The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (42 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

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“I’m here to save your soul,” Bernard said. “Do you understand.”
There was a slight shake. “No, I must have the
consolamentum.
If I don’t, I’m doomed to be reborn into this evil flesh.”
Bernard rocked back on his feet. “Oh, dear, a Cathar. This will be difficult. Leave me and Brother Berengar alone with him, please.
And send to the cathedral for the holy oils, in case I succeed, so that I may give him the last rites.”
Catherine did as she was told.
Agnes stopped her in the doorway.
“Will Folmar exonerate Hermann?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “He’s very weak and Abbot Bernard is mostly concerned with bringing him back to the faith before it’s too late. But he’s already admitted to poisoning Gerhardt. I’m sure that with his confession and Hermann’s testimony of orthodoxy we can confound this Andreas so that his accusation will have no weight with the archdeacon.”
Agnes rubbed the knot at the back of her neck. “I only wish it were over. Once Hermann is free then I have to prove my marriage to Gerhardt was never consummated and get an annulment. I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary.”
Catherine thought about reminding her that in the next room a man was dying. Surely that was of greater import than Agnes’s legal entanglements. She drew breath to speak and then changed her mind. It wasn’t more important to Agnes. Folmar had been the cause of all her troubles. It was only right that he pay. But knowing that justice was being served didn’t make Catherine any happier.
When Peter came back with one of the canons bringing the accoutrements for the last rites, she was surprised to notice that he was wet. She hadn’t noticed the rain begin.
Agnes went to the canon at once for news of Hermann.
“The archdeacon examined him this afternoon,” the priest told her. “Hermann answered every point thoroughly. His case was also helped by the discovery that his accuser had fled, taking with him a silver candlestick and salt cellar.”
Agnes was too happy too speak. She scandalized the canon by hugging him and then caught up to Peter and danced him around the room, which completed the canon’s outrage. He found a seat as far away from her as possible and settled himself to wait.
It was nearly dark before any sound came from the room other than an occasional moan. The servants were lighting the lamps when Abbot Bernard came out, worn but exultant.
“Come with me,” he told the canon. “The man has made a full
confession and wishes to die in a state of grace.
Deo gratia.
But hurry. He won’t last much longer.”
Catherine was almost asleep with her head on Edgar’s lap. He roused her and helped her to stand.
“It’s all over,
carissima,”
he said. “I think it’s time for us to go home.”
Trier, Monday, 5 ides of September (September 9), 1146; 1 Elul, 4907. Rosh Hashonah, the first day of the new year.
 
 
Omnes quidem homines, dum parvuli sunt … constat eorum
hominum fidem vel consuetudinem sequi, cum quibus conservantur
et eorum maxime, quos amplius diligunt. Postquam vero adulti
sunt, ut iam proprio regi possint arbitrio, non alieno, sed proprio
committo iudico debent.
 
 
All people, when they are children … follow the faith and customs of those who care for them and especially of those whom they love more dearly. But after they are adults and are able to decide for themselves, they ought to be committed to their own judgement, not that of others.
 
—Peter Abelard,
Dialogue of the Christian,
the Philospher and the Jew.
 
 
M
argaret sat up in her bed, cushioned on all sides. The swelling in her face had gone down and the bruises were starting to fade. Brother Zacharias had ordered her to remain in bed for several more weeks to allow the damage to the rest of her body to heal. Her ribs were sore and there was some pain in her back that caused the infirmarian to cluck with worry.
“I hope you plan to stay here at least until the feast of the Nativity,” he said. He looked at Catherine’s stomach. “Perhaps even a few months after that.”
Edgar assured him that they had no intention of going home before next summer at the earliest.
“Excellent,” Brother Zacharias said. “I’ll be back later with a salve to help the cuts heal.”
He didn’t understand why everyone in the room was suddenly afflicted with a fit of coughing.
 
That night, after Margaret and the children were asleep, Hubert decided it was time to tell Catherine and Edgar of his plans. He knew they would object, but he had to try to make them understand.
“I won’t be staying with you through the winter,” he began. “Walter is letting me go with him back to Paris.”
“Oh, good,” Catherine said. “Would you have Samonie pack my furs and woolens to bring back with you? And ask her if she can spare Willa to take care of James and Edana during my confinement.”
“I shall,” Hubert said. “But I’m not returning here from Paris. I’m going south.”
“South? But why?” Catherine asked. “I thought Solomon and Eliazar did the trading there now.”
Hubert bolstered up his courage. He had to tell them the truth.
“Catherine, I’m not coming back,” he said. “I’ve sent a request to be admitted to the community at Arles. I need to go where no one knows me as a Christian.”
Catherine didn’t understand him at first. When she did, she looked as if he had struck her.
“Oh, Father!” she breathed. “Don’t do this. Please, I beg you!”
She fell to her knees in front of him and took his knees. Gently Hubert pushed her away.
“I must, my dear child,” he said. “I can’t live like this any longer. I love you all so much it’s like a brand burning in my soul, but I am a Jew, no matter how much I try to pretend I’m not. Sooner or later, this would have come out, to your misery.”
“If you’d only try.” Catherine was weeping now.
Edgar put his arm around her.
“He has tried,
leoffest
,” he said. “We can’t force him to believe because he loves us any more than the rest of the Jews can be forced to believe through fear. Remember the abbot’s sermon.”
Catherine did. It had been inspiring and powerful. More than one listener had been moved to tears. Bernard’s sermon had assured that no more persecutions would take place, at least in Trier. But it was easier to accept that God would choose the time for the conversion of the Jews when one of them wasn’t her father.
Hubert continued. “I’m fifty-six, Catherine. I want to study the Torah as my father did. It will be ten years before I know enough to begin. I can’t wait any longer. I know how this hurts you. But it would give me great solace if I could depart with your blessing.”
“But what about the property in Paris?” Catherine tried. “What about your contract with Saint Denis?”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m going to Paris first,” Hubert said. “I intend to give you and Edgar the Paris house and all it contains. Guillaume has his castellany and it appears that Agnes will stay in Germany, so it should be yours. As for the contract, I think we should wait until Solomon is here to discuss that.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Edgar said. “It’s late; we all should sleep on this before any more decisions are made.”
“But Edgar!” Catherine exclaimed.
“In the morning,” Edgar answered. “You can see how exhausted your father is.”
They went to bed then, but no one slept.
When Solomon came in the next morning, Catherine accosted him at once.
“Did you know of this plan of my father’s?” she greeted him.
“He mentioned something about Arles,” Solomon admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wailed.
“Because I knew exactly how you’d take on,” he said, grabbing a hunk of bread before she yanked the tray out of his reach. “Just as you are now.”
“He wants us to tell everyone he’s dead!” she said. “That means he won’t be able to visit. We’ll never see him again.”
“Perhaps,” Solomon said. “Or perhaps you’ll come to Arles one day.”
Catherine wasn’t ready to be comforted. She sulked over her beer and barley gruel until Hubert and Edgar came down.
“Solomon!” Hubert smiled. “I’ve been discussing with Edgar the idea of him taking over my half of the business. What do you think of it?”
“I don’t know.” Solomon gave Edgar a wicked look. “He’s coming to it a bit late, isn’t he? You had me on the road when I was ten.”
Edgar raised his eyebrows. “I imagine I can pick up enough to get started,” he said. “But I haven’t agreed to it, yet. I spent ten years studying the quadrivium and part of the trivium. Spending the rest of my life buying and selling seems a waste after all that.”
“Edgar,” Catherine said. “You were born a nobleman. You shouldn’t demean yourself like this, not even for me.”
“That’s right,” Solomon agreed. “Think what your father would say if he learned that you had become a common city merchant.”
Edgar did. As he imagined his father slowly turning purple with chagrin he began to smile.
“Very well, Solomon,” he said. “Consider me your new partner.”
TRIER, 1146 AD
My thanks go to the following people.
 
Dr. Christoph Cluse, Universität Trier, for inviting me to the Institut für Geschichte der Juden and taking time off from his own work to help me with mine.
 
Prof. Susan Einbinder, Hebrew Union College, Cincinnati, for advice on the
derash
of Ephraim of Bonn’s
Sefer Zekirah.
 
Profs. John Van Engen and Michael Signer, Notre Dame University, for organizing the colloquium;
In the Shadow of the Millennium: Jew and Christians in the Twelfth Century.
The papers given there are now available from Notre Dame Press.
 
Yoram Gordon, for reading the Hebrew for me and translating the quotations.
 
Prof. Dr. Alfred Haverkamp, Universität Trier, for his warm welcome and for assembling such an impressive collection of material on Jewish History in Europe in such a short time.
 
Annegret Holtman, Universität Trier, for advice on the Jews of Germany during the Second Crusade and for making me feel at home in a strange town.
 
Prof. Stephen Jaeger, University of Washington, for checking my attempts at Mittelhochdeutsch and providing me with even better expletives, and also for allowing me to use his translation of Gottfried von Strassbourg at the beginning of Chapter Twelve.
 
Prof. Jeffrey Russell, University of California at Santa Barbara, for Latin advice and editorial and emotional support—more than I can ever repay.
 
Susan Shapiro, RN, for telling me what was wrong with Hubert and what to do about it.
 
Prof. Kenneth Stow, University of Haifa, for guiding me to experts on Ephraim of Bonn.
 
Prof. Richard Unger, University of British Columbia, for always getting my characters where they should be by the best route.
 
Prof. Bruce Venarde, University of Pittsburgh, for dropping his own work to do emergency research for me.
 
Fr. Chrysogonus Waddell, Gethesemani Abbey, for reading the first draft and making sure the monks and nuns obeyed the customs of the time; and also for sending me Bernard of Clairvaux’s 1146—47 itinerary. That man traveled more than I do.
 
Luci Zahray, R.Ph. M.S., toxicologist, for helping out with plant studies and giving me a way to solve the mystery.
 
As usual, all of these people did their best to help me be as accurate as possible. Any mistakes are solely due to my own inability to transmit the knowlege properly.

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