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 Perceptiveness 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.
&nb
sp; “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.”
“I’m glad he’s taking an interest,” Catherine said, “but why do we have to be there?”
“Because his men have just brought in the murderer,” Godfrey told them. “He was accused this afternoon and is now in custody. I saw the soldiers taking him in.”
“That was quick work,” Margaret said. “I’m so relieved that it’s over.” “Margaret,” Catherine said, “I don’t think that’s what Godfrey means, do you, Godfrey.?”
“No, my lady.” Godfrey’s mouth was tight with anger. “They’ve imprisoned Astrolabe in the bishop’s dungeon.”
Eighteen
Outside the bishop’s palace. That evening.
Noverit prudentia vestra me venisse Remis ad apostolicum, et
comitissa Flandrensis me duxit illuc pro negotio suo, ibique et de ejus
et de meo tractamus negotio.
It is known to your Prudence that I have come to Reims to the pope, and the countess of Flanders took me there on her business and there we managed both her business and mine.
Raoul of Vermandois, letter to Suger, abbot of Saint-Denis in Reims, 1148
“Catherine, I’m terrified.” Margaret looked up at the three-story building shadowed by the bulk of the ancient cathedral.
“Margaret, darling, nothing will happen to you,” Catherine said. “We’ve feared all along that Astrolabe might be taken before we could find the real culprit, but I know we can prove that it’s all a horrible mistake.”
“What if I say something wrong?” Margaret worried. “Words are such slippery things. I won’t have to answer in Latin, will I?”
“I’m sure not.” Catherine took her hand. “You might not be asked anything at all.”
There was a light on the second floor. Someone was burning a fortune in candles.
“Catherine! Wait!”
They looked up the road and saw John running toward them. He stopped at the gate, bending over to catch his breath.
“I just found out what happened,” he said. “I had gone out for a pitcher, and when I returned, Astrolabe was gone. Thomas said that the archbishop wanted to question him. I must be at the meeting to speak for him. Let me come in with you, please. I won’t be admitted otherwise.”
“Of course, John,” Catherine said. “But are you sure you want to do this? People are not usually comfortable hiring a clerk with heretical connections.”
“It doesn’t matter. Astrolabe is my friend,” John answered.
Together, they entered the bishop’s palace.
Engebaud, archbishop of Tours, was puzzled by Samson’s invitation. What could the death of a canon of Paris have to do with him? Perhaps he had been asked to help make a judgment. He was honored that his judicial wisdom was so well known, but it had been a long day and his bed was much more alluring than any accolade would be.
He was surprised to see Hugh of Rouen there as well, and not entirely pleased. Since their sees were next to each other, they had had many occasions to argue about areas where the boundaries appeared to overlap.
“Good evening, my lord,” he greeted Hugh.
“And to you, my lord.” Hugh gave him a wintry smile.
Engebaud looked around the room. He had expected Count Thibault to be present; he had the right of high justice. If it were a matter of hanging, then no ecclesiastical court could pronounce judgment. Of course Countess Mahaut would join him. But why was Sybil of Anjou in the room? And who were those other women? Her attendants? This was altogether peculiar.
Archbishop Samson greeted him with proper respect, which soothed him somewhat.
“My dear lord Archbishop,” he bowed. “I am honored that you are able to join us.”
“I am always at your service.” Engebaud bowed in return. “Although I confess I am perplexed as to the form that service is to take.”
Samson smiled at him. “I believe you’ll discover that it is I who may be able to serve you. Please be seated. Would you care for wine?”
Engebaud took the offered cup, noting that the silver was plate.
When they were settled, Countess Sybil stood to address the group.
“Most of you know that I came to this council in the hope of receiving aid in my struggle against the invader of my land, Baldwin of Hainaut. However, I also accepted a commission from my friend, Heloise, abbess of the Paraclete.”
Mahaut leaned forward. “Heloise? She told me nothing of this.”
Sybil pressed her lips together, then continued in a polite tone.
“She might not have entrusted me with the information if it had not involved my ward, Annora of Beaumont.” Sybil indicated Annora, standing with Catherine and Margaret across the room.
Mahaut was appeased for the moment. Catherine knew that it hurt her to know that Heloise had gone to Sybil and not her.
“Archbishop Samson is faced with a serious crime, that of murder, committed on a member of the household of the bishop of Paris while he was attending the council here in Reims,” Sybil continued. “I have come to believe that this murder is directly connected with that of Cecile, a nun of Saint-Georges-de-Rennes and sister to Annora.”
Engebaud was still confused. Sybil took pity on him.
“You may recall the capture of the heretic Eon and his followers?” she asked him.
“Of course,” Engebaud said. He was looking forward to the trial the next day. That would put an end to the pretensions of Olivier of Dol.
“Cecile was the woman who died as a result,” Sybil said.
“Not by one of my men!” Engebaud exclaimed. “They were under strict orders not to harm the heretics unless they were themselves attacked. That woman was killed by one of Eon’s people! I have witnesses!”
“You do?” Catherine blurted. “Then you knew of her murder?”
All eyes turned to her. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I most humbly beg your forgiveness,” she said.
“And who are you?” Engebaud asked frostily.
“No one, my lord,” Catherine answered, cheeks flaming. “My name is Catherine.”
“Lady Catherine was also sent as a representative of the Paraclete,” Sybil said.
Archbishop Engebaud was becoming annoyed. He turned to Archbishop Hugh for support.
“I don’t understand what business any of this is with Heloise,” he complained. “If the woman who died was Norman and subject to you, then it seems that is something we should handle privately. I understand we now have the man who did it.”
“I’m sorry, Engebaud,” Hugh said. “I know no more than you. Until this moment, I was unaware that Cecile of Beaumont had died. I shall arrange a Mass for her. I agree that if the culprit has been captured, it only remains to sentence him. Heloise has no jurisdictio
n in the case.”
“It is very much her concern, however,” Sybil continued. “The man accused of both these crimes is her son.”
“What! Margaret, did you know about this?” Countess Mahaut asked.
“Yes, my lady.” Margaret held herself stiffly, as if expecting a blow. “But he didn’t do it. We know he didn’t!”
“Of course not,” Mahaut said firmly. “I know him well. The very idea is ludicrous. If that is what we have been called here for, then we’ve wasted our time.”
Archbishop Samson intervened.
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