The Sharp Hook of Love Read Free Page B

without a lantern, so I added, “Master Petrus means to say that theantecedent of a true statement could not exist without the consequence.”
    â€œVoilà,” Abelard said, turning toward me now.
    â€œI thought you were helping Pauline in the kitchen,” Uncle Fulbert growled.
    â€œSo if we say, ‘Socrates is a man, therefore he is an animal,’ does the statement then become true?” I persisted.
    â€œAn astute question, Heloise.” The beam of Abelard’s approval filled me with warmth. “The argument is necessary, and so would appear to be true, but you have stated an incomplete argument.”
    â€œIncomplete because—” I struggled to discern what I had omitted.
    â€œBecause it leaves open the possibility that Socrates does not exist.”
    â€œBut he did exist, by God,” my uncle said.
    â€œHe did exist, yes. But, being dead, he exists no more,” I said.
    â€œExactly!” Abelard leapt to his feet and grasped my hands. His eyes shone.
    â€œHe exists either in heaven or hell,” Uncle grumbled, but neither of us took notice. At the touch of Abelard’s fingers, my pulse had begun to thrum in my ears. I heard only my inner voices, one praising God for sending this man as my teacher and one urging me to run away, as far from him as I could go.
    My uncle interrupted our moment. “She forgets she’s a girl, forgets her place—her place! She is her mother’s daughter, impertinent and proud. But I always say women are why God gave men fists, heh-heh!”
    I withdrew my hands to myself and closed my eyes, avoiding my uncle’s drunken sneer and, worse, the teacher’s expression of pity. I had hoped to elicit his admiration, but instead I felt like a dog that had just been kicked.
    â€œHeloise,” Abelard said, but I could not meet his gaze now.Heat flooded my skin. For the first time, I thanked God that I was unable to cry.
    â€œDo you wish to study with me?”
    The spoon in my hand clattered to the floor. “Why do you ask me—a mere girl?” I could not resist answering. “One might as well ask a hound whether it wishes to hunt, or a horse for its opinion regarding the bit in its mouth.”
    My uncle’s gasp should have warned me, but Abelard’s laughter drew my eyes to him until Uncle leapt up and struck me in the face.
    â€œImpudent girl! Another remark such as that one, and you’ll feel my riding crop on your asne .” My cheek burned. My hands gripped the edge of the tabletop. “Pardon my niece’s manners—very bad! All her years at Argenteuil—and at no small price—failed to teach her respect for her elders.”
    I reserve my respect for those who deserve it, I wanted to say—but my years at Argenteuil had taught me the futility of arguing with a tyrant.
    â€œYou will need to discipline her, Petrus,” my uncle said. “I grant you full permission to do so.”
    But, Abelard pointed out, he had not agreed to teach me. First, he must have my consent. “An unwilling pupil learns nothing except how to vex his teacher.”
    A lump formed in my throat. No one had ever asked for my consent regarding anything.
    â€œSit with us, Heloise, I pray. Then we may become better acquainted and determine if we might work well together.”
    â€œI thank you, but I cannot do so this evening.” My uncle’s slap still burned on my cheek, as though he had struck me with a hot iron. I turned toward the stairs, my shoulders hunched, my arms folded across my chest.
    â€œNiece! I command you to return—return! The master requires your presence,” Uncle said, his speech slurring.
    â€œSome other time, please, magister. My head aches, and I have lost my appetite for food.” How could I sit at table with him now, reduced as I was even in my own eyes? I hastened to my room, a pulsing in my ears like laughter, away from the sound of my