Read Online To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman - Free Book Online Page A

The different vises were lined up, scrapes in the wood showing how often they’d been attached and with what effort. On a cloth on the bench the tools were laid out: hammers, pincers, organarium, drawplates, chisels, rasps, scorpers and files. Once he had also had a small anvil to beat out the heat-softened metal. But there were some things even Edgar had to admit one needed two good hands for.
    Catherine gently brushed her fingers over the neat row of implements. She sniffed to hold back tears. Perhaps it was just because she loved him so much, but Catherine believed Edgar to be the bravest man she knew.
    Samonie had prepared a pot of barley soup with early carrots and sent one of her boys to the baker’s for trencher loaves. Catherine went down to the storeroom and found a small cask of Gascon wine. She sniffed the bung and decided that it was still drinkable.
    The bells had rung for the end of Vespers before Edgar returned. With him was a thin man with a clerical tonsure wearing plain woolen robes. It took a moment for Catherine to recognize him.
    “Maurice?” she said. “How good to see you again! You look wonderful. Are you still at Nôtre Dame?”
    “Yes, I’m a subdeacon now.” Maurice smiled shyly. “The food is more adequate than when I was just a student. But I shall always be grateful for the number of times you fed me in those days.”
    “Your conversation alone was payment enough,” Catherine said. “As I’m sure it will be tonight. We’ve been away so long. I’m eager for a report on what’s going on in Paris.”
    She led them into the hall and poured cups of the wine from a pitcher, then let them mix it as they wished from the water jug.
    “As for news.” Maurice sat and sipped his wine. “Certainly the greatest bustle involves having the pope in France and the preparations for King Louis’s expedition to free Edessa. But you must know all about that.”
    “The world seems to be crowded with people wearing the pilgrim’s cross,” Edgar said. “Does Paris have time to think about anything else?”
    “Well.” Maurice laughed. “We have a new dean, Clement, and a new precenter, Albert, at Nôtre Dame who don’t seem aware of it at all. Clement and Albert have entered into a war over the shape and tone of the music for the liturgy. They haven’t come to blows, yet, but the shouting can be heard all the way to Saint Genevieve.”
    “I can understand fighting over the wording of the liturgy,” Catherine said. “But the music?”
    Maurice shrugged. “No one but those two takes it seriously. It’s a change, though, from arguing over whether or not the bishop of Poitiers is a heretic.”
    Catherine was so astounded that she nearly dropped her cup.
    “Master Gilbert!” she exclaimed. “But he’s one of the most brilliant theological expositors in France, especially since Master Abelard died.”
    “And wasn’t Abelard judged a heretic, as well?” Maurice reminded her.
    “I can’t believe anyone would accuse Bishop Gilbert, though,” Edgar said. “Master Abelard was always offending people with his sharp tongue, but who could old Stoneface have bothered?”
    “Master Peter of Lombardy, for one,” Maurice answered. “And Bernard of Clairvaux.”
    “Oh, not again!” Catherine cried. “I was just beginning to like Abbot Bernard.”
    “Bishop Gilbert was at the council at Sens that condemned Master Abelard,” Edgar said thoughtfully. “Abelard warned him then that accusations of heresy leap like flame from one scholar to another.”
    “I remember.” Catherine started to say more but was interrupted by a knocking at the door.
    It had barely ceased when Margaret flew out of the kitchen, where she had been helping Samonie.
    “Margaret!” Catherine called after her. “What are you thinking of? Let Martin see who it is.”
    The girl paid no attention. They could hear her fumbling with the bar as Martin reached the door. Then there was a small sound of disappointment, and