“A good one,” Astrolabe told her. Margaret gave him a shy smile of thanks.
“But it doesn’t help us, I’m afraid,” Catherine said. “Now, let’s go somewhere to sit and discuss what to do next.”
“Do you have enough money for a flask of good wine?” Astrolabe asked.
“I’m sure I do,” Catherine said. “Why? We can’t be celebrating anything.”
“Just the opposite,” Astrolabe said. “John has had a nasty shock this morning. He needs something more potent than beer.”
The two men explained what had happened with Thomas on the way to the wine merchant. After learning the story, Catherine had no qualms about buying four pintez of wine, enough to fill a good-size jug. She understood Thomas’s difficulty, but it was still cruel of him to destroy John’s hopes like that.
She did think that the wine should be padded with solid food, so they stopped at a baker’s where they were charged an outrageous amount for bread.
“Didn’t you hear that the archbishop is giving away barley?” she asked the baker.
“Fine, if you want to cook it yourself.” The man made to take the bread back. Catherine held tight to it.
“This is good bread from wheat and rye flour,” he went on. “I’ve been selling over a hundred loaves a day, just to the German bishops. I’m almost at the bottom of my stores. This will have to keep me until I can get more, maybe not until the next harvest.”
Still grumbling, Catherine paid.
At last they found a quiet spot, again by the church of Saint-Hilarius. The orchard ended in a graveyard next to the church. Catherine thought of Rolland and wondered if anyone would pay to have him properly interred. She didn’t think it likely that his body would be sent back to Paris.
Astrolabe fetched water from a nearby well. Catherine had bought a pair of clay cups at a stall by the wine shop. They had been crudely stamped with the papal insignia and the dove of Reims. Souvenirs of the council. She and Margaret shared one, diluting the wine. John and Astrolabe took turns with the other. Catherine didn’t notice much water being added to their cup, but she said nothing.
“Do you think that now that Rolland’s dead, the people will still believe the stories he told about Astrolabe?” Margaret asked.
“Some might.” Astrolabe shrugged. “They could well imagine that he was killed because of his warnings. But now that they’ve seen Raoul’s soldiers again, they may believe that his men can fend off any band of heretics, even one aided by the devil.”
“According to Gwenael, Raoul’s soldiers are the ones the devil favors,” Margaret said.
“Margaret, you mustn’t let Gwenael’s rantings confuse you,” Catherine said. “She’s had a hard life.”
That sounded a feeble excuse, especially to Margaret, whose life had already been tragic.
“But why does she hate them all so much?” she asked. “I’m sure there were lords who hurt her, but she seems angry with almost everyone.”
Catherine started to form an explanation when she was interrupted.
“I think,” John said from the depths of the wine, “the saddest thing about Gwenael is that no one but Eon ever treated her as if she were worthy of love. Of course she believes him to be Christ. Only God loves everyone.”
Margaret thought that over.
“Thank you, John,” she said. “Now I understand.”
Gwenael was at that moment trying to find a way out of Saint-Pierre-les-Nonnains. The servants were keeping a close watch on her, although no one had yet suggested that she was a prisoner. She knew they would have been glad to see the back of her but had to follow Catherine’s orders, supported by those of the abbess. Although they’d been forbidden to abuse her, the people in the laundry and kitchen were unaccountably clumsy when they were near her. Hot drippings spilled; crockery landed on her fingers; her feet were constantly trod on. Gwenael knew they were waiting for her to snap, to lash out at them so that they could hit her and claim they were just defending themselves.
Gwenael hated them, every one.
When Eon came into his kingdom, then they would be punished, she reminded herself. She passed the time inventing torments for them in Hell. On that glorious day she would be among the chosen, despite her sins, for true believers are always forgiven. That’s why she had to go on believing as hard as she could, no matter what anyone said. They would see. Gwenael knew the truth. Judgment was at hand.
And it wasn’t going to find her scrubbing out chamber pots.
When the bells rang Sext, the cook, who had a hidden pity for the Breton woman, went to bring her a bowl of soup.
She found chamber pots stacked one inside the other against the wall up to the open window. Gwenael was long gone.
“There are those lepers again,” Catherine said. “See, sitting on the stones in the graveyard.”
“I’m surprised no one has driven them from town,” Astrolabe commented. “You’d think the guards would have been called as soon as someone noticed that they didn’t have anyone watching them.”
“I told you there was something strange about them,” Catherine insisted. “Look.”
The four had been resting on the stones, but now they were standing, each with arms raised in prayer. Their hoods were thrown back and, even at a distance, it was clear that there were no marks of leprosy on their faces. Two women and two men, all thin and pale enough but not disfigured at all.
“What does it mean?” Margaret asked.
“I have no idea,” Catherine said, getting up, “but I want to find out.”
“Catherine!” The other three all spoke at once. Astrolabe caught her arm.
“You can’t go over there!” he said. “Their deformities may be hidden beneath their robes. You can’t risk it.”
“I’m sure they’re using the lepers’ robes as a disguise,” Catherine insisted.
“Sure enough to imperil your life and that of your child?” Astrolabe had not let go of her.
Catherine stopped resisting.
“Very well,” she said grudgingly. “But only because they may have some other horrible disease that doesn’t show itself so blatantly. I know they aren’t lepers.”
At this moment, one of the women glanced in their direction. She said something to the others, pointing toward the group in the orchard. All immediately put their hoods back on so that they hung far over their faces. They hurried away in the other direction, behind the church and along the wall toward the temple of the Knights of Solomon.
“Did you see that?” Catherine pointed. “I tell you, those people are up to no good!”
The people in lepers’ clothing stopped when they reached the street running under the city walls. The youngest was panting in fear.
“They were too far away to see us clearly,” the older woman told her, “but we may need to change our disguise. That woman was obviously too interested in us.”
“We should never have left the forest,” the man complained. “It’s too dangerous, with all this talk of heretics. Do you want to be asked to make a profession of faith?”
The woman made a grunt of irritation. “No one is going to bother with that unless you insist on preaching in the churchyards. We had to come. Did you want to survive on acorn bread?”
“Do you still think your cousin will help us?” the younger woman asked the elder.
“Yes, Susanna, I’m sure of it,” she said firmly. “He has already decided to join us. He’ll find the courage soon to renounce his old life. I know he won’t disappoint me.”
“How much longer?” one of the men asked. The other man was silent. “I worry that some of the other Eonites will find me out. They won’t understand that I’ve converted.”
“It won’t be long,” the woman answered, but there was a note of uncertainty. “My cousin told me he only needs to finish something here. Then we’ll have enough to last the summer.”
“And to go south?” the man persisted.
“Yes, if you’re sure that’s
what you want,” she answered. “I think he may even come with us. Then you have renounced your false prophet?”
“Completely,” the man said. “I have found the true faith.”
He put his arm around Susanna, who nodded.
“We’re tired of being on our own, and having to hide what we are,” she said. “We want to be where there is a community, with a priest and other good people.”
The older woman sighed. She brushed back a loose strand of greying blond hair and adjusted her hood. “We renounced earthly goods and pleasures and I don’t regret it. But you’re right. It’s difficult to follow the path with no guidance but our own prayers. I agree. As soon as my cousin gives us the funds, we will start for Provence.”
“Until then, we should get rid of these clappers and bandages,” the man said. “I fear that woman will report us if we keep up this pretence any longer.”
A few moments later a rag picker found a pile of linen by the side of the road. She leapt at them joyfully, until she saw the wooden clappers beside them. Then she backed away, crossing herself over and over. No cloth was fine enough to risk the touch of a leper.
Count Thibault was becoming concerned about his granddaughter. He had been pleased when Mahaut had suggested this alliance in Carinthia. So far, all the brides had come west. It was time to send someone to remind the Carinthians of their connection to France. Thibault wanted to know that Margaret was settled well before he died. He felt he owed it to her. She was a sweet child, with the same face as the love of his youth, her grandmother. Margaret should have been overjoyed, but he’d been watching her. When she thought no one was looking, her face would change as if she’d slipped off a mask. He saw then a sadness that wounded his heart.
“Are you certain that Margaret wants to go?” he asked his wife as they prepared to attend the archbishop’s meeting.
“Of course,” Mahaut answered. “We have her wardrobe almost planned.”
“But it’s so far away,” Thibault said.
Mahaut gave him an incredulous stare. “I know. I’ve made the journey.”
“She’s not as strong as you, my dear,” Thibault said. “Perhaps we should wait until her brother returns. He could be her escort.”
“My dear husband.” Mahaut patted his cheek. She was the only person in the world who could get away with it. “All this fuss about Elenora’s divorce has upset you. Margaret is a dutiful girl and bright. She’ll learn the customs quickly and be a great asset to both our families. And if she wants to see her brother, we’ll commission him to buy amber for us. He can visit her on the way. It will save on the tolls, too.”
All of these statements were sensible, and he knew there were good reasons for the marriage. Thibault knew it was the right thing to do. He just wished he could feel that Margaret was happier about it.
“Do you know why Samson Mauvoisin has asked us to see him?” Mahaut asked, breaking into his reverie.
“Perhaps he wants to explain the goings-on among the townspeople,” Thibault suggested. “No matter what we think of Raoul, it’s good that he was prepared for trouble. Samson didn’t have the men to put down a serious rebellion.”
“To be honest,” Mahaut said, “if I have to sit through another day of this council, I may revolt as well. I’ve done my duty by Elenora. If this goes on much longer, I believe we shall return home. Will that be acceptable?”
“Oh, yes,” Thibault said. “I only wish I could join you. But you know I’m expected to remain until the last candle is extinguished.”
“My lord Archbishop.” Ermon was at the door. He coughed apologetically. Samson had taken a few moments to rest between the sessions of the council and he hated to be interrupted. “There is a man who insists upon seeing you. He won’t be put off.”
“Ermon, unless he has a knife at your throat, you can get him to wait.” Samson didn’t open his eyes.
“Yes, my lord,” Ermon answered. “He did say it was about the murder last night. He’s in a great state of agitation, but I believe that he really does know something. I thought that you might want to see him before tonight.”
Samson swung his feet to the floor. “Very well, tell him I will see him as soon as I finish dressing. Have Godric come up at once to help me.”
He descended a short time later in full regalia, with every intention of crushing the temerity of this person who had interrupted his nap.
He saw a nondescript monk, with narrow eyes and a feeble chin. Before Samson had reached the bottom of the stairs, the monk threw himself on the floor in front of him.
“My lord!” he cried. “I beg your indulgence, your generosity, your pity! My dear friend Rolland has been brutally slaughtered by the godless fiend we have been pursuing. You must capture him before he kills me as well.”
Samson’s eyebrows rose. “I must? And who are you to make such a demand?”
If it were possible to go lower than the floor, the monk would have done so.
“Forgive me, your Graciousness!” he cringed. “My name is Arnulf. I was among those who apprehended the heretic Eon, that is, I was there when he was brought into Nantes. One of Eon’s most dangerous followers escaped on the road, but only after killing a wellborn lady who had been the prisoner of these heretics. I was sent to find him so that he could be made to pay for his crimes.”
“You?” Samson asked. “Why not a troop of knights?”
“It was a…delicate situation,” Arnulf stammered.
“Very well,” Samson relented. “Get up and tell me the tale, man. I can’t understand you when you’re talking into the carpet.”
Arnulf scrambled to his feet, but he then bowed so low that the effect was almost the same as before.
“We had heard a rumor that Eon was being protected by certain lords of the region who are deeply into the foul pits of sin and error,” Arnulf began.
Samson sighed but didn’t interrupt.
“One of Eon’s family went to try to convince him to renounce his evil.” Arnulf warmed to the story. “Through the work of minions of the devil, Eon offered this good man a great feast, with every delicacy known, served on platters of gold. Mindful of his soul, the man refused but his servant ate. As they were leaving, the servant was plucked up by a giant eagle and never seen again.”
“Really.” Samson yawned. His dreams were better than this tale.
“But while he was there,” Arnulf continued hastily, “the knight saw a man he knew, from the village of Le Pallet.”
“Isn’t that the place where Peter Abelard was born?”
“Yes, your Astuteness.” Arnulf bowed even lower. “This man consorting with the heretics was Abelard’s son. Of course the lord was shocked. But we know that the sins of the father are often repeated in the son. The visitor also made the acquaintance there of one of the more venal of these heretics. For a few coins, this person agreed to signal the archbishop’s soldiers to attack when they would be least able to mount a defense.
“Thus”—he spoke more quickly; Samson was showing signs of impatience—“Abelard’s son was caught by surprise. In order to protect his identity, he then killed the lady Cecile, a poor prisoner of these brutes, and ran for his life. My lord begged me to find the murderous villain. I tracked him to Paris where Canon Rolland bravely offered to help me. Together we ascertained that he would be at the council in order to rescue his miserable master Eon. Last night I was to have met with Rolland to arrange the final trap. But he never appeared.
“This morning I learned of his death. I have come to place the matter before you and plead with your Wisdom to see that this vile murderer is brought to justice.”
“I see.” Samson nodded. “A serious charge. Also many lacunae in the telling. I shall have my soldiers locate this heretical son of a heretic and bring him in.”
“Thank you, thank you, your Generosity!” Arnulf exulted. He finally dared to look up. “I know that you won’t let his friends or his slippery dialectic keep you from seeing the truth. Your Percept
iveness will realize at once that Astrolabe is guilty.”
“Astrolabe!” The archbishop smiled. “The ‘demon king’! Now I see. Thank you, Brother Arnulf. I shall expect you this evening immediately after Vespers to repeat your accusation before witnesses.”
“Of course, my lord.” Arnulf backed away until he hit the door as it opened.
Ermon entered. Arnulf barely avoided knocking him over as he made his exit.
“Was I mistaken in waking you, my lord?” Ermon asked.
“No, you did well,” the archbishop answered. “Now I need you to find some information before the meeting tonight. Also, send the captain of my guards in. I have a commission for him.”
The town was back to normal by the time Catherine and Margaret returned to the convent. From the smell, people were making barley soup and brewing barley beer. If anyone expected an invasion, there was no sign of it.
“It’s amazing how a little food can restore sanity,” Catherine said, looking from the window.
“It didn’t always work with my brothers,” Margaret replied. “They seemed to think a good meal was a prelude to battle.”
“Well, I’m glad it was successful in this case.” Catherine went to her packing box to see if she had anything clean enough to wear that night.
“I haven’t been invited to any banquets,” she said, “I’m glad to say. Has your grandfather told you to dine with them?”
“I haven’t had a message today,” Margaret answered. “Could we go eat at a tavern?”
“Unaccompanied? Of course not!”
“Then I suppose we should see what the cook here has prepared for guests.” Margaret wasn’t impressed with the convent kitchens.
They rested until Vespers ended, then went down to the dining hall. There they found Godfrey waiting for them.
“Countess Sybil told me to bring you as soon as you came down,” he said.
“What? Where?” Catherine asked. “I’m not dressed for dining with company.”
“Dining? You’re going to the archbishop’s palace,” Godfrey said. “The countess received a summons this afternoon. Samson is holding an inquiry into the death of Canon Rolland.”
Heresy: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 30