The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (41 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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These thoughts rested on the surface of his mind. Everything else in him was concentrated on bringing Margaret back. He ran his fingers through what was left of her beautiful red hair. Part of it had been cut to stitch up the gash on her temple and the rest shorn to keep it from sapping her strength. The left side of her face was swollen, with purple and yellow bruises covering most of it. Both eyes had blackened when her nose had been hit.
“What kind of God lets this happen?” Solomon murmured. “What possible purpose could there be in letting good men die and a radiant child be battered like this? What lesson can there be in it?”
It wasn’t the first time Solomon had asked such questions. He had seen so much injustice in his life that the need to make sense of it occupied most of his sober moments.
He gently stroked the undamaged side of Margaret’s face; noticing
with wonder how much more defined it was than he remembered. The child was disappearing and a woman about to emerge.
If she lived.
“In a proper world,” he continued, “you would have been my daughter. You and your mother and I would have lived on a hillside far from any town. We’d have had goats and chickens and I’d never have traded farther away than the next farm. The harvest would always have been abundant and the grapes always sweet. In a proper world there would be no Edomite, Ishmaelite or Jew, but only men, women and children who care for each other, as much I care for you. Oh, Margaret, I wish so much that instead of waking again to this place, we could both wake into a proper world!”
Margaret gave a deep sighing breath and turned onto her side. Solomon’s hand stayed cupped beneath her cheek.
Her eyes very slowly opened. She saw his face. Her eyes closed again and, with a lopsided smile, she fell into a natural sleep.
Solomon sat motionless, his mouth hanging open. A miracle had occurred between one breath and the next. Although not a proper world, this one suddenly seemed tolerable once again.
 
Everyone except his wife was up in the room where Folmar lay waiting for the first pangs that indicated his death was at hand. Maria had elected to stay and wait for Walter and Peter to return.
“At the moment I’m feeling neither wifely nor charitable,” she stated. “I’d rather hasten my husband’s demise than ease his suffering.”
“I must admit I agree with her,” Edgar whispered to Catherine. “The man is a heretic and a fratricide. He doesn’t deserve to have a deathwatch.”
“Well, I want to be there in case he explains why he killed his own brother,” Catherine answered. “I thought it was because Folmar had discovered that Gerhardt was going to alienate the property and give it to the heretics, but now it seems that Folmar is a heretic, too, so that doesn’t make sense.”
Lying in a large curtained bed, Folmar appeared to be in no pain as yet. He was pale, though, and fearful. Brother Berengar bent over him, asking again if he would like the last rites. Folmar shook his head and continued his praying.
“Berengar, make him confess,” Agnes insisted. “He has to admit that Hermann knew nothing of what he did.”
The monk threw up his hands in exasperation.
“We’ve asked him several times, my lady,” he said. “But all he does is repeat the Our Father and occasionally call for the
perfecta.”
Folmar made out that one word. He lifted his head.
“Did you find her?” he asked. “Is she coming? I must have the
consolamentum
before I die.”
“How can he let himself die with murder on his soul?” Catherine said. “Even heretics must know that’s a sin.”
Berengar tried again. “At least repent of the death you caused,” he implored.
“It was an accident,” Folmar whined. “He wasn’t supposed to die. I only wanted to save him from damnation. Once he’d agreed to marry, I knew he couldn’t stay chaste. The salve was just supposed to make him too weak to copulate.”
Catherine let out a sigh of satisfaction and started for the door. Agnes rounded on her.
“Just because your puzzle is complete, that doesn’t mean it’s over,” she said. “You and Edgar can’t leave now.”
“Agnes, we had no such intention,” Edgar said. “If you had a good look at your sister, you’d see that she’s about to vomit. Would you like her to do it here?”
“Not again!” Agnes bit her tongue to keep from finishing her thought.
She stood aside and Catherine rushed out.
“See what you have to look forward to?” Edgar said. “Are you sure you want to stay here and marry?”
“I intend to manage my pregnancies much better than Catherine,” Agnes answered confidently. “For one thing, I won’t be spending them away from my home.”
A few moments later Catherine returned, looking decidedly worse for wear than Folmar. She leaned over the bed to see him better.
“How long ago did he eat the poison?” she asked Berengar. “Shouldn’t he be writhing by now, or something?”
Her stare disconcerted Folmar, who shrank into the bolsters to avoid it.
“It was about Tierce, Maria said,” the monk answered. “I’m not trained in this sort of thing. I don’t know how quickly poison acts.”
“If he swallowed a lot on bread, I’d think he’d be at least getting twinges.” Catherine was more and more suspicious. “Is there anything left in the container?”
“I’ll see,” Berengar left.
He returned shortly with a wooden box containing a thin layer of white powder. He gave it to Catherine, who sniffed and then tasted it.
“Catherine, don’t!” Edgar and Agnes exclaimed together.
“Don’t worry.” Catherine threw down the box in disgust. “This is just ground horseradish root. The worst it will do is make one spend a bad night in the privy. Berengar, make him get up.”
Edgar didn’t wait but threw back the blanket and rolled Folmar onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” he yelled. “I’m a dying man.”
Catherine held up the box. “Not from this, you’re not.”
Folmar took the box and tasted it. “But that’s impossible,” he told Brother Berengar. “Yesterday there was wolf’s bane in this. I put it there, myself.”
“I think you can thank your nephew for that,” Berengar answered, enlightenment hitting him. “Peter came to me yesterday with a root to ask if it was safe to eat. I do know the difference between the plants and I assured him that it was. My guess is that he found your store and replaced it.”
Folmar’s expression was almost laughable.
“Oh no! I have to escape somehow,” he wailed, trying to stand in his unbelted robe. “You can’t take me to the authorities. They’ll torture me to betray the others. I’ll never endure it. I have to get out of here!”
He stumbled from the room with Edgar right behind him. As they reached the staircase, Edgar caught at Folmar’s robe with his good hand. The material ripped as Folmar teetered and then went crashing down onto the stone floor below.
Edgar reached out his left arm to hold him but realized too late that he had nothing to grip with. He could only watch as the man tumbled.
Maria came out of the solar and stared down at the groaning shape of her husband. Then she looked a question at Berengar.
“He wasn’t poisoned after all,” the monk told her. “He wasn’t going to die.”
Maria regarded Folmar again, prodding him with her foot. He shrieked.
“Will he die now?” she asked.
Catherine knelt beside him. “His back is broken. Yes, I think he will.”
Maria exhaled slowly.
“Good.”
 
Hubert sat under an awning hastily rolled out in front of the tavern and watched his grandchildren playing in the warm rain. He adored them both, especially Edana, who so resembled his mother. He kept telling himself that being there to see them grow up was worth the constant tension of having to live in two worlds. But he felt that slowing of his heart more often lately and wondered how much time there was left. One day he feared the beats would grow farther and farther apart until they stopped altogether.
The wind had picked up and he was herding the children back to the house when his way was blocked by a man on horseback. Hubert knew both the horse and the man.
“So you’ve finally regained your senses, Jehan,” he said. “It took you long enough. Well, good luck in Edessa. May you win honor and fame and a castle in the Holy Land.”
He took each child by the hand and started to walk around, but Jehan dismounted and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.
“I’m not going to Edessa, yet,” he hissed. “First I’m going to finish what I started in Paris. You wrote this, didn’t you?”
He thrust the parchment in front of Hubert.
“Ridiculous,” Hubert said, trying to pull away from him.
“Don’t lie. I know it’s yours,” Jehan said. “And I know enough more to ruin you. No man will marry Agnes when they learn what you are.”
“You can’t prove anything,” Hubert said calmly. “You’ve made a fool of yourself here and no one will believe anything you say about us.”
“This time they will,
Chaim
,” Jehan said. “They call you that. I’ve heard them. Did you think I was deaf and blind, all those years you used me to guard your property and carry your messages? You may have managed to convince Bishop Stephen once of your piety, but this time I have enough to prove you’re really a Jew, pretending to be one of us, spitting on the cross and defiling the sacrament like they all do. And your daughters knew of it and helped you hide your shame. Now all of you will be exposed. You’ll be executed for your apostasy and your family will be impoverished.”
“You’re mad,” Hubert said, but his voice shook.
Jehan smiled. “I may be, but I’m not wrong about this. Hebrew incantations written in your own hand will convince the bishop along with your continued association with members of the Jewish community.”
“Incantations?” Hubert realized that Jehan didn’t know what was written on the parchment. “Jehan, those aren’t magical words; it’s just the measurements for a candle holder. The only thing they’ll summon up is a silversmith.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jehan said, uncertainly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. The fact that you can read them is enough.”
“No it isn’t, Jehan, and you know it.” Hubert knew he had the upper hand now. “The bishop may listen to you, but Abbot Suger won’t, and Count Thibault will support me as well. Spreading these lies will only reflect badly on you. Would you like Abbot Suger to have a word about you to King Louis? He might not want a known troublemaker among his knights.”
Jehan wavered. He knew from bitter experience how much power this man had. His eyes strayed to James and Edana, who were happily splashing in the muddy puddles. Hubert followed his thoughts.
“Don’t even think it,” he said. “If any harm comes to my grandchildren there will be no place in the world you can hide, in or out of Christendom. If you’re right in your accusations, then you know that the Jews have a trading network that reaches into lands that never saw a priest. And they won’t kill you, I promise. They’ll see that you’re captured, castrated and sold to the most vicious slave-owner in Bagdad. Believe me.”
His heart was pounding slowly and his hands were icy. He prayed that he wouldn’t lose consciousness again in front of the little ones.
The knife at his throat was almost welcome. It cleared his mind. But the cut didn’t come.
“Do you know what it is to hate?” Jehan’s mouth was close to his ear. “Do you know what it’s like to see everything you’ve ever wanted or loved torn from you?”
“Yes,” Hubert said simply.
“No you don’t.” The knife pressed harder against his neck. “You can’t begin to. You think you’ve stopped me, but I will be avenged if it takes the rest of my life.”
The knife slid along the side of Hubert’s neck, leaving a thin trail of blood. With a strangled cry of fury, Jehan mounted his horse and rode away. Hubert watched him until he was lost among the narrow streets. It was only then that he dared to breathe again.
He went back to the tavern and called for another cup of wine. He sat thinking for a long time, with the laughter of his grandchildren filling his ears.
 
By the time Walter and Peter returned, Folmar had been carried to a pallet hastily made up in the hall. His moans were lower now as he grew weaker.
Catherine saw the grey robe first. She hadn’t realized that the mission had been successful. She bowed her head as Abbot Bernard knelt on the floor on the other side of the pallet from her.
“Thank you for coming, my lord abbot,” she said. “This man has fallen into heresy, and although he’s dying, he refuses to recant and accept the viaticum. Please try to reach him. He has done terrible things, but I believe he’s more foolish than wicked. I don’t want him damned forever.”
Bernard took Folmar’s hand. It hung limply in his. He then touched the man’s forehead. Folmar opened his eyes.

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