Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Then he turned back to Robert. “There’s no point in wasting time in greetings. Only catastrophe would being you here. Tell me. Now.”

  Robert did.

  Ullo arrived with a tray of bread, cheese, strawberries and a pitcher of wine. He saw Edgar’s face go stiff with horror and became frightened, himself, not knowing what this foreigner was saying. The sounds themselves were brutal to his ears.

  “Shall I go find Master Hubert?” he asked.

  “What?” Edgar tried to focus on the boy. “No, this has nothing to do with him. Put the tray down and go.”

  Robert broke off a piece of cheese. Edgar poured a cup of the wine for him and then another for himself.

  “It’s horrible,” he said. The cup rattled as he set it on the tray and he realized he was shaking. “Who would have killed them all? Especially little Edgar. I’d almost forgotten I had a namesake. He can’t have been old enough to wield a sword.”

  “He was a tall lad, and strong for twelve,” Robert answered.

  “At least he had a weapon to defend himself. And he used it. All the swords were stained.” He took a hunk of cheese. “Father sent me to bring you home. We need you.”

  “No.” Edgar shook his head. “No.” He backed away a step. “No.”

  “Edgar, I know what he said to you.” The cheese crumbled in Robert’s fist. “He was angry. He didn’t mean it.”

  “It’s not that,” Edgar answered. “I forgave him long ago. After all, he doesn’t know Catherine.”

  Robert wiped his hands of the cheese and any interest in Edgar’s wife.

  “Then how can you refuse, Edgar?” he demanded. “This is family. It’s your duty to come back.”

  “And do what?” Edgar splashed wine in an arc as he waved his arms in anger. “I have no talent for warfare; you all told me that often enough. And if I couldn’t fight for the good of the family, I had to pray. Well, I haven’t become a priest, Robert. My prayers are of no more value than yours.”

  Robert’s tanned face grew red, then pale. He bit back his sharp answer.

  “Vengeance is more than battle. There are other ways to destroy an enemy,” he said. “And we have enough priests at home. Too many, to my mind. This is about what you owe your family. Your brothers have been murdered, Edgar. It’s laid upon you to come home.”

  “Robert, this is my home.” Edgar turned toward the door. He had heard the steps and the whispers.

  “And this is my family,” he added as Catherine came in with the sleeping child in her arms.

  She looked from Edgar to Robert, her blue eyes wide with surprise. Then she nodded to Robert.

  “Ic gief the greting,” she said. “Ic eom Catherine, Eadgardes wif.” She glanced at Edgar. “Is that right?”

  He smiled. “Close enough. He understood you.”

  Robert licked his lips. “Jo Robert, le freres. Diex te saut.” He muttered to Edgar, “You know I hate this tongue.”

  Willa appeared at Catherine’s side and gently took the baby from her arms without waking him. Catherine turned back to Robert and smiled nervously.

  “Edgar, I’m very happy to welcome your brother to our home,” she said. “But why is he here?”

  “I’ll explain it all later, carissima,” he told her, “For now, would you arrange for a place for Robert to sleep?”

  “Of course. He must be very tired,” she answered. “I’m sorry.”

  “In the morning, Robert, we can discuss this,” Edgar said. “I’ll send whatever help I can, but I won’t return to Scotland with you.”

  “You must,” Robert answered. “Father needs all of us now, even you. I need you. It hasn’t come to you yet, has it? With Alexander and Egbert gone, that means Duncan is the eldest.”

  Edgar froze. Catherine’s stomach tightened as she saw the horror in his eyes. What were they talking about?

  “Father would never let him inherit,” Edgar stated, but there was uncertainty in his voice.

  “He’s already declared him heir. And when Father dies, who will stop him?” Robert asked. “We need someone who knows our laws and can argue at the court for the French custom of the eldest’s son’s son succeeding when he’s of age. That’s our only hope. I won’t have Duncan as my overlord.”

  “Then find a new lord, or join the church,” Edgar answered. “If Father has decided Duncan is to get Wedderlie then there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Edgar … for Christ’s love! We’re desperate! We need you! What must I say to make you see that?”

  Catherine was becoming increasingly frightened by the conversation. The interchange was too quick to follow but the sound of it was to her like one of those sad tales about lost sailors and exiles that Edgar chanted sometimes. She shivered. What must this place be like that their language was made up only of words of anger and grief?

  Edgar would allow no further discussion that evening. Robert was introduced to Hubert at dinner.

  “I grieve with your father at the loss of his posterity,” Hubert said formally, and waited for Edgar to translate.

  Robert nodded his appreciation. Hubert glanced from him to Edgar. He could feel the tension between them. He guessed the reason. Everyone knew a man’s duty at such a time. But would Edgar be persuaded to perform it?

  After a few attempts at translated conversation, they gave up and ate in silence. After the meal, Robert was given a bed and shown where the privy was. When his brother had been settled and they had checked that James was safe in his cradle, Edgar and Catherine undressed and climbed into bed. Edgar closed his eyes and curled into his normal sleeping position, but Catherine had restrained her anxiety all evening and wasn’t to be put off any longer.

  “How dreadful for your brother to have to come all this way bearing such sorrow,” she opened, still sitting up. “The loss must be devastating to you.”

  Edgar nuzzled his forehead against her thigh.

  “So awful I can’t bear to think of it,” he mumbled.

  She ran her hand through his hair.

  “Yes, I understand that,” she said. “We’ll all pray for their souls and I’ll write Mother Heloise, asking that the nuns add their prayers.”

  He raised his head. “I hadn’t thought of doing that. Would you?”

  Catherine smiled. “Of course. Now, Edgar, tell me the rest. I know your brother didn’t come only to bring this news, however disastrous for your family.”

  Edgar saw that feigning sleep wouldn’t work. He decided on an alternate route of distraction. Catherine’s fingers tightened, pulling painfully on his hair before he could get very far. She slid down on the bed until they faced each other.

  “I love you,” she said quietly. “But before I show you how much, you have to tell me. These deaths were part of a blood feud, weren’t they? Who does he want you to help kill?”

  Edgar rolled over onto his back. Catherine could feel his anger but wasn’t sure if it were at her or the situation. He was quiet so long, she wasn’t sure if he would answer. Finally he swallowed and she understood that he had been trying to control his voice.

  “No one knows,” he said. “And it doesn’t matter, not to me. They’ll have to fight their own battles; I won’t leave you.”

  Catherine moved against him. She had interesting curves to nuzzle with, he reflected anew. She waited until she was sure his attention wasn’t on anything she was saying, but he heard it anyway.

  “You don’t have to,” she whispered. “James and I will come, too.”

  He decided the argument could wait until morning.

  Catherine and Edgar were still sound asleep when Hubert was awakened abruptly by his nephew, Solomon ben Jacob.

  “Uncle!” Solomon whispered harshly. “Get up! Hurry! You must come with me at once.”

  Half-awake, Hubert’s heart leapt in panic. “What is it? Have they come for us?”

  “No, no,” Solomon answered. “I’m sorry. No, we are in no danger, at least I hope not. But Uncle Eliazar has had disturbing news
. He sent me to bring you now. It can’t wait until daylight.”

  Hubert sagged back onto his bed. It took a moment to bring himself back to the present. He wasn’t a child any longer, but a man in his fifties. And the Soldiers of Christ weren’t at the door this time. It had been over forty years since they had broken in and dragged off his mother and sisters to their deaths while he hid in the cupboard. Forty years he had been a Christian, at least in the eyes of the world. But a sound in the night could still make him tremble. In every Easter sermon he could still hear the echoes of his mother’s screams.

  Solomon saw that Hubert’s hands shook as he dressed. He cursed himself for being so thoughtless. There had been no overt persecution since he had been born, but Solomon knew the stories from the days of the Great Crusade. He also knew how tormented Hubert was for the sin of baptism and for staying alive.

  When Hubert was ready, they set off. They crossed the bridge over the Seine from the Grève to the Île de la Cité and felt their way down the dark and twisting streets of the old Juiverie to the house of Hubert’s brother, Eliazar.

  The gate was opened not by a servant, but by Eliazar’s wife, Johanna.

  “My poor Hubert!” she exclaimed softly. “We’ll find a way out, I promise we will!”

  Thoroughly frightened, Hubert followed her into the house and up the stairs to his brother’s hall. Eliazar was sitting by the cold hearth. A solitary candle lit a circle about him. On the table next to his stool was a wine pitcher and three cups. He set down his own empty cup as they entered.

  “Brother!” he cried and hugged Hubert. “We are in grave danger. Word has come that you have been reported to the bishop as an apostate.”

  “What?” Hubert blindly took the cup Johanna thrust into his hand. “Who? How? What proof have they given?”

  His mind flashed to his other daughter, Agnes, who had discovered his secret two years before and had refused to live under his roof since then. She couldn’t have betrayed him. She didn’t hate him that much, did she?

  “We don’t know who,” Eliazar told him. “But there can’t be much proof or you would have been brought before the bishop at once.”

  “One of the canons is a friend of Edgar’s and mine,” Solomon explained. “He came to me this afternoon to tell me. He doesn’t believe the accusation.”

  “But does Bishop Stephen believe it?” Hubert asked.

  Eliazar shrugged. “We don’t know. You’ve never hidden your birth, exactly.”

  “I’ve simply told no one that I was born a Jew, nor have I admitted to being your brother, as well as your partner.” Hubert shook his head. “Most people assume that I’m the natural son of Gervase LeVendeur. There aren’t many now who remember differently.”

  “Someone does,” Solomon said. “Or thinks he does. We must convince Bishop Stephen that there’s no truth to this accusation before it becomes public.”

  Eliazar agreed. “Even the rumor could destroy us, Brother. The other merchants would believe we had taken unfair advantage. Abbot Suger would never trust us again.”

  Hubert sat staring at his hands, but what he was seeing was his mother’s face as the soldiers pounded on their door. Her beautiful dark hair and wide eyes. Her face so like Solomon’s and so very much like … “Catherine,” he whispered.

  “What’s that?” Eliazar had been lost in his own memories.

  “She must leave Paris,” Hubert said. “If a mob comes for me, I won’t have her taken as well. I’ve seen it, an angry beast with no mind. No one will believe she’s a Christian. They might even say we were trying to convert Edgar.”

  “Yes, it would be safest if she and your grandson were sent away,” Eliazar agreed. He looked at his wife.

  “Don’t even suggest it,” Johanna said. “I’ve stayed at your side through fire, flood and famine and I’ll not leave you now.”

  “Catherine won’t go, either, if she knows why,” Solomon pointed out.

  Hubert sighed. “I know that. She’s more stubborn than Ballam’s ass.”

  “Would she go to your son at Vielleteneuse?” Eliazar suggested.

  “Too close. She’d be back at the first hint of trouble,” Solomon answered.

  Hubert agreed. “No, there’s only one thing to do, much as it galls me. Edgar’s brother has arrived with news of death in the family. I suspect that he wants Edgar to return with him. I must convince Edgar to go and take Catherine and the baby with him. And may the Holy One protect them.”

  “It will take a lot of convincing,” Solomon warned.

  “Not if I tell him the truth,” Hubert said. “And not if you go with him.”

  Solomon’s jaw dropped.

  “I would never leave you two to fight this out alone!” he told them. “What sort of coward do you think I am?”

  Eliazar grew stern. “My brother is right. Solomon, you are the last of our family who still keeps the true faith. If you’re killed, then the seed of our father will never grow again. There are few enough of us.”

  “Absolutely not,” Solomon said.

  Hubert and Eliazar looked at each other in silent agreement. Solomon would go. They would make him understand that if it took them all night.

  Edgar came downstairs before Catherine had wakened and, finding Hubert in the great hall, explained the situation. The response was not what he had hoped for.

  “What do you mean, you think I should go?” Edgar was furious. He had expected support. “I know! You want to see your daughter widowed, don’t you, so you can find her a more suitable husband?”

  Hubert snorted. “Nonsense! Do you think she’d be any more tractable the second time?”

  Edgar’s lips twitched. It was a cogent point. “Then why, by the two halves of Saint Basilla, do you want me to go back there and fight?” he shouted. “What good will I be to them? I was trained for the church. Do you think I’ll vanquish my brothers’ murderers with exempla?”

  “I want to send Solomon with you,” Hubert replied. “To negotiate with the king of Scotland and the abbots there for our spices in trade for wool. The Flemish and the Danes are the only merchants in Scotland now. But with the war in England the usual routes are closed and we might be able to find new markets. You know the customs, speak the language. You could be of help to him.”

  Edgar blinked. His father-in-law knew him better than he had realized. The appeal to family loyalty would have been only a repetition of Robert’s plea. But the prospect of being a part of Hubert’s work, that was intriguing. Still, there was something odd about this. It was too convenient. Edgar tried another gambit.

  “Catherine has said she won’t let me go without her,” he announced. If that didn’t put Hubert on his side, nothing would.

  To his astonishment, Hubert seemed pleased.

  “That would be an excellent idea,” he said. “It’s time Catherine met your family.”

  Edgar sat with a thump. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “You’re either mad or there’s something wrong.”

  “You’re right.” Hubert gave him a hand up. “Something is wrong. I need your help and we must keep Catherine from knowing.”

  “To the first you are welcome,” Edgar said. “As for the second, that will be much harder. Now tell me.”

  Hubert bit his upper lip, scraping it with his teeth in an effort to find the right words.

  “In joining my family,” he began slowly, “in accepting all of us, you’ve taken on a great burden, one, I admit, I’ve doubted you could carry. You think I believe you useless. That’s not true. I believe you to be dangerous.”

  Edgar was stung. Hadn’t he proved his loyalty many times over, not least on their recent journey to Spain? He reminded Hubert of this.

  “It’s one thing to stand by us far from home, where there is little chance of encountering anyone who could threaten our safety here,” Hubert answered sternly. “It’s another to risk being labeled a heretic or apostate by those who can destroy your life.”

  Edgar closed hi
s eyes, pushing out the image of his mentor, Peter Abelard, forced to burn his own writings as heretical. It was too close to a vision of flames licking at his own feet, or Catherine’s. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.

  “I can defend myself and my wife against any charges,” he answered. “Far better that you could. The question is whether or not I would betray you. I resent your even asking it.”

  Hubert gazed at his son-in-law in surprise. Although Edgar wasn’t trained to be a soldier, he had been raised to lead, and the traditions of his class were woven into his being. In his world, betrayal was worse than apostasy.

  “I apologize,” Hubert said. “I’ll tell you everything and then you may do as you see fit.”

  It was Edgar’s turn to be surprised.

  Sometime later Catherine came in and found them huddled at the end of the room, speaking in whispers. They both looked up guiltily when they saw her.

  “Where’s the baby?” Edgar asked.

  “He’s been bathed, oiled and fed, and Willa is swaddling him,” Catherine told him. “Now may I join the discussion? I know it’s about me.”

  She waited. Hubert shrugged and went over to sit at the open window. Edgar felt abandoned.

  “Catherine,” he began, “I’ve decided to go back with Robert and—”

  “Don’t you two tell me I can’t come with you,” she interrupted. “I’ve thought of another eight reasons why I should.”

  “No,” Edgar said. “Your father and I agree that you and James will make the journey as well.”

  “What?” Catherine turned from her husband to her father and back again. “You think I should go?”

  Hubert nodded. “You have a duty to your husband’s family. I have no right to keep you from it.”

  Catherine frowned. That had been reason number three. Something was wrong here. It wasn’t like either man to give in so easily.