Stealing Heaven (50 page)

"With the goad!" she yelled. "Prod them!" Ceci began to scream at the oxen. A villein came running down the field and swooped the switch from her hands. Roughly he beat the team until they had turned and were maneuvered into position. Heloise dropped the handles for a moment and wiped her hands on her skirt. She waited, inhaling the good smell of freshly turned earth. Once again her hands clamped the plow, and they started moving. When they reached Arnoul and the villeins, she noticed that the men were grinning. They let out a long cheer. Heloise dropped the handles and grinned back, her face dripping sweat. Arnoul barked, "Jacques, get going. Take the plow." He scowled at the men. "Move. This isn't a feast day."

In position again, the oxen began lumbering down the strip. Ceci, panting, untied the mare. The women went home.

Later, after vespers had been said, Heloise went down to the river to find Abelard. Beneath the trees it was dank and the deepening twilight brought an aroma of rotted reeds. Abelard was sitting against the base of a birch, a book on his knees.

"Lady." He looked up at her, his eyes sleepy.

"Abbot Peter," she said in a light tone. "If I remember correctly, you once told me that as a boy you were an expert with the slingshot."

He smiled jauntily. "Champion of Le Pallet. A regular David against any Goliath."

"Good." She smiled back. "The Lord has need of you.

 

All through the spring and early summer, while the earth covered itself with juicy grass and the cabbages rounded into pale-green ovals, Heloise and Ceci rose long before prime to begin their work. Abelard had been back in Brittany for some time, and even though Heloise prayed for a letter, none came. She told herself the pope's legate must have visited by now—the monks of Saint-Gildas surely had put their feet on a more righteous path. By midsummer, the days were long and they were in the fields from dawn to dusk working alongside the villagers. Heloise felt violently happy. People made whistle pipes from reeds and played tunes on them. Out in the hay meadow, moon daisies were in bloom and dragonflies skimmed overhead. The grass there was high enough for the children to hide in. Everyone said the harvest would be plentiful.

Months had passed since Heloise had written to Astrane, telling her that she was welcome at the Paraclete but spelling out clearly the primitive conditions she would find. Ceci, who had read the letter, said Heloise had painted such a dreadful picture that Astrane would be sure to give up the idea; she was glad of this. In time, both Heloise and Ceci forgot about Astrane. There was too much to do.

The Paraclete had acquired a sheep. One. It was an old, smelly creature, not at all lovable, and whenever Ceci looked at it, she began jesting about roast mutton. In July, on sheep-washing day, they drove the animal downriver to Quincey, where the villagers had built a big pen next to the water. It hardly seemed worth the trouble to have their one sheep washed and sheared, but Heloise felt they might as well. From early morning they could hear the Quincey sheep baaing a
mile away, so much racket did they make.

Heloise and Ceci stood a little way off, watching. The sheep driven into the pen were all piled up against one another. Prodded with long sticks, they were pushed screaming into the water. Melisende came up and leaned against the pen, but conversation was difficult unless you shouted at the top of your voice. Yet somehow they talked, about the only things that mattered to any of them: the haying, when the corn would be ready for reaping, most often of the weather. It had been good so far, and if it held, if no rain spoiled it, they would give thanks to God.

At noon, Melisende's eldest son, a
chubby lad of ten, ran up and said that three nuns had been seen in the village. Melisende said, "You must be mistaken."

"I saw them, Mama. They're all in black."

"Pilgrims," Melisende remarked absently.

After a
moment, Ceci jabbed her elbow into Heloise's side. "Do you think—"

Heloise hurried toward the road, Ceci lurching along at her heels. There was no sign of any nuns. She walked slowly toward the village, shading her eyes. At the fork in the road, under an oak, sat Astrane and two other women. When they caught sight of her, they got to their feet and came forward hesitantly. Astrane called, "Sister Heloise. I mean, lady abbess—" Her face seemed saggy, apprehensive.

Heloise looked back. Ceci had stopped some fifty feet to her rear. She was not coming. Heloise turned, went up to Astrane, and kissed her on both cheeks. She stepped back and smiled at her, then at the two women behind her. "Welcome, ladies."

Her eyes glued to Heloise's face, Astrane said quickly, "We lost our way . . . somebody gave us incorrect directions . . . where's the convent, all I've seen are corn fields ... I just can't—"

Heloise laughed. "Whoa, Sister, catch your breath. The Paraclete is up the road about a mile." She pointed north.

Ceci was stamping toward them, her face fixed in an expression that was half smile, half grimace. Heloise hoped that she wasn't going to be unpleasant to Astrane. Suddenly Ceci shouted at Astrane. "Well, Sister, we meet again on God's green earth. The Lord's will be done, I suppose."

Astrane looked away quickly, her eyes narrowed to slits. "God's will be done," she murmured, and introduced her companions, who stood smiling politely. Heloise glanced at the one called Gertrude. She was tall and her hazel eyes spouted curiosity. Whenever she spoke or looked at someone, she wrinkled her nose. The other nun, Marguerite, did not appear pleased to be there. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she kept swiping at them, and at her nose, with a wadded handkerchief. She told Heloise that grass made her sneeze.

They walked back to the pen to collect the sheep. Children and sheep and dogs clogged the dusty road. Ceci said to Astrane, "Forgive my curiosity, Sister. But how came you to leave a place where you were prioress? Surely that was not a wise move."

There was a long pause. Gertrude and Marguerite pretended that they had not heard. Astrane, shoulders sagging, was looking at the sheep. "I was not prioress," she said finally. "Abbot Suger promised me the position, but it did not come about." Her face was hard.

"So," said Ceci. "You didn't get your thirty pieces of silver after all."

"Sister Cecilia!" Heloise said sharply. Sweet Jesus, Ceci could be cruel.

Astrane nodded, looking Ceci directly in the face. "No," she said, "I did not get my thirty pieces of silver." She laughed harshly.

Marguerite began to sneeze. They started up the road to the Paraclete, everyone talking at once, Ceci prodding the sheep with a stick. Heloise thought that Astrane's limp had improved slightly; or perhaps she had merely devised a way of holding herself that made the disability less noticeable. When they came in sight of the Paraclete, Heloise said loudly, "There it is."

Nobody spoke. Then Marguerite said, "Where?”

"Oh," Ceci said, laughing, "you have to look carefully, but it's there."

The three newcomers, including Astrane, who had been forewarned, looked about with undisguised confusion and dismay. Heloise smiled. "Sisters, we have very little. As you can see."

"Lady," Gertrude gasped, "anyone can walk right in here."

"And anyone does," Ceci called out cheerfully.

"We are going to build a wall," said Heloise. "In fact, now that you're here, we shall have one by the end of the summer." That was far too optimistic a prediction, but Heloise made it just the same.

Suspicious, Astrane asked, "Who's going to build this wall?"

"Ah, we are," Ceci answered.

"But I've never built a wall."

Ceci laughed. "Live and learn, Sister." She chased the sheep to its pen while Heloise led the women to the sleeping chamber. It was clear that they were exhausted. They fell on the pallets and slept until vespers.

On Tuesday of the week following, after sneezing and wheezing steadily, Marguerite told Heloise that she wanted to return to Senlis. It was the proper decision, Heloise thought, and she packed off the sniffling nun with a merchant caravan traveling north. She had neither the time nor the facilities for nursing the sickly, and she had counted it one of God's blessings that she and Ceci had kept in good health. All that week, and for several weeks after it, they were busy with the harvest. With hand sickles and flails, they reaped, stacked the sheaves, and threshed. Sacks were carried home on wagons and stored in every available foot of space, including the chapel. Gertrude and Ceci went to work on the fruit trees, which hung low with plums, apples, and pears, and they all picked blackberries, sloes, and nuts, knocking the acorns from the oak trees with sticks. For the first time in many months, they left the trestle with their stomachs full.

When the sacks of grain had been taken to the Saint-Aubin mill to be ground into flour, Heloise went to see Lord Milo's master mason for advice on building a wall. She had started the foundation before harvest, and thanks to the gift of a knight from Ferreux, stone had been floated downriver from a quarry north of Saint-Aubin and stacked behind the chapel. It was enough for barely one side of an enclosure, but it would be a start. The mason came to the Paraclete to show them how to mix the sand, lime, and water, how to lay the stones on top of each other and trowel mortar between the layers. He left them a level and plumb line so they could make certain the stones were laid perfectly horizontal.

Father Gondry came to bless the first stone and stayed to help with the lifting. He knew even less about wall building than Heloise. By noon, only five stones had been set in place.

Gertrude was proving to be the fastest learner of them all. She suggested to Heloise that they might cut the expense by mixing mortar with pebbles—if they filled in the spaces that way, the large stones would go farther. When Heloise told her to try and see what happened, she fell to work with such zeal that she demurred about stopping for food. Father Gondry went back to the village and returned an hour later with a crew of children. Mainly they ran around slopping mortar in their hair and getting in the nuns' way. Finally, Heloise sent them to the fields with sacks and instructed them to gather pebbles.

Astrane poured water into the bowl of mortar. "This stuff is getting hard," she said to Ceci. "You're working too slowly. Look. You're not putting enough on that stone."

Ceci slapped at the mortar with her trowel, ignoring Astrane's pointed finger. "Don't tell me what to do."

"Somebody has to." Squinting critically, she came up with the bowl and heaved a blob of mortar onto Ceci's layer. "That stone won't hold."

Ceci's teeth began to rattle. She stared down at her work, her mouth grim. Heloise called to them, "Please, sisters. There's no time to quarrel."

Ceci's temper was up. "Of course I'm stupid compared to the brilliant Sister Astrane. I'll bet Sainte-Catherine's was ecstatic to see you go."

"Go to the devil," Astrane growled.

"I would, if I weren't sure of meeting you there."

Gertrude had dropped her trowel and was chewing her thumbnail in distress. Everybody had stopped working. Heloise took a deep breath. "My sisters, this is awful."

Astrane grunted. "Lady, I meant no harm. I have a bad habit of finding fault."

Ceci looked away, pretending that she was not grinning.

Heloise said, "Tomorrow morning we'll have a chapter meeting. For the specific purpose of complaining." The women stared at her, surprised. "Then we shall make a list of all the duties here and divide them among us."

"Can I be the portress?" Gertrude asked eagerly.

Heloise threw back her head and laughed. She went over to Gertrude and stroked her cheek. "Sister, when we have a portal, you can be the portress." They picked up their trowels and went back to spreading mortar.

 

Without warning, Abelard came back after All Saints' bringing news that Prince Philip was dead. While riding along the Greve in Paris, the lad had been thrown and killed when a black pig darted from a dung heap, and now his younger brother, Louis, had been anointed in Rheims Cathedral. Abelard had attended the ceremony.

His return took Heloise by surprise, although it was what she had been longing for. He slouched at the trestle drinking watered wine and shamelessly allowing the nuns to wait on him.

Heloise could see that he was making an effort to be charming. He was feeling low, that much was clear to her, but he made jests and even succeeded in thawing Ceci. Heloise leaned near the entrance to the kitchen, studying him. In the light of the yellow candles, he looked fantastically handsome. Like the Abelard of their Paris days, but it was an illusion cast by the flames. Outside, in the light of day, his cheeks sagged, and his skin was blotchy and irritated.

Heloise thought of asking why he had come back, but she decided to leave the subject alone. Whatever his reason, he had wanted to come; perhaps he had even wanted to see her. Finally, she edged forward and said to him. "How goes life at Saint-Gildas?" He had not mentioned the legate's visit or the monks' reactions.

He shrugged, impassive. "We do not transform swine into saints overnight."

"Did your sons promise to reform?"

He drained his wine and set the cup on the trestle. "No." He split his lips in a grim smile.

"None of them?" Surely he was exaggerating.

"I told you. They're crafty bastards." His tone was deliberately light. And final. He turned toward Gertrude again and began talking about Pope Innocent, who still did not feel safe returning to Rome.

Rebuffed, Heloise scooped up a platter and hurried into the kitchen.

 

Abelard had not been at the Paraclete a week when the uproar began. Father Gondry was the first to mention it to Heloise, but he made light of the gossip, saying that Abelard's return was none of people's business, and they had nothing better to do than meddle and criticize. Heloise sighed impatiently. What her neighbors said didn't worry her overmuch, and anyway she had more important matters to think about. Their pigs had been slaughtered—she was busy finding tubs to pickle the great pieces of pork and hanging sides of bacon near the fire to smoke. It was a job she did not relish, for handling the bloody meat made her want to gag.