There. Clear as if an army had come through. Catherine pushed back the torn branches of a fir tree, hoping to see the trail leading back to the monster’s lair. There was nothing but a deep depression in the ground, wildflowers squashed flat. Their scent rose to greet her.
Catherine puzzled over this. Had the thing been lying in wait and then, lacking prey, got up again? She moved to the other side of the road, noting how the dirt had been disturbed and the ruts of the cartwheels dented.
So, it had crossed here, just as she had seen. And vanished among the trees.
Catherine hesitated. What if it were still there? What if it attacked her?
I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought. If I’m killed, what will happen to my child?
Still, she peered into the forest, looking for a glimpse of the monster as it retreated, she hoped.
The branches shook. Catherine leapt back to the other side of the road. She raised her weapon as the leaves parted.
Two women came out of the woods. They were carrying baskets of strawberries. When they saw Catherine, they screamed and then threw themselves face down on the grass.
Catherine started toward them, to help them up. She stopped as both women began chanting at her, loudly, holding the berries out before them.
“Ic on sunu thinne sodne gelyfe
hœlenda cyning, hider asende …”
What were they doing? Catherine froze. Was it some sort of curse they were setting on her? Would it help to run? She was willing to try.
The women went on, neither one looking up.
“ … thone Gabriel, godes œrendraca,
sanctan Marian sylfre gebodode … .”
Wait. Those words sounded familiar. “Sanctan Marian?” Oh, no.
Now Catherine did run. Those women had taken her for an apparition of the Holy Virgin Mary. Horrible! She was much more afraid of committing sacrilege than being cursed. She prayed she would be out of sight before the women dared to lift their eyes. How could they have made such a foolish assumption?
“How do you think, Catherine? Look at yourself! You should be ashamed.”
The voices of the convent pierced through the thumping of her heart. She slid under the portcullis again, took the steps three at a time and, landing inside the doorway, barred it shut and leaned on it, gasping for breath.
Then she looked at herself: bare feet, white shift, a blue tablecloth over her head and, worse and worse, in her hands a sword left behind by Anna’s son. It was a very simple toy, just two strips of wood lashed together. It looked very much like a cross.
She dropped it guiltily. It clattered on the stone threshold.
“What’s that?”
Adalisa looked up from a table by the hearth. It was littered with papers. When she saw Catherine her mouth opened in astonishment.
“Good morning,” Catherine said quickly. “I was just … just …”
Adalisa shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know.”
“No!” Catherine was alarmed. “It isn’t like that. I thought I saw something in the woods. I went out to investigate.”
“Of course,” Adalisa answered. “And what did you find?”
“Nothing,” Catherine said. “Just broken branches.”
“A deer, probably.” Adalisa bent back over the papers.
Catherine blushed, more in anger than embarrassment. This woman didn’t believe her! She thought Catherine had gone out for some sort of assignation.
My God, she thought. From the Virgin to the Magdalene, and all before breakfast.
Catherine could see it would be no use to defend herself. She crossed the hall to the stairs up to her room.
“Catherine?”
Catherine stopped. “You wished something more, my lady?”
Adalisa sighed. “When you’re dressed, I could use some help going through these. Please. And, Catherine, you have nothing to fear from me. I would never betray you.”
Catherine spoke between clenched teeth. “I have done nothing that would cause me to fear you. I shall be happy to help. Let me check on the baby and put on my bliaut and shoes.”
James still slept, but Willa was awake.
“Did you dance with the fairies, Mistress?” she asked.
“Have you been talking with Solomon?” Catherine asked sternly.
“No, Mistress,” Willa said. “I saw you from the window. Next time, may I go, too?”
Catherine wondered how many others had seen her and what they thought she had been doing. Any chance she may have had of being thought of as a respectable French matron had been shattered by one rash act. Her only consolation was that Edgar would probably think the episode amusing.
She dressed carefully, although she doubted that proper attire would salvage her reputation with Adalisa. Then she descended to the hall.
A servant had brought a pitcher of ale and a platter of meat and bread. Adalisa had poured a bowl of the ale, but left the food untouched. Her finger was moving slowly across a square of vellum that kept trying to roll itself up again. She looked up when Catherine entered.
“Eat first.” She waved vaguely at the small table set up to hold the food. “Then help me with these. There’s some language in this charter that makes no sense to me. My Latin is only the little our parish priest could teach.”
Catherine poured a bowl of ale. It was more sour than French beer but she was becoming accustomed to it. The bread was softened by the meat sauce, and she tore off a piece from the edge and nibbled at it as she read over Adalisa’s shoulder.
“Which is the troublesome part?” she asked.
Adalisa pointed, moving over so Catherine could see.
Catherine put down her bread and bent over the text. As she did, a suspicion struck her.
“This isn’t some sort of test, is it, to see if I’m what I claim to be?”
Adalisa almost laughed. “No, or I’d have set you a task I could better judge. I’ve known Edgar since he was a boy, better than his father does. He could never abide stupid women, stupid people, actually. A pretty face might hold him a few nights, but to abandon home and family, he would have to have more than his privates interested. I’m sure you have the education he claims for you. Now, please look at this.”
Catherine returned to her task, somewhat reassured.
“Sciatis me concessisse et reddidisse … ego pro delicitione Dei et redemptione anime mee … .” She looked up. “It seems a fairly standard charter of gift.”
“Not that part,” Adalisa said. “Farther down. After Saint Cuthbert.”
“Let me see.” Catherine read further. It wasn’t a very neat copy. There were places where words had been scraped and reentered. She held the page up to the light. “Sancto Cuthberto et Willelmo Cumino, episcopo.”
She looked up again. “I thought William Cumin was never elected Bishop of Durham. Isn’t that what Edgar’s brother Duncan is fighting about?”
“Yes, it is,” Adalisa said. “But that hasn’t stopped Cumin from issuing charters and giving away church land. That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s the next bit.
“Very well.” Once again. “Unam carractam terre de feudo meo in … is this the Latin for Berwick? Berwick, then … pro escambio terre de—”
“That’s it!” Adalisa said. “Escambio, what is it?”
“In exchange for,” Catherine answered. “It’s fairly straightforward. Waldeve gave land in Berwick to the bishop of Durham in exchange for three horses, fully shod and caparisoned. From what I’ve seen of my father-in-law, it’s not unlike him to disguise a sale as a gift. Is the land in Berwick worth three horses? It seems a lot to pay for only one carractate.”
“I don’t see how it could be,” Adalisa said. “That’s part of what bothers me. I knew nothing of this. He told me he had bought the horses at the fair at Roxburgh. The land at Berwick is only a toft, with a small house. It was part of his first wife’s dower. I didn’t even think it was his to give. I thought it had gone to Rober
t.”
Catherine looked at the signatures of the witnesses.
“Robert hasn’t signed this,” she said. “Duncan did, as well as the other two brothers. It says the transaction was done at Durham, but not when. Perhaps the property went to one of the others instead. Or one of them may have traded Robert for it.”
“I don’t think so,” Adalisa said. “I wonder how old this is? Waldeve keeps the family papers in a casket under our bed. While I hold the keys to everything else, he’s always kept this one until now. I think he felt that his family was none of my business.”
Catherine heard the tightness in her voice. Adalisa’s fate was a cruel one, to have a husband who gave her so much responsibility and so little respect.
Adalisa continued. “This is the first time I’ve opened it alone. But it occurred to me that the reason for the persecution might lie in some agreement my husband made long ago. Perhaps someone felt they were cheated of their birthright.”
“You suspect that Robert is getting revenge for the alienation of his land?” Catherine was aghast. “That’s rather drastic, don’t you think?”
“Robert?” Adalisa brushed the idea away with a flick of her fingers. “Poor Robert probably doesn’t even know about this. No, don’t you see? You said it before, William Cumin is not the canonically elected bishop. He tried everything to make the canons choose him, including imprisoning them in their own cloister, but they wouldn’t do it. Yet he still behaves as if he’s bishop.”
“I don’t understand,” Catherine said. “Does that mean that the charter is invalid? Were the horses stolen, then?”
“I don’t know,” Adalisa answered. “No, what frightens me is the fact that more men of our family than Duncan are dealing with Cumin at all. King David supported him at the beginning but almost no one does now. The town is under siege with the body of Saint Cuthbert held hostage. Horrible things have been done there, I’ve heard tales of torture and rape and houses put to the torch.”
“But surely all of those who stand with this Cumin aren’t being murdered,” Catherine argued. “Why would this family be singled out? Hardly because Waldeve bought some horses.”
“Perhaps it was because those horses were used to bring my stepsons to Durham to commit those atrocities. The past few years, they’ve all been gone for long stretches. They said they were with the king or Earl Cospatrick. What if they weren’t?”
Adalisa started rolling up the various papers and tying them with ribbons. She rubbed at the marks the wax seals had left on the table.
Catherine could see that there was no point in arguing, but in her mind the theory had a hundred flaws. The greatest was the idea that anyone who owed knight’s fee to the king could escape it. If Waldeve and his sons hadn’t been with the court, someone would have come looking for them.
Now that was a thought. Men who reneged on their military feu might well be given a traitor’s death.
Suddenly, from no reason for the murder of Edgar’s brothers, Catherine now had too many. Were any of them the true one? And, oh, Saint Genevieve, was Edgar safe from this evil, especially traveling with his own family?
Edgar was perfectly safe at that moment, but bored and thoroughly disgusted with his family. He had amused himself for a while trying to remember which of the men-at-arms were his brothers and which his nephews. He wondered if any of them resented Waldeve’s legitimate sons enough to kill. But there was no way he could find out, so he was left to sit in the makeshift camp outside the priory and endure their bombastic talk and various demonstrations of prowess.
Duncan sat next to him. Edgar reflected that there were worse things than boredom.
“This must all be very crude to you, after your soft life in France.” Duncan smiled.
Edgar thought of the six-month journey he had just made to Santiago del Compostella. He thought of the dangers he and Catherine had survived only through God’s grace. He didn’t feel like telling Duncan about them.
“They call us Scots barbarians, in Paris,” he said. “Crude is one of the kinder words.”
“It must be degrading for you to have to admit that you belong to such a race,” Duncan said.
“I’ve always been proud both of being a Saxon and a Scot.” Edgar knew he was being baited. Damn. Duncan always knew how to make him rise to it.
“There are monks in Durham who remember you,” Duncan continued. “They say you were an indifferent student.”
“Perhaps they were indifferent teachers,” Edgar answered.
“Perhaps. Do you remember a certain Lawrence?” Duncan’s voice took on a sharper edge.
“Yes, of course,” Edgar answered. “Very fond of Vergil, he was. Is he well?”
“The last I heard,” Duncan said. “He’s one of those malcontents who refuse to submit to my Lord Bishop William. They have barricaded themselves in the cloister. Did he ever take you into his bed?”
“What? Of course not!” Edgar jumped to his feet. “What are you getting at?”
Duncan’s smile widened. “Nothing, little brother, only you did spend a considerable time with clerics and, of course, you were also a friend of Aelred.”
“Aelred taught me the Latin that Canon Lawrence couldn’t,” Edgar said. “I’ve always admired him greatly, even more now that I know he’s become a white monk.”
“And you don’t mind that he corrupted your brother,” Duncan said.
Now Edgar understood at least part of what Duncan was doing. He not only wanted to make Edgar angry, he was also seeking information to discredit Cumin’s enemies.
“You thought I didn’t understand the nature of Aelred and Robert’s friendship?” he asked. “I wasn’t that much an innocent. They weren’t the only ones at King David’s court. I was in more danger from the men there than from those in the monastery. You won’t get me to betray the canons at Durham for your own ends. They did nothing worse than beat Latin verbs into me.”
Duncan stood up, as well, not bothering to conceal his anger.
“They are all catamites and cowards,” he hissed. “If the bishop had taken my advice, we’d have slaughtered every one of them and installed men who would do as they were told.”
“Fine cowards they must be, then,” Edgar said. “To resist armed men with no weapon but faith.”
Duncan glared at him, trying to come up with a rebuttal. When he couldn’t, he swore loudly, turned and walked away.
Edgar hadn’t felt so elated since the night James was born.
With a renewed sense of well-being, Edgar returned to the priory, where his father was spending the day making life miserable for the canons.
“Someone must have heard something!” he was shouting for the hundredth time. “Someone must have seen them. You can’t all be idiots.”
Edgar left him to it. At this point, no one was likely to suddenly remember a sound in the night. And anyone who might wasn’t likely to tell Waldeve. Edgar wasn’t sure there was anything to find here at all, but he thought the best thing to do was examine the horses, yet again.
The stables were warm on this summer morning, the smell of the animals strong. Edgar inhaled deeply. There was something so comforting about the familiarity of it. He went over to where the horses stood. They were new since his time, but obviously from Durham. The area was famous for the quality of its horse breeding.
He examined their hooves, not having any idea what he was looking for. He ran his hands over their flanks and withers. Nothing was unusual apart from their poor, shorn manes and tails. Edgar went over to the place where the gear had been stored.
The saddles and blankets weren’t the best, and hadn’t been intended for fighting. The pommel and cantel were low to allow the rider to mount and dismount more quickly. They wouldn’t have provided support in a fight. The bridles were unadorned, except for Alexander’s. Edgar picked it up. The silver disk was clearly engraved with the seal of the king. Edgar studied it closely, with professional interest. He had once posed as a journeyman silv
ersmith and the training period he had spent learning the craft had been one of the happiest times of his life.
It was crudely done, but the silver was good quality. There was no message scratched on it. Nothing at all to indicate who had taken the horses and then returned them. Edgar hung the bridle back on its hook and stared at it in disgust. The metal jingled as it swung.
Edgar’s eyes narrowed. There was only one silver disk. Shouldn’t there be two, one on each side? He hadn’t spent much time learning horsemanship but he thought he knew that much. He examined the bridle again. Yes, how could he have neglected to notice the rough edge where the metal had snapped?
So now he knew that there was a piece missing. What of it? He’d ask if it had been lost before Alexander was killed, which was possible, but even if it had been taken by those who killed him what use was that to know? He could hardly hunt through the possessions of every man in the North for a bit of silver. Most likely, it had already been melted down and used for something else.
“Edgar! Where are you?” Waldeve was shouting from the courtyard. “Never around when you’re wanted. Get out here, boy!”
With a long sigh, Edgar went out to face his father. Now what?
Waldeve was putting on his riding gloves.
“These imbeciles know nothing,” he grumbled. “I’m leaving a few of the men here to watch, in case anything more happens. You come with me.”
“Are we going back to Wedderlie, then?” Edgar asked, hope rising.
“Hardly,” Waldeve said. “I’ve been talking with your brother. We need more help. I’m going to Durham.”
Durham?
“But why, Father?” Edgar ran after him as he strode out to the camp. “Isn’t there trouble there? They won’t be able to spare any men.”
“Cumin owes me,” Waldeve told him. “He’ll help or see even more trouble.”
“Shouldn’t someone go back to Wedderlie to see if all is well there?” Edgar asked.
“I’m sending someone,” Waldeve said. “No, not you, so you can put away that thought. I’ve never seen anyone so unnaturally attached to his wife. If she’s that good, I’ll try her, myself.”
Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery Page 12
