Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery

by Newman, Sharan

  Edgar thought.

  “Yes, it seems the most sensible plan,” he decided. “Algar, will you tell the others?”

  A cry from near his feet made Edgar look down. Margaret had put her arm over James to keep him from rolling away and he was resisting with all his might.

  Edgar picked him up.

  “Well, he doesn’t seem to have been starved,” he commented. “Thank you for watching him, Margaret. Margaret?”

  “She’s been like that since Alfred drew his knife,” Catherine said quietly. “She won’t speak to us. We can’t get her to eat. I don’t think she should go to Durham, either. The hermit helped Willa. Perhaps he knows something that will soothe your sister’s poor spirit.”

  “Take the baby,” Edgar said. “I’ll carry her.”

  He bent down. “Margaret? I’m going to take care of you. Catherine and I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

  He picked her up, wrapping Alfred’s cloak around her.

  “Alfred did this to her? He does need sanctuary. If I hadn’t promised it to him, I might make him account for this tonight.”

  “Edgar, not now. When everything is sorted out, then we can assign blame,” Catherine said. “There’s too much we don’t understand. He didn’t mean to do this, I’m sure of that.”

  At that moment, with his sister lying stiffly in his arms, Edgar didn’t care what the intention was. The result was all that mattered.

  They followed Algar and Alfred to the spot in the woods where Robert and Æthelræd waited with Willa. The four men that had come with Alfred were now trussed across two horses, hands and feet tied with the rope looped under the horses’ bellies to hold them on.

  “They turned green when they saw us.” Robert laughed. “I don’t think they were expecting a fight.”

  Æthelræd wasn’t so cheerful. He kept walking around the men, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know them, but they’re all of our blood,” he said. He poked one of them. “You. Bastard. Did my brother promise you could have Wedderlie when he died?”

  The man just groaned.

  “Perhaps it was Duncan,” Edgar suggested. “Alfred, are these the men who killed Adalisa?”

  “Sanctuary,” Alfred said. “I’ll tell you what you want to know at Hexham, in the church.”

  As they set off again Catherine remembered the most important question she wanted to ask Edgar.

  “What’s happened to Solomon?”

  Solomon and Samson had been swept up in the general exodus from Saint-Giles. They found themselves in the uncomfortable company of various monks and secular clerics sent ahead to Bishopton along with household goods and accounts. They landed in the courtyard there, safe but unable to get through the attackers outside.

  “Edgar is going to kill me when he learns I’ve misplaced his wife again,” Solomon repeated.

  “It’s not your fault if she insists on wandering off all the time,” Samson insisted. “I can’t believe she was even allowed on such a journey. Our women stay home and manage the business instead of taking to the road like wantons.”

  “At the time it seemed safer than leaving her in Paris,” Solomon said. “We thought she’d have stone walls about her for most of the stay here.”

  “From what I’ve seen of that one, they’d have to be door-and windowless to keep her in.” Samson snorted.

  “True enough.” Solomon winced as memories rushed at him. “But, to her credit, except for the sail here, I’ve never heard her complain about the inconvenience of travel. She likes seeing new places.”

  “Perhaps this trip will cure her of that,” Samson said. “Do you see her husband among the soldiers there? All these people look alike to me.”

  Solomon scanned the crowd. He didn’t expect to see Edgar with the defenders. He hoped his friend would have the sense to stay behind the parties that had emerged from Durham to harass Conyers and Saint-Barbe as they worked their way back to Bishopton. There was no one among the people around him that he recognized.

  Wait. That man.

  “Samson, do you know who that is?” he asked. “No, not the one unloading the packhorse, the one on the other side, trying to keep out of our sight.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen him before, although,” Samson said, scratching his chin through his beard, “there is something familiar about him. Why?”

  “That’s the man who was on the boat from France with us,” Solomon said. “I saw him in Berwick a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, what of it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Solomon answered. “He said he was going to York for trade, but I think he’s been following me.”

  Samson was alert at once.

  “You’ve been posing as a Christian,” he said. “What do you think they’ll do to you if they find out you’re one of us?”

  “I don’t know,” Solomon told him. “I’ve never been found out before. I’m more worried about what would happen to Catherine and my Uncle Hubert if this man returns to France with the information.”

  “The situation is getting worse there, then?” Samson asked.

  “Paris is unsettled these days,” Solomon said. “Since the king’s war with the count of Champagne, people are more inclined to suspect their neighbors of everything from theft to heresy. We need a strong ruler and Louis isn’t it.”

  “At least you know who the ruler is,” Samson grumbled. “We have a king one day and a ‘lady of the English’ the next. No wonder people are thinking of putting their own faces on the coins. So, what should we do about this man?”

  “Just watch out for him,” Solomon decided. “And help me keep up the illusion of being an Edomite.”

  Samson grimaced. “You want to spit on me? That might convince him.”

  “I might,” Solomon said. “Even better, I think I’ll leave you and consort with monks. I see that friend of Edgar’s that Catherine went to find. He may know where she is. Keep an eye on our friend, would you? I want to see what he does when I move.”

  Solomon strode over to where Aelred was conversing with another Cistercian. He waited until he was noticed, then introduced himself and asked after Catherine.

  “You needn’t fret about her anymore,” the monk told him. “I, myself, saw her safely to the hermitage at Finchale before we left Saint-Giles. By now she should be back at Durham with Edgar. I told his father where she was.”

  “You did what?” Solomon asked. “Where did you even see Waldeve?”

  “I was behind the rest of the bishop’s party and some of the soldiers stopped me,” Aelred explained. “It would have gone badly with me if Waldeve and Duncan hadn’t arrived. They vouched for me. I gave them the information to take to Edgar then. What’s wrong?”

  This last was at the sudden change on Solomon’s face.

  “Everything,” Solomon answered. “But how could you know? You may have delivered her to her death.”

  He went on to explain their growing belief that Waldeve or Duncan had plotted against the rest of the family and were responsible for all the murders. Aelred was horrified at the possible consequences of his helpfulness.

  “We need to return to Finchale at once,” he said. “I pray we’re not too late.”

  “You do that,” Solomon said as he went to get his horse.

  He told Samson where he was going.”

  “There’s an army out there,” Samson remonstrated with him. “Either side could kill you.”

  “I know,” Solomon told him, “but I’ll be traveling with a cross.”

  “What makes you think that will help?” Samson grunted. “Oh, the man was certainly watching you. He seemed nervous while you were with the Cistercian. I wonder if he’s fool enough to go after you now.”

  “I hope so,” Solomon answered.

  The monk had not forgotten how to sit a warhorse and those they met were reminded that he was not only a man of God but had once been an official at the court of the king. Solomon was impressed at the authority this humble man
could command. He was reminded of Abbot Bernard in France.

  They arrived at Finchale only to find that Catherine had come and gone, come back and gone again.

  “But Edgar and his family were with her the second time,” Godric told them. “And I sent Lord Waldeve and his man after them. They’ll be well protected.”

  Solomon and Aelred looked at each other, thanked the hermit and set off for Hexham.

  Alfred’s refusal to say anything until safely within the sanctuary limits at Hexham was equally true of the men with him. No matter how many times Edgar explained to them that he wouldn’t judge what they had done in his father’s service, no matter how many threats Æthelræd menaced them with, none would speak.

  Edgar carried Margaret before him, while Æthelræd took Catherine and the baby. James was enchanted by the handfuls of hair he could pull on his great-granduncle and enjoyed the ride more than any of them.

  It was late in the day when they arrived at the town. Alfred was swaying with exhaustion. Meldred, the porter, came out to see what the commotion was.

  “Grandfather!” he cried. “What have they done to you? Why are you bound? Algar, what’s the meaning of this?”

  Æthelræd lowered Catherine to the ground. “That crafty old goat,” he said to the world. “Well, now we know why he wanted to come here.”

  As Meldred fussed over Alfred, the other men were untied and led into the churchyard. Someone sent for Prior Richard.

  “Yes, they may have the traditional thirty-seven days of sanctuary,” he said when the situation was explained. “Do they understand that they may not step from the precincts of the church for any reason during that time?”

  Alfred nodded. He leaned against Meldred. As they made their way to the church, Meldred bent over him and whispered, “What went wrong, Grandfather? I thought we were going to win.”

  “We may still,” Alfred answered. “But a sacrifice is needed and I’m the one laid upon to make it. I want no interference from you. That is my wish and my command. I’ve let the others know, and you shall obey me as they do. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Grandfather,” Meldred said. “For the others, I will do it, but I don’t like this.”

  “Edgar,” Catherine said as they left the church to find a place for the night. “Do you think it would be possible to find a bath and a bed without fleas?”

  Edgar smiled in incredulity. “Is that why you’ve been so silent? I thought you were pondering how you could leave me behind after all I’ve let you go through.”

  “Of course not.” Catherine sighed. “I know it’s frivolous, but I can’t ponder anything when I feel like this. I itch all over and my hair hasn’t been washed in weeks. James is the only one of us who’s been tended to at all and you wouldn’t believe the things we’ve had to oil him with. Also, I think it might help Margaret.”

  Edgar looked at the curled bundle in his arms.

  “If there’s even an empty barrel in Hexham, I’ll see that it becomes a bath for you. I promise.”

  He didn’t have to appropriate a beer barrel, to Catherine’s relief. There was a small but respectable bathhouse. The owner even allowed them sole use of it and guarded the door while she and Willa washed themselves and James thoroughly and then gently undressed Margaret, bathing and oiling her, massaging her body just as if she were a baby, too. Her tight muscles relaxed under their care, but she showed no other sign of being aware of them.

  “Is there nothing we can do for her?” Willa asked as she rocked the fed-and-warm James in her arms.

  “It may be that she just needs time,” Catherine said. “I wish Master Herbert could see her. He might have some preparation that would help.”

  “I never thought I’d feel sorry for a nobleman’s child,” Willa said. “Of course, Mother says I may well be one, myself, but that hardly counts, does it?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Catherine said. “You know, it’s odd. That’s the way the people at Wedderlie treated her, as if she should be pitied. I thought it was because she had such a dreadful father, but now I wonder.”

  “Do you mean she isn’t Master Edgar’s sister?” Willa asked.

  “Oh no, I’m sure she is,” Catherine said too quickly, thinking of Solomon and wondering if he had been the first to test Adalisa’s fidelity. “But how long do you think the people knew of this plot?”

  “Edgar’s brother would have killed her?”

  “I don’t know.” Catherine splashed water all over the floor as she lifted Margaret out and began to dry her. “Margaret? Do you understand us?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Willa said. “I didn’t think.”

  She set the sleeping baby in a box of linen while she helped Catherine. Her hands faltered as she fussed with the neckstring on Margaret’s chainse. Catherine suddenly noticed how thin and drawn she was.

  “Oh, Willa, you poor dear!” she exclaimed. “What will your mother say when I bring you back so worn?”

  “She’ll say, ‘welcome home.’” Willa gave a sad smile. “Forgive me, Mistress, but I do hope it happens soon.”

  “Oh, Willa, so do I.”

  Somehow Edgar had managed a bed that didn’t have fleas and did have curtains.

  “Meldred found it,” he explained to Catherine. “I think he’s trying to soften me so that I’ll speak up for Alfred.”

  “Clean linen is a potent bribe,” Catherine agreed, snuggling against him and sliding one leg over his body.

  They were silent for a while and still, just holding each other and reveling in the solace. For once, Edgar was the first to speak.

  “None of this makes sense, you know,” he said.

  “That’s true.” Catherine kissed his shoulder. “But God gave you to me and I won’t question it if you won’t.”

  He kissed the top of her head, smelling the rosemary water she had rinsed out the soap with. With one hand he reached down and tickled her.

  “Edgar!”

  “In a minute.” He stopped her hand from retaliation. “I’m serious. From the beginning, this followed no logical path. If there were someone who wanted to revenge themselves on my kin, they’re not doing it according to any custom I know of. If you’ve bested a man, you want him to know it. Yet, it’s just as illogical to think that my father would or could plot such an elaborate way to rid himself of family members who opposed him. Why bother to bring me back? He knew I wanted nothing more to do with him. There’s something missing.”

  Catherine’s fingers made a spiral on his chest as she thought about it. Edgar closed his eyes.

  “Edgar?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “What would you say if I told you that I think I was mistaken?”

  “That the Millennium had come.”

  “Prepare yourself, then,” she said. “I think that your father knows nothing about how these things were done. I thought Duncan might, but there was no reason for him to burn the keep. I think it’s a much more convoluted puzzle. And I think Lazarus is the key.”

  “Lazarus? Who’s that?”

  “The boy your father kept chained in the storeroom.”

  “Saint Mungo’s misery!”

  Catherine tilted her face to see his.

  “You didn’t know, did you?”

  “Of course not,” Edgar said. “Why would he have done such a thing?”

  “I’m not sure,” Catherine said. “At first I thought he was being held for ransom, but there would be no reason to keep that a secret from me. I think now that he was a sort of hostage.”

  “For what purpose?” Edgar asked.

  “It would help if we knew who he was,” Catherine admitted. “But I suspect it was to ensure the compliance of the people of Wedderlie, or of one person there.”

  “What, you mean in the castle?”

  “No, the people, the villagers,” Catherine said. “I know it sounds mad, but all the odd pieces seem to fit together if you take the actions of the peasants into account.”

  “But that’s
unnatural!” Edgar protested. “They know what happens to people who rebel against their lord.”

  “Of course they do,” Catherine said. “That’s why no one bragged about it. What I don’t understand is what they thought they could accomplish by these things.”

  Edgar wasn’t convinced. “I can see wanting to be rid of my father or my older brothers, but why kill Adalisa? Why hurt Margaret?”

  “I’m not sure,” Catherine answered. “But I’m hoping that now that he’s within the churchyard, Alfred will tell us. I’m coming with you tomorrow, of course.”

  “It had never occurred to me that you wouldn’t,” Edgar said truthfully.

  “The right answer, discipulus.” Catherine rolled to lie on top of him. “What would you like for reward?”

  “This will do just fine.” Edgar sighed.

  Twenty-one

  Hexham, Saturday, 2 nones September (September 4), 1143.

  Commemoration of the translation of Saint Cuthbert, although it’s not clear

  which translation. He moved around a lot.

  Parum etenim proderit peccatori a peccto cessare, nisi studeat ieiuniis et

  orationibus elemosinisque commissum deflere, et sicut existiterat operator

  malicie, ita quoque efficiatur post penitentium cultor iustitie.

  For it is of little use for a sinner to cease sinning, if he doesn’t strive

  to lament the act with fasting, prayers and almsgiving, so that after the

  penance he becomes one who cultivates justice.

  —Life of Saint Rumwold,

  Part 10

  Prior Richard had decided to give Alfred a day to rest and pray before he met with Edgar and his family. Æthelræd grumbled at this, saying that it would only give him more time to think up lies, but the prior had the final say.