The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “Hoi! You’re not allowed in here.” One of the canons stopped working to chase him out.

  “Get the archdeacon for me!” Andreas ordered. “Now. I have information about a conspiracy against the archbishop. Heretics have infiltrated the nobility. The archdeacon knows me. Tell him Andreas has returned.”

  The crowd had poured into the cathedral now. Their angry voices were not muted in reverence. The canon thought quickly.

  “Come with me,” he said and led Andreas out through the choir to a narrow door. It opened into a small room hung with robes and vestments.

  “Wait here,” he told Andreas. He left, locking the door behind him.

  Andreas had never been so relieved to be shut in. He fumbled among the robes, searching for one long enough for him. None had cowls, he was sorry to discover. There must be something in the room he could use to hide his face. He continued his search.

  In the cathedral, the people had gathered in the nave and were calling for the fugitive to be turned over to them.

  “Why should he take refuge here when he denied it to that poor girl?” someone said.

  There was a chorus of agreement. Finally one of the canons came out, flanked by guards.

  “Please disperse,” he said nervously. “The man you seek is at the moment under the protection of the archbishop. We shall see that he is tried according to custom and, if he is guilty, he shall be punished. Now, I’ve been asked to remind you of where you are. Go home, or even better, stay and pray with me.”

  He knelt on the stone floor. After a momentary shuffle, most of the townspeople knelt as well. Peter said a quick pater noster and then slipped out. He had to find Walter. The lord of Grancy would be able to treat with the archbishop if anyone could. He would see to it that Margaret was avenged.

  Inside, Andreas was aware that the clamor had ceased. He took a deep breath and relaxed. When he told them who had owned the heretic’s home in Köln and who the owner was now, he would be granted any reward he demanded. High on his list was a fast horse.

  Agnes had convinced herself that Hermann regretted his moment of insanity in the night. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about it. Then he came into her room and she knew from the way her stomach jolted and her face flushed that she was well and truly lost.

  “Something’s wrong!” she said when she saw his expression.

  “The archbishop’s soldiers are coming up the hill,” he said, pantomiming it for her. “I don’t understand it. Peter wouldn’t have sent them. What happened to you was our decision.”

  He held her tightly and then kissed her.

  “I won’t let them take you,” he swore. “O mînes herzen trût, come with me, quickly.

  He took her hand and hurried her down the stairs and through the hall. Agnes understood little of what was happening, only that they were being attacked and she needed to flee.

  “Hermann!” Maria came after him. “Where are you going with that woman? Didn’t you see the soldiers? They’ve come for her at last, no doubt. Folmar! Stop Hermann at once. He’s lost his reason.”

  They were in the courtyard when the soldiers arrived. Hermann was just about to mount his horse and pull Agnes up behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Who sent you? This woman is my prisoner and I’m not releasing her.”

  The captain came up to Hermann and signaled the others to surround him. Agnes clung to him, white with terror.

  “We’re not here for the woman, my lord,” the captain said. “By orders of the archdeacon. we’re to bring you back to Trier to answer charges of heresy.”

  Hermann blinked. “What?”

  “Heresy, my lord. You have been accused of supporting a group that denies the body of Christ and refuses to answer to any earthly power.”

  “But that’s insane!” Folmar shrieked. “Hermann would never—”

  “Then he can answer before the archbishop,” the captain cut him off. “My orders are to bring him back to do so.”

  Hermann shook his head. “A Cathar, they think I’m a bloody Cathar!”

  He took off his sword and handed it to the captain. “I can prove on my body that I am a true and orthodox Christian. This is a vile slander. Folmar,” he shouted over his shoulder as they took him away, “take care of Agnes.”

  Agnes watched in bewilderment. Were they punishing Hermann for his kindness to her? She wanted to call out to him in German, so he would be sure to understand. But, under the circumstances, “Ich liebe dich” seemed an imprudent thing to say. And Agnes, unlike Catherine, had a large share of natural discretion.

  Instead she turned to Folmar, who was standing in slack-jawed shock.

  “Get Brother Berengar,” she said, pronouncing the name slowly and carefully. “I want to talk to him.”

  Jehan had seen the guards pass with Hermann in their midst. Then the guards from the castle rode by, Folmar in the lead. He didn’t care what had caused this exodus. The only thing he realized was that this might be his only chance.

  He took down his tent and packed it up, along with his cooking pot and blankets. He cut down the dummy he’d slashed to shreds. Then he checked the area for anything else he wanted to take along. Win or lose, he wasn’t coming back.

  In the castle it seemed to Agnes as if the world had been turned upside down and shaken. This was as bad as the night Gerhardt had died. She went up to her room again, not because anyone forced her. Everyone seemed to have forgotten all about her. It was just the only place she could be sure she was out of the way of the people running around like ants whose nest has just been scattered.

  She occupied herself by rearranging the bed and tables, refolding all her clothing and, when all else failed, sweeping the dust and rushes on the floor from one side of the room to the other. Finally, the door opened.

  “Oh Brother Berengar, you’ve got to tell me—” she began.

  Then she saw who it was.

  “Jehan! How did you get in here?” she gasped.

  “In all the confusion, no one even noticed me,” he said. “I’ve come to rescue you.”

  “Oh no, you haven’t,” Agnes said. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s happen to Hermann.”

  Jehan looked as if he’d run through a curtain and straight into a stone wall.

  “Agnes, this is our chance!” he said. “Come with me and I’ll see that you get safely back to your grandfather.”

  “Jehan, I won’t go anywhere with you,” she said. “I’ve told you over and over but you refuse to believe me. Not even to save my life.”

  Jehan’s expression turned abruptly from beseeching to angry.

  “Very well,” he said. “But I’ve given too much of my life to you to leave with no reward. You have a choice. Either you come with me or I give this to the archbishop.”

  He showed her the parchment. Agnes reached for it, but he stepped back.

  “You can see it from where you are,” he said. “One side has a message from your grandfather that I delivered to Hubert. The other has magic Hebrew words on it. I know how they came to be there and so do you.”

  “Nonsense,” Agnes said, but her face gave her away.

  “I thought so.” Jehan smiled. “Your choice is simple, Agnes. You won’t even have to think about it. Your father’s safety in exchange for freedom and life with me. Or at least a few good nights. I can assure you, you’ll enjoy it. I’ll make your German husband seem like a eunuch.”

  Agnes managed to regain her composure. She almost laughed when Jehan compared himself to Gerhardt. Thank the saints he didn’t know the truth. She prayed he never would.

  “You’re despicable,” she said quietly. “I’m sure my father has a simple explanation for this, but even if he doesn’t, why do you think I would debase myself for his sake, when I cut myself off from him years ago?”

  Jehan was horrified. “But he’s your father!”

  “My filial duty is not strong enough to give up my virtue for it.” Agnes tur
ned away from him and went to the window by her embroidery frame. “Now leave, Jehan. Take your scrap of parchment and your disgusting offer and never come near me again.”

  “You bordeleuse!” he whispered as he came toward her.

  Agnes opened her mouth to scream. At the same time, her hand went out for her curved thread scissors. She held them by her side, ready to strike up at his most vulnerable area.

  Jehan was saved by the arrival of Brother Berengar. The monk took in the situation at once and advanced on Jehan in utter indignation.

  “Take that cross off at once!” he ordered. “You’re not fit to wear it! Did he harm you, my dear?”

  Agnes hid the scissors in the folds of her chainse.

  “I’m fine,” she answered shakily. “Jehan was just saying good-bye, weren’t you?”

  Jehan’s lips tightened, but he nodded.

  “I’ll see him out,” Berengar said and took his arm.

  When they had gone, Agnes sat down with a thump. She was numb with the enormity of what she’d just done. Not only had she left Hubert open to charges of apostasy, she had made an enemy of the one person who had stood by her through all the turmoil of her recent life.

  Then Brother Berengar returned and the only thing that mattered was finding out what had happened to Hermann.

  It had taken some time to convince Peter that he couldn’t raise an army and burn Andreas out of the cathedral. Part of the reason it was so difficult to dissuade him was that those arguing with him privately thought it a wonderful idea.

  “The man is nothing more than a murderer,” Catherine said. “The archdeacon has no right to protect him.”

  “Catherine?” Edgar said. “Is that you speaking? Would you have us be as barbarous as he? What if Peter is mistaken in his identification?”

  “Do you think he is?” Catherine challenged him.

  “No, I don’t.” Edgar admitted. “I find myself hoping that he will be released so that I can see that his death is slow and that every time he screams, he knows why and for what.”

  “May God forgive me, Edgar.” Catherine laid her face over his heart. “I would help you do it. Oh, why won’t Margaret wake!”

  Hubert and Walter had taken Peter back to his own house. They returned with a collection of the rumors whipping through town.

  “I don’t believe what’s going on out there.” Walter balanced himself on a small stool. “The world must be about to end. All the demons of hell have been let loose and they’re dancing in the steets.”

  James had been busy in the corner building a castle from wooden blocks for Edana to knock down. Now he looked up at Walter.

  “I don’t want the world to end,” he said. “I don’t want demons!”

  He started crying and Edana joined him. Edgar and Catherine hurried to comfort them. Walter tried to apologize.

  “Never mind, Walter,” Edgar said. “We haven’t taught James about metaphor, yet.”

  “Oh,” Walter said. “Let me know when you do, I’d like to learn about it, myself.”

  He poured himself some beer and gestured for Hubert to explain with less exageration.

  “They’ve just brought Lord Hermann into town in chains and taken him to the archbishop’s palace. Some say he murdered his brother and tried to kill Peter, as well, to gain the land. Others think he betrayed the archbishop and the city to Graf Heinrich. I even heard some wild tale that he was the leader of a band of heretics who wanted to destroy the church. This Andreas seems to be mixed in with it somewhere, but no one is sure how. Where’s Solomon?”

  “He went to Mina’s,” Catherine said. “To see if any of her friends knows of something that could help Margaret. He also said something about arranging for Asher’s first day of school.”

  Hubert sighed. “At least for once the townspeople aren’t rioting against the Jews. I suppose he’s in no danger.”

  Catherine had succeeded in calming Edana who was crying on the principle that if James was upset something must be wrong. She rocked the child back and forth as she went over the report Hubert had given.

  “I don’t think Hermann’s a heretic,” she said at last.

  “That was the most preposterous of the rumors,” Walter said. “I don’t think he did anything he’s accused of. Perhaps conspiring to get the bishop to end the war, but everyone in town wants that.”

  “Heresy isn’t that impossible,” Catherine said slowly. “But I don’t think Hermann is the heretic. Father, you said Gerhardt had given his house as a home for some ‘pauperes Christi.’ From Agnes’s information, I’m sure he was one of them, himself. Perhaps he intended at some point to abandon his family for them. If Hermann knew about it, he might well want to stop his brother before they were all caught in the scandal.”

  Edgar shook his head. “I just can’t imagine Hermann committing murder. Especially in such a roundabout way. How could he know that Gerhardt would die before selling all his property?”

  “That’s true,” Catherine admitted. “Depending on how often Gerhardt used the salve, it could take days or weeks for the poison to work. It might only make him sick if he applied it infrequently enough.”

  “But also, we’re the only ones who know how Gerhardt was killed,” Walter said. “Hermann’s arrest was after Andreas went to the archdeacon. How could he have known about the salve? What else could his information have been?”

  “I don’t care,” Hubert said. “If it frees Agnes so that we can leave, that’s all that matters.”

  “And what of Andreas’s crimes?” Edgar asked.

  Hubert slumped in his chair. “That’s not for me to decide. I grieve with you for your sister, Edgar. But I also grieve for Simon and my mother and sisters and for the vicious attack on Rabbenu Tam. And I know that no one will ever be called to account for those deeds, not in this world. I’ve worn myself out with sorrow and guilt and have no strength left for revenge.”

  “Then I’m glad I do,” Edgar said.

  Peter was inside sleeping when his uncle was brought through the marketplace to the bishop’s palace, so he knew nothing of it until his other uncle shook him roughly awake.

  “I’ve brought the guards,” Folmar told him. “But I don’t know if we have enough people to rescue him.”

  “Unh?” Peter said.

  “Hermann’s been taken for heresy,” Folmar said. “We have to save him before he’s questioned.”

  Peter was awake at once. “But why? Uncle Hermann can easily prove he’s no heretic. It must be a mistake.”

  “Oh, it is, Peter,” Folmor said with feeling. “But it was your father who made it and now the rest of us will have to pay unless we can keep Hermann from talking.”

  “I don’t understand,” Peter pulled on his tunic, picked his bruchen up off the floor and followed Folmar down to the hall where the guards were gathered. “What did my father do?”

  “The idiot received the consolomentum and then went and got himself married,” Folmar said.

  Peter sat on a bench to put the pants on.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Are you drunk?”

  “I only wish I were.” Folmar went into the courtyard and peered over the wooden fence. “There are people collecting in the square. Some of them have sickles and pitchforks. I even see a couple of swords. Who do those burghers think they they are, with nobles’ weapons?”

  “What are they doing?” Peter asked.

  “Preparing to riot,” Folmar said. “Come on. It’s too dangerous now to try to save Hermann. We have to get back to the castle, pack up and escape.”

  “Uncle!” Peter grabbed him with both arms and held him there. He was surprised at his own strength. “I’m not going anywhere. Our family doesn’t run away. Now tell me what you know about my father.”

  Folmar did, though not everything.

  Between Maria’s fury and Berengar’s broken translation, Agnes finally understood why Hermann had been taken.

  “I should have know
n,” she said. “It’s my fate. If not infidels, it’s heretics. So that’s why Gerhardt wouldn’t come to bed with me. And Hermann is one, also? I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I,” Maria said. Her face was grim. “But I think I know who is. The cowardly bastard. Come with me, Agnes. Yes, of course you, too, Brother. How else can I talk to her? We’re going to put an end to this now.”

  “Will Hermann be all right?” Agnes asked Berengar as she snatched up a scarf and veil.

  “If the Lady Maria has any say in it, he’ll be home by Vespers,” Berengar answered.

  Agnes wondered if she really wanted a second opportunity to have this woman for a sister-in-law.

  Walter and Edgar went out to see what the citizens intended to do. Edgar saw his friend, Egilbert, among them.

  “You seem to always appear when there’s trouble,” he said.

  Egilbert grinned. “I find town life boring compared to the excitement of sea travel and trade. When something happens to liven things up, I always investigate it.”

  “And what is it now?” Edgar asked.

  “A quandary,” Egilbert said. “My friends can’t agree on why this local lord has been taken. If he’s against the bishop, they’ll fight for him. If he’s a heretic, they’ll burn down his house. You see the problem.”

  “Not an uncommon one, I fear,” Edgar commented. “Do you think they’ll decide soon?”

  “Not unless someone comes out and makes a pronouncement,” Egilbert said. “If one sat on the benches outside the Green Grape, one would probably still be able to see what was going on and join in before it was over.”

  “I think this one will,” Edgar said. “Coming with us, Walter?”

  Walter was talking earnestly with a man carrying a pruning hook. He shook his head. “Save me a spot. I’ll be along soon.”

  Egilbert and Edgar got cups of wine and settled on the bench to observe. Owing to the heat, a number of other people had had the same idea and the benches in the shade were full.

  “This Andreas fellow,” Edgar said, “he isn’t local, is he?”