Stealing Heaven

by Marion Meade

  Heloise flushed.

  "And yet you're back. Why?"

  "Only for a few weeks. And then we're going to Brittany. To get our babe."

  "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

  Heloise compressed her lips.

  "Hah! You're in some kind of trouble."

  "I don't want to—" Heloise stopped. She crossed to a bench at the opposite end of the parlor and slouched down. "My—husband thought I would be comfortable here." She had almost said "safe" but thought better of it. She didn't want to tell Madelaine about the trouble with Fulbert.

  "Your husband"—Madelaine spat the word "husband"—"is a rich, celebrated man."

  "Yes."

  "With many friends."

  "Many."

  "Then why did he bring you back here? To get rid of you."

  "This is a foolish conversation. You don't understand."

  "Think I'm stupid, don't you?" Madelaine snapped. Heloise said nothing. Sweat was making her back itch. "Paris is a wicked city."

  "Sister Madelaine, I don't want to talk to you now. Please leave me alone."

  Madelaine rose quickly; she left without looking back. Heloise went over to the window and leaned out, her throat gritty with thirst.

  The knight and his squire had gone. The yard was an empty oblong of pink heat.

  As the abbess's door opened, Heloise got to her feet. Abelard and Lady Alais were coming down the passageway, Abelard grinning and the abbess laughing flirtatiously and crinkling her nose at him. Neither of them looked at Heloise. They were talking about King Louis and his friend Suger, and the abbess was patting Abelard's arm, saying, "Wonderful, my lord. If it wouldn't be too much trouble. Bless you." Heloise decided that Abelard must have promised to secure some royal favor for the convent. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for them to finish. God, she thought, Lady Alais is acting like a schoolgirl. She ought to be ashamed.

  With a grand flourish, Abelard bent over the abbess's right hand and kissed her ring tenderly. She glowed at him, her dimples winking, while they exchanged the kiss of peace. Then she turned vaguely in Heloise's direction.

  "Child," she called loudly, "you are welcome here."

  "Thank you, lady."

  The abbess turned and went back into her apartment. The door slammed after her. Heloise went to Abelard and wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her nose against his cheek. "What did she say?"

  "Well. What do you think? She said you might stay."

  "Did you tell her about Uncle?"

  Abelard backed away. "Certainly. Walk with me to the stables."

  “'You're leaving already?"

  "I'm dining with the Count of Dreux this evening. On second thought, you'd better stay here. Lady Alais will be sending someone for you."

  She sighed, thinking of Paris, and kissed him on the cheek. "All right. I might as well get it over with."

  "Hunh?"

  "I mean, seeing them all again." She pointed vaguely in the direction of the cloister. "You'd better go."

  “I’ll come next week, sweeting. Saturday, if I can. Or Sunday. Heloise . . ."

  "What, love?"

  'You'll be all right?" He sounded anxious. She answered with a grin, "I'll be fine." She watched him cross the courtyard.

  After a while, a novice came in and motioned to her. The girl, who was about twelve and pretty in a pinched way, looked familiar. Following her, Heloise saw that she limped. The abbess's favorite, but she had grown up. Over her shoulder, the girl said, "I'm Astrane. You remember, lady."

  "I remember. How do you?"

  "Very well," she answered politely.

  Astrane led her into the cloister and along the vaulted south walk. They passed the chapter house and, at the corner, turned and started up the east walk. Three schoolgirls were sitting on a stone bench near the fountain, sewing; they stared at Heloise solemnly.

  Heloise said to Astrane, "Where are we going?"

  "Wardrobe."

  "Why?"

  "Lady Alais said so."

  Inside, the nun in charge of wardrobe greeted Heloise with a smile. She began looking her up and down, measuring her with her eyes. "You're quite tall," she observed critically.

  Heloise felt her irritation rise, but she said nothing. The nun turned away and started to rummage in one of the dozen great chests that practically filled the room. She mumbled, "I might have to rip out a hem."

  Annoyed, Heloise said, "What are you talking about?" Behind her back, she could hear the lame girl shuffling her feet.

  The nun pulled her head out of the chest. "Most of the gowns would be too short for you."

  Startled, she growled, "I don't need a gown. I have one."

  Clutching a black novice robe, the woman got to her feet with a pleased smile. As if she had not heard Heloise, she said happily, "This looks plenty long. We can try it."

  Suddenly Heloise began to laugh dryly. "Hold on now, Sister. Just a minute. You've made a mistake."

  Frowning, the nun glanced at Heloise and then at Astrane, who lingered in the doorway.

  "I'm not a new novice," Heloise reassured the woman. "I'm a guest." She added, "A paying guest."

  Astrane said loudly, "Lady abbess said you're to have a novice gown."

  Heloise stared at her. "Whatever for?" The girl frowned again, her lips pressed. "I won't wear it. This is ridiculous."

  The three of them stood watching each other. Finally Astrane wheeled and dragged out the door. Heloise said to the wardrober, who was still holding the gown, "Put it away. There's been a misunderstanding."

  Doubtful, the woman shook her head. Slowly she shook out the gown and hung it on a peg. It was clear that she did not believe Heloise. She sat down at the trestle, threaded a needle, and began hemming a towel. Heloise stood near the door, her hands folded behind her back. A few minutes later, she could see Astrane hurrying down the walk, and behind her, frowning, trotted Lady Alais.

  Heloise waited until the abbess drew near, and then she said, "Please tell her I am not a novice. I wear my own clothes."

  Lady Alais stepped inside and put her arm awkwardly around Heloise's waist. 'Yes, yes," she said soothingly. "But you are to wear it just the same. Lord Abelard said so."

  Heloise shook herself loose. "Don't be silly. I mean, I'm sorry, lady —but he could not have said such a thing. I'm only going to be here three weeks. Four at the most."

  “I know." The abbess snatched Heloise's arm and pulled her outside on the walk. Leaning up to her ear, she whispered, "I know, but Master Abelard and I discussed this. He told me in confidence that considering the—er—situation he is in, that is—" She began to stammer slightly. "That is to say, if people believe you have become a novice, they certainly can't think you are the wife of Master Abelard. See?"

  "No." Heloise stared fiercely ahead, her fingers clenched. It was as if the abbess had struck her. She repeated angrily, "No."

  "Rumors will cease once it becomes known you are wearing a habit." She smiled earnestly. "Then you can leave quietly and no one will know."

  Heloise glanced down at her, thoughts reeling, and then she scowled. "It's a terrible idea." Although the habit would convince people that she had been speaking truth about the marriage. Fulbert, not she, would seem the liar.

  "Child. Listen to me. It's your lord's wish that you wear the habit while you're here. Won't you obey?" The abbess smiled coaxingly.

  Heloise thought. She would do whatever Abelard desired. But he should have told her first. Finally, she nodded at Lady Alais. She was not going to make herself unhappy over a piece of cloth.

  She felt light-headed. In the cloister, the potted lemon tree still flourished, and she walked over to it and sniffed the leaves. The tree was considerably taller than she recalled. Of course, she told herself, everything and everybody around here has grown or aged or died. She didn't know what she had expected. The bell for nones chimed, and women in black began streaming along the walks in the direction o
f the church. Heloise moved into the shadow of the lemon tree and watched them, detached. She kept waiting for some obvious sensation to strike her, like depression or scorn, even the clench of fear she usually experienced when she thought of Argenteuil. She felt nothing. In the yellow light, the black figures looked like some queer silhouette design on a frieze.

  A thin woman with puffy eyes detached herself from the tail of the line and came slowly down the path toward her. She was looking past Heloise, as if she had her eyes on something just to the right of the lemon tree. Heloise smiled inwardly; the nun's veil was hanging crooked, her sharp little face smudged with dirt. Such things had never happened when Heloise lived here. Lady Alais must be getting lax about discipline.

  Skirts rustling, the nun came to within three feet of her and stopped; she muttered in her throat. Something about the sound of the woman's gurgle made Heloise's heart beat faster. Her right hand pressed against her collarbone, she thrust out her neck and peered uncertainly into the grimy face. "Ceci?" Heloise stretched out her hands. But the nun stood motionless, gaping. "Ceci, it's me. Don't you remember me?"

  With a sob, Ceci rushed at her. "I knew it," she moaned against Heloise's shoulder. "I prayed every day. God answered. I knew you'd come ba—"

  "Shhh. Calm yourself."

  "Madelaine said you'd never be back."

  "Hush now. She was right."

  "No, you've come."

  Already Heloise could feel her muscles tensing in annoyance, the effect Ceci always had on her sooner or later. This time, apparently, sooner. She was such a child. Except that now she no longer looked like one. She had the face of a mature woman, a woman older than her age. "Holy Mother, why don't you listen!"

  "Don't curse in the cloister."

  "I'm not cursing." Lowering her voice, she said, "I’m married. But I need a place to stay for a few weeks, and my husband brought me here. It's only till July. So stop saying I'm back. All right?"

  Ceci drew back. "Oh. Married, you say?" She smiled crookedly.

  "That's right."

  "You have a husband."

  "And a child. A son. He's six months old."

  “What's his name?"

  "Astrolabe."

  Ceci laughed.

  'What's funny?"

  "Astrolabe." She laughed again. "That's just like you. Nobody but you could pick a name like that."

  Heloise grinned. She spit on the sleeve of her gown and dabbed at Ceci's face. "Doesn't anybody wash around here? You're filthy."

  Every morning, Heloise visited the schoolroom. It smelled of ink and wax and old parchment. As she had done as a child, she sat at a carrel by the window and gossiped with Madelaine, sometimes filling the inkhorns and laying out the tablets before the others arrived. Now, of course, there were new boarders, those noble young ladies whose fees helped Argenteuil eke out its resources. At most convents, the curriculum was weak: grammar, singing, needlework, a little Latin. Writing was discouraged lest it lead to clandestine love letters. Argenteuil was not most convents, however, and Madelaine would not tolerate laziness among her students.

  Now there were eight boarders, as well as the lame novice Astrane, who, Madelaine said, showed potential. Heloise was surprised, because the child seemed to her the epitome of stupid subservience, a pretty emptyhead always groveling at the abbess's heels and cleaning up parrot droppings. But Madelaine said no—appearances sometimes lie, and Astrane had a fairly good memory.

  Sitting with Madelaine one morning, Heloise suddenly had a thought. Something had seemed missing in the convent, and now she remembered. The abbess's parrot, Baby. She wondered what had happened to the bird.

  "Oh. That," Madelaine said. After her initial testiness, she had warmed and obviously was enjoying Heloise's visits. "Somebody poisoned the bloody thing. Help me correct these lessons." She handed Heloise a stack of wax tablets.

  Heloise glanced at the neat script on the top tablet. "How would anyone here have access to poison? Mayhap the bird died of natural causes." She ran her eyes down the composition and decided that it had a nice style. "Whose is this?" she asked Madelaine.

  "Astrane's. Quick mind. Wicked heart."

  "Oh, come." Heloise laughed. "That little thing have a wicked heart. Oh, I see. You're trying to tell me she poisoned Baby?"

  "No," she said. "Not Astrane. Somebody else.”

  “Who, then?"

  Madelaine shrugged. I have a good idea. But no proof."

  Heloise began to laugh. "Somebody who hates the abbess?" she prompted, her eyes on Madelaine's face.

  Madelaine turned away with a grin. "I'm not saying." She began dragging stools to the center of the room and aligning them in rows.

  "Here," said Heloise, taking a stool from her. "Let me do that. You shouldn't exert yourself." Madelaine was ill, she knew. Her face had a yellowish cast, even the whites of her eyes had turned a sickly yellow, and Heloise noticed that she ate practically nothing. "Can't you get someone to help you around here?"

  "Bah! I have more work to do than ever. When Baby died, Lady Alais mourned for two weeks. Never came out of her apartment. You should have seen the accounts after that."

  "I thought you did the accounts."

  "Oh, of course." She sucked her wrinkled cheeks into a grimace. "But she is supposed to administer this place, not I."

  After that conversation with the prioress, Heloise went to the schoolroom several times a day. She took over the Latin and mathematics classes, which delighted the children since, unlike Madelaine, she was kind and cheerful and spurred them to work harder. In the evenings, after vespers, she worked on the convent's accounts and wrote whatever official letters required composing. Madelaine did not object, and that made Heloise feel useful. She was surprised to discover that she enjoyed teaching children, and she thought a lot about Astrolabe and made plans in her mind as to how she would instruct him when the time came.

  Madelaine did not mention again the subject of Heloise's marriage, or the fact that her visit to Argenteuil would be temporary. Heloise was content to leave the subject alone, and sometimes she went out of her way to avoid talking about her life outside the convent. But one Friday afternoon just before St. John's Day, while she was in the schoolroom writing a letter to Abelard, Madelaine said mildly, "That husband of yours. Is he as brilliant as everyone says?"

  Heloise looked up. The children had acted badly in church that morning, making noise and giggling, and they were being punished with an extra-long singing lesson. The room was empty. "He is. He's brilliant and handsome, and he writes verse and he plays the—"

  "Verse?" Madelaine frowned. "Tell me something. Did he teach you anything of worth?"

  Heloise nodded. "I was his private pupil for a while."

  "That isn't what I asked you. Did he teach you anything you didn't know already?"

  Heloise hesitated. "Well"—she cleared her throat—"honestly?"

  "Honestly."

  "No. Not much."

  Madelaine grunted in satisfaction. "Didn't think so."

  Guilty over having made that admission, Heloise went back to her letter. She wrote, "You would be horrified at the food they serve here. I'm dying for a cheese pasty and a cup of good Burgundy—and for you, beloved." She put down the quill. It was not Abelard's fault the lessons had failed. They had been too interested in each other's bodies. She sensed Madelaine staring at her, as if she were reading her thoughts, and her face colored pink. Across the carrel, she heard Madelaine saying, "I was wrong."

  She looked up. "About what?"

  Madelaine tugged at her veil. "Your destiny was not the Church." She sighed deeply and gave a little sniff. "And you have no vocation anyway."

  Heloise stared.

  Abelard said, "God, the time drags," and kicked at the pebbles with his shoe. The air was a hot blue. Clots of white clouds floated across the roof. In the abbess's private garden, into which she invited only distinguished guests and merchants who wished to contribute money, there was the gentle whir of bu
mblebees and the jetting of the fountain. Heloise looked over her shoulder toward the abbess's apartment. "It drags more here than in the Ile. I think Lady Alais naps the whole afternoon."

  Abelard followed her gaze with a yawn. "I could use a nap. Do you think she would lend us her bed?"

  "Abelard!" She was genuinely shocked. "That is very wicked."

  He grinned at her. "She's extremely accommodating in every other respect."

  "She thinks you're charming."

  "Well, of course.”

  "You did that deliberately," Heloise said in a mock-accusing tone. "To charm her, I mean."

  Abelard stood up and walked down the path to the fountain. "I want her to treat you like a countess." He splashed water on his face and came back to the bench beside her. The breeze blew a lock of hair over his forehead. She reached up to brush it back. He caught her wrist and pressed his mouth to her fingers.

  Nervous, she twisted around toward the abbess's window. Inside, by the open shutter, she saw Astrane watching them. "Don't," she whispered, "someone can see us."

  He dropped her hand. Abruptly, he said, "I had a letter from William."

  "Oh, Abelard, what does he say about Astrolabe!"

  "Healthy and growing."

  "Is that all?" Heloise asked impatiently.

  "I think he said the boy is crawling." He went on talking, about Le Pallet and then about plans for their journey. They would travel in easy stages—there was no hurry—and they could have a holiday and enjoy the countryside. He knew of several good inns in the Loire Valley. On their way home, they might take a boat up the Loire. "It will be fun for the babe," he said, smiling.

  Happiness filled her eyes with tears. She so wanted a holiday, a real one such as other people had. And to be alone with Abelard and their son—her family—that would be heavenly. She moved close to him, the side of her hand touching his thigh.

  He said softly, "How is your pretty little garden?"

  A shiver ran down her body. "Shhh."

  "I dream of it." His voice lowered to a whisper. "The day I come to take you out of here, we'll go directly to the nearest inn."

  Her eyes roved hungrily over his face. Groaning, she leaned toward him. "Please. Don't."