The Witch in the Well: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (35 page)

“Mother sent me to find you,” she panted, flushed with importance. “She says I should tell you that your son has finally awakened. He’s asking for you.”

Seguin didn’t answer but closed his eyes and crossed himself, murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving.

“Take me to him at once,” he told her, taking her hand.

Aymon was sitting up on his cot, supported by his mother and a thick pile of cushions. He was pale but alert.

For once, Seguin could not hide his emotions.

“My dear boy!” he exclaimed. “I feared I had lost you, too.”

“You nearly did, Father,” Aymon told him. “If Brehier hadn’t found me in my hiding place in the woods, it might have become my tomb. I was very foolish.”

“But what happened?” Seguin asked. “Why did you run from your home and who attacked you?”

“I don’t know who,” Aymon said. “As to why, I’m ashamed to say that when I saw Raimbaut lying there dead I was so distraught that all I could think of was to get away and hide until the worst of my grief was spent.”

“No one would have scolded you for immoderate grief.” Elissent stroked her son’s forehead.

“You have no idea who attacked you?” Seguin prodded. “You must remember something.”

Aymon’s face creased as though thought was painful.

“I remember getting my horse,” he said. “And riding into the woods. I left him under the chestnut tree as usual. As I was taking off his saddle, I heard a noise. Then I felt a rush as of someone running toward me. After that, all is empty until I woke to my mother’s face.”

He gave her a tender smile.

“So,” Seguin said. “Marie, when may he leave his bed? We’ll have need of him in the coming days.”

“He’s still very weak,” Marie said. “I’d not like him to do more than walk a few steps until the end of the week.”

“Nonsense!” Aymon cried. “There’s an invader approaching. This is no time to lie abed. I’ll be at your side tomorrow, Father.”

Elissent shook her finger at him.

“You’ll do as you’re told, my dear,” she admonished. “You are now the heir to Boisvert. You have a responsibility to stay strong and healthy so that when the curse is broken and Andonenn restored, there will still be one of her children to govern it.”

“Mother.” Aymon brushed her hand away. “I am not a child, nor an invalid. As soon as my legs will support me, I will be out on the walls, defending my home. That is my duty.”

“You are a worthy heir,” Seguin beamed. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Marie and Elissent exchanged a glance. If they could manage it, Aymon would find himself unable to stand for at least five more days.

Once her body had wrung out her tears, Catherine found that all feeling seemed to have left her. She couldn’t make herself understand that her mother was dead. Instead of pain, she had nothing inside but a great hollowness where sorrow should be. How could she be so callous? What kind of unnatural child was she?

Instead, Margaret was the one she grieved over. The poor girl kept herself away from the family as much as she could. She spent the night in the chapel, praying for forgiveness. She refused to eat. No number of assurances that no one blamed her could reduce her guilt.

Catherine was horrified to realize that, in some part, she was angry with Madeleine for dragging Margaret into the tragedy of her death.

She was more than angry with Berthe. All the woman’s mys
terious allusions and promises of help were as much a fable as Andonenn. She was either mad or evil, or both. No wonder she hadn’t returned.

Gargenaud had been told of his daughter’s drowning. He sent word that he would remain in his room that night. Seguin had delivered the news and remarked to his wife that the old man was prostrate, but not with grief.

Catherine heard of this, of course. She, Agnes, and Guillaume were the only ones who mourned Madeleine. To everyone else her death was an inconvenience, a sign of coming disaster or a very thoughtless act of water pollution.

“Edgar,” Catherine said, when he came up to the room to get his straw hat. “I am ashamed to be related to these people. I hereby vow that I shall never say a word against your family again.”

“Why not?” Edgar asked. “My family is dreadful, with one or two exceptions, like Margaret. And these people do have their good points. I rather like your cousin Seguin. Odilon and his priest brother, I could survive without. Neither has done a thing to help us prepare to defend the keep. I hear that Odilon has been sharpening his sword and checking his mail for broken links, all the while bragging about what he intends to do. But he hasn’t offered to lead a sortie. And that Ysore hasn’t even said a Mass for the soul of your mother.”

He found the hat and put it on. Catherine noticed that his nose and the back of his neck were already reddening. She gave him a towel to tuck under the crown and hang down. But nothing would really protect Edgar’s fair skin from the summer sun.

“There’s smoke rising from the forest,” he said quietly as he left. “By tomorrow we’ll know just how strong the walls of Boisvert are.”

Catherine was so drained that it was hours before she realized what he meant. She had forgotten all about the army coming to besiege them.

On his way out, Edgar stopped by Aymon’s bed.

“It’s good to see you in the land of the living,” he said.

“Thanks to you and Brehier.” Aymon smiled. “I don’t know what I was thinking of, to wander off like that with a murderer on the loose.”

“You were overwhelmed by grief and not in your right reason,” Edgar consoled him. “Aymon, we know about your secret tunnel. Brehier and I found the entrance in the forest not far from where we found you. But we weren’t able to trace it back to the keep. How does one reach it from the inside?”

Aymon’s face was blank.

“Secret tunnel?” he said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Aymon.” Edgar tried to keep his patience. “It’s not ten paces from the tree where you tie your horse. This is not the time to guard a childish need for secrecy. The safety of all here depends on blocking any way in. If Olivier’s men find the entrance, they can creep in and kill us all in our beds.”

“That would be horrible,” Aymon agreed. “But I can’t help. I know of no such tunnel. I know of no such passage from the keep. Are you sure you didn’t just find some old pagan cave? There are a few around here. I sheltered in one once when caught out by nightfall. I’ll never do that again. I heard moans and cries all night from the damned souls who worshipped there.”

“No.” Edgar was losing patience. “It was a passage just like the ones under the castle. I’d go back and search it again if there weren’t an army in the way.”

“I’ve no idea what it was.” Aymon yawned. “Sorry. Those women worried so much that I wouldn’t wake up and now they keep giving me sleeping draughts.”

He closed his eyes.

After a moment, Edgar gave up.

It made no sense. Aymon must have known about the tunnel. If not, then who had told the thieves that it was the trail to a
treasure? The prisoner was talking readily enough, but no amount of persuasion had convinced him to name the one who had sent them to Boisvert. Edgar was inclined to believe that he didn’t know.

As if aware that cheerful sunlight was inappropriate, dark clouds began to blow from the west. Seguin’s only comment was to ask Edgar if rain would affect the tension of the ropes of his trebuchet.

It seemed to everyone else that Heaven was commenting on the battle to come. If only they knew what side it disapproved of.

Not even the children slept well that night. Peter fretted so that Catherine took him out onto the castle wall where a line of people stood silently as a cool breeze stung their eyes.

The fields below were dotted with flickering campfires stretching almost to the forest. The wind brought snatches of sound: the shouts of men and the neighing of horses, hammer blows as tents were set up, clanking metal.

Catherine found Edgar and Margaret.

“How many are out there?” she asked them.

“Hundreds, I’d say.” Edgar was trying to count the points of light. “I had no idea this minor lord could raise such a force. He must have hired mercenaries, as well as his own men.”

Catherine moved closer to him, staring into the night.

“There will be some sort of parley first, won’t there?” she asked.

“Seguin has asked for volunteers to take a message to Olivier, asking his intentions, that sort of thing,” Edgar said. “I don’t think this will be solved with words.”

“Our father and brothers would have gone out to fight before the army got this close,” Margaret said. “Why are we waiting?”

“We don’t have the men our father did,” Edgar told her. “Our keep wasn’t as strong as this and, our father cared little about what happened to the people inside.”

“Ah, yes,” Margaret remembered.

By mutual consent they returned to their chamber. Catherine laid the sleeping Peter on the bed with his brother and sister.

“Samonie?” Catherine saw that the woman was leaving the room, a pillow and blanket under her arm. “Aren’t you staying with us tonight?”

Samonie shook her head. “I love you all dearly,” she said. “But eight people in a room this size can be too close. I think I’ve earned one night of uninterrupted sleep.”

Catherine was not as obtuse as Samonie hoped. She merely smiled and wished her housekeeper a pleasant evening.

It took Samonie some time to find Brehier without appearing to be looking for him. She finally found him sitting on a sawhorse next to the ovens.

“Hello!” He stood to greet her. “I’ve been hunting everywhere for you.”

“Really?” she asked. “Whatever for?”

He bent down and whispered a suggestion in her ear. She laughed.

“Aren’t you on duty tonight?”

“No, Guillaume and I spent all day down below, trying to discover the other end of the tunnel we found. It must link into the maze somewhere. We went as far as we dared, farther than either of us had ever explored. Finally we had to turn back or risk losing the way back. It must be found. We can’t defend all the ways up.”

“What about the man you captured?” Samonie asked. “Has he told you anything?

“Not even his name.” Brehier made a face. “He keeps repeating that he’s nothing but a common thief, hired in Chartres to help dig out a treasure.”

“Could he be telling the truth?”

“I have no idea,” Brehier told her. He took the blanket and pillow from her. “That’s for Seguin and Odilon and Guillaume to decide. I’m only a poor relation.”

“You are!” Samonie was taken aback. “You never said so.”

“Why else do you think I came back here?” he asked. “At Boisvert, none of Andonenn’s children would ever be turned away, no matter how distant the tie.”

Samonie took a moment to digest this fact. Brehier tried to see her face in the torchlight.

“Does this mean you won’t sleep with me tonight?”

“What?” She recalled why she was there in the first place. “Of course I will.”

She was just wondering what Catherine would think if she knew that her son, Martin, was of her kin. Then she thought of the curse. It couldn’t reach that far, could it?

She had lost her daughter. She had no intention of letting her son die, too.

If only she felt certain that she could trust his father.

The next morning brought a thick mist that seeped under doors and flowed around the buildings and mounds of belongings and into the covers of those sleeping out of doors.

Edgar observed it from the window, trying to catch sight of anything moving up the hill toward them.

“It will burn off soon,” he predicted sourly.

Catherine sighed. She was growing to hate the sun. How could she ever have complained about the dank Paris winters?

They waited all morning for some sign from the enemy camp.

“He should have sent out a challenge by now,” Seguin worried. “He can’t expect us to simply surrender.”

“We should show him we won’t,” Odilon stated. “I have a dozen men ready to make a sortie.”

“Why?” Edgar asked. “We’re safe in here.”

Odilon got up and moved away from him. “So that he knows we’re not cowards,” he sneered.

“Of course,” Edgar answered. “And be sure that we’re fools.”

“Enough!” Seguin shouted. “The enemy is not in this room.”

“Are we so sure of that?” Odilon asked under his breath.

Edgar heard him and presumed that Seguin had, too. But the lord made no comment.

“Edgar,” he asked. “Those
ballista
of yours, will they be ready?”

“Yes, my lord,” Edgar answered. “Your workmen are most skillful. It would be good to have a pile of stones to throw and smaller ones to fill the baskets.”

“I’ll set people to gathering them.” Seguin nodded approval.

Odilon was growing restless.

“I still think some of us should ride out,” Odilon grumbled. “Let them know there are men here who will fight.”

Seguin was silent for a while.

“Odilon, Guillaume.”

The two men straightened at the steel in his voice.

“You want to do a deed of courage? Very well, Odilon, you may make a sortie.”

Odilon gave a broad smile. “Thank you, my lord! I’ll have my men prepare.”