Gerhardt took a good look at the body. No one he knew, thank God. But he could tell at once that the man hadn’t drowned. There was a gaping slit in his neck.
“He hasn’t been in the water long,” one of the men observed. “The body isn’t bloated. He must have been killed near here and recently. Shall I get the baliff?”
Gerhardt nodded.
“Yes, and warn the other villagers not to go out alone or unarmed until we discover what happened.”
He turned to Hermann.
“Was there anything else on him, a ring or token to show where he came from?”
Hermann shook his head. “Whoever killed him must have stolen his purse and jewelry. I think we’ll have to open the letter.”
“Give it to me,” Gerhardt said. “I’ll see to it. Oskar, Gerd, fetch the priest and have some of the men take the body to the chapel. Whoever he was, he should have a Christian burial. Peter, come up to the keep with us. I want you where I know you’re safe.”
The rough vellum was still dry enough to crackle in his hand. The sound to Gerhardt was like that of flames in sunburned brushwood. He shuddered. He hoped the sender had been careful not to write anything equally incendiary. How could he manage to find a way to open the letter without others near? He had a cold fear that the man had been coming to see him.
‘Where do you suppose he was going?” Peter asked, looking curiously at the letter.
“Any number of places,” Gerhardt answered. “We’re on a well-traveled thoroughfare. But, I imagine this will tell us.”
They reached the courtyard within the stone walls.
“Hermann,” Gerhardt said. “Would you take Peter to his aunt Maria and tell her what has happened? See if she has any material for a shroud.”
Hermann looked as if he would protest. He was as curious as Gerhardt about the contents of the message. However, he was being careful with his elder brother these days. He nodded.
Gerhardt went into the keep and up to his sleeping chamber. Sitting on a folding stool by the window, he held the seal up to the light.
The journey had caused it to crack and chip but the mark was still clear enough. It was a cross with each arm of equal length placed inside a circle.
Gerhardt bit his lip. That was harmless enough to those unaware of the sign. He slid his knife under the wax and opened the letter. When he saw what was inside, he started and drew his breath in sharply.
On the paper was a crude drawing of a man dressed for the chase. But he carried no weapon. His hands, enormous hands, were raised palm out as if to surrender or to pray. Gerhardt took his knife and scraped at the vellum until all trace of the picture had vanished. Then he crumpled it with shaking hands.
The messenger had been trying to reach him. But what had the message been?
Gerhardt drummed his fingers nervously on the windowsill. His confederates wouldn’t have been careless enough to write a message that anyone might understand. So the real message must have been lost with the poor murdered courier. Unless someone had made him talk before they slit his throat. The thought sent chills down his body and made him rub his own throat as if the knife were poised to slice.
Now he had much more to worry about than ridding himself of this unwanted bride. If his secret were discovered before he was ready there was a good chance that he might lose his whole family and everything they possessed.
Who could have needed to reach him so badly that they would risk that?
It was the first sunny day of spring in Paris. Along with every other woman on the street, Catherine had thrown open the windows and hung all the bedding out to air. Letting in the light seemed to banish the shadows of winter. As Catherine surveyed the rooms in the sunshine, she realized that it also showed all the grime. There were streaks of soot on the walls and ceilings from oil lamps and candles. The floor, where the rushes had been swept up, showed stains she preferred not to think about but which probably came from both Edana and the puppy.
Why had she thought that leaving the convent would free her from manual labor?
Samonie, who had once been her personal maid and was now the housekeeper, and her three children, Willa, Hugh and Martin, had grown to be of great use in the household. Still, there was too much for them to do alone and, for many reasons, Hubert prefered not to have too many outsiders introduced to the vagaries of his family.
So Catherine was faced with more than directing the spring cleaning.
“I hope that Agnes has people to do this for her,” Catherine grunted as she dragged another mattress to the window. “She’s grown too fine, I’m sure, to be seen with feathers in her hair.”
“From what I know of her,” Samonie commented as she dumped soapy water on the wood floor. “She could do this without causing feathers to fly.”
Gloomily, Catherine agreed. “Agnes was always better than I at housework.”
Samonie stopped her floor scrubbing to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She called out to her younger son as he raced passed the doorway.
“Martin! Come help Lady Catherine heft the bedding!” To Catherine she added, “You’re worried about Agnes, aren’t you?”
“She might have told us when she left,” Catherine said as Martin tried to grab enough of the mattress to lift. “Instead of letting us learn it from neighbors. And, of course, I don’t expect her to send word when she arrives safely. Not the way she feels about us.”
“Lord Walter will let you know,” Samonie assured her.
“Dear Walter!” Catherine smiled as she resumed her struggle with the bedding. “I wish Agnes had met someone like him long ago. But it’s too late now, with him going off to the the Holy Land and her entering this marriage.”
She mused on this as she whacked the dust from the wall hangings and took down all the bed curtains to go to the laundress. Why couldn’t fate have arranged things better? Catherine knew that human lives were ordained to follow a certain path but if free will were to mean anything, there must be a way to direct the path to another end.
If only she were wise enough to know the right time and the right thing to do!
“Catherine! It’s finished! Come and see!”
Edgar’s voice was rich with delight. Catherine dropped the tapestry beater and ran to look. He hadn’t let anyone inspect the pyx for the Paraclete while he was working on it and she had been afraid it was because he didn’t want them to see his failure. It had taken him months of preparation before he even started on it. It had been necessary to devise a whole range of gripping tools to take the place of his missing hand. The echoes of his swearing during that process still rang through the house and the children had acquired a full vocabulary of English obscenity in the process.
The box he showed them was good sized, large enough to hold enough hosts for both the nuns and the townspeople who came to Mass. Edgar had shaped it like a covered trencher, only in silver over cedar. The hinges of the lid were gold and the lid itself had scenes from the events of Holy Week etched into the metal with gold wire halos around the heads of Christ and the Virgin.
“Oh, Edgar!” Catherine breathed. “It’s beautiful! The best thing you’ve ever done.”
“Saint Cecelia’s botched beheading!” Hubert exclaimed as he entered. “It’s a wonder, son. A master silversmith couldn’t have done better.”
Edgar looked from one to the other. He was suspicious of so much praise. Especially when he could see every flaw.
“Don’t you think the joinings are a bit rough?’ he asked.
“No, I don’t,” Hubert said, “or else I’d say so. You’ve been with me enough times to the fairs to know that I can tell the difference between good craft and bad. And I don’t buy apprentice-quality goods. The sisters of the Paraclete will be honored by such a gift.”
Catherine only nodded. There was nothing she could add. Approval from her father meant more to Edgar than anything she might say about his work. He had long felt that Hubert was merely tolerating him for Catherine’s sake. At
the beginning, it had been true, but Catherine felt that in the past years the two men had come to respect and even like each other. At least, she hoped so.
“I want Mother Heloise to see it right away,” she said. “When can we leave?”
Hubert gave it some thought. “I have some things to finish here, but we could go by the end of next week,” he told them. “I have to stop to do business in Provins, but you could go on. You could stay at the convent through Ascension Thursday and then meet me at Eliazar’s home in Troyes.”
“Do you think it’s wise for us to meet there openly?” Edgar asked.
Hubert was taken aback. “Why not? Are you suddenly ashamed of my brother?”
“No, of course not, but I am wary where my children are concerned,” Edgar answered. “Solomon told us that the situation in Champagne was calm for now, but who knows what will happen? Haven’t we all heard rumors about that monk preaching against the Jews in Lotharingia and Germany? How long before the sentiment spreads?”
Hubert turned bright red with anger. “You forget yourself, young man! How dare you suggest that I’d let my family go anywhere there might be danger! Especially after what you exposed them to in England!”
“Father!” Catherine caught at his arm. “Calm down! Think of your health! Edgar is worried because of what happened in England. He doesn’t want to risk our being separated in the middle of someone else’s war again.”
Edgar rose from his workbench in alarm at Hubert’s reaction. “Yes, of course,” he soothed. “Of course. You’re quite right. I’m sure that nothing will happen in Troyes. Everything will be fine, Hubert. Now, just have some cool beer and rest yourself.”
“Stop cosseting me!” Hubert sputtered. “I’m not a dotard to be humored. And I’m not going to collapse in a fit of apoplexy if I’m crossed.”
He waved away the bowl of beer that Catherine was trying to give him. It spilt down the front of her gown. She looked from the stain to her father in resignation. That finally calmed him down. If Catherine were so worried about his health that she refused to become angry with him, she must think him very ill indeed.
“I apologize, ma douz,” he said. “But I feel fine. Go change into something dry and we’ll discuss this rationally.”
“There’s no need for futher talk, Hubert,” Edgar said. “I know you love the children as much as we do. If you say it’s safe for them to be in the Jewish quarter of Troyes, then we need no other assurance.”
Mollified, Hubert allowed Edgar to pour him another bowl of beer while Catherine went up to change and to tell the others of the upcoming journey.
The two men drank in silence. Hubert held his bowl in both hands and let the sweet herbs and alcohol cool his choler. He noted the ease with which Edgar managed the large bowl with only one hand. He’d never realized before how much bigger Edgar’s hands … hand, that is, was than his. His fingers were long and graceful, like a king’s. Like the nobleman Edgar had been born.
“Damn it all!” Hubert thought.
“It is fine workmanship,” he said aloud, gesturing at the pyx.
“Thank you,” Edgar answered.
Both men felt that cautious peace had been restored.
Agnes had taken riverboats as far as she could, but they had finally had to use land routes. The women with her had enjoyed the journey so far, flirting openly with the men hired to guard them and dropping more subtle hints to Jehan and Walter, neither of whom showed any interest.
As the centerpiece in this tableau, Agnes felt it necessary to maintain a certain aloofness. She was, after all, about to be married to a lord. And, she told herself, she might as well get used to being lonely. But it was difficult to endure both Jehan’s reproachful stare and the other women’s enjoyment of the trip.
Walter of Grancy spent much of his time riding near her. Agnes knew that he was also constantly alert for danger about them. She was reminded of the times in her childhood when her uncle, Roger, would take her from Paris to Saint Denis. She had always felt so safe. But Roger had been dead a long time now and she was no longer a child to be protected from fear.
Agnes looked at Walter, solid as a fortress. She gave a long sigh that loosened the tightness in her shoulders. Perhaps for a few more days she could pretend she was a little child again.
Walter noticed her watching him. He smiled.
“Are you tired, Agnes?” he asked. “We can rest a while here if you like, but it’s not far to the village of Jarny. We can pass the night there and make Metz by tomorrow night. From there we can take the river again, all the way to Trier.”
“So soon?” The closer they got, the more unsure Agnes became. She had to collect herself. “Tired? No, not at all,” she said. “The journey has been most pleasant and easy, thanks to your care. I’m surprised that it’s passed so quickly.”
Walter bowed quite elegantly for a man on horseback.
“I assure you, it’s my pleasure to be of assistance to you and your family. I owe a great deal to your sister and her husband.”
“Really?” Agnes stiffened.
“If not for them, I might still be living under the accusation of murder,” he explained. “It was Catherine who discovered the real miscreant.”
“Really?” Agnes said in a different tone. “Catherine does insist on following things through. Her curiosity has always been her misfortune.”
“It was great good fortune to me,” Walter said. “Although she certainly suffered in the course of it. And she and Edgar only just married, too. Yes, an easy trip in spring in the company of a beautiful woman is the least I could do to repay their kindness.”
He laughed and she joined in a bit shakily. It was a shock to her to think that Catherine’s endless prying into things not her concern could actually have been helpful to anyone.
Her second thought was almost as shocking. She found it very gratifying to realize that Walter thought she was beautiful.
As Walter had predicted, they reached Metz late the following afternoon. All during their trip, the crosses worn by Jehan and Walter had been greeted with respect and admiration. But in Metz they were only two of hundreds of soldiers with crosses. It seemed to Agnes that every man of fighting age was planning to join the pilgrimage.
The reason for this was made clear when they arrived at the hostel at the convent of Saint Pierre les Nonnains.
“The representative of Abbot Bernard is here,” Jehan informed them, after talking with one of the clerics. “He read the abbot’s encyclical yesterday in the town square and it was all they could do to keep the whole of Metz from taking the cross.”
“Do you think the abbot himself will preach soon?” Agnes asked. “I didn’t hear him at Vézelay.”
“I don’t know. He seems to be everywhere at once these days,” Jehan said. “They say he may go to Germany to try to convince the emperor to join King Louis. And then there’s this news from the Rhineland.”
“And what is this news?” Walter asked impatiently.
“Oh, something about the Jews again.” Jehan grimaced. “Some of them have been attacked and now they’re whining to their bishops to protect them. As if those mavaises bestes deserved protection.”
“Jehan!” Walter said in surprise. “Of course they do! The fathers of the Church all say so, as does Abbot Bernard. How will they ever be converted to the true faith if they’re persecuted and killed?”
“They only way those stubborn bastards will ever come to the faith is at the point of a sword,” Jehan told him.
Agnes began to feel uneasy with the conversation.
“I don’t like them, either, Jehan,” she said. “But I don’t think anyone was ever converted in their hearts through intimidation.”
Jehan gave her a startled glance, as if a favorite hunting dog had suddenly tried to bite him.
“Also,” Walter added, “the bishops swore an oath to protect the Jews under them. Breaking it would imperil their immortal souls.”
“Yes, of course.”
Jehan seized at this solution. “One must never break a sacred oath, however foolish.”
He turned to Agnes for her reaction, but she wasn’t paying attention to either of them. One of the guards had helped her down and she was busy directing the unloading of her baggage while she waited for the portress to admit her and the other ladies.
Walter shook his head in sympathy.
“Turn your mind to Heaven, Jehan, as I do,” he said. “Or you’ll find no peace anywhere on Earth.”
“I have no hope of either Heaven or happiness.” Jehan’s voice was bleak.
Walter leaned over and gave him a pat that nearly unseated him.
“In that case, we might as well see to the women and then go drown ourselves in the first tavern we can find.”
Jehan brightened slightly. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard since this journey began.”
Agnes didn’t notice them leave. There was too much to be done. It was the private belief of her maids that she would run a household better than the kings did their armies. She oversaw everything and missed nothing. While she was, they admitted, fair in her demands, there was no warmth in her manner. Her prospective husband was the subject of sincere pity.
Agnes gave no sign that she knew or cared what they thought. She gave the directions for the temporary storage of her goods and then allowed the portress to lead her to greet the abbess before retiring to her room.
The maids stopped for a moment after she had gone.
“Do you think she even confides in a priest?” Laudine asked asked.
“Hmmph! That one wouldn’t tell her secrets to the Virgin herself,” Lisette stated.
A third woman bent over and began gathering up bundles of clothing and toiletries that would be needed that night.
“She’s a close one,” the woman agreed. “But I’d think she must be lonely as Eve without another woman to share her troubles with.”
The others considered that horrible fate and continued their work in a spirit of thankfulness.
The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 8
