Death Comes As Epiphany: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

By Sharan Newman

With Death Comes As Epiphany, the first in the Catherine LeVendeur mystery series, medievalist Sharan Newman has woven dark mystery and sparkling romance into a fascinating and richly detailed tapestry of everyday life in twelfth-century France, and one of the most moving love stories of all time: Abelard and Heloise.

Catherine LeVendeur is a young scholar come to conquer her sin of pride at the Convent of the Paraclete, famous for learning, prayer, and its abbess, the fabled Heloise.

When a manuscript the convent produced for the great Abbe Suger disappears, rumors surface saying the book contains sacrilegious passages and will be used to condemn Heloise's famous lover, Peter Abelard.

To save her Order, and protect all she holds dear, Catherine must find the manuscript and discover who altered the text. She will risk disgrace, the wrath of her family and the Church, and confront an evil older than Time itself--and, if she isn't careful, lose her immortal soul.

Winner of the Macavity Award for Best First Mystery

At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2002
• ISBN: 9781466817258

Sharan Newman

Sharan Newman is a medieval historian and author. She took her Master’s degree in Medieval Literature at Michigan State University and then did her doctoral work at the University of California at Santa Barbara in Medieval Studies, specializing in twelfth-century France. She is a member of the Medieval Academy and the Medieval Association of the Pacific. Rather than teach, Newman chose to use her education to write novels set in the Middle Ages, including three Arthurian fantasies and more than half a dozen mysteries set in twelfth-century France, featuring Catherine LeVendeur, a one-time student of Heloise at the Paraclete; her husband, Edgar, an Anglo-Scot; and Solomon, a Jewish merchant of Paris. The books focus on the life of the bourgeoisie and minor nobility and also the uneasy relations between Christians and Jews at that time. They also incorporate events of the twelfth-century such as the Second Crusade and the rise of the Cathars. The Catherine Levendeur mysteries have been nominated for many awards. Sharan won the Macavity Award for best first mystery for Death Comes As Epiphany, the Herodotus Award for best historical mystery for Cursed in the Blood, and The Witch in the Well won the Bruce Alexander award for best historical mystery. Her mystery The Shanghai Tunnel is set in Portland in 1868. Newman has also written non-fiction books, including The Real History Behind the Da Vince Code and The Real History Behind the Templars. Newman lives on a mountainside in Oregon.

Book preview

Prologue

A small hut in the forest of Iveline, not far from Paris, early September, 1139

They say that two entities were brought forth from God,

Christ and the Devil, and they believe that Christ is the

head of the good age to come, but the Devil is the ruler of

the present evil age.

—Epiphanius On the Beliefs of the Gnostics

There was no fire. There was no moon. The messenger cursed as he tried to find the path. Branches leapt out at him and the ground constantly shifted from the angle he expected.

There was a crashing ahead, like a deer escaping a trap. Someone, a woman, suddenly appeared in the darkness. Her face was veiled and she averted it as she passed. Or perhaps she had no face. The messenger shuddered, but continued.

At the top of the hill, the man waited. He had no doubt the messenger would come; fear and greed would bring him as surely as if he had saddled and ridden them there.

The messenger stepped into the clearing.

Have you brought it? the man asked.

The messenger gasped, then his eyes divided the shape which was the man from the blackness.

I haven’t failed you, he said.

Give it to me.

The messenger knelt before him and handed over the parcel. The man sniffed it like a wolf, his nose skimming over the wrapping.

It’s all here. You have done well, he said.

He took a small ring from a wooden box at his side and threw it to the messenger.

An extra payment. A small gift from a disciple of mine.

The messenger caught it and bowed.

Thank you, Lord. The scholar says to tell you he has come across a fine gold chalice, covered with pearls.

Tell him to remove the pearls and leave the chalice. It’s too obvious.

I will, Lord.

You may also tell him, the man added, that he should use greater care when he makes his collections. They’ve put on extra guards by night. And never mind the chalices and patens. They’re hard to store and harder to sell. He needn’t be so greedy. Our Lord will provide for us.

I’ll tell him, the messenger replied.

The man suddenly threw back his hood, revealing a face glowing with its own light.

The messenger cried out, then steeled himself and, turning his back on the glowing apparition, started back down the path. He couldn’t restrain a shiver of disgust. The man laughed.

Don’t you want my blessing? he asked. Accidents often happen to those who fail to respect my master. You don’t want to meet him suddenly, with no one to intercede for you, now do you?

Abandoning all dignity, the messenger ran from the clearing, vaulted onto his horse and, heedless of the dark, spurred the poor animal to get him as far away from that cursed place as possible.

One

The Convent of the Paraclete, Feast of St. Thecla, Saturday, September 23, 1139

[In the convent] … it is proper for one sister to be over all, … while all the rest are soldiers … and shall fight freely against the evil one and his hordes.

—Peter Abelard The Letters of Direction

Catherine was working in the vegetable garden with the other novices on the morning Sister Ursula’s family came to take her away. They could hear her pleading and crying all the way across the cloister.

What could she have done? Sister Emilie whispered as they continued hoeing the cabbages.

I can’t imagine, Catherine answered. She always seemed so devout.

Sh! Sister Adeline warned. Sister Bertrada is coming this way.

The novice mistress stepped carefully between the rows until she came to Catherine.

The Abbess Héloïse wants you, was all she would tell the girl. I’ve no doubt to punish you as you deserve.

No doubt, said Catherine. But for what?

More than impudence this time, girl, Sister Bertrada said grimly. Go at once! The rest of you, get back to your work!

She stalked away.

Go on. Emilie nudged Catherine. Try to find out what’s happened to Ursula.

I only hope it’s not about to happen to me. Catherine put down the hoe and squared her shoulders to face her fate.

The prioress answered her timid knock instantly. Without speaking, she led Catherine into Héloïse’s room and, with a reproachful glance, left, shutting the door behind her. Catherine stood motionless in the center of the room, eyes down, waiting for the abbess’s reprimand.

Héloïse rose and gently lifted Catherine’s chin so that the girl was made to look at her.

Heloïse, abbess of the convent of the Paraclete, was a tiny woman, with huge dark eyes. Twenty years of sorrow and self-control had not clouded them. She had long ago learned to compress the sensuality from her lips, to keep her expression calm, but those eyes would always betray her.

She smiled a brief reassurance, then stepped away. Turning to a table by the narrow bed, she picked up a roll of parchment. She seemed more nervous than Catherine as she opened the roll, glanced at it, then twisted it, crumbling the seal as she retied it.

Finally, she spoke.

Child, she said, you’re covered with mud.

Catherine blushed. Yes, ma’am, she said. It’s my afternoon to hoe the cabbages.

Does one need to lie flat to do that?

No, Catherine admitted. I didn’t see the strings set out to mark the rows of new planting and tripped over one. Then, as I was getting up, I slipped on the mulch and …

Heloïse shook her head in awe. Never mind what else. I suppose you are aware that one of our sisters has been taken from us.

Yes, Mother.

Her family arrived quite suddenly this morning. They brought me some information which, they said, made them doubt my suitability to oversee the spiritual welfare of their daughter.

Her fine-boned fingers crushed the rolled paper.

I’m sorry, Catherine said. But she wasn’t sure for what.

She waited for the abbess to begin again. Héloïse seemed in no hurry. She put the roll back on the desk and gazed for a moment out the window toward the river Ardusson. The afternoon light illuminated her face and Catherine thought how beautiful Héloïse was still, even after so many years in the convent. It wasn’t hard to imagine how she must have looked when Peter Abelard had first seen and fallen in love with her. But that was long ago, and Heloïse had behaved with exemplary rectitude ever since. What could they be saying about her now? Catherine nervously brushed the mud from her skirts. Héloïse raised her eyebrows as the clods fell on the newly swept floor. Catherine blushed.

I would have gone to the dormitory and changed, she explained. But Sister Bertrada said it was urgent. Whatever I did this time, Mother, I truly regret it. I’ll take any penance you set.

My dear Catherine. Héloïse turned away from the window and embraced her, despite the grime on her face and clothes. It’s not a penance I am giving you, but a mission.

She studied Catherine’s face. Catherine returned the look steadily, hoping that, whatever the task, she would be worthy of the need in those eyes. Héloïse reached up and gently pushed an errant curl back under the novice’s wimple. The gentleness of the touch caused Catherine to fight back tears.

I will do anything you ask, Reverend Mother, she promised. In my whole life, the only place I have found love and acceptance is here, at the Paraclete. Just tell me what I must do.

Heloïse sighed sharply and turned away. She fumbled with her rosary a moment before answering.

I want you to leave here, Catherine, and return home in disgrace. She held up her hand to stop Catherine’s cry. And, moreover, I want you to appear bitter and angry toward me and to be prepared to lie to your family and to officers of the Church. You will have to keep your own counsel and trust no one. There may even be some physical risk involved. Although I pray that won’t be necessary, she added quickly.

Catherine felt the room lurch beneath her. This couldn’t be. She swayed dizzily. With a startled exclamation, Heloïse grabbed her arm and guided her to a wooden stool. Catherine sat and wobbled. The legs were uneven. After a moment, she pulled herself up.

Is this a punishment, Mother, she asked, or a test?

Oh, Catherine, neither, Héloïse answered. I’m not doing this well. I felt you should understand the gravity of the matter before I explained in detail.

She unrolled the crumpled parchment again and handed it to her. Catherine read the letter with increasing confusion and anger.

But this is impossible! she cried. How could anyone accuse you of such a thing? I helped copy and bind that psalter. We put nothing heretical in it.

Yes, I know, Heloïse answered. But the man who wrote Ursula’s father says he saw it himself. He swears that not only did several of the commentaries ‘reek of dualism and denial of the sacraments’ but that they ‘clearly show the perversive influence of Abelard.’

She paused. Catherine finished reading.

These are lies, Reverend Mother! she said. We used only orthodox sources. Part of the book was compiled from the Cistercian psalters sent to us from Clairvaux as well as the one Master Abelard sent. Who could possibly misinterpret them so grossly?

Héloïse sat again, on her hard and narrow bed. She leaned forward, eyes closed. In her three years at the Paraclete, Catherine had never seen the abbess so vulnerable. She came and knelt by the bed, her head resting on the older woman’s skirts. Heloïse continued, speaking from some point in weary memory.

Adam Suger drove me and my nuns from Argenteuil with accusations not half as fearful as these. I sent him the psalter as a symbol of my forgiveness and respect. I hoped we had made our peace. But it would not take much, I fear, to create another coolness. Do you know, child, what Abelard did when he was given refuge at Saint-Denis?

Yes, Mother. Catherine smiled in spite of herself. He decided to research the founding of the abbey and discovered that they had been worshiping the wrong Saint Denis.

And he was fool enough to tell them. Héloïse smiled too, then sighed. To him it was an intellectual discovery. To them it was a matter of honor. He never understood why they were so furious.

But that was before Suger became abbot. Surely he doesn’t still resent Master Abelard.

No, probably not, but Suger has no cause to defend him, either. There have been rumors lately that William of Saint-Thierry has been writing letters bringing up the old accusations against Abelard. That he analyzes things man was not meant to understand. That he denies the power of Our Lord and says the Holy Spirit was created by Plato.

What?

It doesn’t matter. It’s all words. Abelard has made many enemies in his life. William is one of them. They will never let him be. But of all the things Abelard has made, the Paraclete is the one he has given into my care. It is our refuge, and his. I will not let us be used to defeat him and I will not allow his enemies to drive us from here.

Oh, Mother! Surely that won’t happen!

Héloïse drew herself up. I don’t know, Catherine, she said firmly. And that is why I am forced to ask so much of you. I need someone who knows what the psalter looks like, who will recognize any changes in it. You are the most brilliant scholar here … you know it. You love your books more than your Maker. That’s why you haven’t made your final vows, isn’t it?

How did you … Catherine was too stunned to dissemble.

Furthermore, Héloïse continued, your family has connections with Saint-Denis. And, since you have not yet officially renounced the world, it is not quite as much a sin for me to send you back into it.

By now, Catherine was becoming excited. Of course, her true vocation lay in the convent. Her doubts were minor ones. Where else could she be free to study? But her adjustment to the discipline of the order had been hard. Her conscience reminded her of that every day, even when Sister Bertrada didn’t. To be able to serve the Paraclete and Héloïse and, at the same time, to taste the freedom of life in the World again. She could almost smell the attar of roses on her mother’s dressing table. Perhaps she could even go to the debates on Le Petit Pont. She had missed the intellectual stimulation of Paris.

I will do whatever you ask, she said.

Héloïse shook her head. Catherine blushed. The abbess always seemed able to read her mind.

I haven’t given you a present, child, she said. This is a serious matter. If the Paraclete were a normal convent, a few noncanonical pages would be dismissed as an example of the inability of women to understand theology. But we were founded by Peter Abelard and many people believe that means we knowingly wallow in dissent and corruption.

I know, Catherine said. It is good that we learned of this before the book was produced at a council to condemn you.

It would not be me they judged, Catherine, but Abelard. William is even now trying to convince Bernard of Clairvaux to take up the matter. If he does, we are all in danger. During the battle between Pope Innocent and the antipope Anacletus, people became accustomed to letting Bernard settle their disputes. Abelard still believes that, if he simply explains his statements logically, everyone will see the truth. He can’t imagine that people will agree with Bernard just because that is what they are used to doing. Catherine, you must find out what is in that psalter. The future of the Paraclete depends on it.

But I know there is nothing! Catherine insisted.

Then find out who wants to destroy us so much that they would forge heresies and make it appear to be our work.

Catherine nodded. Mother Héloïse, she began. She stopped. It was not her business. The question was unforgivably rude. But she had to know.

Mother, Catherine said softly, which is more important to you, to protect the Paraclete or Master Abelard?

Unexpectedly, Héloïse laughed. I have never made a secret of it, Catherine. I love Peter Abelard more than my life, more than God, more than you love your books. I would see the convent emptied and beg in the streets for my bread if I thought it would keep him safe.

After so many years? Catherine blurted.

Love has nothing to do with time, Héloïse answered. She closed her eyes. It has nothing to do with logic or dialectic or even common sense. And, if you wish to enjoy a life free of turmoil, I suggest you devote yourself exclusively to Our Father in heaven and learn from my example.

Her voice became brisk and Catherine knew the subject was closed.

Now, if you were sent home, do you think you could manage a trip to the library at Saint-Denis?

Yes, Reverend Mother, I think so. Abbot Suger allowed me to study there before, when I visited with Father.

Good. If the book is unaltered, find out who has been spreading these slanders. If it has been changed, copy out the relevant passages.

And then what? Catherine asked. Shall I try to discover the person responsible?

Of course not. That would be both dangerous and inappropriate. Bring the copy to me. I will see that it reaches those who will defend us.

Héloïse paused, tapping her foot. If I could go myself, I would. But I can manufacture no excuse for leaving. Still, I am uneasy. You may become involved in old resentment, even hate.

Then I must ask Our Lady to watch over me, Catherine said.

Of course. And tonight we will both ask an extra petition of Saint Thecla as we celebrate her feast day. Heloïse went to her breviary and opened it to the day’s reading. She is not a saint often celebrated in the west. Do you know her story?

Oh yes. She was a Greek who heard Saint Paul preaching from her window one day and was converted. She ran away from her family and her betrothed and dressed as a man to follow Our Lord’s apostle. She preached herself, and converted many people even though the devil sent wild animals and depraved men to torment her. Catherine paused.

She might be a fit guardian for you as you reenter a world where there are still many wild beasts, Héloïse said.

Not in Paris, Mother.

Especially in Paris. I lived there once, you know.

Very well, Catherine agreed. I will make a special devotion to Saint Thecla.

I will write to your parents tonight, Héloïse said. I will tell them only that you have found yourself unable to submit to authority with proper humility but that, perhaps, if you show sincere repentance, you may return. I will suggest that you might benefit from a few months of parental discipline and the guidance of mature minds.

She took out her writing materials. They won’t beat you, will they? she asked.

At the door, Catherine stopped and considered. I don’t think so, Reverend Mother. Suddenly she grinned. Father said he couldn’t stand my forgiving him so fulsomely every time he punished me. Mother … I don’t know. She was pleased when I decided to enter the convent. I think she may be very angry.

I see. If you should decide in the next few days that the shame and deception are too much for you to bear, I will not reproach you, Héloïse said.

I won’t. I am honored you chose me, Catherine answered. After all, it is all too believable that I should be sent home for the sin of pride. It will be good for me to have to hold my tongue for once.

You must, Catherine, Heloïse said firmly. Better that than be silenced forever.

Catherine felt suddenly chilled.

I understand, Mother Héloïse, she said. I won’t forget.

Two

The Paraclete, Sunday, October 1, 1139, Feast of Saint Remi, Bishop of Reims

The tongue … is an intractable evil … it does not tire when moving and finds inactivity a burden.

—Peter Abelard The Letters of Direction

The hissings followed Catherine through the days as she prepared to depart the convent. They sounded like leaves rustling under dozens of shuffling feet, pausing when she appeared and then surging again after she had passed. She couldn’t brush them away but felt continually pursued by an angry buzz of disembodied voices. For none of the women would say aloud the words whispered behind cupped palms.

Whshhhhhshhhhh … always so proud … hsssss … . always questioning … ssssh … serves her right … . arrogant nobody.

Then the hands would drop and the faces become smooth and sympathetic. Perhaps some of them were honestly sorry for her, but Catherine could no longer be sure. Christian charity was so easy to counterfeit. Only Sister Emilie, who came from a family so exalted that she could do whatever she liked, openly grieved for Catherine.

Don’t let them try to shove you into another convent, she counseled. If they do, send word to me and I’ll have my father find you a nice, rich, ancient husband who will leave you alone with your studies. I promise. She hugged Catherine. Whatever happens, she said, always remember I am your true friend.

This kindness upset Catherine more than the vicious gossiping. In the heat of self-sacrifice, she hadn’t considered that the deception would hurt anyone but herself. Now, seeing Emilie’s honest tears, she wished she could tell her everything. And if she were tempted to confess now, how much harder it would be to face her family with the news! Her father would want to know every detail of her offenses. She dreaded the tight-jawed anger he would visibly try to control. It might be easier if they did whip her. At least then she could feel the rapture of martyrdom instead of this undeserved shame.

Shame, indeed! her conscience scolded. A small sacrifice to make. And who said it was undeserved? Have you never done anything in your virtuous life to be ashamed of? You haven’t even begun your task and you falter already? Perhaps you should go back to hoeing cabbages.

Luckily for Catherine, a new distraction appeared to draw the interest of the women from her problems.

She entered the refectory one day to see all the younger nuns clustered around one of the narrow windows.

Move over, Hedwig, you’ve gaped enough, one said as she shoved her way to the front.

But what are they doing? Hedwig asked.

It’s a respite stop for a tourney, Emilie explained as she eased herself into the place with the best view. They’d better extend the flags into the river or the knights won’t be able to water the horses safely. I wonder who’s fighting?

Do you mean they’re going to hold a tournament right next to the convent? Hedwig gasped.

It appears so. Emilie gave up her place and moved to the rear.

Do you think Mother Heloïse knows about this? she asked Catherine.

Catherine shook her head. I don’t think they normally tell anyone in authority when they decide to tourney. Officially, it’s forbidden … eight years ago, at the Council of Clermont, she added as Emilie looked doubtful.

Well, if you say so, but no clerics in my diocese ever enforced a ban on jousting. It would be worth their benefices to even try.

There was the scrape of a door opening and the nuns scattered as Sister Bertrada entered.

What are you doing here! the novice mistress thundered. Every one of you should be at your duties. You will all remain in the chapel tonight for one hour after Compline, on your knees, while I read our Rule to you. Obviously you need to be reminded of your vows.

She saw Catherine and sniffed.

I might have known you would be here, she said. Tonight you may sleep without your quilt and pillow. No doubt you will be led to damnation through soft luxury soon enough. But not while you are under my supervision.

Emilie started to speak, but Catherine stopped her.

Yes, Sister, she said and left the room.

Emilie followed.

How could you let her do that? she asked Catherine. No one else was given extra punishment.

I’m practicing cheerful obedience, Catherine answered.

Very proper, Emilie observed. "I was just surprised. I never saw you practice it

Reviews for Death Comes As Epiphany

[amaliagavea · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I never thought I'd find a mystery set in the Medieval era that would be so plainly boring, but I have. And it wasn't just boring, it was painfully bad.

The main character is naive and full of bad choices, even though she's supposed to pass as oh! so intelligent and oh! so ahead of her times. However, in every interaction of hers, she comes across as docile, avoiding conflict with all those who plainly tell her they have the right to control her choices and her life. Her relatives, from her parents to her sister, her uncle, her brother, everyone is a complete boring brute. The only character who is remotely acceptable is Edgar. The mystery itself is not interesting at all, the twists are laughable, and I am pretty certain that the dialogue is far from the way in which French people of the era used to talk. It was outrageous to come across so many modern idioms, it was cringe-worthy.

The only elements that kept me reading until the end were Eloise and Abelárd's presence and the descriptions of Medieval France. I had high expectations for this novel, judging by the reviews, but I suppose it wasn't for me. It goes without saying that I will not attempt to start the following installments in the series.

[eilonwy_anne · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An engrossing plot, charming heroine and intriguing historical details. The main characters were well-drawn and likeable, and the use of Heloise and Abelard did not seem ponderous or contrived (as use of historical personages in fiction sometimes does.) I liked the thorough depiction of the culture, especially the way people's belief in the supernatural was pervasive and convincing.My only quibble was with the occasional forays into the perspective of secondary characters. I felt it added little to the story while sacrificing some of the mystery. A small quibble: I'll definitely be reading more of these.Note on the audiobook: The narrator was great. Her voices varied, she read dramatically but not bombastically, and her Francophone pronunciation of names added to the atmosphere.

[dinadansfriend · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is a worthy rival to the Brother Cadfel mysteries, and Sharan Newman has researched her area both spatially and chronogically, very well.

[paradiseporch · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Set in 12th century France, this features Catherine, a young novice and scholar at the Convent of the Paraclete, who is sent by the Abbess Heloise on a perilous mission to find out who is trying to destroy the reputation of the convent and, through it, that of the abbess’s onetime lover and patron, theologian Peter Abelard.I was uncomfortable with the amount of religious rigmarole, the “right’ of the church, and the solution: madness – or something darker?Read this if: you would enjoy a mystery more because of the religious element, rather than despite it. 3 stars

[sly_wit · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

A fun mystery that takes place in Medieval France.

[melydia_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Catherine LeVendeur is a novice nun who, while devoted to God, is more interested in the fact that living in a convent allows her to study and learn. When a psalter she helped write is defiled, the abbess sends her home to discover the vandal. In the midst of this she is swept up in a mystery of murder, theft, and vanity, as well as a timid budding romance with a secretive man. I enjoyed this one, which surprised me a little since I'm not much of a mystery reader, but I think what fascinated me most was the detailed description of life in the 12th century. It was very different from now, and it takes a talented writer to convincingly portray such characters without showing them in a modern light. Sure, perhaps Catherine herself is more progressive than was likely for a woman of those years, but she is engaging enough that one can overlook it. I may have to look up some other Newman books.

[kp9949 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I was a little unsure of this novel as I began reading it. I love mysteries; however, this period in history, never interested me much. For any of you having the same likes/dislikes, I do recommend this story. In some places I found the story a bit plodding but yet interesting. Now, having also read the second novel in the series, "The Devil's Door", I have come to love our young heroine and look forward to reading more in the series.

[kasthu_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It’s late 1139, and Catherine LeVendeur is a novice in the convent of the Paraclete, whose abbess, Heloise, is the former lover of Abelard. A psalter has disappeared from the convent, one that could severely damage the already-damaged Abelard, and Heloise sends Catherine away from the convent, ostensibly in disgrace for misbehavior, to get the book back. But at the Abbey of Saint Denis, a stone mason literally falls dead, and it’s up to the intrepid Catherine to figure out, using her wits, what happened.The historical detail is quite good. I understand that the author has a PhD in medieval history, and she definitely shows it off a bit. Those who aren’t well versed in medieval history might find themselves wishing that the book provided a glossary of terms; the author continually uses words and phrases like bliaut (a women's loose-fitting overgarment), aversier, bricon (rascal), chainse (a linen chemise), gaufre (waffles), braies (an undergarment tied at the waist) awaeris thu, and mesel (a leper). There’s also a fair amount of Latin that's used in this book. Still, this is the kind of historical verisimilitude that I look for in a historical novel.But I liked the story; it’s mostly original (though there are one or two things that are a bit predictable), and it moves at a relatively fast pace. The main character is spunky, and the relationship between herself and Edgar, the English stone carver, held my interest throughout. I also enjoyed how philosophy and reason are interwoven throughout the story, contrasting them with sheer, blind faith, and I enjoyed watching Catherine use her wits in order to figure out what happened to the psalter. The addition of real historical figures didn’t weigh heavily on the story or feel too contrived, either. I look forward to reading what’s next for Catherine LeVendeur.

[ellen6w · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This struck me as a book the author really enjoyed writing. The dialogue and character reactions are occasionally melodramatic but also often deliberately funny (the last few lines of the book made me laugh aloud).One nice thing about this book (and the sequel, so far) is that the murder is not the sole focus; other storylines and relationships get more development than I'm used to in mysteries, meaning that the mystery development gets stale less quickly. I suspect this will be a boon for the series as a whole, if the same continues to be true.The writing style is sometimes distracting, which is a big part of why I didn't rate the book higher; for example, the main character holds conversations with voices in her head that don't serve much of a purpose. I felt like some of the conflicts were resolved too quickly and too easily. Nonetheless, as my note about the sequel indicates, I'm already reading the next book, and I'm looking for the others. This was a fun and promising start to the series.