The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (10 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“Do you think it’s wise for us to meet there openly?” Edgar asked.
Hubert was taken aback. “Why not? Are you suddenly ashamed of my brother?”
“No, of course not, but I am wary where my children are concerned,” Edgar answered. “Solomon told us that the situation in Champagne was calm for now, but who knows what will happen? Haven’t we all heard rumors about that monk preaching against the Jews in Lotharingia and Germany? How long before the sentiment spreads?”
Hubert turned bright red with anger. “You forget yourself, young man! How dare you suggest that I’d let my family go anywhere there might be danger! Especially after what you exposed them to in England!”
“Father!” Catherine caught at his arm. “Calm down! Think of your health! Edgar is worried
because
of what happened in England. He doesn’t want to risk our being separated in the middle of someone else’s war again.”
Edgar rose from his workbench in alarm at Hubert’s reaction. “Yes, of course,” he soothed. “Of course. You’re quite right. I’m sure that nothing will happen in Troyes. Everything will be fine, Hubert. Now, just have some cool beer and rest yourself.”
“Stop cosseting me!” Hubert sputtered. “I’m not a dotard to be humored. And I’m not going to collapse in a fit of apoplexy if I’m crossed.”
He waved away the bowl of beer that Catherine was trying to give him. It spilt down the front of her gown. She looked from the stain to her father in resignation. That finally calmed him down. If Catherine were so worried about his health that she refused to become angry with him, she must think him very ill indeed.
“I apologize,
ma douz
,” he said. “But I feel fine. Go change into something dry and we’ll discuss this rationally.”
“There’s no need for futher talk, Hubert,” Edgar said. “I know you love the children as much as we do. If you say it’s safe for them to be in the Jewish quarter of Troyes, then we need no other assurance.”
Mollified, Hubert allowed Edgar to pour him another bowl of beer while Catherine went up to change and to tell the others of the upcoming journey.
The two men drank in silence. Hubert held his bowl in both hands and let the sweet herbs and alcohol cool his choler. He noted the ease with which Edgar managed the large bowl with only one hand. He’d never realized before how much bigger Edgar’s hands … hand, that is, was than his. His fingers were long and graceful, like a king’s. Like the nobleman Edgar had been born.
“Damn it all!” Hubert thought.
“It is fine workmanship,” he said aloud, gesturing at the pyx.
“Thank you,” Edgar answered.
Both men felt that cautious peace had been restored.
 
Agnes had taken riverboats as far as she could, but they had finally had to use land routes. The women with her had enjoyed the journey so far, flirting openly with the men hired to guard them and dropping more subtle hints to Jehan and Walter, neither of whom showed any interest.
As the centerpiece in this tableau, Agnes felt it necessary to maintain a certain aloofness. She was, after all, about to be married to a lord. And, she told herself, she might as well get used to being lonely. But it was difficult to endure both Jehan’s reproachful stare and the other women’s enjoyment of the trip.
Walter of Grancy spent much of his time riding near her. Agnes knew that he was also constantly alert for danger about them. She was reminded of the times in her childhood when her uncle, Roger, would take her from Paris to Saint Denis. She had always felt so safe. But Roger had been dead a long time now and she was no longer a child to be protected from fear.
Agnes looked at Walter, solid as a fortress. She gave a long sigh that loosened the tightness in her shoulders. Perhaps for a few more days she could pretend she was a little child again.
Walter noticed her watching him. He smiled.
“Are you tired, Agnes?” he asked. “We can rest a while here if you like, but it’s not far to the village of Jarny. We can pass the night there and make Metz by tomorrow night. From there we can take the river again, all the way to Trier.”
“So soon?” The closer they got, the more unsure Agnes became. She had to collect herself. “Tired? No, not at all,” she said. “The
journey has been most pleasant and easy, thanks to your care. I’m surprised that it’s passed so quickly.”
Walter bowed quite elegantly for a man on horseback.
“I assure you, it’s my pleasure to be of assistance to you and your family. I owe a great deal to your sister and her husband.”
“Really?” Agnes stiffened.
“If not for them, I might still be living under the accusation of murder,” he explained. “It was Catherine who discovered the real miscreant.”
“Really?” Agnes said in a different tone. “Catherine does insist on following things through. Her curiosity has always been her misfortune.”
“It was great good fortune to me,” Walter said. “Although she certainly suffered in the course of it. And she and Edgar only just married, too. Yes, an easy trip in spring in the company of a beautiful woman is the least I could do to repay their kindness.”
He laughed and she joined in a bit shakily. It was a shock to her to think that Catherine’s endless prying into things not her concern could actually have been helpful to anyone.
Her second thought was almost as shocking. She found it very gratifying to realize that Walter thought she was beautiful.
As Walter had predicted, they reached Metz late the following afternoon. All during their trip, the crosses worn by Jehan and Walter had been greeted with respect and admiration. But in Metz they were only two of hundreds of soldiers with crosses. It seemed to Agnes that every man of fighting age was planning to join the pilgrimage.
The reason for this was made clear when they arrived at the hostel at the convent of Saint Pierre les Nonnains.
“The representative of Abbot Bernard is here,” Jehan informed them, after talking with one of the clerics. “He read the abbot’s encyclical yesterday in the town square and it was all they could do to keep the whole of Metz from taking the cross.”
“Do you think the abbot himself will preach soon?” Agnes asked. “I didn’t hear him at Vézelay.”
“I don’t know. He seems to be everywhere at once these days,” Jehan said. “They say he may go to Germany to try to convince the
emperor to join King Louis. And then there’s this news from the Rhineland.”
“And what is this news?” Walter asked impatiently.
“Oh, something about the Jews again.” Jehan grimaced. “Some of them have been attacked and now they’re whining to their bishops to protect them. As if those
mavaises bestes
deserved protection.”
“Jehan!” Walter said in surprise. “Of course they do! The fathers of the Church all say so, as does Abbot Bernard. How will they ever be converted to the true faith if they’re persecuted and killed?”
“They only way those stubborn bastards will ever come to the faith is at the point of a sword,” Jehan told him.
Agnes began to feel uneasy with the conversation.
“I don’t like them, either, Jehan,” she said. “But I don’t think anyone was ever converted in their hearts through intimidation.”
Jehan gave her a startled glance, as if a favorite hunting dog had suddenly tried to bite him.
“Also,” Walter added, “the bishops swore an oath to protect the Jews under them. Breaking it would imperil their immortal souls.”
“Yes, of course.” Jehan seized at this solution. “One must never break a sacred oath, however foolish.”
He turned to Agnes for her reaction, but she wasn’t paying attention to either of them. One of the guards had helped her down and she was busy directing the unloading of her baggage while she waited for the portress to admit her and the other ladies.
Walter shook his head in sympathy.
“Turn your mind to Heaven, Jehan, as I do,” he said. “Or you’ll find no peace anywhere on Earth.”
“I have no hope of either Heaven or happiness.” Jehan’s voice was bleak.
Walter leaned over and gave him a pat that nearly unseated him.
“In that case, we might as well see to the women and then go drown ourselves in the first tavern we can find.”
Jehan brightened slightly. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard since this journey began.”
 
Agnes didn’t notice them leave. There was too much to be done. It was the private belief of her maids that she would run a household
better than the kings did their armies. She oversaw everything and missed nothing. While she was, they admitted, fair in her demands, there was no warmth in her manner. Her prospective husband was the subject of sincere pity.
Agnes gave no sign that she knew or cared what they thought. She gave the directions for the temporary storage of her goods and then allowed the portress to lead her to greet the abbess before retiring to her room.
The maids stopped for a moment after she had gone.
“Do you think she even confides in a priest?” Laudine asked asked.
“Hmmph! That one wouldn’t tell her secrets to the Virgin herself,” Lisette stated.
A third woman bent over and began gathering up bundles of clothing and toiletries that would be needed that night.
“She’s a close one,” the woman agreed. “But I’d think she must be lonely as Eve without another woman to share her troubles with.”
The others considered that horrible fate and continued their work in a spirit of thankfulness.
 
Once he had made his own arrangements for the night and seen Jehan tucked in with a skin of wine, Walter decided to explore the town. Metz was in imperial territory and had recently been granted the freedom to answer only to Emperor Conrad III instead of a local lord. A ruler had been selected from the local noblemen but not on any inherited or territorial principle. It sounded to Walter something like the anarchy that was currently prevailing in Italy and he was curious about how the locals were faring under such a system.
He strolled through the streets with the confidence of a man who wore both sword and knife and knew that only a lunatic would dare bother him. The shops were all busy, the shutters open wide to catch the spring air and tables set up in the streets so that there was only a narrow path for people to walk through. Walter bumped and apologized his way along, stopping now and then to buy a sausage or a bowl of beer.
He was just turning around, the sausage half-eaten, when he came face-to-face with a man who seemed very familiar.
“Pardon,” the man said as he made to pass him.
“Of course,” Walter answered, swallowing the rest of the sausage. “Don’t I know you?”
The man smiled as if used to the question. “I think not,” he answered. “You may have once met my father. If your accent is any guide, you’re from south of Dijon, right?”
“Grancy,” Walter said. “I’ve some land there.”
The man nodded. “Well I don’t think we’ve—wait,” he looked at Walter again. “You weren’t at Sens, were you, when my father was condemned by the bishops?”
“That’s it!” Walter was delighted to have an answer to the puzzle. “You’re Abelard’s son, the one with the funny name.”
“Astrolabe,” he answered and smiled. “I remember now. You were friends with that poor woman who died at my mother’s convent. Catherine LeVendeur was very concerned about her.”
“I saw Catherine and Edgar only recently in Paris!” Walter felt he had discovered a lost relative. “You know about his accident, don’t you?”
They both started down the road again, stomping unconcernedly through the refuse that ran down the ditch in the middle. Walter explained to Astrolabe why he was in Metz.
“It’s good of you to go to that trouble,” Astrolabe said. “It will make Catherine easier in her mind to know you’re watching over her sister.”
“Now, are you attached to the church here?” Walter asked.
Astrolabe seemed embarrassed. “No. Actually, well, actually, I’m here at the request of Abbot Bernard. I know it’s odd, considering his relations with my father, but I happened to be at Clairvaux when he needed someone to carry his letters this way and I offered. My mother feels that I need to have a benefice, or a position tutoring or as a clerk. The abbot may be willing to help.”
“What does he think of this news that the Jews are being attacked again?” Walter asked.
“I’m not sure he believes it yet,” Astrolabe said. “He’s sent letters everywhere telling people to leave the Jews in peace. It’s incredible to him that he would be ignored.”
“I heard that one of his own monks was leading the persecutions.”
“That’s only rumor.”
“But it concerns you?” Walter read Astolabe’s expression.
“Yes.” Astrolabe stopped walking and rubbed his forehead. “I agree with my father and Abbot Bernard that Jews should be brought to Christ through logic and divine grace, not coercion. And I have friends among them whom I would not see hurt.”

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