The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (40 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

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“This Andreas fellow,” Edgar said, “he isn’t local, is he?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Egilbert said. “A man I know told me he had a Flemish accent. I’ll wager he’s a heretic, himself. You know how they are in Flanders. The weavers are almost a sect unto themselves.”
Edgar wasn’t about to get drawn into a discussion of the tight grip the Flemish had on the cloth market and their propensity for lay piety. “Does anyone know when he first appeared here?”
Egilbert thought. “About the same time you did, it seems to me. I first saw him about the time I saved you from those boys.”
“So he wasn’t around when Lord Gerhardt died?” Edgar was disappointed. He wanted to put the blame for every evil on the man.
“Not that I know of,” Egilbert said. “But I can ask around.”
He shouted the question at those sitting nearby. They stopped in their conversations a moment, answered something that Edgar could tell was negative and went back to their drinking.
“So, he doesn’t know the situation in Trier well,” Edgar said. “Therefore, it’s unlikely he could have proof that would brand Lord Hermann a heretic or anything else. I think that he just made the accusation because he’d been recognized from the village and wanted the protection of the archdeacon long enough to escape us.”
Egilbert sadly agreed. “That will soon put an end to the fun. I’ll have some more wine to make up for it.”
“And one for me,” Edgar said.
While he was waiting, Edgar scanned the square, observing the many different classes of people, from foreign traders to local officials to peasants in town to sell the surplus from their gardens. He wasn’t paying close attention to anyone when he caught sight of something that made him sit up and rub his eyes. When he looked again they were gone.
“Egilbert, did you see that?” he asked as his friend gave him the cup. “I could have sworn that I just saw a group of white monks going into the Jewish quarter.”
Egilbert took the cup back and sniffed it.
“I think you need to get out of the sun, Edgar,” he said. “There
are no white monks around here and even if there were, they wouldn’t be hunting for lodging among the Jews.”
 
Solomon and Mina were sitting at her table going over the ceremony for Asher’s introduction to the Torah when the
parnas
of the community came to the door.
“Mina,” he said excitedly. “You won’t believe this, but Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux is in my home. He has asked if he might see you.”
“Me!” Mina went pale. “What would such a man want with me?”
“I can’t be certain,” the
parnas
told her. “But I have the feeling that he wants to ask your forgiveness.”
Evening of the same day.
The Lord heard our pain, and he turned to us and had mercy upon us. In his great mercy and grace, He sent an honest priest, one revered and respected by all the clergy in France, named Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux.
 
—Ephraim of Bonn
Sefer Zekirah
 
 
“
D
o I have to see him?” Mina was trembling.
The
parnas
wasn’t sure. “It wasn’t a command, I don’t think,” he said. “But he might not take it well if you refuse. Solomon, you know the French Edomites better than I do. What do you think?”
“I think Mina shouldn’t have to see anyone she doesn’t want to,” Solomon stated. “Why should she forgive this man? I heard him preach at Vézelay. It was his words that stirred the people up against us. Simon might be alive if not for him.”
The
parnas
licked his lips. He was the richest man in the community and hence the one chosen to act as spokeman for all in dealing with gentiles. Often this put him in an uncomfortable position. Right now he felt as if he were sitting on a spear tip.
“I believe the abbot knows that,” he said. “He seems to be trying to atone. We’ve had word that he’s been preaching throughout Lotharingia against this barking monk, Radulf. He’s on his way to Frankfurt now, to force the monk to return to his monastery.”
“And how much are we paying him for that?” Solomon asked.
“Nothing that I know of,” the
parnas
answered. “There’s been no call for tithes to bribe him with, at least.”
“I don’t believe it,” Solomon insisted. “No Christian leader has ever apologized to us. There’s been no protection without payment. And they’ve never given us anything freely except scorn.”
“Solomon, you don’t have to tell me that,” the man said sharply. “My grandfather was beat to death by the mob in 1096. All we ever got as apology was an edict saying that we could return to the faith if we had been forced to undergo their baptism. The emperor certainly didn’t come to console my mother. Mina, I won’t force you, but I think you should meet this man.”
Mina looked to Solomon. He lifted his hands.
“It’s not my decision,” he said. “But, if you go, I’ll accompany you and tell you what he says.”
“Very well,” she said. “Let me change and get my veil.”
She didn’t take long. A few moments later they arrived at the house where Bernard waited with his secretary, Geoffrey and a few others of his order. He stood when they came in. He saw a slight woman clad in widow’s purple, her face veiled. The bulge below her waist startled him. He hadn’t known she was pregnant.
Mina came forward and took the seat the secretary vacated for her. The abbot sat facing her. She said nothing. He wasn’t what she had expected.
What Mina saw was a gaunt man in his fifties. His robes were simple, not like those of the archbishop and the cathedral canons. She didn’t understand how he could be considered the most powerful man in Christian lands. She lifted the veil to see him better.
And was caught in his eyes. Mina’s own eyes opened wide in astonishment. His eyes were dark and in them burned a passion so intense she could almost feel it scorching her. She knew then that whatever this passion was unleashed upon, there could be no defense against it.
She shuddered under his gaze.
Bernard lowered his glance.
“Tell her, please, that I know nothing I say can repair the wound in her heart,” he said and waited for Solomon to repeat the words. “All I can do is beg her forgiveness for what has been done in my name and promise that I will do everything in my power to see that no other women suffer as she has.”
Mina was silent for a long time after Solomon finished.
“I believe,” she said at last. “I believe you are a decent man even though an idolator. I accept that you truly regret what has been done to my husband and our people. When I think of my orphaned children and of the one who will never see his father’s face, it’s hard to find forgiveness.”
Solomon translated every word, despite the gestures of the
parnas
to soften it.
The abbot bowed his head. “I understand. It was much to ask of you.”
Mina extended her hand. “It’s hard,” she finished. “But I do. The Almighty One, blessed be He, forgave his people when they turned from him in the desert. May your people also one day find their way back to Him. Until then, I bear you no ill will.”
The monk, Geoffrey, gave an indignant snort, but the abbot lifted a hand to silence him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I have asked to speak to the people of the town before I go. I’ll tell them of your generosity of spirit.”
He signaled to the other monks.
“We have imposed on these people long enough.” He bowed his head to them all and led the others out.
“Mina!” the
parnas
expostulated. “Couldn’t you have been a little more conciliatory?”
Mina got up. “No,” she said. “That was the best I could do. Good night.”
 
The news that the abbot of Clairvaux was in town spread through the crowd and other concerns were, for the moment, forgotten. The people dispersed to put on finer clothes in which to greet Bernard.
“They say he’s a living saint,” one woman told her neighbor. “I wonder if his blessing could cure my son’s blindness.”
“Not everyone thinks he’s all that holy,” the neighbor answered. “But you’ve tried everything else. Bring the boy with you. A blessing couldn’t hurt.”
When Catherine learned about the abbot’s presence, her reaction was that of the neighbor.
“He does have a power for persuasion,” she said. “And it may well come from God. But he’s guided too much by others and by his own feelings. He doesn’t think logically. And it’s hard to forget how he tormented Master Abelard.”
“I know, Catherine.” Solomon fidgeted uncomfortably. “I always thought that his vaunted humility was just another form of pride, but he was sincere in his regret for Simon’s death. I’m sure of it.”
“I’m sure he was,” Catherine said. “What worries me is that he’ll hear about Hermann’s arrest and his abhorrence for heretics will cause him to ignore the facts and encourage the archdeacon to have Hermann punished.”
Edgar disagreed. “The abbot spent several months a few years
ago exhorting heretics in Provence to return to the faith. It might be to Hermann’s advantage that he knows them so well. A few questions would convince Bernard that Hermann is no heretic.”
“You seem to know a great deal about this belief,” Solomon told them.
Catherine shook her head. “Not enough. There are so many ascetic bands wandering about these days. Most of them are harmless. This one simply seems more organized than the others. Like many they’re determined to remove themselves comepletly from the authority of the Church hierarchy, but this group has also set up its own orders. They seem to want to create another regime, outside of our laws and customs.”
“Ah, rather like the Jews,” Solomon said.
Catherine gave him a sharp look, fully aware of his sarcasm.
“Very much,” Edgar said quickly before she could answer. “But you don’t proselytize or refuse to pay taxes. They do.”
“Which one is worse?” Solomon asked.
“The first leads to the second.” Edgar grinned. “That means the kings and bishops both want them destroyed, if for different reasons.”
“So, do we want to ask the abbot to take a hand in our problem, or not?” Solomon asked.
Catherine and Edgar looked at each other.
“Perhaps we should discuss it with Peter, first,” Catherine suggested. “His family will be affected as much as ours.”
Solomon declined to join them. “I’ll stay with Margaret,” he said. “Uncle Hubert will see to your progeny.”
They left him sitting by the bed, holding her hand.
They collected Walter, and explained their conclusions to him. He insisted on being included.
“I’ve been in this from the beginning,” he said. “I don’t want to miss the finish.”
When they reached the house, they found Maria there already.
“Where is your husband?” Walter said. “We have some questions for him.”
“And a good day to you, as well,” Maria answered without rising to greet them. “I imagine I can tell you most of what you wish to know. Brother Berengar! Would you ask Agnes and Peter to come down?”
“Agnes?” Catherine was startled.
“I have been forced to abandon my belief that she was responsible for my brother’s death,” Maria said. “There was no reason to give her a free room any longer.”
Agnes entered the room and Catherine rushed to her, hesitating a fraction as she drew close. Then Agnes held out her arms and Catherine went to them. Nothing was said as both were crying too hard to speak.
“Well, it seems that we’ve accomplished what we came for,” Edgar said sadly. “Agnes is free and undamaged. But Margaret is imprisoned in a broken mind and body, and she was far more innocent. What sort of justice is that?”
Walter put an arm across his shoulders.
“I felt the same when the man who killed my Alys went free,” he said. “I never found the answer, either.”
He turned back to Maria. Peter had now joined them.
“Your husband?” Walter repeated.
“Upstairs,” she answered. “He says he’s dying. He may be correct.”
Walter didn’t know what to make of her calm statement.
“Peter, what does she mean?” he asked.
“My uncle says he has swallowed the remains of the wolf’s bane he used to kill my father. He told me he’d prefer to die quickly before he breaks his oath, whatever that means.” Peter said. “I can’t believe it. Father and he were friends.”
“Are you sure he ate this poison?” Walter asked.
“Absolutely,” Maria answered. “I saw him do it. I thought he was seasoning his bread. He gagged on it but forced it down. The coward.”
Walter explained to the others. Catherine wiped her teary face with her sleeve and came over to the table.
“Is Folmar conscious?” she asked. “Should we send for a priest?”
“Catherine, he has to do more than confess to a priest,” Agnes said. “He must admit that Hermann knew nothing of it. Otherwise they’ll still say Hermann was a heretic, too.”
“Agnes?” Catherine heard the panic in her voice. “Don’t tell me you … he’s a landless man, you know. You said you’d never …”
“Don’t throw my words in my face, Catherine,” Agnes said angrily.
“I don’t care if he has nothing more than a cloak and set of spurs. Mock me all you want but save him.”
“I’m not mocking, dearest,” Catherine said. “We’ll find a way.”
“Peter,” Walter asked. “Is Folmar rational now? Would he talk to us? Do you think he’ll exonerate your uncle Hermann?
“I … I don’t know,” Peter said. “He may be coherent, but after he came and told me what he’d done, he fell to his knees and began reciting paternosters over and over. He only stopped when he asked me to send for the
perfecta,
whatever that is.”
Walter queried the others.
“I don’t know what he means,” Catherine said. “But there’s someone here who might. Walter, you’ve met Abbot Bernard and you’re wearing the cross he gave you. Do you think you could convince him to come to us?”
“Tell him a man’s soul hangs in the balance,” Edgar said.
“I’ll try,” Walter said. “Where is he staying?”
“With the canons of Saint Florin,” Peter said. “I’ll take you there.”
 
A shadow passed across Margaret’s face. Solomon looked out the window. Clouds were gathering for the first time in weeks. The air stirred the wilting roses in the garden. There would be rain before nightfall.

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