To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (34 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: To Wear The White Cloak: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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She got up and found the key to the counting room. She still hadn’t finished reading Master Abelard’s treatise. This would be the perfect time for philosophy. It would also be a chance for her to confront her fear.
The door opened onto a still room, empty of ghosts or monsters. Catherine laughed at herself. She went over to the book chest and froze mid-breath.
There on the top of the chest lay her father’s account book.
She spun around, her eyes searching every dim corner of the room. Then she bent and gingerly touched the book. It was solid. She lifted it and took it out onto the landing to examine it in the lamplight.
It wasn’t exactly as she had left it. The cloth covering it was torn, and there was a stain of wine or blood on one fold. She checked to be sure the book itself wasn’t damaged. Then she made sure none of the pages had been torn out. When she was satisfied that it hadn’t been ruined, she put it on the floor next to her and stared at it, as if expecting the book to tell her where it had been and how.
“I shouldn’t have been such a coward,” she berated herself. “When I heard noises in there, I should have gone in to see what it was. Even if it was a demon with scales and burning eyes who took and returned it, at least I’d have known for certain.”
She stared at it a while longer.
“Where have you been?” she nearly shouted at it.
“Hunting for Jehan,” Edgar answered from the bottom of the stairs. “Why are you still up?”
For the second time that night, Catherine came close to heart failure. Edgar was up the stairs in a moment to lift her from the floor and hold her until she stopped quaking.
“You didn’t hear us come in,” he surmised. “I didn’t see you here then. We went to the kitchen to get a bowl of beer and then I helped Solomon set up his cot.”
“I … I was in the counting room.” Catherine pointed to the book. “Someone must have come through the window. Or maybe it flew. I’m prepared to believe anything at this point.”
Edgar patted her head. “My poor little
cicen
,” he soothed. “You must have had a dreadful night.”
He looked at the book, shaking his head.
“Why steal something only to return it?” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll go through every page. Something may have been added that will explain everything. Now, both of us are falling over, and dawn comes early this time of year. Come up to bed.”
Catherine stood, taking the account book with her. “It’s not leaving my side until all this is solved,” she said.
“Fine.” Edgar yawned. “I only want to sleep tonight, anyway.”
They looked into the hall before they went up. Solomon was already sound asleep, one arm hanging over the edge of the cot. Wearily, they made their way to their room. Catherine set the book on the bed while they undressed and then, true to her word, took it with her, wedging it into the space between the mattress and the wall.
Edgar soon joined them, blowing out the little oil lamp once he was under the covers.
The house fell silent.
Edgar rolled over, feeling all his muscles loosen and his various bumps and bruises announce their presence. He wriggled a while until he found a comfortable position and then fell asleep.
The cries from the back garden sent him first bolt upright and then onto the floor in a tangle of covers. He reached for his tunic and knocked over the lamp, spilling oil onto the bedclothes. The shouts were now being echoed up and down the street as dogs took up the call, waking their masters.
As he started down the stairs, he was overtaken by a blond shape in a tunic too small for her and a blanket over her shoulders.
“Clemence!” he shouted, as she raced ahead of him, through the hall and out. “Come back! You don’t know what’s out there!”
She didn’t answer him, but struggled with the bar on the door. Solomon had reached it ahead of her. He was also trying to keep her from leaving.
“Let me go!” she shrieked. “You can’t keep me from him! He’s out there, and those men are trying to kill him. Papa! Papa! I’m coming!”
Very early on a moonless Wednesday morning. 5 kalends June (May 28), 1147; 30 Sivan 4907. Rogation day, Vigil of the Ascension and feast of Saint Germanus, protector of the poor and runaway queens, founder of the monastery of Saint Germain des Pres.
 
… ideo rationem singulis datum esse, ut inter verum et falsum ea prima judice discernatur. Nisi enim ratio iudex universalis esse deberet, frustra singulis data esset.
 
Reason has been given to each person so that they may discern true from false with it as the main judge. If reason were not meant to be the universal judge, there would be no point in each person being given it.
—Adelard of Bath
Questiones Naturales
 
 
T
he door opened on the amazing sight of the proud guards marching up to the house, each followed by a pair of men, hands tied together, on a lead.
“Papa!” Clemence cried again as she ran to put her arms around one of the men.
“Clemence!” the man gasped. “What are you doing here? Where are your clothes?”
“Papa, Papa, I thought you were dead!” she cried over and over.
He put his tied hands gently over her mouth. “Hush, darling, hush,” he whispered. “I’m Bertulf now. You mustn’t call me Father. I’ll explain later but don’t say anything. Lord Osto is dead.”
“But …” she started. His hands pressed harder. Clemence nodded acceptance.
Edgar and Solomon had lit oil lamps and were holding them in the faces of the prisoners.
“Master Durand!” Edgar exclaimed. “Brother Baudwin! What are you doing creeping around our garden in the dark?”
Master Durand was furious. When he had announced himself to the guards, ignorant clods that they were, they had not been impressed. They hadn’t released their grip or lowered their knives. One had even made a most improper suggestion as to what a priest might be doing out after dark following a pair of men.
“I want these men arrested at once!” His gesture included the guards as well as Bertulf and Godfrey.
Edgar’s response was politely puzzled. “Arrest my own guards?” he
said. “They seem to have been doing their job very well. I see you found Clemence’s father,” he told them. “Good work.”
“My lord,” Bertulf began, “there’s been a mistake. I’ll be happy to explain it all if you’ll tell me why Lord Osto’s daughter, whom he left safe at home in Picardy, is at your home in Paris wearing only a
chainse
.”
“I was in bed, P … p … Bertulf,” Clemence explained.
Behind her Solomon groaned.
“So,” Edgar concluded, “Bertulf and his servant were coming to visit us. And what were you and Brother Baudwin planning, Master Durand?”
“We were following the spies,” Baudwin said. He stopped. “Why were we doing that again?” he asked Master Durand.
“You imbecile!” Durand shouted. “Because we suspected them of being in league with this pack. And this proves we were right! I’ll have you all up before Master Evrard and Bishop Theobald the first thing in the morning! You can answer to them.”
“Fine,” Edgar said. “Send your men for us. We’ll be delighted to tell Master Evrard about your activities. Now, if Bertulf and his servant will come in, I’ll have our guards release you, on the condition that you also present yourselves to Master Evrard tomorrow to answer my complaint.”
Master Durand’s indignant sputters could be heard all the way down to the river, where they were taken up by a flock of ducklings who had been sleeping among the reeds. The point of the guard’s knife in the cleric’s back left him at a disadvantage, however. A few moments later, the guards returned to report that the men had been shown to the street and had set off in the direction of the preceptory.
Edgar thanked them and ordered that the other prisoners be untied. Then Bertulf and Godfrey entered the house with him, Clemence still clinging to Bertulf. In the hall they found Catherine and Margaret, each holding a child and both wild with anxiety. Between them and the door stood Martin, pale but determined, holding a poker as his only defense.
The sight of the boy melted Edgar’s anger at the others. He gave
Martin a smile and a pat of approval and led all the others into the room. Catherine and Margaret vacated their chairs for the men.
“Now,” Edgar said, “I believe,
Lord Osto
, that you owe us an explanation.”
Bertulf stood and bowed to Edgar. “Lord Edgar, I owe you much more than that. My profound apologies for involving you in what has become a labyrinthine disaster. But you must accept that I am no longer Osto. Lord Osto died and was unfortunately left in your house, which was inforgivable. We had no idea you would return before we could move his body.”
Catherine wasn’t sure if she were confused or simply too exhausted to hear correctly.
“You were Osto, but you’re not anymore?” she asked.
“That is correct,” Bertulf answered. “When my friend Bertulf was killed, I had to assume his identity. Godfrey and I took advantage of the kindness of Samonie to leave his body here. We had planned to move it closer to the Temple preceptory, where the knights would find it. Then we were going to identify it. But when we discovered that you had come home early and already found poor Bertulf, we didn’t know what to do. How could we explain his being in your house?”
“I’m still waiting for that,” Edgar said.
“But Papa,” Clemence interrupted, “how could you become Bertulf? And Why? Then Lambert’s father is dead? How?”
“Yes, my dear,” Bertulf answered. “I dread sending word to Lambert of it. And that brings me to you. What, by the blood of the martyrs, are you doing all alone in Paris?”
“I’m not alone,” Clemence explained. “Lambert and I came together. We had to find you after Mother died.”
“What?” Bertulf—Osto—seemed to have lost his voice. “That’s impossible. She was fine when I left.”
Clemence put her arms around him. “I know. It was very sudden. We don’t know what caused it. She suddenly fell ill and died within two days. Lambert and I were afraid Lord Jordan would take me into wardship, so we were married at once and came to get you.”
Bertulf looked around the room.
“And where is Lambert now?” he asked.
Clemence looked at Edgar, who answered. “We’re not sure. But we hope to locate him soon. For the time being, Clemence can stay with us.”
Bertulf sat stunned. Catherine ran to get him some wine. He shook his head over and over.
“It seems I owe you even more than I thought,” he told Edgar. “All we wanted was for our children to be happy and the castellany to stay in their family. Bertulf hoped that by becoming one of the brethren of the Temple, he could earn the right for his son to marry Clemence. He was prepared to give his life for that. And he did. But too soon. I have taken on his intention. But it must include taking his place completely, down to his name, or my castellany will pass to another.”
He closed his eyes. “My poor Edwina. I should have been with you.”
Godfrey spoke up, facing Catherine and Edgar. “Please don’t be angry with my master. His plans are all awry. Perhaps they were unwise in the first place, but he’s given up everything for them. Taking his life wouldn’t punish him, but revealing our deception would hurt everyone in our village. Who knows what sort of lord we might be given?”
Edgar ran his hand through his hair, clutching at it for support. This was all too much for a man who couldn’t remember his last night’s sleep.
“I don’t suppose either of you left an account book in the room upstairs earlier?” he asked. “No? Of course not. That would be too simple.”
Catherine came back with the wine. “I heated it with some herbs and nutmeg,” she said. “I think we should all have some. Do we dare try to sleep again? Or do you think we should wait for the horses and elephants to arrive?”
“Elephants?” James said eagerly.
Edgar picked him up. “No, son. Mama was only joking, I hope.”
Solomon gave up his cot to Bertulf.
“I think I should report all this,” he said, looking meaningfully at Edgar. “Especially the return of the account book. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
After some sorting, everyone was given a place to lie down for what was left of the night. How many of them slept is uncertain.
 
Lambert had spent a fruitless evening waiting outside the felt maker’s for Clemence to return. He had seen Edgar arrive with a woman, but it wasn’t she. But what was Edgar doing there at all? The portress at Montmartre had only told him the house where Clemence was staying, not who had provided it. Why should this enemy of Jehan’s be visiting there? Could he be keeping Clemence prisoner?
He knew he couldn’t storm the house alone. He had to go back to Jehan. The wizard had said that the amulet that made one invisible only worked for one night. They would have to get another.
Perhaps he should have offered to go along when Jehan returned the book he had taken from Edgar’s house. Jehan seemed excited about the contents. He said that if it were found in the house, they could defeat the sorcerers once and forever, but all this creeping about made Lambert uneasy. All he wanted was to find Lord Osto and his father, tell them what had happened and let them handle it.
Deep down Lambert didn’t really care if he was made castellan or not, as long as he could stay married to Clemence. From what he had seen, the honor included too much fighting for others and not enough taking care of one’s own. Between the horses and the mill, Lambert felt sure that he could give his wife as much as her father had, even if their children would have no claim to nobility. But the two older men were so set on the idea that he hadn’t the heart to protest.
The night was becoming chill, and lights were few in the windows on the street. Edgar and his friend had left, and the felt maker’s windows were all dark. Several people had given him curious stares, and one man had come up to him and whispered a suggestion that didn’t sound at all appetizing to Lambert. He decided he should go back to the bridle maker’s and wait for Jehan. At least he knew that Clemence had been alive and well earlier in the day. He prayed that tomorrow would bring her back to him.
 
 
Master Durand didn’t wait until dawn to complain to the commander about his treatment. He confronted Evrard de Barre as he was leaving the chapel after Prime.
“I don’t care how well connected this family is,” he began without preamble. “They’ve insulted our Order. I was treated like a common thief! You must have them arrested.”
Evrard had finally found an hour of peace with his soul while standing in the chapel, and he wasn’t pleased to have it shattered.
“Have you been in the wine vats?” he asked. “You smell like you’ve been wading in the river. What are you talking about and why weren’t you at the Office with the rest of us?”
His glance included Brother Baudwin, cowering a little behind the cleric.
“We have been following your orders regarding the dead knight,” Durand reminded him. “Now we find that the men we sent to investigate were spies for that Edgar the Englishman. He threatened us! Told his guard to drive us out.”
“What’s this? Spies?” Evrard was immediately alert. “Who do they report to? Geoffrey of Anjou? The emperor?”
“The Devil, himself, I’d say,” Baudwin said.
Durand pushed him out back. “Much closer to home, Commander,” he said. “There’s some conspiracy surrounding the deceased knight. I don’t believe he was a member of the Order at all. I think it’s part of a plot by the English or the Jews.”
“Or both,” Baudwin added.
“To discredit the Temple,” Durand finished.
“I’ve not heard that either group has anything against the brethren of the Temple,” Evrard said mildly. “Unlike others, we haven’t persecuted Jews either here or in Jerusalem, and there have only been a few incidents involving the English.”
Durand began to sputter again. Evrard held up his hand.
“Bring me a full report after Sext, and I’ll decide what is to be done.”
“You must send men to apprehend them now, before they escape,” Durand insisted.
“After Sext,” Evrard repeated. “And be sure you bring proof of your accusations.”
The two men walked away dispiritedly.
“Proof?” Baudwin said. “What more is there than that those two Picards went into the house while we were driven away?”
“It would be enough for any reasonable man,” Durand agreed. “But Master Evrard is too caught up with his duties in the Holy Land to understand the danger at his very door. It’s up to us to find something that will awaken him to it.”
“Before Sext?” Baudwin’s shoulders slumped. “But I’ve not slept at all tonight.”
“Offer up your wakefulness as a sacrifice,” Durand suggested. “Like the desert saints.”

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