Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) (13 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

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Brother James put his hand on Rigaud’s shoulder. “Because the abbot has told us to,” he said, “and obedience is our first duty.”
Rigaud shook the hand off in annoyance. “You might have said that in the beginning,” he complained. “Of course I shall start at once. Since the group is now traveling among us, I can question the traders as we ride.”
“And, since they are now among us,” Brother James replied, “it’s all the more important to make sure that none of them is a murderer.”
The idea made Brother Rigaud’s right palm tingle with the sort of itch that can only be soothed by the pressure of a tightly held sword. He blessed himself hurriedly instead.
“May the Lord aid us in our search for the truth,” he murmured.
“Amen,” said Brother James.
 
The route to Figeac was an easy one after the steep up-and-down of the previous several days. They rode through a wide valley in which the road was well maintained and the forest often interrupted by clusters of homes and cleared fields. Gradually, the mood of the pilgrims began to lighten. Sheltered now more securely under the wing of Saint Peter and in the bright spring sunshine, they felt less fear of the terror stalking by night.
Eliazar considered the questions of the monk, Rigaud, to be no more than the usual nuisance. He was used to being the first questioned when anything nefarious happened.
“No, I didn’t know the man,” he said. “We don’t come from Burgundy, but Paris. My nephew and I are traveling with my partner, Hubert LeVendeur.”
“And why are you with this man?” Rigaud addressed Hubert.
“My daughter and her husband wished to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint James,” he explained. “Abbot Suger has business for me in Spain, so with the permission of your abbot, we joined the party. The other pilgrims are all strangers to us.”
“But why with this man?” Rigaud asked suspiciously. “Why would a Christian have a Jewish partner?”
“For a number of reasons,” Hubert answered. “Including their contacts in Spain. If Abbot Suger has no objection, why should you? It’s not unusual, especially here in the south.”
“I was not objecting,” Rigaud said. “Merely asking. My duty is to assure the abbot that the ones who murdered and robbed Hugh of Grignon are not still among us.”
“Then do your duty,” Hubert said. “We have no more wish to travel with a murderer than you do.”
He turned away from Rigaud and resumed his conversation with Eliazar.
Rigaud drew himself up in anger. “How dare you turn your back on me!” he said, grabbing the reins of Hubert’s horse and jerking them so that Hubert was forced to turn back. “You’ve clearly spent too much of your time among these stiff-necked unbelievers. You’ve forgotten the respect you owe the Church and her servants. I am not one of your apprentices to be ignored or ordered about. How dare you treat me like this! How dare you!”
His voice rose with each sentence, becoming a shriek that alarmed Hubert and caused those nearby to stop and stare at them.
“Good Brother,” Hubert began, “I had no attention of offending you or insulting your order. I merely—”
“Merely dismissed me like an errant pot boy!” Rigaud shouted.
“I thought you had finished with us,” Hubert said, flustered at the intensity of the man’s reaction. “I humbly ask your pardon—” he swallowed—“as one Christian to another.”
Rigaud had stopped his tirade long enough to notice the people around him. With a great effort, he managed to control himself.
“I accept your apology—” he said “—as a good Christian ought. But the next time I have questions for you, I expect to be given every courtesy and the respect due me.”
“Of course,” Hubert said, fists clenched.
He and Eliazar waited until the monk had ridden on, back to his companion at the front of the procession. Eliazar chuckled.
“I don’t believe our pious friend likes laymen of any sort,” he said. “But you were unconscionably rude to him. What made you turn your back like that?”
Hubert shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “The monk said nothing meant to be insulting. I think I became angry for you. Or at myself. We’re brothers. We should be treated in the same fashion.”
“Forgive me, Hubert,” Eliazar said, “but I don’t think this would be the right moment to renounce your baptism. As the elder brother, I would counsel you to wait until we are not surrounded by monks.”
Hubert grimaced. “It’s being surrounded by them that makes me feel a coward for not admitting who you are.”
“Trust me,” Eliazar said. “There will be a better time to become a martyr. Let’s wait until then. Now you have other responsibilities.”
Hubert looked ahead, where Catherine and Edgar walked, arm in arm. “As usual, brother,” he sighed, “your advice is sound.”
 
Brother James thought he was having somewhat better luck with Gaucher and Rufus. They seemed eager to tell him all about Hugh, praising his exploits in various sieges, his devotion to the abbey of Cluny, his generosity to the poor and to
his friends. They were loud in their certainty that their friend was on his way to heaven at this very minute.
“Poor old Hugh had no enemies,” Gaucher mourned. “Kind and gentle, always at his prayers.”
“We should have mounted a party to scour the woods for whoever slew him,” Rufus added. “What sort of mesel kills a man with his brais down?”
“Were they down,” Brother James asked, “when he was found?”
“Around his knees,” Gaucher said, shaking his head. “Saint Sergius’s stone chicken! It’s a shameful way for a warrior to die.”
“It seems strange that he didn’t hear his attackers approaching,” Brother James commented.
The other two looked at each other.
“Ah, well, poor old Hugh was getting a bit deaf with the years,” Rufus said. “Not so he couldn’t talk with you. But a branch crackling underfoot, he might have missed that.”
This seemed to satisfy Brother James. “And all that you say is missing is a ring?” he asked.
“Yes, he wore it always,” Gaucher told him. “All the rest of his worldly goods were given to his children or to the Church before we left.”
“If this ring were found again, would you know it?” the monk asked.
“Of course,” Rufus said. “We both would. Gold, with one large emerald. A very simple design.”
Brother James bit his lip. “If necessary, we will search the belongings of the other pilgrims for it,” he said. “Including yours. Would you object to that?”
“Of course not,” both men said instantly.
“Thank you,” James told them. “I will report my findings to the abbot and ask him how we are to proceed. It may well be that your friend was killed by those lawless men who infest the forests. But there are some matters here that I don’t understand. No one else reported seeing or hearing anything?”
“Not to us,” Gaucher said. “Perhaps your religious garb will cause someone to come forth with more information.”
“Perhaps,” Brother James said. “I will continue searching and speak with you again later.”
“Anything we can do, you need only ask,” Rufus assured him.
Brother James continued riding down the line of pilgrims. He wasn’t happy with the answers he had been given, although they sounded truthful enough. He discounted the tales of Hugh’s sanctity. Every man is a saint to his friends after his death. But there was something odd about the manner of both Gaucher and Rufus. If they hadn’t been such battle-hardened knights, James would have sworn the men were terrified. Anger he could understand if their comrade had been killed by bandits, but not fear. Were they afraid of being caught in their lies?
James resolved to have the party stopped and all luggage searched before they arrived at Figeac.
He passed Griselle of Lugny. She would certainly object to such an indignity. So would the German townsmen. Perhaps he should consult the abbot before making the decision. His mind was taken up with the problem as he passed Catherine and Edgar. He barely glanced at them in the road below until Catherine chanced to look up. Brother James’s jaw dropped.
“Lord Jesus, save me!” the monk cried. “
Deus in adjutorium meum intende!
”
It was the ghost he had seen at Le Puy.
Catherine smiled at him. “
Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina
,” she said, automatically giving the response to the verse.
That was enough to convince him she was not of this world. In life, his ghost would never have spoken Latin. Brother James decided to wait a while before continuing with his investigation. He was shaking too much from this second encounter to think clearly.
 
Catherine watched as the monk wheeled his horse about and returned to the front of the procession.
“How very odd,” she said. “The poor man must have felt suddenly ill. I should have asked if he needed help.”
“The monks have an infirmarian with them,” Edgar said. “That’s probably where he went so quickly.”
“Yes, of course.” Catherine spoke slowly. “He seemed very familiar. Have we met him before?”
Edgar had been going over the order of the saved on the tympanum at Conques. He wanted to be sure he remembered the exact placement. He hadn’t really looked at the monk.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “These monks all tend to look alike after a bit. The tonsure, the robes, the same food, the air of holiness, you know.”
“Oh well, I don’t suppose it’s important,” Catherine said. “When you have the tympanum clear in your head, I want to tell you about what I heard last night. I think that perhaps I should have stopped the monk and told him, but it’s rather embarrassing.”
“Then walk closer to me,” Edgar told her, “and tell me now. If you don’t want to repeat it, I’ll go to him for you.”
So, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked, Catherine explained about her midnight experience. Although his lips twitched once or twice, Edgar didn’t laugh. When she finished, she was surprised by how tightly he was holding her.
“
Leoffaest,
” he said, “how do these things keep happening to you? I suppose we should say something, but …”
“I know,” Catherine said. “I think it was Hugh of Grignon and Mondete Ticarde, but what if I’m wrong? I don’t want to accuse her unjustly.”
“But we can’t let a murderer go free, either,” Edgar said. “There must be a way to find out more. After all, even if Mondete has returned to her profession, why would she kill the man?”
“Perhaps he threatened her,” Catherine suggested.
“Did you hear any threats?” Edgar asked.
“I told you everything I heard,” Catherine said. “It was the gurgle that worried me.”
“Yes,” Edgar said. “And you saw no signs of blood on Mondete’s hands. I wonder. You never heard the woman’s voice?”
“No, just breathing.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a woman,” Edgar said.
“Oh.” Catherine spent a minute absorbing that.
“It would be easier to cut a man’s throat from behind,” she admitted. “I remember some interesting marginalia in a manuscript Father borrowed for me once. In that position, one could kill someone and not become covered in blood.”
Edgar looked at her. “Someday,
carissima
, you must give me a list of what you’ve read,” he said. “In any case, we are agreed that we need more information.”
“But how are we going to get it?” she asked.
“I think we’ve been spending too much time on our own reasons for taking this route and not enough on getting to know our fellow pilgrims,” he said.
Her eyes lit. Even though the matter was serious, she had to admit that it added some interest to what was certain to be a long journey.
“Where shall we start?”
 
The Lady Griselle was startled when Brother Rigaud approached her. She lowered her veil over her face at once.
“How may I help you?” she asked.
“My lady, the abbot wants you to know that he is very concerned about the unfortunate death last night,” Rigaud said. “He has asked Brother James and me to assure ourselves and you that this horrible crime was not committed by anyone among the party.”
“That is most kind of him,” Griselle answered. “While there are some unusual people in this group, I cannot imagine any of them wishing to murder. After all, we are traveling for the good of our souls. Who would be mad enough to risk eternal damnation at such a time?”
“I agree that it would be an insane act,” Rigaud answered. “So you neither saw nor heard anything suspicious last night?”
“If I had, I would have called my guards to investigate,” Griselle told him. “That’s why they are with me.”
“Yes, of course.” Rigaud was beginning to feel foolish. He didn’t care for it. “And you know of no reason for anyone here to murder Hugh of Grignon?”

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