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.”
“Who was Saint Gwenoc?” Catherine asked.
“An ancestor of ours,” Annora said proudly. “He was a very holy hermit ages and ages ago. He performed miracles. They say he had a tame bear that would sleep at the entrance to his cave to protect him from the night spirits and keep him warm in the winter.”
“And this land you’re fighting over was his hermitage?” Catherine asked.
Annora nodded, then winced as the maid yanked the braid tight.
“There’s a little chapel there still, where the bear slept, but it’s in ruins,” she said. “We have no priest to maintain it, but I’m hoping that Countess Sybil will donate the funds to support one.”
“And what does Gui want to do with it?”
“He says that he’ll give it to the white monks for a priory, but I don’t believe him,” Annora said. “More likely he’ll use it as Henri of Treguier did, as a place to keep his mistresses.”
“I must admit that he didn’t strike me as a spiritual person,” Catherine said. “But in these uncertain times many people are thinking of the fate of their souls. He might well be sincere.”
“Not Gui!” Annora insisted. “If anything, he’s hoping to collect the revenues from the pilgrims who will come.”
“I doubt the monks would be such bad bargainers as to give up revenues to him,” Catherine said. “But why would there be pilgrims?”
“Because there are still miracles, of course,” Annora said. “There’s a spring inside the cave. The water is known to cure the choking sickness that babies get.”
“It does?” Catherine’s voice shook.
“So they say.” Annora wiggled impatiently on her stool. “My father let the local people get some whenever they wished, but he didn’t want strangers wandering over our land. So he discouraged stories about it.”
“But if it could save a child’s life,” Catherine protested. “Then what would a little inconvenience matter? I lost a baby to the winter fever. I would have gone anywhere to save her.”
The maid finished the long braid and looped it up over Annora’s shoulder.
“My Alexander was taken by the coughing sickness,” she said. “I vowed to walk barefoot to Rome if only God would spare him. But he died anyway. Will that do, my lady?”
She held up a mirror with an unsteady hand. Over Annora’s head Catherine met the maid’s eyes. She never spoke to the woman or saw her after the council, but Catherine always remembered her as a sister.
Annora took the mirror from the maid and held it steady. “It’s fine, thank you. You may go now. The water doesn’t always work, you know,” she added to Catherine. “That’s another reason my father wouldn’t have it exploited.”
Catherine felt again her helplessness during the illness of baby Heloisa, having to watch her burning with fever, coughing and gasping for air until she finally fell silent. Nothing in Catherine’s life had ever hurt so much.
Fiercely, she forced the image from her mind and concentrated on the problem before her.
“Annora,” she asked, “if you were to die without children, who would get your property?”
“Well, the castellany is held from the duke of Normandy and the bishop of Rouen so they might give it to one of their men.” Annora was undisturbed by the question. “But Gwenoc’s cave belongs to the family and there aren’t many of us left, just Gui and some other cousin who’s been in a monastery for years. So I suppose that it would come to Gui. Of course I could give it to the church now.” She smiled at the thought. “That would really infuriate him.”
“I see,” said Catherine.
Annora looked up at her.
“You don’t think Gui had anything to do with Cecile’s death, do you?” she asked. “That is nonsense, I assure you. After all, he was the one attacked by the demon.”
“What if it weren’t a demon?” Catherine suggested. “What if Gui were on his way to strike at you and was stopped through divine or perhaps human aid?”
Annora stood up proudly, suddenly annoyed. “You overstep yourself, Catherine. Whoever killed Cecile, it was not a member of the family. Gui may be dissolute, but my cousin is not a murderer and it is not your place to imply that he is.”
Chin high and braids swinging, Annora swept from the room.
Catherine finished combing out her own tangled black curls, thankful that as a married woman, she could cover the result with a long scarf. She sighed. She should have expected Annora’s reaction.
“I ought to have kept my speculations to myself,” she sighed. “Mother would be so ashamed of me. No one wants to hear evil of their family, even if they say it often enough themselves, and they certainly don’t want to hear it from someone who is beneath their station.”
There was a sound at the doorway. Catherine turned and saw a woman peering in at her. She looked around the room to see whom Catherine was talking to, then retreated when she realized Catherine was alone.
Catherine decided it was time to go find Astrolabe before someone else came in and discovered her having a conversation with herself. The other women were already starting to avoid her, having marked her predisposition for accidents. Only Margaret’s exalted status and the patronage of Countess Sybil kept them from suggesting that she sleep elsewhere.
Although the air was brisk, it felt good to be out again. Catherine wrapped her fur-lined cloak warmly about her. The wind blew it open again. In her haste to be gone, she had forgotten to bring something to pin it with. As she pulled it tighter, something thumped in her sleeve.
Carefully, she untied it and the brooch fell into her hand. She turned it over. The gold was rich and soft, the topazes carefully matched. The pin was bent and the catch torn. Edgar could have repaired it easily. She examined it more carefully. The materials were good but the workmanship mediocre. She should have asked Annora if it were Gui’s. That was twice she had forgotten. Perhaps the events of the past few days had affected her more than she had thought. This time she must find out if it belonged to Gui. If it didn’t, then it was the only real clue they had to his assailant. She carefully tied it back in the sleeve.
She finally found Astrolabe among the crowd in the parvis in front of the cathedral. He had found a spot out of the wind and was sitting on the ground, his sword laid across his knees in a manner that implied it could be used at any minute. Catherine sank down next to him gratefully.
Astrolabe was delighted to see her. “We were worried about you,” he told her. “You must think you’re Saint Margaret, chasing demons all on your own.”
“It wasn’t a very big demon,” Catherine assured him.
“Well, I’ve been busy while you were recovering.” Astrolabe handed her a piece of cheese from the recesses of his cloak. “Settle back and hear the news.”
“I want you to tell me everything you’ve found out,” she said, taking the cheese. “I feel as if I’ve been gone for a month.”
She nibbled on it as he told of his interview with Gui and John’s discovery of the name of the canon of Paris who had been following them.
“Rolland?” She shook her head. “I don’t think I ever heard his name. I wonder if Edgar k
new him. He was Abelard’s student long before I met him. I can’t imagine why he’s involved in all this. Certainly not to hurt you. Why would he care?”
“It really doesn’t matter,” Astrolabe said wearily. “He is involved. But I’m sure someone is directing him.”
“The unknown monk?” Catherine asked, licking cheese from her fingers.
“Perhaps. We won’t know until we find him.” Astrolabe stood. He gave Catherine his hand to help her rise. “We had another incident last night.” He explained about the slip with his name. “We aren’t sure that the monk who overheard was the one who has been following me, but we must assume he is. Godfrey has offered to watch Rolland until the two make contact.”
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