“If any of you should ever become separated from the rest of us, go here and wait,” he said. “James do you understand?”
James kicked acknowledgment.
As they started up again, Hubert was suddenly accosted by a woman who threw her arms about him, kissing him on both cheeks. She was trailed by three children, all of whom seemed delighted to see him.
“Hubert!’ she cried.”Wîs willekomen!”
The rest of her greeting was in a mix of Hebrew and German. Catherine stared in growing dread. She had heard about merchants who had wives in many towns but it had never before occured to her that her own father would do such a thing.
“Edgar!” She nudged him. “Who is that woman?”
“How should I know?” Edgar snapped. The woman’s familiarity worried him, too. He wondered if this was why Hubert had been reluctant to take Agnes to Trier for her marriage.
Hubert sensed their consternation. He looked from one to the other and began to laugh.
“Edgar! Catherine! I want you to meet Mina, the wife of Simon, a learned man and a shrewd wine trader. They live here.”
“How … nice,” Catherine said, forcing a smile.
“Simon is a good friend of Solomon’s,” Hubert added.
Edgar recovered more quickly than Catherine. “Does she know anything about what has happened to Agnes?”
“Enondu!” Hubert exclaimed. “How could I have forgotten?”
He turned back to Mina and spoke in a low voice for a moment. Her face grew serious as she listened. She shook her head and gave a short answer. Hubert closed his eyes and Mina took his hand, patting it in consolation.
“What’s wrong?” Catherine’s heart froze.
Hubert came to her at once.
“Agnes is still in the castle,” he said. “Mina tells me they recently sent her maids back to a nearby convent so she’s all alone there. But there’s been no trial and no rumor of her having been harmed.”
“Yet,” Catherine added without thinking.
“Yet,” Hubert echoed.
He said something more to Mina, who then took Catherine’s hands in hers and gave them a comforting squeeze.
“Todah robah.” Hubert thanked her and they hurried on. “We must find Walter at once” he muttered. “How could they lock her up alone with no one who can speak to her, or for her!”
As they approached the Porta Nigra, the northern city gate next to the bishop’s palace, Catherine looked back. Mina was still there, now talking to another woman. She pointed at Hubert and her friend stared after them shaking her head.
Catherine felt a chill run up her spine. Had it been her imagination or had she seen the other woman’s fingers flickering in the sign to ward off evil?
How many people in Trier believed Agnes to be an enchantress?
Agnes paced back and forth across her room. The sunlight poured in through the glass window, one of two in the keep. Gerhardt had been delighted with them but Agnes prefered the convenience of shutters. The only way to open this window was to break the glass, and so the room was unbearably hot.
Agnes had been rather proud of the way she had managed to rid herself of the bickering Lisette and Laudine without offending them. She had begged that they not be forced to endure her incarceration as they had been accused of nothing. Hermann consuulted with Maria and they agreed that the women should remain with the nuns until they were questioned by those investigating Gerhardt’s death. Hermann promised that then they could return to their homes. Agnes had been so obviously relieved when they left that Maria had felt the first twinge of doubt about her guilt. It was such an unselfish act.
But in the days afterward, Agnes had begun to wonder if she had been so clever after all. With the constant irritation of the other ladies, she hadn’t had time to dwell overmuch on her predicament. Now, there was nothing else to think about.
As she paced she retraced all the events of the night that Gerhardt had died. She had hidden her outrage at him well enough in the short time they had been married, she thought, trying to behave as a happy bride should. He was eager to please her when they were in public. He showed her all over his land, teaching her more about grapes and wine making than she had ever wanted to know. She smiled and pretended great interest. They drank from the same cup at meals and he gave her the choicest bits from his plate. That alone should have caused people to doubt that she would knowingly poison his food. But more worrying, if someone else had done so, how could he have been poisoned and she remain well?
It made sense to her that people would think she had bewitched him and killed him with a potion. It was the only solution she had come up with so far for his death. She had hardly been apart from him in the brief weeks of their marriage. Someone must have clouded her mind and administered the poison without her seeing. How else could he have been killed?
Therefore, the only answer Agnes could come up with was that someone else in this keep was practicing sorcery. And how could she get anyone to believe that?
Just as she was thinking this, Agnes noticed a thin wisp of smoke rising from the rushes on the floor where the sunshine hit it.
“They heard my very thoughts! Sweet baby Jesus, save me!” she cried. “Protect me from the demons!”
As she prayed, she stomped on the dry rushes and scattered them out of the sunlight. In a moment, the fire was out. The sun beat in upon a scorch mark on the wooden floor. Agnes stared at it. It seemed to her to be in the form of a profile. There was a chin and nose and some sort of crown or helmet. But it didn’t appear to be anyone she knew. Was it the face of the demon?
Hurriedly, she went to the basket by her bed and strewed fresh herbs all over the mark. Then, just to be sure, she emptied a flask of holy water on the spot.
“There,” she said and crossed herself. “That should do it.”
Still, as she resumed her pacing, she carefully avoided treading on the covered face.
Peter saw them as they came up the river path. At first he thought they might be pilgrims, but then he recognized Walter of Grancy, riding his war horse with a little boy seated in front of him. There was a lady in fine silks riding a mule, holding a younger child and two men and a young woman walking beside them.
So this was Agnes’s family. He squinted to make them out better. Strange, none of them really looked like her. He wondered how they were connected to her and what they would do to free her.
He ran to tell Uncle Hermann.
Hermann had already seen them from his vantage point at the guardpost over the gate. These people weren’t what he had expected, either. Where were the retainers? The pack animals with beds and supplies? Why was no one but Walter armed? Agnes had brought a respectable dowry with her. Had it impoverished the family to raise it?
Most important, how did they intend to convince him to release Agnes?
As he came down the ladder into the bailey, he was accosted by his sister and her husband.
“Are they coming? What are they like? How many men at arms did they bring? Is it my job to feed them all?” Maria pelted him with her questions.
“Yes. You’ll see. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Hermann answered. “Gerd! Raise the gate!”
Maria found it difficult to contain her surprise and disdain at the group before her. Fortunately, her training held and she took a moment to study them before making any remark that could not be withdrawn.
They were dusty from the road, but the clothes were of linen and silk, if she were any judge. The men wore velvet tunics and the jewels in the brooches glittered. The woman was wearing earrings of pearls the size of wine grapes and even the children were quite elegantly turned out.
Perhaps they had left the servants behind in Trier.
Walter dismounted and saluted them.
“My lords Peter, Hermann, Folmar, Lady Maria.” He bowed to each in turn. “May I present to you Hubert LeVendeur, father of Lady Agnes. With him are his daughter, Lady Catherine, her husband, Lord Edgar of Wedderlie an
d the Lady Margaret of Wedderlie.”
Hubert pulled himself up to look as stern and avenging as possible without offending. The others just tried to look sufficiently noble.
“Tell them, Walter, that we have come to prove and give surety that my child did not harm her husband and that this accusation against her is vile calumny,” he said.
Walter did.
Hermann seemed confused. “How will you do that?” he asked. “You weren’t here. You can’t even speak German. I thought you’d come to plead that she be sent to a convent or to make restitution for the death of my brother. That’s the best you can do, for all your protestations.”
Hubert brushed off his objections.
“I intend to find out what happened,” he stated. “My daughter is no murderer. I have with me a letter from Count Thibault of Champagne and his brother-in-law, Bishop Henri of Troyes to your archbishop that attests to my years of service to them, requesting that I be given every aid in establishing the truth in this matter.”
“You’ve already contacted Archbishop Albero?”
Hermann and Maria exchanged glances. Catherine thought she saw a flash of fear in them.
“It isn’t necessary to involve the archbishop in this unless you wish to subject Agnes to the humiliation of a trial,” Hermann said quickly. “I’m sure you don’t want that. It’s best to handle such things privately.”
“We’ll do whatever is necessary,” Hubert said. “Now, I want to see Agnes. If she has been mistreated, I’ll ask the archbishop to take her under his protection and have you fined.”
“Walter,” Hermann answered. “Tell him that if they will all make themselves comfortable inside, I’ll have food and wine brought to them. And,” he added, “I’ll inform the prisoner that she is to be brought down so that they may see that we’ve done nothing to harm her.”
“No!” Hubert stepped in front of Walter. “I want to see her alone. And I want to see where she is being held.”
He looked straight at Hermann, not waiting for the end of the translation. Hermann bit his lip a moment, then nodded.
“Follow me,” he said.
The window in Agnes’s room faced east so that all she could see from it was the sun and rows of vines as they marched to the top of the hill behind the castle. So she had no warning that her would-be rescuers had arrived. She was seated at a table, trying to see into the small mirror she had propped up. It bothered her that all this worry had ruined her skin. She had felt a sore on her chin and was sure it was growing.
At the sound of footsteps and the creaking of the door, she spun around so quickly that the mirror fell on the floor with a clang. Agnes stood as the door opened, ready to face whatever came and praying that her complexion was up to the task.
The door opened and a man entered. The door was shut behind him and the bar in the hallway dropped with a thud, locking him in.
At first she could only look at him, wondering how he could possibly be there. Then the weeks of fear and loneliness broke through and, with a cry, Agnes threw herself into her father’s arms.
“Oh Papa, Papa!” she wept. “Take me home!”
Hubert held her tightly, one hand caressing her hair.
“My baby! My dear golden child!” He choked on his own tears. “Forgive me for letting you come to this terrible place alone. We’ve come to make them set you free. I swear to you, ma douz, I will not leave here without you.”
The first shock over, Agnes began to collect herself. She pulled away and looked up into his face.
“‘We’ve come’?” she said. “Who is with you, Father? Did Grandfather send men to prove my innocence in combat? Jehan wants to, but I won’t let him. Tell me you have the best warriors in his household. Please tell me that.”
“Walter is here,” Hubert hedged. “I thought he had told you that he came to me instead of going all the way to Blois. He’ll fight for you, if necessary.”
“What do you mean, ‘if necessary’?” Agnes stepped back from him. “How else can I be freed? Do you expect me to undergo the ordeal?”
“Of course not! Oh, Agnes, I’d never let you do that.” Hubert tried to hug her again, but she moved away. “I’ll hold the hot iron myself first,” he declared. “We hoped that the real murderer would have been found by now. But, if not, we intend to find that person and leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that you are innocent.”
Agnes was growing more and more suspicious.
“Oh no! You brought Catherine, didn’t you?” she accused him. “You think that she’ll trip over a vial of poison or find some confession written in Latin and, harou, the true culprit will be found. Oh, Father, how could you?”
“Agnes, that wasn’t my intention,” Hubert pleaded. “All we could think of was you. She only wants to stand with you, to help somehow.”
Agnes clenched her hands, her jaw, her whole body. Hubert moved back toward the door. Agnes took a deep breath and forced her fingers apart.
“Father.” She kept her voice steady. “I don’t want Catherine’s help. With her training in logic and theology, she’d probably manage to prove I was guilty after all and have me at the stake, watching the flames rising around me, by the end of the day. Send her home. Now, before something even worse happens.”
She paused as she thought of what something worse might be.
“You didn’t bring that … man, did you?” Now her voice trembled. “That Jew.”
Hubert looked at her with shame, for her or for himself, he wasn’t sure.
“No, Solomon is in Troyes,” he said.
“Thank God for that, at least.” Agnes rubbed her forehead then stopped, remembering the state of her face.
Something seemed to go out of her then. She went over to her bed and sat down, her arms limp, her shoulders sagging. She looked up at her father, all emotion gone.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’re going to kill me, whatever you do. Hermann and Maria don’t want to, but they’ll hand me over to the hangman because that’s the only way for order to prevail. They have no one but me to blame for Gerhardt’s death. And someone must be punished. Oh, Saint Peter in chains, I’m so tired! Go away, Father. I want to sleep.”
She lay down and closed her eyes. Hubert watched this sudden change with consternation.
“Agnes?”
No answer.
He started to leave, if only for the moment, then something she had said hit him.
“Agnes?” he asked again. “Why don’t Hermann and Maria want you punished, if they think you poisoned their brother? Agnes? Answer me.”
She didn’t open her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said dully. “I think they want me to confess and repent first, so that they can send me to a convent and spare themselves having my death on their souls. But I won’t because I didn’t. Now let me be.”
Hubert bent over and kissed her cheek, but she didn’t respond.
“Very well, my sweet,” he whispered. “But we aren’t going to abandon you and you aren’t going to die. I’ll return soon.”
After he had gone, Agnes rolled over on her her stomach and buried her face in the bolster, so that no one could hear her cry.
Peter didn’t know what to think about these new visitors. The man and the young girl were northern pale as he was, but the older man and the woman were darker, like the traders from Aquitaine and Sicily. Yet they seemed to be one family. And they had brought children, just as if they were coming for a festival! No one had told him the French had such strange customs.
Another thing that amazed him was that the girl spoke a language that sounded almost like German. She had said something in it to her brother. He had watched her during the conversation Walter had translated and he was almost sure that she had understood before the words were turned into French.
This Margaret also had the most beautiful auburn hair he had ever seen and eyes that sparkled blue in the sunlight and turned grey in shadows.
She was sitting in shadows now, trying
to be unnoticed in a corner. But Peter was drawn to her. Even in the dark she shone in his eyes. He sat next to her.
“I’m Peter,” he said, pointing to himself. “I’m the lord here, now, I guess.”
She smiled. “Margaret.” She pointed to herself, as well. “Ic beo Edgares sweostra.”
He blinked. “You understand me?” he asked.
She didn’t. But her words had been close enough for him, even though he hadn’t been able to make out what she had said to her brother. He wondered where they were from and why they were part of this tragedy.
“Peter!” Aunt Maria was shocked. “What are you doing there with the Lady Margaret?”
“Just talking,” Peter answered.
“Really? I had no idea you were accomplished in languages,” she said. “Come away at once. Do you want her to enchant you as that woman did your father?”
Peter looked at Margaret, staring up at him with innocence in her beautiful eyes. He suspected that she might have enchanted him already.
Hubert returned then, with Hermann and Walter. He was speaking so quickly that he barely gave Walter time to translate. Peter hurried over to them. He wanted to hear everything now and not wait until one of his relatives told him only as much as they thought he should know.
Hermann was answering Hubert’s angry questions.
“We do believe her to be guilty,” he insisted. “There’s no way anyone else could have given him poison. But we haven’t found what she used and she refuses to confess. We would rather not resort to trial by combat or ordeal. But if you can’t make her admit to it and you won’t make any sort of restitution, then there’s nothing else to do.”
“Have you even looked for another murderer?” Hubert shouted. “The man was lord here, wasn’t he? Such a man always has enemies!”
“Not in his own bedroom!” Hermann shouted back.
They both grew louder and louder as if, by yelling, they could somehow bypass the inconvenience of having to converse through Walter.
The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 16
