The Sharp Hook of Love by Sherry Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

of his palms around my waist, and, yes, even the press of his body against mine. Every night prompted sweet imaginings and restless turmoil, and, now, the pain like a knife in my stomach as he glinted his eyes at another girl.
    â€œOf course King Louis opposes the reforms.” Etienne tore off a piece of bread. “The Church will do anything for wealth—even prevent clergymen from bequeathing their lands and titles to their sons.”
    â€œHe opposes the reforms because they are unreasonable,” Anseau said. “Forbidding bishops to marry was bad enough, a certain provocation to sin, for God bestowed urges upon men—but priests and canons, too? These so-called reforms tear families apart. They leave women without anyone to provide for them.”
    â€œAnd think of their children,” Agnes said. “They will inherit nothing, not even their father’s name. How will they marry? The poor things will have to join the abbey.” She shuddered. “They might as well send them to the prison. Abbeys should not be permitted to accept oblates—children! Heloise, what do you think? You grew up in the Royal Abbey at Argenteuil, non ?”
    I frowned at Abelard. What had he whispered into Agnes’s ear? She smiled, expecting to hear me speak ill of my childhood home, I knew. In truth, I had never felt so glad to leave any place. On the day my uncle had arrived for me, only his restraining hand stopped me from running out the door.
    Under the table, Abelard’s hand slid off his leg so that the backs of his fingers touched my thigh. I cleared my throat and shifted, causing the dishes to clatter on the table. He placed his hand back on the tabletop.
    As the servants brought in eel pies—my favorite dish, and delectably seasoned—the conversation turned to Robert ofArbrissel, the founder of the Fontevraud Abbey, where my mother had worked. He had agreed to preach a sermon in Paris, Abelard announced, pulling my attention away from my meal. Robert, coming here! Surely my uncle would take me to hear him speak. Perhaps Robert might tell me something of my mother—including what I most wished to know: my father’s name.
    â€œRobert declined to preach in the Saint-Etienne Cathedral, but will speak in the city, instead,” Abelard said. “He said his message is meant not for the men of the cloister, but for all God’s children, sinners as well as saints.”
    â€œRobert has a particular fondness for sinners, I hear,” Anseau said. “Especially those of the fairer sex.”
    â€œHe has ceased the practice, admittedly bizarre, of sleeping among the women.” Abelard sent me a worried glance, noting my widened eyes. I had never heard of Robert’s sleeping with the Fontevraud nuns. “His intentions were pure, at least. He did it to strengthen his resistance, he said.”
    â€œWho among us believes that tale?” Anseau said with a snort. “Being born a cat, he pursues mice. And the women love him—even more than they love you, Pierre. Prostitutes, widows, beautiful virgins—they stream to Fontevraud to touch the hem of his filthy tunic. They liken him to John the Baptist with his long hair and ragged clothes. They wait in line to wash his dirty feet, then give him their coins and their adoration. What man would not take advantage?”
    Having reached the limits of my endurance with Anseau and his winking pronouncements—how odious, to take such pleasure in others’ misfortunes—I could hold my tongue no longer. “Women join the abbey to escape from men, not to pursue them,” I said, glaring.
    â€œOur fair guest speaks the truth,” Etienne said, “which makes Robert’s betrayal of these women all the more reprehensible.They come to him in trust, and he uses them for his own pleasure—perhaps, yes, Pierre, only to tempt himself, although I agree with my brother that his tale is