The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (19 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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Walter dismounted and saluted them.
“My lords Peter, Hermann, Folmar, Lady Maria.” He bowed to each in turn. “May I present to you Hubert LeVendeur, father of Lady Agnes. With him are his daughter, Lady Catherine, her husband, Lord Edgar of Wedderlie and the Lady Margaret of Wedderlie.”
Hubert pulled himself up to look as stern and avenging as possible without offending. The others just tried to look sufficiently noble.
“Tell them, Walter, that we have come to prove and give surety that my child did not harm her husband and that this accusation against her is vile calumny,” he said.
Walter did.
Hermann seemed confused. “How will you do that?” he asked. “You weren’t here. You can’t even speak German. I thought you’d come to plead that she be sent to a convent or to make restitution for the death of my brother. That’s the best you can do, for all your protestations.”
Hubert brushed off his objections.
“I intend to find out what happened,” he stated. “My daughter is no murderer. I have with me a letter from Count Thibault of Champagne and his brother-in-law, Bishop Henri of Troyes to your archbishop that attests to my years of service to them, requesting that I be given every aid in establishing the truth in this matter.”
“You’ve already contacted Archbishop Albero?”
Hermann and Maria exchanged glances. Catherine thought she saw a flash of fear in them.
“It isn’t necessary to involve the archbishop in this unless you wish to subject Agnes to the humiliation of a trial,” Hermann said quickly. “I’m sure you don’t want that. It’s best to handle such things privately.”
“We’ll do whatever is necessary,” Hubert said. “Now, I want to see Agnes. If she has been mistreated, I’ll ask the archbishop to take her under his protection and have you fined.”
“Walter,” Hermann answered. “Tell him that if they will all make themselves comfortable inside, I’ll have food and wine brought
to them. And,” he added, “I’ll inform the prisoner that she is to be brought down so that they may see that we’ve done nothing to harm her.”
“No!” Hubert stepped in front of Walter. “I want to see her alone. And I want to see where she is being held.”
He looked straight at Hermann, not waiting for the end of the translation. Hermann bit his lip a moment, then nodded.
“Follow me,” he said.
 
The window in Agnes’s room faced east so that all she could see from it was the sun and rows of vines as they marched to the top of the hill behind the castle. So she had no warning that her would-be rescuers had arrived. She was seated at a table, trying to see into the small mirror she had propped up. It bothered her that all this worry had ruined her skin. She had felt a sore on her chin and was sure it was growing.
At the sound of footsteps and the creaking of the door, she spun around so quickly that the mirror fell on the floor with a clang. Agnes stood as the door opened, ready to face whatever came and praying that her complexion was up to the task.
The door opened and a man entered. The door was shut behind him and the bar in the hallway dropped with a thud, locking him in.
At first she could only look at him, wondering how he could possibly be there. Then the weeks of fear and loneliness broke through and, with a cry, Agnes threw herself into her father’s arms.
“Oh Papa, Papa!” she wept. “Take me home!”
Hubert held her tightly, one hand caressing her hair.
“My baby! My dear golden child!” He choked on his own tears. “Forgive me for letting you come to this terrible place alone. We’ve come to make them set you free. I swear to you,
ma douz
, I will not leave here without you.”
The first shock over, Agnes began to collect herself. She pulled away and looked up into his face.
“‘We’ve come’?” she said. “Who is with you, Father? Did Grandfather send men to prove my innocence in combat? Jehan wants to, but I won’t let him. Tell me you have the best warriors in his household. Please tell me that.”
“Walter is here,” Hubert hedged. “I thought he had told you that he came to me instead of going all the way to Blois. He’ll fight for you, if necessary.”
“What do you mean, ‘if necessary’?” Agnes stepped back from him. “How else can I be freed? Do you expect me to undergo the ordeal?”
“Of course not! Oh, Agnes, I’d never let you do that.” Hubert tried to hug her again, but she moved away. “I’ll hold the hot iron myself first,” he declared. “We hoped that the real murderer would have been found by now. But, if not, we intend to find that person and leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that you are innocent.”
Agnes was growing more and more suspicious.
“Oh no! You brought Catherine, didn’t you?” she accused him. “You think that she’ll trip over a vial of poison or find some confession written in Latin and,
harou,
the true culprit will be found. Oh, Father, how could you?”
“Agnes, that wasn’t my intention,” Hubert pleaded. “All we could think of was you. She only wants to stand with you, to help somehow.”
Agnes clenched her hands, her jaw, her whole body. Hubert moved back toward the door. Agnes took a deep breath and forced her fingers apart.
“Father.” She kept her voice steady. “I don’t want Catherine’s help. With her training in logic and theology, she’d probably manage to prove I was guilty after all and have me at the stake, watching the flames rising around me, by the end of the day. Send her home. Now, before something even worse happens.”
She paused as she thought of what something worse might be.
“You didn’t bring that … man, did you?” Now her voice trembled. “That Jew.”
Hubert looked at her with shame, for her or for himself, he wasn’t sure.
“No, Solomon is in Troyes,” he said.
“Thank God for that, at least.” Agnes rubbed her forehead then stopped, remembering the state of her face.
Something seemed to go out of her then. She went over to her bed and sat down, her arms limp, her shoulders sagging. She looked up at her father, all emotion gone.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’re going to kill me, whatever you do. Hermann and Maria don’t want to, but they’ll hand me over to the hangman because that’s the only way for order to prevail. They have no one but me to blame for Gerhardt’s death. And someone must be punished. Oh, Saint Peter in chains, I’m so tired! Go away, Father. I want to sleep.”
She lay down and closed her eyes. Hubert watched this sudden change with consternation.
“Agnes?”
No answer.
He started to leave, if only for the moment, then something she had said hit him.
“Agnes?” he asked again. “Why don’t Hermann and Maria want you punished, if they think you poisoned their brother? Agnes? Answer me.”
She didn’t open her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said dully. “I think they want me to confess and repent first, so that they can send me to a convent and spare themselves having my death on their souls. But I won’t because I didn’t. Now let me be.”
Hubert bent over and kissed her cheek, but she didn’t respond.
“Very well, my sweet,” he whispered. “But we aren’t going to abandon you and you aren’t going to die. I’ll return soon.”
After he had gone, Agnes rolled over on her her stomach and buried her face in the bolster, so that no one could hear her cry.
 
Peter didn’t know what to think about these new visitors. The man and the young girl were northern pale as he was, but the older man and the woman were darker, like the traders from Aquitaine and Sicily. Yet they seemed to be one family. And they had brought children, just as if they were coming for a festival! No one had told him the French had such strange customs.
Another thing that amazed him was that the girl spoke a language that sounded almost like German. She had said something in it to her brother. He had watched her during the conversation Walter had translated and he was almost sure that she had understood before the words were turned into French.
This Margaret also had the most beautiful auburn hair he had
ever seen and eyes that sparkled blue in the sunlight and turned grey in shadows.
She was sitting in shadows now, trying to be unnoticed in a corner. But Peter was drawn to her. Even in the dark she shone in his eyes. He sat next to her.
“I’m Peter,” he said, pointing to himself. “I’m the lord here, now, I guess.”
She smiled. “Margaret.” She pointed to herself, as well. “
Ic beo Edgares sweostra.”
He blinked. “You understand me?” he asked.
She didn’t. But her words had been close enough for him, even though he hadn’t been able to make out what she had said to her brother. He wondered where they were from and why they were part of this tragedy.
“Peter!” Aunt Maria was shocked. “What are you doing there with the Lady Margaret?”
“Just talking,” Peter answered.
“Really? I had no idea you were accomplished in languages,” she said. “Come away at once. Do you want her to enchant you as that woman did your father?”
Peter looked at Margaret, staring up at him with innocence in her beautiful eyes. He suspected that she might have enchanted him already.
Hubert returned then, with Hermann and Walter. He was speaking so quickly that he barely gave Walter time to translate. Peter hurried over to them. He wanted to hear everything now and not wait until one of his relatives told him only as much as they thought he should know.
Hermann was answering Hubert’s angry questions.
“We do believe her to be guilty,” he insisted. “There’s no way anyone else could have given him poison. But we haven’t found what she used and she refuses to confess. We would rather not resort to trial by combat or ordeal. But if you can’t make her admit to it and you won’t make any sort of restitution, then there’s nothing else to do.”
“Have you even looked for another murderer?” Hubert shouted. “The man was lord here, wasn’t he? Such a man always has enemies!”
“Not in his own bedroom!” Hermann shouted back.
They both grew louder and louder as if, by yelling, they could somehow bypass the inconvenience of having to converse through Walter.
“He was poisoned, not stabbed,” Hubert insisted. “He could have been given it anywhere!”
Hermann hesitated. That had been the niggling doubt in his own mind.
“Then tell me how, and where!” he answered. “And by whom and I’ll give you back your daughter and her dowry and send you all away gladly. But if you can’t then, I swear, I will give her to the archbishop and his court for justice.”
“Father!” Catherine grabbed Hubert’s arm, lest he say something that would doom Agnes.
“Give us the freedom to question anyone here,” Hubert answered. “And we’ll find out what really happened. If not, then you can keep Agnes’s dowery and I swear she shall be locked up in any convent you choose, to do penance for the rest of her life.”
“That’s not enough for what she did,” Hermann said.
“Uncle Hermann!” Peter interrupted. “You forget that I am now lord here. It is my father’s death and I have the right to decide what should be done to investigate it.”
Hermann gaped at him as if a sheep had just spoken.
“Of—of course, Peter,” he said. “Forgive me. I was only trying to spare you pain.”
“It’s too late for that,” Peter answered. He lifted his chin and faced Hubert.
“I accept your terms,” he said. “I shall send word that all who are under my care must give you every courtesy and answer truthfully any question put to them. But you are not to interfere with their work or intimidate them in any way.”
Both Hermann and Maria started to object but Peter silenced them with a gesture that Catherine thought was positively imperial.
“Thank you, my lord,” Hubert said.
“One thing more,” Peter told him. “This can’t go on forever. If you have found nothing by Michaelmass, then my stepmother will be judged according to our laws. And, if it is proved that she used any form of magic or poison to harm my father, then she must die. Do you understand?”
Catherine tried to speak again, but Hubert hushed her.
“My child is a devout Christian and has had no traffic with demons,” he said. “I accept your terms.”
“Then you may go.” Peter waved again. This time the movement was spoilt slightly by the way his eyes moved to see if Margaret were watching.
When they had gathered up their entourage, James ruining the exit by screaming because they wouldn’t let him see the dungeon, Catherine let out everything she had kept pent up during Hubert’s bargaining.
“Father!” she exclaimed. “How can we possibly find out who killed Lord Gerhardt? We know none of these people, nor can we speak to them without an interpreter. What if one of his family poisoned him? What if the death was accidental? Perhaps he drank one of Agnes’s face lotions by mistake.”

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