The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  “How can he let himself die with murder on his soul?” Catherine said. “Even heretics must know that’s a sin.”

  Berengar tried again. “At least repent of the death you caused,” he implored.

  “It was an accident,” Folmar whined. “He wasn’t supposed to die. I only wanted to save him from damnation. Once he’d agreed to marry, I knew he couldn’t stay chaste. The salve was just supposed to make him too weak to copulate.”

  Catherine let out a sigh of satisfaction and started for the door. Agnes rounded on her.

  “Just because your puzzle is complete, that doesn’t mean it’s over,” she said. “You and Edgar can’t leave now.”

  “Agnes, we had no such intention,” Edgar said. “If you had a good look at your sister, you’d see that she’s about to vomit. Would you like her to do it here?”

  “Not again!” Agnes bit her tongue to keep from finishing her thought.

  She stood aside and Catherine rushed out.

  “See what you have to look forward to?” Edgar said. “Are you sure you want to stay here and marry?”

  “I intend to manage my pregnancies much better than Catherine,” Agnes answered confidently. “For one thing, I won’t be spending them away from my home.”

  A few moments later Catherine returned, looking decidedly worse for wear than Folmar. She leaned over the bed to see him better.

  “How long ago did he eat the poison?” she asked Berengar. “Shouldn’t he be writhing by now, or something?”

  Her stare disconcerted Folmar, who shrank into the bolsters to avoid it.

  “It was about Tierce, Maria said,” the monk answered. “I’m not trained in this sort of thing. I don’t know how quickly poison acts.”

  “If he swallowed a lot on bread, I’d think he’d be at least getting twinges.” Catherine was more and more suspicious. “Is there anything left in the container?”

  “I’ll see,” Berengar left.

  He returned shortly with a wooden box containing a thin layer of white powder. He gave it to Catherine, who sniffed and then tasted it.

  “Catherine, don’t!” Edgar and Agnes exclaimed together.

  “Don’t worry.” Catherine threw down the box in disgust. “This is just ground horseradish root. The worst it will do is make one spend a bad night in the privy. Berengar, make him get up.”

  Edgar didn’t wait but threw back the blanket and rolled Folmar onto the floor.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled. “I’m a dying man.”

  Catherine held up the box. “Not from this, you’re not.”

  Folmar took the box and tasted it. “But that’s impossible,” he told Brother Berengar. “Yesterday there was wolf’s bane in this. I put it there, myself.”

  “I think you can thank your nephew for that,” Berengar answered, enlightenment hitting him. “Peter came to me yesterday with a root to ask if it was safe to eat. I do know the difference between the plants and I assured him that it was. My guess is that he found your store and replaced it.”

  Folmar’s expression was almost laughable.

  “Oh no! I have to escape somehow,” he wailed, trying to stand in his unbelted robe. “You can’t take me to the authorities. They’ll torture me to betray the others. I’ll never endure it. I have to get out of here!”

  He stumbled from the room with Edgar right behind him. As they reached the staircase, Edgar caught at Folmar’s robe with his good hand. The material ripped as Folmar teetered and then went crashing down onto the stone floor below.

  Edgar reached out his left arm to hold him but realized too late that he had nothing to grip with. He could only watch as the man tumbled.

  Maria came out of the solar and stared down at the groaning shape of her husband. Then she looked a question at Berengar.

  “He wasn’t poisoned after all,” the monk told her. “He wasn’t going to die.”

  Maria regarded Folmar again, prodding him with her foot. He shrieked.

  “Will he die now?” she asked.

  Catherine knelt beside him. “His back is broken. Yes, I think he will.”

  Maria exhaled slowly.

  “Good.”

  Hubert sat under an awning hastily rolled out in front of the tavern and watched his grandchildren playing in the warm rain. He adored them both, especially Edana, who so resembled his mother. He kept telling himself that being there to see them grow up was worth the constant tension of having to live in two worlds. But he felt that slowing of his heart more often lately and wondered how much time there was left. One day he feared the beats would grow farther and farther apart until they stopped altogether.

  The wind had picked up and he was herding the children back to the house when his way was blocked by a man on horseback. Hubert knew both the horse and the man.

  “So you’ve finally regained your senses, Jehan,” he said. “It took you long enough. Well, good luck in Edessa. May you win honor and fame and a castle in the Holy Land.”

  He took each child by the hand and started to walk around, but Jehan dismounted and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m not going to Edessa, yet,” he hissed. “First I’m going to finish what I started in Paris. You wrote this, didn’t you?”

  He thrust the parchment in front of Hubert.

  “Ridiculous,” Hubert said, trying to pull away from him.

  “Don’t lie. I know it’s yours,” Jehan said. “And I know enough more to ruin you. No man will marry Agnes when they learn what you are.”

  “You can’t prove anything,” Hubert said calmly. “You’ve made a fool of yourself here and no one will believe anything you say about us.”

  “This time they will, Chaim,” Jehan said. “They call you that. I’ve heard them. Did you think I was deaf and blind, all those years you used me to guard your property and carry your messages? You may have managed to convince Bishop Stephen once of your piety, but this time I have enough to prove you’re really a Jew, pretending to be one of us, spitting on the cross and defiling the sacrament like they all do. And your daughters knew of it and helped you hide your shame. Now all of you will be exposed. You’ll be executed for your apostasy and your family will be impoverished.”

  “You’re mad,” Hubert said, but his voice shook.

  Jehan smiled. “I may be, but I’m not wrong about this. Hebrew incantations written in your own hand will convince the bishop along with your continued association with members of the Jewish community.”

  “Incantations?” Hubert realized that Jehan didn’t know what was written on the parchment. “Jehan, those aren’t magical words; it’s just the measurements for a candle holder. The only thing they’ll summon up is a silversmith.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jehan said, uncertainly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. The fact that you can read them is enough.”

  “No it isn’t, Jehan, and you know it.” Hubert knew he had the upper hand now. “The bishop may listen to you, but Abbot Suger won’t, and Count Thibault will support me as well. Spreading these lies will only reflect badly on you. Would you like Abbot Suger to have a word about you to King Louis? He might not want a known troublemaker among his knights.”

  Jehan wavered. He knew from bitter experience how much power this man had. His eyes strayed to James and Edana, who were happily splashing in the muddy puddles. Hubert followed his thoughts.

  “Don’t even think it,” he said. “If any harm comes to my grandchildren there will be no place in the world you can hide, in or out of Christendom. If you’re right in your accusations, then you know that the Jews have a trading network that reaches into lands that never saw a priest. And they won’t kill you, I promise. They’ll see that you’re captured, castrated and sold to the most vicious slave-owner in Bagdad. Believe me.”

  His heart was pounding slowly and his hands were icy. He prayed that he wouldn’t lose consciousness again in front of the little ones.

  The knife at his throat was almost welcome. It cleared his mi
nd. But the cut didn’t come.

  “Do you know what it is to hate?” Jehan’s mouth was close to his ear. “Do you know what it’s like to see everything you’ve ever wanted or loved torn from you?”

  “Yes,” Hubert said simply.

  “No you don’t.” The knife pressed harder against his neck. “You can’t begin to. You think you’ve stopped me, but I will be avenged if it takes the rest of my life.”

  The knife slid along the side of Hubert’s neck, leaving a thin trail of blood. With a strangled cry of fury, Jehan mounted his horse and rode away. Hubert watched him until he was lost among the narrow streets. It was only then that he dared to breathe again.

  He went back to the tavern and called for another cup of wine. He sat thinking for a long time, with the laughter of his grandchildren filling his ears.

  By the time Walter and Peter returned, Folmar had been carried to a pallet hastily made up in the hall. His moans were lower now as he grew weaker.

  Catherine saw the grey robe first. She hadn’t realized that the mission had been successful. She bowed her head as Abbot Bernard knelt on the floor on the other side of the pallet from her.

  “Thank you for coming, my lord abbot,” she said. “This man has fallen into heresy, and although he’s dying, he refuses to recant and accept the viaticum. Please try to reach him. He has done terrible things, but I believe he’s more foolish than wicked. I don’t want him damned forever.”

  Bernard took Folmar’s hand. It hung limply in his. He then touched the man’s forehead. Folmar opened his eyes.

  “I’m here to save your soul,” Bernard said. “Do you understand.”

  There was a slight shake. “No, I must have the consolamentum. If I don’t, I’m doomed to be reborn into this evil flesh.”

  Bernard rocked back on his feet. “Oh, dear, a Cathar. This will be difficult. Leave me and Brother Berengar alone with him, please. And send to the cathedral for the holy oils, in case I succeed, so that I may give him the last rites.”

  Catherine did as she was told.

  Agnes stopped her in the doorway.

  “Will Folmar exonerate Hermann?”

  “I don’t know,” Catherine said. “He’s very weak and Abbot Bernard is mostly concerned with bringing him back to the faith before it’s too late. But he’s already admitted to poisoning Gerhardt. I’m sure that with his confession and Hermann’s testimony of orthodoxy we can confound this Andreas so that his accusation will have no weight with the archdeacon.”

  Agnes rubbed the knot at the back of her neck. “I only wish it were over. Once Hermann is free then I have to prove my marriage to Gerhardt was never consummated and get an annulment. I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary.”

  Catherine thought about reminding her that in the next room a man was dying. Surely that was of greater import than Agnes’s legal entanglements. She drew breath to speak and then changed her mind. It wasn’t more important to Agnes. Folmar had been the cause of all her troubles. It was only right that he pay. But knowing that justice was being served didn’t make Catherine any happier.

  When Peter came back with one of the canons bringing the accoutrements for the last rites, she was surprised to notice that he was wet. She hadn’t noticed the rain begin.

  Agnes went to the canon at once for news of Hermann.

  “The archdeacon examined him this afternoon,” the priest told her. “Hermann answered every point thoroughly. His case was also helped by the discovery that his accuser had fled, taking with him a silver candlestick and salt cellar.”

  Agnes was too happy too speak. She scandalized the canon by hugging him and then caught up to Peter and danced him around the room, which completed the canon’s outrage. He found a seat as far away from her as possible and settled himself to wait.

  It was nearly dark before any sound came from the room other than an occasional moan. The servants were lighting the lamps when Abbot Bernard came out, worn but exultant.

  “Come with me,” he told the canon. “The man has made a full confession and wishes to die in a state of grace. Deo gratia. But hurry. He won’t last much longer.”

  Catherine was almost asleep with her head on Edgar’s lap. He roused her and helped her to stand.

  “It’s all over, carissima,” he said. “I think it’s time for us to go home.”

  Epilogue

  Trier, Monday, 5 ides of September (September 9), 1146; 1 Elul, 4907. Rosh Hashonah, the first day of the new year.

  Omnes quidem homines, dum parvuli sunt … constat eorum hominum fidem vel consuetudinem sequi, cum quibus conservantur et eorum maxime, quos amplius diligunt. Postquam vero adulti sunt, ut iam proprio regi possint arbitrio, non alieno, sed proprio committo iudico debent.

  All people, when they are children … follow the faith and customs of those who care for them and especially of those whom they love more dearly. But after they are adults and are able to decide for themselves, they ought to be committed to their own judgement, not that of others.

  —Peter Abelard,

  Dialogue of the Christian,

  the Philospher and the Jew.

  Margaret sat up in her bed, cushioned on all sides. The swelling in her face had gone down and the bruises were starting to fade. Brother Zacharias had ordered her to remain in bed for several more weeks to allow the damage to the rest of her body to heal. Her ribs were sore and there was some pain in her back that caused the infirmarian to cluck with worry.

  “I hope you plan to stay here at least until the feast of the Nativity,” he said. He looked at Catherine’s stomach. “Perhaps even a few months after that.”

  Edgar assured him that they had no intention of going home before next summer at the earliest.

  “Excellent,” Brother Zacharias said. “I’ll be back later with a salve to help the cuts heal.”

  He didn’t understand why everyone in the room was suddenly afflicted with a fit of coughing.

  That night, after Margaret and the children were asleep, Hubert decided it was time to tell Catherine and Edgar of his plans. He knew they would object, but he had to try to make them understand.

  “I won’t be staying with you through the winter,” he began. “Walter is letting me go with him back to Paris.”

  “Oh, good,” Catherine said. “Would you have Samonie pack my furs and woolens to bring back with you? And ask her if she can spare Willa to take care of James and Edana during my confinement.”

  “I shall,” Hubert said. “But I’m not returning here from Paris. I’m going south.”

  “South? But why?” Catherine asked. “I thought Solomon and Eliazar did the trading there now.”

  Hubert bolstered up his courage. He had to tell them the truth.

  “Catherine, I’m not coming back,” he said. “I’ve sent a request to be admitted to the community at Arles. I need to go where no one knows me as a Christian.”

  Catherine didn’t understand him at first. When she did, she looked as if he had struck her.

  “Oh, Father!” she breathed. “Don’t do this. Please, I beg you!”

  She fell to her knees in front of him and took his knees. Gently Hubert pushed her away.

  “I must, my dear child,” he said. “I can’t live like this any longer. I love you all so much it’s like a brand burning in my soul, but I am a Jew, no matter how much I try to pretend I’m not. Sooner or later, this would have come out, to your misery.”

  “If you’d only try.” Catherine was weeping now.

  Edgar put his arm around her.

  “He has tried, leoffest,” he said. “We can’t force him to believe because he loves us any more than the rest of the Jews can be forced to believe through fear. Remember the abbot’s sermon.”

  Catherine did. It had been inspiring and powerful. More than one listener had been moved to tears. Bernard’s sermon had assured that no more persecutions would take place, at least in Trier. But it was easier to accept that God would choose the time for the conversion of th
e Jews when one of them wasn’t her father.

  Hubert continued. “I’m fifty-six, Catherine. I want to study the Torah as my father did. It will be ten years before I know enough to begin. I can’t wait any longer. I know how this hurts you. But it would give me great solace if I could depart with your blessing.”

  “But what about the property in Paris?” Catherine tried. “What about your contract with Saint Denis?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m going to Paris first,” Hubert said. “I intend to give you and Edgar the Paris house and all it contains. Guillaume has his castellany and it appears that Agnes will stay in Germany, so it should be yours. As for the contract, I think we should wait until Solomon is here to discuss that.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Edgar said. “It’s late; we all should sleep on this before any more decisions are made.”

  “But Edgar!” Catherine exclaimed.

  “In the morning,” Edgar answered. “You can see how exhausted your father is.”

  They went to bed then, but no one slept.

  When Solomon came in the next morning, Catherine accosted him at once.

  “Did you know of this plan of my father’s?” she greeted him.

  “He mentioned something about Arles,” Solomon admitted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she wailed.

  “Because I knew exactly how you’d take on,” he said, grabbing a hunk of bread before she yanked the tray out of his reach. “Just as you are now.”

  “He wants us to tell everyone he’s dead!” she said. “That means he won’t be able to visit. We’ll never see him again.”

  “Perhaps,” Solomon said. “Or perhaps you’ll come to Arles one day.”

  Catherine wasn’t ready to be comforted. She sulked over her beer and barley gruel until Hubert and Edgar came down.

  “Solomon!” Hubert smiled. “I’ve been discussing with Edgar the idea of him taking over my half of the business. What do you think of it?”