The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (33 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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He drew his attention back to the monk.
“What were you saying?”
“I said that I think we should go up to the castle and find out if Lord Gerhardt was afflicted with hemorrhoids,” Berengar said. “His brother would probably know.”
The prospect of another long hot walk just to ask one question didn’t excite Edgar.
“Perhaps we could ask when we visit Agnes again,” he suggested. “I don’t want to leave my family now while they’re so unsettled by Simon’s death. Is it likely that Hermann will come into town soon? We might contact him then.”
“It’s possible,” Berengar said. “Gerhardt sometimes arranged to have his wine shipped with that of the archbishop. I understand that Hermann has been to the bishop’s palace often recently, perhaps to discuss this. On my way back to the monastery, I’ll stop at the palace and ask if he’s expected any time soon.”
Edgar stood to see him out. “Thank you, Berengar. I’m sorry to have brought you out in this heat for so little.”
“Not at all.” Berengar smiled. “A little warmth now may spare me a greater one later. And convey my sympathies to your friend’s family. I heard on my way here. Wicked, wicked men!”
After he left, Edgar went up to see about Catherine. He found her with Margaret, showing her how to do a complicated embroidery knot. All trace of tears was gone.
“Did you give my apologies to Brother Berengar?” she asked. “I can’t imagine what was wrong with me.”
“I can,” Edgar answered. “And he was not at all insulted.”
Catherine looked up at him. He held her eyes, daring her to prove he was wrong. Margaret watched them, puzzled. At last, Catherine lowered her eyes and nodded.
“I didn’t want to add to our problems here,” she said to him. “Why does this always seem to happen when we travel?”
He stooped and took her in his arms.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “If we can’t get home in time, we’ll stay right here until you’re both well enough.”
“By then I may actually have mastered this dreadful language.” Catherine sniffed.
Understanding was dawning on Margaret.
“Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I hope it’s another girl.”
Edgar held out his left arm to her and she took it in both her hands.
“I think we’d rather wait a while before telling Hubert,” he said. “He has enough to worry about. Do you promise not to mention this until I give you permission?”
“Of course, Brother,” she answered. “But I wouldn’t wait too
long. I remember the last time. Catherine did not enjoy her food and everyone was extremely aware of it.”
“Especially on the boat back to France.” Catherine grimaced. “Never again.”
Edgar put his hand over her stomach. “I promise. This time, no boats.”
He was already wondering where they could find a midwife who understood French. The muscles in his neck were beginning to tense. No matter how pleased he was with the news, it was also one more thing for him to worry about.
 
Bernard de Fontaines, abbot of Clairvaux, and arguably the most influential man in Christendom, was enjoying a rare moment of private meditation. Though he was fond of his friends and always mindful of his duties, Bernard was happiest when he could be alone with God.
He was aware of the interruption long before the knock came on his door in Metz. The argument was being carried on in whispers more piercing that shouts would have been.
Bernard arranged his face to tolerance.
“Geoffrey, Nicholas, what brings you here at the time of afternoon response?” he asked pleasantly.
The two monks avoided looking at each other. Nicholas stepped forward.
“I hate to disturb you, my lord abbot,” he said.
Geoffrey gave a sound something like a snort. Nicholas paused.
“It was my doing, my lord,” Geoffrey said. “This message just arrived, and considering the other news from Germany, I felt you should know at once.”
Bernard was alert at once. His eyes lit. “The emperor has decided to take the cross!” he exclaimed.
“No, Lord Abbot,” Nicholas said. “Joyous news like that I would have sung from the belltower of the cathedral. Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey’s head slid back into his cowl like a turtle trying to avoid a blow.
“Forgive me,” he said. “But I’m afraid the news is unsettling. Despite your letters, the monk Radulf has continued his exhortations for the extermination of the Jews. Last week, a mob in Köln murdered
a trader of Trier. There have been other reports of destruction and beatings. A woman in Speyer had her nose and thumbs cut off because she refused to convert. They say that this Radulf has now moved on to Mainz to continue his false preaching.”
The two monks waited for some reaction from the abbot. His lips tightened, as if to hold back the words that threatened to erupt. His right hand moved into a fist and then, with an effort, opened again.
“Nicholas,” he said. “Prepare for us to leave at once. Geoffrey, see to it that my traveling altar and vessels are packed. Everything else can follow later. We’ll stop at Trier on our way to Frankfurt. Send another letter to the bishop of Mainz warning him of this demon. He must be stopped.”
The monks bowed and left.
Alone again, Bernard’s thoughts were far from peaceful. He fell to his knees.
“A man has died, Lord,” he wept. “Through my words, however much they had been twisted. Even worse, this soul died in darkness, before he could be convinced to come to You. The people heeded me so eagerly when I asked them to take up arms for Your sake. How could they become so deaf when I forbid them to harm the Jews? Help me. Send me the wisdom to prevent this evil from spreading.”
He remained in prayer until called to Vespers.
As they went to make the preparations for departure Nicholas turned to Geoffrey. “You see what you’ve done?” he complained. “If you’d been willing to wait, I could have told him more gently, along with other matters. Now he’s decided to set off on an uncomfortable journey with not enough time to make ready.”
Geoffrey had no sympathy even though he wasn’t overly fond of Jews, himself. “We were going to Frankfurt soon, anyway. If leaving earlier will save a life, or a soul, then we should be glad to do so.”
Nicholas muttered something in reply. Geoffrey prayed for the day when he would be free of this insufferable man. Then he went to get ready for the journey. He didn’t mind the travel, at all, if Nicholas suffered too.
Besides, he’d always wanted to see the Holy Shroud at the cathedral in Trier. He might never have another opportunity.
 
 
It was Friday afternoon. Hermann and his brother-in-law were taking advantage of Maria’s absence to do nothing down by the river.
“How long do you think it will take her to deliver alms to the cottagers?” Hermann asked from under his woven hat.
“Most of the afternoon, I hope,” Folmar answered. “She likes to be thanked enthusiastically.”
“You haven’t been going with her, lately,” Hermann commented.
“To be honest, I became tired of listening to the sermons she delivered with the bread,” Folmar confessed. “Some women know how to preach without preaching and others don’t, if you follow me.”
“Of course,” Hermann answered. “She is my sister.”
They were silent for a while. A boat went by, headed upstream under sail. Folmar watched it from under his hat.
“Isn’t it time someone decided what to do with that woman in our tower?” he asked. “The harvest is approaching, after all.”
“To tell you the truth,” Hermann lowered his voice, “I know what I’d like to do with her.”
Folmar raised himself on one elbow and tilted his hat back.
“You astonish me,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Gerhardt. Well, if you’re brave enough, she’s right there and you have the key. Why don’t you?”
Hermann lifted his hat from his face and turned to Folmar.
“I want to marry her first,” he said.
“What?
Es ist dîn spot
!” Folmar sat up. He held his hand up and began to count. “I can think of several reasons why I’m sure you’ve suddenly lost all sense. Firstly, the woman was married to your brother. Secondly, she may have murdered him. Thirdly, even if the first two could be overcome, you’ve held her prisoner for several months now. She might not be inclined to remain here.”
“I know all that.” Hermann replaced his hat. “But she hasn’t been harmed while in our care. Also, I don’t believe that she did kill Gerhardt. Finally, I could marry her if the first marriage was never consummated.”
Folmar leaned over and slid Hermann’s hat to one side.
“What makes you think it wasn’t?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “Did Gerhardt tell you something?”
“Not in so many words,” Hermann admitted. “But I’m almost
sure of it now. Maria finally admitted to me that the sheets in the marriage bed were unstained. If Agnes is proved innocent of murder, she might be proved innocent in other respects. We could get the archbishop to …”
He stopped. His fantasy hadn’t considered that. Archbishop Albero wasn’t likely to do favors for a minor lord who had taken the side of the townspeople against him.
Folmar lay down again. “I think your scheme has too many barriers to surmount. Why don’t you just rape her and have done with it?”
“Folmar!”
The tone said that Hermann was truly angry.
“I wasn’t serious,” Folmar said quickly. “I know you wouldn’t. But I doubt very much that you’ll have her any other way. You didn’t bother to mention that her family might also object to Agnes staying here with a man who has little property of his own and fewer prospects. Or that, if the sight of you should please her, she still might not want to remain in a place where she had gone through so much.”
Hermann got up. “Thank you. I knew that confiding in you would destroy any hope I had.”
“Life isn’t a minstrel’s tale, Herman.” Folmar sighed. “I wouldn’t be here if it were.”
 
Brother Berengar was delighted with the progress that Peter was making with French. He realized that the boy’s questions would soon go far beyond what he could teach.
“It’s a shame you can’t have your stepmother help you,” he said.
“Do you think she would?” Peter asked.
“She might,” the monk answered. “It must be dull up there all alone.”
Peter jumped up and ran from the room. In a moment he was back.
“I know where Uncle Hermann keeps the key,” he explained. “Shall we go up and ask her?”
Agnes heard the voices whispering at the door and felt a stab of fear that became a stab of pain as she stuck herself accidentally with her needle. When the door opened. Peter and Berengar found her
sucking her finger. She didn’t seem happy to see them. Peter held up a tray of bread, fruit and beans.
“Isn’t it early for food?” she asked.
Berengar shrugged. Agnes indicated that Peter should put the tray on the table. She tasted a peach.
“Guot,”
she said.
“Merci,”
Peter answered shyly.
Agnes broke off a corner of the bread. She looked up. Peter and Berengar were still there.
“Well? What now?” she asked.
“We think … thought,
daz ist
, Peter want French to learn,” Berengar explained.
“From you?” Agnes raised her eyebrows.
“We hope from you,” Berengar said.
Peter smiled. Agnes set down her sewing and looked around for a cloth to wrap her finger in. The other two waited nervously. When she had finished, she looked at them.
Peter did seem a nice boy. And the days were very long.
“Very well,” she said. “What have you taught him so far?”
Berengar explained. Agnes corrected and Peter tried as hard as he could to learn. The afternoon went surprisingly quickly and Agnes was secretly delighted when Peter asked if he might come back the next day.
“Peter,” Berengar said at last, “I think I hear your aunt returning. We should go down and greet her.”
“Oh yes.” Peter picked up the wax tablet he’d been writing new words on. “I don’t know if she’d approve of this. A
reviser
,
ma dame.”
“Excellent.” Agnes smiled.
They hurried out. Neither one of them noticed that they hadn’t locked the door. But Agnes did.
 
Peter clattered down the stairs and arrived breathless in front of his aunt.
“What were you doing up there?” she asked suspiciously.
“You were so late, Aunt, that I thought I should take Agnes her dinner,” Peter explained. “Brother Berengar went with me.”

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