To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (18 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

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Hersende defended the statement. “Well, there were lights in the house long after Hubert told me he was leaving, and then there was that man you found dead.”

“Lights in the house?” Catherine said. “Why didn’t you mention this when we asked you before?”

“I didn’t remember then,” Hersende muttered. “But you must admit it doesn’t look good. Especially since Hubert spent so much time with Jews. You still have one of them in and out of the house as if he owned it.”

“He does own part of it,” Catherine stood. “Solomon is partners with my husband, as his uncle and my father were partners, as his grandfather and my grandfather were partners in Rouen. Our families have been trading together for almost a hundred years, and no one has ever questioned our fidelity to Our Lord or accused us of such nonsense as wizardry!”

Except one man.

Catherine blinked as the thought hit her. Only one man had ever
insisted that she was an enchantress or that Hubert gained his wealth through sorcery.

Perhaps Jehan had not left Paris after all.

“Thank you for coming, my friends.” She swallowed. “I believe I know who has started this evil calumny. He’s someone who feels himself wronged by my father. This man has threatened all of us, including my poor children. He wears the cross of a pilgrim, but there is nothing in his heart but hatred.”

Richilde put her hand to her mouth. “Catherine, you should have told us! What if my Agneta were playing with James and this beast found them! I’m not going to let my child near here until this man is caught.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t …” Catherine tried to calm her, but the other women were adding their opinions. And, in honesty, what could she tell them? She wasn’t sure their children would be safe from Jehan. She didn’t know what atrocities he was capable of, goaded as he was by the demon within.

“Please!” she tried again.

“Someone should tell the provost!” Hersende shouted. “He should have his men out looking for this monster.”

“Our children need protection from such men!” Luca agreed. “Paris is overrun with them now, all because Louis has decided to take an army to Jerusalem.”

“And leave good citizens at the mercy of villains!” Eremberga stated angrily. “As well as tithing us to pay for his folly!”

“There’s wickedness and heresy enough right here!” Richilde added. “He has no business going so far. He should first silence those street preachers who say we should give all we have to the poor, or they’ll take it from us.”

Catherine stared in awed fascination as the women leaped from anger at her to blaming the men in power for causing their fears. They seemed to have forgotten why they had come. All were on their feet, speaking at once. Luca, now close to the end of a pregnancy, was in tears.

Samonie came rushing in, sure that Catherine was being attacked.
Instead she found Richilde and Eremberga arguing about whose husband should go to the provost, Alesia and Catherine patting Luca’s back and urging her to lie down and, on one side, Hersende sitting next to the table, pouring herself another cup of wine.

“Saint Jerome’s naked dancers!” Samonie exclaimed. “Mistress, what should I do?”

Catherine gave her a look of confused panic. “I don’t know.” She waved her hands helplessly.

“What is going on?”

The voice from the doorway was deceptively soft, but carried authority. It penetrated the clamor and, as one, the women stopped and turned to see Margaret.

She stood quietly, her vibrant red hair in plaits on her shoulders. Her clothes were no better than those of the others. Yet she radiated an air of authority that Catherine felt could only come from knowing she was born into the nobility. Margaret didn’t know that she possessed such an air. It was as natural to her as it was to Edgar, who had learned to put on the manner of a merchant only with difficulty.

“Is there something I can do to help?” Margaret asked.

Richilde smoothed her skirts and gave a tiny bow. “I’m sorry you were disturbed, my lady,” she said. “It’s nothing. We’ll be going now. Thank you for the refreshments, Catherine, dear.”

Catherine felt as if she had just stumbled in and out of one of those antipodean countries that scholars speculated about, where people walked around upside down. As the visitors filed past Margaret, who smiled at them all in bewilderment, Catherine understood that the gossip on the street had not only been about Hubert. Each of the women knew that Margaret was not only the daughter of a Scottish lord, but the granddaughter of a count.

When they had gone, Margaret came over to help Catherine and Samonie pick up the cups and put away the chairs.

“Are they going to visit us often?” she asked.

Catherine shivered. “I don’t think so,
ma douz
. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find charms hung at all the windows on the street, to protect the neighbors from us.”

Margaret thought about this. “Do you think we could get one of
our own to keep away unwanted company? Only put it at the back of the house. I’m afraid of the men who come to the garden at night.”

“What?”

Catherine sat with a thump on the last chair. Perhaps instead of sending Margaret to the Paraclete, she should go herself. She felt in dire need of a calm place to think.

Eleven

Paris, Tuesday, 13 kalends June (May 20), 1147; 18 Sivan, 4907. Feast of Saint Plantilla, noble Roman, who was baptized by Saint Peter, dipped her veil in the blood of Saint Paul and still managed to die a natural death.

Et multi quidem signati sunt ipso loco, ceteros autem ad opus simul provocavimus, ut qui ex christianis necdum signati sunt ad viam Ierosolimitanam …

And there are many signs in that same place, and to others likewise we had preached the task before us, so that who among Christians are not yet marked for the road to Jerusalem.

—Bernard of Clairvaux
Letter 457

E
dgar received all of Catherine’s news with alarm.

“I don’t know what worries me more,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “That people are lurking near our home by night, or that all the women of the Grève seem to think my sister is nearly a countess.”

“Would you prefer they thought her a serving girl?” Catherine countered. “Both of you are too wellborn for my family. Margaret has made no public renunciation of her birthright, as you did. Now that the count has acknowledged her as his granddaughter, she should be allowed to accept the benefits his recognition gives her.”

“I wish I believed they were benefits.” Edgar rubbed his forehead. “Very well. Perhaps that problem can wait a while longer. First, these midnight prowlers. I’ll have to get the guards back and this time not let them bring fishing nets.”

They were sitting in the garden. The roses were starting to bloom. The air was full of perfume and the humming of bees. Catherine had fresh mint mixed with the honey in her porridge. She took a bite, then prepared herself to confess that Jehan had also been to the house.

At first Edgar could only glare at her, stupefied at her actions.

“You met him alone!” he finally shouted.

“Martin was there.” She looked up at him quickly, then concentrated on her porridge bowl.

“Martin! And what could he do?”

“Run for help?” Catherine suggested.

“While Jehan strangled you,” Edgar said. “Which I’m sorely tempted to do myself. How could you have been so stupid?”

“Edgar, I’ve known Jehan most of my life,” Catherine protested. “He doesn’t want to kill me; he wants to humiliate me … us.”

“A fine excuse for clearing the house, just as if he was your lover,” Edgar snorted.

“Edgar!” Catherine stood. The porridge spilled onto her skirt and stuck. “How can you even think that?”

“Catherine, right now I’m so angry I don’t know what to think.” Edgar’s voice lowered.

Catherine felt as if she’d just been dropped into an icy stream. His anger had passed into the cold depths that terrified her, all the more because it was so rare for her to be the object of it.

“I know I should have mentioned that Jehan was coming,” she said as steadily as she could. “But I thought he’d go away at once. All these
trufeors
made such a fuss about how eager they were to set off for the Holy Land. But none of them seem to be in a hurry to leave!”

“Catherine.” Only Edgar’s lips moved.

“You shouldn’t be bothered with Jehan, Edgar!” she went on. “He’s already half in Hell. When I look at him I can see the demons behind his eyes. No one of any sense would pay attention to him.”

“You pity him, don’t you?” Edgar shook his head in amazement. “After all he’s done.”

“Edgar, he has nothing.” Catherine looked up at him, pleading.

Edgar took her hands. “Catherine, he deserves nothing.”

Catherine nodded. “I suppose I should leave him to God. If he comes again, I’ll send for the priest.”

“No.” Edgar didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “You’ll send for me. But first you’ll bar the doors and take the children to the cellar to hide until I say it’s safe. We’ve underestimated his wickedness too often. Now he must be treated as the savage he is! Don’t you ever see him alone again!”

She gave a small cry as his grip tightened.

He looked down in surprise. “Catherine, your hands are freezing!”

“I was frightened,” she said quietly.

“Of me?” he asked. “But I’m only angry because I’m afraid of what he might have done to you, to our children. I love you.”

“I know.” Catherine caressed his cheek with her numb fingers. “That’s the worst of his evil; the way it rubs its filth off on us.”

“It will wash.” He tried to smile, but settled for kissing her nose. “And as for Margaret, I don’t believe she cares what the people on the street think of her. She behaves the same way to everyone.”

“Just so they don’t start asking her to petition the count for favors,” Catherine said darkly. “Then they’ll find out just how much of a lowborn fishwife
I
am.”

Edgar got up and stretched. He felt as though he had spent the last few minutes wrestling with the devil. “I’m meeting Archer at the
Parleoir
just after Nones, and I want to be there before the bells stop. These merchants have to find out that I’m as serious as they are about the trade.”

As they went in, they met Martin coming for them.

“There’s a man to see you,” he said. “He was here a few days ago, asking for Master Hubert.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Edgar asked in alarm.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.” Martin sighed; there were so many rules to remember! “I told him then that Master Hubert was gone and so he and the lady left, too.”

He went to the gate and returned a moment later with Lambert. The young man’s eyes darted from side to side as if wishing he could see behind his back. His left hand clutched something on a chain around his neck. He was so obviously terrified that Catherine’s first impulse was to sit him down and get him a bowl of hot milk and valerian.

“My name is Lambert,” he began. His right hand moved in a sign Catherine knew well.

“Greetings, Lambert,” Edgar said. Catherine could tell that he was still not under control of his temper. “Why do you feel you must ward off the Devil in our home?”

Lambert’s hand froze. “Sorry.” He thought quickly. “I’m a stranger in Paris. I find myself unable to judge the honesty of people here.”

Edgar nodded. “I have the same problem. Would you care to sit and tell us the reason for your visit?”

“Martin said that you came last week and asked for my father,” Catherine said. “He’s gone on pilgrimage, but …”

Lambert started violently at her words. Catherine wondered if he was afflicted with Saint Vitus. She smiled, trying to reassure him.

It had enough effect that he consented to sit and take a cup of wine.

“Master Hubert traded in horses from Spain with my father, and Lord Osto, our castellan,” Lambert managed to explain. “They were supposed to have come to Paris, where my father planned to join the brethren of the Temple. Lord Osto’s wife died suddenly, and he’s needed urgently at home before his lord gives his castellany to another.”

“I’m very sorry,” Catherine said, puzzled. “I don’t believe anyone by that name has been here … . oh, ‘to join the Temple,’ of course!”

Lambert nodded. “At the Temple preceptory they knew nothing of Lord Osto or my father. But then I learned of the man you found here.”

“We have no knowledge about the poor man,” Edgar said. “The body was much decayed, I’m afraid. He seemed to be of middle height, with light hair, greying. He could be anyone.”

“I saw the cloak and brooch the man was wearing,” Lambert said, “and they were unfamiliar to me. Lord Osto had dark hair, but there wasn’t … isn’t much left of it. And there would have been no reason for him to be dressed as a Knight of the Temple. It was a forlorn hope that you could help, but Master Hubert was my only connection. Lord Osto knew no one else in Paris.”

There was a clatter on the stairs, and James bolted into the room, waving a wooden lance, followed by the new puppy his uncle Guillaume had just sent him.

Lambert tried to grab his cross and wave his hands at the same time. His wine cup crashed to the floor.

“James!” Edgar said. “If you and the dog can’t behave better than that, you can both sleep in the shed.”

The idea seemed to please James, but not the scowl his father was giving him. His face crumpled into tears.

Catherine lifted him up and wiped his face.

“We have a guest, James,” she said. “You know better than to behave so.”

She set him down. James dropped the lance and put his hand over his heart, bowing and reciting the greeting he had been taught.

Lambert nodded back, seeming to forget the response. James glared at him.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘God save all here,’” he whispered loudly.

“Oh, James!” Catherine hid her face in her scarf and tried to stifle her giggles.

Edgar was not so amused. “You may now go upstairs and wait with your sister and your aunt until we send for you.”

James slunk back up as Catherine tried to apologize.

“It’s quite all right,” Lambert told her. “Children are the same everywhere.”

But there was confusion on his face. This was a family of demons?

“While we are most concerned with discovering the identity of the man so rudely left with us,” Edgar continued as if the interruption hadn’t ocurred, “my partner and I would be happy to ask among our acquaintances for word of your father and Lord Osto. Where can we reach you?”

Lambert stammered his reply. “I have n … no f … f … fixed place.” He took a breath. “I’ll return tomorrow, if you’ll permit.”

“Fine,” Edgar said. “This time leave a message with the boy at the door if we aren’t in.”

Lambert thanked them and stumbled out.

Catherine turned to Edgar.

“What a strange man! I don’t feel right letting him wander about alone. Perhaps we should ask Maurice if he can have refuge at the hospice of Nôtre Dame.”

Edgar shook his head. “He’s young and ignorant of the ways of the city, but older than I was when I came here. He’ll be back tomorrow, and you can feed him if it makes you feel better.”

The bells began tolling Nones.

“
Cristes flæschama!”
Edgar swore. “I’m going to be late.”

He gave her a lopsided kiss and ran out.

Lambert had gone out of the house at a run. As he reached the Petit Pont his steps slowed. He rubbed the sweat from his face, glad to feel that he hadn’t sprouted fur or donkey’s ears. All his limbs were still attached. He faced a nearby corner and felt cautiously beneath his tunic. Yes, everything was where it belonged.

Jehan had warned him that these demons would try to lull him by showing fair faces. But Lambert couldn’t get a sense of enchantment about them. Catherine and Edgar weren’t that attractive. He sensed no urge compelling him to worship at their feet. Neither had invited him to a moonlit carousal. And the child was very much like the little boys in his village, only somewhat more obedient.

But that could be part of their trickery. Perhaps to work the greatest evil one had to appear most ordinary.

Lambert started across the bridge to find Jehan. He had promised to report at once. But after that, he was going to Clemence. Knowing she was safe with the nuns was comforting, but he wanted her to be safe with him. Fulfilling her father’s desire that the two of them keep his castellany didn’t seem half as important at the moment as finding a place with a bed big enough for them both.

The bells for Nones woke Bertulf. Owing to the late nights they were being forced to keep and the fact they had not yet taken vows, he and Godfrey were given special permission to sleep well into the morning.

Bertulf pulled himself up and immediatly regretted it. Beer in Paris wasn’t like beer in Flanders. They made it sweeter here, and after a few bowls, his mouth felt glazed with honey and herbs. This morning his whole head felt that way.

Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good plan, after all.

Godfrey’s snoring hadn’t changed even through the ringing. Bertulf kicked his cot as he went by to the water basin. Godfrey moaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

“Master, I have a confession to make,” he announced as he lowered the covers and squinted at the sunlight. “God never intended me to be a toper.”

Bertulf smiled.

“Ah, I thought it was my age.” He splashed cold water over his face and beard. “Now I know it was Providence. Thank you, Godfrey.”

“Must we do this again?” Godfrey tried getting up.

“We could try drinking more slowly,” Bertulf suggested.

“I think I might try spilling it all,” Godfrey answered. “The way my hands shake, it shouldn’t be difficult.”