Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Aelred shook his head. “Don’t you see that made it worse? Please, my dearest friend, believe me when I say that my prayers now are that you should forget me and start life afresh. I must try to forget you or at least make my body forget you, for the sake of my soul, and yours.”

  “Damn my soul!” Robert threw Aelred’s arm off him.

  Aelred smiled, “Oh, no, never that, Robert. We shall meet again in Heaven, where our impure desires will no longer exist. If my prayers and penances have any effect, that is what I wish most. And I wish it with all my might.”

  In Robert’s heart a great iron door slammed shut, with a finality that surprised him. The hope that he had kept burning for nearly ten years was extinguished forever. He felt no more grief or yearning, only a vast hollowness. Still he made one last feeble attempt.

  “I could join the White Monks, too,” he said bravely. “I know it means chastity and a hard life, but I would be near you. That’s all I want.”

  “Oh my dear!” Aelred started to hug Robert again, but curbed his impulse. “I think you believe that. Perhaps you could, but I’m not yet that strong. As it is I sit in icy water for hours at a time to discipline my stubborn flesh. Don’t you understand, it’s because I love you and desire you that I mustn’t see you? Not for a long time, perhaps never. One day God may grant me grace enough to sit with you and not want to lay with you, but that day hasn’t come.”

  “Aelred?”

  “One more thing, then we’ll turn to the business at hand,” Aelred took a deep breath. “I was upset when I learned that Edgar had married rather than continuing in the Church. But I reasoned that he had decided to marry rather than burn. Only that option was never open to us. I knew that I must be celibate or burn. I don’t believe I had really admitted it until then. That was the darkest day of my life. But God gave me comfort and is teaching me the worth of spiritual friendship. I don’t deserve it, but your blessing would be a gift I would treasure forever.”

  He stopped speaking and Robert waited. “Are you finished?” he asked when Aelred said no more.

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Robert said dryly. “My foot is asleep.” He balanced against the boulder and shook it, keeping his face down until he had mastered himself.

  “I’m not reconciled to your conversion,” he told Aelred. “But I believe now that you are sincere. I thought for a long time that your sudden decision was because you had become enamored of one of the monks at Rievaulx. I know better now. I’ll not try to see you again. And of course I give you my blessing, worthless though it may be. I will never forget you, no matter how hard you pray that I should. And I shall never have another friend that I care for as I do you.” He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “Now what does Bishop William want me to say to the monks of Durham?”

  Aelred was relieved by his friend’s acceptance of his decision and said so.

  “You should know me better than that, Aelred,” Robert said. “Growing up in my father’s house taught me to take any blow and remain standing. We’ll speak of it no more.”

  “Thank you, Robert.” Aelred became again the official of the Church. “Here are the instructions for the monks. The first is for Brother Lawrence … .”

  Robert listened and remembered. He repeated the messages faultlessly and bid Aelred good night without trembling. Then he went and dragged his baby brother out from under a table, brushed him off and put him to bed.

  At the hospital of Saint Giles, Catherine was grateful to find a real bed instead of a straw pallet. She was also amazed that there was a physician there who wasn’t even a monk. Master Herbert spoke good French and bad Latin so that, by using both, Catherine was able to explain her worry about Willa’s persistent cough and James’s perpetually red bottom.

  “Let the infant lie naked as much as you can and rub oil on the rash,” he dismissed the second complaint. Willa’s long convulsive sounds made him grave at once.

  “A dry cough,” he muttered. “No phlegm. Raw throat. She may need bleeding.”

  “No,” Catherine disagreed. “She has reached the age of womanhood and her purgations are regular. I believe the change from her native climate has upset her humors. What would you recommend to increase the heat and moisture in her body?”

  “Ah, yes, well, it’s possible that is the case.” Herbert was used to dealing with townspeople or suffering pilgrims, none of whom ever dared to contradict him. Even Bishop Geoffrey had listened respectfully, right up until his death. What did she think she was, an abbess? Catherine answered the question on his face.

  “I assisted in the infirmary at the Paraclete,” she explained. “Sister Melisande explained about the different kinds of coughing. We normally saw the cold and moist kind that comes with winter. But I know about this one, too. The honey and herb only soothes her for a time. She’s getting little sleep. Do you think we should add strong wine?”

  Master Herbert thought a moment. “Yes, and warm it. Give her a small cup morning and evening. I’ll consult my books for other options. Also, I know she’s a servant, but she needs rest and shouldn’t be allowed near the other children until we’re sure this is an illness peculiar to her.”

  “I understand,” Catherine said. “As my servant, I’m responsible for her welfare. And, as for your fee, whatever is reasonable, I shall pay.”

  Master Herbert suppressed a grin. This bedraggled refugee woman, speaking as if she ran a county! “I promise my fee won’t be beyond reason, my lady.” He bowed in what was intended as mockery, but she responded to the gesture so naturally that he was forced to revise his estimation of her again. One never knew whom one would encounter in these days of turmoil!

  Catherine busied herself taking care of her charges. The thought of having to survive without Willa’s help was dreadful. She bent over the girl’s bed and tucked the blanket under her chin. Willa tried to apologize.

  “No, ma doux.” Catherine kissed her forehead. Still no fever. “I’m sorry to have brought you along on this nightmare. You’ve been brave, uncomplaining and indispensable. Your mother will be very proud of you.”

  Willa started to thank her, but the cough interrupted. Catherine went to make the wine, honey and horehound drink strong enough to let the girl rest the night. She repeated the prayer the woman had told her as she stirred.

  The next morning Catherine awoke refreshed and ready to battle the guards at the gate, physically if necessary, to reach Edgar. She sat up in the bed and stretched, shaking out the damp spot where James had lain against her. She unwrapped the soiled swaddling and pulled off his long tunic, setting him naked on a blanket on the floor. After a complete investigation of his fingers, toes and penis, he rolled himself over, almost sitting up.

  Catherine was sure it was a good omen.

  She had just managed to get him, herself and Margaret dressed and ready for the day when there was a clatter and a blare of horns outside the building. Soon there was the stomping of heavy boots in the corridor.

  “Now what?” Catherine sighed.

  She checked to see that Willa was still sleeping, then she took James and Margaret out to see what was happening.

  A crowd had gathered alongside the road. Catherine hadn’t realized that there were so many people in the town. She pushed their way through until she found Samson.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Where’s Solomon?”

  “I saw him a few moments ago, but lost him in the crowd. The word is that the new bishop is coming to take back the city,” Samson told her. “He’s bringing an army to do it. He’ll need one.”

  Catherine felt a tug on her skirts.

  “I can’t breathe down here,” Margaret complained. “And I can’t see.”

  Samson crouched down next to her.

  “I’m not as tall as these Saxon men, but if you sit on my shoulders, you should be able to see everything. Will you permit me, Lady Margaret?”

  Margaret gave him her hand. “You have my permission to lift me.�
�

  He swung her up and she held on to his ears, using them to direct him.

  “Careful!” he cried. “I’m not a donkey!”

  “Sorry!” she said from her perch. “Look at the sumpter horses, all draped in gold cloth! Which man is the bishop? Why isn’t he wearing his mitre? Are these the soldiers who are going to fight Father? They don’t look so fierce to me.”

  She kept up a running patter as the procession went past.

  “There are a lot of them. I see Bernard de Balliol’s standard. He visited us once. Now, that’s strange, those horses look like ours, too. Do you think they all had the same sire? I’m sure that’s Barnabas, Robert’s horse.” She lifted herself up to see better. “It is! It is! Robert! Over here! Robert! Edgar!”

  Catherine’s head came up at once. “Edgar! Where?”

  Margaret was beating the top of Samson’s head in her excitement. Robert heard her and spotted her at last, then pointed her out to Edgar.

  “Margaret!” Edgar nearly fell from his horse in surprise. “Margaret, where’s Catherine?”

  “Here!” a voice called. “Get out of my way!”

  He looked down. A ripple passed through the crowd and emerging from it. Like Venus from the waves, only dirtier and fully clothed, was Catherine, James in her arms.

  It was one of those moments when the earth becomes silent. Edgar no longer noticed the procession he had just halted, or the people in the crowd. He slid from his horse and onto the ground, his knees having refused to support him. Catherine knelt, too, facing him.

  “You’re alive,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’ve taken good care of your son.”

  He touched James’s head in wonder. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I feared you were, too.” She felt tears start.

  “I won’t ever let us be parted again.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  They came together, their foreheads touching first, then their lips, both of them supporting their child safely between them. There were those among the people who watched who said that one ray of sunlight shone just on them. Later some reported that an angel had hovered above the family. That is the way legends begin.

  Eighteen

  The hospital of Saint Giles, outside Durham. Friday, 13 kalends September

  (August 20), 1143. Feast of Saint Oswin, last king of Deira, who

  disbanded his army rather than shed blood and was martyred for it.

  I ne can ne i ne mai tellen alle the wunder ne alle the pines ðat hi diden

  wrecce men on this land. And ðat lastede tha xix wintre wile Stephne was

  king, and œure it was uuerse and uuerse … . Tha was corn dœre and frec

  and cœse and butere; for nan ne waren sum rice man. Wrecce men sturuen

  of hungœr … And hi sœden openlice ðat Crist slep and his halechen.

  I can not tell all the wonder and all the suffering that these men did

  wreak upon this land. And it lasted the nineteen winters that Stephen

  was king and it grew ever worse and worse … . Corn was dear then

  and meat and cheese and butter for no man was wealthy. Wretched

  people died of starvation … And they said openly that Christ slept

  and also his saints.

  —Anglo Saxon Chronicle, 1137

  Eventually Catherine and Edgar were recalled to the fact that they were blocking the road. The first notice was when Robert’s horse nudged the back of Edgar’s neck, causing him to yelp at the sudden coldness. He was deeply embarrassed when he saw all the eyes concentrated on them. He stood quickly, helped Catherine up and took the baby from her. They moved out of the way of the procession and those watching moved their attention elsewhere.

  “We’re staying in the hospital here,” Catherine explained. “Willa isn’t well and, Edgar, I’m so sorry, Adalisa is dead.”

  “I know,” he said. “The brother from Lindisfarne told me,”

  “Our message got through? And you didn’t come to us at once?”

  “The brother only arrived a few days ago,” Edgar explained. “I couldn’t get permission to leave. Oh, carissima, it’s a long story. Do we have to tell it all now?”

  They entered the building where the chaos was almost as bad as in the street. People were scurrying about, trying to arrange lodging for the bishop’s party. There was an air of rejoicing. Like the barons, the people of Durham were sure that William of Saint-Barbe would soon restore the natural order. Knowing the disposition of those in Cumin’s party, Edgar wasn’t so sanguine.

  Catherine threaded the way back to the single cot where Willa lay. She was sitting up now and offered to take James.

  “No, thank you, Willa,” Edgar said. “I need to hold him myself for a while, to be sure he’s whole and well.”

  “You should go out and sit in the clean air,” Catherine added, “as Master Herbert directed.”

  Willa went out and Catherine and Edgar sat themselves on a hard bench against the wall. Catherine put her arm about Edgar and laid her head on his shoulder. As far as she was concerned, natural order had already been restored.

  Edgar held James out at arm’s length. The baby grinned, drool running down his chin. His small feet kicked under his long tunic.

  “I can’t believe it,” Edgar said. “I left him looking like a bundle of washing and come back to find him almost a person. Fat enough, too. Although, looking at you, I’m afraid you starved yourself to feed him.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Catherine said. “He takes what he wants and I get the scrapings. No, it was Solomon who went hungry to be sure the girls and I had enough. We owe him.” She raised her head. “Edgar, there’s so much to tell you. I’m beginning to think I know who’s responsible for all the attacks on us and your family. It just seems impossible.”

  “You should hear Robert’s solution. Yours can’t be stranger than that,” Edgar answered, never taking his eyes from James. “He thinks Father has planned it all.”

  “He does?”

  “There are a hundred flaws in the theory,” Edgar said. “Why would a man kill his own future?”

  “I don’t know,” Catherine said slowly. “It sounds like the work of a madman, but Edgar, that’s what I’ve been thinking, too.”

  Edgar stopped bouncing James and turned his full attention to her.

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she answered. “Let me tell you what’s happened.”

  As she did so, Edgar grew more and more still. He put James back on his lap so he could keep his arms around both of them. He had thought the fire was the greatest danger they had faced. It was good that he hadn’t known how treacherous the journey had been. Fear for them might have been too much for his reason.

  “Oh, Catherine, what have I brought you to?” He kissed her again.

  “Nothing I didn’t accept when we married,” she said firmly. “Now, let me finish. It was the horses that made me suspicious. Margaret insisted that the men who killed Adalisa rode horses that belonged to your father. And Solomon says that Adalisa recognized one of the men. She died before she could say who, and when the tide turned and the beach was searched, the bodies were gone. But I think they were Waldeve’s men. Are you listening to me?”

  This last was because Edgar had been using the end of one of Catherine’s braids to tickle James with.

  “Yes, I’m listening,” he answered. “I’m just not sure I can credit it that you and Robert came up with the same improbable conclusion. I need time to let it sink in. Even if it’s true, what can our next move be? It’s a serious thing to accuse one’s father of a crime like this. I don’t even think there’s a word for it.”

  “I know.” She put her head back on his shoulder.

  For a long time neither of them spoke. The wonder of their reunion was slowly replaced by the security of familiarity, of knowing that they fit together as they always had. James had caught the e
nd of the braid and was now using it to soothe the spot on his gums where a tooth was about to break through. His eyes slowly drooped and when Edgar next looked down, he was asleep.

  “Catherine, how long do you think he’ll be like this?” He whispered.

  She looked around the room. “Long enough, but there’s no private place here.”

  “Outside? In the woods, the cemetery? Anywhere!” His breath was warm against her cheek. Catherine felt her body start to melt.

  “Edgar, believe me, if I knew of such a place, I would race you there.” Catherine kissed the underside of his chin, then his throat, longing to work the rest of the way down.

  “Wait, Catherine, stop,” Edgar forced himself to say. “If that’s the case, then we’ve got to get up and do something to distract ourselves. Now.”

  Catherine tried to catch her breath. “Uh, yes, what else? Oh, Margaret! We left her outside with Samson.”

  “Who’s Samson?” Edgar asked. “Is he trustworthy?”

  “I suppose so; he’s a friend of Solomon’s. Only he’s English, no Norman, no Jewish. Well, he seems like all three. He speaks English and French with equal facility. Solomon and I think he may be a distant cousin, perhaps on our grandmother’s side.”

  “Catherine,” Edgar said. “You’re babbling.”

  “It’s either that or go tell the monks that we need a place to transact a payment of the marriage debt,” she retorted. “Or use the floor here and risk being interrupted by the bishop.”

  “Babble away, then, if you must.” He smiled. “I’ve rather missed it.”

  They were standing now, Edgar letting the baby dangle from one arm in a way no woman would risk. Catherine knew his hold was firm. She found she couldn’t think of anything more to say. She just looked at them, loving them both beyond all measure.

  “Margaret,” Edgar reminded her.

  “Outside.” She gestured vaguely.

  There was no one out front in the road. After some blind alleys Edgar and Catherine found Margaret, along with Solomon, Samson and Willa, waiting for them in the garden.