“I suppose,” Catherine said, unconvinced. “It just seems that we’re getting farther from the answers. I wanted a chance to speak with Alys’s mother again. I would swear she was utterly taken aback by Raynald’s charge that Paciana was still alive. And her comment that Alys was only interested in worldly matters was very strange. That’s a very odd thing for a mother to say about her dead child, don’t you agree?”
“Mmmm?” Edgar was more than half asleep. “Oh yes, I agree completely.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Catherine?”
“Yes, carissme?”
“If you’re going to continue moving your fingers like that, would you mind doing it further down?”
Catherine moved her hand. There was another moment of silence.
“Actually, Edgar,” she said, “I don’t think it will be necessary.”
Edgar was feeling much less sleepy. He rolled toward her.
“You may be right,” he whispered. “Can we forget Alys for a while?”
Catherine wrapped herself around him.
“I’ve no objection,” she answered.
Fifteen
The forest of Othe,
Tuesday, April 16, 1140
Il a trové l‘ermite son cortil encloant, …
‘Amis’ dist le ermites, qui fu de bone vie
Et de grant carité, ‘hui mais n’en irés mie;
De la moie viande arés une partie, …’
He found the hermit in his enclosed garden, …
‘Friend,’ said the hermit, who was a man of good will
and great kindness, ‘You will go no further today,
Of my food you will have a share, …’
—Elioxe Laisse 56—57
Tavelling with a party of merchants made Catherine feel a ravelling with a party of merchants made Catherine feel a little girl again. She had always loved the laughter and singing and the stories the men told as they rode. In those days, she had laughed and sung along and dozed against her father’s back and never noticed that the men all rode with one eye to the forest and one hand on their knives.
Now she dozed against Edgar, delighting in the feel of the sun on her back and oblivious to the rash on her cheek from his woolen cloak. The light was slanting through the trees in golden ribbons and the forest was bright with fresh baby leaves. All the tales of monsters, wildmen and outlaws who were known to roam the woods seeking the weak and unwary seemed impossible on a day like this. Catherine had never seen monsters in the forest; in her experience they were more likely to roam through city streets and dark castle halls.
They arrived at the village of Lailly in the early afternoon. There were no Jews in the town to put them up for the night, so most of the party decided to continue on to Sens. Yehiel offered to stay behind.
“I can introduce you to Gaufridus,” he said. “With him, it’s always better to have someone he knows vouch for you.”
“How do you know him?” Edgar asked. “Is he also a trader?”
“Of course not,” Yehiel answered. “He has no interest in such things, would never dirty his hands with money.”
“Then how could you have come upon him?” Catherine asked.
“Oh, through a friend who brought me to meet him, in the same way I’m bringing you.”
They looked at him with suspicion. Yehiel was clearly not telling them something. He was so full of suppressed laughter that he was in danger of exploding.
Solomon had intended to continue on to Sens with the others and then take a barge to Paris. He was more worried than he had admitted about the attack on Eliazar and wanted to reassure himself that his uncle was recovering. But, watching Yehiel, he decided to stay with Catherine and Edgar instead. Yehiel was known to be a trickster and he had the look of a man preparing a joke. Solomon felt a familial obligation to be sure Catherine wasn’t the butt of it.
The path from the village up to the hermit’s hut was well-worn. Someone had even placed a series of logs across a stretch of mud, a courtesy not often found even on the roads maintained by the local lords. As they approached the hut, they could hear the disputations of a number of quarrelsome goats.
“He keeps goats?” Catherine asked.
“No, his sister does,” Yehiel answered. “She lives in the village with her family and sends one of her children over every day to weed the garden, milk the goats and give the hermit his dinner.”
“I see,” Catherine said. But she didn’t. This didn’t sound like the usual sort of hermitage. Wasn’t he supposed to have exiled himself far from his home to subsist on roots and rainwater?
The hut of the hermit was rude but sturdy, built of stone and wood. Around it was a garden, fenced with brambles to keep animals from getting at it. The roof of the hut was thick with new esseules to keep out the rain. In the door, a small slit had been made in the form of a cross. Yehiel knocked.
They waited.
He knocked again.
“Perhaps he’s not home,” Catherine suggested.
“He’s in there,” Yehiel said and pounded the door with his fist.
Finally they heard a scraping as the bar on the other side of the cross was lifted. A sleepy voice greeted them.
“A blessing on all who come here,” it said. “What the devil do you want?”
“Gaufridus!” Yehiel shouted through the door. “It’s Yehiel. I’ve come to visit you. I’ve some friends with me who are in need of your assistance.”
There was a mumbling from the other side. It sounded to Catherine like, “How can I ever be expected to find the way to heaven with all these interruptions!”
Finally, the door opened. A man of indeterminate age peered out at them. He was thin, but not gaunt; nor did he show any of the signs of excessive disdain for the body that some hermits affected. His robe was worn, but clean, as was his face.
His sister must see that he washes, Catherine thought with approval.
“Diex vos saut,” Gaufridus said in resignation. “Weren’t you just here, Yehiel?”
“May the Almighty bless you, as well,” Yehiel responded. “I’m glad to see you again, too. These are my friends, Solomon, of Paris, Catherine, late of the Paraclete, and her husband, Edgar.”
Gaufridus looked sharply at Edgar and Catherine and tried to slam the door. Yehiel’s foot was in the way.
“I’ve taken in all sorts for you, Yehiel,” the hermit said. “But I won’t be harboring any runaway nuns, do you hear?”
Edgar reached for the leather bag around his neck. Why did everyone seem to doubt that he and Catherine had been properly wed?
“I have the contract,” he began. “Abbess Héloïse …”
“I don’t need harboring,” Catherine interrupted. “We’ve come to beg your help. We need information about Count Raynald and Walter of Grancy. It’s very important.”
Through the gap in the door, Gaufridus looked at each of them in turn. At last he sighed and opened the door all the way.
“I hope so,” he said with resignation. “I suppose you might as well come in.”
The single room contained a table that doubled as a bed, a bench and stool and various baskets and wooden bowls. A lantern hung from a hook by the door, next to it a bucket. That was all. But there was a window in one wall covered with greased cloth that let in light and produced a myriad of patterns that gave the room the appearance of being part of a constantly changing tapestry.
Catherine decided it was a good place from which to search for heaven. But she was still doubtful as to the status of Gaufridus as a hermit.
“I can only offer you water,” he said as they entered. “And maybe a bit of rough bread, and perhaps a little cheese, I think.”
He peered into one of the baskets.
“Yes, cheese,” he said. “And new onions.”
He placed a pitcher, the cheese, the green onions and a hunk of bread on the table.
“You’d get better hospitality from the monks, you know,” he hinted.
“This is a feast,” Edgar said. “You honor us.”
“None of your court talk here,” Gaufridus told him, but he seemed mollified by the praise. “Now, what was it that brought you to me?”
They all began speaking at once. The hermit covered his ears.
“Take it in turn,” he ordered. “Murder, monks, butchers, charters and counts! Quelle briche! How can these matters concern me? I’m only a poor hermit, I know nothing of such things.”
“You begin it, Catherine,” Solomon suggested. “It all started with Alys.”
Catherine explained about how Alys was brought to the Paraclete to die and the outrage over her bequest. She was in the middle of describing the problem of who had the right to the land when she noticed a young boy standing in the doorway. He was about twelve and had an aureole of golden hair that appeared to have been cut with a sickle.
“Forgive me, Uncle,” he said to Gaufridus. “Mother wants to know if she can have some of your radishes.”
“Yes, take what you want.” Gaufridus waved him away.
The boy didn’t move.
“And Father Vincon would be grateful if you would preach for him on Sunday. He says his throat feels odd.”
“Tell him to stop swearing so much when he loses at draughts and drink wine infused with peppercorns.” He rooted around in another basket and came up with a small packet of pepper, which he handed to the boy.
“You may say, yes, if that doesn’t work I’ll preach for him.”
The boy still didn’t leave.
“What else?” Gaufridus barked.
“Granny needs some more dockroot. She wants you to come with her tonight to help dig.”
“She doesn’t need me!” Gaufridus exploded. “I’ve told that woman it doesn’t matter when the stuff is dug up, as long as you say three paternosters and make the sign of the cross over the spot before the root leaves the earth. It’s pure superstition about having to dig it under a new moon. She could get it at midday and then you could help her.”
His nephew waited. Gaufridus sighed.
“Tell her I’ll come for her after I’ve said the evening psalms.”
“Thank you, Uncle.” The boy grinned and finally left.
Gaufridus returned his attention to his guests.
“Now, where were we?”
Catherine wasn’t sure. Oh yes, the land.
“The donation lies in the forest of Othe, just east of here. We can’t understand why it’s so important. Everyone involved has other property. No one will starve if the Paraclete receives the bequest.”
Gaufridus shook his head.
“I can’t imagine why anyone would care about this forest particularly. There is a rumor that Henry Sanglier wants to build one of those ‘new towns’ and settle some of the serfs who’ve run away to Sens in it. He thinks they’re dangerous, too likely to join communes and riot. But that’s only gossip, and he’d probably settle them nearer the river. I’ve seen no sign of land clearing, except for those desfaé charcoal burners. I don’t understand it; they never used to be so thick. Why would anyone need all that charcoal?”
“Are you sure there are more than usual?” Edgar asked. “All forests have people hiding in them who make charcoal to survive. Was the winter here harder than normal?”
“No, and we take care of our own in Lailly,” Gaufridus said. “These are strangers and the forest is full of them.”
“Has no one sent men to clear them out?” Edgar asked. “My father would drive them from his forests at the point of his spear.”
“No, the monks have apparently given them permission to use their land, as has the count of Tonnerre,” Gaufridus sighed. “No one asked us.”
“It seems we are left with another mystery instead of answers,” Solomon said. “So you have no idea why the forest would be important enough to kill for?”
“I can think of nothing important enough to kill for,” the hermit said. “Now I really can’t see how I can help you any more. If you don’t want another piece of cheese?”
He stood and began edging them to the doorway. As she got up, Catherine heard a giggle at the window.
Gaufridus heard it, too.
“Annali!” he said sternly. “Have you been listening?”
There was a scurrying and more giggles. A moment later, a little girl appeared in the doorway. She was about six, with long thin legs and large brown eyes. Behind her were two other children, a little younger.
“Annali!” Gaufridus repeated. “I am horribly offended by this breach of manners!”
The children did not seem in the least alarmed. They squirmed past the visitors and circled round the hermit, clinging to his robes.
“Story!” they shouted. “We want our story!”
“Have you cleaned the dovecote?” he asked.
They nodded.
“And filled the goats’ water trough?”
“To the very top,” they assured him.
“Very well,” he surrendered. “First I must say farewell to my guests and prepare the oratory for evening prayers.”
He led the others out, the three children still attached to his legs.
“The oratory is just up the path, here,” he explained. “It’s only a small place to pray, not consecrated or anything. And, of course, Yehiel, you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with it.”
Yehiel extended his hand to Gaufridus.
“No,” he said. “But if anyone could convince me to, it would be you. We thank you.”
“I’ve done nothing,” Gaufridus said. “Oh, yes, in the middle of all that tale, wasn’t there something about Walter of Grancy?”
“Yes,” Edgar said. “We must speak to him. Do you know where he is?”
Gaufridus sighed again, with deep emotion.
“I should have said nothing,” he looked at them sadly. “You may as well follow me. Walter is staying near the oratory.”
As they followed him up the path, Catherine fell behind, catching at Edgar’s hand to keep him with her.
“What kind of hermit is this?” she whispered.
“Not like any I’ve ever met,” he whispered back. “I’ve known tavern keepers who spent more time alone than he does. He might as well have built his hermitage at a crossroad.”
Catherine shook her head in bewilderment. She knew now why Yehiel was so eager to come with them. He must be laughing inside this very moment at their confusion. Hermit indeed! She wondered what Saint Anthony and Saint Athanasius would think of this hermitage.
And yet, … She looked around at the hut and the goats and garden and the children. Gaufridus was carrying the smallest one on his shoulders now. It was almost sunset and the light cast an odd aura around the man and his burden.
One who gives what he has to the poor, takes in weary travellers, offers comfort and solace and suffers little children has already found the path to heaven.
Catherine sniffed. Her voices had never chastised her so softly or so thoroughly.
“Walter!” Gaufridus shouted as they reached the top of the hill.
“Walter! Walter! Walter!” the children echoed.
“Hush,” Gaufridus said. “Or no story. Walter! You have visitors!”
The oratory was no more than a pile of stones, clumsily daubed together and covered with branches and skins. A wooden cross at the top was all that distinguished it as a place of worship.
“Don’t move.”
The voice was chillingly out of place in this forest. Catherine started to turn to see who it was and then froze. The sound she had just heard was unquestionably the click of a crossbow being armed.
Gaufridus set down the child.
“Walter,” he spoke quietly, “I have not betrayed you. You should know that. These people are here to discover the truth behind the death of Alys of Tonnerre. They want to help you. Look, here’s Yehiel. He’s an old friend of mine. You’ve met him before. Put that hideous instrument down and come talk with them.”
Catherine hea
rd every sound of the evening; birds, wind in the trees, insects, the bleating of goats and, at last, the sound of the bolt sliding and the arrow slipping out to the ground.
She turned to face Walter of Grancy, furious at having been so frightened. She was about to let him know in no uncertain terms that the pope and the Lateran Council had outlawed the crossbow last year as too dangerous a weapon to ever be used against Christians. She opened her mouth and shut it again.
In the hands of Walter of Grancy, a crossbow was a child’s toy. He held it easily as if it had no weight. He was the largest man she had ever seen. She was tall for a woman and Edgar nearly six feet, but Walter was a mountain, an oak in an apple orchard. He towered over them all and was as broad as Edgar and Solomon put together. How could such a man have anything to fear from someone like Raynald of Tonnerre?
“I had nothing to do with the attack on Alys!” Walter told the world at large.
Catherine covered her ears. His voice more than matched his size.
“We believe you,” Edgar answered. “But why would Raynald of Tonnerre try to make people think you were responsible?”
“He’s a pompous idiot, of course,” Walter answered. “Who are you to be asking?”
It took some time for satisfactory introductions to be made. When Walter was finally convinced that Catherine and Edgar both wanted to help and might have an opportunity to do so, he welcomed them both effusively.
“I’m sick of these woods,” he admitted. “I only agreed to come here because Bishop Hatto begged me to prevent the effusion of blood during Lent. The only way I could think of to do that was to become a hermit, myself. But come with me where we can sit and discuss the matter thoroughly.”
He started to lead them past the oratory to what, presumably, was his hermitage. Solomon stayed behind.
“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, “Yehiel and I would have little to contribute to this tale. We’re going back to the village for the night. Gaufridus’s sister, Ermogene, has offered us a bed and we still have the food Yehiel’s mother packed for us. Will you be ready to go on to Paris in the morning?”
The Devil's Door: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 20
