The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  She studied his face, considering. Then she moved her hands to over his heart.

  “Here,” she repeated.

  “Hermann!” Maria’s call was piercing. “What’s keeping you?”

  “Coming!” he called back. “I couldn’t find my boots.”

  “You should have sent one of the servants,” Maria told him as he emerged into the night. “They always know where things are.”

  Early the next morning, Catherine was roused from her fitful sleep by a knock. She hurried to the door, her heart pounding.

  “Mina!” she said when she saw the visitor. “What is it? Father! Come quickly!”

  The woman was standing nervously in the sunlight and ducked in as soon as Catherine opened the door far enough.

  Hubert came down the stairs, still dressed from the night before.

  “Mina! You’re in mourning,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing out?”

  “I had to tell you,” she said. “I heard about the little girl being missing. I’m so sorry,”

  “Thank you,” Hubert said. “But …”

  “Late last night word came to us that a young Jewish girl had been captured in a village north of here,” Mina said. “Some men in a tavern saw her and dragged her into a church, where they baptized her, beat her and left her for dead.”

  “Oh dear God in heaven!” Hubert gasped.

  Catherine saw the look and ran to them, her heart in her throat.

  Mina patted her hand and went on talking to Hubert. Catherine stood in an agony of fear. When Mina finished, Hubert thanked her again. She gave Catherine a gentle kiss for comfort and left.

  “Tell me, Father,” Catherine said when the door had closed. “It’s Margaret, isn’t it? What’s happened?”

  “Mina says that some monsters from a nearby village are said to have attacked a Jewish girl to force her into baptism, but there are none missing from the community here,” he said. “She’s afraid from the description that it may have been Margaret.”

  Catherine swayed. She felt that all the humors of her body had suddenly rearranged themselves. The room wavered in front of her. Hubert caught her just as she fell.

  “Oh, my dear, try to keep up hope,” he said. “It may not have been she. A servant from the town on an errand, perhaps. Not Margaret! She would have proved that she was a Christian.”

  Catherine’s head slowly cleared. She heard the end of what her father was saying.

  “You know what mobs are like,” she said. “They may not have given her the chance. She doesn’t have much German. Oh, my Margaret! Father, go find Edgar. Tell him to look in the village church for her. And then come back as soon as you can, before I go mad from dread.”

  In a hut on the edge of the village, an old woman sat on the dirt floor, next to the straw that was her bed. Outside, despite the heat, a fire blazed, heating water in a large cauldron so the woman could wash the sheets and table linen of the lords and richer peasants. On the bed lay Margaret.

  She wasn’t completely conscious, yet. All she was aware of was pain and terror.

  “Mama!” she called. “Mama!”

  The old woman wiped the child’s face with a damp rag.

  “There, there, süzelin,” she crooned. “We’ll find your mama as soon as you’re better. Those horrible men. You’ll get to Heaven sooner than their sort, for all you’re an infidel Jewess. Don’t worry, trutgeselin, I won’t let them find you. Vinta will take care of you. You’re safe with me.” Edgar wiped his face with his sleeve. He was exhausted and his temper was being held in check only by the knowledge that he had to remain steady for Margaret’s sake.

  “Ask him again what they did with her after they dragged her to the font,” he said to Walter.

  The four of them were seated in the church with a somewhat battered man kneeling before them.

  Hermann glanced at Walter as he repeated the question.

  “Rolf can’t tell us more than he knows,” he said. “But he shall tell all of that. Isn’t that right, Rolf?”

  Rolf was acutely aware of the soldiers standing behind him and of Walter’s bulk in front. But none of them frightened him as much as the thought of what he had done to endanger his soul.

  “When she made the sign of the cross, we thought she was mocking us,” he said again. “Andreas said that she needed to be taught a lesson and then given God’s grace to be sure she remembered it. Once we were inside the church we only hit her with our fists and feet. We wouldn’t draw a weapon before the altar.”

  Edgar winced at the memory of the altar candles shining on his father’s sword before the blow fell through his wrist. At the same time Peter shuddered at the thought of Margaret being mauled by these men.

  The peasant noticed both movements and added, “No one raped her. We weren’t after that. We were acting simply for the good of her soul. Forgive me, Lords. I only went with the others. I didn’t strike her, myself. I didn’t know she was a Christian.”

  Edgar stood. Rolf cringed before him, waiting for the blow. Instead Edgar walked past him.

  “Get this thing out of my sight,” he said.

  Walter followed him out. He found Edgar emptying his stomach into a pigsty.

  “We brought Margaret with us because I thought it wasn’t safe enough in Troyes.” He gulped. “I should have left her in Scotland where she was known. This never would have happened.” A new thought struck him. “Oh, Walter, how can we tell Solomon she’s dead? You know she means almost as much to him as she does to me.”

  “Don’t lose hope, yet,” Walter pleaded. “Everyone we’ve spoken to says the body was gone and no one admits to taking it. Perhaps she was only knocked senseless and has recovered. She may be wandering the roads now, trying to get home.”

  Edgar wasn’t comforted. “If so,” he said, “then why hasn’t anyone seen her? The roads are crowded with people coming in for the grape harvest.”

  Hubert found them a few minutes later with the news that Mina had brought him.

  “We already know,” Walter said. “I’m afraid that we’re almost cetain it was Margaret. But there is a chance she’s still alive.”

  Hermann and Peter came out of the church then, followed by the guards with Rolf.

  “I can punish him,” Peter told Edgar. “But Uncle Hermann says that then I’d have to do the same to most of the men in town. I’ll fine them and have the priest set the town as a whole an extra penance. But the most important thing is to have their help in getting Margaret back.”

  “That’s very wise of you, my lord,” Walter told him. “It’s exactly what I would have done had this happened on my land. You’ve shown wonderful restraint.”

  Peter was old enough to sense the mocking underneath the words. “I know,” he said. “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t asked her to come see me. I deserve a penance, too.”

  “The person we should be after is this Andreas. It seems that it was he who convinced them all to bother the girl in the first place,” Hermann added. “He pointed her out as a Jew and then suggested that they could also be milites Christi if they forced her to accept the faith. He should be found before he leads other credulous fools to violence. That’s one man I’d be happy to hang at the crossroads.”

  “The villagers didn’t have to listen to him,” Edgar said. “Would you be so forgiving of them if the man had suggested that they burn your fields and they followed him in that?”

  “I don’t know,” Hermann answered. “But I’d still want to hang the instigator.”

  “Margaret is all I care about,” Edgar said. “My revenge can wait.”

  “Edgar, may I ride the mule back?” Hubert asked. “I left Catherine alone and she’s ragged with worry.”

  “She doesn’t know about this, does she?” Edgar asked.

  Hubert nodded.

  “Yes, take the mule and hurry,” Edgar said. “Tell her there’s still hope. Make her rest. I don’t want her to lose another baby.”

  “Jesus’s bloo
d!” Hubert exclaimed. “Pregnant again. You two do pick the worst times. Don’t fret. I’ll see that she doesn’t try to join the search herself. After all, she has two children to care for.”

  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.”

  Nineteen

  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.