The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery (36 page)

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Authors: Sharan Newman

BOOK: The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery
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As he rode off Walter turned to Edgar.
“Should I congratulate you?” he asked.
“Only after it’s born alive,” he answered. “And then only if Margaret is back with us. Now, how should we organize this search?”
 
Vinta came out of her hut into the dawn. She sniffed the air. Another fine day. God willing, the weather would hold until the grapes were picked. The poor child was sleeping now, but the pain of the bruises was making her toss and that might hurt the ribs those horrible men had broken. Vinta knew where there was a stand of willow by the river. Willow bark soaked in hot water and wrapped in a cloth would ease her. Rolf’s wife could spare one of her fine linens from the washing. If she protested then Vinta would tell her just which of the girl’s injuries had come from the toes of her husband’s boots.
She took a small knife and made her way down to the waterside. There were a lot of people there, both men and women, going up and down the bank, hunting for something. Vinta could guess what. But she wasn’t about to reveal the girl’s hiding place. Those
bæsewihte
wouldn’t have the chance to finish what they had started.
She took some strips of bark from a sapling, grunting a reply to the people who passed, ignoring their questions. No one paid her any mind. It was just old Vinta, no husband, no children, a bit dull but harmless. There’d been some scandal about her, years ago, but no one remembered what. Now she was just a toothless crone still strong enough to wash their sheets and with a talent for concocting little remedies to help them hide their sins.
She hated them all.
When she returned to the hut, the child was awake but feverish. Her words were a jumble of German and something else that Vinta didn’t know. She tried to pay attention to them in case they were
Hebrew incantations. Eveyone knew Hebrew words were powerful magic. She went out and put the willow bark in the cauldron.
“There now,” she told Margaret when she came back. “A few hours and I’ll make the poultice. It will pull all the pain from your limbs and bring down the fever. Then we’ll see about getting you home, unless you have no home, and then, my precious, I swear you’ll always have one with me.”
 
Hubert had worded the message to Catherine carefully, leaving much more room for confidence in Margaret’s safety than he actually had.
“Edgar says you’re to rest and try not to become agitated,” he finished.
“You know I can’t do either,” Catherine said. “But I’ll steep some camomile in wine and then see if I can find a chicken to make soup with. Edgar and Walter will need feeding when they return, and broth will be useful if Margaret is unwell.”
Hubert let her bustle, knowing how her helplessness galled her. He took it upon himself to amuse his grandchildren, although it was hard to put them off when they asked why Margaret wasn’t home yet.
It was nearly dark when Walter brought Edgar back, so tired that Walter had to keep an arm about his friend to prevent his falling off the horse.
“We didn’t find her,” Walter told them. “Nor any sign of a new grave. Strangely, I’m beginning to believe she might have survived. If only we can find her soon. Edgar and I have to get some sleep, but we’ll start searching again at dawn. It’s a warm, dry night. She may just be hiding somewhere, afraid that those men will come back for her.”
“They hurt her badly, didn’t they?” Catherine asked quietly.
Walter couldn’t lie. “From the description, I’m afraid they did.”
Catherine didn’t say anything more. One look at Edgar told her that he had imagined every horrible possibility many times over. She tried to keep from thinking of her little sister-in-law lying unconsious in the woods with wolves and other wild animals prowling.
The next day was Sunday, and Catherine went to Mass at the cathedral after Edgar and Walter had left to resume the search. She
was amazed at the number of people who nodded to her or pressed small gifts on her. One woman had a daughter with her much the same age as Margaret. She gave Catherine a cross made of beads, then put a protective arm around the girl as they walked homeward.
She laid the tokens on the table when she got back.
“I don’t understand it, Father,” she said. “Edgar says that many of the men who attacked Margaret are now helping to hunt for her. And the townspeople used to throw rotten vegetables at us. How can the same people be so cruel and also so caring?”
“You’re asking me?” he replied. “You’re old enough now to know that I have no answers, especially when I try to comprehend the human soul. I don’t even know the secret corners of my own.”
They settled down for another day of waiting, although Catherine flew to the window every time they heard hoofbeats. About midafternoon there was the distinctive clopping on the cobblestones and then the noise stopped in front of their house.
“Father!” Catherine called. “It’s Solomon!”
She threw the door open and flung herself into his arms.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he told her. “I didn’t realize you would be so upset.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “How could I not be upset? But I don’t see how you got here so quickly. She’s only been missing two days.”
“Missing?” Solomon said. “Who’s missing? I came when I learned about Simon’s murder and to tell Uncle Hubert what’s been happening in Troyes.”
Trier. Sunday evening, 8 kalends September (August 25), 1146; 14 Elul, 4906. The fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost and the feast of Saint Hundegunde, who tricked her fiancé into a pilgrimage to Rome before the marriage and there became a nun, instead.
 
 
Com ut of an hurne hihendliche towart hire un unwiht of helle an
dracon liche …
Thet milde meiden Margaret grap thet grisliche thing … hef
him up + duste him dunriht to ther eorthe ant sette hir riht-fot on
his ruhe swire.
 
 
Out of a corner, rushing toward her, came a creature from
hell in the shape of a dragon …
That mild maiden Margaret seized the grisly thing, lifted him
up and dashed him down to the earth and set her right foot
on his rough neck.
 
—Old English life of
Saint Margaret of Antioch
 
 
“
I
have to go look for her,” Solomon said at once.
“No, please stay with us.” Catherine took his hands. “Edgar and Walter will be back when it gets dark and half of Trier is looking for her, also. They don’t need you and I do.”
“You should stay, Solomon. You’ve just ridden hard for nearly a week,” Hubert added. “You’re worn out and in need of a bath. They may have already found her by now and you wouldn’t want to greet poor Margaret smelling like a dead horse.”
Solomon reluctantly admitted that he could do with a wash and a few hours’ sleep.
“I’ll take you to the bathhouse,” Hubert said. “We can get a private tub with curtains for a few
münzen
extra. While Catherine is getting the food, tell me what’s wrong in Troyes. Are Eliazar and Johanna safe?”
“They were well when I left them.” Solomon said. “Within the city all is peaceful, but there was an attack on the Rabbenu Tam at his home in Ramerupt not long ago.”
“What happened?” Hubert leaned forward. “Did he survive?”
“Yes, but he’s moved into Troyes for now,” Solomon said. “A group of the cross bearers broke into his home while he was alone, studying. The tore up all his books, ripping the Torah to shreds in front of him and then dragged him into the field next to the house. First they tried to convince him to convert, but he countered every one of their arguments so they beat him, cutting him five times on the head, for the five wounds of their savior, they said.”
“How did he escape them?” Hubert was horrified.
“A knight from a neighboring manor rode by and Jacob called
out to him,” Solomon continued. “The knight knew him and came to see what was going on. The Rabbenu offered him a warhorse if he would disperse his aggressors. The knight agreed and drove them off.”
“Was anyone else harmed?”
“No,” Solomon said. “The
mesfée
who tormented him said they had picked him because he was the wisest and most learned of the Jews and the leader of all those in Champagne.”
Hubert raised his eyebrows. “Did Rabbenu Tam tell you that? Well, he’s been saying it about himself long enough. Still, I would never have wished his boastfulness to come back at him in such a bitter manner. There’s been nothing else, though?”
“Count Thibault keeps tight control on his lands,” Solomon said. “Most of his vassals know that any persecutions would be punished.”
“May the Almighty One keep it so,” Hubert said.
Solomon took the cup Catherine held out to him and drank it without noticing what it was.
“Now, take me to the baths,” he said. “Then let me sleep, but only for a little. If there’s nothing I can do for Margaret, then I should go see Mina and give her my condolences. But, if Margaret’s not found soon, I’m going looking myself and I won’t return without her.”
Hearing his last statement as she came in with the tray, Catherine smiled for first time in days.
“I believe you will,” she said. “Oh, Solomon, I’m so glad you’ve come. Whatever happens, at least now the family can bear it together.”
 
When Hermann returned to the castle he went first to the drying room where he found Agnes curled fast asleep in the corner where he had left her. He tried to wake her gently but his touch was enough to make her cry out in fear.
“Shshsh.” He put his finger to his lips.
It was a moment before her eyes focused, then she smiled at him sleepily and with so much trust that he longed to carry her up to his bed right then. Instead, he held out her tunic that she had been using as a blanket.
“Put this on again,” he said. “I’ll have to take you back upstairs, but I promise, no more locked doors.”
He wished she could understand everything he said. But instead she seemed to know all he wanted to say.
“You won’t let them hurt me.” She put her hand in his.
As they went up the staircase they met Maria, coming down.
“What’s she doing out?” she asked suspiciously.
“I came back from the village and thought that Agnes might like a walk in the garden,” Hermann said. It didn’t sound likely, but it was the best he could manage. “I heard her moving about in her room and knew she was still awake.”
Fortunately, Maria wasn’t concerned enough to question this.
“Did you find Margaret?” she asked.
“No, and Peter won’t come home until someone does,” Hermann aswered. “He sent me back to rest and see that the preparations for the grape harvest aren’t delayed.”
He gave a rueful smile.
“Can you believe it? He told me what to do. Not rudely but with firmness. Gerhardt would be so proud of him.”
“Yes,” Maria agreed, staring pointedly at Agnes. “Your dead, unavenged brother would be pleased with his son. What would he think of you with this kebse?”
Agnes withered under that look. She had no trouble imagining the words that went with it. Hermann drew himself up and glared at his sister.
“I am sure Gerhardt would know that I am doing everything I can to protect his holdings,” he said. “And, until another answer can be found, I have kept the suspect imprisoned.”
“Really?” Maria said. “From here it appears to be the other way around.”
She continued down to the hall where she met Folmar.
“I can’t believe it,” she complained. “Only months since our brother died and Hermann’s courting his murderer.”
Folmar sighed. “Maria, can’t you even consider the thought that Gerhardt might have died from illness or by accident? Agnes gains nothing by his death. Her family would long ago have paid to free her if she hadn’t been so insistant on having her innocence proved. Hermann doesn’t think she did it and neither do I.”
“If not her, then who?” Maria turned on him. “No sickness causes such sudden convulsions, and if it were an accident then why haven’t we found the cause? You men have been enchanted by a pretty face and form. If it had been my decision she would be locked up in a convent now, doing bitter penance for her sin. Or she would have been tried by ordeal and the truth established.”
“Yes, my dear, I know,” Folmar said sadly. “But it wasn’t your decision and that didn’t happen. In the meantime we’ve learned to know her along with her family, who are even better born than we. Now it seems that the one being punished is that lovely child, who has done nothing at all.”
Maria closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “Folmar, this can’t continue much longer. I don’t sleep well; I can’t eat. We’ll never be able to put Gerhardt to rest until we know why he died.”
Her husband reached for her and then drew back. “Yes, Maria,” he said. “I’ve come to that realization, too. His death must be explained.”
 
Solomon had intended to bring Mina some solace, but it was she who wound up comforting him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I grieve so for you and Simon. I’ll miss him the rest of my life. But finding out that Margaret was persecuted and may have been killed because she was seen with us! It’s more than I can bear. Mina, I swore to her mother at the moment of her death that I would always take care of Margaret. I couldn’t save Adalisa and now I’ve failed to protect her daughter. I wasn’t even there to die with Simon.”
“So who are you mourning for, Solomon?” Mina asked. “Them, or yourself?”
Solomon stared at her. Mina was gaunt from sorrow and her eyes lost in dark shadows. But her sadness was for his pain more than her own.
“I’m angry at myself,” he said. “For my own cowardice. I hate the way we have to live. I despise the people I travel among. It sickens me to trade with men who would be happy to see me dead and to know that sweet, gentle innocents are being brutalized and slaughtered. Yet I’m able to do nothing to prevent it!”
He laid his head on the table and sobbed, pounding with his fist.
Mina waited for his outburst to subside. Then she stroked his dark curls softly.
“I see,” she said. “Poor Solomon. You loathe yourself because you aren’t the Almighty and you can’t mend the world. What a dreadful thing to find out. You’re only a man, after all.”
Solomon opened one eye. She gave him an understanding smile although her face was wet with tears.
“I do hate to believe that, Mina.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve always wanted to be something better. But, I fear you’re right. With the meager capacity of my imperfect state, is there anything I can do for you and the children?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” she said. “Simon was to have taken Asher to his first day at
cheder
. I think they both would like it if you would take his place.”
Solomon stood and bent to kiss her on both cheeks.
“I would be honored,” he said.
 
Vinta was growing worried. The willowbark poultice had brought the fever down and eased her restlessness but the girl still wasn’t lucid. Vinta tried to speak with her but she only stared at her with empty eyes or turned her head away. There wasn’t a spark of comprehension. Could the beating have affected her mind?
Now that she was awake, the child had to eat, but Vinta couldn’t get her to take an interest in it.
“Now,
friedel,”
she begged. “I’ve heard your people think they’re too good for Christian food, but I don’t have any of the things you eat. Try this. I made it especially for you, nice gruel with even a bit of honey.”
She put the cup to the girl’s mouth but it only spilled out and down her chin. Vinta clucked to herself.
She had more luck with whey, tipped between the girl’s lips through a hollow reed. But it wasn’t enough to sustain life.
Vinta sighed and ran her hands through her thin hair.
“I can’t let you die, girl,” she announced. “Then those bastards won’t be denounced. We can’t let them live unpunished. I’m going to wrap you up here and leave a cup on the floor here in case you decide to drink. I’ll be back as soon as I can but I have to go find your kin. Maybe they’ll know how to heal you. I’ve done all I can.”
She put on a ragged scarf, picked up her walking stick and set out on the road for Trier.
Inside Margaret lay silent, staring at nothing.
 
Catherine couldn’t bear the waiting. She paced around the garden as if on guard duty. Hubert was getting dizzy just watching her.
“I’ll take care of the little ones,” he said finally, “if you want to go with Solomon and join the search. Your distress is worse for you than the activity would be.”
Catherine stopped. “Thank you, Father. You should know that I would have gone long ago if there were only myself to think of. Right now, I don’t want James and Edana out of my sight. As much as I want to be doing something to help, I can’t leave them, not even with you. I don’t want them torn from their family as you were.”
She started circling again, somewhat hampered by Edana’s clinging to her skirts and James running around her on some mission of his own. Hubert regarded her with amazement. What had happened to his headstrong daughter? Marriage and motherhood seemed to have given her a prudence he would never have expected.
Catherine’s stability was only in her devotion to her children. Even though her body insisted on staying with them, her mind roved freely and now, to avoid fretting about Margaret, it was working fiercely on pulling together all the loose bits of information they had about Gerhardt.
There were pieces missing, she knew. But not as many as there had been, and a picture was slowly forming. She ticked off on her fingers the facts they had.
Gerhardt had taken a vow of chastity.
He ate no meat, nor cheese nor eggs. But unlike most ascetics, he did drink wine. Perhaps because it was his own, but perhaps because he hadn’t been forbidden it.
He gave alms, but directly to the poor instead of through his family monastery.

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