The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (11 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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“Yes,” Walter said. “So do I.”
They continued their perambulation into the wider area in front of the church of Notre Dame de la Ronde. There Astrolabe took leave of Walter.
Walter started to say good-bye, then bit his lip, as if trying to come to a decision. He decided quickly. He had to ask.
“Astrolabe, does your mother know that you’re in the service of the man who condemned your father?”
Astrolabe chuckled. “It was her idea for me to come to him for assistance. If I didn’t know her nature better, I would have thought she was trying to induce Abbot Bernard to show remorse and make some restitution for his act.”
“Has he shown any?” Walter’s eyes were wide at the concept.
“None at all.” Astrolabe grinned now. “He hasn’t mentioned the council once. He treats me with exactly the same Christian kindness he shows to everyone.”
“Oh.” Walter was somehow disappointed.
“Everyone who agrees with him, that is,” Astrolabe added over his shoulder as he walked away.
Walter turned this over in his mind all the way back to the hostel.
 
“Are we finally ready to go?” Hubert asked. “Why does it take so long to prepare for a journey? Your mother always did it easily in a day.”
“Father,” Catherine said in exasperation, as she dealt with a crying daughter and servants asking five questions at once. “When the whole household went any place, you left long before the rest of the family. Mother had more help and more experience and it was still chaos until the door shut behind us.”
Hubert looked puzzled. “I don’t remember it like that. Well, never mind. When can we leave, then?”
“As soon as Edgar returns,” Catherine told him. “Everything is packed or stored except his tools. At the last minute he decided he needed a knife sharpened or something. Yes, James, you can ride with Grandfather. No, the puppy will be happier here. He’ll be waiting for you when we return. It will only be a few weeks. Edana, be quiet! Wood Bunny is already in the bag hanging from my saddle. You can’t get him now.”
The child’s screams rose to shrieks. Hubert covered his ears.
“Which bag is it?” he shouted. “I’ll find the damn rabbit!”
Catherine was furious. Where was Edgar? What had possessed him to run off on some
fatuus
errand? If she weren’t so tired, she’d go in search of him and give him grief all the way home, like a wife from the
jongleur
stories.
But, when he finally arrived, contrite and out of breath, she forgave him, as he knew she would. He had brought everyone sweet pagnon, made with honey and just the right size to fit into Edana’s mouth and stop her wailing for the rabbit Edgar had carved for her.
“Where have you been?” she was human enough to ask. “It’s nearly None and we’ve all been waiting for you.”
“I know,” Edgar answered. “I’m sorry. I was talking with the silversmith. His son is studying in Köln right now and Samuel is worried that the family has had no news of him since before septuagesima.”
“Did you reassure him?” Catherine asked. “Letters often go astray. Half the messages we sent Father from Scotland never reached him.”
Edgar busied himself with helping Hubert put back all the things from Edana’s bag so they could leave. Everyone else was mounted and ready. He then handed James up to Hubert, helped Catherine onto her horse and, finally, inserted his arm into the loop hanging from his saddle that allowed him to mount with only one hand. He was still clumsy at it and the adults all found something else to look at until he had finished.
They made their way single file through the city, to the Roman road that led east, past the new monastery of the Knights Templar and into the forest. Hubert didn’t like taking the roads as there was constant danger of attack from outlaws in the forest. But it was easier
than sailing the Seine upstream. He planned to sell the horses in Troyes and bring them all home by boat. They would all stay with Eliazar until summer, when the river was slow and docile.
Once they had entered the shade of the woods, everyone grew quiet. The children went to sleep, even Margaret, leaning against Edgar’s back. Catherine found herself remembering her first trip to Provins for the fair. She’d been hardly older that James and it took the combined efforts of her father, Eliazar and Solomon to keep her from falling off or onto something or wandering away and getting lost.
Very different was the journey to the Paraclete, when she had been fifteen. She had believed then that she would never come this way again, but remain in the convent all her life. At the time, there was no greater joy imaginable than to be the bride of Christ.
Catherine gave a rueful snort at the child she had been. Dearly as she loved her savior, she knew she loved Edgar more. Sacrilegious it might be, but there was no remedy for it.
The thought gave Catherine a slight qualm. She had sent word to Mother Heloise that they were coming but had received no answer. It suddenly occurred to her that, returning with a growing family and small but definite entourage, the nuns might not be inclined to welcome her at all.
Lord Gerhardt’s castle, Trier. Friday, 5 nones May (May 3), 1146; 19 Iyyar, 4906. Commemoration of the finding of the True Cross by Saint Helena, of which a piece the size of a thumb was brought to Trier, along with nails from the cross, the Crown of Thorns and bits of clothing worn by Jesus.
 
 
Treviris alma per hunc major, tibi Roma Quirites
Transmisit cives, fecit et esse tuos.
Hucque caput mundi veniens, hic esse cor orbis
Non negat, et nomen Roma secunda tuum.
 
 
Kind Trier, greater through this man [Albero] Rome sent you noble citizens and made them yours. The capital of the whole world, all who come here do not deny that this is the heart of the globe, its name “second Rome.”
 
—The Life of Archbishop Albero
Metric version
 
 
“
M
aria, is there somewhere we can speak in private?” Hermann stopped his sister as she was going out to the herb garden.
“If it’s about Gerhardt again,” she answered, pulling away from his grasp, “there isn’t anything more to say. We’ve done all we can. He’s agreed to marry the girl. It’s really too much to expect him to be cheerful about it, I suppose. Perhaps when he meets her.”
“No, it’s not about Gerhardt this time,” Hermann said. “At least, not exactly.”
Maria sighed. “Very well. Come help me thin the mint and you can tell me what’s worrying you now.”
The sharp scent of the herb rose around them as Hermann and Maria knelt in the enclosed garden. Around them were wattle fences and on the other side a great elm tree shaded the area, allowing the mint to run wild. Maria inhaled deeply. It made a change from the tang of fermenting wine.
Hermann tugged nervously at a plant. He tossed it over his shoulder. Maria glared at him.
“What do you think I brought the basket for?” she asked, pointing to it.
“
Ez ist mir leit
, I was thinking of something else.” Hermann dropped a muddy bunch of mint into it. “Now, it’s about that messenger that was found at the edge of the river.”
“I thought the matter had been refered to Bishop Albero,” Maria spoke without interest. “We prayed for the poor man. What more is there to do?”
“Find out what he was doing on our land,” Hermann answered. “He wasn’t here by chance. I’m sure of it. Gerhardt knows more than he told us or the bishop. I don’t believe the message in the letter
that was found was washed out by the water or that the seal had been obliterated. It wasn’t when I gave it to Gerhardt.”
“Are you saying that our brother lied?” Maria’s eyebrows rose.
Hermann’s jaw set stubbornly. It was a look Maria knew well from their nursery days.
“I know what I saw,” he said. “The vellum was dry and the seal unbroken when Gerhardt took it. And why did he feel the need to open it alone? He’s hiding something from us. Something he’s ashamed of, I fear.”
Maria wanted to laugh at him, or become angry, but she could do neither. Even before this marriage issue had come up, Gerhardt had been behaving strangely. All those trips to Köln. The visitors who only stayed a night and left before dawn. Hermann wasn’t imagining things. Something was wrong and it hurt her deeply that Gerhardt didn’t trust her enough to tell her what it was.
“You don’t think he’s plotting against the bishop … or the emperor?” Her voice shook at the thought.
“I don’t know!” Hermann’s voice rose and he immediatly looked around to see if anyone had heard. “He’s never acted treasonous before. Why should he? What have either of them done to him?”
“But then what else could it be?” Maria yanked at the mint and a whole chain of it came away in her hand. She stared at it for a long moment. “He wouldn’t risk having the land confiscated. He loves nothing more. And yet …”
“And yet.” Hermann shivered as the tree above them sent a splash of water down his neck.
He got to his feet and took the basket.
“We must get him to confide in us,” he said. “Whatever is wrong, he mustn’t keep it from the rest of the family. We never had secrets from each other before. Perhaps he just has a concubine in Köln and is embarrassed to admit it.”
The thought cheered him, but Maria was doubtful. She wished Hermann hadn’t unsettled her with his worries. Still, if the problem were no more than a woman, the coming of this French bride might solve everything.
The two of them returned to the keep. On the quivering branch of the elm tree, young Peter watched them until they went inside. Then he slid down. His aunt and uncle had given him much to ponder.
 
 
Catherine enjoyed traveling to the fairs, especially in spring. There was always something new to see and interesting people to meet. She was never worried about trade or the eternal feuds among the vendors. With her father’s guards always near, she didn’t concern herself with the thought of robbers. And now, with James wanting to try everything and Edana shrieking in delight at the jugglers or in terror at the captive bear, it was as if she were a child again, herself.
“Mama! Want ball!” Edana nearly fell out of her arms as the child tried to snatch the ball out of the air as it spun by. The juggler laughed, put the balls back in his sack and took out a wooden doll on a stick. When a string was pulled, the doll danced.
“Mama!” Edana cried again. “Want doll.”
“Only a halfpenny of Paris.” The man smiled.
“Edana, your father makes you all the dolls you’ll ever need.” Catherine tried to reason with her, then realized anew that at a year and a half, her daughter wasn’t interested in reason.
“I don’t have any pennies,” she told the man. “Let me ask my husband.”
She looked around for Edgar, who had taken Margaret and James with Hubert to look at the horses. The juggler seemed happy to follow her until she found money. To keep Edana interested, he made the doll wiggle in his hand and then climb up his arm and onto his shoulder, well out of her reach.
“I know they were here a moment ago,” Catherine said as she bumped into a woman who was holding up a length of cloth to examine it in the sunlight. “Sorry.”
The woman paid her no attention. The juggler stayed on their heels. Catherine stopped and, hardening her heart to Edana’s pleas, decided that she wasn’t going to spend the rest of the morning hunting for pennies to get everything the child took a fancy to.
“I’m sorry,” she told the juggler. “I don’t see my husband, and my daughter really doesn’t need another toy. You’ll do better continuing your trade somewhere else.”
The man’s face turned from geniality to anger.
“Then why waste my time dragging me from my corner!” he yelled at her. “I’ve lost my place now and maybe the day’s profit! Damn you and all your kind!”
Catherine was shocked at the intensity of his anger. He had seemed so friendly only a moment before. She backed away from him, her arms wrapped protectively about her child.
“I am sorry,” she said.
He gave her a sneer, wheeled about and marched off. Catherine watched him go. His behavior was confusing. It had only been a few minutes. He would hardly lose a day’s worth of sales in that time. Why reproach her with such venom?
She tried to shrug it off but the fair had been spoiled now. The laughter seemed fake and the goods tawdry. All she wanted was to find Edgar and feel safe again.
She didn’t see the juggler as he reversed his parti-colored cloak so that only the dull brown lining showed. He removed his hat with the silver bells and put on a cap of soft leather. Then he followed her.
By the time Catherine saw James balanced on his father’s shoulders she felt a bit silly for her uneasiness. The juggler may have counted on her money. Perhaps the takings had been poor so far. With so many people thinking about a journey to the Holy Land or fearing the loss of someone they loved there, they might not be throwing coin to frivolous entertainers. No wonder he was angry.
“We were waiting for you,” Edgar said. “James wants a sausage and I want some beer.”
“Both sound good to me.” Catherine handed Edana over to Margaret and shook her tired arms. The child was getting too heavy to carry all the time.
“Are you all right?” Edgar always sensed when she was upset.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “An argument with a man selling toys.”
“You didn’t get her any?” Edgar was firm.
“No penny,” Catherine told him. “What did you do?”
“Your father bought a horse from Spain,” Edgar told her. “He knows a man in Paris who will pay well for it. I negotiated with a cooper for wine barrels to be sent to Eliazar in Troyes. Not a very exciting day.”
“In the past few years, we’ve had enough excitement,” Catherine said. “I’m happy for a long spate of ordinary life.”
“With you, it will never be ordinary,” Edgar grinned in a way that still made her stomach tighten. “Come along. I’m starving.”
They gathered up the family and went in search of the sausage seller.
Behind them, the juggler watched and waited.
 
The evening was warm as summer and the tent they had brought was more comfortable than the inns that normally provided for the traders. The children went to sleep early, wrapped in feather quilts. Hubert had gone to drink and trade stories with some merchants who had just returned from the Balkans with a supply of amber.
“I hope he gets some,” Edgar commented. “I’d like to try carving amber.”
“I’d like a brooch of a piece set in gold,” Catherine said. “Could you make me one?”
“Could I set my own price?” He smiled wickedly.
Catherine checked the sleeping children. “Would you like payment in advance?” she asked, holding her hand out to him.
“How did you know what I was going to demand?” He took her hand and let himself be drawn into the tent.
Sometime later Hubert was walking a little unsteadily back to the tent. One of the Easterm traders was with him, still trying to convince him that the coming war would only improve trade.
“I tell you, the soldiers will return with a taste for perfume from Constantinople and Baghdad. They’ll want silks and Indian spices. Why shouldn’t you be ready to supply them?” He belched and pounded his stomach.
Hubert shook his head. “There’s no profit in death, Alexis,” he answered. “Those that return may have acquired rich tastes but that doesn’t mean they’ll be able to afford them. Half the pilgrims have sold everything they own just to make the journey. No, I’ll stick to wine and goods for the monasteries. Whatever happens, they’ll always need more and eventually, they pay.”
Alexis belched again. “I can see you haven’t had dealings with Peter of Cluny. He’s mortgaged and borrowed most of his property to rebuild his church. You should hear him go on about the Jews. They say he’s trying to get King Louis to make them bear the cost of retaking Edessa.”
“Not really?” Hubert was shocked almost sober. “I know that
interest has been suspended on Jewish loans but nothing more. You don’t think the king will do it?”
“No, everyone knows he’s a Jew lover,” Alexis said. “They pay him tribute. Cluny is in Burgundy, not France, so Louis gets nothing from Peter.”
Hubert hoped this was true. He and Eliazar had tried to avoid moneylending but lately it had become more difficult. He had many Jewish friends who were being slowly pushed into usury as Christians became more adept at trade. His guilt at being one of those Christian merchants, at least in the eyes of the world, was growing each year. It turned his stomach to have to agree when fellow traders complained about how the Jews were stealing business from them as well as seducing their wives, daughters and occasionally, horses.
Alexis went on. “But, even with the king’s protection, they know which way the wind blows.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Notice how few of them dared show their faces here this year? Who would buy from them?”
Hubert had noticed. He had been given several commissions from friends too cautious to appear openly in the climate of hate that was gathering. He was relieved when Alexis reached his tent and he could stumble back to his own in peace.
He untied the tent flap and crawled in, loosening his belt before lying down. It was only then that he realized that it was lighter than usual. He felt for a purse that should be hanging there. All he felt was the leather tie. It had been cut cleanly and the purse lifted without him ever feeling it.
“
Enondu
!” he shouted. “I’ve been robbed!”
Around him, the family awoke with a start. Edana began to cry.
“Father?” Catherine said sleepily. “What’s wrong?”
“Some
cavete
bastard stole my purse while I was drinking!” Hubert roared. “Call out the guard! I want him captured!”

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