Strong as Death (Catherine LeVendeur) (27 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

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“She wouldn’t demean herself so!” Gaucher said.
“Other women have,” Rufus said. “Remember Hugh’s wife.”
Gaucher grunted. It was one thing to deceive one’s husband with wandering players. At least they moved on quickly and some of the children turned out to be quite musical. One was the chantor at Saint-Lazare now.
“It’s another thing to treat the man as an equal and flaunt your friendship before his betters,” Gaucher finished the thought aloud.
“We need to do something about this,” Rufus said. “It’s indecent.”
“What does she see in him?” Gaucher blurted. “His hair is thinning!”
Rufus ran his hand slowly over his smooth head. “It’s well known that bald men are extremely virile,” he said.
“Really? I thought they were just old and diseased,” Gaucher answered. “No, wait. I ask your pardon, Rufus. We’re letting ourselves be distracted from the problem of this lowborn trader.”
Rufus was suddenly aware of the ache in his joints, the fatigue in his heart. Perhaps Gaucher wasn’t so far wrong. “What difference does it make?” he asked. “Once we retrieve the treasure, we can buy ourselves a dozen women, younger and more willing than Griselle.”
“That isn’t the point, Rufus.” Gaucher raised his chin haughtily and glared across the room. “Would you let your daughter behave like that in public with a common workman?”
“I’d beat her silly,” Rufus said. “Although the lordling she married is no prize, either.”
“Do you know,” Gaucher said slowly, “I seem to remember overhearing this Hubert LeVendeur shouting and hurling insults at our poor friend, Rigaud.”
“You do? When?”
“The morning after Hugh was murdered,” Gaucher said. “You were there. Rigaud was questioning him and that ‘partner’ of his, and suddenly the merchant started shouting and shaking his fist.”
“Oh yes, now that you mention it, I do remember,” Rufus said. “It’s odd that Rigaud should die so soon after that and in such an unchivalrous manner.”
“No honorable person would kill a man in such a way,” Gaucher agreed.
“But one could expect no such honor from a man used to cheating people to make his living,” Rufus finished.
They both smiled.
“I think it’s our duty to report this to Brother James,” Gaucher said.
“After which we’ll be forced by honor to avenge the death of our friend.”
On the other side of the room, Hubert said something that caused Griselle to laugh merrily. The sound didn’t grate on the old warriors the way it had only a few moments before. Now they knew that Hubert LeVendeur would pay for his audacity.
 
Once Edgar was warm and sure that Catherine was taken care of, he became aware of the raging emptiness in his stomach. The bread and cheese they had brought with them from Saint-Jean were calling to him from the soggy packs. As he pawed through them, the door to the hostel opened, bringing the wind inside for a moment. Suddenly his nose was captured by a smell that seemed to emanate from paradise. It had been so long that it took him a moment to identify it.
Someone was roasting venison.
Edgar dropped the packs and joined the rush to the door. Outside, the ravenous pilgrims followed the scent to a smaller building nearby. Next to it was a fire pit, and above that, a whole deer was roasting. A collective groan of ecstasy arose from the pilgrims.
Then the groan turned to one of dismay as someone cried out, “But it’s Friday! We can’t have meat!”
Edgar’s heart sank. It was true. How could the monks who kept the hostel do this to them?
Catherine, barefoot, with a blanket thrown over her head and shoulders, had followed Edgar out. “Oh, no!” she moaned. “Meat! What sort of hideous temptation is this?”
“Meat,” Edgar echoed. Then he snapped out of his dream. “Catherine, you have no shoes on! Get back in there! I’ll find out what this is all about.”
Catherine hadn’t even noticed. Her body had been deprived of red meat for so long, what with Lent and then penitential fasting, that the scent of it sent out a call stronger than any other need.
One of the men tending the fire caught her eye. Catherine gasped. He smiled. It was her rescuer.
“Edgar!” she said. “That’s the man in the tree! Do you see him?”
“Ah, yes. Basque, perhaps a guide,” Edgar said, still focused on the venison. “I don’t think he’s Saint James in disguise.”
One of the other pilgrims overheard him. “Maybe not,” he said. “But if it means we can eat that deer tonight, I’ll believe he’s Saint Gilles, offering us his pet doe for dinner. It would be irreverent to turn him down.” He had already taken out his knife, to cut a slice as soon as the meat was within reach.
“Catherine, I think you should have some,” Edgar said. “It’s well known that women need red meat more than men do.”
Catherine turned back to the hostel with a sigh. “No. It’s likely just another test, one more temptation to overcome. If there’s any left tomorrow, I’ll eat it as soon as the sun is up. I promise.”
Edgar agreed sadly. This was not a trial he had expected, which made it all the more likely it was intended. The Great Trickster loved undermining the resolutions of the faithful in just this way.
Many of the other pilgrims agreed, but not all. There was a thick cluster around the fire, and every turn of the spit was greeted with groans of anticipation.
Brother James heard the commotion from the small priory where he and Brothers Bruno and Deodatus were staying. He asked one of the monks of Roncevalles what was happening. The monk laughed.
“Some of the shepherds of the region have brought us an offering,” he explained. “They do that from time to time. The pilgrims are always most grateful. Many of the poorer ones have never eaten fresh game, at least not to admit to. It’s a rare treat for them to dine as well as the great lords; it reminds them that Our Lord makes no distinction of earthly rank.”
Brother James was outraged. “You allow these barbarians to corrupt honest pilgrims with red meat? And on a fast day as well! What sort of shepherds are you?”
“Ones who believe that their flock needs material sustenance as well as spiritual,” the monk retorted. “Nor are we too proud to take any gift the forest sends.”
“You should be,” Brother James answered. “This would never happen at Cluny. And if you won’t prevent the pilgrims from eating this tonight, I will.”
The monk of Roncevalles wasn’t swayed. “I can’t stop you from preaching to them, if you must,” he said. “But if you try to come between them and the first red meat many have seen in years, then I will stop you. And you’ll be grateful I kept you from being killed. Hunger may give visions to some, but most people are only driven to desperation by it.”
Brother James was so overpowered by his wrath that he forgot his resolve to keep in the shadows while observing the suspects in Rigaud’s death. Even if he had given himself time to reflect, he would have considered the danger to himself unimportant next to his duty.
 
Rufus and Gaucher had no qualms about a nice slice of venison, whatever the night. They had broken worse rules. But the sight of Brother James bearing down on the crowd around the fire reminded them of their higher mission.
“Brother James!” Rufus called. “A moment, please! We have information that might be of interest to you.”
James stopped. He had to convince the people not to yield
to the temptation of gaining a full stomach. But these men were wealthy and had been soldiers of Christ. He owed them some courtesy. Reluctantly, he came over to them.
“Don’t worry,” Rufus told him. “There’ll be plenty of meat left. We’ve just remembered an incident that may have some bearing on poor Rigaud’s unnatural death.”
They proceeded to explain.
At first James was annoyed that they assumed he was as eager for the venison as they. Then, as their story progressed, he was too excited to chastise them.
“Do you mean the merchant who spoke for that Solomon person?” he asked again. “The one who made me look a fool before my abbot?”
“I don’t know about that,” Gaucher hedged. “Hubert is certainly in business with Solomon and his uncle.”
“But Lady Griselle was a witness as well,” James said.
“They could hardly have suborned her.”
“Ah, but that is even worse!” Rufus shouted. He looked around, then lowered his voice. “We believe she didn’t speak for the man voluntarily. This merchant from Paris may have ensorcelled her.”
James was pleased with the accusation against Hubert, who was not attached to Cluny in any way and who associated with known infidels. He would be a perfect prisoner to present to Abbot Peter. But recent experience had made him cautious.
“Have you proof of this?” he asked.
“He and Griselle are sitting together at this very hour,” Rufus said, “talking and laughing and drinking in a most unseemly manner. He’s probably put some kind of potion in her wine.”
“I’ll question the man, of course,” James said. “And your evidence does make me suspicious. But I can do nothing without some form of proof. I’ve observed the Lady Griselle and she doesn’t appear to be under the influence of any sort of necromancy. She is most regular in her attendance at the sacrament and in her devotions.”
“You mean you’ll do nothing?” Gaucher was outraged.
“Not without the accusation of an eyewitness,” James said
patiently. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. There are people here about to commit the sins of fast-breaking and gluttony. I must help them find the strength to resist.”
 
He left Gaucher and Rufus standing open-mouthed in the rain.
“Now what do we do?” Rufus asked his friend.
“Find an eyewitness,” Gaucher answered. “Or find evidence of the crime. There must be something.”
“But, Gaucher—” Rufus wiped his head with his sleeve “—I thought we’d decided that Hugh and Rigaud were killed by the same person who played those tricks on us at Vézelay. Hubert wasn’t there then. And why would he want to murder Hugh?”
Gaucher raised his eyes to heaven. “Saint Appollina’s double somersault into the flames! What are you talking about? The man is clearly some sort of sorcerer, probably not even human. He can do anything he wants. Did you ever think that he might be stalking us for the treasure? If it’s of value to us and the Church, what do you think it would be worth if he gave it to his master, Satan?”
Rufus felt his head aching with the effort of following all this. From being an upstart who had stolen Griselle of Lugny from them, Hubert had become an emissary of the devil. It seemed to make sense, but Rufus wasn’t sure.
“I think I need a large slice of venison, preferably from the shoulder,” he declared. “And a skin or two of wine. Then I’ll decide if I want to do battle with this servant of evil, or just run like hell.”
 
James’s attempt to convince people who had lived for weeks on bread, cheese and various suspect things floating in broth to renounce a real piece of meat was a complete failure. As the monk of Roncevalles had warned, James barely escaped martyrdom.
He was not in good humor as he went back to the priory and answered the benign greeting of the monk there with a most unbrotherly bark. “What kind of salvation do these people think they’ll find?” he shouted at Brother Bruno, startling him from meditation.
“You know our venerable abbot says that the only true pilgrimage is one that renounces the world forever,” Bruno answered. “There are traps and snares in every path. Too many of these poor people apparently believe that merely reaching Santiago de Compostela will be enough to remit their sins. So one more sin before the end of the journey must not seem too much to them. And in my experience, hunger is harder to resist than lust.”
James sat on the bench next to Bruno and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He could resist hunger, thirst, lust, and usually, pride. But there were times when he felt the lure of despair too much to endure. He had been back among laymen for only a few weeks and he didn’t think he could bear another day of it. He was haunted by living ghosts, mocked by those he tried to preach to, and had done nothing to fulfill his directive from Abbot Peter. He had lost his courage and was terrified that he might also lose his faith.
The only way to regain both was to face the terrors.
Tomorrow night, when they reached the Augustinian monastery and hostel at Larrasoña, he would question this merchant and find out just what his relationship had been with Rigaud, as well as what it was presently with Lady Griselle. James was sure that one who would consort with and protect unbelievers could do anything. But why? And why were Gaucher and Rufus so eager to blame the merchant and the lady but not forthcoming enough to give a valid reason?
James suspected that the knights knew a great deal more than they had told him. He wondered if they had used their time in Spain doing more than fighting the Saracens. What if they had had some sort of business transactions with Hubert and then reneged? In that case, wouldn’t the old men be in as much danger as their former partners?

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