The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “Never grieve when they go to be fostered,” she said. “Send them far from each other and then one, at least, will live to come home. Remember that and learn from my sorrow. Melisande, I’m cold.”

  Catherine hurried the children out as Melisande wrapped more blankets around Sister Bertrada.

  It was like being reborn to leave the stuffy room for the sunshine. Edgar and Hubert were in the garden outside the chapel and Catherine loosed James to run to them.

  A few moments later, Melisande came out.

  “I’m sorry, Catherine,” she said. “I hope you weren’t too upset by her speech. I confess that I feared the sight of your little ones would call back the memory of her own. But I think it may have helped her. She’s never forgiven herself for keeping them with her. When the spotted fever came, all five of them caught it and died, one after the other, in less than a week.”

  Catherine was astounded.

  “No one ever told me,” she said. “I thought Sister Bertrada had always been here.”

  The infirmarian smiled. “Few of us entered the convent as children. Bertrada helped raise Mother Heloise at Argenteuil and then followed her here. But before that she was the lady of a castle, with children she adored. It comforts me to know she’ll be joining them soon.

  That evening, Catherine told Edgar of the promise she had received from Heloise to take them in if it were ever necessary. Edgar wasn’t pleased.

  “Do you think I’m so crippled that I couldn’t care for all of you?” he asked.

  “Of course not!” It had never occurred to her. She cursed her own stupidity. “But if such a mob as attacked the synogogue of Paris came for us, what could we do?”

  “If that happened, we’d hardly have time to escape to Champagne,” Edgar pointed out.

  Catherine put her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking logically. But lately I feel frightened and I sense cruelty in people I had always believed were kind. I had to know there was some place that was perdurant and safe that would take us in should the storm come.”

  Edgar kissed her in apology for his outburst, then studied her face.

  “Catherine, you aren’t pregnant again, are you?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I would have told you. Why?”

  “You become more irrational then,” he said. “And that’s what your worries are. Nothing new has happened. Wickedness ebbs and flows but it’s no stronger lately. It takes little for people to decide to set upon the Jews, or anyone else, for that matter. But these storms end quickly and everything returns to normal. We’ve seen it before. This will be no different. You’ve brooded on fear too much.”

  He held her more tightly. Catherine felt the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. He was right, of course. She let herself become panicky over small things. But Edgar was the balance that always brought her back to the mean. His humours must be in perfect harmony. With all the men in the world she might have been given to it was a miracle that Edgar had found her. How could she have doubted that the hand of God had guided them to each other?

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured into his throat. “You’re right. I do fret about nothing. I should have more faith.”

  “Good,” he answered. “Now that you’ve settled your spirit about that, can we finally go to bed?”

  It should be noted that Catherine’s answer to that decidedly lacked reverence.

  In Trier, Agnes found herself almost light-headed with relief. These people were not that different from those in Blois. The styles and customs were much the same. Most of the guests were nobles from the surrounding area. A few were clerics from the bishop’s court, distinguishable only by their small tonsure. There were even some monks. Walter pointed out the abbot of Saint Maximin, who had nodded to her in a friendly fashion. So far she had made no obvious mistakes. And as for Gerhardt, Agnes felt no fears about him any more. He was all she could have hoped.

  Everything was going to be all right.

  Smiling, she accepted the cuts of meat that Gerhardt had sent her from his own plate. Peter studied her gravely as he offered the salver. Her smile wavered a little.

  “Vürhete dich niht,” he whispered.

  She didn’t understand the words but his tone was encouraging.

  Gerhardt watched them together. Obviously his son was taken with Agnes. She did not appear to be the kind of person who would resent a stepson. Of course, that often changed when a woman had children of her own. Thank God, Gerhardt thought, that there was no chance of that. He held out his arm to Peter.

  “Liebelin!” he called. “If the Lady Agnes has taken all she cares for, would you mind returning the rest to me?”

  Peter blushed.

  “Forgive me, Father.” He returned to his duties. But when he was near enough to Gerhardt he leaned over and whispered. “I like her, Father. She’s beautiful. Don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yes, very beautiful,” Gerhardt said.

  At the other end of the table Hermann turned to Maria with a look of satisfaction.

  “We did well, didn’t we?” he said. “There’ll be no more secret visits to Köln now. That one has charm enough to keep any man home.”

  “She seems to be all they said,” Maria admitted. “I only hope Gerhardt is as taken with her as you are. And there’s still the problem of the message on the man pulled from the river.”

  Hermann waved that away. “I made too much of the matter. Perhaps I was mistaken about the condition of the message. It might well have been ruined in the water. Nothing has come of it. I’m sure we’ll hear nothing more about it.”

  Maria answered something, but at that moment the butler signaled for the entertainment to begin and her voice was drowned out by the jingling of bells and the drone of a bow across a rebec as the minestrals gathered to sing the tale of the swan knight and how he fought with Charlemagne to defeat the Saracens.

  It was long past dark when the dinner ended, and there were few people in the street as Agnes and her entourage returned to the convent. Between the wine she had consumed and her elation at the reception she had been given, Agnes was nearly floating. Now she looked around eagerly, trying to see more of this place that would be her home.

  In the dark she could make out little; the shapes of buildings, trees, a dung-collector making his rounds. They passed a stone gateway that was lit by torches set on either side. Agnes glanced in as a man came out. She gave a squeak of shock. It couldn’t be. Oh, Saint Eusebia’s lost lips! It was. How dare he come here! And why?

  All Agnes’s joy evaporated into fear as her cousin Solomon grinned at her and bowed.

  Eight

  Trier, the gate to the Jewish quarter. The same moment.

  Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who created the asis wine and good must from the vines. It is pleasing to the soul and good for man. It cheers the heart and makes one glow with joy. It is comfort to those who mourn and the miserable will forget their poverty; it is a cure for all who drink it.

  —A Karite yên

  Cairo Geniza

  Jehan turned to find out what had startled Agnes. His sword was out at once.

  “Bewau!” he exclaimed. “You filthy infidel! How dare you follow us here!”

  Solomon’s right hand was already on his left wrist, releasing the sheath that kept his knife hidden. Before he could draw it, Walter stepped in front of Jehan.

  “Solomon!” he cried. “Good to see you! I forgot that you must know Agnes, too, since your families did business together. Are you here for the wedding?”

  His beaming innocence abashed the others. Jehan and Solomon relaxed their fighting stances. Agnes took Walter’s elbow and tried, unsucessfully, to move him on. It was like trying to budge a cliff.

  Solomon shook Walter’s hand.

  “Good to see you,” he said heartily. “I’d heard you had left for the Holy Land. And you, as well.”

  He stared pointedly at Jehan’s cross. Jehan sn
arled at him.

  “Why bother, when there’s filth to clean up here first.”

  Walter ignored him. “I’m awaiting the rest of King Louis’s army. So I offered to escort Lady Agnes to Trier.”

  Agnes had had enough of politeness. She circled Walter and faced Solomon.

  “If my family sent you here to spoil my wedding, I’ll ask for your head as my morning gift,” she warned.

  Solomon looked her up and down with contempt.

  “Why should I care whom you marry?” he asked wearily. “I’m here on business of my own. I knew you were coming, but I certainly didn’t wait for you or expect to see you. As it is, I wish you more happiness than you’ve ever given others and bid you good night.”

  He nodded to Walter and continued on his way.

  Shaken, Agnes refused to answer any questions, although Walter had several. He held his tongue, planning to find Solomon later and get the rest of the story from him.

  The ladies in Agnes’s party had no such delicacy, however. They were barely in their room when Agnes was bombarded with comments about the encounter.

  “How did you ever meet such a man?” one asked. “I’ve seen nothing like him around your grandfather’s court.”

  “Is that why you left Paris?” another one added.

  “Does he want you to run away with him?”

  Horrified, Agnes could only stutter denials.

  “Lisette! Laudine! How could you even think that of me?”

  They weren’t at all discomfited. “Oh, look!” Laudine crowed. “She’s blushing! It must be true.”

  “You idiots!” Agnes screamed at last. “You are, all of you, totally mesacointe. Don’t you see what he is?”

  “An incredibly handsome man.” Lisette grinned. “He looks like a Greek pirate.”

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “You’ve been listening to too many poets, Lisette,” she sneered. “He’s nothing but an errand boy for my father and,” she paused for effect, “he’s a Jew!”

  The women recoiled in pious horror, but Agnes saw all too well that it was tainted with fascination. They had heard the rumors about Jewish men. Was Solomon that good-looking? She tried to go beyond her antipathy and regard him as a woman would. It was difficult. She supposed that his dark curls and green eyes might be attractive to some and he was well formed. But still …

  “If you must know,” she said coldly, “I left Paris because I refused to associate with my father’s Jewish ‘partners.’ I don’t want to be contaminated by those people.”

  Lisette was suitably shamed. “I beg your pardon, Agnes. I didn’t know. It was very brave of you to flee from their evil influence.”

  “Thank you.” Agnes inclined her head. “Now help me to prepare for bed.”

  When her back was turned, Laudine nudged Lisette. “A night with that man might be worth a little damnation.” She giggled. “And, who knows, I could be his pathway to salvation.”

  They both smothered their laughter, but Agnes heard. The joy and relief she had felt that evening seemed long, long ago. Now there was only the terror that all she had fled from would follow her here. In retribution for the maids’ unkindness, she curled up in the middle of the bed, forcing the other two to lie on either side of her, facing the cold.

  Solomon forced his temper down as he continued to his destination. Agnes was a haughty bitch and there was nothing for it. That she would think he’d come all the way to Trier just to disrupt her plans only proved her arrogance. As if he had nothing better to do!

  He adjusted his cloak and smoothed his beard before knocking. They must have been listening for him, for the door was opened at once.

  “Brukhim habaim, Solomon ben Jacob!”

  “Shalom, Simon,” Solomon greeted his friend. “Mina! I’ve brought you pepper and cinnamon!”

  Simon’s wife came running from the hall to kiss Solomon and take the package.

  “You never forget, dear friend,” she said. “Come in. Let me take your cloak. I’ll have the children bring you water to wash. We’ll be eating soon.”

  As the cloak slipped from him, so did Solomon’s resentment. It didn’t matter what hatred and ignorance lay outside. He was back among his own, within the walls of the Torah, which was the Holy One’s promise to His people. In here there was security and peace.

  The next morning, Solomon joined in the prayers at the synagogue with the other men. It was the first time in many weeks and it calmed his angry heart. He spent too much time among the Edomites, he realized, even good ones, like Edgar and Catherine. It was easy to forget that there was someplace where he truly belonged.

  They came home to find Mina and the three children waiting.

  “Hurry, Papa, I’m hungry,” the youngest, Asher, whined.

  “And what have you been doing to be so hungry?” Mina chided him. “Your father has been to pray for us all and now he must go on a long journey just to pay for the food to put in your belly. Show more respect.”

  Asher only heard part of her rebuke. “You’re going away, Papa?”

  Simon lifted his son and kissed him. “Just to England,” he explained. “I’ll be back by Tisha B’av.”

  “But that’s weeks away,” his daughter Rebecca blurted.

  Simon looked at his wife. “I’m glad to know that our children consider me important in their lives.”

  Mina sniffed. “They just know that you spoil them more than I do.”

  But Simon saw the tears she was forcing back.

  “Well,” he said with false heartiness. “What do we break our fast with? Ah, bread, sausage and beer, the same as every morning. Aren’t we lucky to have so much?”

  They ate quickly and then the children scattered to study or do chores. Simon poured a last bowl of beer and took his wife’s hand.

  “Should I go?” Solomon offered.

  “Of course not,” she answered. “We said all we needed to last night. And Simon will be lucky if he doesn’t return home to find another child on the way.”

  “My dear,” Simon said. “Should you say such things in front of Solomon?”

  “I’ll say anything I can to convince him to marry and start a family of his own,” Mina answered. “You’re thirty now, Solomon. What are you waiting for?”

  “A nice demure Jewish girl like you, Mina,” Solomon laughed. “But they’re hard to find.”

  “You just don’t look in the right places,” Mina answered. “Nice Jewish girls don’t pass the time in Christian taverns.”

  Still grumbling, she got up and took the last tray out to the pantry. Simon watched her fondly.

  “You will be careful in England?” Solomon asked. “There’s a lot of ill feeling against us there. This business in Norwich, for instance.”

  “That was two years ago,” Simon answered. “And hardly anyone believed that nonsense about Jews murdering a child for some barbaric ritual. It’s too preposterous even for credulous Edomites.”

  “Perhaps,” Solomon told him. “But all this talk of holy war again has stirred people to even more irrational thought than usual. Remember the tales from the great expedition fifty years ago, when hundreds of idiots let a goose choose the road for them? Remember how many of us were murdered or driven to qiddush ha-shem by these fanatics? The community at Metz never recovered from the deaths there.”

  “I know, here in Trier we still bear the scars of that dark time. But we’ve learned from the disasters,” Simon assured him. “Most Christians were horrified by the atrocities. It won’t happen again.”

  Solomon didn’t pursue the subject, for Mina came back to take their bowls and shoo them out so that she could clean. She opened the door to let the foul humors out of the house, and a cold wind entered.

  Solomon shivered. All at once the walls he had hoped to hide behind seemed very thin indeed.

  Catherine’s visit to the Paraclete seemed too short. She knew that Edgar and her father were spending the days arranging for the purchase of articles the convent needed. Hubert p
lanned for them to continue on to Troyes and the yearly fair there but for once, Catherine wasn’t excited about attending.

  “Now I understand why Solomon resented having me put in his charge,” she confessed to Heloise. “I wake up at night shaking from dreams of losing one of the children in that throng. The fair at Troyes is much larger than the one at Provins. And Margaret has become so mature this past year! I see the men watching her and wish they could be struck blind for their thoughts.”

  They were sitting on the stone wall edging the kitchen garden. The children were helping the lay sisters pull weeds.

  Heloise followed Catherine’s gaze. Margaret’s braids shone like chains of copper as they swung while she worked. Heloise gave a sad smile. “And men would say it’s her fault for being young and beautiful. She has blossomed. Have any plans been made for her?”

  “That’s another reason to go to Troyes,” Catherine admitted. “I want to take her to Count Thibault. He doesn’t know she exists, but she’s his granddaughter.”

  “What?”

  “Edgar’s stepmother, Adalisa, was a product of the count’s younger days in Blois,” Catherine explained. “I believe he acknowledged her as his daughter even though her mother later married someone else. I’m hoping he’ll accept Margaret as well. We love her dearly but she deserves a better marriage than we could arrange.”

  “I don’t suppose she has shown any interest in monastic life?” Heloise ventured.

  “No, Mother,” Catherine said, cringing at what Solomon would say to that. “But if she does, I’ll seek your advice at once.”

  Heloise watched Margaret as she lifted a basket full of weeds, dirt and a grubby Edana. She strained under the weight but made no complaint, until one of the women noticed and relieved her of the living half of the burden. Then Heloise turned back to Catherine.

  “Does Margaret know Thibault is her grandfather?” she asked.