road into a morass in no time at all. It would be our responsibility if a cart lost a wheel or a horse stepped in a hole and broke its leg. And we haven’t even been given the tolls to that road. Prioress Astane felt there was something suspicious about this offer. Wait until we meet again with the prior of Vauluisant!”
She stopped. “But that’s not why you’ve come. What is troubling you so that you felt the need to speak to me during the Great Silence?”
“Mother, I’ve found out something dreadful.” Catherine told her what she had discovered.
Héloïse listened gravely.
“You are making a very serious accusation,” she told Catherine. “What proof do you have that any of the wounds suffered by that poor woman were caused by the count?”
“Who else had the power to use her so severely for so long? Many of those scars were long ago healed over.”
Héloïse began to gather up the accounts.
“I can think of many others, her parents or guardians. I don’t remember all of her early history. I believe she has a mother and a stepfather. She may have been a recalcitrant child.”
“Mother! No child is wicked enough to deserve such treatment!”
Catherine thought of her parents and how recalcitrant a child she had often been. She had endured her share of punishments, but no one had ever hurt her like that.
Héloïse nodded. “I agree. I am only pointing out that there may be other explanations for the scars. Some may even have been self-inflicted. She may have felt the need to subdue the flesh. I do not approve of that practice, either.” She forestalled Catherine’s objection. “I am simply putting forth another possibility.”
Catherine was outargued, but not convinced. She shook her head.
“I understand what you are saying, Mother. I formed a conclusion without studying all possible rational hypotheses. But I feel I am right.”
“Ah, my dearest Catherine,” Héloïse smiled. “That is the worst fault of the human philosopher. When logic fails, we feel. Or we twist the logic to fit our emotions.”
“Then I should ignore my feelings?” Catherine asked.
“Not at all.” Héloïse turned back to her desk as she replied. “Often our feelings are sound. But you must analyze them fully and find a rational basis for them. If you can find none, then you must learn to put them aside. The dialectic I have taught you is not for use in the classroom alone. Just because you dislike Count Raynald is not good enough reason to assume he is a monster. You may go.”
“Yes, Mother.” Catherine waited. “Would you like me to come back before Compline and help with the accounts?”
“No, they can wait.”
Héloïse piled up the stacks of papers with little interest. Under the accounts were a few pages of a letter. Catherine only glimpsed the salutation. “Heloisae ancillarum dei, ducttici ac magistrae … frater Petrus humilis Cluniacensium abbas, salutem a deo …” Peter, abbot of Cluny! Why would he be writing Héloïse?
No doubt you feel you should be informed of all business between the abbey of Cluny and the Paraclete? Catherine’s voices said scornfully.
Feeling well-chastised and completely frustrated, Catherine turned to go.
“Catherine.”
She stopped. “Yes, Mother?”
“Whatever horrible things have happened to Countess Alys, you have my word that, as long as she is under my care, I will see to it that no one ever hurts her again.”
Catherine closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
“Thank you, Mother Héloïse.”
But her heart still cried for the countess and her mind still insisted that whoever had hurt her should not be left to God alone.
Two
The coast of France, Feast of the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin,
Monday, March 25, 1140
Forthon nu min hyge hweorfeth ofer hretherlocan
min madsefa mid mereflode
ofer hwœles ethel hweorfeth wide,
eorthan sceatas, cymeth eft to me
gifre ond grœdig gielleth anfloga
hweteth on hwœweg hrether unwearnum
ofer holma
She stopped. “But that’s not why you’ve come. What is troubling you so that you felt the need to speak to me during the Great Silence?”
“Mother, I’ve found out something dreadful.” Catherine told her what she had discovered.
Héloïse listened gravely.
“You are making a very serious accusation,” she told Catherine. “What proof do you have that any of the wounds suffered by that poor woman were caused by the count?”
“Who else had the power to use her so severely for so long? Many of those scars were long ago healed over.”
Héloïse began to gather up the accounts.
“I can think of many others, her parents or guardians. I don’t remember all of her early history. I believe she has a mother and a stepfather. She may have been a recalcitrant child.”
“Mother! No child is wicked enough to deserve such treatment!”
Catherine thought of her parents and how recalcitrant a child she had often been. She had endured her share of punishments, but no one had ever hurt her like that.
Héloïse nodded. “I agree. I am only pointing out that there may be other explanations for the scars. Some may even have been self-inflicted. She may have felt the need to subdue the flesh. I do not approve of that practice, either.” She forestalled Catherine’s objection. “I am simply putting forth another possibility.”
Catherine was outargued, but not convinced. She shook her head.
“I understand what you are saying, Mother. I formed a conclusion without studying all possible rational hypotheses. But I feel I am right.”
“Ah, my dearest Catherine,” Héloïse smiled. “That is the worst fault of the human philosopher. When logic fails, we feel. Or we twist the logic to fit our emotions.”
“Then I should ignore my feelings?” Catherine asked.
“Not at all.” Héloïse turned back to her desk as she replied. “Often our feelings are sound. But you must analyze them fully and find a rational basis for them. If you can find none, then you must learn to put them aside. The dialectic I have taught you is not for use in the classroom alone. Just because you dislike Count Raynald is not good enough reason to assume he is a monster. You may go.”
“Yes, Mother.” Catherine waited. “Would you like me to come back before Compline and help with the accounts?”
“No, they can wait.”
Héloïse piled up the stacks of papers with little interest. Under the accounts were a few pages of a letter. Catherine only glimpsed the salutation. “Heloisae ancillarum dei, ducttici ac magistrae … frater Petrus humilis Cluniacensium abbas, salutem a deo …” Peter, abbot of Cluny! Why would he be writing Héloïse?
No doubt you feel you should be informed of all business between the abbey of Cluny and the Paraclete? Catherine’s voices said scornfully.
Feeling well-chastised and completely frustrated, Catherine turned to go.
“Catherine.”
She stopped. “Yes, Mother?”
“Whatever horrible things have happened to Countess Alys, you have my word that, as long as she is under my care, I will see to it that no one ever hurts her again.”
Catherine closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
“Thank you, Mother Héloïse.”
But her heart still cried for the countess and her mind still insisted that whoever had hurt her should not be left to God alone.
Two
The coast of France, Feast of the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin,
Monday, March 25, 1140
Forthon nu min hyge hweorfeth ofer hretherlocan
min madsefa mid mereflode
ofer hwœles ethel hweorfeth wide,
eorthan sceatas, cymeth eft to me
gifre ond grœdig gielleth anfloga
hweteth on hwœweg hrether unwearnum
ofer holma
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