The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

“Jehan?” Catherine said when she understood. “He is mad, but why would he hurt Walter? They’re friends.”

  “I, myself, overheard them arguing just a few days ago,” Hermann insisted. “I believe the madman is jealous of poor Walter.”

  “Jealous? Because of my sister?” Catherine couldn’t credit that. “Walter is going to the Holy Land. He isn’t interested in a wife, even if Agnes were freed.”

  Hermann shrugged. “The madman wears a cross, too. But he doesn’t behave like a pilgrim.”

  “I don’t think we need to worry about Jehan for now. A sling isn’t his kind of weapon,” Edgar said. “It’s more probable that someone was waiting for Walter, just to be sure he didn’t do anything that might prove Agnes innocent. After all, he’s the only one of use with your language.”

  Berengar translated. Hermann answered angrily, gave an order to the men with the litter, then mounted his horse and rode back toward the castle.

  “He says that he has given you every consideration,” the monk told them. “He promised that you wouldn’t be hindered or harmed in your investigations and you offend him greatly by your insinuations.”

  “But we weren’t accusing him!” Edgar began.

  Catherine stopped him. “I can see how he might think we were,” she said. “It may be that he knows of someone talented in the use of a sling.”

  “That’s true,” Edgar said. “Berengar, do you know whom he might have been thinking of?”

  Berengar raised his hands imploringly.

  “I spend my day in the scriptorium,” he explained. “I know little of the world outside the cloister. I swear!”

  “Can you at least arrange for Lord Hermann to receive us again?” Edgar asked. “Apologize for us. Say that our worry for Lady Agnes causes us to leap when we should stand still. We are fearful among strangers, but he has already been most generous to us and we’re grateful. We’ll meet with him in town or at the castle. We must find out what happened on the day Lord Gerhardt died. We need to know more about him as a man.”

  “And ask if I can see my sister,” Catherine added. “Please. She’s all alone there.”

  Reluctantly, Berengar agreed to help.

  The men with the litter were still trying to load Walter onto it with no success.

  “I’m not letting you bounce me anywhere!” he roared at them.

  He finally managed to stand, with the help of the tree. Upright, he was much more daunting than he had been supine. The men backed off.

  “So, how do you think you’ll get back to Trier?” Catherine demanded.

  Walter scowled. “I’d sooner ride that mule of yours that be carried by anyone. I’ll wait here while you go get it.”

  “You’ll ride on a mule?” That was so unlike him that Catherine grew worried about the damage to his mind. Walter saw her expression.

  “Sorry,” he said. “This has been an Egyptian day for me from the moment I tried to open my eyes.”

  “I know, Walter,” Edgar said. “Here, I brought a skin of wine. You have that while we go back to town and get the mule.”

  “Bring my crossbow, too,” Walter shouted after them. “In case I see the bastard who made off with my horse.”

  The ride home cooled Hermann down somewhat. It had startled him to find that Agnes’s sister and her husband were literate. Long ago there had been talk of making him a cleric, since he was the younger son, but Hermann had shown no aptitude for letters. He was better at fighting, and his father had agreed that it didn’t hurt to have two sons able to defend their small holding.

  But he had grown up with a respect for those who could read the Church fathers in their own language. His doubts about Agnes’s guilt increased.

  She had only been imprisoned because there had been no one else to blame. Hermann knew that, and he didn’t want to turn her over to be punished unless he was sure in his heart that she was the one who had poisoned Gerhardt. But he couldn’t release her, either, not at this point. There had to be proof, either rational or divine. He only hoped that Agnes’s family could provide it. All he wanted was to be free of doubt.

  Hermann bit his lip. He was lying to himself. What he really wanted, more than anything, was to have his brother back.

  Maria was waiting for him when he arrived.

  “Is Walter very badly hurt?” she asked. “What shall we do without him?”

  “I believe he’ll recover,” Hermann said. “And the abbot has sent a monk to talk to the French for us. Tell Folmar to send some men out to hunt for a warhorse without an owner. Walter’s is missing.”

  “Hermann, my husband isn’t a servant here,” Maria chided.

  “No, they do useful work,” her brother snapped. “Why didn’t we notice before you were bethrothed that the man has no spine?”

  “Hermann, du bist vil alwaere! Folmar has many fine qualities!”

  “I’m sure,” he said wearily. “Someday you must show me a list of them, but for now just see to it that the search is begun.”

  After she had gone he ordered wine and sausage, threw his riding gloves in a corner and seated himself by an open window, looking out across the river to the lands of Graf Heinrich. They looked so peaceful, almost a mirror of the vine-covered hills behind him. He tried to rub the sense of misgiving from his head, but the feeling wouldn’t ease. There was something hidden in all this, something that would make everything that had happened become clear.

  He prayed for enlightenment, but none came.

  In the bailey just below he saw Peter practicing his swordsmanship on a battered dummy. The straw man had been slashed from all sides but it still stood, despite Peter’s fierce blows. The forcefulness of the blows told of Peter’s feelings. Hermann wished there was something he could do to alleviate the boy’s grief.

  Farther away he saw a small band of travelers. Three men and a woman. He could tell by their clothing that they were the ones who had found Walter. He wondered where they were headed and why, but only idly. As he watched, another man appeared from the riverbank. The sun glinted on something metal in his hand and Hermann felt a sudden fear that they were about to be assailed while he was too far away to do anything but watch.

  Instead the four greeted the man as an old friend and, after a moment of talk, they all started off again.

  Hermann’s sense of disquiet grew. There was something wrong about the last man. He didn’t seem to fit with the others. He stood too straight, held his head too high. This wasn’t someone used to taking orders and trying to be invisible. The others were peasants. This one was free. Hermann tried to define what bothered him about this. As they passed from his sight he finally realized why the stance of the man upset him so. He didn’t move like a free man who is a master and has one above him. No, this was a person who owed nothing to anyone. He had no place in the order of the world. There was no one above to govern him and no one beneath him to care for. This man was dangerous.

  The wine came. Hermann picked up his goblet and when he looked back, the party was gone. He shivered, then laughed at himself for his fancy. Who could conclude so much just from the movement of a man? It was nonsense. He had let his disquiet affect his reason. He took a long gulp from the goblet. Wine would restore his balance.

  Through the window he could hear Peter’s grunts as he dismantled the dummy.

  Walter was able to get around almost as usual within a week. The humiliation of riding on a mule seemed to speed his healing. After a day he decided that he much preferred staying with them than taking hospitality from the monks.

  “Monks don’t make enough noise,” he confided to Catherine.

  “That’s never a problem here.” She laughed.

  “But it’s a good noise,” he told her seriously. “Even when you’re fighting I can hear the love underneath.”

  “Saint Eustace’s brazen bull, Walter! Just when I think I know you, you say something that makes me cry.” Catherine wiped her nose on her sleeve, wondering if perhaps she might be pregnant again. P
erhaps it was just her fear for Agnes that made simple things so significant.

  What if one day dear, sweet Margaret despised her as much as Agnes did? How could Catherine be sure it wouldn’t happen? She had assumed nothing could destroy the bond between her and her sister. But something had. If that could be broken, who else might grow to loathe her? Her thoughts started drifting into perilous depths.

  “Don’t even imagine it.” The voices of her childhood rarely intruded on her life, but Catherine was grateful now. “What could happen to you and Edgar that you haven’t endured together already?”

  Before Catherine could answer, the voices went on.

  “Nothing. So don’t indulge yourself in melancholia. There’s work to be done.”

  “Catherine? Are you talking to yourself?” Walter was caught between amusement and concern.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Just a silent prayer of sorts.”

  “Try not to do it outside of church,” he advised. “Is that Hubert at the door?”

  Catherine went to look.

  “No, just someone passing by. Father’s been spending a lot of time talking with the merchants of Trier. I’d think he’d have learned all they knew about Lord Gerhardt by now.”

  “It takes time to winnow truth from gossip,” Walter said.

  “We only have until the end of summer,” Catherine reminded him. “And we’ve found nothing that would help Agnes so far.”

  The next sound at the door was Hubert. His face was so grey that Catherine’s first thought was that something had happened to Agnes.

  “No, your sister is unharmed, as far as I know,” Hubert said when she asked. “I’ve heard more about this monk, Radulf, who is preaching against the Jews in Germany. They say he’s left Lotharingia and is coming to Köln. He’s supposed to have another monk with him to translate the exhortations. Both of them want the Jews destroyed.”

  “I thought Astrolabe was sent to warn Abbot Bernard about him,” Catherine said.

  “The abbot has sent letters telling people not to listen to this man,” Hubert said. “But he’s still spreading his poison. More people gather to hear a rabble-rouser than ever attend a Mass. Sermons read on Sunday won’t stop Radulf.”

  “What about at Troyes?” Walter asked. “Is Solomon in danger?”

  “I’ve no news of him,” Hubert answered. “But I have faith that Count Thibault will allow no such persecution in his land. We’ve told you how quick his son was to stop those trying to drive the Jews from the fair.”

  “All the same, I’m glad we decided to bring the children with us,” Catherine said. “Even though they’ve been a nuisance.”

  She had raised her voice as she saw James peeking around the door. But her open arms told him that she wasn’t serious. He ran to her and then hugged Hubert. As Catherine watched, she was grateful, too, that James and Edana were with them. It was one more bond to keep her father from sliding back into the faith of his ancestors.

  “You don’t think there will be trouble here, do you?” she added.

  “The parnas of the community thinks not,” Hubert said. “The burghers here don’t have the animosity against the Jews that they do in the bigger cities. Perhaps there aren’t enough here to threaten them. And the slaughter here in 1096 appalled everyone. I don’t think there are many who would want it repeated.”

  “Good. Then we won’t worry about it for now. You look tired, Father. Will you have some wine and food?” Catherine tried to divert him from his memories.

  “No, Mina fed me, thank you,” he answered. “Where’s Edgar?”

  “Brother Berengar came by and offered to show him some repair work being done on one of the Roman buildings.” Catherine smiled. “I expect he won’t return before dark; he took his wax tablet and stylus.”

  Hubert shook his head. “I don’t see how you can be so indulgent, daughter. It’s one thing that your husband makes toys for the children or baubles for the nuns, but at least he works out of the sight of our friends. And it makes him feel useful, even with his injury.”

  “Father,” Catherine warned.

  “But you really have to stop him when he goes about where masons and carpenters are working and makes suggestions to improve building methods,” Hubert persisted. “It’s not only undignified for a man of his rank, it could also get him a crack on the head worse than Walter’s. Craftsmen don’t appreciate men who poke into their trade secrets.”

  “Are you finished?” Catherine said. “Edgar knows all these things but there’s something in him that comes alive when he can watch engignors at work. If he wants to join their guild and they’ll have him, I will be as proud as if he’d been given a castellany.”

  Hubert turned to Walter for support. “You see what happens when to let your daughter marry for love? Her common sense flies out the door.”

  “I have a fascination with machines, myself,” Walter said. “I don’t blame Edgar for his interest. But I don’t think you should worry. After all, whoever heard of a one-handed master mason?”

  “Papa!” James cried, looking over Hubert’s shoulder.

  Hubert spun about. Had Edgar heard?

  Edgar greeted them all as usual, but Catherine saw the hurt. He had indeed heard them. Her thoughts toward Walter and her father were not charitable.

  “Catherine.” Edgar took James from his grandfather and then leaned over to kiss her. “I have news for you. Whether it’s good or not is for you to decide.”

  “Edgar, don’t be mysterious,” Catherine said. “Is that the reason you’ve returned before dark?”

  Edgar ignored the taunt. “A messenger was on his way to us but spotted Berengar with me. Lord Hermann has decided to honor your request and allow you to visit Agnes.”

  “Just Catherine?” Hubert was indignant.

  “It seems so,” Edgar answered. “Berengar says that he’ll come for you just after Prime. Well, aren’t you pleased?”

  The last question was because of the consternation on Catherine’s face. She looked up at Edgar.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve wanted to see her for so long but now I’m afraid. Lord Hermann may have given me permission to come, but will Agnes let me in?”

  Thirteen

  Trier. Monday, 7 ides of July (July 9), 1146; Trisha B-v, the day of lamentation for the destruction of the Temple. Feast of Saint Agilulf, bishop of Köln circa 770, martyred during general civil unrest.

  O, Most High, console thy people that are disconsolate: Turn to her that is not pitied and be merciful. My enemies say, “No comfort shalt thou ever see.”—I am all peace: but when I speak, they are for war.

  —Joseph ben Isaac ibn Abitor

  Hymn on Psalm 120

  Hermann sent Berengar and an armed escort for Catherine. He wanted no repetition of what had happened to Walter. Margaret begged to be allowed to come along.

  “Not this time, bele suer,” Catherine told her. “For all I know I may not be there long enough to wash my hands. It will be better if you stay with Edgar and Father.”

  “But Edgar spends all his time watching the church repairs,” Margaret protested. “James and Edana don’t mind playing there but I’m so bored. Please!”

  “Father, can she go with you?” Catherine asked.

  “Not today, Catherine,” Hubert said. “It’s the fast of Av and I’m going to spend it with Mina and her family, fasting. Margaret wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  “Father!”

  Catherine was furious. She pulled him out into the back garden of the lodging and spoke softly but with great intensity.

  “This has got to stop, Father,” she said. “You are a baptized Christian. How can you risk your immortal soul, not to mention the lives of your family like this?”

  “Perhaps it’s my soul I’m considering, daughter,” Hubert answered, equally angry.

  Catherine exhaled in exasperation. “Merderie! That’s what this is. I love you. I love Solomon and Johanna and Eliazar. I like many of the other Jews we k
now, but I don’t want you to be one of them. They’re obdurate in their belief despite all the proof of centuries. They won’t even pay outward respect to the true Faith. They live on the edge of doom. You’re a baptized Christian. How can you attach yourself to a despised and outcast race?”

  Hubert drew away from her.

  “It seems to me, Catherine, that all of those things were once said of Christians,” he said.

  “But … but that’s different!” Catherine sputtered.

  Hubert grew icily calm. “Why? Because you won? I’m going to spend the day in mourning as seems more and more appropriate. Take Margaret with you. If your sister tells you any way in which I can help her, I will do it at once. You don’t have to remind me of my duty. It’s the cross I carry.”

  He walked away, leaving her gasping as if drowning.

  “Papa,” she whispered.

  She was still staring after him when Edgar came out in search of her.

  “Carissima! What’s wrong?” he said.

  Catherine clung to him.

  “We’re losing him, Edgar,” she wept. “He looked at me as if I were an enemy. Oh, Edgar, Agnes hates me because I wouldn’t abandon Father and now he hates me because I don’t want him to abandon Christ. I can’t endure this!”

  “My dearest.” He pushed a sticky curl off her face. “Your father was never truly Christian although he behaves more like one than many I know. You know what Master Abelard said about conversion. As a matter of fact, what all the doctors of the Church said.”

  “Yes, I know, that belief must lie in the heart, not in actions alone.” Catherine held him more tightly. “But I thought his heart was with us.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think his spirit is,” Edgar said. “And we can’t force him. Nevertheless, I think he has a better chance of Heaven than my father ever will.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine gave him a salty kiss. “Perhaps it’s arrogant of me to assume. Papa has given up much for all of us. Now, I don’t suppose you could find something to do today that Margaret would enjoy, too?”