Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Brother Lawrence was carried past him. The monk’s eyes were shut tight and Edgar thought he caught the words of the psalm “Miserere mei” as he went by. He threw himself on the man carrying the monk’s feet. Brother Lawrence dropped with a clunk as both his porters were knocked over. The one Edgar had tackled hit his head on the floor. The other one, however, was up in a moment. The soldier’s eyes lit at the sight of someone he could hit with impunity. Edgar stared in stunned fascination at the fist as it closed in on his face.

  And heard the howl of anger as the man was lifted by his armpits and thrown through the broken window.

  Edgar felt his nose. It was still the same shape. There was no blood. He looked up. Uncle Æthelræd stood over him, his face more alive that Edgar ever remembered seeing it.

  “A glorious day!” Æthelræd shouted, tossing another soldier over his shoulder.

  “Uncle, we can’t defeat them all,” Edgar reminded him as he was helped up. “Some of Father’s men are also my brothers, you know.”

  “Even worse, some are my sons,” Æthelræd complained. “At least, I think so. Who’s your mother, boy?” he called to a tall redhead bearing down on him.

  The man’s face was a mirror of consternation.

  “Oh, shit,” he said and lowered his sword. “Æthelræd, she’d kill me if I hurt you. Get out of here! I have work to do.”

  He moved on.

  “You see my problem?” Æthelræd sighed. “I’ll have to leave the country to get a good fight. Come along.”

  He took Edgar by the arm and tried to lead him away.

  “Uncle, you’ve got to help me stop this!” he yelled above the increasing din.

  “It’s too late!” Æthelræd yelled back. “The monks are being evicted. They’re the ones who need us. Saint Cuthbert will have to look after his bones for himself.”

  They climbed back through the broken windows, leaving behind the jubilant noise of the soldiers as they took possession of the church. Before them the monks were being driven across the green and down the hill. As they watched, one older man fell, clutching his knee in pain. He was roughly lifted and set on his feet, but the knee wouldn’t hold him and he went down again. Edgar and Æthelræd ran to him. Edgar gave him a shoulder to lean on while his uncle grabbed the two soldiers tormenting him and knocked their heads together. They slumped to the ground.

  “Amazing!” Edgar said. “I’ve heard of that in a hundred gestes but I never believed it worked.”

  “I didn’t either,” Æthelræd admitted. “But I’ve always wanted to try it. Now, Brother,” he said to the monk, “you won’t limp far on that. Let me carry you.”

  At Saint-Giles everyone came out to the roadway when the bells started their summoning. Catherine had not yet found Brother Aelred but reactions of the people around her drove out every thought except her need to get to James.

  “What’s happening?” she asked the first person she saw.

  She was greeted with a stare of incomprehension.

  No one seemed to speak French. She hurried on to the sleeping room, where she found that Willa had gathered up the few things they had and was waiting for her with Margaret and James.

  “Oh, Willa!” Catherine said. “What would I do without you?”

  She took the baby and the four of them followed the throng out to discover the cause of the tolling.

  They were jostled about by the crowds. The bishop’s men were hurrying forward to see what was going on and the townspeople were moving away, back to what remained of their homes or into the forest to hide. Between them, Catherine and the girls made little progress.

  “Hold on to my skirts!” Catherine ordered. “Don’t let go for anything or we may never find each other again.”

  She had all she could do to keep hold of James. The tumult frightened him and he was screaming with all the force of his lungs. Catherine tried to calm herself enough to soothe him, but it was no use. In another moment, she was sure she would start screaming, too.

  Margaret tugged at her from the right.

  “This way,” she said.

  Catherine couldn’t see where they were going, but she caught a glimpse of a hand holding Margaret’s. She hoped that whoever was attached to it was a friend.

  They were being led in back of the hospital, through the graveyard and up onto a wooded path. It was there that they left the stream of people at last and Catherine saw the face of their rescuer.

  “Oh, Brother Aelred!” she said in relief. “I could kiss you. Thank God for sending you to us. Have you seen my cousin? Do you know where Edgar is?”

  The monk shooed them farther out of the way of the fleeing families.

  “I’ve had no word from him,” he told her. “Nor have I seen your cousin. Lord Roger told me that the soldiers were taking down the barricade at the north gate. At first we hoped that the bells were of rejoicing and that the time of trial was over, but the tolling was irregular, as if another man took over whenever one fell. Then they stopped altogether.”

  He looked in that direction, but the forest around them was too thick.

  “Now I can only imagine what might be happening to the body of the holy saint,” he said. “And to the men who guard it. I was going down to the gate when I saw you.”

  “Thank you for stopping,” Catherine said.

  Aelred didn’t answer her for a moment. He was still facing Durham.

  “My father was a priest of Saint Cuthbert,” he said. “And my grandfather and on back as far as my family remembers. From one generation to the next we were charged with protecting the saint. It was our sacred duty. It’s not something one gives up lightly. I heard the bells and my first thought was to save Cuthbert.”

  He looked at Catherine and smiled. “Then I saw your poor little band and I knew, just as if a voice had spoken, that it was more important to see to your safety. Cuthbert wouldn’t want a servant who ignored the needs of the living.”

  Margaret had not let go of his hand the whole time. Now she let go to reach up until he bent down and let her kiss his cheek. Aelred hugged her and smoothed her hair.

  “I shall pray every night that Saint Cuthbert might bless you,” Catherine told him. “Can you take me to my husband?”

  “No, and he wouldn’t want me to, the way things are there,” Aelred said decidedly. “But, if you’ll come with me, I know a place as secure as any is in this sad land. Godric is a friend of mine and Edgar’s, too. He’ll take you in. Follow me. The way is steep but not long.”

  He led them up and down through the woods. They stepped stone by stone over rushing streams and then through thickets where Catherine would never have believed a trail could go. At last they came out onto a clear spot of land, surrounded on three sides by a rushing river. On the other side of the river were steep cliffs. There were a few huts of wood or daub and wattle placed here and there, a vegetable plot and also two proper buildings, one of wood and the other of stone, linked together by a passageway made of latticed hazelwood and covered with a thatched roof.

  Aelred went up to the doorway of the stone building and rang a bell that was hanging there.

  “This is Godric’s chapel,” he explained. “It’s dedicated to Saint John the Baptist. You’re free to go in here. The other building is his oratory and it’s private.”

  “I understand,” Catherine said. But she wasn’t sure she really did.

  There were other people about. They seemed to be in family groups, mostly the old and young, with several women of middle age and two or three men. By their weary looks, Catherine assumed they had come here for refuge, too.

  “Are you sure we’ll be welcome here?” she asked. “There may be too many to feed.”

  “Godric will see that you have enough,” Aelred assured her. “He wouldn’t turn anyone away. Ah, here he comes. I only hope this isn’t one of his silent days.”

  Catherine’s eyes grew round with astonishment as she was introduced to the hermit. She saw a little old man, older even
than her mother’s ancient father and much more stocky. His hands were gnarled and his bare arms thickly muscled. His face was half hidden by a thick white beard and bushy eyebrows. He wore only a long hairshirt, and Catherine tried not to back away from the stench of it. His feet were bare, callused and scarred. His eyes were gentle, a mild blue.

  Aelred spoke to him for a few moments. Catherine thought she caught Edgar’s name. Godric continued to look at them as he listened to their story. At one point, he put out a filthy finger to touch James.

  “Povre enfes,” he said.

  His accent was thick, but Catherine understood.

  “Godes man?” she asked.

  His smile was broad. “Ic treow.”

  Catherine looked to Aelred for the meaning.

  “He says he hopes he’s a man of God,” the monk told her. “I believe he is. He’ll make a place for you until Edgar can come get you.”

  “Thank him for us,” Catherine said. “Tell him we have been running for weeks now and are grateful for a safe haven.”

  Aelred did so. Godric’s face grew serious. He spoke for some time. When he had finished, Aelred turned back to Catherine.

  “He reminded me that while his hermitage is considered a holy place by many, there are also those who have no respect for sanctity. He’s been robbed of the little he has several times and was beaten and left for dead by marauding soldiers five years ago. They believed that the people of the district had left their treasures in his keeping.”

  “I understand,” Catherine said, and this time she did. “Please tell him that I am aware there is no place that is completely protected but that I place my faith in Our Lord and accept whatever He sends. Ask him, also, if there is anything we might do to help make ourselves less of a burden on him.”

  “I can tell you that, as he won’t,” Aelred said. “Respect his privacy. He eats and prays alone. Other than that, take what you need from the garden and the fish traps. He’ll help you if you need it. Now, Godric will show you where you can sleep. I shall return to Durham and, I hope, locate either Edgar or your cousin.”

  “Thank you, Brother Aelred,” Catherine said. “We are in your debt.”

  When he had left, the old man led them to one of the huts. It had no windows or firehole, but there was fresh straw on the floor and a door one could latch from inside. Catherine tried not to think of how easily a torch could set it ablaze. It was warm enough and out of the weather. She nodded her gratitude and she and the girls went in.

  When Solomon saw the monks being driven from the town, his first reaction was incredulous delight. Then the reality of what was going on hit him.

  “Samson,” he said, “the whole damn army is heading for us!”

  There was no reply. Solomon turned around. Samson wasn’t there, but a line of guards from the bishop’s retinue was. Solomon waved at them with both hands clearly open and empty. He smiled in what he hoped was a friendly, supportive fashion.

  “Good work, men,” he said as he made his way through the lines. “Crossbows at the ready. Swords newly sharpened. I have complete confidence in you.”

  They paid no attention to him. That was fine with Solomon.

  He was also caught in the press of panicked citizens. By the time he reached the hospital Catherine had gone. Another woman was sitting on Willa’s bed, nursing one infant while another child slept at her side. She regarded Solomon with deep suspicion.

  Outside, he searched the area behind the soldier’s blockade. It was only when he was certain that they weren’t in any of the other buildings that he allowed himself to rest against a tree. After a moment he slammed his fist into it with painful force.

  “I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed. “I’ve lost her again.”

  A dagger came skittering across the cobblestones, hitting Edgar’s foot. He grabbed for it. In front of him, Æthelræd carried the monk. The two of them made up a rear guard of sorts between the black-robed outcasts and the soldiers. Ahead of them there was a narrow passage that the monks were being pushed into. The other side meant exile for them and they continued to protest as they were shoved along. For Edgar it meant freedom. He was determined to reach it.

  Someone came at him from his left; Edgar twisted and jabbed at the attacker. There was a squeal of protest.

  “Lord Edgar! No! Please. It’s me, Alfred!”

  Edgar lowered the knife. “Alfred, I’m sorry,” he said. “What is it? Hurry. They’re getting away from me.”

  He pulled the old man along, stumbling in his rush to catch up. Æthelræd and his burden were in the passage now. The crowd was closing between them. Edgar felt like the last Israelite racing to get across before the sea closed in on him.

  “Lord Edgar!” Alfred cried.

  “Not now, Alfred.” Edgar shoved his way through. He was almost there when he was hit from behind. For a moment he stayed upright in the crush of bodies, then he slid gracelessly to the ground.

  When he opened his eyes again, it was to see the soft green of leaves above. The wind rustled them and a stab of sunlight shot through, causing him to moan and put his hands over his face.

  Robert’s voice was far too close and loud.

  “Awake again, are we?”

  Edgar uncovered his eyes. They were back on the edge of the palace green. The battle seemed to be over. From the church there came the sounds of a song that was once a hymn to the Virgin. What words Edgar could make out were in praise of another sort of woman entirely.

  “Damn,” he said. “I was almost out. How did I get back up here?”

  “Alfred brought you,” Robert said. “It was either that or leave you to be trampled.”

  “What’s going on now?” Edgar asked. “Did Æthelræd make it through?”

  “So Alfred said,” Robert told him. “I stayed in the tavern until the shouting was over. Father has taken his men with Cumin’s, and last I heard, William de Saint-Barbe was on the run back to Bishopton. He’s probably wishing he could just continue on to York.”

  “Does that mean we can leave, too?” Edgar brightened.

  “In principle, I would say yes,” Robert answered slowly. “But there are five well-armed men stationed casually between us and any of the roads leading out. All of them are carefully not looking directly at us. I recognize them all. They’re not just father’s retainers; they also come from Wedderlie, itself.”

  “I don’t suppose we could prevail upon family feeling to get them to let us go?” Edgar asked.

  Robert felt his head. “Why would they want to help us? We’re legitimate. They’re not.”

  “We used to play with them when we were boys,” Edgar said. “It didn’t matter then.”

  “Yes it did, Edgar,” Robert said. “It always mattered. Robert of Gloucester could be king of England now if his mother had held out for marriage. Instead he’s supporting the claim of his half sister. Don’t you think he sometimes resents her? These men have less cause to help us. We can’t even offer them patronage.”

  “But what purpose would Father have in keeping us under guard now?” Edgar was slowly coming awake. “We have no information to betray him with. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t consider us a military threat. He doesn’t know you suspect him, does he?”

  “Of course not,” Robert answered. “Do you think that’s why he hasn’t killed us, that he sees we’re no danger to him? Maybe it’s over then. He wanted Duncan to be his heir. Now that he is … no, then he’d let us go. You’re right. It makes no sense.”

  Edgar cautiously sat up. His head ached and he was nauseated. He swore to himself that if they ever returned to Paris he would never leave again and that it would be a long time before Catherine and James ever left his sight.

  “I’m not going to sit here debating imponderables,” he said. “Father may want us held captive but I’m not going to wait for him to decide what to do with us. I’ve got to get back to Saint-Giles and find Catherine.”

  “Edgar, she’s not there.” Robert
caught Edgar as he tried to stand. “The place was cleared out. She’s probably with the other villagers. Or Solomon will have taken them with him.”

  Edgar had to be content with that for the time being.

  Robert wasn’t as indifferent to his situation as Edgar supposed.

  “We can get out of here and go hunt your family again,” he said. “But we need to evade the guard.”

  “How?” Edgar asked.

  “I’m working on a plan,” Robert told him.

  “Is there any reason you can’t work on it in the tavern?” Edgar wanted to know.

  “None at all, if they’ll let us,” Robert said. “It might help matters.”

  “Then let’s go,” Edgar said. “I can make my legs take me that far.”

  Their guards seemed perfectly happy to follow along.

  “Catherine, look what James can do!” Margaret proudly moved out of the way to show the baby sitting upright, only slightly supported by a rolled up tunic at his side.

  He grinned soppily at them all, showing the tooth that had just broken through his upper gum.

  Catherine looked up from the grain she was grinding between two stones. She wiped the sweat from her face with her loose hair and smiled back at them. It amazed her that despite the primitive living conditions, all three children were thriving. After hearing one of Willa’s coughs, Godric had brought her a wad of herbs stuck together with something that smelled vile. Willa had gagged but swallowed it, and within a few hours the cough was fading. Obviously this place was sanctified.

  She went back to her work. In the heat, none of the people there were wearing more than their tunics. Some of the younger children went about naked, their pale northern skin slowly turning to tan. Their host only appeared from time to time, but his voice could often be heard from his little oratory raised in prayer or song. Catherine wondered if the others found it as comforting as she did to know that they were a part of his constant devotion.