Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (33 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“If you do anything to Lufen, I will cut your throat with joy,” Robert threatened as he struggled in Edgar’s grip.
Waldeve laughed. “I’m almost glad Æthelræd stopped me from shooting you. I assume this means you will do as ordered. And you, Edgar, don’t you want to defy me, as well?”
Edgar’s shoulders sagged as he released Robert. The look he gave his father was of total weariness.
“If it will help bring this ordeal to an end, I’ll do anything you like,” he said. “When we’ve done here, I’m returning with my family, my real family, to France and I pray never to see or hear news of you again.”
Edgar’s weary contempt seemed to upset Waldeve more than Robert’s outburst. He opened his mouth to sneer, but nothing came out. Instead he clenched his teeth and the look he gave Edgar was more cutting than his sword.
“So be it,” he stated. “Be at the gate of the palace tomorrow at dawn.”
He wheeled about, dropping another half-finished bowl of beer to the floor, and stalked out of the tavern. His men followed, Lufen whining in the arms of her captor.
Robert stood for a long time after they had gone, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Finally he sat again. Edgar had gotten him more to drink. He drained the bowl with the same gesture Waldeve had used.
“I don’t think I’ll cut his throat, after all,” Robert said, his voice calm and considering. “Poison would be better. Something that takes years and makes his life drizzle slowly out his asshole. Yes, that would be good. Either that or find a way to give him leprosy.”
Edgar regarded him with caution, trying to decide if this were madness or the family trait of biting humor in the face of adversity.
“I’ve heard that there is a charm to make a man’s cock fall off,” he said conversationally. “It’s supposed to flake away. Takes weeks.”
Robert pursed his lips. “I like it. Where can we find this charm?”
“It’s Irish,” Edgar told him. “All the best charms are.”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t have time to go hunting it. It will have to be leaking shits and leprosy.”
“Fine,” Edgar agreed. “But what do we do right now?”
Robert got up again and headed for the door. Edgar followed.
“We’re going to carry the old
naddrenes
messages and try to find a way to rescue my dog,” he said as they came out into the street.
Edgar looked wistfully toward the Northwest, imagining that he saw Catherine coming up the street toward him. But none of the women there resembled her at all. He wondered what the fate of the women of Durham would be, or had been already. It was just as well that his family was all safe on Holy Island.
 
At that moment, Catherine was trying to keep her cloak from blowing away in the coastal wind.
“How much farther?” she shouted at Samson, who was only a step ahead of her.
“We’ll be turning inland soon,” he shouted back.
James squirmed in his sling. He seemed to have grown much heavier over the last few days. “Soon!” she shouted down at him.
Why had she thought the pilgrimage to Compostella hard? Then she had been surrounded by family and other pilgrims, ridden a
horse and most nights been sure of a warm bed and hot water. Even the morning sickness that had tormented her the last half of the trip seemed nothing compared to the endless slogging between the sand and the tree line, with the wind blowing cold off the North Sea unremittingly, causing them to bundle as if it were January instead of the middle of August.
At last the men leading the party turned from the coast and into the woods, following a narrow road leading up though the trees.
For some time Catherine still felt the howl of the wind in her ears. Then the early-evening warmth began to penetrate her cloak and she took it off with a sigh of relief.
“Samson,” she asked in a more normal tone, “when will we reach Durham?
“Sometime tomorrow,” he told her. “The king’s men will pass to the east of the city, but you will have only a short journey from the place where your paths diverge and Alfred knows the way.”
Catherine bent over James and whispered. “Tomorrow,
leoffœst
, tomorrow we’ll be with your father at last.”
James belched up a few clots of sour milk. Catherine wiped his chin and decided not to take it as a personal opinion of their chances. One more day. She could do it. Tomorrow everything would be all right again.
The road from Durham to Bishopton. Wednesday, 15 kalends September
(August 18), 1143. Feast of Saint Helena, mother, devout convert, pilgrim,
finder of the True Cross but not British, despite what Geoffrey of
Monmouth said.
 
 
Recole nunc, ut dixi, corruptiones meas cum exhalaretur nebula libidinis ex
limosa concupiscentia carnis et scatebra pubertatis, nec esset qui eriperet et
salvum faceret. Verba enim iniquiorum prevaluerunt super me, qui in suavi
poculo amoris propinabant mihi venenum luxuriae …
 
 
Remember, as I told you, my corruption, when a cloud of lust
breathed forth from the murky swamp of my body’s desires and the
gushing passions of youth. And no one would rescue me. The words
of iniquitous ones swayed me, those who in the sweet goblet of love
offered me the poison of dissolution …
 
—Aelred of Rievaulx,
Advice to a Recluse
(his sister), pt. 32
 
 
“
I
can’t believe I’m doing this,” Edgar kept repeating under his breath. “What’s wrong with me? I should have taken a horse and made a run for it the first day out. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Robert, riding beside him, hoped all those muttered words were prayers. They needed some divine help at this point. He wasn’t thinking of the reaction of those at Bishopton to the defiant messages they were carrying, but of the possibility of losing Lufen to his father’s wrath. Even more, he was fearing and hoping that among the supporters of William Saint-Barbe he would find Aelred. Perhaps they might even manage a few minutes alone together. Robert needed more than the pathetic note he had been sent informing him that his best friend in the world had renounced that world and would never see him again.
So between Edgar’s subvocal fretting and Robert’s thousand imagined reunions, the ride from Durham to Bishopton was unnaturally silent. Even the soldiers accompanying them, uncertain whether they were an escort or a guard, refrained from the usual banter.
Edgar had anticipated some difficulty in reaching Roger Conyers and the Bishop, but when they arrived, they found the gates they had spent weeks trying to breach thrown open and a stream of people coming and going.
Robert raised himself up in the saddle, trying to find one face in the mass of men.
“Is there anyone there you know?” Edgar came alert to ask.
“I don’t see him,” Robert answered vaguely, then he forced himself back to their task. “Yes, I recognize some of them. There’s Geoffrey Escolland talking to Bernard de Balliol and I think that standard belongs to Aschetin of Worchester. It seems as if the barons of Durham have decided which bishop to support.”
“Now that Saint-Barbe has been elected and consecrated, I don’t see that Cumin has any choice but to surrender,” Edgar said. “The barons must know that, as well.”
Robert shook his head. “As long as Cumin has the chapter seal and control of the silver mines, he has a chance. Saint-Barbe’s consecration is only a minor obstacle. Remember, a bishop’s office lasts only as long as he lives.”
They joined the throng entering the gates. Almost immediately Robert was hailed by one old friend and then another. One of the men with Bernard de Balliol saw him and ran over, catching him in a bear hug as he dismounted.
“Robert! Where have you been?” he shouted. “We all heard you’d turned hermit, either that or gone to Denmark for hunting dogs.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Erik.” Robert continued scanning the faces in the courtyard. “I did neither. This is my little brother, Edgar.”
Erik gave Edgar his hand. “I don’t remember you. Are you the one who went to France and—” He stopped, reddening.
“Yes, I am.” Edgar took the outstretched hand. “And I’ve never regretted it, especially the ‘and …’”
“Well, good!” Erik said. “Have you come to give your support to the bishop?”
The question was addressed to Robert but he was still looking for Aelred. Edgar answered for them both.
“We’ll give such support as we can,” he said. “But our principle charge is to deliver messages from William Cumin to Bishop William. Do you know who we should approach to get an audience with him?”
“Hmm, let me think.” Erik scrunched up his face, almost grunting with the effort. “There’s no real order here, but I’d say that Archdeacon Rannulf is the one who could get you in to see the bishop. I hope Cumin is surrendering. I want to get home to my wife. We’ve only been married four months.”
Edgar winced. “I’m only the messenger,” he told Erik. “But I’m with you. I want to see my wife, too, and we’ve been married four years. Can you take me to the archdeacon?”
Erik led them through the bustling courtyard to an even busier meeting hall, so new that the floorboards were still sticky with sap
from the green wood they had been cut from. Edgar soon had bits of straw and leaves attached to the bottom of his boots. Robert bumped into him every time he stopped to scrape them.
“Will you stop gawking and give your mind to the task at hand?” he complained the third time this happened.
“If you’d keep moving, we wouldn’t collide,” Robert snapped back.
They had barely managed to regain their dignity when Erik brought them to a corner that had been curtained off. He stuck his head around the side and said something indistinct to the person behind.
The curtain was pulled aside and the archdeacon appeared.
“Edgar! Good to see you again!” He smiled at them both. “We thought you’d been swallowed up by that dragon’s lair in Durham!”
“We were.” Edgar didn’t return the smile. “And we must return to it as soon as we receive the reply to the messages we carry.”
“You’ve joined forces with the enemy?” Rannulf frowned.
“We are with Saint Cuthbert,” Edgar answered. “But our father has sent his men with us to assure our good behavior, and my brother has left a hostage at the bishop’s palace against our return.”
Beside him, Robert gave a sudden gasp. He turned quickly to the archdeacon.
“Edgar will tell you all you need to know,” he said rapidly. “I must beg to be excused. It’s very important.”
Without waiting for permission, Robert vanished into the mass of people, following a hooded figure in a plain white robe. Rannulf raised an eyebrow at Edgar.
“My apologies,” Edgar said, “but Robert is right; I can give Bishop William the message myself. When might he be willing to see me?”
The archdeacon moved closer to Edgar and lowered his voice. “Between us, he’d be just as glad not to see you at all, unless you bring Cumin’s complete and abject submission.”
He paused and looked at Edgar.
“I thought not,” he continued. “Well, I’m prepared to do whatever necessary to regain my home and free Saint Cuthbert from his captor. As you can see—and be sure to report this to your master—every day more of the barons of Durham arrive to pledge their swords and their followers to our aid. Even David of Scotland
wants no more to do with Cumin. How long does he think he can hold on?”
Edgar, mindful of Urric standing just behind him with open ears, only shrugged. “I’m not one of Cumin’s inner circle,” he said. “He hasn’t told me his plans.”
With his eyes he tried to indicate the problem. Archdeacon Rannulf nodded understanding. “Very well,” he replied. “I’ll tell the bishop of your arrival. I’m sure he’ll send for you shortly. There’s water for washing in the trough by the gate and you and your men are welcome to food and ale along with our other guests.”
Edgar bowed and backed out of the alcove. He whirled around quickly enough to come nose to nose with Urric.
“Tell the others they can wash and eat,” he said. “And leave Robert alone. He’s not going to betray anyone. He cares nothing for this squabble.”
“That’s obvious,” Urric answered. “Duncan told me to stay with you.”
Edgar wasn’t surprised.
 
Robert had forgotten about the reason for their coming. The only thing his world consisted of was the man walking rapidly away from him. He wanted to call out to him, but feared that would cause Aelred to vanish, as he had done in so many of Robert’s nightmares.
Finally he was close enough to catch at Aelred’s robe. He gripped the folds of cloth at the shoulder, causing the hood to fall back. The monk froze still as death. Then he bent his head in resignation and slowly turned around. Robert found that, after years of planning what he would say, he couldn’t make his tongue move at all.
The two stood for an eternity, unaware of anything around them. Finally Aelred spoke.
“Robert, forgive me.”
Robert opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed and tried again.
“No,” he said. “Not until you tell me why. Your letter said nothing, only a cruel farewell. What did I do to be treated so? What reason could I have given you to flee from me?”
“Oh, Robert!” Aelred raised a hand to the other’s face, but stopped short of touch. “I didn’t flee from you; I fled to God.”
Robert caught Aelred’s hand in his own. “I don’t believe you.
What am I, Satan incarnate? It was never a choice between me and God. If you’d told me your plans, don’t you think I’d have gone with you?”
Aelred tried to free his hand. “Robert, you don’t understand.”
Robert tightened his hold. “Then explain it to me. You owe me that. What kind of man of God have you become to leave a friend alone in the darkness of desolation?”
The last words came out as a tearful cry. Aelred bit his lip, then bent his head over Robert’s hand.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I’ve been selfish. I found a way to peace, and perhaps salvation. It was wrong of me to cast you off with my old life. I will let you see all that lies in my heart. Meet with me tonight. There’s a boulder just outside the bailey that was too large to move. It has a cross painted on it and I go there in the evenings to pray. I’ll wait there for you. Now, please, let me go. I see your brother approaching.”
Edgar was going to pass them without interrupting, but Aelred called to him and greeted him warmly.
“Have you learned anything more about the death of your brothers?” he asked.
“Not enough,” Edgar told him. “Robert has a theory about it that I find dubious, but no one else has even that. Have you been here ever since we came from Rievaulx? I’m surprised the abbot let you stay that long.”
“I’ve come and gone and come again,” Aelred said, carefully not looking at Robert. “I needed to see to my charges. We have some novices who would falter in their conversion without guidance. I’ve only just arrived again, to represent Rievaulx in a matter we would like Bishop William to address.”
Edgar thought this odd. “Don’t you think it could wait until the poor man sleeps his first night in the bishop’s palace?”
“Durham has been too long in anarchy,” Aelred reproached him. “Work must be done now, if there’s to be anything left for Bishop William to govern. Also, this is something I have personal knowledge of, due to my visit to Rome last year. It needs to be decided before I go to my new abbey in Lincoln.”
“What!” Robert burst out.
Aelred still didn’t look at him. “Yes, William of Roumare has given land and funds for a daughter house at Revesby. I’m to be abbot there.”
“That’s wonderful, Æthelr … Aelred!” Edgar said. “And you barely into your thirties. Will we be addressing you as the Venerable Aelred now?”
“Not if you want me to answer.” Aelred took Edgar’s arm and started to lead him back to where trestle tables were being set up to seat all the visitors for the evening meal. “But, Edgar, I have a favor to ask. Of you, too, Robert.” The glance he gave Robert was brief and pleading. “If you can keep your entourage away from me this evening, I’ll give Robert a message from Bishop William to the monks of Durham. It will have to be memorized, but both of you should know the contents, in case only one of you can reach them. We’ve heard terrible stories of how they’re being treated there.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Edgar promised. “I’ve been allowed to enter the cloister on occasion. We’ll let the monks know your plans if it’s humanly possible, won’t we, Robert?”
“Aelred knows I can be trusted to carry out any charge he sets me,” Robert answered.
“Thank you,” Aelred answered, looking straight at Robert. “Both of you.”
When he had gone, Robert dropped to the nearest bench. Edgar watched him with pity.
“Why don’t I get you some ale?” he suggested.
“That won’t help,” Robert said.
“You never know until you try,” Edgar went to the communal cask and filled two cups. He held one out to his brother. “My throat is coated with road dust and my temper is frayed. This will improve both conditions.”

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