.”
“Ah, yes.” Rolland thought a moment. “Well, we can devote all our energy to your problem. The doctrinal errors of Bishop Gilbert are not our concern. I have listened to the masters of Paris discuss him, and I’ve no doubt that he will be made to correct his mistakes. The council will be sure that they are not allowed to spread.”
“It’s not easy to keep such things from propagating,” Arnulf mused. “It’s like pouring poison into a river. All who drink from it, all the way to the sea, will be tainted, even if it is too diluted to kill them.”
“Like rumor
,” Rolland said slowly.
He stared with his round eyes off into the distance. Arnulf could tell he was thinking deeply, as the only thing in his scope of vision was a stone wall.
After what seemed to Arnulf an interminable time, Rolland focused on him again.
“I think we’ve been fighting with the wrong weapons,” he said.
“What do you want us to use, siege engines?” Arnulf was not in the mood to humor the canon.
“Nothing so direct,” Rolland told him. “Look, we are agreed that it would be entirely too easy for Abelard’s son to slip out of the noose. If we bring him before the council, his friends will speak for him. He’ll deny he believed in Eon.”
“Most likely,” Arnulf said. “That’s why we need to find the witnesses.”
“No.” Rolland smiled. His teeth gleamed wetly in the lamplight. “We need to see to it that by the time Astrolabe is brought to trial, everyone already believes him to be guilty.”
“And how do we do that?”
The smile grew broader. “We pour some poison into the stream.”
Catherine insisted on being allowed up the next morning. She had anticipated an argument from someone and was vaguely disappointed when no one protested.
“Good. We can finally get the bed put away,” was Annora’s only comment.
“True, it has been an obstacle,” Catherine agreed. “It’s difficult for all of us to dress and prepare our hair even with the beds folded.”
Annora wasn’t paying attention. Her maid was braiding her long blond hair in an intricate pattern. She had been cautioned not to move during the process. Catherine took advantage of this to talk with her.
“How is your cousin?” Catherine asked. “Has he recovered from the attack?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Annora said, staring straight ahead. “I told you we don’t speak to that side of the family. I’m sorry that the demon didn’t get him. It would have saved a lot of trouble. I’m sure he intends to claim Saint Gwenoc’s cave again. It won’t do any good, though. I’ll fight him right up to Rome if I must.”
Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 21