Stealing Heaven (41 page)

She said, "It's not spring, you know. She'll catch cold."

"No she won't," Heloise said. "Hand me that towel." She set Aristotle on the ground, watched her shake water in all directions, and began to rub her down vigorously with the towel. Outside in the yard, she could hear someone shouting. How many times had she told the children not to yell? A thousand, at least. A girl ran in, breathless.

"Lady Prioress," she said, bobbing, "you're wanted."

"Shhh. Who wants me?"

"Lady Abbess. Right away."

Heloise swaddled Aristotle thickly in the towel and gave her to the laundress. In the doorway of the abbess's apartment stood Sarazanne, her bovine face mottled red from weeping. She was waving a sheaf of crumpled parchment on which the bishop's seal had been broken. "Lady Abbess has gone to bed," she whispered. "You're to call a chapter meeting."

"Very well," Heloise said, taking the letter from her. Without further comment to Sarazanne, she went into the abbess's garden, sat down on a bench, and carefully read the letter once and then a second time. Disbelief welled up in her and, on its heels, helpless rage. Helpless because, for all Suger's lies, there remained a kernel of truth in his allegations. It was true that Argenteuil had had its share of, as Suger put it, "irregularities," but then, so had every other religious house, Saint-Denis not excepted. Indeed, some counted Saint-Denis among the worst.

An hour later, in the chapter house massed with bewildered nuns, Heloise read the bishop's fiat that the convent of Sainte-Marie of Argenteuil no longer existed. At her elbow, Lady Alais sat in the abbatial chair, her back very straight, her face congealed into an expressionless mask. The women ranged on the stone benches around the sides of the room stared at Heloise blankly. "Therefore," read Heloise, "it is decreed that the convent should revert to the royal abbey of Saint-Denis and that the nuns should be replaced by monks." She added, 'We are given thirty days to vacate the premises."

"That's a barrel of muleshit," burst out Sister Blanche indignantly. "What ancient charter is the abbot talking about?"

"Evidently he has produced one," Heloise replied. "A copy has been sent to Rome."

Outraged, the nuns began to shout angrily among themselves, and even the dogs started to howl, until the racket in the chapter house rose to an earsplitting level. Heloise shouted over them, to restore order, "Sisters, sisters, I haven't finished . . ."

"Where did he find this obscure charter?" Sister Angelica asked. "Just tell us that."

"That information is not revealed," Heloise answered, her voice scratchy. "At Saint-Denis, I would imagine."

At the far end of the room, somebody screeched, "He wants our land and peasants!"

"It won't work!" another voice yelled. "There will be a papal inquiry, and Suger will be flung into the Tiber." The room exploded with nervous laughter.

"Think of public opinion," Sister Blanche said. Her blue eyes glinted with hope. "The people of France will never stand for it. This was an honorable retreat for women when the Capetians were still swineherds."

Sister Esclarmonde stood up, her massive shoulders as bulky as a man's. "We're going to appeal the decision, aren't we?"

"By all means," Heloise grunted. Her head was throbbing. Lady Alais had not moved. She wished that the abbess would say something, or at least give an indication that she was still breathing. Heloise let the women hop around and yell for another ten minutes, and then she waved them back to their places. "Make no mistake—we'll appeal. But it may not do any good."

"What do you mean—not do any good?" demanded Sister Esclarmonde. "What kind of negative talk is that?"

"There's another document here," Heloise said wearily. She paused to scratch her nose. The fragrance of laundry soap still clung to her fingers. The nuns were going back to the benches. She unfolded the letter that had accompanied the bishop's decree. "Now, listen to this and listen carefully."

The women stared at her.

"This is a charter drawn up by Matthew of Albano, the papal legate to the synod council." She began to read: "Recently in the presence of the illustrious lord and sovereign Louis of France, together with our brother bishops Reginald, archbishop of Rheims, Stephen, bishop of Paris, Geoffrey, bishop of Chartres, Gozelin, bishop of Soissons—"

"Get to the point!" somebody cried from the corner, "—and others in great number, we were discussing the question of monastic reform. Suddenly, from the back of the hall, there was an outcry against the scandal and infamy prevailing at a nunnery called Argenteuil—" Looking up, she struggled to keep her voice steady; the chapter house was silent, and she noticed that the nuns were not looking at each other, "—at a nunnery called Argenteuil, where a small number of nuns were bringing disgrace upon their order and had long since polluted the entire neighborhood with their lewd and shameful conduct." She stopped.

Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Sister Judith roared, "Well, well! Our polluted neighborhood, is it? Our beloved brethren at Saint-Denis keep their whores in the dorter. God's death, there are more brats in this neighborhood fathered by monks than by lay folk."

Astrane spoke for the first time. "Sister, you are thinking of Saint-Denis under Abbot Adam. You know that Abbot Suger has reformed the abbey."

"Really?" Judith snapped. "I hadn't noticed." Her chest was heaving.

Astrane shrugged. "The abbot cannot abide immorality. There's nothing wrong in that."

"Which side are you on?" Judith glared. A chorus of ayes rang out.

"My sisters," Heloise broke in. Folding the papers, she glanced at Lady Alais, who was clutching her rosary. She said to her, "My lady abbess, would you like to speak?"

The abbess did not move or answer. Then, as if in a trance, she slid to the edge of her chair and stood unsteadily, fastening cold fingers on Heloise's arm. Every pair of eyes in the chapter house strained toward her. In a monotone so flat that most of her words were lost, she began to mumble. ". . . willful slander." She pressed her lips together and gazed down at her abbatial ring.

There was an embarrassed silence. Sister Angelica called out, "My lady abbess, what is to become of us?" Lady Alais did not reply.

After a moment, Heloise pried her fingers loose and toppled her back into the chair. Turning to the nuns, she said, "The bishop informs us that we are to be placed in convents of good repute, lest any of us go astray and perish through misconduct."

"Very funny," hooted Judith. "The flock has been scattered, and he worries about us going astray." A rumble of laughter floated through the chapter house.

Heloise reached for the letter. "Or he presents another alternative. Any nun who wishes may be released from her vows at this time." A gasp went up and, from the corner of her eye, Heloise saw Ceci's mouth drop open. "Of course, that must be your personal decision. I suggest that we adjourn now. In the days ahead, each of us should pray for individual guidance." Nobody moved.

Angelica's high voice sliced into the silence. "What about the appeal?"

"It will be made. But to be safe"—she sighed aloud —"it might be wise to apply now to the approved convents on the bishop's list. Then if the synod decision is overturned, we can always—"

"I'm going to wait and see," broke in Sister Blanche.

"So am I," squeaked one of the new novices.

Astrane said, "I wouldn't." Her eyes were perfectly calm—indeed, her face wore a look of satisfaction that was completely at odds with every face in the room.

"Why not?" said Blanche, frowning.

"I just wouldn't. Pope Honorius is certain to affirm the decision.

 
"What do you know about it?" asked the novice who wanted to wait.

Astrane smiled. "Nothing."

Giving the sign for dismissal, Heloise crossed the room to Ceci and swooped Aristotle from her lap. "Come on. It's over."

Ceci slumped her chin against her chest. "I can't believe it."

Heloise could not believe it either, although she had seen it coming for years. '"Well, they say that seeing is believing." She lowered her voice. "Anyway, now I have my spy."

"Heloise, who?" She raised her head.

"Can't you guess?"

Ceci blinked. "Old Pisspot, isn't it?"

"Aye. I'm dead certain." She glanced back at Lady Alais, who was still sitting in her chair, her eyes filmy. At her elbow, Sarazanne stood stiffly on one leg and chewed her nails. Heloise and Ceci went into the cloister, where the sisters were beginning to assemble in small groups. The women made no effort to control their voices as they ordinarily would have, and the close vibrated with tears and curses. Heloise felt too weary to call for order. She staggered to a deserted spot under the eaves.

Ceci, rubbing her nose, followed. She said bitterly, "Astrane has sold her soul to Suger."

"Astrane has no soul."

"Neither does Suger ... I wonder what he promised her. An abbacy, I wager."

Heloise shook her head. "She's too young."

Ceci asked, “What are you going to do now?"

"Do? About what?"

"We are released from our vows. You can go back to the world."

"I made my vows to Abelard, not to God. Abelard has not released me." Ceci was staring at her. "But Ceci, listen—there's no reason why you can't return to the world"

Ceci laughed sharply. She thrust her hands into her sleeves. "Where would I go?"

"Home. Angers."

"Heloise, I'm twenty-seven. They won't want me." She looked away, frowning. "Besides, I don't even remember what they looked like."

"Don't be so hasty. The chance won't come again. Think about it."
 

"There's nothing to think about."

They went in to eat.

 

From that day until Easter, the nuns at Argenteuil struggled to restore order to lives that had once seemed the most ordered, most secure, of all women. The children had been sent home. All semblance of discipline vanished, even the celebration of the divine offices being made late and once omitted entirely. The rule of silence that they had observed during meals gave way to half whispers and then to outright chatter. All of them, Heloise included, were waiting for the appeal to reach King Louis, but as the days passed without word, they gradually lost confidence. A few nuns, always in pairs, took bowls from the kitchen and walked out the front gate; they said that they were going to Rocamadour or Compostela. Some did not mention their destinations. To Heloise's surprise, Sister Judith, who had been a nun for thirty-five years, requested release from her vows so that she could live with her niece. And there were other women, young and aging, who renounced their calling, if it could be called that.

"Sister Astrane," Heloise said carefully, without looking at her, "the bishop wants a record of where each of us plans to go. You have not yet notified me of your plans."

"I'm going to Sainte-Catherine's."

Heloise frowned. "Where is that? I've not heard of such a convent."

"A new daughter house of Mount Sainte-Agnes. Near Senlis."

"Gramercy." She wrote Astrane's name on her list and, after it, Sainte-Catherine's of Senlis. She felt Astrane's eyes on her.

A moment later, Astrane was saying, "I'm to be prioress." Her voice was velvety with triumph.

“I see. Sister, I have work to do now. You have my permission to go.”

The thirty-day grace period passed. Heloise sent a lay brother to the bishop to ask why Louis the Fat had taken no action on their appeal. The brother came back full of gossip. The king had left Paris for Rheims, where he intended to crown Prince Philip. In spite of her annoyance, Heloise was interested. That was unusual, crowning a thirteen-year-old prince as king while his father still lived. Louis the Fat was taking no chances with the succession. People said that Philip was arrogant, badly behaved, and disobedient, an all-round bad potato, and that the king could do nothing with him. Heloise hoped the king remained in good health for a while. She sent the lay brother to Rheims.

Uneasiness pervaded the cloister. The feeling of impending calamity grew stronger, and even those nuns, like Sister Blanche, who had hesitated, were applying to other convents. Lady Alais announced that she would enter Notre Dame-des-Bois and that Sarazanne would accompany her. She could not take the parrot; the abbess of Notre Dame forbade animals, and Lady Alais sold the bird to a merchant who stopped the night.

As for Heloise's own future, it remained a blank. Following her advice to the nuns, she requested admission to Notre Dame-des-Bois and several other houses, both for herself and for Ceci. Nothing happened. Either she received no reply, or she got letters politely refusing. Always there was some excuse—no room, or her application was being carefully reviewed and so forth. Heloise marveled at the power of Abbot Suger.

Ceci gave a lopsided grin. "Sweet, nobody wants us," she told Heloise. "Isn't that a coincidence."

"The abbot has done a thorough job," admitted Heloise. "But he doesn't control every nunnery in Christendom. Stop worrying."

"There's nothing to do but worry." Ceci laughed.

"Tomorrow I'm going to write to the abbess at Fontevrault. It's a fairly new community. Surely they'll be wanting people." She should have written earlier. At Fontevrault there were a convent and monastery together, but both were ruled by a woman, a unique arrangement. Fontevrault had been founded by Robert d'Arbrissel, a Breton reformer who believed that women were more competent administrators than men. Heloise liked the sound of the place.

The next day, the lay brother returned from Rheims. Illiterate, he had not read the documents in his pouch, but he had been told of their contents and he arrived weeping. Heloise learned that Louis had endorsed the synod decision on the day of Prince Philip's coronation. Argenteuil was to be evacuated immediately.

Quickly the nuns began to leave, even though the final decision rested with Pope Honorius and he had not yet passed on the appeal. Nobody believed that he would save them. The wardrober opened her storeroom and distributed to each woman the personal belongings she had brought when she entered the convent. There were gowns, moth-eaten and mildewed, long out of style; faded ribbons and bracelets green with tarnish, dusty packets of letters, rag dolls, even a lute. Everyone got something painful. All that day the nuns wept. In the evening, when they were exhausted from grief, Heloise told the cellaress to make a fire outside the postern gate so that the nuns should be enabled to burn what they did not wish to keep.