Heresy

by Sharan Newman

  She turned back to the messenger. “You said there was something else?”

  He bowed again. “Yes, my lady abbess. Lord Edgar told me to tell you that Lady Catherine was bringing you a gift that he hoped would make up for any inconvenience you might suffer.”

  “What sort of gift?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t told, my lady,” he answered.

  Heloise shook her head. “I can’t imagine what they think I might need,” she muttered. “Thank you, sir. Please go to Sister Thecla, the portress. She’ll see that you have food and a bed.”

  When he had left, she looked at Margaret. “Perhaps you’d like to turn the embroidery over to Ida and help Thecla prepare the room for your family?”

  “Yes, Mother.” Margaret could barely contain her excitement. “Thank you, Mother. I’ve missed them so much! Oh,” she paused. “I didn’t mean that I’ve been unhappy…”

  “Of course not,” Heloise sighed as she sat back down to work. “Even the hermit saints must sometimes have longed for those dear to them, despite the tranquility of their caves.”

  Margaret ran out. Heloise went back to her room and her letters. Sitting at the desk, she sharpened her stylus and pressed it into the wax, softening it first with the warmth of her hand. She swallowed hard as she forced herself to concentrate on the work. But at the back of her mind there was the constant yearning.

  My son, my dear Astrolabe, where are you?

  At that moment, Astrolabe was sitting quite comfortably in a tavern just outside the town of Provins, about halfway between Paris and the Paraclete. He and Edgar had agreed that the guards shouldn’t think he was anything but another man hired to protect the family. Therefore his first few days had been spent in establishing himself with them. He blessed his uncle and cousins for having given him rudimentary training in arms and, more important, the proper vocabulary to hold his own in their banter, which was often only a thinly veiled challenge.

  Solomon had also tried to prepare him.

  “First of all, you can’t call yourself Astrolabe,” he had said. “Even if they’ve never heard of you, they’ll laugh themselves off their horses when they hear it.”

  “You think I don’t know that,” Astrolabe had responded. “I’ve had that name all my life, remember?”

  “And I’m surprised you haven’t changed it before now,” Solomon had replied.

  “I have been known to call myself Peter,” Astrolabe admitted. “I hope it doesn’t dishonor my father. I was given the name Peter Astrolabe, but no one ever called me by it.”

  “I’m sure he’d be proud,” Solomon said. “Especially if it keeps you alive. Very well, can you act menacing?”

  Once Astrolabe had stopped laughing at that, he had assured Solomon that he thought he could grimace and scowl with the best of them.

  Solomon had had his doubts, but so far on the trip the other guards seemed not to have guessed that Astrolabe was really a clerk in minor orders and an escaped prisoner wanted for heresy and murder. What surprised him was how comfortable it was to be Peter again. Perhaps Solomon was right. It was wonderful to be able to say his name and not wait for the stare, either of recognition or confusion. What had his parents been thinking of?

  “More beer, Peter?”

  Astrolabe looked up. He hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. Godfrey, one of Edgar’s regular men, was picking up the pitcher. “If so, it’s your turn to pay.”

  Astrolabe nodded and fished a silver bit from the bag at his belt. Godfrey caught it and stumbled to the bar.

  Astrolabe leaned back against the wall. He scratched at a flea bite on his neck. He hadn’t shaved in almost a month now. The beard was another curtain to hide behind. He liked it. In his thick woolen shirt and leather braies and tunic he felt that if anyone noticed him at all, it would be only to mark him as a man to be avoided.

  It felt good.

  The beer came and Astrolabe emptied his bowl. He belched with gusto and laughed at Godfrey’s convoluted story about a woman he had known in the south.

  “I tell you,” he insisted, “she had vanquished whole armies without ever setting her feet on the floor. The first time I was with her I was sure I’d be sucked into that dark cavern and be lost.”

  He stopped to refill his bowl and noticed smugly that the room had gone quiet as all the drinkers waited to learn how he’d survived.

  “I don’t mind saying now that I was terrified,” he grinned. “This great wide road opening before me, ready to devour any who dared descend into it. Too late I remembered the pathetic pilgrim I had met on the road the day before. He was all that remained of the last force that had stormed her deceptive gate. The bells were even then tolling for the rest. I pleaded with the blessed Saint Maurice to help me.”

  “And what could he do?” A voice jeered from another table.

  Godfrey turned to face the man. “Why, remind me that I was a soldier, as he had been,” he said. “What does a good fighting man do when faced with a superior force?”

  He paused only long enough to take another drink.

  “Why, attack from the rear, of course!”

  The room erupted with guffaws and foot stamping. Godfrey leaned over to Astrolabe.

  “That should get us at least another pitcher free!”

  Yes, Astrolabe decided, this wasn’t a bad life at all. He had drifted too long, in minor orders as his parents had wished but unable to get a benefice that would support him. Why not do something else for a time?

  The door to the guest house opened and Samonie entered. The man nearest grabbed her around the waist.

  “My own prayer answered!” he cried. “Godfrey, is this your slayer of nations?”

  He tried to kiss her, but Samonie had been in this position before, not always unwillingly. Smiling, she ducked her head and brought it up hard against his chin.

  He loosed his hold for a moment, and before he could recover enough to strike her, Samonie had spotted the guards. They were all on their feet at once, and the man decided the jael wasn’t worth his life. He left, grumbling and rubbing his chin.

  “Why are you out so late?” Godfrey asked. “We thought you were all asleep at the monastery.”

  “Obviously.” Samonie’s scorn included Astrolabe. “I came to make sure that you weren’t all drinking away the evening so that you’d be good for nothing tomorrow. My mistress is too much of an innocent to suspect that the men her husband paid to protect her were spending their time getting drunk and whoring all night.”

  Godfrey loomed over her, but Samonie didn’t budge. Astrolabe felt both ashamed and embarrassed. Didn’t Samonie know how it would look for them to be tongue-whipped by a serving woman in front of the whole room? He stepped between them.

  “We were only drinking new beer,” he told her. “You should trust Edgar’s judgment. None of these men have failed him yet.”

  “Because they always had a man in charge of them.” Samonie wasn’t about to back down.

  Astrolabe laid his hand gently on her crossed arms. “Catherine doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

  Samonie shook her head and lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “I wouldn’t bother her now, with her worry for the little ones and hat sick from the ride and the one inside her. And you, sitting here willing with the rest of them! Shame on you!”

  Astrolabe saw that the room was happily viewing this new entertainment. If something weren’t done soon, one of the other men would make a comment and there would be flying chairs and broken heads as well as he watch called in. Why didn’t Samonie understand what she was doing?

  “You’re right,” he said, looking to the other men to support him. “As the newest man here I should have been left behind in case I was needed. Allow me to walk you back to the monastery and stand guard at your door tonight.”

  As he spoke he guided her toward the door. Samonie was surprised at he strength of his grip on her arm. As he led her out, he turned to the other men and winked
.

  The roar of laughter was clear through the closed door. Astrolabe hurried her down the path before she could decide to make another sortie against the guards. They were soon on the empty road between the town and the monastery. It was black as pitch. Astrolabe wondered how she lad found her way without a light, and why.

  “Now, why did you really come all this way alone?” he asked her. And in your slippers.“

  Samonie pulled her hood more tightly over her face. She turned her lead to look up at him.

  “There’s a man staying at the monastery, a monk.”

  The howl of the wind blew her next words away. Astrolabe leaned down to catch them.

  “I didn’t see him for he’s not staying in the guesthouse but with the other monks. One of the lay servants told me that he was asking about anyone who might have known Peter Abelard.” Samonie tried to see his reaction to this, but the night was too dark.

  “I thought you should be warned,” she added.

  Astrolabe wasn’t sure what to answer. It wasn’t that unusual for men to seek out those who had known his father. After all, he had been a famous philosopher and teacher. There were many who still believed that his work had been condemned unfairly. Even Pope Eugenius wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had studied under Peter Abelard.

  On the other hand…

  “Why do you think this has something to do with me?” he asked. “Most of those who study my father’s work don’t even know that I exist.”

  Samonie tried to answer, but the wind was too cutting. She started to walk more quickly on the uneven path to the monastery.

  “There was more…” she began.

  Suddenly she gave a cry as she slipped in her thin shoes and crashed onto the hard, rough ice.

  “Samonie!” Astrolabe knelt to help her. “Are you hurt?”

  There was no answer. Astrolabe felt her neck and face for some sign of life. She was breathing; he exhaled in relief. But his fingers touched something warm and sticky at her temple. Cautiously, he sniffed. Blood. He had to get her back to the monastery at once.

  Samonie was heavier than he would have guessed. She was slight of build, but years of hard work had made her body solid. He wasn’t sure he could manage to carry her all the way.

  Each step seemed to take forever. Astrolabe eased forward. He wished he were wearing sabots instead of riding boots. No wonder Samonie had fallen. If he weren’t careful, they would both go down. What could have been so important that she would come out in the middle of the night without bothering to dress for the weather?

  There was a man coming toward him, carrying a lantern. Astrolabe called out.

  “Here! Watchman! Avoi! I need some help!”

  As the man came closer, Astrolabe realized that he wasn’t a town watchman but a monk. Or a man in the garb of a monk, he thought. Brigands weren’t above dressing as clerics. But it was too late now; the man was coming toward them.

  “The lady fell,” Astrolabe explained when the light of the lantern hit them. “Can you help me get her someplace out of the cold? She’s staying at the monastery guesthouse, but I don’t think I can carry her that far.”

  He couldn’t see the man’s face but was uncomfortably aware that his was illuminated clearly in the light. The cleric said nothing, but the lantern swung around leaving Astrolabe blind for a moment.

  “Follow me,” the man said. “I’m a stranger in this place, but there is a cluster of peasant homes not far from here. I passed them on my way. they can shelter her while you go for help.”

  He led Astrolabe in silence until they saw the group of huts, huddled close together next to the road. The cleric strode up to the nearest one and pounded on the door.

  “Open up!” he ordered. “Travelers seeking aid!”

  The words didn’t matter, Astrolabe realized. The cleric spoke with the authority of one who expected immediate obedience.

  They heard the latch being drawn and a frightened face looked out. Astrolabe moved into the light. His arms were aching.

  “The lady is hurt and needs care,” he explained. “I will pay you for your kindness.”

  “Stultus!” the cleric muttered, adding in Latin, “Now they know you nave money.”

  Astrolabe stiffened but made no response that might indicate he understood. Why should the cleric have supposed that a common soldier would have Latin?

  The door opened a little more, revealing a frightened face that was probably female.

  “We have nothing to offer, my lord,” she said. “We’re near the end of our winter stores. But we can give you a place to lie and fresh water.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  Astrolabe pushed his way in and searched for a place to set Samonie. The light had gone again. He looked back at the door and discovered that his guide hadn’t followed them in.

  “May Saint Lawrence roast him alive!” he cursed as he fumbled in the dark.

  He felt a hand on his arm.

  “There’s a place in the straw,” the woman said. “We have sheep to warm us.”

  Astrolabe already knew that by the smell. He was relieved that the winter famine hadn’t forced these people to sell or slaughter their animals. The hut was warm.

  “My friend is hurt,” he explained again. “She hit her head on the ice. I need enough light to judge the wound and water to try to revive her.”

  “We have no oil for a lamp and the fire is banked for the night,” the woman explained. “I crave your forgiveness, lord, but I will fetch a cup of water.”

  It would have to do. He laid Samonie in what appeared to be a clear patch of straw and heard someone scrabbling to get out of the way.

  The woman must have had wondrous vision, for a moment later Astrolabe felt a cup being pressed against his arm. He took it gratefully. Then he wet the edge of his sleeve and washed Samonie’s face, splashing the water on her cheeks. She stirred but didn’t wake.

  He leaned back on his heels.

  “I must go on to the monastery for the cart,” he said into the darkness. “I shall see that you are rewarded if you attend to her while I’m gone. I’ll return before the bells ring for matins.”

  “They’ve already rung, my lord,” a child’s voice spoke.

  “Prime, then,” Astrolabe said. “It’s only a short distance and I can do it easily with no burden. Make certain that she rests easily.”

  “We’re good Christians here, my lord,” the woman told him. “We shall do our best to see that she is comfortable.”

  Astrolabe thanked them and, after some fumbling, found the door. Once outside he marked the place by the empty dovecote leaning on its pole by the stone fence. The clouds had blown away and the stars gave enough light for him to find the path. Although he’d only been a few moments inside the hut, he saw no glimmer of the lantern carried by the cleric, although the road was straight back into the town.

  Astrolabe felt a frisson at his neck that had nothing to do with the cold. He crossed himself hurriedly, murmuring a prayer to Saint Anthony to protect him from spirits and demons.

  Four

  A monastery near Provins. Very early on quinquagesima Sunday, 9 kalends March (February 21), 1148. Feast of Saint Pepin, duke of Brabant, mayor of the palace under King Dagobert, whose main claim to sanctity seems to be that he defended the poor against the nobles and that his daughter became Saint Gertrude, abbess of Nivelles.

  Fugiunt arietes, immo et pastores Dominici gregis;

  remanent oves intrepides.

  Dominus tamquam infirmam camem,

  quod in articulo etiam passionis suae nee una hora cum eo potuerunt vigilare.

  Insomnem ad sepulcrum illius noctem in hcrymis feminae ducentes,

  resurgentis gloriam primas videre.

  The rams, or rather the very shepherds of the Lord’s flock, flee; the ewes remain undaunted. The Lord reproved the former as weak flesh because they could not watch one hour with him at the time of his passion. It was the women, spending a sleepless night at his
sepulcher, who deserved to be the first to see the glory of the risen Christ.

  Peter Abelard, De auctoritate vel dignitate ordinis sanctimonialum

  Catherine had already been wakened by the sound of the monks chanting matins and by the kicking of her son. James didn’t appreciate being cooped up in the cart all day and took it out on her by night. She realized at once that Samonie was gone but assumed she was in the latrine.

  After a few moments, Catherine realized that she had to go, too. All her pregnancies had given her a very weak bladder. Edgar had once threatened to design her side of the bed with the chamber pot already installed. Catherine had not thought it a matter for humor and he didn’t tease her about it again, although it was now he who slept next to the wall so she could come and go in peace.